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Lately I've been missing my mom. I try to picture her. In my mind she's loving, kind and thoughtful. She asks me how I am and if I've had a bad day. when I say I'm sleep deprived, she gently says, 'get some sleep, hon. I worry about you.'  She often tells me how proud she is of me, that I've accomplished so much while being ill, that I'm trying to find my way back to health now, that I'm so brave and smart and funny. She tells me that she loves me. Sometimes she sends me a card or two that says, 'thinking of you' with some money in it, because she knows I'm struggling right now. When I tell her how hard I'm working, she says she misses me and hopes to see me soon, and offers to send me a train ticket so I can come and visit her, and maybe have her make me cookies. And when I say I can't afford to take off work, she tells me she'll give me some extra money to cover that, because she knows I'm hurting. She can hear it over the phone. 

 

But all of this is a lie. My real mother isn't like this. My real mother is a screaming harpy. She's selfish. She used to make me beg for money, until I stopped asking. She tries to humiliate me over the phone by asking me why I can't find a better job if I'm so smart. And I would feel humiliated too, if I didn't finally acknowledge to myself that she's a monster.

 

I want a mother so bad I can taste it. i used to want a father, too, but I gave up on that idea a long time ago. Most of my PTSD came from the way my parents treated me, but I didn't want to face that for years. They really are People of the Lie. 

 

Sometimes I lie in bed and I pretend I have parents like the ones on tv. The ones who nag you but who are really loving. The ones who want to see you do well. The ones who don't threaten to kill you or have you locked up because you're queer, who feel grateful that you were there to make the right choices during that heart attack or stroke, the ones who make you feel like you have a place to stay. The ones with whom you can tell your problems without those problems either being belittled or used as a weapon. The ones who don't turn your relatives against you, so you have nowhere to go on holidays. 

 

So I'm sitting here after a shortened day at work, looking at my audit forms from the IRS,  and I want to drink that whole bottle of tequila, or go have sex with a strange man or woman, or punch the wall until my knuckles bleed, or scratch myself until the only pain I feel is physical. But I'm not going to do any of those things, because this effing medicine in my system won't allow me to give myself the illusion of relief, and it makes mme face reality too much to the point where I'm not delusional or suicidal or plain crazy.

 

So instead, because I'm medicated and sane, I'm just sitting here crying and crying, and missing a mom I made up in my head when I was 5, who was simply a delusion because the truth was too hard to take. 

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True. And there is an advantage in that. But right now my real mother is having health problems and she's getting up there in years. She's also become more and more horrid. I'm just realizing that I'll never know what it's like to actually be loved by my parents or feel comfort from them, and that the times I thought I was getting those things from my mother, weren't truly real. It's all been a lie. 

 

Sometimes I wish I could believe the lie again, but I know that's no good either.  I don't want a perfect tv mom, not really. I just want a real one who loves me, that I can hold or at least remember fondly after she's dead. 

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Do you have a tdoc? This would be something good to talk with a tdoc about. 

 

I know what you mean about missing the mom that never was. My mother was never there for me when my father abused me. She still downplays it to this day. My mother is kind and loving, but also can be cold and thoughtless. 

 

I have an inner child that cries and cries for mommy. She wants the mommy we needed when we were young. But, she'll never get her. 

 

I think we need to remember that parents are human too. The older I get, the more and more I appreciate that my mother is just human like me, not some super mom. I used to be furious with her for not protecting me, and for leaving me to be the protector. I used to be furious that she had negative traits, like being cold and thoughtless. But, now I try to remember that my mother is not infallible. She has her bad days. She suffered from depression the entire time my father was abusing my family. 

 

I'm very sorry that your parents treated you so badly, and are the root of your PTSD. It's okay to mourn the mother you never had. But I would really recommend possibly going over this with a tdoc if you can. My tdoc helped me to mourn the mother I never had, and she helped me to set realistic expectations for my mother. If you are holding your mother to the standard of a TV mom, you are bound to be disappointed, unfortunately. Maybe you can work with a tdoc to get a picture of the kind of expectations you can have of your mother, and to help you figure out what kind of relationship you want with your mother. For example, my tdoc helped me to realize that, while I want to be close to my mother, I can't be as close as I'd like because she invalidates my feelings. 

 

How did you come to give up on the idea of having a father?

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In reality, I don't truly want a TV-type mom. She would be boring and not very entertaining or lovable (part of loving someone is seeing another's imperfections and either looking past them or learning to love those, too). But would I like a mom? Yeah. But I don't think I really get one this go-round.

 

I've discussed this stuff with numerous t-docs. I actually know the kind of relationship I want with my real mother. It involves as little contact as possible, both for my sanity and her safety (there's something about her that brings out the cold, calculating killer in me, and I'd rather not go there). I try to do maybe 10 minutes on the phone with her every two weeks, and believe me, that's exhausting. 

 

If my mom was simply imperfect, I could deal with it. But it's more than that. I found out recently that when my grandmother was slowly dying, my mother lied about going to see her every weekend. People in the family thought I was nuts for thinking that she was there, but they didn't say anything about it when I talked about how proud I was that my mom was there for my grandmother. I also found out she lied about staying at a friend's house while she was down there. I suspect now that she was with her boyfriend. During that period she knew (because I told her) my father suspected she was sleeping around, and he used to interrogate me (a polite term for mental torture, intimidation, and threats) about whether it was true, for literally hours at a time. I used to have to sometimes help him up when he was drunk, or hide from him in my room while he raged. 

 

I stopped mentally having a dad after my first suicide attempt. I tried to kill myself because I wasn't doing well in math and I was convinced that my father might actually kill me for being imperfect. Neither of them took me to the hospital after I swallowed the pills. I was made to throw them up, but it was obvious that they were both disgusted with me for humiliating them. Since I didn't die, they figured I was ok. My father, who'd worked as an orderly at a Veteran's Hospital, told me that if they called a doctor I'd be locked up on a ward, never to be seen again. At that point I just mentally shut down and that was it between us. I even stopped calling him my father.  I just called him 'Sir'. I still do, when I infrequently talk to him.

 

The good thing is my husband was 21 years older than myself, and he became my surrogate dad (no, it's not as creepy as it sounds). I worked out a lot of my father issues with him, and I became a better person for it. He told me that it helped him too, since he never had children. We both acted as parents to that part of me that is stuck at 5 years old, which is when the mental abuse began.  So, I no longer need a dad, because in a way, I've had one. However, the idea of having any kind of sexual relationship with a man of my own ethnic group actually makes me a little sick, in part because of my father and in part because of a bunch of other things that happened to me as a pre-teen.

 

But, when I look back on my time with my mother, I'm having doubts that any loving thing she ever did was real. My mother is a textbook malignant narcissist. Everything is manipulation with her. I knew it down inside, but I didn't want to believe it because it hurt too much. And now I wonder if pretty much everything that meant something to me with her, even with all the pain and ridicule she gave me,was ever real and true at all. I have the sinking feeling that I've been talking to a mask my entire life, Ia mask that covers the face of an incredibly angry and envious woman who has been undermining me since childhood.

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True. And there is an advantage in that. But right now my real mother is having health problems and she's getting up there in years. She's also become more and more horrid. I'm just realizing that I'll never know what it's like to actually be loved by my parents or feel comfort from them, and that the times I thought I was getting those things from my mother, weren't truly real. It's all been a lie. 

 

Sometimes I wish I could believe the lie again, but I know that's no good either.  I don't want a perfect tv mom, not really. I just want a real one who loves me, that I can hold or at least remember fondly after she's dead. 

I could have written every word of this, including the aging and health issues (my mom is 72). Unfortunately, I think she will rise up from the grave, nastier than ever, trying to run my life some more. But assuming she doesn't, I worry that I won't grieve for her. Although I am sure I will feel it in some way, even if it is just sadness for what I never had with her.

 

One of my pdocs who knows my mother, told me, "It's not your fault that your mother doesn't like you." Well, aside from the shock that an "outsider" could tell my mother didn't like me, it was such a relief to be told that. I had spent my entire life doing things that she said she wanted, in an attempt to please her. It was never good enough. I was so glad it wasn't all my fault.

 

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I feel ya. My mom cuts down me and my dad.....Always like this.....Why my dad struggles so much with BP and me with psychosis and OCD.....She I guess thinks she's above everyone else. It got to the point that I rarely talk to her and then she wonders why I don't. It's depressing that my roommate will listen or my dad will listen better then my mom. I love my mom....and I would imagnen that I wouldn't be able to talk to someone all the time for my problems so to make life easier on her the bast way I know how is just don't talk.

 

 

 

This is just me. Not you....I was just talking about how I have been treated and the solution to my problem. If she was gone I would prolly be beating myself up!

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I could have written every word of this, including the aging and health issues (my mom is 72). Unfortunately, I think she will rise up from the grave, nastier than ever, trying to run my life some more. But assuming she doesn't, I worry that I won't grieve for her. Although I am sure I will feel it in some way, even if it is just sadness for what I never had with her.

 

That's what I've been feeling. You put it a lot better than I did. I worry that when she dies I'll go through the motions and insist on an open casket funeral just so I can make sure she's really dead. What I'm feeling is the sadness for what I never had and never will. 

 

Being sick was nice. I was delusional enough to think if I tried really hard, I could finally have a mom. But now my meds are working and I know better. I sympathize with that scene in The Matrix where the guy meets with the agents and asks to be reinserted with his memory wiped. Some things are maybe better for not knowing the truth. Still, I realize I'm better off, because I'm now shaking this ghost of a past that never was and never will be, instead of living in a state of perpetual disappointment.

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This is just me. Not you....I was just talking about how I have been treated and the solution to my problem. If she was gone I would prolly be beating myself up!

 

The funny thing about getting older and finally being able to admit certain things to yourself is that you don't (have to) beat yourself up anymore. I've been upset because, well, I realized I want that physical monster who still gets my attention for social reasons to be gone. 

 

Don't feel bad because you actually have people to listen to you. I know that we're raised to believe a mother is supposed to fill that role, but I guess for some of us it doesn't happen. For quite a while I had nobody but the inside of my head where my disease lay to listen to me. That was pretty awful. Now I have more than that going for me, although it still takes some getting used to.

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