Wanting Love when Encountering Hate and Violence
I think seeing her cry gives me satisfaction because my mother abandoned me too so I like seeing her react when I push her away from me. It's like I'm saying " you don't need me because I was okay with not having my mother raise me. I managed so why do you need a mother? Why are you so weak." I can't stand seeing her need me so much because I never had what I needed. I resent her needing me when I have no stamina to be there Emotionally.
It's 3:33. I've done it now, the fire is over. I feel shame and relief that I'm back. I hurt my daughter deeply, in ways I don't know if will ever be able to reverse. I've learnt a valuable lesson. That I don't want to be that way ever again. The pain I felt was excruciating, a sick exhilaration at seeing her suffer. Just as I did inside. I felt good about it, like my revenge on the world was justified. But it wasn't. It was doing harm and not good. As much as I wanted to relive the trauma, to know what it was like for me at that age to be rejected by my mother, my favorite sight, smell, touch and sound in the world, and again be kicked for it over and over again, it was hell for me to see my own baby suffering. Inside the voices told me I was bad, scum. It felt like the truth. I was so stuck, I did not feel like doing anything. The voices were getting angrier and angrier, and I could not drown them out. I typed desperately into google, I want to kill my toddler to see what I could come up with that would make it more real, and telling myself it would scare me off. I saw a horror scene of a mother beating her 3 year old and I felt sickened and couldn't look. Sometimes, seeing the worst evil can make a person flee from it and want to stick to the good. I wanted to be the opposite of that evil, and have love in my life fully. I wanted to know that feeling of outpouring love in my heart that I have experienced in the past for the beautiful miracle I had- my daughter.
It was a lie, and against everything I had uncovered and worked on- the healing, the freedom from this mess in my mind, it still needed to reach my heart. My dejected, lonely icy heart that had been neglected for so long. My husband came home, and I poured out my story in pain. I felt frozen like I couldn't go on until I resolved it. It was like a metal tong hammering inside my brain not letting me rest. It was all I know. Everything I learned could not penetrate until I am ready for it. To stop feeling like a victim and to take control of my mind. The voices that stated I was bad, angry, and wrong. I told my husband about the way she had cried reminding me of my own crying- like I was trying to catch up to myself and running out of oxygen- when my mother beat me and my brother with her slipper and didn't stop when we cried. Until she had her satisfaction that we were put in place- that is, our souls broken to dust. That we had no will to listen to our hearts and only to her. He raged about that and said it was child abuse and no wonder I am so beaten down- first the adoption rejection, then this further crime. I felt heard and accepted his hug. I agreed to get a good therapist to help. I could not live this way.
It's 3:33. I've done it now, the fire is over. I feel shame and relief that I'm back. I hurt my daughter deeply, in ways I don't know if will ever be able to reverse. I've learnt a valuable lesson. That I don't want to be that way ever again. The pain I felt was excruciating, a sick exhilaration at seeing her suffer. Just as I did inside. I felt good about it, like my revenge on the world was justified. But it wasn't. It was doing harm and not good. As much as I wanted to relive the trauma, to know what it was like for me at that age to be rejected by my mother, my favorite sight, smell, touch and sound in the world, and again be kicked for it over and over again, it was hell for me to see my own baby suffering. Inside the voices told me I was bad, scum. It felt like the truth. I was so stuck, I did not feel like doing anything. The voices were getting angrier and angrier, and I could not drown them out. I typed desperately into google, I want to kill my toddler to see what I could come up with that would make it more real, and telling myself it would scare me off. I saw a horror scene of a mother beating her 3 year old and I felt sickened and couldn't look. Sometimes, seeing the worst evil can make a person flee from it and want to stick to the good. I wanted to be the opposite of that evil, and have love in my life fully. I wanted to know that feeling of outpouring love in my heart that I have experienced in the past for the beautiful miracle I had- my daughter.
It was a lie, and against everything I had uncovered and worked on- the healing, the freedom from this mess in my mind, it still needed to reach my heart. My dejected, lonely icy heart that had been neglected for so long. My husband came home, and I poured out my story in pain. I felt frozen like I couldn't go on until I resolved it. It was like a metal tong hammering inside my brain not letting me rest. It was all I know. Everything I learned could not penetrate until I am ready for it. To stop feeling like a victim and to take control of my mind. The voices that stated I was bad, angry, and wrong. I told my husband about the way she had cried reminding me of my own crying- like I was trying to catch up to myself and running out of oxygen- when my mother beat me and my brother with her slipper and didn't stop when we cried. Until she had her satisfaction that we were put in place- that is, our souls broken to dust. That we had no will to listen to our hearts and only to her. He raged about that and said it was child abuse and no wonder I am so beaten down- first the adoption rejection, then this further crime. I felt heard and accepted his hug. I agreed to get a good therapist to help. I could not live this way.
I hugged my daughter tightly and she smiled a lot. I knew her soul had not forgotten what had happened, it was just too devastating. I told her I would never hurt her again. She giggled and pushed me. We all went out for lunch and it was delightful to be me again. I deserve a treat for being strong all the years. I will let my anger be allowed next time, instead of screaming on my innocent daughter. It is me, not her. I am not allowing a part of myself to be heard, and further fragmenting it from myself- the anger and isolation of being abused by my mother. I need to love it, and let it go instead of keeping it frozen in time. I want to be love, and not hate. I want it so bad that my pain does not let me go until I see it.
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