Survivor of Abuse from Mother
Hi everyone,
I have lurked on this website for a while. I can't thank you enough for providing the information and stories you have given. In fact, you stories have inspired me to share my own here. As a caveat, I should say that I am failing to get to sleep and wishing that I could but knowing that I can't take the analysis paralysis fueling my insomnia anymore. So here goes. Here is my story:
My mother made me her husband. She groomed for this from the time I was young. She taught how to talk to her, where to touch her, down to every last detail: even to how to react properly to what she felt. I was the middle child, so I was used to taking on roles. My family quickly fell apart when my younger sister died leading to divorce and older siblings leaving home early. I was all that was left besides my younger brother. So, my mother and I made the best of it. Or rather, she made the best of me, and I made the best of that.
When I was very little, she would con me into touching her inappropriately by having me play with my toy cars on her back. She surreptitiously guided my play to her private areas. At first, she would undo her bra so that I could "drive freely" on her back. This led to her lowering her underwear and so on.
Unfortunately, there are still some holes in my memories, so I remember how it started and how it ended mostly and some stuff in the middle.
Anyway, as I grew older, I began to resemble my father physically more and more. She obviously found this very attractive and concocted more ways for me to touch her. My mother was ravenous for attention and she always found a way of turning seemingly altruistic gifts into her pleasure. For example, I remember her buying me a set of brushes and paint when I was in middle school. I was so excited. Then the conning began. She insisted that I paint her. More and more, she became demanding that I draw her, paint her, sketch her for hours at a time. She would pose in less and less clothing. I think as long as she had someone staring at her, feeding her the attention she so desperately lacked, she was happy.
And here's the strange part of it all. Without discounting the experiences of other, I would like to say that I think the type of abuse I experienced was more intimate than others. Because it wasn't just abuse, it was an ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP! I thought of my mother and I as a unit. I found out later that my other siblings, even the ones that left home, were constantly jealous of the attention I was getting. If they only knew...
As a result of this intense relationship with my mother, so many of my other relationships have failed. I either move too fast or am too distant. In long term relationships, I even find myself disgusted with sex with the person after a while. I think it is because I always become more submissive than is comfortable for me in the relationship and then I view sex with that person as tantamount to sex with my mother and I am disgusted with myself. I am still working on that one. But I find that the right amount of autonomy makes me feel intimate and yet still feel like it is a choice when I have sex.
I am still so angry at other people in my life for not stopping this relationship. My father. My older sister. I wish I could have stopped playing the role she cast me in sooner, but I always went back to it, to her, and thus to the abuse. What's more is that teachers, other parents, friends loved my mother. She was very charming.
It's been four years since we've spoken. In the past, I have even found myself mourning the loss of this relationship, because regardless of how negative and toxic it was, I guess it was the only kind of love I knew for a very long time. Sort of a catch 22 though, because the toxicity of that relationship prevented me from having other successful relationships. So I often found myself tangled back into her web from sheer loneliness, and even while I was an adult, she would still try to initiate sex with me (Once even in front of my current partner of 7 years). She was just obsessed with me in every way. Maybe she was just obsessed with the idea of loving with no boundaries no matter who it hurt. After all, she insisted that secrets never be kept no matter what.
Okay, not sure why, but I just had to get that off my chest. Here's hoping for sleep and some silencing of those racing thoughts zinging in and around my head like a cranial pinball machine.
Thanks again
rileyfinn
I have lurked on this website for a while. I can't thank you enough for providing the information and stories you have given. In fact, you stories have inspired me to share my own here. As a caveat, I should say that I am failing to get to sleep and wishing that I could but knowing that I can't take the analysis paralysis fueling my insomnia anymore. So here goes. Here is my story:
My mother made me her husband. She groomed for this from the time I was young. She taught how to talk to her, where to touch her, down to every last detail: even to how to react properly to what she felt. I was the middle child, so I was used to taking on roles. My family quickly fell apart when my younger sister died leading to divorce and older siblings leaving home early. I was all that was left besides my younger brother. So, my mother and I made the best of it. Or rather, she made the best of me, and I made the best of that.
When I was very little, she would con me into touching her inappropriately by having me play with my toy cars on her back. She surreptitiously guided my play to her private areas. At first, she would undo her bra so that I could "drive freely" on her back. This led to her lowering her underwear and so on.
Unfortunately, there are still some holes in my memories, so I remember how it started and how it ended mostly and some stuff in the middle.
Anyway, as I grew older, I began to resemble my father physically more and more. She obviously found this very attractive and concocted more ways for me to touch her. My mother was ravenous for attention and she always found a way of turning seemingly altruistic gifts into her pleasure. For example, I remember her buying me a set of brushes and paint when I was in middle school. I was so excited. Then the conning began. She insisted that I paint her. More and more, she became demanding that I draw her, paint her, sketch her for hours at a time. She would pose in less and less clothing. I think as long as she had someone staring at her, feeding her the attention she so desperately lacked, she was happy.
And here's the strange part of it all. Without discounting the experiences of other, I would like to say that I think the type of abuse I experienced was more intimate than others. Because it wasn't just abuse, it was an ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP! I thought of my mother and I as a unit. I found out later that my other siblings, even the ones that left home, were constantly jealous of the attention I was getting. If they only knew...
As a result of this intense relationship with my mother, so many of my other relationships have failed. I either move too fast or am too distant. In long term relationships, I even find myself disgusted with sex with the person after a while. I think it is because I always become more submissive than is comfortable for me in the relationship and then I view sex with that person as tantamount to sex with my mother and I am disgusted with myself. I am still working on that one. But I find that the right amount of autonomy makes me feel intimate and yet still feel like it is a choice when I have sex.
I am still so angry at other people in my life for not stopping this relationship. My father. My older sister. I wish I could have stopped playing the role she cast me in sooner, but I always went back to it, to her, and thus to the abuse. What's more is that teachers, other parents, friends loved my mother. She was very charming.
It's been four years since we've spoken. In the past, I have even found myself mourning the loss of this relationship, because regardless of how negative and toxic it was, I guess it was the only kind of love I knew for a very long time. Sort of a catch 22 though, because the toxicity of that relationship prevented me from having other successful relationships. So I often found myself tangled back into her web from sheer loneliness, and even while I was an adult, she would still try to initiate sex with me (Once even in front of my current partner of 7 years). She was just obsessed with me in every way. Maybe she was just obsessed with the idea of loving with no boundaries no matter who it hurt. After all, she insisted that secrets never be kept no matter what.
Okay, not sure why, but I just had to get that off my chest. Here's hoping for sleep and some silencing of those racing thoughts zinging in and around my head like a cranial pinball machine.
Thanks again
rileyfinn
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