I feel stupid every time I need to write about whyat happened, my internal critic rages at the thought of mentioning and witnessing my own abuse and life on paper. It always look so silly, who am I to write such shameful and disgusting things, where does my audacity come from, how dare I bring into light the secrets of my family, the secrets that must be kept, must me hushed into the deepest parts of ourselves until it turns to disgust and rage and misery.
My life was made on secrets, the shame of people that came before me, their addictions, false morals, lapsed judgments, and lies upon lies upon lies. When I was a child I knew death and fear from a very young age. My parents didn't really care to shield me from anything. They would bring me to funerals, make me stand at the open casket, staring at dead relatives or young children. For some reason, when I was very young my great grandparents were dying off and families small children died too. I have a big mix in my head about everything that was happenig at that time but I know what the end meant and how it felt from a very young age.
When I was four my father tried to kill my mother and me in a fit of madness, because he believed we would all reincarnate into a better world and into better bodies. He was mentaly sick and he often had such delusions, some of them resulting in him trying to off himself. Noone did anything, they just hushed it and pretended like it never happened, it was a usual routine. The fact that he tried to kill us was a family secret well kept and noone even tryed to call the cops. My mother left him for four moths only to return back to him and back to that apartment where it happened. I was never taken to therapy, noone ever asked me about what happened, all I got was that what happened in the family stays in the family, and I should forget what happened, I was gaslighted into believing that I don't remember anything. And I didn't, until I did. Sadly I did forget for many upcoming years until my aunt spoke of it again a couple of years back.
I remember running up the staircase in my apartment building screaming and trying to hide in the dark, falling on every step and feeling imense fear, I have nightmares like that to this day. I have the worst nightmares happening in that apartment and in that building complex.
My mother also had a very fun thing where she played with me pretending to be dead. We were playing and gigglying and goofing around when suddenly she dropped and stopped moving, at first I remember I was very confused what was happening and continued to poke her and ask her why she isn't moving, it continued until confusion broke into fear that broke into outright panic and hysteria. She wouldn't move, that b**** wouldn't move until I would get a nervous breakdown. And then she would ask me why am I crying so much and started laughing not to be so scared. She loved to scare me that if I don't behave she will die and I would be left with my crazy father to bring me up. She also threatened me that she would leave me with my father if I didn't listen to her. I new from a very young age about, death, about fear, and rage, so much rage.
I developed panic attacks when I was 5 or 6, now I know why, but then I thougth that I was going to die any second. Images of me dead, grasping my last breath, just stopping to exist was a constant image in my head when the panic attacks happened, I had trauma from when I was a small child already, my mother didn't do anything. I don't remember her holding me or anything, I just remember how awkward it felt to be that way, that stare of awkwardness for her, maybe even anoyannce, I don't remember her holding me at all in those moments.
She gave a mouse that I had been keeping as a pet from when we were in the countryside helping out my grandparents process corn. SHe found that mouse under a pile of corn and I was so happy and pleaded to keep it. We kept it with a piece of bread in a small tight lid jar with holes. Until it escaped one day while I was playing with it. She gave it to the cat even if I screamed to leave the mouse alone and to not hurt it, she started laughing at me and was holding the moouse by it's tail while the cat was biting at it. I remember that was the first time I hit her, I was beyond myself, I was 8 or 9. I was hitting her as hard as I could, I was hitting her with my fists, I didn't care where I just wanted to punish her for how cruel she was. I got yelled at and shamed, I just remember the rage and shame.
She would break wooden cooking spoons on me just because I didn't want to listed and obey her demands, she used my fathers belt and she didn't really care what sdide of it was hitting me. I just remmeber running away from her trying to hide in a house and our apartment that was just too small to run away from her. I remember the slaps across my face and the arm twisting and grabbing, crushing my hand. I am amazed how noone gave a damn if I had bruises or scrathes and it always had to stay in the family. What happens at home stays at home. ONly one person in my entire life then payed attention to all of the bruises I had. It was a gynecologist my mother forced me to visit after she beat me because she was ''scared that I was pregnant because my period was late after my first sexual experience''. And my period was late because she beat me up as a dog when she found out I lost my virginity. She threatened me that if I tell anyone where all of the bruises came from she would go to jail and I would be left with my father and his insane family. She made me lie to the gynecologist that I fell down the satirs. The woman didn't believe me and told me that if I ever needed help or to talk to someone I could come to her. I never did that. I just let myself down, I was still protecting her, I was ''loyal''.
When I was in my 20s my father finally ended himself. That's when the fear of death returned, that's when everything started to return,that's when all of the walls of well kept secrets started to crumble down, that's when the insanity wasn't able to be hidden anymore.That's when my mother nearly killed me also. She was left alone with me in that apartment, with noone to pretend for, for noone to judge her for whatever she does to me. It was always night whenever the worst things happened with her, no wonder I'm hronically exausted and sleep deprived. I don't feel safe lying on a bed at night. Im so used to neglecting myself, I have neck issues to this day from when she pressed her knee on my throat trying to break it, I don't know what she was thinking doing that, I don't know what she was trying to acomplis because when I started loosing my consience I apparently uittered something and she let me go, she lifted her knee from my neck and as I grasped for air I crawled from under her and caugth her by the hair and started hitting her with my fists in the face. I don't know how long I was hitting her, I just remember seeing her face and wanting to destroy it. She bitt me on the finger, I still have visible scars from the bite. I really wanted to end her there, for everything to just end, for all of the disgusting ugliness to end and just stop. She just told me to stop. I remember the words echoinmg in my head, I just stopped.I had hair in my hands,blood was smeared from my bitten finger, I remember how much my hands hurt and then I just broke.I was manically crying, I remember I couldn't stop crying. She told me to go to bed and she will make me tea. I don't remember anything after that, I just remember some time after that she started with the abuse again provoking me that I tried to kill her and that I am insane just like my father.She threatened to call the cops and the doctors to lock me up. I never called the cops myself.
In the end I sued her after 10 years finally. I got a restraining order for her, it ended long ago now, and even if I got the case against her it's not enough what happened. I don't think that there will be ever anything sufficient to compansate for what she did to me. And I don't feel like a monster for waiting and being glad when she dies finally. I don't think I will ever be at peace as long as she is alive. That's something I have to live with every day and still find meaning for myself.
My life was made on secrets, the shame of people that came before me, their addictions, false morals, lapsed judgments, and lies upon lies upon lies. When I was a child I knew death and fear from a very young age. My parents didn't really care to shield me from anything. They would bring me to funerals, make me stand at the open casket, staring at dead relatives or young children. For some reason, when I was very young my great grandparents were dying off and families small children died too. I have a big mix in my head about everything that was happenig at that time but I know what the end meant and how it felt from a very young age.
When I was four my father tried to kill my mother and me in a fit of madness, because he believed we would all reincarnate into a better world and into better bodies. He was mentaly sick and he often had such delusions, some of them resulting in him trying to off himself. Noone did anything, they just hushed it and pretended like it never happened, it was a usual routine. The fact that he tried to kill us was a family secret well kept and noone even tryed to call the cops. My mother left him for four moths only to return back to him and back to that apartment where it happened. I was never taken to therapy, noone ever asked me about what happened, all I got was that what happened in the family stays in the family, and I should forget what happened, I was gaslighted into believing that I don't remember anything. And I didn't, until I did. Sadly I did forget for many upcoming years until my aunt spoke of it again a couple of years back.
I remember running up the staircase in my apartment building screaming and trying to hide in the dark, falling on every step and feeling imense fear, I have nightmares like that to this day. I have the worst nightmares happening in that apartment and in that building complex.
My mother also had a very fun thing where she played with me pretending to be dead. We were playing and gigglying and goofing around when suddenly she dropped and stopped moving, at first I remember I was very confused what was happening and continued to poke her and ask her why she isn't moving, it continued until confusion broke into fear that broke into outright panic and hysteria. She wouldn't move, that b**** wouldn't move until I would get a nervous breakdown. And then she would ask me why am I crying so much and started laughing not to be so scared. She loved to scare me that if I don't behave she will die and I would be left with my crazy father to bring me up. She also threatened me that she would leave me with my father if I didn't listen to her. I new from a very young age about, death, about fear, and rage, so much rage.
I developed panic attacks when I was 5 or 6, now I know why, but then I thougth that I was going to die any second. Images of me dead, grasping my last breath, just stopping to exist was a constant image in my head when the panic attacks happened, I had trauma from when I was a small child already, my mother didn't do anything. I don't remember her holding me or anything, I just remember how awkward it felt to be that way, that stare of awkwardness for her, maybe even anoyannce, I don't remember her holding me at all in those moments.
She gave a mouse that I had been keeping as a pet from when we were in the countryside helping out my grandparents process corn. SHe found that mouse under a pile of corn and I was so happy and pleaded to keep it. We kept it with a piece of bread in a small tight lid jar with holes. Until it escaped one day while I was playing with it. She gave it to the cat even if I screamed to leave the mouse alone and to not hurt it, she started laughing at me and was holding the moouse by it's tail while the cat was biting at it. I remember that was the first time I hit her, I was beyond myself, I was 8 or 9. I was hitting her as hard as I could, I was hitting her with my fists, I didn't care where I just wanted to punish her for how cruel she was. I got yelled at and shamed, I just remember the rage and shame.
She would break wooden cooking spoons on me just because I didn't want to listed and obey her demands, she used my fathers belt and she didn't really care what sdide of it was hitting me. I just remmeber running away from her trying to hide in a house and our apartment that was just too small to run away from her. I remember the slaps across my face and the arm twisting and grabbing, crushing my hand. I am amazed how noone gave a damn if I had bruises or scrathes and it always had to stay in the family. What happens at home stays at home. ONly one person in my entire life then payed attention to all of the bruises I had. It was a gynecologist my mother forced me to visit after she beat me because she was ''scared that I was pregnant because my period was late after my first sexual experience''. And my period was late because she beat me up as a dog when she found out I lost my virginity. She threatened me that if I tell anyone where all of the bruises came from she would go to jail and I would be left with my father and his insane family. She made me lie to the gynecologist that I fell down the satirs. The woman didn't believe me and told me that if I ever needed help or to talk to someone I could come to her. I never did that. I just let myself down, I was still protecting her, I was ''loyal''.
When I was in my 20s my father finally ended himself. That's when the fear of death returned, that's when everything started to return,that's when all of the walls of well kept secrets started to crumble down, that's when the insanity wasn't able to be hidden anymore.That's when my mother nearly killed me also. She was left alone with me in that apartment, with noone to pretend for, for noone to judge her for whatever she does to me. It was always night whenever the worst things happened with her, no wonder I'm hronically exausted and sleep deprived. I don't feel safe lying on a bed at night. Im so used to neglecting myself, I have neck issues to this day from when she pressed her knee on my throat trying to break it, I don't know what she was thinking doing that, I don't know what she was trying to acomplis because when I started loosing my consience I apparently uittered something and she let me go, she lifted her knee from my neck and as I grasped for air I crawled from under her and caugth her by the hair and started hitting her with my fists in the face. I don't know how long I was hitting her, I just remember seeing her face and wanting to destroy it. She bitt me on the finger, I still have visible scars from the bite. I really wanted to end her there, for everything to just end, for all of the disgusting ugliness to end and just stop. She just told me to stop. I remember the words echoinmg in my head, I just stopped.I had hair in my hands,blood was smeared from my bitten finger, I remember how much my hands hurt and then I just broke.I was manically crying, I remember I couldn't stop crying. She told me to go to bed and she will make me tea. I don't remember anything after that, I just remember some time after that she started with the abuse again provoking me that I tried to kill her and that I am insane just like my father.She threatened to call the cops and the doctors to lock me up. I never called the cops myself.
In the end I sued her after 10 years finally. I got a restraining order for her, it ended long ago now, and even if I got the case against her it's not enough what happened. I don't think that there will be ever anything sufficient to compansate for what she did to me. And I don't feel like a monster for waiting and being glad when she dies finally. I don't think I will ever be at peace as long as she is alive. That's something I have to live with every day and still find meaning for myself.
So, would help but it's not a must for neurodivergense awerness to be included.