Don’t Leave Me

I’ve been alone with my thoughts for awhile this morning, and I just had a very deep realization. My mom has left more than once. She would be angry. I’d have no idea what I did wrong most of the time. I’d think back to something I’d done or said before and explain to myself that this was why. When I was about 11 years old and my brother was 10, she had one of those days. She was angry and yelling and throwing things. We snuck out through the back door and ran about 3 miles, in our bare feet, on a rock road, to our Grandma’s house. This did not turn out to be a wise choice because Grandma called our mother. Fortunately, by the time we were taken home, our dad was home. We got the silent treatment from her. She wouldn’t even look at me. I drew her a picture and wrote her a poem to say I was sorry. I’d made a home made envelope to put my note in and I peeked around the corner when I saw her get up to go get her morning coffee. She threw it in the garbage can without even opening it. She never had any problems calling me a “bitch” a “slut” or plenty of other cruel things. She would yank me out of the bed I was sleeping in and drag me by my hair. Slap my face hard enough she busted my lip open. I walked on eggshells most of my childhood around her. Always wondering what will her mood be now? As a teenager, I completely rebelled. She couldn’t hurt me anymore. I moved out when I was 17 years old. My relationship with her actually got a lot better after my first child was born. She was doing really well and seemed to have completely changed. I think she had, for awhile. About 4 years ago, she started taking a whole variety of prescription meds she got from different “doctors”. She changed into someone I recognized well from my childhood. She could look at me and spew the most hateful things from her mouth and I’d look into her eyes and all I saw was empty nothing. She didn’t give any fucks about me anymore. Or my children. When we finally had to tell her no more, I had to take her to court and ask for a restraining order…against my own mother. Once this happened, she began a war to hurt me in any way that she could. She called child services and claimed I abused my kids. She accused me of still being an addict. I had a brief struggle years ago, but never again. I will never be my mother!!! She turned people who were like family against me with lies she told. She would come over and try to get into our house. Our kids hid in their rooms while she screamed that she would kill everyone inside if we didn’t open the door. She kicked and broke most of my yard lights around my flower bed. Killed a bunch of my flowers by pulling or kicking them out. There was a period of time when I had to prepare my children on where to go hide if my mother came to the house and got inside. There’s so much I could write here, but I think I’ve gotten into it enough for now.

I realized, I have trauma from this. It occurred to me that maybe this is why I’m so afraid that my husband might not love me when I screw up. Maybe this is why I’m so afraid to look into his eyes and not see his love for me in them, even when I’m wrong. Maybe this is also why I so want him to stand up to me before it gets bad. To stop me before I turn into a monster. I need to know that he is looking out for me, for us. I also need to know that he isn’t going to leave me. I have a real fear of that now. One that I didn’t have until the last few years. I never thought of myself as needy or clingy at all. It is so reassuring to hear him remind me that he loves me. To look into his eyes and not ever see hatred. To feel his touch and know that his hands are always guided by love for me. Even when I’m in trouble. Even if he’s got me bent over with his belt on my behind. As long as I always know he loves me, and he’ll never leave me, I feel safe. When he gets upset, even if it comes to the damn belt, he still loves me and wants the very best for me.

I learned this about myself just now. Sitting on the deck, drinking my coffee. I figured out a little more about who I am, what I need, and even why.