Ah, I can’t even express the choking fear, the convulsing fear of being in the presence of the abuser. How many times, how many hundreds of countless times have I tried to please her, laid down my life like a doormat in front of her hoping for her approval, breathed a sigh of relief at her smile, only to find the next moment a sneer, a curled lip a twisted mouth and a cruel remark spat with venom into my face and i crawl away, stung and shaking, and i swear I’ll never open myself again, no, not to her and not to anyone…and yet I do. I forget, and yes, I want my mommy, the one I never had, the one I will never have. I have to face the truth, the awful awful truth, that in this life there is a woman called “my mother,” and yet she is not my mother, because a mother is someone who nurtures you and cares for you, even sacrifices for you, who puts your needs above her own, who would give her life for you. I know that if she were to read this she would say how could you, HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU isn’t that right?
Because you rule by fear.
“If mama ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy” is your motto.
And the saddest part of that is that you don’t even GET IT that that is a sarcastic saying that refers to someone who is so fucking narcissistic that they rule the family with terror instead of leading with love.
I know that none of your admirers in the community, the ones who beatify you for your saintly good works, would ever believe that you have squashed your own child like a bug over and over and over. If they were to read this they would not believe me, because you do so much good, everyone adores you. It must be because I am sick, not well, perhaps crazy. I would not be believed, would be shunned, and of course you would turn your wrath upon me and then you too would shun me, as you have so many times before.
Yes, believe me. The truth hurts.
Copyright 2012 Soul Survivor all rights reserved.