"Hello, Mom?" *triggering*


When I started this journey I looked for validation from the more obvious sources...my brothers. I sought them out, each living in different cities, spread out, as far as they could get, comfortably, from the scene of the crime. Not too far but, far enough. Close enough so that in times of crisis they could come "home" in a day or less but far enough away so that they were not drawn into the never ending daily drama.

I asked the usual questions. "Do you remember?"

"I do not remember that much," an older brother admitted,"before the age of sixteen." Then he thought about it, "I've never really thought about it before. That is curious, isn't it?"

On discipline.

"Well," he said, "there was that time she broke the broomstick over my back. But," he went on, "I provoked her." As we talked he stopped, stared, said, "And, I remember her using the buckle end of dad's belt on us."

On protecting us.

"I remember her taking off, a lot." He said. "She would get him all pumped up then, just leave." A habit that left me unable to walk one July afternoon, laying on the floor of my bedroom. What did she imagine he was going to do, I wonder, as she lashed out at him repeatedly, was more than willing to tell anyone that cared to listen, how she would not put up with him hitting her but, did not share the same concern for her children.

After I disclosed.

"He did what he did to you, to get back at me. Because, you always gave the best hugs."

I disclosed to prevent her from agreeing to be his guardian, thereby releasing him from a court ordered psychiatric facility. The day after I disclosed, she signed the papers letting him out.

On being a mother.

I went up to the hospital every day to be with my brother as he was dying. She came up once a week, for an hour. The last time I saw her which, was nearly three years ago, was as he was dying and she was angry at me for spending so much time with him and, not her. "What about me?" She screamed at me.


Statistically, mothers are the primary care takers for their children...then, why, do you think, women, in a general sort of way, are so surprised that men grow up to be men?

Last year at this time I got a call from my sister-in-law. "Your mother is in the hospital," she said. "They do not think she is going to make it." I swear, I heard, "Ding dong the bitch is dead," in my head as we talked.

She presented with a heart attack, they gave her blood thinners then noticed that she had a bleeding ulcer. When I was a little boy, telling her that my stomach hurt (admittedly, omitting that the cause was from being raped) she would say, "You probably have an ulcer. Eat some crackers and have some milk."

The irony of her dying because of an ulcer was too cool. Too poetic. But, she lived. Damn.

Bitch, cunt, piece of shit...all accurate as she defends my father even after four of my siblings have died as a direct result of the misinformation, the abuse and the need to minimize it all in order to make it through the day...week, years.

"You are not a mother and, you will never understand," she said.

No, I don't. Because I cannot, as hard as I try, imagine what it is like to be that selfish.

"Hello, Mom? Fuck, you."




Member, Male

Different details, same mother - so many of us had her!

I don't know about you, but so much of what follows describes my own mother and while I was never really very interested in why she was what she was understanding her has helped me get passed the anger that I once felt.

Histrionic personality disorder, often abbreviated as HPD, is a type of personality disorder in which the affected individual displays an enduring pattern of attention-seeking and excessively dramatic behaviors beginning in early adulthood and present across a broad range of situations. Individuals with HPD are highly emotional, charming, energetic, manipulative, seductive, impulsive, erratic, and demanding.

Mental health professionals use the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders(the DSM) to diagnose mental disorders. The 2000 edition of this manual (the fourth edition text revision, also called the DSM-IV-TR) classifies HPD as a personality disorder. More specifically, HPD is classified as a Cluster B (dramatic, emotional, or erratic) personality disorder. The personality disorders which comprise Cluster B include histrionic, antisocial, borderline, and narcissistic.

HPD has a unique position among the personality disorders in that it is the only personality disorder explicitly connected to a patient's physical appearance. Researchers have found that HPD appears primarily in men and women with above-average physical appearances. Some research has suggested that the connection between HPD and physical appearance holds for women rather than for men. Both women and men with HPD express a strong need to be the center of attention. Individuals with HPD exaggerate, throw temper tantrums, and cry if they are not the center of attention. Patients with HPD are naive, gullible, have a low frustration threshold, and strong dependency needs.

Cognitive style can be defined as a way in which an individual works with and solves cognitive tasks such as reasoning, learning, thinking, understanding, making decisions, and using memory. The cognitive style of individuals with HPD is superficial and lacks detail. In their inter-personal relationships, individuals with HPD use dramatization with a goal of impressing others. The enduring pattern of their insincere and stormy relationships leads to impairment in social and occupational areas.



Member, Male
:D I don't dispute that for an instant!

For me, however, the longer I thought of my mother in those terms and the deeper my anger (rage) became. It wasn't until I realized that my anger kept me focused on her, and thereby preventing me from freely living my life, did I go looking for an explanation.

I didn't just want physical distance between us, I wanted to be rid of her without spending my days waiting for her to drop dead in order to feel free.

Well, she turned seventy this month - I haven't seen nor spoken to her in ten years now and she could live to be a thousand and it still would not bother me - I'm past her, there is nothing that she has the power to do to me anymore. I'm free!!!




Yea, I agree. This is her birth month though, she's eighty-one this year. It'll pass. :)



Hmmm? edit: to include the fact that as I re-read this post, I like the fact that my six year old picture is up there...that's kinda cool.

Happy birthday, Mom! How's that feel? Outliving four of your kids and, knowing you were partially responsible for their deaths?
Last edited by a moderator:

My mother died in 1981.
Sure am glad that I don't have to deal with her any longer. But it took me quite a few years to resolve my issues with her. For along time she was alive and well in my head.


I think I married your mother.

Hpd describes my wife to a T. Gives me some insight on how to better deal with her.

Greetings my brothers,
ttoon, pretty powerful, Joel, the same. Yes the very person whom is supposed to love, nurture, comfort, to teach, etc. Turns out to be the very first person whom have tried to destroy us. Or I should say destroyed us.

From what I have learned about my "mother" from an older cousin was as a young girl she wasn't a very happy person, always wanting to get away from her home life. So she probably already had a screw loose in her head, well before she married and i and my twin came into this world.

Did she have a mental disorder? Back in the 20's and 30's they didn't have all this medical knowledge. Did that cause her to treat me like she did? If so then why didn't she treat my younger sister the same way? Anyway, surely there is no justification for it. Just an evil person.

But I have in various other posts recorded on just how I was treated on the complete range of human abuse. I sent a letter to hell, addressed to her.

she has been long since dead, in hell along with my male sexual abusers too, I hope that they all enjoy each others company in hell.

Like it's posted above,
"who will cry for that little boy"

Heal well my brothers/friends.

Pete (Irishmoose)
Last edited by a moderator:


My mom was verbally abusive..and neglectful....she would go out clubbing leaving me, a 9 year old at the time, to watch my younger siblings who were 8, 3, and 2. She disappeared for two weeks when i was 9... she told my grandmother that she was going to the store to get some bread. After two weeks of the police trying to find her she came walking back through the door tanned from the Bahamas....and the audacity to have a loaf of bread in her hand. Then she had the nerve to get mad at my grandparents for deciding to keep us.

I hated her growing up and clung to my dad who came into my life as soon as my mom was not a daily occurence in my life. It was until I was in my twenties that I was able to forgive my mom. The funny thing is that she tells my wife that she knows that i hold a grudge against her. I'M THE ONLY ONE OF HER KIDS WHO HAS NOT CUSSED HER OUT AND TOLD HER THAT SHE'S NO GOOD. I'm the one who is actually decent towards her and has never thrown her lack of parenting skills in her face. HPD fits her big time.


This one is giving me a headache. I try to read everything. Part is to understand you. The other part is to understand me.

I have no actual memory of any abuse from her. I am the youngest of the kids.

When she died I spent about a week going through a grief process before I had to get back to work. I would stay at one place till I had to get up and drive some other place. During one of the drives a childlike voice came up inside and started singing......ding dong the witch is dead, the wicked witch, the wicked witch.

When I had told the other kids, no one argued or disagreed. there was a silent feel of agreement in the room.

I had no feelings attached to the voice. It did give me something to delve deeper into and carry me further. Just the little things that keep us going.

Now I have to ponder on this headache........smiling.