Finding the strength…continued. 

My mother went to her therapy session and didn’t speak about it until the day before her next one. She came upstairs and told me that her therapist told her that she’s (my mom) not a mind reader and that I have to tell her what I’m needing out of her. 

She then proceeded to ask me questions, details, about the abuse that occurred. I clammed up, physically, mentally, emotionally, and told her that I can’t talk about it because I was getting really triggered. I asked her if she knew what that meant. She chose not to answer that question and deflected to something else. It eventually got to the point where I was begging her to stop, to stop talking, stop trying to get details, stop invading my boundaries, but she just kept pushing on because she didn’t hear any of that. 

I was so miserable being in my own body, all I could do was crouch down and grab my hair and keep from screaming because I couldn’t even stand the skin on my own body. To try to get my mother to understand how triggered I was (and she said that she “knew what triggered means”) I said, “Well, all I want to do right now is drive my car into a fucking tree.” She had no reaction. She was just upset at how angry I was at her. Which really wasn’t anger. It was more despair and hopelessness than anything. 

The conversation ended abruptly when she said that my best friends, my closest friends that know me almost as well as my therapist and are supportive as hell and would kill for me, don’t know the “real” me, the “hostile” me. 

I visited with my friends – the ones who don’t know me well – and they talked me off the ledge. Quite literally. I also got in touch with my therapist via email just to let her know what was going on. 

To add horrible insult to a gaping hole of an injury: my boyfriend told me that he intentionally didn’t answer my texts or calls that day – the day when I was in so much despair – because he said he could tell “from my text messages” that I was angry. And he didn’t want to speak to me when I was angry. When I told him that I was in despair and hopeless, not angry, he argued that it was the same thing for him, but I told him it’s not for me. He didn’t believe me, because he did not believe my own perceptions of my own emotions. 

He has spent too much time with my mother. She spent months planting a bug in his ear about how easily I get angry and how loving and caring and altruistic she is. 

I have stayed with my best friend the past few days because I have been in too much despair to be home. She came with me back to the house last night to get a couple things and when she heard my mother and I getting into it, she came downstairs. We all, all three of us, argued for over an hour. My mother claimed she followed me after I said I was suicidal but all of the places she said she went were totally incorrect, so she was lying. She screamed at me when she asked more questions as a request for details about the abuse and I said that I couldn’t talk about it. 

The conversation eventually ended cordially but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Nothing has really changed. And my boyfriend still won’t talk to me for some reason, and I don’t understand what I did wrong, and I can’t get him to talk to me. I finally got in touch with his friend today just to make sure he was ok, which he is. But this is all tearing me apart. My boyfriend is standing up for my mother rather than me, because he has only seen the side of her that is happy and sweet and unconditionally loving. 

And I feel like I have gone crazy and like everything and anyone that gets too close to me falls apart. 


3 thoughts on “Finding the strength…continued. 

  1. Oh, well, crap. What fresh hell is this? I hate everything that happened and I know what it’s like when you are stuck in a hall of mirrors – you feel like it’s bad, it’s crazy, it’s not okay, but no one else thinks so, in fact they think it’s YOUR fault you feel that way, which is easier to believe because it’s always been that way, right?

    Except it’s not. You’ve done a great job of describing everything. And it’s not you. It’s not you. It’s not you sensitivity or misunderstanding, it’s not your weakness or wanting too much of her. From my vantage point outside the hall of mirrors, there’s some bat shit crazy stuff happening, and I’m so sorry you have to endure it.

    What I want is for you to get away. Move in with your friends. Find a way. Get away get away get away. So you can both see the toxicity and get clear of it.

    But I also know that enduring what you are right now might be what pushes you to freedom.

    It’s not you. You aren’t alone. Keep going.

    1. Thank you, MMM. It’s good to hear from you. When I turn around and keep hearing that the problem is me, from my mother and now from my boyfriend (who I thought would be much more discerning and many of my good friends trusted him as well)… I keep coming up with the conclusion that the problem must be me.

      I’ve stayed at a friend’s house the past two nights. I own half of the house my mother is living in, and my horses are there. I want to live there – it is my dream home, and I could have bought and financed it on my own, but I chose to do it with my mother because it would make the payments even more affordable. Now I’m in a horrible position. I’m backed in a corner…Don’t know how to get out yet.

  2. Kashley, I am so sorry you are struggling….it breaks my heart, because it is so not your fault, none of it. It’s useless to expect acceptance from your mother right now. You need to take care of yourself and believe in the awesome strength you possess! You continue to survive, which is a huge testament to that strength. I’m proud of you and I hope since this last post, you have found some relief from the battle! God is looking out for you, TRUST in that.

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