Just when I think I have my past all figured out, a new wave of realisations come at me – like a tidal wave, knocking me off my feet, flat to floor, barely breathing.
I was so badly messed up as a teenager. Having already been abused, not having anyone to turn to, talk to, or anyone who cared, I looked for love and thought I found it, only for that to be the opposite of what I desperately needed.
I needed love, compassion, gentleness, kindness, caring and understanding. I was hurt, lonely, fragile, vulnerable, needy and wanted someone to protect me, love me and cherish me, like a Dad.
But, instead I was extensively groomed from 15 onwards, manipulated, set up, cruely had my weakest vulnerabilities as an already sexually and emotionally abused girl in a highly dysfunctional family fully exploited, removed from society, severely hurt, abused in every way, feared for my life many times and wanted to end my life nearly every day, as the pain was unbearable. I know it is a work of God that I am still here.
No-one came looking for me. It wasn’t like a kidnapping you see on TV – where there is a desperate family searching, media coverage and police investigating. It was worse. No-one cared. No-one was searching for me. Of course it helped that the psycho had manipulated me to appear to go willingly, and I did – thinking he loved me and would look after me. But that wasn’t his intentions at all. He was very clever in the way he made sure no-one would bother looking for me. He knew my family, knew they wouldn’t go to the Police. He knew they didnt care enough. In the end, when people who barely knew me, realised something was really wrong, they helped me and I was able to escape. Praise God.
But, it wasn’t my family who found me. Oh they made a huge ‘sacrifice’ to support me throughout my court hearing after someone phoned them suggesting they should be there for me, but made it very clear I was causing ‘them’ more problems. And they used all this against me later on, to excuse their failures, for ‘all the trouble I had always caused’.
They didn’t care how many times I was threatened by the psycho in captivity – threatened with mine & my family being badly hurt, or worse if I left. So I stayed because I believed the threats, was totally brainwashed and so fearful I did everything I was told. That way I got hurt less, unless of course pain was something on the menu that day. he njoyed inflicting pain, overpowering a weak girl, making me beg him to stop. I suffered pain so badly my mind dissociated severely and has blocked out several years of the torture, abuse and suffering.
My mother sat in the court room, listened to everything I had gone through. Listened to many witnesses confirming everything, including neighbours hearing screaming, crying and how terrified, thin and frail I always looked. Saw photographs of all my injuries being shown around the court room. She heard the police evidence stating what a psycho he was, how they believed and showed how he had groomed with intent to cause this suffering and how cleverly he had mastermined it all. He went to prison, proof enough of his intent to cause harm. Not nearly long enough jail time. Certainly not justice, but something. After the court hearing, my mother didn’t even hug me. She seemed embarrassed of me, like I had failed her yet again. Failed my family. Nothing but trouble and embarrassment, not worthy of even a hug.
The scapegoating and emotional abuse and rejection continued on for many years after that, until I couldn’t handle it anymore, no matter how much I loved my mother & sisters.
Myself and my husband started preparing for emigrating to another country for a new life, away from threats that had continued from the psycho after he was released from prison. Then my mother, who I had not spoken to for some time, got really sick and was in hospital. Despite everything, I didn’t even hesitate and against my husbands advice, went immediately to see her, hoping she was okay. She was in hospital quite badly ill and I travelled many miles every 2 days to go and see her. She got well enough to be relased from hospital and went back to where she lived.
I saw her one more time before I emigrated and told her I loved her. Last year I sent her a scrapbook, with some special photos of my children. It broke my heart making it.
I love my mother. Many tell me I shouldn’t. She wasn’t there for me in any way at all, she didn’t care about any of the abuse that ever happened to me. She treated me like I was tolerated and cruely allowed me to used for family jokes, scorn and blaming and yet she knew how much I loved her.
When she was ill and needed help, I was there for her, for as long as I could be, until I had to move to protect my family. Protection for my family – the type my mother had never given for me.
I still love my mother. I know I will be heartbroken when she dies. I have no contact with her, or any way to know if she is okay. I know a relative will tell me when the inevitable happens.
I am in too much pain for all the realisations I had protected myself from, all the denial I was in and suppressed for so long, to even remotely say I forgive my mother for all this yet. I know much of what had happened in my life, is down to her failures as a mother, and lack of caring. This is something that will take time and be a long process of grieving to get to the point where I am no longer so hurt having her as my mother.
But, the sad fact is, I still love her, always have and always will.
All I ever wanted and looked for was love.