Post by renegade on Jun 13, 2014 9:04:18 GMT -8
I keep going back and forth when it comes to the issue of my mother. I think I’ve been pretty much programmed to be loyal to her at all costs and so it’s hard dealing with anything she did without having ten tons of guilt and shame fall on my head afterwards.
The only reason I’m writing anything now is that earlier today I got a reminder that whenever physical (sexual) pleasure get’s too enjoyable, I get this horrible feeling of deja vu. I get a horrible feeling that I’d felt that way as a child but I can’t remember any details and I don’t want to remember… All I know is that whatever it was I must have “enjoyed” it and that that leaves me so angry and disgusted with myself.
I don’t know what happened when I was little but I do know that as a teenager the CI was definitely there… we watched porn together, walked around naked around each other, talked about sex and her former glorious sex life all the time (including with my own father), pretty much flirted with each other, lewd pictures of me were taken, she got me my first vibrator and then periodically borrowed it (and I lent it to her and took it back and at no point did it get cleaned off). We once heard on some TV show that it might be possible for women to orgasm simply by having their shoulders or faces rubbed and so we decided to experiment and I gave her shoulder and facial rubs that resulted in her getting several… and the thing that kills me is that at the time (when I was about 12, 13, 14 years old) I was a willing and eager participant… I even initiated some of it… It was as though sexuality was how my mother and I “bonded”.
At the time she was the only person I had any kind of connection with of any kind because I had no friends and we had no other relatives… it was always just the two of us.
When I turned 15 at some point the sense of disgust and wrongness somehow caught up with me. At different points in time before that I’d sort of wanted boundaries. At age 9 I’d insisted on showering myself and at age 11 I insisted on sleeping in my own bed, both despite her many objections… but when I was 12 and told her for the first time that I didn’t want her to see me naked anymore… that started a world war… she felt totally “betrayed” and that I was “breaking the bond between us”. In some way or another I must have caved because even when I was 15 my mother and I were walking naked around each other all the time and she’d constantly compliment me on my body (supposedly in order to boost my self esteem… kind of like how everything else was supposedly just to teach me about sex… all done for my good interest of course and “I should be grateful” for having such an “open” relationship with my “liberated” mother).
One day, when I was 15, I was standing in the kitchen naked and my mother suddenly passed by… and as she passed I suddenly became afraid that she might touch my bottom (as she so often touched and “tickled” me anywhere she wanted including there, whether I objected to her doing it or not) and the fear was… more than just fear… it was a sudden deep, horrible, spine chilling dread… that I suddenly realized for the first time what had been going on all this time and that I really, REALLY didn’t want it to go on. So from that day forward I never let her see me naked again and insisted on never seeing her naked again… and at one point, shortly after, I couldn’t touch her anymore either. Every time I touched her it was as though cockroaches were crawling all over the place our skin made contact and I felt a need to wash it several times. Eventually that sense of disgust spread to not wanting to touch anything she had recently touched and it remained that day until the day she died.
I know that my relationship with her was truly sick in every way pretty much… but throughout most of my life she was all I had. I feel ashamed of attraction to men or to anyone now, pleasure triggers depression and last time I lay in bed next to someone I kept having flashbacks to some childhood memory that may or may not have been CI…
I’m sorry if all this was basically just rambling btw. I’m not even sure I had a point of any kind. It’s just that 99% of the time I can’t bring myself to talk about it these days (ever since she died) and it was just a couple of hours ago that I got triggered into thinking/talking about it now. Knowing me I’ll probably just feel guilty about this later… or even dissociate from it all together and being like “what was I thinking when I wrote that stuff? Nothing that happened with my mother was really ‘that bad’” and other nonsense like that.
After over 4 years of avoiding all men, there’s this guy at work whom I’m starting to be interested in… and I just know that sooner or later all this crap is going to get in the way… and while I probably won’t blame her for anything later – right now I hate her so, so much for managing to mess up my life even after her own freaking death!
The only reason I’m writing anything now is that earlier today I got a reminder that whenever physical (sexual) pleasure get’s too enjoyable, I get this horrible feeling of deja vu. I get a horrible feeling that I’d felt that way as a child but I can’t remember any details and I don’t want to remember… All I know is that whatever it was I must have “enjoyed” it and that that leaves me so angry and disgusted with myself.
I don’t know what happened when I was little but I do know that as a teenager the CI was definitely there… we watched porn together, walked around naked around each other, talked about sex and her former glorious sex life all the time (including with my own father), pretty much flirted with each other, lewd pictures of me were taken, she got me my first vibrator and then periodically borrowed it (and I lent it to her and took it back and at no point did it get cleaned off). We once heard on some TV show that it might be possible for women to orgasm simply by having their shoulders or faces rubbed and so we decided to experiment and I gave her shoulder and facial rubs that resulted in her getting several… and the thing that kills me is that at the time (when I was about 12, 13, 14 years old) I was a willing and eager participant… I even initiated some of it… It was as though sexuality was how my mother and I “bonded”.
At the time she was the only person I had any kind of connection with of any kind because I had no friends and we had no other relatives… it was always just the two of us.
When I turned 15 at some point the sense of disgust and wrongness somehow caught up with me. At different points in time before that I’d sort of wanted boundaries. At age 9 I’d insisted on showering myself and at age 11 I insisted on sleeping in my own bed, both despite her many objections… but when I was 12 and told her for the first time that I didn’t want her to see me naked anymore… that started a world war… she felt totally “betrayed” and that I was “breaking the bond between us”. In some way or another I must have caved because even when I was 15 my mother and I were walking naked around each other all the time and she’d constantly compliment me on my body (supposedly in order to boost my self esteem… kind of like how everything else was supposedly just to teach me about sex… all done for my good interest of course and “I should be grateful” for having such an “open” relationship with my “liberated” mother).
One day, when I was 15, I was standing in the kitchen naked and my mother suddenly passed by… and as she passed I suddenly became afraid that she might touch my bottom (as she so often touched and “tickled” me anywhere she wanted including there, whether I objected to her doing it or not) and the fear was… more than just fear… it was a sudden deep, horrible, spine chilling dread… that I suddenly realized for the first time what had been going on all this time and that I really, REALLY didn’t want it to go on. So from that day forward I never let her see me naked again and insisted on never seeing her naked again… and at one point, shortly after, I couldn’t touch her anymore either. Every time I touched her it was as though cockroaches were crawling all over the place our skin made contact and I felt a need to wash it several times. Eventually that sense of disgust spread to not wanting to touch anything she had recently touched and it remained that day until the day she died.
I know that my relationship with her was truly sick in every way pretty much… but throughout most of my life she was all I had. I feel ashamed of attraction to men or to anyone now, pleasure triggers depression and last time I lay in bed next to someone I kept having flashbacks to some childhood memory that may or may not have been CI…
I’m sorry if all this was basically just rambling btw. I’m not even sure I had a point of any kind. It’s just that 99% of the time I can’t bring myself to talk about it these days (ever since she died) and it was just a couple of hours ago that I got triggered into thinking/talking about it now. Knowing me I’ll probably just feel guilty about this later… or even dissociate from it all together and being like “what was I thinking when I wrote that stuff? Nothing that happened with my mother was really ‘that bad’” and other nonsense like that.
After over 4 years of avoiding all men, there’s this guy at work whom I’m starting to be interested in… and I just know that sooner or later all this crap is going to get in the way… and while I probably won’t blame her for anything later – right now I hate her so, so much for managing to mess up my life even after her own freaking death!
