My mother's "illness" and the abandonment
I wrote this as a response to a question a friend asked, but I am going to post it here too. Among other things, this trauma has impacted me greatly. When I talk to friends about abandonment issues... this is what I am referring to (regarding my mother's mental illness):
My Mom: She became ill in my lifetime. They say when I was about four years old. I have many memories of her even before then. She took care of me; my dad didn’t. She was actually a very loving person and a good mother. Everyone has always spoken very highly of her as a mother prior to her “becoming ill.” I was very safe and bonded with mom. I remember going on walks with her, her holding me, helping her clean the house, riding around in the car with her… She didn’t use drugs, she didn’t drink; she smoked cigarettes. She liked gardening; I used to pick her flowers and read her stories I wrote, and showed her the pictures I drew. She was supportive of me and appreciated me. My sisters were gymnasts (I was too for a while); she knew I liked the outdoors, so she got me into Girl Scouts; I liked to draw and she put me in an art class. We baked cookies at Christmas time and always decorated the house. She organized birthday parties, kept a baby book for me… I spent time with her in the days before I went to school and during those years, it was just her and I. My dad worked and my siblings were at school. Those times were good times and I never saw anything wrong with her. She was a good mom.
It’s true that when I became school aged, things started to change. I don’t remember exactly when things changed. There was a lot of agreeing in my home; my dad and my mom fighting. My aunt mentioned that my dad started to work from home around that time; things escalated. My mom may have had an affair and that caused a lot of problems. She wanted to leave my dad. I think he became more abusive then; taking control. I would hide when they argued, I’d hide and cry, so I don’t really remember a lot of the words that were exchanged. I do remember a fight when she said to him, “you raped me!” She was angry and crying. She didn’t want him sexually during those times and he forced himself on her showing her that she was his to use as he pleased. I think I have some recollection of him raping her in the kitchen (a couple times). He raped her in front of her children. It destroyed her. She really hated him and that’s about the time when I started hating him too.
She was disgusted and every time he came around she was angry. I think she actually did try to go to her parents for help, but she was so ashamed. They were these wonderful people, happily married, raised her well… She was too ashamed to tell them the details of what he did to her. I think her dad kept telling her to go back and make the marriage work.
One time she left and went to a campground where we had a pop-up camper. She was staying there and my dad took us with him to go get her. He put her into a mental hospital. Her mom stayed in our home and helped take care of us for a bit. Perhaps somewhere in all of my confusion she did have a mental breakdown. When she came home everything was different; all of a sudden she was the ill person.
That was the start of a seriously painful psycho-drama. I wanted my mom! She said that she was not ill and I believed every word of it. I was on her side 100%. She flushed her pills, she argued with her parents, she told my dad what a sick man he was. I remember some of those arguments; she stated with very strong conviction, “I am not ill! You the sick one!” You #^*@^#@. She said he was brainwashing her children; trying to turn us away from her and now she could not leave; not with us. He found a way to keep her kids from her. She was not mentally capable of caring for her children…. No one believed anything she said anymore. They started to try to distance me from her; saying, mom’s sick… I felt her pain; I remember her pain and her anger. It was so devastating.
Then there was the shock therapy. After that she was quiet and stayed on the couch. She picked her eyebrows until she had none. She just sat there and I sat there on the floor in front of her and would try to talk to her every day as soon as I got home from school. She didn’t have much to say anymore. She didn’t fight anymore. She did some things, but she checked out mentally and she never did come back.
It wasn’t long after that when she went to live with her parents. Then she left Ohio completely. She has connected with family briefly a few times throughout my life. It’s been nearly ten years since there has been any contact.
I have always wanted to help her. I longed to do so for years. I didn’t see or hear from her for about five years (8-13). At thirteen she came home briefly and I thought it was the answer to all of my prayers. (I prayed every night she was gone; I asked God to make her well and bring her home). I thought that was what was going to happen. I saw her and I hugged her and I cried… She showed no emotion and when I called her the next day on the phone she said to me, “you aren’t going to start bawling again, are you?” She was so calloused; so cold.
I guess it was at that point that I decided that dad was right after all. Mom was sick and I should not try to be close to her because she would only hurt me; she couldn’t help it. She was no longer the same person she once was. It broke my heart something awful and changed everything for me.
My Mom: She became ill in my lifetime. They say when I was about four years old. I have many memories of her even before then. She took care of me; my dad didn’t. She was actually a very loving person and a good mother. Everyone has always spoken very highly of her as a mother prior to her “becoming ill.” I was very safe and bonded with mom. I remember going on walks with her, her holding me, helping her clean the house, riding around in the car with her… She didn’t use drugs, she didn’t drink; she smoked cigarettes. She liked gardening; I used to pick her flowers and read her stories I wrote, and showed her the pictures I drew. She was supportive of me and appreciated me. My sisters were gymnasts (I was too for a while); she knew I liked the outdoors, so she got me into Girl Scouts; I liked to draw and she put me in an art class. We baked cookies at Christmas time and always decorated the house. She organized birthday parties, kept a baby book for me… I spent time with her in the days before I went to school and during those years, it was just her and I. My dad worked and my siblings were at school. Those times were good times and I never saw anything wrong with her. She was a good mom.
It’s true that when I became school aged, things started to change. I don’t remember exactly when things changed. There was a lot of agreeing in my home; my dad and my mom fighting. My aunt mentioned that my dad started to work from home around that time; things escalated. My mom may have had an affair and that caused a lot of problems. She wanted to leave my dad. I think he became more abusive then; taking control. I would hide when they argued, I’d hide and cry, so I don’t really remember a lot of the words that were exchanged. I do remember a fight when she said to him, “you raped me!” She was angry and crying. She didn’t want him sexually during those times and he forced himself on her showing her that she was his to use as he pleased. I think I have some recollection of him raping her in the kitchen (a couple times). He raped her in front of her children. It destroyed her. She really hated him and that’s about the time when I started hating him too.
She was disgusted and every time he came around she was angry. I think she actually did try to go to her parents for help, but she was so ashamed. They were these wonderful people, happily married, raised her well… She was too ashamed to tell them the details of what he did to her. I think her dad kept telling her to go back and make the marriage work.
One time she left and went to a campground where we had a pop-up camper. She was staying there and my dad took us with him to go get her. He put her into a mental hospital. Her mom stayed in our home and helped take care of us for a bit. Perhaps somewhere in all of my confusion she did have a mental breakdown. When she came home everything was different; all of a sudden she was the ill person.
That was the start of a seriously painful psycho-drama. I wanted my mom! She said that she was not ill and I believed every word of it. I was on her side 100%. She flushed her pills, she argued with her parents, she told my dad what a sick man he was. I remember some of those arguments; she stated with very strong conviction, “I am not ill! You the sick one!” You #^*@^#@. She said he was brainwashing her children; trying to turn us away from her and now she could not leave; not with us. He found a way to keep her kids from her. She was not mentally capable of caring for her children…. No one believed anything she said anymore. They started to try to distance me from her; saying, mom’s sick… I felt her pain; I remember her pain and her anger. It was so devastating.
Then there was the shock therapy. After that she was quiet and stayed on the couch. She picked her eyebrows until she had none. She just sat there and I sat there on the floor in front of her and would try to talk to her every day as soon as I got home from school. She didn’t have much to say anymore. She didn’t fight anymore. She did some things, but she checked out mentally and she never did come back.
It wasn’t long after that when she went to live with her parents. Then she left Ohio completely. She has connected with family briefly a few times throughout my life. It’s been nearly ten years since there has been any contact.
I have always wanted to help her. I longed to do so for years. I didn’t see or hear from her for about five years (8-13). At thirteen she came home briefly and I thought it was the answer to all of my prayers. (I prayed every night she was gone; I asked God to make her well and bring her home). I thought that was what was going to happen. I saw her and I hugged her and I cried… She showed no emotion and when I called her the next day on the phone she said to me, “you aren’t going to start bawling again, are you?” She was so calloused; so cold.
I guess it was at that point that I decided that dad was right after all. Mom was sick and I should not try to be close to her because she would only hurt me; she couldn’t help it. She was no longer the same person she once was. It broke my heart something awful and changed everything for me.
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