A Giant Can of Worms Redux

I’ll be the first to admit: the post you made is over a year old. I waited a year because I needed a lot of time to address my thoughts, get my ideas in check and actually post something that isn’t a screed, unlike what you typed out. So now that we have that out of the way let’s begin, shall we?

You say you saw nothing, no abusive behavior while you stayed with me. Here’s the thing: an abuser usually has only one target. You can ask my husband about that and he will tell you that his “father” did not treat his brothers in the exact same way as he was treated. In other words, they did not receive the same harsh discipline–ie abuse–that he got. It was the same with you and in some cases, I actually took the fall for you. I didn’t want anyone to go through what I had endured when I was younger so I was willing to face humiliation for someone else. I developed a martyr complex that to this day, I still carry.

Was I starved? Not intentionally. Was I left out with the dogs? No but I had both my dog and my cats threatened with being dumped off at the pound to be euthanized if I didn’t comply with my mother’s wishes. Was I beaten? About that… Let me tell you a story.

I was six years old. My mother was trying to help me with my homework. She was telling me to head my notebook paper but she was telling me to do it the opposite of how we did it in class. I told her that this was wrong, I couldn’t do it that way and began to cry. Still my mother insisted I do things her way. I said no and kept crying. Her response?

Her response was to slap me across the face. I immediately stopped crying and said, “Why did you hit my face?”

To this day, she tells this story and laughs, as she thinks it’s hilarious how I reacted. Each time I have heard it I have felt incredibly uncomfortable, for obvious reasons.

Then there was the time I was fourteen and my mother choked me. You are reading that right: she put both of her hands around my neck and squeezed, cutting off the airflow. I was too terrified to scream, too terrified to think. I never told my father but I did eventually tell Prime. These are only two examples. There are more, as my mother was a “spare the rod” type. Like I said, there is a lot more to my life than what you witnessed; you may have gotten a glimpse of it if you hadn’t decided to post your diatribe on your blog. That’s why I have barely touched my original site in over a year. But now you see some of what I endured. You could have seen more, little looks into my past and how things worked but when you acted this way, I completely shut down.

Then you go on about my Transformers: the Movie post and completely miss the point again. By the time my mother actually took me to see the film, it was very nearly out of the theatre. If I hadn’t pressed, I may have never seen it at all. Then there’s the little fact that she spoiled a key plot point–Optimus Prime’s death–and gloated about it, even going so far as to tell me she didn’t want to see me cry. As I said, I was stubborn and refused to do so but I have made up for that oversight ever since.

Then of course, you mention my tribute to Bob Hoskins and pull a great big “WHAT?!” when I mentioned how much Who Framed Roger Rabbit? helped me and how it got me through some hard times. A bit after the movie came out, my parents went through some trouble. The dreaded “d” word was used more than once. Whether you know it or not, my parents’ marriage was less than perfect. They had their share of problems. As insane as it sounds, the idea that a cartoon rabbit could exist in a world populated by humans gave me hope. It was an escape from some of the things that were going on in my life. No, things weren’t easy for me and there’s a lot I would have told you but things are different now.

But the biggest problem I had was the fact that you called my mourning “whining”. You know, how you said that my parents’ lies didn’t affect me in any way, shape or form because it all happened because it was before I was born? You know, that you weren’t impressed by any of this because you “went through something similar”?

You have no idea.

You see, I read a little book about the Baby Scoop Era. It’s called The Girls Who Went Away. It’s by Ann Fessler, who is an adoptee herself. In it, the women who were forced–again, you are reading that right–to give up their children spoke about how that trauma affected them all of their lives and oftentimes, bled into the lives of the subsequent children they had later. Many found that they could not bond with their second, third and fourth children, as they were terrified that they would lose those children to death, disease or kidnapping. They spoke of being far too overprotective of these children, of over-parenting them and in one woman’s case, breaking their spirits because she refused to let her sons do anything that normal children did. In other words, this affected me because it affected my mother. We have never really bonded; there has always been a gap between us and I am dead sure that this is the main reason why.

Oh and pardon me if I am not impressed with your assumption because no, you have not “been there”. The decision to send your daughter to live with her father was YOURS AND YOURS ALONE. In the case of my mother, SHE HAD NO SAY. Don’t you dare even try to compare yourself to my mother because what you went through–you still had visitation rights, for Primus’ sake!–isn’t even close. /end mini-rant

But let’s not forget about the lying portion. You swear that this shouldn’t affect me. Guess what? When a child discovers that a parent has lied to them, it utterly shatters that child’s trust. Age does not matter. When you discover that your mother and father have hidden a truth from you, you start asking questions. Dark questions. Questions like, “Did Mom and Dad really love me or were they saying that just to placate me?” Or “Were my parents really proud of me or was that a lie too?” And don’t get me started on my low points, when I actively wondered whether or not I was a wanted child. Poor Prime had to guide me through that and he’s a saint for dealing with it all. I owe him, which is why I keep trying to win him a Shattered Glass Rodimus at the Bingo Hall during BotCon every year. He deserves it for dealing with me. But I digress.

You’ll never see this, of course. I won’t bother posting it at the main site. Bearing that in mind, it needed to be said, as this is the major reason why I don’t post over there anymore. I grew tired of your snap decisions and judgmental attitude long ago, which is why I left. I won’t bother posting a reply on your blog either because I know that whatever I say will go over your head. It always does. You have to be right. You always do. Yet even with the way you treated me, I wish you well. Have a good life, wherever it may lead.

I just don’t think that our paths will ever cross again.

About Silverwynde

I'm a Transformers fan, Pokémon player, Brewers fan and all-out general nerd. I rescue abandoned Golett, collect as many Bumblebee decoys and figures as I can find and I've attended every BotCon--official and non--since 1999. I'm also happily married to a fellow Transfan named Prime and we were both owned by a very intelligent half-Siamese cat, who crossed the Rainbow Bridge on June 16, 2018. We still miss him. But we're now the acting staff of a Maine Coon kitty named Lulu, who pretty much rules the house. Not that we're complaining about that.
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