Saturday, July 20, 2013
Over the years i have had people stop me in conversation and ask me who is “we”? I would have to stop and think and then I realized that sometimes when referring to myself in a situation i would use the word “we”. It was an honest mistake nothing to big to worry about I thought… Just me talking fast and trying to keep up with the conversation. It wasn’t until recently that i realized that the use of the word “we” came from a lack of that ” we” in my childhood.
Through all the beatings, unusual punishments, degrading and methodically planned control tactics that my mother used on me I developed a serious need to feel not alone. Being scared all the time as a child of what was going to happen next. Being worried about what might set her off. Being on pins and needles from such an early age and never feeling like someone cared enough to save me made me have a longing need to feel that I was not alone. No one ever came to save me from her methodical torture… Horrific beatings that went on for long periods of time… Her hours of degrading lectures prior to the beatings and after.
One example of what she was capable of was she used to make me write a page a night of how I was a bad girl. I had to list in paragraph form of everything that I had ever done that was bad. I had to list in great detail of all the things that she said I had done. It had to be perfect grammer and written neatly. I was not allowed to duplicate what I wrote in the past… It always had to be new stuff. If I accidentally wrote something that I had wrote in the past she would beat me the next day. I had to write that I was a liar and had manipulated my dad into loving me. These were her words. This went on for months. I don’t know where those papers are now… I wish I could find them.
She used to beat me for what seemed like hours… Striped down naked. She had a belt that she had shredded and she would beat me in the living room with the front window shades open so that the neighbor hood kids could watch. I wasn’t allowed to scream or make a noise or cry….I was the one standing there … Then laying on the hasset bent over it. Shamed because I was naked… Shamed because she would make comments about my body that made me feel bad. Shamed because I hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Shamed because the kids could watch me and hear her. She raised her arms all the way back and would swing with all her might. She would say don’t put my hands in the way, don’t move, don’t cry and don’t scream…. She would hit and hit and hit and hit…. I had welts and bleeding and excruciating pain. For moving, crying or screaming or putting your hands in the way the penalty was 5 more hits. This could go on for hours. She would allow break for peeing and she took breaks because she was “tired” but then she was back at teaching me a lesson. What could I have ever done to deserve that?
But it was me alone standing there shamed… Taking all the pain and degrading words alone. Later it would still be me consoling myself through the pain, embarrassment and hurt in the aftermath of her wrath.
No one came… No one saved me… No one stopped her. No one shared in my pain… No one …
my childhood taught me that I was alone and that no one had my back…no one…
To compensate for the need to feel that someone somewhere walked with me through my life I accidentally added the “we” to my conversations. It was a hope … A dream…. A wish…. It still is….
The difference is I’m now very aware that I long to have someone walk with me in my life… Share my life with … Pains as well as joys….one day maybe the use of the word “we” will actually represent two instead of one….