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furiousgoldfish · 3 months

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When I was a little kid, I asked my mother 'What does a child need to survive in a desert?'. She wouldn't give me a straight answer, so I had to pull it out of her bit by bit. Would a child live if they had fruit? 'That's not enough', she said. Would it work if the child had milk? 'Maybe'. I kept asking what else, and then she put the dots together, and figured out why I was asking. 'Children can't survive without their mother', she told me curtly. I frowned, not liking this response. 'But, if they had fruit and milk?' I insisted. 'No. Child can't survive without a mother. Don't even think about it.'

But, I was thinking about it, and she knew it. She knew I was trying to find a way to escape the house we were living in. I was 6, maybe 7 at the time. She repeated over and over to me, you would die outside this house. Nobody else would take you in, there's no place for you anywhere else. You would only be a burden.

I didn't like that. I didn't like the idea of being a burden anywhere. But, I supposed she was right, other people didn't need a stray kid.

In my quest of not being a burden, I wanted to learn how to work. In the house I lived in, there were countless chores to be done, but somehow I was always stuck with the ones that required no knowledge or skill. Put the logs over there, clean, carry this over there, sweep, scrub, throw, wash, dig, gather, relocate, hold, lift, put down, bury, shut up, and don't ask questions. I wouldn't get any answers even if I did ask, why am I doing this, whats it for? I wasn't to know. I was kept blind, following orders, up to myself to figure out what was this a part of.

When I'd be ordered to do something I didn't know how, I would be told I 'should have learned it by watching others do it', but I was never free to watch while others worked. In fact, if anyone in the house was doing anything, and I was sitting or lying down, I would be screamed at for 'just watching others work and doing nothing'.

Reaching adulthood, I really wanted to know about cooking, but mother always chased me out of the kitchen if she was making something, or she would chore me with 'peeling the vegetables', which would then take all of my attention. I tried to sneak into the kitchen and learn by myself, but she chased me away as soon as she'd catch me, telling me off for 'wasting resources'. But, as she noticed my inclination, she decided to inform me, in a very clear manner, that I would never in my life know how to cook. You see, I was clumsy, slow, stupid, and would always only mess it up and waste precious ingredients. It was far above my abilities to learn how to cook. She gave me a clove of garlic to cut, and I couldn't do it well on my first try. She told me it was a proof that I was 'no good'. Then she gave me an onion to cut, and yelled at me for 'taking too long'. Now it was proven twice over. I couldn't cook. Everything would be ruined because I was taking too long to cut the vegetables. Also, I didn't know where food was even stored in the kitchen. She would never show me. (The food was stored in boxes in the basement. I would find out years later.)

With a heavy heart, I gave up on learning how to cook, and resigned myself to feeling forever guilty for 'eating their food', which was something my family regularly held over my head. You know, after I helped digging, working the soil, sowing, planting, weeding and spraying, it was still their land, and their food, and I 'had no right to it'. They were careful never to show me how to actually grow food, but just kept me busy with menial tasks that were never explained to me.

I was convinced my mother was a good person, because she usually wouldn't forbid me to eat, and if she wanted me to do a task, she would tell me in a humane way. For example 'Can you do x?'. The other family members had a more crude way, something like 'Why are you waiting to be told, do I have to spell out everything to you??' so her polite manner had completely won me over, I would have done anything for my sickly, poor, kind and generous mother, who was so worried for my troubled self, who couldn't learn how to do anything, or survive outside the house.

Even though my mother repeated through the years, that I would never be able to do anything, and also berated me if I ever tried to learn a new skill because 'it was worthless and wouldn't earn me any money', I would still sometimes gather a bit of momentum and courage, and figure hey, I should try to get a job. It would take months to gather that kind of confidence. And one such time, I announced my intentions, I'm going to look for a job! My mother laughed without looking at me. 'Who would hire you? You can't do anything.' Poof. That was my balloon of confidence, popping and then deflating into a tiny bulb. I didn't think she had any reason to lie to me. She knew me all my life. If she was confident that I can't do anything... then it had to be true. Otherwise why would she say that?

The rest of the family, of course, agreed. My grandmother, she had fantastic stories to share with me about how quickly I would be kidnapped, robbed, murdered, tortured, sold into slavery, you know all that good stuff that happens to every person outside their parents house. My father, who inherited massive amounts of land, 2 houses, illegally got his hands on a third, earned a very formidable salary, and constantly had me working for free for him, told me that it was in fact, impossible for a person to survive out there without inheritance. I frowned because I didn't agree with this, and I asked, what about the people who get a job and move into the city? They were living just from their wages. He shook his head and said that it may look like that, but they're all just living from their family's resources. I was old enough to not believe him. It's him who couldn't live without his inheritance, because he's an idiot, I thought.

So, I finally got to earn some money online. It was slow, and very tiny amount, I was freelancing and there was no consistent income, but my enthusiasm on being able to earn anything, was strong. After all, I had earned absolutely nothing working for my family for forever, and this was mine. I remember securing a big project and rushing to reassure my mother, to tell her that I was in fact, good for something, and she didn't have to worry anymore, I was going to make something of myself.

'You will never get another project again.' Her face was dead serious. 'You were lucky once. Don't count on this happening again'. I was speechless. Self doubt swallowed me whole. Was this only one-time occurrence? Was I stupid to believe it would happen again? I despaired. She was my mother, and she was older than me, and she knew the world better than I did. She wouldn't say this for no reason. Could she be right?

She brought it up to the rest of the family, and they all had things to say about it. 'Online work isn't real. The money doesn't even exist. You'll never see it. Show us where is this money. You can't, can you? And even if it does exist, it will all get stolen from you'.

Leaving me wrapped in my survival panic attack, they went on with their day, satisfied that they put me back in my place (which was an ongoing panic attack). I eventually recovered, and continued to work on projects. I was approached and told I would fail constantly, but even then, what could I do but work with my anxiety levels up to the roof and wait to fail? I had to try.

I didn't believe I would make it, because my mother's words 'you'll die, you'll die' were on repeat in my head, but I realized I would die in that house anyway, so I ran away from home. My mother was worried about me; she was in fact, so worried she called every person who knew me, all of friends, relatives, their kids, and told them about how badly worried she was for me, and how I needed to come back home. These people, well they were all worried too you see, so they had to call me, to tell me that I'm breaking my mother's heart, that I don't know how it feels to have a child and not know if their child is okay, apparently she was crying every time it rained because she thought I might be outside in the rain.

My guilt was activated, but I knew just what to do to resolve this situation. I responded to my mother's call, and she told me too, that she was dying from worry, so I said, listen! Listen to what I have! And I went around the apartment, and I listed all of the groceries I had bought and stored. I listed everything out to her, and then explained how to make multiple meals, I offered proof to her that I had already, in this short time, learned how to cook, and I was doing fine. I was sure she'd be so relieved to know that her child had food.

In my mind we were continuing the conversation we had when I was six. I have milk and fruit now mommy. You said I might survive if I have that.

'Okay, we KNOW you can do everything yourself--' She interrupted me angrily, unwilling to listen to my ongoing list of resources and skills. I froze. '--but you need to think about what you're doing to us and come back home!'

I hung up. Unbelieving. Two things I've been told in that sentence, and I had a hard time believing either. She- they- KNEW I could do everything myself. Since when? For how long? How could she possibly say this, after telling me my whole life, not only that I didn't know anything, but was too stupid to even learn? She knew I was capable the entire time? She knew I'd do just fine? And, she was angry about it. Hearing the list of resources and skills I had, it made her livid. After crying to all these people, and convincing me she was dying out of worry, she wasn't worried even one little bit. It was all fake. The entire time. She could either tell I was capable the entire time, or.. she never cared enough to even tell. It didn't matter. It only mattered that she convinced me that I can't survive. So I wouldn't run. So I would stay in that house, and so she could watch her violent husband, and violent mother in law beat me and call me animal names. While blocking my only possible exit.

Later I found out she changed her story. She was now telling people that I was now 'rich but so selfish I would not give any of my money to her'. It was almost funny. Her perspective of me rapidly shifted from 'incapable idiot who cannot survive' to 'selfish rich snob who won't give money'.

It stung. I had spent my life trying to protect her. Even after running, all I could think was how badly I wanted to take her away from that violent place, how much I wanted happiness for her. She watched me dying in that house and blocked my exit. She threw me back into the hands of violence and cheered them on as they broke me. She watched a kid being broken and told that kid they could not live, except if they stay and continue being broken, over and over again. I got jealous of all of the mothers who helped their kids escape. And of all the kids whose mothers escaped, taking them with. Keeping them safe. Why wasn't I worth keeping safe? But I can't look back in that way. That's not it. There was nobody to keep me safe. Nobody was my mother. Nobody was my parent.

My six year old self reached their goal. What does a child need to survive in a desert? Some fruit. And some milk. And some other groceries also don't hurt. And definitely not a mother like this one.

#abusive mother #recognizing abuse #cruelty concealed as worry #escape sabotage #mother keeping a child trapped in abuse #using a child as a shield from violence #abusers keeping your confidence down to stop you from escaping #abusers lying through their teeth #child abuse #survival resources #toxic family #toxic mother #i don't even know what her deal is #but her cruelty crushed me

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livininaburninghouse · 3 months

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It is a valid response.

#childhood trauma #toxic family #abusive family #abusive household #abusive dad #abusive parents #abusive mother #abuse survivor #abusive survivors #physical abuse #emotional abuse #narcissistic abuse #tw parental abuse #tw abuse

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traumatizedjaguar · 3 months

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they tell you to reach out for help, then people just get mad at you when you do.

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whatwedoinsilence · 2 years

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Abuse comes in waves. So does pain.

You spent months being civil with each other, kind even. They do things for you, buy you clothes, groceries, say nice things and ask about your day. And you start to forget. You start to feel guilty. Why did I hate them? Why was I angry? Why did I want to leave? That was awfully mean of me. They need me. If I leave, they'll be all alone.

Then it all comes crashing down. One little thing lights up the flames and sparks a reaction. It happens fast, but feels like it lasts a lifetime. They say "things they didn't really mean", they "let anger get the best of them", and you're at the receiving end, scared, alone and not able to react.

And you start to remember. You place this memory with all the others, like a bunch of crystal ornaments on a shelf. You start noticing the patterns. You even make excuses for them. I was too loud, too aggressive, too mean. I deserved it. I deserve this.

Hours later, when you're safe and sound in your room, the reaction finally hits. You cry and sob, you want to scream but know you can't. You want to leave but have nowhere to go. You have no choice but to stay put and feel the pain. The pain from this moment and all the others that preceeded it. The pain from all the chances you had to leave but didn't take. The pain from all the instances you believed they changed.

And you know, once they wake up, it'll be like it never happened. Kind words and kind gestures, all over again. And you have no choice but to play along, otherwise who knows what might happen.

Every week. Every month. Every year. A new little crystal ornament for my collection. A new memory for me to obsess over and try to prove to myself that it wasn't that bad, that I barely got hurt, that it could've been worse.

I wonder how long it'll take for the next ornament to arrive. I wonder if I'll have enough space for it on the shelve.

#child abuse survivor #living with your abuser #abusive mother #abusive father #abusive parents #abusive relationship #verbal abuse #physical abuse #emotional abuse #narcissistic behavior #surviving narcissism #narcissist mother #narcissist parents #narc abuse

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magicalcloudwitchsstuff · 9 months

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Why do abusive parents turn housekeeping into a torture

I work in other people's houses and I love doing housekeeping in their house. Sometimes I'm bored and I'll just fold the laundry or sweep the floor. I never leave the sink full or dirty. I am not required to do this, I do it because I want to be nice to my boss and I find it genuinely relaxing. I know she'll be happy I took a couple chores off her shoulders and that I won't be criticized for it.

My own house is always clean and tidy when my relatives aren't around. When I'm left alone to do things and I know no one will criticize me I do it gleefully.

But when my mother's home I vacuum the floor and I get tense because I know that she'll come home and yell because I haven't done it. She admitted to hiding socks in remote corners of the house to prove I hadn't vacuumed and mopped the floor. But missing a corner in one room of the house doesn't mean I haven't cleaned the floor, and she's perfectly capable of recognizing a clean floor. I don't cook around her or do the dishes or mop because she'll just start hovering around me offering criticism but no advice. I tried several ways of doing the same chore. Nothing was ever enough, nothing was every right, there was always something lacking. Every time I do a chore all I can think about is how she's going to yell at me because the chore hasn't been done or it wasn't done right. I started recording myself doing chores to prove that I did them. She always complained I hadn't mopped the floor so I started mopping it right before she came home. Then she started turning into a purple faced monster because when I mopped the floor there was always "too much water" and if I hadn't mopped the floor "at least then times" then "it didn't count". Once I was 11 and I had been left alone at home for the entire day. I did every single chore except the laundry. She came home, looked at every single clean room, went straight to the balcony and said: why isn't the laundry done?

So it was never about the chores. It was always about finding a little excuse to terrorize me. It was always about seeing me cry in frustration after doing several time consuming chores and being accused of not doing it right or straight up not having done it. It was always about seeing me upset and taking her anger out on me.

#emotional abuse #abusive parent #abusive mother

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healingchildhoodtrauma · 5 months

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“Even if you don’t love me, I love me.

There’s nothing you can think, feel, do or say that could make me not love me, or

devalue/hate/abuse myself.”

When you‘ve gotten to the point of being able to say this to a parent,

anything anyone else says/does/thinks/feels is pretty weak.

#inner child healing #reparenting #healing from abuse #healing childhood trauma #abusive parents #abusive father #abusive mother #narcissist parent

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ghostgiving · 1 year

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this is how it goes between a mother and her child:

you break me apart completely, and i tell you i love you

reblog don’t repost

#ghostly art #abusive mother #vent art #traumacore #sweat and coffee #ghostpost

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oasisr · 8 months

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I really believe that my entire family has NPD at this point. And, everyone needs therapy.

My brother borrowed my mom's car last night. This morning, our enabler mom and I went in the car to go get coffee.

I immediately noticed that the car stunk. It had a horrible smell.

I found red solo cups in the passenger seat, and mom found fast food bags in the back seat.

My brother had taken his daughters and his girlfriend to get hamburgers, but they left the half eaten food in the car all night. It started to rot and smell odorous.

I told my mom that it was not okay that he let the girls trash the car, and that they should never be drinking and driving.

Mom said it's not a big deal and we should just go get coffee.

I said, "Aren't you going to call him and tell him that it's wrong? Why don't you have him clean the car?"

She said that I'm weird for being upset and that it's none of my business because it's not my car.

Last time my brother borrowed the car, there was a bottle of vodka in the passenger seat.

He has had two DUIs, and has had his license revoked.

I don't even understand why she would want him to drive the car in the first place.

She kept telling me over and over to mind my own business, and that drinking and driving isn't a big deal because she threw the trash away.

I told her that she could have lost her car if he were to get pulled over, plus his teenaged daughters were in the car too! (He also lets his daughters drink and smoke weed. That's a whole other story.)

I admit that my anger took over and I lost it. I started yelling at my mom to listen to me, and to stop saying that it's okay for him to drink and drive, and leave garbage in the car.

She kept saying it's not a big deal. I started screaming at her. I just couldn't keep calm. I felt like she had no common sense or common decency to stand up for him.

I can't understand why no one in the family has to face any consequences. But, if I say I don't agree with something because it's morally or legally wrong, then I'm the bad person.

I've been crying and hyperventilating all day long because she just seems so lost. My entire family is lost. I don't even know what to do anymore.

#dui #drinking #drinking and driving #narcissistic mother #narcissistic personality disorder #narcissist #narcissistic #abusive family #abusive mother #abusive brother #cptsd #c ptsd #npd #aspd #antisocial #narcissism #narcissistic abuse #raised by narcissists #narcissistic parents

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