Issues and Memories

I just got back from my birthday celebration with my amom. 

I wish things were different, I wish life were just easier. 

Being with my amom is just a huge trigger for me, it just is.  I wish I could love her, I wish everything would just be fine and dandy and I could forget my childhood and everything could be just fine, but I can’t. 

I wish I could make all the triggers I get when I am with her go away… but they just wont. 

I love my amom, but I don’t like her.  If life had turned out different, and she didn’t adopt me, our paths would probably have never crossed, but if for some reason they had, I can say with 100% certainty that she would not have been a person I would have liked.  I don’t like her, I just don’t.  Our personalities are nothing alike, WE are nothing alike.  We have nothing in common, nothing we share, nothing anything.  I just don’t like to spend time with her, why would I?  Who wants to spend time with someone they don’t like?

Being with her is emotionally triggering.  Especially being with her with anything food related. 

There are a lot of things I don’t talk about on this blog, a lot of things that went on in my childhood that I don’t speak of.  Not because they are terrible, but just because they are difficult issues for me.  

This is one of them.  Growing up, particularly after the abuse, I began to turn to food for comfort.  It was pretty much the only thing I had to comfort myself with.  That and creating an imaginary world that became my life, but we will talk about that later. 

My parents, refusing to have a daughter with any kind of weight problem, fought me and my sister tooth and nail about any kinds of foods that came into our house, or went into our bodies.  They, particularly my mother, became a rather drill sergeant type when it came to our bodies and what went into it.  There was constant picking, constant.  You can’t eat that, watch how much of that you put on.  You have had enough.  You can’t possibly be hungry now. 

Ketchup has calories you know. 

Everything eating became a battle.  She would get us up early in the morning and make us stand on the scale.  She would make us exercise before we ate breakfast in the mornings.  Would put us on diets, just to try to make sure that we never got overweight.  She stopped buying any kind of snack food, any kind of readily eatable foods really.  Anything she did buy, she hid.  She hid it because I would sneak it at night.  She even hid the bread, so I wouldn’t eat it. 

Parties, no matter where they were, who was having them, whatever, became hell.  It was constant, the picking was constant, if it wasn’t one parent, it was the other.

Food became the enemy, my body became the enemy.  Because despite their best efforts at making sure that I never gained weight, I did anyway.  

Being with her on any occasion that involves food, which is pretty much any occasion, is still extremely triggering for me.  She doesn’t really pick at me anymore.  Still will on occasion, ask me if I am going to eat all of something, or ‘you do realize how many calories is in there’.  I learned to ignore her, just let it go, or snip back with a comment of my own.   She still picks at my younger sister.  All throughout dinner… ‘remember the portions are big’ ‘don’t put too much cheese on there’ ‘ you have had enough, why don’t we get a box for the rest’ 

She thinks its innocent enough, but it makes me cringe, it makes me want to scream.  It makes me wish I could get my sister out of that situation. 

Then of course, we have the obligatory cake and ice cream back at her house.  With the obligatory walk down memory lane. 

Problem is, I don’t have a lot of memories. 

I had to learn, young, particularly because of the abuse, how to block out the world. 

Unfortunately, I got so good at it, that I just did it all the time.  I lived in a world that existed only to me.  Its only been within the last few years that I have come out of it. 

The problem with living in your own mind, you don’t have memories outside of it. 

I have always functioned fine… even having emotion.  I suppose its dissociation to the infinite degree… beyond auto pilot, beyond anything.  I just wasn’t ‘present’ for most of my life.  Therefore, I don’t have memories, clear ones anyway, from most of my life. 

We went on a ski trip to Colorado when I was about 16.  Very cool trip, as I love to ski.  One of the things we did was go dog sledding.  I have done lots of random things, comes with having an adventurous afather who will spend the money to try anything once.  One of those random things was dog sledding.  I had a sled, with a bunch of dogs, and my sister in the little sled thing… and thats that.  You basically did it yourself. 

My mother was going on and on all about this dog sledding thing.  How miserable I was, how much I hated it.  How I was wearing this goofy penguin hat.  All these details about this dog sledding trip.  I don’t remember it, I remember that we went dog sledding, but I don’t even remember if I liked it or not.  Apparently it was a not, but I don’t remember. 

Its extremely frustrating to me, because I wish I had these memories of my life, I just don’t.  So I nod and smile and go ‘oh yeah!  I remember that!’ when in all reality my mind just draws a blank. 

25 years of my life… and I don’t even remember what dog sledding was like.   

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