I have sort of been inspired by the honest obit I read where the surviving children called their mother abusive.
I am not sure I could write one so scathing, but i could write an honest one nonetheless.
I will start out on this blog.
Why did I divorce my family?
They're not entirely supportive. One set of aunts or uncles are, but they are in a different country. The rest shove their head in the sand about the abuse.
I am considered the family thief. No one ever considers that my accuser, my mother should have 10 more fingers pointing back at her.
I was a called a thief when I asked my mother to borrow her swimsuit, and she accused me having some sort of conspiracy to steal it. I then found myself on the streets. I was 16 years old.
Being an unemancipated teen really sucked because I was dependent on a guardian to help me, yet the agencies that were supposed to give me some sort of reliable guardian, failed to help me.
Being homeless as a teen was not bad. Living at home was much worse for me.
A teen is grabbing at me. He is grabbing at my breasts. I go to pull away from him but I can't move because he is grabbing to hard. When I move away from him he grabs my hood, and yanks me back. This is how "the sex" goes that night. I am clearly traumatized.
My family at the time has kicked me out of the house. I'm considered a runaway. So I try to go home, but get kicked back out. I impose on them this time I urgently need a home. I go home and my mother gets my brother to beat me and tries to have me committed. I am treated as a difficult daughter so nothing is ever done. The more I act out afterwards the more everything is blamed on me just being a bad kid.
Life goes to shit after that.
Flash forward a year.
My aunt is in the kitchen telling me how horrible I am to my mother. That I frightened her when I "ran away."
My mother lied. I got put out over wanting to borrow a bathing suit. The next time I got thrown out for staying over at a friends. I would call her and ask to come home. I think I felt a strange sense of duty to her, so I tried to stay in touch. I think this aspect of emotional abuse affected me deeply. I still feel like I have trouble with trust. I feel like I will never have a sense of normalcy, whatever that is.
Flash forward 8 years.
I am coming home from another country. My mother is losing it. She calls me a liar when ever I speak to her, and hangs up on me. She tells me I am an embarrassment to her. My brother joins in the madness. I ask my mother why he is behaving like that, I haven't done anything wrong. She says he is protecting her from me.
I think, no, he is your henchman protecting you from yourself, and your twisted projections.