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I think of good things that they did, and they did do good things. It was not 100% bad. Except it never is, nothing is that black and white, nothing is that simple, there is always so much grey area. I need to be able to hold both, sit in the tension of the opposites.
I was talking to one of my kid the other day, my kids are really into hearing "stories from when they were babies." So I was telling them, and thinking how I have none of these stories about myself. My mother has never told me a positive story about me as a child. All I hear about is how awful I was, what a burden I was, what a problem I was.
I was made to feel guilty, by my parents, for being born sick, something completely not my fault. But I was made to believe it was, that I had done something horrible, I was horrible, and therefore I deserved everything that was happening to me.
The reality is they do not really accept or support me. When I am doing well they do, and that is all they know. I would never even call them up and say "I am having a bad day" I cannot even imagine trying. When I am with them I am required to me 100% happy and 100% fine. There is no room for me to be anything less, it is not tolerable to them. They ridicule who I am and what is important to me. And yet I am terrified to make certain choices without them, I had panic that they would not like the paint color I picked for my kitchen. Why does it even matter, why do I need their approval?
It is as if I am expecting them someday to just accept me, if I do enough to make them happy they will forgive me for what a horrible child I was, I will get them to love me and make up for being born broken which I am being punished for and I deserve to be punished for.
And yet with all this evidence, I only think of the good things they did, and use that to excuse the bad and convince myself I had a happy childhood. The only way happy can be used to describe my childhood is that I am happy it is over!
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