#Freakyama waffle

[ghostalope]

getting used to living alone and not with my abuser has been kind of wild on reflection. Like I still get scared when I hear loud noises upstairs. Sometimes I feel like I’m anticipating hearing her footsteps and trying to workout where she is, waiting for her to leave so I can go outside.

(Rambling abt abuse under the cut)

I think about how she used to tell me all the basic things I couldn’t do - she made out that I always messed it up, I was too disabled to do my laundry, or shopping, or whatever. Basic shit I wasn’t allowed to do because she could use it to complain on Facebook about how hard her life was, because of me. I think about how easy it’s been. I could always do it - maybe I’m such half a person, but she made me out to be such a slither of a person. It’s strange to realise you are more alive than you thought.

I booked my first dental appointment in 9 years yesterday - It feels embarrassing. I used to beg her to take me to the dentist, but she wouldn’t let me. At first I understood, because it’s expensive, but then I find out we had the money. She had my money for my disabilities, and she kept it for her. I don’t think she would’ve ever taken me to the dentist unless my teeth actually started to fall out - she didn’t take me to the opticians for 3 years - until I caused such a big fuss she couldn’t Facebook-mum her way out of. My pain only existed to her if she could get money from it, or use it to look like more of a victim. It’s weird not having her kill my plants out of spite when we fought her. I had this one plant I grew for five years, when I stopped talking to her, she’d killed it within the next week. She killed all my plants. I had about 20? 30? When I moved out I had one left. She’d use anything I used to cope against me - I was 18 and I begged her to let me go horse riding. We went a few times to groom the horses first, it was the only social interaction she’d let me experience in 5 years. But then I had a panic attack at the stables and she took it away as punishment.

It’s so strange to not live with that. I wonder if I’m too hard on her? I get my BPD from somewhere and it’s not my dad. I know how hard it is to have BPD, and not know what’s wrong with you. But also, I think about how she tried to kill me, said my dad would be ‘better off’ without me, how she’d pin me in corners and grab me during arguments when I’d try to leave. She’d film my breakdowns, play them back to me as a form of humiliation. She’d tell random people that I had an ED, and that I SH’d, and then she’d grab my arms and roll up my sleeves to show them. One time I refused. But only the once.

I’ve done some bad things because of my BPD, because I was being abused and I didn’t know it, but I think maybe being emotional and clingy on the internet is different to trying to kill someone? I don’t know. Am I as bad as her? I feel like I have some things inside me that say I’m not - my mother never said sorry when we were ‘close’. Her trying to kill me was nothing to her. She still tries to get to me. She sent me letters because I refused to talk to her, and she’d say ‘sorry’, but I don’t believe she knew why she was saying it. I’d try to tell her why I was so upset, and she’d say it wasn’t that bad, she’d get annoyed, she’d ice me. She was my primary carer and if I tried to tell her she was hurting me, no matter how gently, she’d stop talking to me for the week. I didn’t have anyone else and she knew that.

I try to hope it was subconscious - did she know she was hurting me? But she did so much to me. There’s a part of me that wonders if she knows, somewhere, exactly what she was doing. And then then I think about how much energy I have given to this woman - to trying not to hate her unfairly, and I wonder - has she ever given me such an understanding? I feel like I was always just a bad seed to her. I was just Difficult. I think she thought that when I was born. I was always a naughty kid, but I can’t remember why. I just remember being shouted at, I just remember being recorded. I just remember being a problem.

So it’s difficult. Living alone, I realise now how bad things were. There’s so much I think about, everyday I remember more. Everyday, I feel like it gets harder to understand her. I hear about what she does to my brother, my dad, and it’s hard. I consider myself quite understanding, and I have tried to understand her. But I feel like I can’t anymore. I don’t think she wants to be understood.

Idk. It’s hard to move from. I never thought this would happen to me. You never think - Oh I was abused. It doesn’t happen to you. It happens to other people, right? But doesn’t everything?

It feels like she’s a ghost in my flat. I’m haunted by the memories of how I’d live with her. I think it’s dying, but it’s slow. I have so many ghosts inside me. I hope one day, I’ll live alone and it will just be me.

[ghostalope]

seriously considering returning to christianity lately