Soul Murder

January 13, 2007

My presence had to be invisible while growing up. My mother blamed me for nearly dying while giving birth and to just look at me would remind her of the event. Since I was present, she blamed me and not the doctor who caused her injuries.

My mother demanded I eat food I disliked, placing it in front of me and demanding under threat of a spanking to eat it. My tastes in food were irrelevant. I was irrelevant.

My mother did not tuck me into bed at night, did not tell me she loved me until I was 35, when she said she finally said she loved me and was sorry for not saying it before. She denied me the love a child deserves. I lived in a lonely and sad world with no hope.

My naps were forced and required whether I was tired or needed one. It was to get me out of the way. This meant what my biological needs were secondary to her wishes. I was to submit to her will.

My mother would ignore me, only to bark orders either in person or from a nearby room further distancing herself from me, making me an object that must obey her. When I grew older, she would express her displeasure by ignoring my birthday. She rejected my birth because it was painful at the time; she rejected my birthday as a way to inflict emotional pain on me in retribution.

My mother would blame me for any illness I had and as a child there were many. It was my fault she would say and would ignore my medical needs leaving them to my father who was at work and not home when she was. During a nasty bout of flu when I was 14, I was away from school for 11 days. I stayed in my room in the basement, while she stayed upstairs, usually in her bedroom. She did not feed or check on me during that time. That fell to my father before he left work, went home for lunch and after work.

My mother would abuse me by proxy starting at four when her mother (Oma) slapped and slugged me in the back seat of a car after I pointed out that I saw Opa, a man she recently divorced. She let it happen even after watching the violence from the front passenger seat. She would tell my father of any infraction and demand he spank me, which he did frequently. She would tell me repeatedly that I was going to be punished during the day. She made me afraid and anxious with as much value as a pet. She made me non-human.

My mother told me many times I had no right to feel anger or sadness. She denied me emotions. Her response to my sadness after Kennedy was shot was to slap me across the face in front of several others and say “Why are YOU sad? You have nothing to be sad about.” This showed me that my human reactions were unacceptable and this caused rage inside of me because I could not express myself in a human way. I had no validity as a human.

My mother knew first hand that I was sexually abuse by a female neighbor when we lived in California and I was in the first grade. She did nothing to stop it, except to watch as I was lead away by my molester. She punished and denigrated me and she was co-conspirator in the abuse. She became an enemy to me and defined females as an enemy to be feared.

My mother, during fights with my father would ask who I would go with when they divorced. This engendered fear of retribution if I said my father and made my basic existence in doubt. How would I survive? Where would I go? She maintained an insecure home and reminded me that she could, is she wanted to destroy my world.

My mother told me several times a week that I was stupid, especially after I would voice an opinion. This was meant to denigrate me and prevent me from speaking out in any manner.

My mother was unimpressed by my school work. She would rarely comment and if she did, it never positively. This was consistent throughout my life. For example on the eve of taking the Graduate Record Exam, my mother said to me, “Why bother. You aren’t going to pass.”

I became a loner; recluse at seven. I had to withdraw to survive at home. I became non-person, hidden in my room, unable to relate very well to others. I was able to inter-relate at school based on threats that if I did not, there would be consequences and I already experienced those first hand from my mother.

I was unable to see a positive future in the prison she created. I felt hopeless and helpless.

My mother was out to get me. She did not say it in those words or as directly but as an adult, I understood this just before her death in May when she started to sob and accuse me of trying to kill her when I was born. She wailed that I tried to kill her and asked my, “Why?”

What could I say, except to tell her that I was a fetus and then a newborn and I posed no threat to her. Her response was to sob more loudly accusing me of attempted murder and wringing her hands with tears falling from her face.

To the end, and forever she never let up in her punishment of me. Never. Now the punishment goes on in my mind. Not that I believe I was a bad person as she told me but that I go over my history and it brings up feelings and rage.

Maybe that was her goal.