Oh my God, just reading everyone's answers brought me to tears. It's difficult to imagine that so many people could have been mistreated so horribly.
I'd like to think my Mom loved me ... that's what I need to believe. But the truth is I'll always have difficulty understanding why she treated me so badly.
EVERYONE loved my glamorous Mom ... EVERYONE. She came from a rich family, knew important people, and was connected to our community in ways I could barely understand.
She said she loved Dad, yet despised my father for not being rich. And did everything in her power to destroy any form of healthy relationship my brother or I had with him. She denied his Jewish heritage , told me he wasn't my biological father (he was) and that I was NOTHING like him. (Thank God I am)
She used Dad to immigrate to the US. At the end of WWII, Mom was branded a collaborator for having lived with a Nazi SS physician in the Netherlands during WWII. The story she told everyone was that she and this SS Officer had been fighting for the resistance.
Pin up photo of my Mom during WWII
My Mom was bipolar. I don't know how much that affected who she was as a person. I've known a lot of people with bipolar disease who are kind generous people.
Mom thought she was the most beautiful and sexually attractive woman on the planet. She was born to be adored and fawned over by men. Men were to be used to get whatever she needed.
She was also sadistic and completely self absorbed. She was a master at serrating people's lives. She was cruel, and took great pleasure directing sarcasm at whomever she chose.
She was diagnosed with Munchausen by Proxy. In public she made a great show of taking extravagant measures to care for me. In private she continued to feed me foods I was allergic to ... telling me I was making myself sick.
When I was ill she'd pull out her bible and open it up at random ... so she could read God's personal message to me. She'd give me one of her valium (Mother's little helper) along with a sugary cup of tea and send me back to bed. God will heal you if you pray.
Mom knew no boundaries. I came from her body, so I was her's. We were one. She told me no one on this planet could ever love me as deeply as she. When I became old enough to express a desire for individuality she turned on me. Nothing I could do ... would ever do ... would be as good as anything she had accomplished.
When I studied piano, she took lessons as well ... stopping only when I surpassed her abilities. When I drew or painted she erased what I'd done so she could basically paint over it "her" way. Again stopping only after I surpassed her own abilities.
Mom bought herself beautiful dresses, and purchased my clothing at thrift stores. I was a target for the kids at school. When my feet grew too big, she stopped looking for larger sizes and forced me to wear too small shoes. She told me they didn't make woman's shoes larger than size 10. My feet are forever misshapen.
Both my parents were tall, yet Mom refused to buy me pants which were long enough ... stating again ... they didn't make tall pants for women. She purchased short sized pants because they were cheaper. When I complained they were too short, she told me I was wearing the crotch to high. When I pulled them down, I'd rip the seams ... and she'd punish me for being clumsy, stupid and unladylike.
So I went through my teens wearing high water pants, and being teased by other kids.
The abuse I suffered during my childhood still affects me 25 years after her death. I'm 60 years old!
I grew up feeling worthless, lost, and completely overwhelmed. It felt as if I were ALWAYS wrong and that nothing I did or said was ever enough.
I was screamed at, shaken, slapped silly and told I was a stupid thoughtless selfish little girl.
When she was feeling good, I was her "beautiful Golden Girl". I belonged to her ... we were "one" and there wasn't anything I could do about it.
I first contemplated suicide at age 3.
Mom's lover molested me for almost 10 years ... because she couldn't believe that some who desired her, would desire her child. If Mom didn't want to see what was going on, she'd simply ignore it. All my life, when something bad happened Mom didn't want to deal with, she told me I imagined or dreamed it. I grew up believing I was stupid and crazy.
When Mom's lover Steve first molested me, Mom forced me to apologize to him for making up such a horrible story. I was SIX, all been able to say was that he'd touched me, while pointing to my lady parts. I was too terrified to tell her what he had inserted inside my most private of places.
So I continued to endure "Uncle" Steve's mistreatment, which Mom either couldn't or wouldn't see. His abuse ended after he raped and strangled me ... leaving me unconscious on my bathroom floor. Thinking I was dead, he left the US for Canada that same day.
I regained consciousness with no memory of what had transpired. I remember asking my Mom what the dark bruises were around my neck. She told me it was most likely caused by the flu. I was in my late 20s before I remembered everything.
After Steve moved, Mom forced me to go on vacations to Canada with her. She left me alone for hours at a time, while she went to local cocktail lounges for drinks with Uncle Steve.
The face my Mom shared with the world
The Face my Mom shared with my Brother and I
My Brother, who died two years ago, was also abused.
My Brother left home when I was 13, and rarely spoke with me after he was gone. I spent my whole adult life trying to establish a relationship with him. He died on September 30th 2013, after rolling his car down a Colorado mountain embankment. He survived about a week, but didn't tell anyone he was hospitalized. I never got to say goodbye.
I never learned how affected he was by our childhood until just prior to his death. His wife Angie told me. Angie (one of my best friends) died of cancer less than a month before my brother.
All things considered I'm doing remarkably well, despite the fact that I've suffered from chronic and severe health issues my entire life.
Some days I feel like giving up, others aren't so bad. The pain and sorrow I feel never really leaves.
2003, when I lost my hair ... prior to being diagnosed with Allergies, Grave's Disease, Celiac Disease and Fibromyalgia.
I was diagnosed with MPD (now called DID) in the 80s. I've been struggling to patch together my soul for as long as I can remember. I put myself through school, had LOTS of therapy, and worked like crazy to be the best person I can.
I've never gone to a school dance or a prom. Never dated the way kids from normal families do. Because Mom came on to EVERY guy I was interested in. She'd also pull chest hair off any guy who had some peaking out from under his shirt. Suffice it to say there were usually no further dates after that happened.
Never had a normal healthy man woman relationship (I've come close) because I don't know what that is. Sex, the way my Mom described it, was dirty, ugly and vile. I can still hear the sound of my Dad crying out in pain (begging her to stop) after my Mom hurt him during sex.
When I was 13 I decided not to have kids. I'd read that abused kids often grow into abusive parents. So I volunteer A LOT, rescue Greyhounds, write, make music and try to spread love to the people I care about.
I wrote a book about what life was like for me as a child. My psychiatrist asked me to, and had said it would help others who had gone through the same.
I hope and pray everyone who posted answers on this page has found ways of growing past the pain and hurt. My prayers are with you all
((((((( HUGS )))))))
In dreams I'm young and fresh and free ...
Here's to happy tomorrows.