Re: Thanks for the (repressed) memories

June 8, 2007

What a beyotch. That's my favorite, the laughing at your pain.

YET! What a kind man that landlord was. That is the lovely part of

that memory.

-Deanna

>

> So I'm in the shower this morning, minding my own darn business,

> when out of nowhere this old memory just came and slapped me in the

> face:

>

> I posted once before about the in-law apartment I lived in by myself

> when I was 11-13 (was with nada for about a year before she moved in

> with her SO). Well, it was Christmas time in the year nada stopped

> living there, and the man who owned the home and lived in the main

> part of the house left me a gift basket.

>

> It was full of food -- not holiday treats, mind you, but FOOD: cans

> of tuna and soup, saltines, cereal. Completely puzzled as to why a

> grown (but nowhere near old enough to be senile) man would give a 12

> year old kid tuna fish for Christmas, I brought it up to nada the

> next time I saw her.

>

> Nada thought for a second and then said, " Oh! I bet he heard you

> screaming at me on the phone when you were crying that there was no

> food in the house. " (Sidenote: um, that's because there was no food

> in the house). Then she laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd

> heard all day.

>

> When she was done laughing, she told me to not be so loud on the

> phone, bc obviously, I was disturbing our landlord.

>

> All of these memories are flooding out lately, it is so bizarre.

>

June 8, 2007

,

Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my nada did.

What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess even

headcases can find things funny...

I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes home from

a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but doesn't

it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot, and it

didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in. I told

my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put it on. "

I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't fit,

and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on purpose,

for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations. Remember,

I was five.

She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away, shouting

at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to crush my

foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with those

newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing more than

to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd stop

hollering at me and looking like a monster.

Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She stuck her

hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to fill the

shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out laughing. No

wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it was the

most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her way.

I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me, thinking, " Now

she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for something that

wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean it. " She

did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had come to a

hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it with

amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and a sense

of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious granted a

feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a whistling

vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at five. But

I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass that

she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

Have a good weekend, y'all.

Love always,

Vi

June 8, 2007

That is just sad. The man obviously knew something was wrong. And

your mother gone at Christmas time. Did you wake up Christmas

morning alone?

-Kyla

>

> So I'm in the shower this morning, minding my own darn business,

> when out of nowhere this old memory just came and slapped me in

the

> face:

>

> I posted once before about the in-law apartment I lived in by

myself

> when I was 11-13 (was with nada for about a year before she moved

in

> with her SO). Well, it was Christmas time in the year nada stopped

> living there, and the man who owned the home and lived in the main

> part of the house left me a gift basket.

>

> It was full of food -- not holiday treats, mind you, but FOOD:

cans

> of tuna and soup, saltines, cereal. Completely puzzled as to why a

> grown (but nowhere near old enough to be senile) man would give a

12

> year old kid tuna fish for Christmas, I brought it up to nada the

> next time I saw her.

>

> Nada thought for a second and then said, " Oh! I bet he heard you

> screaming at me on the phone when you were crying that there was

no

> food in the house. " (Sidenote: um, that's because there was no

food

> in the house). Then she laughed like it was the funniest thing

she'd

> heard all day.

>

> When she was done laughing, she told me to not be so loud on the

> phone, bc obviously, I was disturbing our landlord.

>

> All of these memories are flooding out lately, it is so bizarre.

>

June 8, 2007

<<She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " >>

You know, my nada did disappear an awful lot . . . maybe she was

living at your house.

I know Scary Eyes, and I know the teeth-scream. Boyyyy, do I.

PS: I wish I could scoop the child-size versions of all of us and

just hug them for hours. No child deserves to be treated like this!

EVER!!!!!

>

> ,

>

> Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my nada

did.

> What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess even

> headcases can find things funny...

>

> I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes home

from

> a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but

doesn't

> it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot, and it

> didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in. I

told

> my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put it

on. "

> I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't fit,

> and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on purpose,

> for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations.

Remember,

> I was five.

>

> She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away,

shouting

> at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to crush my

> foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with

those

> newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing more

than

> to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd stop

> hollering at me and looking like a monster.

>

> Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She stuck

her

> hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to fill

the

> shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out laughing.

No

> wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it was

the

> most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her way.

>

> I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me, thinking, " Now

> she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for something

that

> wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean it. " She

> did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had come to

a

> hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it with

> amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and a

sense

> of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

>

> It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious

granted a

> feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a

whistling

> vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at five.

But

> I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass that

> she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

>

> Have a good weekend, y'all.

>

> Love always,

> Vi

>

June 8, 2007

Yeah, I find that man creeping into my thoughts more and more as I

have these recollections. I google mapped the house just to look at

it. I haven't been there since the sherrif threw us out, and I still

feel terrible about the awful, awful condition the place was left.

No, I didn't wake up alone on Christmas -- my grandparents (nada's

parents) lived just a few miles away. I stayed with them on holidays

and as much as I could without " making them think something was

wrong. " That was always key -- they could never suspect. Nada always

forced me to come home after 3 days.

The day I found maggots in the house, I freaked out and started

packing a bag. Would you believe the bitch actually picked THAT

night to come " home " for something and caught me. She called my

grandparents and told them not to come -- I was just " doing the

freaky deaky " and needed discipline, not treats.

Then I got the full BP treatment of, " What's wrong with you? "

> >

> > So I'm in the shower this morning, minding my own darn business,

> > when out of nowhere this old memory just came and slapped me in

> the

> > face:

> >

> > I posted once before about the in-law apartment I lived in by

> myself

> > when I was 11-13 (was with nada for about a year before she

moved

> in

> > with her SO). Well, it was Christmas time in the year nada

stopped

> > living there, and the man who owned the home and lived in the

main

> > part of the house left me a gift basket.

> >

> > It was full of food -- not holiday treats, mind you, but FOOD:

> cans

> > of tuna and soup, saltines, cereal. Completely puzzled as to why

a

> > grown (but nowhere near old enough to be senile) man would give

a

> 12

> > year old kid tuna fish for Christmas, I brought it up to nada

the

> > next time I saw her.

> >

> > Nada thought for a second and then said, " Oh! I bet he heard you

> > screaming at me on the phone when you were crying that there was

> no

> > food in the house. " (Sidenote: um, that's because there was no

> food

> > in the house). Then she laughed like it was the funniest thing

> she'd

> > heard all day.

> >

> > When she was done laughing, she told me to not be so loud on the

> > phone, bc obviously, I was disturbing our landlord.

> >

> > All of these memories are flooding out lately, it is so bizarre.

> >

>

June 8, 2007

, it actually does not surprise me at all that she chose that

night to come home.

There is a well-documented strain of BPD Psychic Ability. It's like

the inner void they live in allows them to pick up vibrations in the

ethers, and sense potential abandonment from miles away.

(If I were really mean, I'd say that you should have put maggots in

her hair while she slept that night...you know, a late Christmas

present. But since I'm not mean, I won't say that...!)

Love and hugs,

Vi

June 8, 2007

I got a lot of that in your face screaming too. I grew to hate hate

hate hate the sight of her face. Too highly functioning to call me

worthless, but she said it with that LOOK. So then it's all very

" what are you talking about? " cause who can complain about a LOOK?

Yet, that look is so hurtful. When I think about it, I don't know

that I can recall a kind look. There were some " isn't that cute on

you? " looks when I got new clothes.

But the arm grabbing, eye to eye face staring who the eff do you think

you are to be a bother to ME look...

I remember staring at her jowls, the shape of her eyebrows, her lower

row of teeth, the redness of her face, the stubby eyelashes.

Thinking, " You hate me??? Well, I hate you TOO! "

Wow, stuff is just flooding back to me.

-Deanna

>

> ,

>

> Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my nada did.

> What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess even

> headcases can find things funny...

>

> I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes home from

> a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but doesn't

> it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot, and it

> didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in. I told

> my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put it on. "

> I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't fit,

> and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on purpose,

> for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations. Remember,

> I was five.

>

> She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away, shouting

> at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to crush my

> foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with those

> newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing more than

> to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd stop

> hollering at me and looking like a monster.

>

> Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She stuck her

> hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to fill the

> shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out laughing. No

> wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it was the

> most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her way.

>

> I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me, thinking, " Now

> she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for something that

> wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean it. " She

> did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had come to a

> hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it with

> amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and a sense

> of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

>

> It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious granted a

> feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a whistling

> vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at five. But

> I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass that

> she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

>

> Have a good weekend, y'all.

>

> Love always,

> Vi

>

June 8, 2007

Yes! THe scary stare -- the slow, low voice through clenched

teeth......

WHen my mother tossed me out of the house when I was a college

student, her " apology " was " I don't know what got into me " --

It was all about her. I didn't feel apologized to. She didn't even

begin the sentence with " I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me. "

She kept the focus on her -- as if to say " Look how stressed I am!

I even threw you out of the house! "

Then, the cherry on top was that my dad said " And calling her crazy

doesn't help!! " He said it with a glare, too.

Gee -- how awful of me.

I'll never forget that. I guess I didn't read the manual on " How to

Conduct Yourself When You're Being Thrown Out of Your Home! "

-Kyla

> >

> > ,

> >

> > Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my

nada

> did.

> > What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess even

> > headcases can find things funny...

> >

> > I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes home

> from

> > a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but

> doesn't

> > it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot, and

it

> > didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in. I

> told

> > my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put

it

> on. "

> > I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't

fit,

> > and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on

purpose,

> > for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations.

> Remember,

> > I was five.

> >

> > She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> > through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away,

> shouting

> > at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to crush

my

> > foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with

> those

> > newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing more

> than

> > to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd stop

> > hollering at me and looking like a monster.

> >

> > Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She

stuck

> her

> > hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to fill

> the

> > shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out

laughing.

> No

> > wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it was

> the

> > most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> > existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her

way.

> >

> > I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me,

thinking, " Now

> > she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for something

> that

> > wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean it. "

She

> > did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had come

to

> a

> > hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it

with

> > amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and a

> sense

> > of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

> >

> > It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> > Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious

> granted a

> > feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a

> whistling

> > vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at

five.

> But

> > I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass

that

> > she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

> >

> > Have a good weekend, y'all.

> >

> > Love always,

> > Vi

> >

>

June 8, 2007

I got that full treatment once in a public bathroom when I was 5.

Nada called me all kinds of horrible things, spat on the floor, told

me I was selfish for dragging her around, and I was just looking for

attention . . . I even got smacked.

For the record, I was constipated.

*rolls eyes*

> > >

> > > ,

> > >

> > > Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my

> nada

> > did.

> > > What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess

even

> > > headcases can find things funny...

> > >

> > > I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes

home

> > from

> > > a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but

> > doesn't

> > > it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot,

and

> it

> > > didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in.

I

> > told

> > > my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put

> it

> > on. "

> > > I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't

> fit,

> > > and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on

> purpose,

> > > for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations.

> > Remember,

> > > I was five.

> > >

> > > She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> > > through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away,

> > shouting

> > > at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to

crush

> my

> > > foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with

> > those

> > > newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing

more

> > than

> > > to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd

stop

> > > hollering at me and looking like a monster.

> > >

> > > Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She

> stuck

> > her

> > > hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to

fill

> > the

> > > shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out

> laughing.

> > No

> > > wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it

was

> > the

> > > most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> > > existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her

> way.

> > >

> > > I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me,

> thinking, " Now

> > > she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for

something

> > that

> > > wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean

it. "

> She

> > > did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had

come

> to

> > a

> > > hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it

> with

> > > amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and

a

> > sense

> > > of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

> > >

> > > It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> > > Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious

> > granted a

> > > feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a

> > whistling

> > > vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at

> five.

> > But

> > > I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass

> that

> > > she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

> > >

> > > Have a good weekend, y'all.

> > >

> > > Love always,

> > > Vi

> > >

> >

>

June 8, 2007

But man-oh-man, the day you master The Look. Her Look. What a day.

Eventually, she caught on and said something like, " Oh, you wanna

play staring contest, do ya? Well, bring it on, little girl, 'cause

I'm waaaaay better at it than you. " (Nothing my nada loves more than

competing with me) But for those first few priceless seconds, I had

matched the hatred and craziness in her eyes, and I did not blink. I

could see it in her face -- sheer terror that I had learned her game

and was going to start throwing it back.

I still can give that look, but all I can feel when I give it is

self-hatred. I know I look like her (expression-wise, at least) and

I know whoever's on the receiving end of it is hating me right back.

> >

> > ,

> >

> > Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my

nada did.

> > What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess even

> > headcases can find things funny...

> >

> > I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes home

from

> > a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but

doesn't

> > it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot, and

it

> > didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in. I

told

> > my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put

it on. "

> > I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't

fit,

> > and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on

purpose,

> > for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations.

Remember,

> > I was five.

> >

> > She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> > through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away,

shouting

> > at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to crush

my

> > foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with

those

> > newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing more

than

> > to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd stop

> > hollering at me and looking like a monster.

> >

> > Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She

stuck her

> > hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to fill

the

> > shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out

laughing. No

> > wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it was

the

> > most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> > existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her

way.

> >

> > I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me,

thinking, " Now

> > she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for something

that

> > wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean it. "

She

> > did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had come

to a

> > hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it

with

> > amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and a

sense

> > of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

> >

> > It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> > Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious

granted a

> > feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a

whistling

> > vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at

five. But

> > I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass

that

> > she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

> >

> > Have a good weekend, y'all.

> >

> > Love always,

> > Vi

> >

>

June 8, 2007

>

> Yes! THe scary stare -- the slow, low voice through clenched

> teeth......

>

Remember that Look, people. That was your introduction to human life.

Remember that, and don't ever, ever let anyone minimize what you went

through. Hell takes a lot of different forms, not just the obvious

war/genocide ones. Sadly, it can take individual, human face too. I

have to remind myself of the gifts of this experience a lot--the

compassion, the insight--but I've also had to cease allowing others to

minimize my experience, for their own mental comfort. They never saw

sheer, blank-eyed madness screeching at them. That was not their

introduction to life. This problem is not taken near seriously enough.

What is it, 2% with BPD? How many millions of kids were introduced to

human interaction through the virulently hateful scary stare? This is

sheerly f'ed up...and the lack of acknowledgement of the problem--it's

like the last taboo left.

> WHen my mother tossed me out of the house when I was a college

> student, her " apology " was " I don't know what got into me " --

>

> It was all about her. I didn't feel apologized to. She didn't even

> begin the sentence with " I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me. "

> She kept the focus on her -- as if to say " Look how stressed I am!

> I even threw you out of the house! "

>

God, I know exactly what you mean. Like, " wow, fancy that! I'm so

stressed, I threw that object against the wall harder than usual! "

Except that the object was YOU.

> Then, the cherry on top was that my dad said " And calling her crazy

> doesn't help!! " He said it with a glare, too.

Like you " helping " is more important than reality. You're such a bad

team player.

>I guess I didn't read the manual on " How to

> Conduct Yourself When You're Being Thrown Out of Your Home! "

You're lovely, Kyla.

Love,

Violetta

June 8, 2007

Your nada ever brag about The Look? About being able to manipulate and

shame people into line with it? My mom even calls it " The Look " , talks

about it in this smug, self-satisfied way. No wonder I barely can see

her as a person for the loathing anymore.

Pardon my hostility. It's the heat.

Love (seriously),

Vi

> > >

> > > ,

> > >

> > > Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my

> nada did.

> > > What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess even

> > > headcases can find things funny...

> > >

> > > I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes home

> from

> > > a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but

> doesn't

> > > it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot, and

> it

> > > didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in. I

> told

> > > my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put

> it on. "

> > > I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't

> fit,

> > > and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on

> purpose,

> > > for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations.

> Remember,

> > > I was five.

> > >

> > > She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> > > through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away,

> shouting

> > > at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to crush

> my

> > > foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with

> those

> > > newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing more

> than

> > > to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd stop

> > > hollering at me and looking like a monster.

> > >

> > > Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She

> stuck her

> > > hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to fill

> the

> > > shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out

> laughing. No

> > > wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it was

> the

> > > most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> > > existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her

> way.

> > >

> > > I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me,

> thinking, " Now

> > > she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for something

> that

> > > wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean it. "

> She

> > > did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had come

> to a

> > > hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it

> with

> > > amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and a

> sense

> > > of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

> > >

> > > It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> > > Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious

> granted a

> > > feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a

> whistling

> > > vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at

> five. But

> > > I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass

> that

> > > she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

> > >

> > > Have a good weekend, y'all.

> > >

> > > Love always,

> > > Vi

> > >

> >

>

June 8, 2007

, that is such a terrible memory. It is ridiculous to call a 5

year old selfish. No wonder you were constipated!

> > > >

> > > > ,

> > > >

> > > > Your post actually made me remember a memory af something my

> > nada

> > > did.

> > > > What is it with the inappropriate laughter, anyways? I guess

> even

> > > > headcases can find things funny...

> > > >

> > > > I was about five, and my nada had brought me some new shoes

> home

> > > from

> > > > a store, and wanted me to try them on. Reasonable enough--but

> > > doesn't

> > > > it always start out that way? Anyway, I put on eon my foot,

> and

> > it

> > > > didn't fit. It was too small for my foot to go all the way in.

> I

> > > told

> > > > my nada, " It doesn't fit. " Se replied, " Of course it does--put

> > it

> > > on. "

> > > > I tried to jam my foot into the shoe, repeating that it didn't

> > fit,

> > > > and she became more and more angry. Like I was doing it on

> > purpose,

> > > > for the diabolical pleasure of frustrating her expectations.

> > > Remember,

> > > > I was five.

> > > >

> > > > She got right down in my face, did the Scary Eyes, and screamed

> > > > through her teeth, " PUT THEM ON! NOW! " She was inches away,

> > > shouting

> > > > at me that it was my size, as I tried with all my might to

> crush

> > my

> > > > foot into the sneaker. I still remember, it way sky blue, with

> > > those

> > > > newfangled velcro straps. I was miserable, wanting nothing

> more

> > > than

> > > > to get the frigging shoe on my foot, to please her so she'd

> stop

> > > > hollering at me and looking like a monster.

> > > >

> > > > Finally, she snatched the shoe from me and examined it. She

> > stuck

> > > her

> > > > hand in, and pulled out a wad of paper stuck in the toe, to

> fill

> > > the

> > > > shoe out. She looked at it for a minute, then burst out

> > laughing.

> > > No

> > > > wonder the shoe hadn't fit! She laughed and laughed, like it

> was

> > > the

> > > > most sublime joke. I think in that moment, she'd forgotten my

> > > > existence. Finally she handed the shoes back, and went on her

> > way.

> > > >

> > > > I remember, at the moment she handed it back to me,

> > thinking, " Now

> > > > she'll apologize. She made a mistake, yelled at me for

> something

> > > that

> > > > wasn't my fault. She'll comfort me and say she didn't mean

> it. "

> > She

> > > > did nothing. As far as she was concerned, the incident had

> come

> > to

> > > a

> > > > hilarious conclusion, and all that was left was to remember it

> > with

> > > > amusement. I was left sitting there with the hated shoes, and

> a

> > > sense

> > > > of abandonment and on-my-own-ness.

> > > >

> > > > It was the beginning, I think, of my conscious realization that

> > > > Something Was Wrong Here. Where most kids took for oblivious

> > > granted a

> > > > feeling of being cared about as a person, I was left with a

> > > whistling

> > > > vacuum. I suppose I can be proud that I first knew of it at

> > five.

> > > But

> > > > I'd trade pride for a mother that wasn't so far up her own ass

> > that

> > > > she can't decide which end to brush her teeth.

> > > >

> > > > Have a good weekend, y'all.

> > > >

> > > > Love always,

> > > > Vi

> > > >

> > >

> >

>

June 8, 2007

Vi,

While I don't have a memory (right now) of something just like that,

it does sound just like my nada. I remember her telling me my father

would spank me when I got home because I accidentally dropped

fingerpaint on the carpet, while trying to carry it outside where I

would not make a mess (I was 5). I don't remember if he actually

spanked me or not. I just remember the sheer UNFAIRNESS! It was an

accident! I'm a good girl! Why are you mad at me!

*heavy sigh*

That is the first memory I have of that type of frustration, but I

konw I have felt it so many, many times. Always being on the

defensive is tiring. So is arguing with yourself in your head over

and over and over and over to try to understand: " did I deserve to get

yelled at? " " did I deserve to be punished? " " did I deserve that

treatment? " " why does she hate me so much??? "