I lied of course.
The first thing you're trained to do is never tell because the punishment will outweigh any help you receive. And people never really help, at least they didn't back then.
My mother would have been put in prison today but in the sixties and seventies people still believed in the adage "it's their kids they can do whatever they want".
Of course they didn't want their kids around those kind of children so you would become even more isolated by the sheer apathy.
This therapist tried to convince me the only way to free myself was to discuss events from my childhood, especially any sexual aspects, he was big on those, and have him dissect the information to give me his opinion of it.
I had no respect for this asshole, I had already played him and he had been found wanting.
No man who tries continuously to look down your blouse and give you the up down on your first meeting is going to be of any help to me whatsoever.
So I gave this highly educated, as he liked to point out, moron with a degree the standard answers and he bought it, gave me my certificate to be emancipated.
That was all I wanted or should I say needed from him. I wanted nothing.
This "educated "asshole had the fucking nerve to show up at the restaurant bar I worked at later that week to hit on me.
The fool thought I would be impressed by the fact that he was supposedly one of the "special"ones.
He may have thought highly of himself but all I saw was another asshole man with his dick in his hand.
He knew I was only fourteen but thought I was trash and would be grateful for attention from someone like him.
I poured a drink in his lap.
Men will never be superior as they have no control over their own bodies.
When they're born their hands go to their pathetic appendages and remain there for the rest of their lives.
How can anything that allows a tiny part of their makeup to rule their lives be considered superior in any way?
Back to subject, I'll share it here, I think it's safe here.
One good thing about the Internet is that no one really cares.
My earliest memory of my mother…
I was two or three years old, we lived in this apartment attached to a house.
It wasn't bad, especially compared to the other places we would live.
We had a babysitter when I was younger.
She used to lock me and my brother in the bedroom while she screwed her boyfriend on the couch.
It used to scare my brother with the noise they would make so I would sing to him to try and drown out the noise.
He thought she was being hurt because she was a screamer but even at that age I knew what was happening. I had enough aunts who were alcoholic and trashy that although I wasn't aware of it being a sexual act I knew they weren't being hurt.
Anyway my mother came home early one day because she didn't feel well and caught them.
She beat them all the way down the steps of our place and after that we no longer had a babysitter.
My mom just locked the door when she left and we would see her when we saw her.
We went hungry a lot.
My brother liked corn so she left a can of corn for us to eat each day.
It wasn't much so I usually let my brother have it. For lunch and dinner it was usually crackers and ketchup. Mom ate at work and being a narcissist because she wasn't hungry we couldn't be.
My mother until then was just a vague impression.
We really didn't see her that much.
One night she brought home a big bag of apples. She swung that bag out to us and laughed when we reached for it saying "Oh no you don't, this is my food and you better never touch my food. I work and I deserve this food because I earned it".
Then she put the bag in the refrigerator and said she was leaving any wouldn't be back for awhile.
My brother was still crying from the game of keep away and moaning about how hungry he was.
I went to the refrigerator and picked out the smallest apple and gave it to him.
He had only taken a couple of tiny bites, it was hard for a child that small to eat an apple, when the door burst open and there she stood.
She had only pretended to leave and was testing me.
She was standing over him screaming at him for stealing her food when I told her I took it and gave it to him.
He still wasn't talking or walking very well so I was protective of him.
She turned to me with a look I would come to know so well and said then why aren't you eating it?
I told her I wasn't hungry, a lie of course, but that he was crying because he was hungry.
She said so you think you're his mother you snot nosed bitch, You think you know what's best for him? She was looming over me talking in this very cold dead voice.
She swung and hit me full force in the face slamming me into the wall. Then she stood over me kicking me as I tried to crawl away. She grabbed my foot and dragged me face down across the floor into the bedroom. I remember dust and dirt getting in my mouth because I couldn't lift my head.
She snatched me up and threw me against the wall and I ended up on the bed.
I couldn't breathe because she had kicked me in the stomach so I just laid there looking up into her face that was full of pure hatred. She hit the bed beside my face once more turned off the light and slammed the door shut.
A little while later when I had caught my breathe I could hear her talking.
I was worried for my brother so I snuck over to the keyhole and looked out.
She was holding him on her lap and telling him to eat his apple while stroking his hair.
He looked completely happy and I was so confused I went back to the bed and started crying.
She must have heard me because she came into the room and sat on the bed.
She reached out to touch me and I flinched, I was still scared.
There was a look of confusion on her face and she kept saying what's wrong with you why are you crying?
Then a look of realization.
Are you jealous that I gave your brother an apple because he's good and your not?
She said "I can't believe you're so selfish."
It was like she didn't remember what had just happened.
Actually she had just decided that this would be the memory, it worked for her, she wasn't a bad mother I was just a selfish little bitch.
Then she leaned over and kissed me and whispered 'I'm sorry' in my ear.
It was the first and last time my mother apologized for beating me.
She went back out and told him loudly enough for me to hear, you get an apple because you're a good boy and she gets a whipping because she's bad.
He giggled then and said "She cry", She laughed and said you better believe she cried.
I'll teach her to be such a selfish bitch, she wanted your apple but I told her no.
They laughed then and I remember being confused because they thought it was funny to have been able to make me cry.
She was drawing him in and replacing the real memories with the ones she wanted him to have.
He was letting her. It was easier and she was nicer to him when she was cruel to me.
I understood then, the way it was going to be.
I felt a coldness come over my body, I didn't know it then but I had drawn my isolation tent around me. I knew I'd never give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry again.
And I didn't.
My brother was just a little kid I gave him a pass on it but it hurt worse than the hitting.
I think at first abusers hit their kids out of frustration, pent up anger whatever.
Then they get a taste for it.
No matter how hard I try, that is the first, but not the worst memory I have of my mother.
Like I say, they get a taste for it.
I know I have to forgive her, not for her sake but for mine.
I'm doing everything I can to accomplish this before she dies.
I want to be able to look in her eyes and tell her I forgive her.
I really want that.
Selfish I guess because it isn't for her sake but mine.
Maybe my mother was right.
Okay, I've bared my soul so to speak, maybe it'll help maybe it won't but there you are...
