What about when MOM is the abuser?

I am relatively new to the whole blog experience except for reading them. I have read quite a few different blogs about abuse and they are usually all are focused on when men are the abusers. That is fine as men are many times the abusive one. But it got me thinking about my own life and the question hit me. What about when MOM is the abuser? Take it even further. What about when MOM is the abuser and is a psychopath and a narcissist?

I ask those questions because that is exactly what my childhood consisted of. I will give a brief background so you can understand where I am coming from and my own biases and experiences. I will try to keep it very brief and to the point. There is a lot I will be leaving out.

I never knew until I was an adult the "term" for my mother. I never knew that other people did not have mothers like mine until I was older. Where to start...hmmm....I guess I should start with a description of sorts. My mother was not only psychopathic/narcissistic she was also hooked to prescription medications most of her adult life. She was also very intelligent and often knew as much or more about medical issues then did the nurses or doctors she encountered. My mother was also able to put on the most caring and sweet persona for people. When she would do this there was no way that people would believe ill of her. Until much later that is.

It Begins
When I was 5 or 6 I broke my leg (compound fracture that was put in a hip cast) while I was at home. Of course I yelled and cried and my mother came to see what had happened and it was obvious my leg was broken. She was upset naturally. She was upset at me for causing her an inconvenience in having to take me to the emergency room. She told me that she had errands to run and I would go to the hospital after they were done. So we piled into the car and went to the credit union. She made me walk in with her. Ouch to say the least. I walked around on that leg until she was done because she would not even let me sit in the car and wait.

That was the first major incident in my life that I can remember with her. There were minor incidents every day. Things like she would tie me to the chair to make me behave (tied as in for hours at a time), the constant yelling, degrading and what I now know is verbal and emotional abuse. This was just normal life to me though. My father never saw much of it because she would always yell at him to "do something with me" (more about him later).

It Gets Worse
When I was about 7 or 8 I was stung by a bee on my foot. I did not know I was allergic to bee stings. The reaction I had was scary to me. I had trouble breathing, swallowing, my foot swelled up and I was experiencing dizziness and finally passing in and out of consciousness. My mother did nothing except put me on the couch and put an ice bag on my head. Even after all these symptoms happened nothing. She knew exactly what was happening to me. This is the first time she attempted to "kill" me. Not by actively hurting me but by not doing something. And hey if I died it could be written off as an allergic reaction that it was and poor her as the grieving mother.

When I was 12 we were at one of her friends who lived about 1 hour away from us. My appendix exploded. Now she could have called an ambulance or taken me to the hospital herself right there in town. She said no. She told me she did not want to have to drive an hour to have to see me and we would be going home. So she called our hospital at home (an hour away) and told them she was on her way and was bringing me in and my appendix had ruptured. I was in and out of consciousness all the way to the hospital. I had to be resuscitated as I died on the table. This was the second time she had almost "killed" me.

Around this same age the marriage between my parents finally started in on its last legs. The arguing increased, the pettiness and spitefulness my mother displayed towards my father increased and it increased towards me because I was "just like him". I had to start doing the cooking for all of us as well as other duties that she normally did.

Through out my childhood and especially when I was a bit older I was either left alone or was with my mother, which was the same thing as being left alone in many ways. Let me explain what I mean. As a young child I frequently would have the run of the house because my mother would pass out. She would take her medications and not just go to sleep but pass out. More than once I watched her holding a glass full of Pepsi and she would go out and the entire glass would spill onto her and she would not even twitch.

With my mother like this as a young child I had to fend for myself. This was not a good thing for me. I got into things, broke things, wandered off, all sorts of things you would expect a young child left alone to do. The punishments for all of this were severe. I still have the scars from the stitches in my head from the punishment I received. My mother did not resort to physical violence as much as she did psychological torture. Favorite toy? Better not have one in my household. No pets for me either for the same reason. And she would not just ground me or take away toys or privileges. For instance, one day she was upset and locked me in my room (I had to have been about 6 at the oldest because of where we lived) and took my favorite toy AND a toy I had spent a few days making, decorating, etc and gave them to the neighbor kids to play with in my driveway while I looked on from my window. It went from just letting them play with them to having them destroy them when they were done with me looking on from my window, crying, yelling and upset. That is just one small example of how she would operate.

The Break Up
Now when I was in my teens my father finally could not take it anymore. I was in the yard raking leaves when my mother came screaming at me to "make him stay" as she was no longer able to manipulate him into staying any longer. So she drug me out to his car where he was packing things and tried to make me talk to him to guilt/coerce him into staying. He looked at me and apologized that he was leaving. He said he had hoped he could make it until I was an adult on my own but he just couldn't do it. What I did next earned me my mother's hatred. I looked at him and said, "I was wondering what was taking you so long to leave." Now understand that my mother was all about her, her needs, how she "looked" to others, etc. We lived in a house were we had a live band come and play at a party she once had. She was all about materialism, status; and when he left she set out to punish him every way she could think of.

That very day after he left she made me get into the car and go shopping with her. (Another torture for me. She used to make me go shopping with her every weekend to the clothing stores where she would spend hours and hours trying and buying clothes while I had to sit and wait and watch) She said he was not going to get away with this so easily. She went out and maxed out every single credit card he had on things. It got worse in the divorce. She made him take every single bill plus pay for her to get a "special" bed that ran into the thousands. Not to mention the fact that I never was allowed to see or speak with my father during this time so who knows what other things she was saying or doing as well.

Teens and Beyond
At this point my life went downhill with her even more. She would always be upset and wanting to yell at me. She would not just do it during the day but she would wait until I was asleep until she would come in and yell for hours and get upset when I was tired in school the next day.

I was allowed to run wild at this point. She sent me to, and I did, buy Quaaludes and marijuana from people I knew so she could have them without the risk of being caught buying them. She allowed me to pretty much do anything I wanted to do as long as I did not get arrested and continued to supply her with drugs and money. She was still just as abusive as ever though. She once ordered me to call my father and tell him to come get me and when I picked up the phone she grabbed it from me and broke the receiver over my head for doing what she told em to do. She was collecting support from my father but I had to work (and was still in high school) and she charged me weekly rent I had to give her. When I was 16 I was working for the complex we lived in and fell off the truck and fractured my skull on the curb (another near death experience for me). Luckily we were blocks from the hospital. The guy driving the truck was also drinking alcohol while driving it at work. Now my mother was seeing the guy in charge of the department and she wanted to be all nice so nothing was ever done or said about the accident even though it has had lifelong consequences. My father gave me a computer system and when I moved out at 18 she stole it and sold it. When I asked her why she replied she needed a car.

There is more but that is enough to make my point. Now through all these years no one ever spoke up and said anything about her. In fact as an adult I was frequently pressured by people to go visit or talk to my mother. That I had to "respect her" because she was my mother. Almost anytime the she came up as a topic I would hear people say things like that. Even AFTER I would tell them the everything. Because she gave birth to me it was like she was given special rights no matter what she did or how she acted. It did not matter that she would do things like tell me to "call your father" and when I would pick up the receiver she broke it over my head. It did not matter that the only thing that mattered to her was her. She had no conscience and was not above doing practically anything to get her way. Lying and manipulating people came as natural to her as an otter to water. And no one ever, until I got got much older, ever seemed to believe that she was capable of such things. A "mother" just could not do these things.

I did not see my mother for many many years after a certain point. I couldn't. It was not healthy for me. The few times I did try resulted in her trying to get something from me and manipulate me. Once I got older and had children I ceased all contact. Thankfully she died before my children were old enough to ask about her or interact with her. I attend her funeral and I hope that she is at peace.

This experience could easily have resulted in me being cynical about women in general. Which would have made me just as bad or worse than her. But I knew that not all men or women are bad or abusive. That "women" were not to blame for her, she was to blame for her.

The only "bitter" part that this left me with is the whole "but she is your mother" thing that people did and still do. It is wrong. Being a biological donor/giving birth to someone does not a mother make and it deserves no special respect unless that respect is earned. Period. People had no problems at all saying bad things about my father (when my mother would be bad mouthing him) and saying how I should just not go around him and other such things. Yet it is different with her. People also were quick to believe anything negative said about him yet reluctant to do the same for things said about her.

Well that is my story and my first post. The good news is that I have been with my wife for many years and hope I did a decent job with our children. I am also in the helping profession. After all these years I look back and now I can only feel sorry for my mother. It is a sad way to have to live ones entire life.