I've fallen under the trap of my narcissistic mother for years. I've done a lot of reading about emotional abuse from mothers over the years, but really finally feel like things make sense. I also have finally started to broach the idea that even as a teen - when I was into stupid pro-ana websites and crap because I honestly believed that I was in control of my life in that illness. But fuck, growing up and knowing that my mom conditioned and groomed me to believe that I was just a fucked up teenager who wanted a problem - that there was nothing really that wrong with me. How I carried that around with me for years and years - how I still do. How I let it consume me. How when I was put in the hospital she told the doctor I was dramatic - that I embellished stories. That i was okay. How one time in the car she just looked out the front windshield and told me that I needed too much.
I have been sick for almost 12 years. 2014 was the first time in my life where I started to make progress - real progress. Working with Lindsey and even that was hard because I literally believed I didn't deserve to be there. And fuck my mom for every putting that thought in my head. For making me feel like what I was going through was fake, that it didn't matter - that I didn't matter.
Most of all, I hate that sometimes I'll be driving in the car and the windows will be down because spring is coming and I'll think I can do this - I'm gonna be okay. And when I see Lindsey in 2016, things are going to be okay. But then I'm back in the house and I want to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.
Because these days, I feel that holding a gun to my head and pulling the trigger will give me the control I never found in my eating disorder.
Sorry, Lindsey.
No comments:
Post a Comment