Me, Myself and I *Not a nice story triggering typish thing*

Shared experiences of life, and the path that has led you to where you are.

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Me, Myself and I *Not a nice story triggering typish thing*

Postby sherrie » Sat Dec 24, 2011 11:28 pm

I don't know if this story is appropriate but it's mine. Delete it if it's not. I don't care. Honest i don't, it's just my life.
My mum hates me. She is Schizophrenic. I grew up with 3 brothers and I was the only girl. When ppl hear that, they make presumptions, i let them. They presume that, as the only girl, I was spoiled rotten and treated like a princess and i adore the idology.
The truth is so very far from that, and i'll never understand it really, but when my mum had her periods of not being well, she hated all females. She hated neighbours, store attendants, ppl at church, anyone who was female. But for me that meant she hated me. She would beat on me, tell me i was evil. She was convinced i was possessed and was "out to get her". She would change between weeks of locking me in my room with nothing, no toy's; books, bedding, food or anything to other periods of constantly having to see where i was so she would know what i was up to. My first day of school, we made clown faces out of paper tissue and shoe boxes. I took mine home with pride to show my mum. I ended up in hospital after she beat me cos she said i was taking the micky outta her. I never told anyone what went on at home. Why? Cos i didn't know any different and i was overawed by the immense power this women had over me. I endured her beatings and mental torment for 16 years. I ran away a few times but always got brought home again and for some reason, i never told.
On my 16th birthday i left home. i can remember packing my bags as clear as day. I was sooooo sure of myself. My mum asked where i was going. I simply said, i'm outta here. I'm gone. She said "but we have cake for ur birthday". I'll never forget it. Like cake would make up for hating me for 16 years. Like cake would heal the physical and mental scars. Like cake would mean that her encouraging my 3 brothers to beat on me when she couldn't be bothered herself meant nothing. For giving them permision to treat me like dirt. For the fact that everyone in the neighbourhood knew what she thought of me and only had to threaten me with "telling my mother" to get me to do what they wanted which was sometimes the foulest things u can imagine.
So anyhow, i escaped. I spent a year living in a pub and working for room and board. I really enjoyed the freedom and respect i had there. Then the management at the place changed. Things changed rapidly and i was too niave to recognise the difference in peoples attitudes. I was raped by the new bar manager and head chef within a month of them joining. That's it really. Life over. I quit then. Ppl call what i have depression. They say i want to end it all because of a chemical imbalance in my brain. I defy anyone to live what i've lived through and be normal. I don't know what i am and neither do i care really. My mum and those men took that away from me. I will never escape. There's always someone ready, willing and able to hurt me.

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Postby Obayan » Sun Dec 25, 2011 2:30 pm

Hi Sherrie. Your story sounds an awful lot like mine. I'm so sorry you had to live thru so much pain and suffering. But life isn't over. I'm 49 now and I have a good life. Yes, there are bad days, but there are good days too. Please talk to a counselor. Get into cognitive behavior therapy. there is a great book you can read too. "the courage to heal". All of these things helped me. It took a lot of time and hard work, but I found what life is supposed to be. You can too.

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Postby Gemm50 » Tue Jan 03, 2012 3:21 pm

Hey {{{Sherrie}}}

I can really relate to your story as much of it was mine as well. I am from a very large family and am the youngest so most people assumed that meant I was spoiled. In a way I was spoiled but not as people think - I was spoiled on life before I was even old enough to know what life was. My earliest memories are of hiding underneath my crib terrified because Mother was raging again. She never had any psychiatric diagnoses but today she would be known as a 'rage-aholic' and would just as soon knock me into a wall as look at me. I would have loved to have been locked in my room to escape. I did learn to escape, at least emotionally and mentally into books and stories. I also found very early on that if I looked like I was reading Mother left me alone a lot more, and later that also extended to writing.

One of my older sisters (I had 8 of those as well as 5 brothers) and I talked some years ago and she is the only one who would ever admit to me that Mother was dangerous to us, physically, emotionally, mentally and even sexually. She never did anything herself sexually but when I was 1st molested at 4 - 5 when she caught him, I got beaten and he got sent home (teenaged son of an older sister). My 'sister' even told me that she figured I actually had it harder than the others as I was not born to their parents but adopted because the woman who gave birth to me had been a sibling of theirs who had been raped at 15 and I had been born of that. 'Mother' could never accept failure in herself or any of us and my 'sister' felt that it was harder on me because I was 'proof' that 'Mother' had failed to protect her daughter. My 'sister' also told me that 'Mother' felt it her DUTY to take me rather than allow me to be adopted outside the family as my daddy wanted me to be. My early years were constant ones of being told I was 'devil spawn' or 'the seed of the devil' and I know today that is because of the rape that resulted in my birth. Having grown up on a farm I knew about seeds and what came from them so it was only a short step for a young child to believe that if I was devil's seed then I was bad because I existed. Those are some of the hardest things I have even had to get over and the ones that come back with the most vigor.

I remember as a child volunteering to go into the fields with daddy to get away from Mother even though I was still too small to really be of help to him most of the time. One of my 'brothers' tried his best when he got old enough to get me away from home as much as he could to the point of even taking me on dates with his future wife many times. I lost him when I was 7 to a farm accident and also lost that out. The youngest 'brother' used to cause problems for me with 'Mother" so I would get another beating. I also remember always trying to wear things that covered my arms and legs to hide the bruises and if anything was ever said about them telling them 'Mother's' lie - I was just clumsy and had fallen again. If I didn't do that it was another beating when I got home.

These things are still with me, as are many many more memories that I wish I could just burn away, cut out of my brain, my being. I know I can't do that so I finally went to abuse counseling almost 24 years ago. Even with that, the memories are still there and yes, they still hurt. I have gotten to a point where I have days, even occasionally a week or more that I don't have a problem with the memories. It is a long road and the feelings of worthlessness, despair, alienation and all the others are hard to get beyond. When I have other things that come into my life that hurt it is even harder to get out of those old patterns of thinking and even believing that I am utterly worthless.

Hugs to you.

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Postby Obayan » Tue Jan 03, 2012 3:46 pm

Sending warm wish and big hugs to both of you (((( sherrie )))) and (((( gemm50 ))))

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