March 3, 2016

Crying Can Cause Serious Side Effects

As mother continued to shred my mind with constant reminders that I was worthless and a curse, she would also punish me if I expressed myself, got angry, read too many books, spoke English at home or if my sister or brother did something that upset her.  I was a curse and an evil influence so even if I didn’t do anything wrong, it was still my fault. 

Most of her punishments involved pulling my hair, slapping me around, or her personal favorite telling me what a miserable evil, stupid, ugly, worthless girl I was and she didn't know what she had done in life to be cursed with me.

As a child I would react as most children would.  I cried.  I was not allowed to cry.  Mother would hit me until I stopped crying.  She would literally scream at me to stop crying while she hit me.  Slowly, with time and practice, I learned to endure all of her punishments and cruel words without crying.

After each punishment or rant about how horrible I was, I would take a shower and cleanse myself of her touch and words.  During these showers I developed a great skill of crying in silence.  Many times I would put my hand over my mouth to stifle any sound.  With time I learned to cry without making a sound.

One day while out window shopping with my best friend, I saw a pink diary with a little lock.  For two dollars I found a way to express myself in silence and in privacy.

It felt wonderful to be able to let out my sadness, anger and fear through writing.  My diary became the most important thing in my life as a child.  My diary held my damaged mind and my dying spirit.  The pink fake leather was stained with my silent tears.

I thought I found a great hiding place for my diary in one of the closets in an old box.  I hadn't hid it well enough.  When I came home from bike riding with my best friend one day and saw mother sitting on the sofa holding my diary, I felt myself die inside.

Of course mother couldn't read English well enough to understand what I had written, but Grace was more than happy to translate everything for her.  She even spiced it up with exaggerations and lies.

Before tearing my diary up into little pieces, mother reminded me that she wished I was never born.  It appeared mother's idea of being a good mother was feeding me and making sure I had clothes to wear since she ranted about how hard she worked to feed and clothe me.  In return for feeding and putting clothes on my back, I had the audacity to write about how I hated her punishments and how much pain I was in.

According to mother I didn't know what pain was.  Maybe one day I would give birth to a demon and know what real pain was.  Maybe then I would understand what a living hell I had made her life.
I would enter adulthood without any skills in expressing my thoughts or emotions.  I was terrified to share my feelings with anyone.  I was terrified to let anyone see or hear me cry.

Even when I had my own apartment, I was paranoid that one of my neighbors would hear me cry and tell my mother and she would come and punish me.  I would remind myself that my neighbors didn’t know my mother, or even met her.  But I was scared that maybe my mother or sister followed me home one day and talked to my neighbors and told them I was a demon and if I cried they should call either my mother or sister.

If friends did something or said something that hurt my feelings, I never said anything.  I would either stay quiet or laugh and tell them they were right.  I would wait until I went home and took a shower and cried in silence.

Whenever I became angry, whether it was at work or out with my friends, I would find an excuse to go to the bathroom and I would silently cry.  I cried because I was frustrated with my inability to speak to people.  I cried because fear had silenced me and I didn't know how to stop being scared.

As I got a little older if someone did or said something that hurt me, I would either remain silent, or if I was hurting enough, I would write them a letter.  I always mailed my letters.  I never had the courage to give my handwritten thoughts to someone in person.

After writing a letter to someone expressing my feelings and thoughts, I would torture myself until I heard from them.  I would tell myself I was stupid for letting someone know how I felt.  I constantly promised myself that I would never tell anyone how I felt again.

Eventually I would lose friends and boyfriends.   I was convinced that it was because mother was right about no one ever being able to love me because I was worthless and evil.

My mind was so damaged from years of mental and emotional abuse I wasn't able to acknowledge that I was losing friends and boyfriends because of my dysfunctional behavior.  I didn't know yet how deeply I was damaged.  I thought all people who were not meant to be born were like me.

For years I allowed people to verbally and emotionally abuse me because it's what I was familiar with and a part me felt that I deserved it for either bothering people or expecting people to care about me.

When I lost friends or boyfriends because of my dysfunctional behavior, I would immediately revert back to thoughts of suicide.   I would get so depressed thinking about the dark and lonely life I was destined to live.

Mother had turned me into an emotional mute and I didn't know how I would ever learn to communicate without fear of retribution.

1 comment :

  1. I can identify with this. You brought up memories of doing and feeling similar experience.