Emotional Scars

A few days ago, Always Aroused Girl tweeted this link. I starred the tweet, curious to read what had hit home for her when I had the opportunity at home. This article hit home for me too. I waver back and forth between thinking I was emotionally abused as a child – am I making a big deal out of nothing? Maybe I’m too sensitive. Ah, but am I just saying that because I’ve been beat down emotionally and I don’t have faith in myself? Too many questions.

Although I suppose the most glaring example I can remember does shed light on my mother’s behavior being emotionally abusive. I was suicidal from a young age (8 or so, probably very telling in and of itself) and when I was 13 I actually attempted it. It was a lame-ass attempt – I drank twice the maximum dosage of Act fluoride rinse that it said on the bottle. Something like 4 or 6 metered doses. I told my mother shortly after, and she dragged me to the car to drive me to the emergency room. And the thing she said on the way to the hospital, which I have never forgiven her for and probably never will, is: “Why are you doing this to me?” I had attempted to end my own life, and through it all she just thought about herself.  I had to go through drinking syrup of ipecac, vomiting up the entire contents of my stomach, and sleeping the night in the hospital with an IV stuck in the bend in my arm, feeling more and more foolish when I had to tell hospital staff that I drank the fluoride rinse as an attempt to kill myself. And yet this was something being done to her – not a desperate cry for attention and help from me.

So from a young age, I wrestled internally with a desire to be taken care of, and a defiant attitude of “I don’t need anybody. I can take care of myself. The world can go fuck itself.” This weekend, between the article linked above and spending a weekend alone with a sprained wrist, I find myself wanting to push people away. I’m feeling defiant and like I don’t need anyone, but underneath it all is a strong desire to be taken care of (but I don’t think I really know how to be taken care of anyway). I keep setting myself up to do things that show me how self-sufficient I am (I got the laundry downstairs by myself with barely using my sprained left arm) and I’m not going to sit at home feeling helpless, I’m getting out and about today. Not going to try driving until tomorrow, but today I’m reveling in the freedom my feet and public transportation afford me.

But at the same time I feel terribly lonely.

After reading that article, I also had to ask myself if my submission and masochism is partly rooted in the emotional abuse of my childhood. I crave the opportunity to work for the love and approval of an authority figure in my life (my Dom). I am hard hit when we’re spending time together and he ignores me. (Not every single time, but when we’re supposed to be focused on each other and his attention wanders, which granted, is probably more down to him having attention deficit disorder than him wanting to ignore me.)  I remain a people pleaser, trying to keep everyone happy and to withdraw when I feel like I can’t do that. I don’t want to need anyone. I don’t want to still crave my mother’s love, affection and attention. I want to push this need away and deny that it’s there. Why? Probably because in many ways I don’t think I’ll ever be worthy of the love and attention I so crave. It hurts too much to want it. So I wish I didn’t want it.

As a teen, I didn’t attempt suicide again although I hoarded old medication and razor blades so I’d be prepared if I ever “got up the courage” to do it. I began cutting myself at some point after the suicide attempt. When I was nearly 16 I ended up in a psychiatric hospital for three months because I declared to my father that I was going to kill myself that night. I never really wanted to die. I just didn’t know how to live. I was hospitalized and it got me to a semi-stable place, but I was never medicated or anything to truly help clear up the depression. My relationship with my mother continued to be complex and unsatisfactory. I could write a book about my relationship with my mother. My father was a source of stability always, but he could be a little distant emotionally as well. I put that down to his damn Germanic & WASP back ground. My family’s not particularly affectionate.

When I was a teen – 14 or so – I helped a friend with a science project and as part of it she had to take my pulse – and I remember my heart soaring to have someone, anyone, touch me. I was so starved for touch. I still have a mixed relationship with touch – I crave it, I push it away, I seek out painful touch like beatings.

I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this entry, but I can see how I became this needy yet solitary adult. I don’t want to be needy, so I push everything away. But I still feel needy underneath it all. I want to be loved and I want to be able to open myself up to really and truly feel the love that there is in my life. But I think there’s always going to be a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m lovable.

I’ve been afraid to have children, because I’m afraid I’ll be like her and have them hate me as much as I’ve hated her off and on. (“Her” being my mother of course.) I want to be a mom, but I think deep down I don’t think I’ll ever be part of a family like I so want to. When I do find love and happiness I get so scared of it going away. And how would I cope if it went away? And isn’t it inevitable that it will go away and I’ll be alone?

After writing all this I have to laugh a little at my saying above that I’m not sure if I was emotionally abused as a child. I think all signs point to yes. And I have to wonder if my desire to be dominated comes from a desire to have someone intensely focused on me for a change. If I’d rather be controlled than ignored. I think the masochism comes from a place of both needing the endorphin rush that ensues and a need to just simply be able to feel anything. I’ve spent too long numbing myself emotionally, pushing things away. Physical pain is a way to feel for a change.