Today's one of those days I'm trapped in the Hell of my own mind.
I can't stop thinking and fixating on my abusive family.
I guess I'm starting with psychological abuse.
Preference for boys vs girls:
My grandma used to tell me about her miscarriage (a son) before being pregnant with my mom.
She also took the liberty to tell me about my mom's abortion (also a son) before being pregnant with me.
My grandma also enjoyed creating hypotheticals for me because if she never had the miscarriage, the timing, she could not have ever been pregnant with my mom.
She questioned what if my mom never got her abortion, again timing, my mom could not have ever been pregnant with me.
In China there's a preference over males because men carry down the family name. Sons are expected to take care of their parents when they get old. Daughters are expected to be married off and go and take care of her husbands parents.
When I was 16yrs old applying for college I even recall my mom saying, "If you were a boy, I would get 3 jobs to put you through an Ivy League education, but you are just a girl". Hence I was not allowed to apply to an Ivy League school because it wasn't we couldn't afford it, my mom just didn't see the point.
The gender preference was a type of psychological abuse.
Slut Shaming and Misandry:
My grandma used to slut shame me. I left China when I was 7yrs old.
Even before I left for China, I remember her saying shit like keep your legs closed. Guys only want one thing. She used to tell me to focus on my career, that boys will always be there.
I returned to China 2 years after I left. I was 9yrs old and I wore a pair of fake clip on earrings because I wanted my grandma to be like "Wow look how mature or older you look".
First thing out of her mouth, "You look like a slut/whore." (in Chinese). Again I was 9yrs old, and that was not the response I expected.
I remember being 11yrs old, my mom just met my (now ex) step dad. My grandma would ask me disgusting questions if he touched me, or if I had older boy neighbors that would touch me when I was home alone after school.
I don't know what happened to my grandma. My grandpa was the most caring and thoughtful man but my grandma was sick, vile, vulgar and her mouth was just repulsive.
My mom once said if she let my dad have custody and raise me, I would be a slut. Yes when she used the "expression" it was in English.
My mom used to tell me to marry for money, and in my head I would protest because I wanted to marry for love.
I was always such a hopeless romantic and I imagined myself being happy living in a box on the street if I had my soulmate by my side.
Till this day, I can't stand guys who throw money around as if it would impress me because I know money doesn't buy love nor happiness.
I'm happy with "poor, poor and perfect" and when Buttercup says it, sometimes I just burst into tears because I understand.
When I was 14-15yrs old, my mom told me that every guy she's ever dated or married has either cheated on her or she was the other woman. Then she proceeded to tell me that, "All men cheat, if they don't do it, they think about it."
Abandonment and feeling un-wanted:
My mom left me in China when I was 7yrs old for Canada. Her parents and my dad had joint custody, 1 month here, 1 month there.
When Mother's day came around and kids would sing a song that roughly translates to "On this planet/Earth only mom/mother is the best/good". I used to think to myself, "I wouldn't know".
When I was about 4 or 5yrs old, my dad tried to pick me up from my grandparents house one night, drunk, and I didn't want to go. According to the story, he tried to hit me and my grandma blocked it. He was asked to leave and the next day he brought over all my stuff and "severed" our ties. I've seen him once since that day.
I remember a time where my mom was hanging out with my (ex) step-dad and she says to me, "Don't you have homework to do?". I felt like I was in the way of her dating. It was that thought, that first made me want to commit suicide. I'm not sure if I would have remembered it if I did not find the note (found last March, 2017) I wrote dated 1998. I was a child and my mom made me feel like I kept her from living her life and being happy.
Pity, sense of responsibility, duty:
My grandma used to tell me about her sad life where she was always the victim. She used to make me feel so bad for her it made me sad. I remember dreams where I couldn't describe it as a kid, but as an adult, best I can describe it is I was a balloon being blown up and I felt like I couldn't be contained and I was about to explode. I think those dreams were the my first signs of feeling anxious or "under pressure".
That's just mind fucking. It doesn't even cover the physical abuse.
There's a Chinese saying, "Hitting is affection/closeness. Scolding/yelling/criticism is love." (This is definitely psychological abuse, but I'm putting it under physical because this was the justification of their physical abuse.)
My grandma used to beat my with the back of a broom handle that was kept in her closet. It got to the point that every time she even looked or headed towards the closet, I was afraid. I would run for the bathroom because it was the only place in the apt with a lock on the door.
My mom hit me. The worst was when she realized I didn't practice piano during a piano lesson. She dragged me from my piano bench, by the hair, across the floor to the kitchen. Grabbed her rolling pin (for dough, which was essentially a wooden stick with an inch diameter) and beat my ass. My ass was black and blue almost instantaneously and she felt bad, but it was done.
There were times she would just say to me, "I've had a long day, I'm too tired to beat you. Hit yourself for me." I, like a dumbass would just be on my knees and bashing my own head with my fists. I was 9 or 10yrs old. (Again, I would categorize that as more psychological abuse than physical).
My grandma once told me a story about how (before my dad dropping me off at my grandparents for good, so before 4-5yrs old, I don't remember this...) I kissed my uncle on the lips, as she tells the story. She asked why I did that and I said, (according to her), "I saw my dad kiss someone else like that".
The only time I saw my dad after being a kid was when I was in my early teenage years. I just hit puberty and started to wear a bra. My mom thought maybe I wanted to know my dad. I remember being in the elevator with him and my mom's mom (grandma) and I felt something on my shoulder. When I looked it was him apparently trying to tuck my bra strap back underneath my tank top, but it didn't feel like that. It felt sexual. I did not feel comfortable.
I remember my mom kissed me one morning, and my response was "Ew you just French kissed me" and she was surprised I knew what it meant. (9-11yrs range not sure how old). But my mouth was closed, and she tonged the outside of my mouth.
All these different forms of abuse that made me feel so insignificant, unwanted, a burden. I'm starting to look back and question how much that really had to do with me.
I'm starting to wonder maybe I was just a punching bag.
What I know, my mom feared for her life when she was married to my dad, that was the reason for her abortion. She told me how she used to check for a gun in his briefcase when he came home or how she would stand with her back against a post while waiting for the subway because she feared being pushed down into the tracks.
I was the product of a relationship where she feared for her life. My dad was a bully. I'm not even sure the extent of the abuse she had to endure. All I knew was that he swept her off her feat, he danced like Prince Charming and my grandpa did not like him. My grandpa was such a good judge of character, I think that alone should have told me enough, but my mom was stubborn and rebellious.
When I put the pieces together, given the fact he was abusive, the way she treated me and made me feel.
I can only come to one conclusion, that I indeed was not wanted. I was the product of an abusive husband/marriage, she ran away from that relationship to Canada and left me with her parents.
I am pretty sure the reason why she's cut ties with me now, is because truthfully speaking, she never wanted me to begin with and I'm a constant reminder of my dad.
Last time I saw her, she made these "jokes". She took a look at my pink combat boots (she loves combat boots) and she says, "So you are my daughter after all". The tone and comment suggested that she thinks we have nothing in common and the only sign of proof was that we have similar tastes in shoes.
I mean her marriage was so on the rocks she got an abortion before me.
My grandma, middle of her 2 sisters. Her older sister was start and pretty. Her younger sister was cuter and well younger. My grandma was... I don't know how to explain it. I wonder if maybe she was a lesbian. Her pictures looked butch. She was misandrous and she always questioned me as if I had been molested or raped.
I mean even before I hit puberty. I do not recall any type of sexual abuse. But maybe the story of me kissing my uncle (before age 5, before I could remember) wasn't quite the way she told it. Did I really see my dad kissing someone else on the lips and I was mimicking him and his actions?
The causes are speculation.
My mom makes me feel like I am indebted to her for raising me. I wonder if that's because she didn't want to have anything to do with me and she felt obligated to raise me.
My grandma made me feel like men are nasty and I am just a toy to them. I just don't understand because she was married to my grandpa. How can she be married to such a thoughtful man and harbor so much hate for them?
My whole life I've been pro-abortion, and I never wanted children because there was always someone who made me feel like I was not wanted.
I am so complacent with pain, when I'm being hurt, or when I am being treated as if I am nothing because that's all I know. Not only is it what I know, it's what I've been told is love.
But I hate it. I hate being hurt, I just want to be cared for.
I don't want to be hurt anymore. I don't want to be under the impression that pain is love.
I need to break the cycle.