it makes me a sick person too

I have been raised so as to serve, protect, nurture, encourage, understand, forgive, build, help and give to the people around me. I was educated and well trained by someone that couldn’t love back. I have always functioned this way probably because there was no other way I could function. For us, for our family, for me, even as a very small girl, this pattern fitted everyone perfectly. A silent contract. A survival guide. Very conveniently, now understanding that it was not by chance, I would meet in my profession, in my love life, in my different friendships the same type of persons. The ones who needed me. The ones who could controlled me. And which of course, I thought I could control back. Because I was never weak. I would even say I was always the strong and sturdy one. I was the one to be trusted. The one that would help out, give, run, do. I loved that so much! Be there for people. I was feeling useful. But why did I not understand that I was the one being used. And abused.

There has always been at least a person around me, mother, sister, boyfriend, or even just a best friend taking possession, holding me tight, quite a good grasp, controlling me emotionally, spiritually, physically, sucking my blood. Sick and perverse relationships. It is only very recently that I start putting a finger on it, uncovering, understanding the mechanisms. How all this had eaten me up. How it has worked out silently creeping in my life. Surrounded by demanding personalities, up and down most of the time, manic depressives, sociopaths, treating me so well most of the time, only to depreciate me just a minute after, embarrassing me, subtly criticising, putting me in difficult situations, sometimes even dangerous situations, testing me, using me, degrading me.

I have always pick up the pieces (mine and theirs) when all was going terribly wrong/bad and I was able to paint a nice picture of myself, of my relationships. Even when my boyfriends were violent, brutal with words most of the time, brutal with acts sometimes, shouting, judging, I would not understand what that meant. I would always feel guilty. Worth all of it. Not good enough. Losing my mind. Losing my identity, scared, stressed, shaking in my whole being. I remember a time when I found shelter under the kitchen table after I was shout at by T. I remember a time when I was locked up for 3 days by my fist boyfriend because he got jealous, he thought I was cheating on him. (He had been “cheating” on me more than 10 days, admitting it and promising it was a mistake and that he only “loved” me.) I am only now able to shed a new light on all those terrifying events – as with a set of other “eyes”…. Back then, it felt like normal relationships, with some extra jealousy maybe and super normal fights in a couple. Until now I did not understand what was underlying the personalities of the people I was with. I only discover now the toxicity of the relationships. Like with my mother. Like in my family. The normal poison in our veins. Collecting the bits and parts I now understand that I was trained to be with people with narcissistic personality disorders.

Of course, it makes me a sick person too.

Nothing in my life was fine. Nothing in my life was healthy.

Discovering the abuse and its aftermath.

I only saw myself as a caring and loving person. I only saw them as weak and needy persons. Maybe.

I am now able to connect the dots.

How much more?


Now the queen was the most beautiful woman in all the land, and very proud of her beauty. She had a mirror, which she stood in front of every morning, and asked:

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Who in this land is fairest of all?

And the mirror always said:

You, my queen, are fairest of all.

And then she knew for certain that no one in the world was more beautiful than she.

A little girl sent by her mother to lie down on the sofa-bed in the room next door to take a nap with her small sister. It is a very hot summer afternoon and they are at their grand-mother´s house. The brother of the grand-mother is there as well. They all will sleep a little. He would take care of the little girls. The mother takes off. Confident. My mum´s uncle pretends he is asleep. No one is sleeping. He idly starts to caress himself. Boredom stifles imagination. He takes out his penis. He asks the little girls to play with it. He asks the little girls to kiss him there.

Uncovering the secrets and the traumas of a dysfunctional family and healing the haunting patterns of perversion, I realise now that I really needed to hit a (sort of) emotional bottom before I could speak out, or do anything to help myself. I realise also I needed a lot of work and love and care in order to be able to see. I realise the work still to be done in order to clear out the way is immense. I will not stop. Never.



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