I am grieving a woman, who as far I know, is not dead.
But, she is dead to me.
I’m grieving an entire abusive childhood.
I’m grieving a mother who wanted me abused, in the worst possible ways.
I’m grieving not having a mother who loved me.
I’m grieving not having safety, love, being cherished.
I’m grieving being made to be a mother, so young.
I’m grieving all the fear, pain, aloneness, anxiety, suicidal thoughts… all experienced so young.
I’m grieving a mother who failed in so many ways. Intentionally.
I’m grieving all the things a good mother and daughter do, I never experienced.
I’m grieving a mother who blamed and used me as the scapegoat, in such cruel ways.
I’m grieving all the tears I’ve cried.
I’m grieving a carefree childhood – where you can just be a child, I never had.
I’m grieving my innocence being stolen so young, and knowing my mother was complicit in it.
I’m grieving many layers of abuse, suffering, trauma, and neglect.
I’m grieving all the lifelong consequences, caused by this woman, who was my mother.
I’m grieving her, what she should have been, who she should have been and all she should of done.
I’m grieving a woman who gave birth to me, but was never in fact – a mother.
I’m grieving the safe arms and hugs, I never had.
I’m grieving who I may have been, if I’d had a good mother. Not a perfect mother, but good enough. I wonder who I would be now. I would probably be happy. I wouldn’t be feeling this pain I feel now.
I’m grieving a woman who is not even dead. But was simply an abusive woman, and not a mother.
I don’t have good memories or times to look back on, to cherish.
I only have pain, horrific memories and suffering, that haunts me still, night and day.
And I would rather be dead, than feel any more of this pain. Continue reading