The EMDR this morning was different, went deeper. I felt the terror, felt the emptiness. I looked into my mom's face, and she looked away. I felt small and weak. I wanted to throw things at her, make her pay attention, make her feel the pain, if only the physical pain I was in. I realized how alone I was. I had nothing to protect me. I was panicked, searching for a way to survive this. I could feel how torn up my throat was from screaming and crying. My arm was aching. I could feel every blow on my face, my cheekbone and jaw throbbing, my teeth in my lip. I felt my mind slipping away, but the physical pain, like a cord wrapped around my throat, dragging me back, screaming in head to find a way to make this stop. Do anything, my arms so tired from pulling away, shaking. Shaking everywhere, I can't tell if it's coming from inside me or out. Screaming that I can't tell if it's in my head or coming out of me. I have to survive this. I can't die.
It was on the edge of unbearable. My therapist told me to stand up then, and push against her. I put my palms against hers and pushed until my arms shook and I was gasping for breath. The tension went out of my arms then, but I wanted to scream. I still want to scream and scream and scream.
It's good that you are going through this. I think it's also coming to your realization that your mother is just as much responsible for your abuse as your father was, because she stood by and did nothing. Several sayings come to mind, applying them towards your mom.
"If you're not part of the solution, then you're part of the problem" "Evil flourishes when good people do nothing to stop it" Speaking for myself alone, I had to cut my mother out of my life completely. A part of me aches to do this because I feel bad for cutting her off and it was a long time ago. The hurt is still there, like a wound that won't heal. Every time I see her or speak with her on the phone and she uses her condescending tone with me, a fury rises inside of me. I don't want to be like her and so to prevent that fury from rising, I simply stay away from her. My sister wasn't born when my mother did these things and often isn't supportive of my actions. She doesn't and can't understand the turmoil I feel. I can safely say my mom is the only person in my life that I truly hate. Not only for blaming me for our family being torn apart when I was abused by my uncle, but for also she herself abusing me physically for many years to come until I finally stood up to her when I was 15 years old. I'm reminded of the song by Cat Stevens, "The Cat's in the Cradle". The song speaks about a father never having time for his son while he was growing up and then when the father is old and the son is grown up, the son purposely doesn't have time for the father. A lot of broken promises from the father towards the son and a son holding it against him. That's me and my mother, or rather, not my mom, but the woman who gave birth to me.
Hang in there, friend.
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