I have written this in a way that allows me to get in touch with (and elicit) my feelings about what happened, which I am very conflicted about. It is a collage of many years of abuse. It was written to purposely trigger my own feelings and may trigger responses in some folks.
My mother ran off to Florida with my father in the late fifties. I was produced illegitimately during my parent's two-year union. During that time I was put up for adoption until my mother rescinded and decided to keep me. After she had had enough of my father's womanizing, she left him and returned to Massachusetts with my brother and I. At some point we were put into another orphanage, but she changed her mind again, and took us back.
My mother suffers from schizophrenia. It was undiagnosed until I was 15, although it was obvious to anyone who spoke with her for any length of time. She is what's called a high functioning schizophrenic however, and so was able to manage going to the grocery store and such. She rarely was able to hold a job for more than six months, so we lived on welfare most of the time. I met my father when I was six, and saw him again when I was 13, when we moved back to Florida. My younger brother and I were essentially alone with her for our entire childhoods, except for brief interludes when her life fell apart, and she moved back in with my grandparents.
I have no idea when it started, but my mother turned to me to fulfill her desires, both for sexual stimulation and for intimacy. She abused me this way until the age of about 13. I have a strong feeling that there is a lot more than I can remember that goes back to almost the day I was born. I am not sure if I want to know. She told me with great guilt one day that she regularly beat me as an infant for crying. I don't remember it.
My first memories are of being mauled by her either in bed or on the couch, maybe 6 or 7 years old. She is lying on top of me and she feels very heavy and is pushing herself into me. I know that I do not dare display any indication of displeasure, because she will beat the shit out of me, which she did frequently, and often without warning. I can't remember anything but the feeling of suffocation, and I can see my arm, it's reaching out towards the wall. She is focused on a somewhat lower part of my body.
She loved to stare at me when I was naked or in my underwear. She said I had a "cute little pee pee', and a "cute little rear end'. I was cute. I was a "toy' for her to play with. She loved to join me after my bath until way after the age where I really needed any help. She would dry me off, which included a couple of squeezes to my genitalia.
As I got older I got to like the stimulation and attention she gave me. Since she regularly pointed out that my only value was that I was cute, it was the only way to get any positive attention from her. Whether it was positive or not, it was better than any other attention that I received from her.
It got to be like we were married or something, or maybe she was more like a mistress. It was sexier and more exciting than having a wife, way more than it was with my wife anyway. She made being a boy seem so sexy. I felt so beautiful and desirable.
And she was an extremely beautiful woman. Maybe every kid thinks their mom is beautiful, but men flocked after my mother and she refused them all. I was her choice for a life partner. I was being set up to take care of her forever. I jealously chased away any men that were stupid enough to try to continue to pursue her. Since she saw herself as divorced, it would be a sin in the Catholic Church to remarry anyway.
I remember her kissing me adoringly and longingly, and with such unbelievable passion. We shared a blissful union at those times. Blissful total enmeshment with my mother, isn't that the dream of every little boy, if not every child? Yet it's a dream they are supposed to be protected from, not forced (or enticed) to participate in. I remember that I wanted to be in her lap forever. I would look up at her. I loved her so much. And I thought she loved me the way I loved her. It was a shock when I began to realize that she was using me to meet her own needs.
I hear her saying “I adore you”. And I am saying "I love you'. I'm putting my arms around her neck, and pulling her face down towards me. She is now lying on top of me, and we are in this place of pure love. I am ecstatic, and overwhelmed with joy. My whole body tingles. I want for her to kiss me some more. She complies. I don't want her to ever stop. I want to marry her someday. I am her little man, her sweet prince, her bunny rabbit, her baby Jesus. She is my "prettiness', and I swear to her that I will always love her no matter what. I won't masturbate, or be sexual in any way (except with her), as she requests because it's a sin. I tell her I will remain pure and chaste for her. I actually am able to comply with these demands for quite a long time.
I was totally devoted to her. I am still loyal as the day is long, having had two long-term, completely monogamous relationships. I tell her I will become a priest (thank god that one never happened!), which is her one goal in life for me, (so she never has to share me with another woman?).
She actively pursued several priests during my childhood, but I think she only picked the gay ones, with one notable exception that she got all the way to the bedroom. She declined to have sex with him at the last minute. I was told about every single sexual experience of her life. I understand that he was very frustrated by this encounter as she describes that he "started without her'. I understand how he feels, even at the time.
As we lie there together, I feel so special, I feel her body rubbing up against me as she kisses me. I am in my underwear; maybe we are in bed now. I feel her against my penis. It feels very good to me, and I push back against her. When she realizes that I am becoming aroused she immediately turns away, gets up and removes herself entirely from the situation. I feel ashamed for what I have done, angry because she has rejected me, and frustrated beyond all comprehension, with no way to relieve myself.
I recognize that what we are doing is somehow wrong, but I also know that this pattern keeps her in check. This makes mommy happy. She had been doing it with me forever, and I know she likes it. But now I'm starting to like it too, I'm becoming more aggressive, and am pursuing her. I'm not conscious of what I am doing or why. She is my trick.
I feel like a whore, but a special kind of whore. A whore that could not be overtly sexual in any way, in the sense that I had to be very methodical in my seduction. I was only supposed to be sexualized, but I liked it, and made sure I got as much out of it as I could, even as I knew I wasn't supposed enjoy it too much. That would make what we were doing wrong, according to my mother, and maybe to god. I didn't care. She would literally look into my eyes and/or watch me somehow to see how "horny' I was. If she could sense that I was too "in the mood' then she wouldn't comply.
Our intimacy included my having to follow and mirror every neurotic thing her insane mind could come up with. I had to be her constant emotional crutch, including telling her how beautiful she was, she wasn't getting old, participating in religious discussions that often included people in the room that I couldn't see, and on and on. I never got to be one-dimensional, in the way a child is. I always had to be a juggler. It was inconvenient for me to be a child. I was "lucky' to have not been sent back to the orphanage.
My grandmother finally told me that my mother didn't really see god, the saints, and the devil when I was 8 years old. She said that my mother was crazy. However, my grandmother did nothing to protect us in any way from her. She could barely protect herself, as I saw my mother push my grandmother around physically and verbally. She did this until the day my grandmother died, just a few short years ago.
As children, my uncles (her brothers) were also physically beaten by her, she was the eldest of 3. My remaining uncle recounts her putting his head in the toilet and flushing it. We were all terrified of her. I don't know why they didn't do anything. My grandmother also caught her with me once while we were just getting warmed up, we were living with them at the time. She said "Judy, would you quit eating off that kid?' My mother later describes the pain the comment made her feel, and I console her, as I always do. She is very careful to make sure that these activities are kept private in the future. Many years later I asked my grandmother if she remembers the incident, she doesn't.
The same year (age 8) I was accosted by a pedophile in the woods near my grandmother's house. I remember him running his hands all over my body, but it doesn't seem at all strange to me at the time, including him rubbing my penis. I can remember this so clearly. I don't know there is anything wrong till he points at my crotch, and asks "what's in there'?, and several other questions of the same kind. At which point I run away from him. Luckily, he lets me go. It is notable that by this time, I was already like a piece of meat. Rub me down with olive oil and throw me on the grill.
I did well in school, and didn't act out in any way until I began drinking and using drugs at about 11. I was a good boy. When I got 7 A's in the second grade my mother told me "I expect perfection'. No matter what I did, it wasn't notable. She also took credit for everything I did, or any talents I had. Everything sprang from her. Her ego was immeasurable. Her domination of me was total. She believed she had a direct line to god. I could never express an opinion that she didn't agree with without being slapped or hit. NEVER. I had to hide my real feelings. She told me that I was like "Mr. Spok' from Star Trek. I wonder if this is why I use mxdtii as my identification, and email address. It's sounds like the model number of a computer chip.
She also liked to fast (starve herself) in the Catholic tradition. She was very religious, and read her holy books. I guess that when she fasted we all did, because there was nothing to eat. I still suffer from issues around eating, as we were often inappropriately fed.
One notable period she began seeing "black things' on people. She saw one on me one time and beat the living shit of me. I still don't know what the fuck it was about. Many of the most memorable beatings I received were when I didn't know what I had done wrong. I was often told to "think over everything you did, and figure it out for yourself'. I still do that to this day. Everything in the universe is my fault. Everything.
She had innumerable episodes of every imaginable kind. She had hallucinations that she referred to as "visions' when she was driving. She once suggested as we were traveling thought high mountains that maybe it would be better if she drove off the cliff, because then we would go to heaven. I tell her no, lets just keep driving on the road. She would give away our food to other needy families, when there wasn't enough to spare. It was "being a good Catholic'. She told me that she wanted to have sex with my friends. She said "If this was the jungle, I would have sex with Tony.' It was the jungle to me, I wondered why she didn't just run him down and fuck him. I told Tony what she said. My friends knew she was nuts, but never said a word to me till I saw them 25 years later. I was screaming to hear some kind of validation about what reality really was. I still am not sure what is real, and don't feel "present' at times.
My mother felt cheated by life and resentful of my youth to the point of rage. I ruined her life by being born. I stole her youth and beauty, and took it for myself. She is the most vicious and vile person I have ever known, but to this day I struggle with feeling that it was somehow my fault. It's like I am so strong, and she is so weak, so fragile. I feel the need to accommodate people all the time. I know I can survive ANYTHING, but they might break.
Here are a few choice quotes from her:
"If only I didn't have you kids… I wish you had never been born.' "You're no damn good.'
"See how you really are! See why I can't trust you. You're EVIL!
"If you don't shape up you're going back to Brightside' (the orphanage).'
"If you had a brain you'd be dangerous.'
"You idiot.' "Stupid.'
"You don't care about anyone but YOURSELF!'
"You will go out into the world and you will FAIL!'
"You stupid ass. Shut your mouth before I slap it shut.'
"You're LOW. You're weak. All you kids do is take, take, take.'
There was hardly a day when I wasn't hit or slapped, and was occasionally beaten with among other things, belts, hairbrushes, broomsticks, and anything else available. These weren't calm corporal-punishment type beatings (if that such a thing even exists) for some major infraction, they were explosive rage-filled beatings associated with the words "YOU LITTLE SHIT, I'M GONNA KILL YOU', or some similar sentiment, for the mistake of being a separate being from her. This has been described to me as a narcissistic obsession. "Love bunnies' was a lot more fun. She had a thing about knives, too. The way she looked at me when she was holding one. Or was I imagining it? I really believed that she wanted to kill me when she was through with me.
I resisted any sexual impulses except those towards my mother. I can remember thinking "if this is as bad as it gets, I can handle it', as I began to sense the interest other boys had for me, and me for them. The truth is that I felt almost no physical attraction to anyone then, I was saving myself for something greater. I passed up on all opportunities to explore my sexuality that the other kids were participating in, both with boys and girls. My sexual interaction with my mother was like being in god's belly. He approved of our relationship. It was holy, just like my penis, as I was told frequently as she rubbed it through the bed sheets while putting me to bed. I would put my arms around her to try and hold her there, but she would disentangle herself and leave.
I came home one day to find her with my brother (he was 11, 12?) with his underwear down, and her rubbing his ass on the couch. His front was on her lap. He appeared to be enjoying himself. I felt jealous, abandoned, destroyed. I liked it when she was rubbing my ass much better.
I lust for her even now, 30 years or so after I became too old for her to want me any longer. She rejected me because I began to get pubic hair and other secondary signs of puberty at age 13. She said "I just wanted that little baby, I didn't want YOU.'
I was approached by another pedophile when I was 13. He was 26 years old, and handsome really. With all of his charm and manipulation, he found me too difficult a nut to crack. He gave up. I'm damn lucky really, and I know it.
In the intervening period, I have a few girl friends but am extremely shy, particularly of sexual contact. I have one brief "relationship' with a boy, he is crazy about me, but I feel nothing. I leave home at the age of 17. I am aware of my attraction to guys, but resist it like crazy, because I think that she caused it. I contemplated suicide some significant portion of the time at this period in my life. I hated myself completely in every way. I wanted to change everything and be someone else.
A therapist once told me that a big event like the birth of a child can cause the first psychotic break in a schizophrenic. My mother clearly associated me with her insanity, and I really felt the sincerity of that belief. I felt I was bad, and as instructed, didn't fight back, defend myself, or run away, even as I got older. I lost several guitars on both my head and my brother's. We both would just sit there, completely unmoving, even at the ages of like 15 and 16. I look back at this now with astonishment. We were really trained. The last time she tried it I was approximately 19. I had been away from her for 2 years, and without even hesitating I slapped her and pushed her back against the wall. They talk about seeing red. She is lucky I didn't send her to the hospital. She never hit me again.
I start having relationships with women, and get married and have children, but clearly suffer from sexual identity confusion. I leave my wife of 10 years (and a horrible relationship) and find a nice dude to love. We are raising the children together now, because my ex can't handle them (why isn't that surprising?). I love my children though, and we are functioning very well as a family.
I sporadically suffer from depression however, which includes side effects like not being hungry, or at least not being willing to eat when I am hungry, insomnia, unsociability, emotional unavailability, disinterest in sex, and just generally feeling like shit.
I still feel the desire to be connected to all that bliss again. Everything else in the universe is dull and gray compared to that experience. I want to be young and cute so she will love me again. I want to get my rocks off with her somehow too, maybe that's why I married a woman even though I liked dudes. But, it's so hard when it's your mom, you know? I love her and I hate her for stealing my childhood away from me. I also want to have all the sexual experiences that I passed up on as a child, and a teenager, or to experience the few I did have in the right context. I want to re-live everything in a new way. And maybe have a father this time.
Both my mother and grandmother have commented on my ability to take care of myself. I think this is true, and it is a source of conflict. It was always said in the context that I should be taking care of them. I was able to transcend the madness somehow, and use the users, or put enough together of whatever it was that I needed for me to survive. This instinct has helped me in innumerable ways in my life. But I also feel that it has hurt me, by keeping me from seeing how I wasn't responsible, and how I WAS THE VICTIM, which stalls my growth out of this shit.
I still feel conflicted about having the right to feel bad. And yet I do feel bad. I was always told how good I had it. There was no reason to feel the way I did. As I write this down, it's as if I'm trying to prove something. "See, it was bad…….. right?' It's like I am trying to feel something deeper, and there is nothing there. Numbness, and a pain in my intestines. A burning sensation.