We need to explore the old trauma, from mum. Make a list of the things she did and said. Examples are:
- Especially the one where we came home to each of us having a suicide note. There was a family friend who had come round who was freaking out. I remember saying to him, it’s ok don’t worry, she does this all the time.
- And the one where she took a bunch of pills or something and lay down in the bath for my little sister to find, she was 17. A short while after that my sister disowned her. She’d gone through a lot worse than I had, I think that’s when I realised that this was actual abuse, when I saw what she did to my sister and how hard she’s try to make us hate her. My sister said she’d done the same for me too
Constantly kicking me out at every opportunity:
- the day after I’d stayed at a gfs house
- the day after I’d stayed at my dad’s house
- the same day I spent a few hours at a gfs house
- but crying as I left saying I could come back whenever I’m ready, what a headfuck. I realise, in hindsight, that this was for show — it only happened once, on the day my dad picked me up.
Eventually I got my own place from the council. School was about 3 hours from town away depending on buses so I didn’t do so well. I got into drugs pretty heavy after that. I was a very naive kid, full of optimism. Ended up with some bad people on the worst drugs and thought they were my friends. (but that naivete has helped in the long run, I don’t have any trauma from hanging out with them, actually quite a few really good memories)
I remember having a weird complexion in my head about the suicide thing. I remember sitting in a graveyard and writing a poem about how this is where she was meant to be. I think that part of me believed that she was going to kill herself, and it happened so often that something didn’t compute — like, so why wasn’t she dead then. I also remember sitting in a fish and chip shop with a partner, while she was out killing herself, that’s all we know. I didn’t whether my mum was alive or dead, Schrödinger’s suicidal mother.
A big part of me just wants to keep this unremembered because it took a really long time to get over all the trauma. But I don’t think I ever did get over it really. I think it affected my self confidence and, especially, my idea of myself for the rest of my life. But during the decade and a half or so that I kept it all in my head I was unhappy, I thought, “I’m a fuck up but there’s a reason for it”. But I still felt and acted like a fuck up, so eventually I decided that to get over it, I would forgive her and let myself forget to get over it, which I did.
It had been a long time since … then I went to visit and … [birthday card]
The truth is, even though I tell myself I’m over it, I think it still really affects me, ATM I’m working on myself and practising the affirmation “do want you want and don’t feel guilty”. I’m on furlough and have free reign to pretty much do whatever I like, but I still feel ashamed of myself if I stay up late or play video games all day. I still weigh up the day and, if I didn’t have a meaningful conversation with someone or do something to better myself, I tell myself the day was wasted. Like I deserve to be ashamed of myself. So I push myself to work and to learn, then when the day is nearly over I get desperate to actually relax. [I just deleted that last sentence after telling myself, “you’re just making excuses”, then realised that I’m doing it right now.
I’m approaching my mid thirties now and all this stuff happened so long ago. And I’m doing really well for myself: I have a good job that I’m really, really good at (I even did full freelance for a while, accounting and everything); I have a nice place I’m proud of; lots of friends; I’m different in a way that I like and people really like me; I have a “contagious” excitement; and I’ve always had a girlfriend if I wanted one. I’m not bragging, I just know I’m doing well in life.
But there’s still something inside me that tells me I’m a worthless fuck up.