How Fu*ked is that?

I just have to write this down, it won’t be a proper blog, more of a note that I will try to come back to and expand on.

I realised this morning when I was in the shower that the reason I eventually told my mother about the sexual inappropriateness from her (then) boyfriend was this:

I hoped that she would finally feel sorry for me.  She would realise how hurt I have been.  She would protect me.  She would suddenly realise on a deep level that I was abused and hurt and needed love and comfort.. or something like that. Obviously that was not the case at all and it all became about her and how she felt and how she felt like a bad mother (cue everyone reassuring her).  It brought more shame on me because then I was told by her not to ever tell any of my family about this, especially my grandmother as it would, and I quote, “give her a heart attack”. I then received texts from my stepdad telling me that my mother was so upset she wasn’t eating or sleeping. Poor her.

I think this is also why I ran to her every time my dad “rejected” me. This one actually did get me some “love” because she hates my dad so much and is so keen to be seen as the “better parent” and so I guess it did work to an extent.

Basically I’ve just realised that I almost played on my dramas, my traumas, whatever you want to call them with the hope that she would come and love me.

How fu*ked up is that?