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Family of Origin
"Dad, don't tell them anything about me anymore, even if I'm dying"
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 676752" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Well, here is another good thread I missed.</p><p></p><p>I am still in denial, I think. In the months before my mother died, I asked her about the bank account in both of our names. She had always been telling me about it. Where it was and telling me to write it down and not lose it, and to be honest I could care less. It was 100k. She wanted me to have it, she said, apart from the trust to make up for all the debt I had. She had helped my sister and not me.</p><p></p><p>I remembered where it was, Fremont Bank. Good for me. Except it was not there anymore. <em>She had changed her mind. And never bothered to tell me. </em></p><p></p><p>My mother was fearless. She was never afraid or embarrassed. It just never ever entered her mind to tell me she had changed her mind. Thinking about the sticky little matter about following through with what she had told me, or telling me she had changed her mind, never entered her mind. My mind, my feelings, were not a thing that entered her mind. Only what she thought and felt. And did. The effect on me, was unimportant.</p><p></p><p>Her seeming empathy was skin deep. And momentary. It was like play acting. I loved my mother more than you know. But she was false.</p><p>When I read this first, I thought, my G-d, Cedar fears her mother could murder her. Is that not something? </p><p></p><p>I wonder if there is something to this. Did I fear my mother could kill me? Was that how scary it was. </p><p></p><p>The thing about me is I never act scared. I never feel scared. Underneath that did I have such a fear, that I thought I could be killed?</p><p></p><p>And then I read it again, several times, your quote, Cedar, and I saw it was not the act but the intent, your mother's intent, your mother's intent or lack of it. That you questioned.</p><p></p><p>Cedar, I thought that about my mother and still did until this very post. I thought it was a lack of control. Hysteria. </p><p></p><p>That when she exploded at us when we visited her, was because we had been such a burden. To have her routine disrupted. That she just snapped. And I overreacted.</p><p></p><p>Except that might be so, when we were impossible house guests, but when I was a child? I do not think so.</p><p></p><p>Of course when she would watch my stepfather hurt me, just watch. That was a deliberate act. She was calm and cool. She may have looked guilty, to just watch but she was in full control.</p><p></p><p>There is a lacking of valuing us. Or if they see our value, it is something to be bought or sold. There is the failure of thinking of us as their own...with the sense of responsibility...of protecting. </p><p></p><p>They think of us as their own, as them, in the sense of "open season on us." It is as if we are their land, rich with game and lush with berries, on which to prey. Without consequence. That was how we were raised. We were raised to be prey.</p><p></p><p>I am getting mad here. I do not know how you change this fundamental mindset. It is intrinsic to us. We know no other thing. It is not a misinterpretation. It is not an error of thinking. It is not a malformed design. This is the ground of who we are. The very ground. We are prey. How very, very sad. And this is what our sisters always knew at the heart of them. </p><p></p><p>Of course they would need to remind us of who we are. Prey. In their minds, the minds of our sisters, we are domestic animals, to be slaughtered or shorn, as required. That is why they are so motivated to remind us of our place, and our fundamental misunderstanding when we overreach, to think we are more.'</p><p></p><p>And when we escape the coral, and think we are wild things, free and with potential, is when our sisters shoot us dead. That is the nature of things. Our sisters cannot be blamed, really, because that is the ground which is them. Their understanding of our place is an essential part of them, as our sense of ourselves as prey. They could, of course, question it. But why would they? It works for them. </p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 676752, member: 18958"] Well, here is another good thread I missed. I am still in denial, I think. In the months before my mother died, I asked her about the bank account in both of our names. She had always been telling me about it. Where it was and telling me to write it down and not lose it, and to be honest I could care less. It was 100k. She wanted me to have it, she said, apart from the trust to make up for all the debt I had. She had helped my sister and not me. I remembered where it was, Fremont Bank. Good for me. Except it was not there anymore. [I]She had changed her mind. And never bothered to tell me. [/I] My mother was fearless. She was never afraid or embarrassed. It just never ever entered her mind to tell me she had changed her mind. Thinking about the sticky little matter about following through with what she had told me, or telling me she had changed her mind, never entered her mind. My mind, my feelings, were not a thing that entered her mind. Only what she thought and felt. And did. The effect on me, was unimportant. Her seeming empathy was skin deep. And momentary. It was like play acting. I loved my mother more than you know. But she was false. When I read this first, I thought, my G-d, Cedar fears her mother could murder her. Is that not something? I wonder if there is something to this. Did I fear my mother could kill me? Was that how scary it was. The thing about me is I never act scared. I never feel scared. Underneath that did I have such a fear, that I thought I could be killed? And then I read it again, several times, your quote, Cedar, and I saw it was not the act but the intent, your mother's intent, your mother's intent or lack of it. That you questioned. Cedar, I thought that about my mother and still did until this very post. I thought it was a lack of control. Hysteria. That when she exploded at us when we visited her, was because we had been such a burden. To have her routine disrupted. That she just snapped. And I overreacted. Except that might be so, when we were impossible house guests, but when I was a child? I do not think so. Of course when she would watch my stepfather hurt me, just watch. That was a deliberate act. She was calm and cool. She may have looked guilty, to just watch but she was in full control. There is a lacking of valuing us. Or if they see our value, it is something to be bought or sold. There is the failure of thinking of us as their own...with the sense of responsibility...of protecting. They think of us as their own, as them, in the sense of "open season on us." It is as if we are their land, rich with game and lush with berries, on which to prey. Without consequence. That was how we were raised. We were raised to be prey. I am getting mad here. I do not know how you change this fundamental mindset. It is intrinsic to us. We know no other thing. It is not a misinterpretation. It is not an error of thinking. It is not a malformed design. This is the ground of who we are. The very ground. We are prey. How very, very sad. And this is what our sisters always knew at the heart of them. Of course they would need to remind us of who we are. Prey. In their minds, the minds of our sisters, we are domestic animals, to be slaughtered or shorn, as required. That is why they are so motivated to remind us of our place, and our fundamental misunderstanding when we overreach, to think we are more.' And when we escape the coral, and think we are wild things, free and with potential, is when our sisters shoot us dead. That is the nature of things. Our sisters cannot be blamed, really, because that is the ground which is them. Their understanding of our place is an essential part of them, as our sense of ourselves as prey. They could, of course, question it. But why would they? It works for them. COPA [/QUOTE]
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