I think I’ve been depressed most of my life.  I can remember as far back as junior high school there was this boy that always called me “stoneface”.  At the time I thought he was making fun of my acne.  It was many years later that I came to understand that he gave me this name because I never smiled.

As a very young child, when I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I didn’t answer with the usual, “I want to be a doctor” or “I want to be a teacher”.  I always said, “I want to be happy”.

Happy is all I ever wanted to be but keeping my mother happy was so much more important because her other moods were so scary.  Her mood would change on a dime, the unpredictability was the scariest part of her illness.  One minute she would be calm and the next she would be in a rage.  Sometimes I could see the mood change in her face but even then, by the time it showed on her face, it was too late.

Once the physical violence began, she didn’t seem have the control to stop.  She would hit until she didn’t have the energy to continue, then she would drag us upstairs by our hair or by our ears to our rooms.  We would have to stay in our room until her mood changed and she would remember that she left us there.  Sometimes these punishments were for the most minor infractions, something that maybe yesterday was not a big deal.

When one of my siblings was the object of her anger I would have to go outside because the screaming was so upsetting.  I can remember thinking that when she would scream I could almost feel the windows shaking.  When they would be crying out or laying on the floor with their legs and arms in the air trying to protect themselves from her blows it was horrible.  I don’t think it ever became “as usual” for me, it was always terrifying.  As I write this now, it still brings up so much emotion.

I grew up with 3 siblings but I’m not going to talk much about them because this is my story and I know we each have a different view of our childhoods.  One of the reasons would be that we were all treated very differently.  The boys were definitely favored over the girls and the ones that looked more like my mother were definitely favored over the ones that looked like my father.  Unfortunately, I was the girl that looked like my father. Even though I was always treated the worst, I was the “lucky one” because I got away and saw the truth of what we’d been living with and began a new, healthy life.

The physical abuse is not what has stayed with me all these years.  It’s the mental and emotional abuse that lingers.  I’ve had to work so hard to replace all the negative things I was told about myself with positive self talk.  The hardest thing of all was getting over never having the mother that I dreamed of having.  I’ve had to learn to be that mother to myself and to definitely be that mother to my children.

I may not be the greatest mother in the world but, my children will never, ever wonder whether I love them or not because I have told each one of them every day of their lives how much I love them. They also know that there is nothing in this world that they could ever do or say that would make me stop loving them.

Within the first year of our marriage, Randy and I were having problems, so I made us an appointment with a marriage counselor. In our very first session it didn’t take the counselor very long to tell us that the problem wasn’t with us as a couple, but it was with me. I was not only damaged from my past but, my mother was still abusing me on a daily basis.

After we were married, my mother had taken to calling me every morning before I left for work to tell me what a horrible, selfish person I was for getting married and moving out (we moved only a mile from my parents house because I insisted that we live close to them. I thought if I kept working on things with my mother I could make our relationship work). I would drive to work everyday in tears. I can remember days that felt so dark, I contemplated driving my car into oncoming traffic, I think the only thing that stopped me was the thought of hurting another person. I was a newlywed, so in love with my new husband but I had lost the love of my mother and my family because my mother refused to accept my marriage and had begun to spread horrible lies about me to my siblings and anyone else that would listen.

During this time I planned a trip for Randy and I to Rhode Island. My plan was to tell him that I wanted a divorce. I knew that the depression that I was falling deeper and deeper into was not only destroying me, and our marriage, but it was hurting Randy. I felt that it wasn’t fair to put him through this any longer. He was young, handsome, successful, sweet, and kind, he could have anyone he wanted and it was time for him to go and have a normal life. I also assumed that since I was so disposable to my family, eventually he would leave too. I was falling more in love with him everyday and the longer we were together the more it would hurt when he left.

When I told Randy I wanted a divorce, he absolutely refused. He insisted that he wasn’t going anywhere and that he was with me and committed to our marriage for the long haul. We ended up having the most amazing, romantic few days. I had been quiet and teary the whole ferry ride there and on the way back I was more in love with this amazing guy I married and thought that I was ready for anything that came my way. But then, once again, my mother was back in my life as soon as we were back.

Years later when I confronted her about calling me every morning and verbally abusing me, she denied every single call.

You might be wondering – “why did I answer the phone every morning…” because I couldn’t give up on the dream that one of those mornings her call would be the “I’m sorry” call or the “I love you” call. I needed her love and acceptance so badly it was tearing me apart. She was “supposed” to love me unconditionally. I put myself out there every day and got hurt every single day because I could not give up on the hope that tomorrow would be different, that tomorrow would be “the day”.

I wasted so many years of my life not being happy because I didn’t know how to put up boundaries to protect myself from her. If you are in the same position that I was, get into therapy and start dealing with reality. She is not going to change if she refuses to admit she even has a problem. Start living your life, get healthy now, don’t waste 40+ years hoping that she’ll will change.

It has always been my dream to write a book but with a husband and four children, it’s been very hard to sit and read a book, no less write one.

Now that my kids are getting older I’ve been working much harder on the book in the last year or so but then a few physical issues have slowed my progress down. Also, when your children get older, it doesn’t mean they need you less, it just means they need you in different ways. When my husband, Randy and I decided 23+ years ago that I would stay home with our children, I took that job very seriously and with all my heart and soul. When they need me, I am there for them, period!

I believe in part, that I am this kind of mother because of the way I was raised. This is what my book will be about, and what I want this Blog to be about. My hope and prayer is that by writing my story I will be able to help someone else get through the pain of being raised by an abusive mother and a father who sat by and did nothing while it all happened.

It took me a very, very long time to become a healthy, strong woman because of all the abuse I endured as a child, young adult and adult. My mother was never diagnosed with any kind of mental illness or personality disorder because she would never, ever have admitted that there was a problem but as an adult I’ve done a lot of research on what I endured and I’ve come up with my own possible “diagnosis” for her. She seems to have fit Borderline Personality Disorder very nicely but, a few years ago my daughter was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder so this became a strong possibility. What I do know for sure was that she was a narcissist.

I was extremely blessed when I met my husband who was very patient with me through all the years of craziness with my family. My mother didn’t want me dating, didn’t want me doing anything that didn’t involve her in some way (this was through my entire life). She made it very difficult for me to see Randy. I stayed strong because I knew, from almost the first time I met him, that he was the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.

Her abuse toward me increased the more she realized she was losing me to him. The saddest part is that she never had to lose me, all she had to do was to open her arms and her family would have just gotten bigger. Instead her mental, emotional and verbal abuse toward me just got worse and worse. It was to the point that I was becoming physically ill.

There were so many times I told Randy to just go away and save himself. He is such an amazing man, he didn’t deserve to be part of the insanity he was being pulled into just because he loved me. But, he never wavered, he stayed by me through it all! I have to admit, a couple of times I thought he must be nuts.

Eventually, my mother forced me to choose between my family and Randy. I didn’t want to make this choice, I just wanted one big happy family, that’s all I ever wanted. My choice was Randy because first of all, he never asked or made me choose. Secondly, he never, ever hurt me and all she ever did was hurt me. Choosing him meant that I lost not only my mother but my entire family because she had turned everyone against me.

I have never regretted my decision.