(This post is a continuation of the life stories of my wife. For those of you who haven't read the previous posts by her, she has gone through tough childhood living with her abusive mother. In this part of the story, she speaks of her painful memories from when she was in middle school, but this story is just a tip of the ice berg of what she really went through.)
Middle school was tough for me. My mother's great decline started at this point. Her physical appearance changed as her illness got worse. She started to look more like the monster she really was inside.
I was very lonely. I am lucky that I had a sister who is just a year younger than me. Without her I don't know if I could have survived this time. I had lots of friends but they were just school friends. I never went to their houses or they to mine. We weren't even really allowed to have friends. My mother tried to force us into isolation. We were not allowed to go outside (even just across the street) without her being present. She attended every field-trip and scrutinized our every move during our interactions with other kids. She often found falt with my behavior, citing instances such as laughing too loud on the bus, as reason to punish me when we got home.
Somehow I was able to mask the fear, pain and depression that was starting to consume me. Many people thought that I had a great life. My classmates would tell me how great my mom is, never knowing that I hated going home each day because I know that she was there. They didn't know that she called me names, hit me and worst.
One of her favorite subjects to torture me about was my acne. Pimples make you feel bad enough, but my mother made sure I hated myself. She would tease me about my skin daily. She said that I looked diseased. She wrecked my self-esteem and confidence everyday before school. I started to hate my face, I avoided mirrors at all cost and I had a hard time looking people in the eye. She even decided that my acne was my fault and decided to punish when I had break-outs.
I think she wanted me to become an outcast, wanted me to act-out, or get bad grades so that she could have another excuse to lash out at me. But I was a model student, I was on honor-role. My teachers had nothing but nice things to say about me. I think this frustrated her so she began to sabotoge my school work. Later on, her sabotoge became a lot more serious.
4 comments:
Takashi here. I'm sorry to hear that you and your wife had rough times when growing up. I, too, had a sad childhood so it broke my heart to read about you two. I have an older brother, and he was always my archenemy at home. He was emotionally abusive, and I can't recall a time when I ever felt good at home. He called me names, was critical of everything I did and just hated me. I would have understood his hostility toward me if I had done something that upset him. The truth is, however, that he hated me until right before I entered my twenties because I was the focal point of our mother's attention when I was a baby and he was four years old. I also disliked my parents because they never cared about me when I told them that I was a prime target of bullying at both school and home.
Reading your latest entry was like reading about my past. I'm currently single and wonder if my life was any better if I had a life partner, but I'm not sure because I never had any positive experiences about living with my family. Well, anyway, I'm glad that you and your wife could find each other!
I had a verbally and emotionally abusive father. And so many people frequently told me how great he was in public. It made me want to cry. And it made me doubt myself. Maybe I wasn't trying hard enough. Maybe it was my fault.
It wasn't. Just like your mother's problems weren't your fault. So why is it so hard to let go of the shame and the pain?
Takashi again. How are you doing? I started a blog of my own. The URL is:
http://nakayamatakashi.blogspot.com
Or the title is "Searching through the dark." Please check it out if you have time!
I just wanted to stop by and let you know I am still reading. Please tell your wife that I have read her story and sympathize and to please keep writing!
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