I haven´t been to a therapist yet. That is on my list every week but I just can't get around to actually doing it. I'm scared that the therapist won't help or even make things worse. Or maybe a therapist will tell me, just like everyone else in my life, that all my problems are just made up and that there was nothing bad about my childhood. My deepest fear about going to a therapist is for them to tell me that my childhood actually was normal and that I should be a normal person. I'm not a normal person and I know most of that is due to what I went through as a child. I just wish that sometimes someone would acknowledge that.
Medical abuse. No one has ever told me that that was what I endured as a child, but I have become to see it that way. I spent this past weekend with my parents. While we were together, my brother and I were exchanging stories about what it was like to catch up on our immunizations so that we could go to college. I will tell you now, it's not a fun experience to be given every single shot that you should have recieved during your childhood in a span of a couple days. My brother passed out during the shots. My Mother only laughed at what we had to go through. She tried to make the excuse that possibly one of us were allergic to the shots. It angered me to see her only laughing off the hardships we endured just because of her decisions.
One shot that we never recieved as a child was the whooping cough shot. My older brother contracted a severe case of whooping cough. I remember for months straight he would cough so badly when he tried to eat that he would throw up. He lost so much weight during that time. He was just skin and bones by the time he started to get better. He coughed so much that his side began to hurt severely. My Mother speculated that he probably broke a rib from coughing. During this whole time, he was never taken to a doctor. He was severely malnurished by the end of the sickness but never did my Mother try to help him or even give him medicine.
I wrote in a previous post about my Mother taking me to the doctor when I had problems with bed wetting. This event is something that still makes me boil inside when I remember it. In a time where my brother had whooping cough, I got some rash that lasted five weeks, and none of us recieved our imminizations, my Mother rushed me to a doctor for bed wetting?! I believe that was all just part of her abuse. Another way to make her superior to me and to make me realize how helpless I was even with the choices about my own body.
One of the worst things about my relationship with my Mother is that I felt that I could not go to her about anything. I got a very bad urinary tract infection when I was probably around 10. I was terrified. I had no idea why it hurt so badly. I could not understand why there was blood whenever I urinated. I have many urinary tract infections but now I know how to help them heal faster. That time, I had no idea what to do to get better. I drank hardly any water and tried to avoid the bathroom at all costs because of the severe pain. It took over a week to heal, but finally it did heal but the scares of that memory never went away. I was terrified about what was going on with my body and in severe pain and yet I never spoke a word to my Mother. It is sad that I could not even go to my Mother about something as severe as that.
My Mother went to great lengths to make sure us children stayed quiet about the abuse going on at home. We did stay quiet, and actually stilll do stay quiet, but we stayed quiet to her as well. We've always known that she actually didn't care very much for us as human beings. I don't know what she viewed us as. I don't know if there was some part of her that did care for us. I don't know what about us she did care about. There had to be something because she at least fed us most days. I don't know what it is like to trust your mother. I don't know what it's like to have a mother that cares about you being ok. I only know a Mother that laughs about the hardships we endure because of her neglect. I only know a Mother that would prefer to not know so that she wouldn't have to take care of it. Some part of me still longs for a Mother that actually cares about me being ok.
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