child abuse sucks
This beats all. I actually witnessed more violence in my family than Dan did. His dad was horribly verbally abusive and would drink till he was miserable and berate his mother. Turns out there wasn't a lot of physical assault, just flying debris on occasion to accent the drama.
Then there's me, remembering the all-out physical assaults from both mother and father. Mom liked to use small wooden weapons. The wooden spoon was a fave. She'd attack our thighs and buttocks because then she wouldn't worry about hitting our kidneys but could deliver a good sting with every twap. The trick was to redden the child without lasting marks. Breaking the weapon was a bragging moment for both mother and child.
If I called my mother "mother" instead of "mom" (my mom, there's mom, there's my mom, etc) I got slapped. Mother was too formal, it suggested a lack of affection. Can't have that, she's my MOM and I'm required to love her! My actual feelings in the matter weren't mine to choose, but hers to command. In fact, I hate her. I hated her as a child. There were times when I felt genuine affection and would use that affection to power expressions that pleased her. Sometimes I even felt like I was meeting her standards, but mostly I just fell short. I couldn't love her hard enough or dramatically enough and anyway, it wasn't me she loved. She loved my cute face and blond hair, but the person carrying the pretty girl's body was most definitely a pain in the ass. Her fave expression was the dutch phrase for "piece of misery" and that's how she regarded me. That's continued to be my self image, frankly, to some degree, in spite of my efforts to outgrow it. Damn bitch. I wish one of those long distance calls I never answer would leave the message "your mother has died." I'd be "oh thank god. Finally!"
I feel so bereft of mother's love. I feel like a motherless child. I didn't have a mother, I had an ego tripping caretaker who resented her job. I had a work foreman who considered me perennially lazy.
Yeah, I just need to remember why I don't talk to her anymore and that'll stave off the guilt.
I miss not having a schedule. It's better now with fewer pets but at some point I really must find a way around having to worry about the time. I can't relax if I have to pay attention to the clock and I can't tell time by myself. I don't know the difference between a minute and an hour, actually. I'd love to just let go and not be prepared to alert myself and jump up to catch up to the clock. I love road tripss for that, you just have all day to drive or stop and rest and your own internal rhythm sets the pace instead of a metered device that measures the entropy of a spring or crystal. I did okay when only the sun measured time but clocks, oh that fucking clock. Split the day into quarters and then again into smaller chunks of time, each too small to get anything worthwhile done, and stop and start everything according to the chime of that infernal mechanical marvel. Doesn't matter what stage your work is at, it must be suspended so you can go do some other work that someone else requires and prioritizes.
But the dishes won't get done and the pile grows so you have to stop what you're doing and go do that...
Then there's me, remembering the all-out physical assaults from both mother and father. Mom liked to use small wooden weapons. The wooden spoon was a fave. She'd attack our thighs and buttocks because then she wouldn't worry about hitting our kidneys but could deliver a good sting with every twap. The trick was to redden the child without lasting marks. Breaking the weapon was a bragging moment for both mother and child.
If I called my mother "mother" instead of "mom" (my mom, there's mom, there's my mom, etc) I got slapped. Mother was too formal, it suggested a lack of affection. Can't have that, she's my MOM and I'm required to love her! My actual feelings in the matter weren't mine to choose, but hers to command. In fact, I hate her. I hated her as a child. There were times when I felt genuine affection and would use that affection to power expressions that pleased her. Sometimes I even felt like I was meeting her standards, but mostly I just fell short. I couldn't love her hard enough or dramatically enough and anyway, it wasn't me she loved. She loved my cute face and blond hair, but the person carrying the pretty girl's body was most definitely a pain in the ass. Her fave expression was the dutch phrase for "piece of misery" and that's how she regarded me. That's continued to be my self image, frankly, to some degree, in spite of my efforts to outgrow it. Damn bitch. I wish one of those long distance calls I never answer would leave the message "your mother has died." I'd be "oh thank god. Finally!"
I feel so bereft of mother's love. I feel like a motherless child. I didn't have a mother, I had an ego tripping caretaker who resented her job. I had a work foreman who considered me perennially lazy.
Yeah, I just need to remember why I don't talk to her anymore and that'll stave off the guilt.
I miss not having a schedule. It's better now with fewer pets but at some point I really must find a way around having to worry about the time. I can't relax if I have to pay attention to the clock and I can't tell time by myself. I don't know the difference between a minute and an hour, actually. I'd love to just let go and not be prepared to alert myself and jump up to catch up to the clock. I love road tripss for that, you just have all day to drive or stop and rest and your own internal rhythm sets the pace instead of a metered device that measures the entropy of a spring or crystal. I did okay when only the sun measured time but clocks, oh that fucking clock. Split the day into quarters and then again into smaller chunks of time, each too small to get anything worthwhile done, and stop and start everything according to the chime of that infernal mechanical marvel. Doesn't matter what stage your work is at, it must be suspended so you can go do some other work that someone else requires and prioritizes.
But the dishes won't get done and the pile grows so you have to stop what you're doing and go do that...