Stormchild:
Hi Portia, October - no, you would both be "lingchanges". Human babies put into cradles in place of the monster spawn, and left to be raised by monster parents.
Yeah, I can relate to that. There is probably some magic involved to make us look like the monster parents?
Brigid:
Sounds like you're having a breakthrough to me so write and vent all you want. You are certainly not trying my patience and are helping me to get to some of my own buried pain when reading your deepest thoughts and hurts.
Thanks, I am still worried about taking too much space, taking people's time, but i guess if they don't want to read it, they don't have to, right? Knowing that I might be able to help someone in some small way makes it easier though.
Plus, this is my "job" at the moment, even my f says so when I feel guilty about not doing enough housework. He says that he benefits from it as well, not just from me feeling better, but from me being able to help him better with his problems (we can both be "people-pleasers"). Anyway, better stop talking about my f, otherwise the troll that was here the other week will come back and say that I'm boasting
.
Portia: Our mothers must be related somehow... Well I do have relatives that emigrated to America (as it was known then) a few hundred years ago... Or maybe there is a special, secret school for Ns somewhere, where they go to learn how to best freak us out and how to mess with our minds as much as possible
. I still don't get the hair thing though, on the one hand I'm not allowed to wash it, on the other hand she is sooo proud of having a blond daughter, almost as if it a her private accomplishment. (Yes, I waited until an egg carrying the blond gene had matured, and then I made sure that it selected a sperm that also carried it. Wasn't that clever of me?!)
And she really freaked out when I dyed my hair dark, I can tell ya'. (I'm really getting into my americanisms here, I pick up accents even in writing
). I really feel for you with the hair thing, at least I was allowed to wash it every other day. What comments did you get? I was once asked (very sarcastically of course) if I used a special comb to get my hair so "stripey". Oh, god, I just realised, due to her job, my mother usually showers twice a day! And I wasn't allowed once a day!!!Grrrrrrr!
Glad to hear you can hear her voice, that you know how bad it was, I was afraid that writing didn't really convey it, and you would think I was whining about nothing (I know, I should know better by now, but unlearning is a slow process).
It’s not nice to see a 2 year old in an adult body. It’s unnatural and somehow creepy.
Mmhmm... It sure is. I've seen my mother whine/scream in a high voice, without words, fists and eyes squeezed closed, stamping the floor with one foot! This is pretty scary when you yourself are a child but would never behave that way.
October: Sorry to hear you had the same experience with the pictures. Very un-motherly, don't you think!? I know what you mean with the game thing. My mother would always brag about how good she was at chess, and would always want to play with my stepfather, whom she knew she would beat. However, she always refused to play with me. I wanted so much to learn and to share that with her, but I guess she wanted to keep her position as
the chess-player of the family, afraid that I might grow up to beat her. As a child she would let me beat her at games, but always make it really obvious, I guess never playing for real meant never having to risk losing.
At risk of beating Longtire's record for longest post (actually I think there is one under "unanswered posts" that is longer, but I sure don't want to make it
that long
), I want to share a memory that has been haunting me for years, it hurt me really bad and did a lot to make me the person I am today.
I am eleven, and we are at my grandparent's house. Being a total readaholic (escapism anyone?), I have found a book that I'm reading. To fully get the story (not for me to brag), you should now that I learnt to read, by myself, when I was four and started reading books when I was five. At eleven I was reading around ten books a week (very healthy behaviour, I'm sure), both adult and children's books, whatever takes my fancy. This particular book happens to be a book written for teenagers. My mother walks past and out of the blue (we hadn't talked for hours, no falling out or anything like that), says, in a very angry and hostile voice: "Why are you reading that shit! When I was your age I was reading the classics!" And keeps walking. I am left, stunned and hurt, my reading was the one thing I really loved, and the one thing I had always felt proud of. And she had always bragged about it/encouraged it in the past. She made me feel that my accomplishments were worth nothing. That whatever I did was never good enough.
This led me to believe (and not in a hidden belief either, but up front and unquestionable), that if I was not a genius, I was worth nothing. And that is a feeling that I have been wrestling all my life.
Two comments, things that have struck me later in life. One: My mother grew up in the middle of nowhere, in a family that was even bigger than mum's. I serously doubt that there was any way for her to have come into contact with any "classics" apart from the bible, and she is very strongly anti-religion (her parents were very religious), so I doubt that is what she meant. Two: These days she talks about Marian Keyes as if she's Shakespeare, don't get me wrong, I like Marian Keyes (and Shakespeare), but she is no closer to being one of the "classics" than the book I was reading that day.
Hope you don't think I'm bragging about the reading thing,
for me it was really no more than a survival mechanism, I had to find a world where i felt accepted, where I felt I belonged. I have been saying for years that I didn't grow up in any particular geographical location, but rather that I grew up in books. They were my only home and my closest friends.
