I can still see the past so vividly, so many years later? The humiliation, the pain I felt, all seems to be so present at times.
I have never talked about my childhood with anybody. Back then, in the ’60s and ’70s, child abuse was not something people openly talked about it. THINGS happened behind closed doors, and that’s where it stayed. I had contact with many adults and I often wonder what would have happened, if I would have confided in one of them, but I didn’t. Was it even abuse or just tough parenting? Perhaps somewhere in between and in the end, it won’t matter. It did harm me, not on the outside, but it left deep scars on the inside.
My mother, the beautiful, woman who held my life in her well-manicured hands, is still present in my life -even as a ghost. The power she has over me to this day is something I cannot explain. She died in 2010. I found out months later when I googled her name for the very first time. Her name was mentioned in a cancer magazine. They thanked her -and many others- who had left them money in their last will.
“She will never hurt me again.” That was my first thought, and I am not ashamed to confess I felt relief. For the first time in my life, I felt free but it didn’t last. She came back to haunt me at night -as she has always done.
I was a bad child, that’s what she always said, and to this day I cannot figure out what made me that bad. Was it the fact that I looked like my father. “You look just like him,” she often said, like it was a bad thing. “Stupid, lazy and piggish,” she called me for many years and I always hoped I wasn’t stupid.
One of my first memories, is me standing in my room. She made me spell out my name slowly and I had to could the letters in it. “8,” I said and she asked me to drop my pants. She would beat me 8 times with the carpet beater on my naked behind. After that, I had to go to bed. “Wait, until your Dad comes home,” she warned me, and I never made a sound. He never came into my room and I was glad the punishment didn’t continue. I pretended to sleep when someone opened the door. Years later I questioned if my father even knew.
I was 6 or 7 years old and I wonder what could I have done to deserve that kind of punishment? Nothing comes to mind. I was a bit chubby when I was little -something my Mother hated- and I had my clumsy moments. I forgot time -all the time. I was a dreamer, a loner and I loved to eat.
Sending me to bed hungry without dinner, that was something she loved to do. I am certain that my binge eating today has lots to do with it. Perhaps you become PIGGISH if you are forbidden to eat?
I did it. I wrote the first post about my childhood and it feels awkward. Like I am sharing a secret I wasn’t supposed to share. It also feels good. Perhaps there is light at the end of this tunnel and all of it will help me on my quest to better health.
Anyhow! Today is Day #1 of juicing