I don't need a gun to blow your mind

There were probably years she envisioned being a mom, and thought it would be absolutely magical. Until she had me, and I unlocked hidden traumas in her, and turned her into a monster she didn’t recognize. I was just a baby. How was I supposed to understand that child birth had reminded my mother that she had been molested as a child. That something she had buried so deep had resurfaced. Instead, I saw her not wanting to be my mom. I saw her lock herself in her room, leaving me to wonder why my mom didn’t want to be around me. I saw her never be able to pick up her own pieces, never mind care for me. I remember when she would tell me she wanted to leave and never come back. I also remember vividly watching her hurt herself, and wanting to take all of her prescribed medication in hopes of killing herself. During this time, I now had a younger brother. A brother my mom seemed to like better than me. I think knowing how bad my mom didn’t want to be around me, or care for me, really imprinted me for the rest of my life. We are taught that there is nothing like a mother’s love- that it’s unconditional. And I wanted more than anything to be loved, and wanted, even at such a young age.

Of course at the time, I had no idea why my mom treated me the way she did. I was sad and angry almost all of the time. I would beg my father to understand and to see what was happening, But I think it was easier for him to avoid it. Like most hard things, it’s easier to not acknowledge it. This is where my relationship with my father changed. I hated him, almost more than I hated my mother, because he too did not protect me. It was easier for him to work all the time, and come home and distance himself from the reality of it all. I was left alone, to wonder what I had done to deserve all of this,

Eventually I began to hate myself. I felt trapped. I was in a world where my own family resented me, and anywhere I looked for help, I was immediately shut down. I remember when I first tried to kill myself. I was fourteen. Looking back, I realize how much of a baby I was. A child at just fourteen. I felt hopeless, like nothing would change. I remember being hospitalized, and finally seeing some light at the end, thinking finally someone would see me, hear me, and understand me. It was the first time in my life that my feelings were validated, and I remember doctors going as far as to say that my parents were neglecting me. They weren’t getting me help for the emotions I had. And do you know what came from that? My parents were angry. They had social workers investigate them and they had to go to court, and when I was finally released from the hospital  I went directly back into an environment that wanted me to bury what I was feeling. It was an inconvenience for them, and so I continued to feel like I didn’t matter. That my voice and feelings did not matter.

This only continued. More self harm, more suicide attempts, more hospitalizations. I’m 27 now and I often wonder how I got to this point. But today, and this week I’ve experienced all too familiar feelings. Feelings of being worthless, unimportant, that nobody will love me or care for me, and I wonder if it is ever going  to go away? I look back at my life and can’t think of a single person who has truly been in my corner.. Someone that has understood the trauma I now have and can love me through it. I’ve never been good at making friends, and I guess I’ve never been good at relationships either. It’s hard to be good at any sort of relationship  I suppose, when I truly believe that I’m unlovable, that the world will be fine without me, and that I don’t make a difference