As a kid I didn't believe in a happily ever after.
I wasn't going to build something, out of nothing.
I had no reason to think that I was going to get saved by a knight in shinning armor.
I did, however, believe in destiny, fate, and love. Only because the words spewing from my mother had no value, her voice wasn't strong enough to carry me into a sense of comfort, and she couldn't care less. Narcissists will devour their young, if need be. I could not understand how, this beastly woman, who is my mom, could live with herself. She is motivated by greed and hatred, and hell bent on destroying anything in her path, she doesn't discriminate, her anger can rain down on anyone, in any occasion. Information that one could gather from someone like her is twisted, corrupt, dishonest and most likely abusive. These days are mostly the same with the exception of my age and her inability to physically push me around but she laid a foundation of fear inside me so deep, that I feel anxiety just talking on the phone with her. She knows how to play upon real emotions I feel and hit those raw parts within me which make me question myself.
She knows how to make me feel guilty for her actions and reactions to everyday normal shit.
When I was little I needed her attention, her love, and to genuinely feel good. Instead I wasn't seen as a separate person, but merely an extension of her but
I rarely felt as if I belonged, let alone felt human.
As if I was a missing child they picked up off the side of the road, took home and went about their lives as normal. The experience of being around my mom was brutal, all I wanted was to be somewhere where I could truly feel good. My words and action were ridiculed, my basic childlike thoughts were laughed at. I was consistently overlooked and called weird because of my use of my imagination, and as if I shouldn't use my ability to access my imagination like it was dumbing me down. [Later I learned that in order for a person to use their imagination, it takes great effort from the mind to create images, which were not real or previously seen, and proves the importance of using one's imagination.] My mother's, what I coined as: fear-conditioning, was the first instrument she used to systematically kill my spirit, and the first step in creating an individual that would not question her authority.
At that time I truly felt alone, not a single soul to connect with, only the emtional abuse she gifted me with. I was shamed by my own need to be loved and happy. Shamed about my body, and what I wanted to know about it.
But I desperately wanted to feel something.
I badly wanted something other than the pain engulfing my body and every single moment or thought in each day. Something other than avoidance as a result of me just being me. And the pain I felt in my heart, my body, and my mind was too much to feel. Pain brought on by expectations a child held on to.
I didn't have the ability to accept my experiences as I knew love was real and a part of the human experience, I had witnessed love countless times (through people watching), it looked so effortlessly executed and I knew that I wasn't asking for much. Without any doubt, or conscious thought my young mind knew it was an attainable feeling. I can remember how I began to escape reality, to make that same experience within my imagination. Essentially as a child, I fantasized about being loved by my mother. A particular fantasy I had was a situation where I'd have an accident that caused me to feel pain & cry then my mother would embrace me, holding me within her arms, gently hushing me until I felt ok. I think about that now, and it fucks me up. Feels almost like time-traveling- inside my head I am that child again and I am so scared & lonely. I can see exactly where I lost the ability to feel safe because I was basically scared all the time, powerless. I was scared to cry after getting hurt, out of fear that my mother would hurt me even more. She could not be around me while I was experiencing a "bad" emotion so I got to feel what is was like to be a product of my mother's fears. Majority of my adolescence was spent living in a scared, sad, and lonely world.. Being pulled into my mother's system of fear-conditioning, where emotions looked weak, and so I was humiliated for questioning my reality as if I was odd or weird.
There is nothing good about raising a child with good intentions, without the ability to differentiate between your subjective reality and the child's, it's a matter of unconsciously passing traumatic experience.
It's reckless and it's incredibly saddening.
I can clearly see how a child's fear is but a product of the child's caregiver. And fear then becomes reality out of the life that it's made out of.