Childhood Trauma ...

I wanted to write about childhood and some of my tough memories as well as the more serious trauma's of my childhood. I'll start with the bad memories and save the trauma for last? Ok...
I love my mother but I resent her so much. I resent her for ever giving me that first pill. How could she be so careless with her own daughter? If your child couldn't sleep, would you give them a shot of heroine? Hell no, right? My mother should have known better because she was already addicted to the stuff. Why make me a victim as well?
It wasn't clear to me why I resented her until today. And after all the anger, I'm still worried sick about her. She IS my mother and she IS an addict.
A couple of weeks ago, I asked mom about her reasons for staying on the prescription meds and she had no answer. I asked her if she had any pleasant memories over the past five years ... she did'nt know. I asked her what she wanted to do with herself in the next ten years ... she didn't know. I asked her what she liked about herself (No, that's not a dumb question) ... and she snapped back and said "I like myself!". She didn't have any answers for me other than she "didn't know". It hurt me to see that someone I loved has absolutely no joy in their life. As far back as I can remember, my mother has been depressed and isolated.
As a child, I was lucky to have both of my parents married and living in the same home with me. Many people say that's enough to be greatful for. I beg to differ. Some households are better off broken than in tact. I don't remember my parents hugging except for one on Christmas. I have never seen my parents kiss or hold hands. Never. We did things as a broken family when I was a kid. We stopped doing "family" things by the time I was about 11 or 12 years old.
I was now older and I began to take notice of the behaviors around the house. I am not exaggerating at all. My parents spoke only to ask what was for dinner or to complain about something having been done wrong. They slept in seperate rooms. My mother was on the couch. She liked it there. She liked being alone and she even told me that she didn't like having friends nor did she want any friends. She trusted no one ... not even family. She didn't like herself at all. She would cover her mouth when smiling because she didn't like her smile. She would walk and talk with her head down, unable to make eye contact. She was always sucking in her stomach even though she was skinny. The list goes on and on. It took a lot of analyizing to get an idea of where my deep insecurity came from. I'm taking a luck guess: My mother. When my father lost his temper (which would be often if not every day), mom would put her head down and take it. She would not stand up for herself but she might answer back about once every few months. I love her but she was and is a doormat.
When I first heard that children, teens and even adults learn their behaviors from their parents, I thought it was ridiculous. I would say to myself that I knew exactly what I was doing and I'm old enough to make my own decisions. There is nothing worse than lying to yourself. I wasn't honest about how deeply things affected me. And it wasn't just mom. I picked up my anger and violent traits from dad. He would slam, break and bang things every time he was pissed and almost anything would piss him off. If he asked me to do something and I made any noise hinting that I was annoyed or unhappy about it, he was pissed. Yelling, banging, denial about the severity of his actions ... Yep, all handed down to me. So I came out of my mothers womb destined to be a depressed, angry, violent, insecure Addict.
Since we're talking about childhood and childhood "trauma", I'm going to write about something only four people in my life know about. Two of whom are my parents and one of which is the ... Wow ... I can't believe I still cannot say or write the word. The other person is the "predator". I guess saying that word makes it too much of a reality. It's almost as if saying that word means I have to deal with it. So here goes ...
I was sexually abused as a child. I was about 4 years old and, at the time, had no idea what was happening. The sickest part of my situation was that the "predator" was my very close family member. (Someone is going to kill me for writing this). I still can't go into details but it went somethng like this ... He would tell me we were playing house. He would have me close my eyes and he would pretend to feed me fake food that he made in the pretend kitchen. I would close my eyes and open my mouth. I knew something was wrong. I know I did. Otherwise, why would I remember that this happened? My worst fears came true when I confronted my mother about my suspicions (on some level I didn't want to believe my memory was serving me right) and mom said that I had told her what happened as soon as it happened. At the time, this family member was living with us. Mom said that she confronted my father about what HE did and my father basically said that wasn't possible. He pulled that classic "children make things up all the time". Mom kicked them both out of the house but in a couple of days, she let my father back in. The family member packed up and left shortly after. He had no choice. Now this is the story my mom tells me. Do I believe it all? Nope.
So resentment is haunting. It's something most people do not know how to deal with. Sure, most can forgive but can you ever truly forget? Can I ever stop feeling the what if's? Why didn't my father believe his 4 year old daughter? How could my mother not take further action against HIM for what he did to me? How could they overlook something so terrible? What's really hard to grasp is that my mother was also abused ... far worse than me and by someone much closer to her. So why would she allow HIM to get away with sexually abusing me? No one even thought about sending me to a counselor. No one ever spoke to me about it again until I confronted the situation a couple of years ago.
It's hard to think that HE knew what he was doing. He's about 7-10 years older than me ... my numbers could be off. So at the time of the abuse, he was a teen ... a pre-teen at the least. Didn't he know that sexual behavior of that kind is inappropriate? For years I convinced myself not to say anything because I didn't want to ruin his life. And what I had to say could potentially ruin his life. BUT, was he ever thinking about ruining my life? During or after the acts? No he wasn't. He may not realize the impact his actions had on me but hey, I guess he will now huh?
I'm sure I'll want to get some more things off my chest about my childhood but I think I'm going to stop while I'm ahead. I just took a huge, scary step toward recovery. I never would have imagined that I'd be sharing so freely ... my childhood was damaging. It wasn't nearly as bad as the many others who are abused. But abuse in any form is traumatizing. If anyone ever hurts or touches you the wrong way, you have to tell someone. Resentment is not something anyone should live with so deal with the things that have a negative impact on you and the things that are just not right. Face them head on. That's something I never did and I have to now. It sucks. But that's life right? I'll tell you what it is ... "It's a recipe for addiction."
I'm Stephanie and I'm an addict.