Rightfully Angry

Today I strangely noticed (seeing as I haven’t seen M and D together since we were kids) that she treats us both differently. Shes lovely to both of us , don’t get me wrong. But she doesn’t swear in front of M , and wouldn’t say certain things in front of her. For instance she wouldn’t even mention weed in front of M , but within ten minutes of M leaving, she had asked me back to hers for a smoke. I realised that as I was thinking this, my chest is kinda tight , and burning inside. My muscles are tense and tingling like I’ve just finished a workout…I’m angry, really angry. It feels strange to connect the thinking with the feeling, or maybe just fully feeling? But it also feels weird, that i think that feels weird

I’m jealous and angry that M is shielded and babied, which is confusing because I’m the worst for doing both with her, and would find it very hard to change that. I’m ashamed to say it , but for some reason I’m angry with her aswell. I’m angry that I felt forced into taking care of her , and once I did have a choice in whether I had to or not, it didn’t feel like/maybe i didn’t realise I had a choice. I’m angry that I had to baby her and shield her , because , aside from odd scraps here and there, there was no-one else to. I hate that on countless occasions I sang her to sleep , before crying myself to sleep, before my age was even into double digits. I hate that I was the only one who could see she needed , i dunno care/ attention? Because no-one noticed I did too. I hate that M used to get grounded, when Mum has never grounded me in my life.I hate that mum has never been concerned about where I am , till what time, because apparently I can ‘take care of myself’. I hate that by the time I was 10 , it was my job to take M to / pick her up from school, the school we both went to, even if I hadn’t gone in that day. I’m angry that when mum would leave for days M would be spiteful, lash out at me , hit me repeatedly and uncontrollably at times, because i had no-one I could do that to. I’m angry that i learnt/was taught to bury my emotions to the extent that I have, and that I turned them inwards. I’m angry that no-one (but me , and I’m so not there)  will ever be able to validate/give me credit for all I did for M , for how much I tried to make up for her mum being dead, and mine being dead to the world, and especially us. No one, will ever understand how much I love her , or the lengths I’d go to protect that girl, and now, her son. No one knows or can ever know what I’ve given/given up trying to protect her already , or how much i always hated myself for being so weak , vulnerable and unable to get us out of the situation. I’m angry that I had no-one that could do this for me . I’m angry that although I actually am an adult now, I have nearly always been treated as an adult, apart from teachers and aunty S. Confided in with worries/stresses, trusted with & expected to keep secrets, expected to play my part in concealing the truth about an endless list of things from an endless list of people . I’m angry that mum moulded me into what she needed me to be, her good wise responsible, 6 going on 32 (her repeated words) daughter. She made me her emotional sponge, when I was already M’s , and couldn’t bear my own feelings, to the point I would block them out. She would tell me about money worries, evictions, police/debt collectors  at the door, social services. I’m angry that within a week of me getting a PS1 for christmas she wanted to sell it, and when I said that wasn’t fair, she told me I was being selfish and that we couldn’t eat if I said no. Who would do that to a fucking child? And why didn’t she at least take it without my knowing, pretend we were robbed or something? Why would she come into my room and ask me that, at 10 years old, to my face? How could she look me in the eye and put that bullshit fake responsibility on my shoulders? The part of this memory that makes me so angry is that I actually went off, so ashamed of my selfishness and nastiness , and piled all my favourite teddy’s and toy’s in a bag and told her she could sell them too. Obviously she couldn’t. But she sold the PS1 , I never got it back like she promised . And she bought nothing but heroin out of that money.  I’m angry that she told me at 11 years old, after I’d started arguing with her about the drugs and our home situation, that the man on my birth certificate, my dad , wasn’t really my dad. My real dad and i  exchanged a few letters after  that, all through mums hands. I learned recently when she slipped up about it, that she started sleeping with him just before the letters. So the times she was disappearing around then, but didn’t seem off her face , was probably cos she actually was clean for once. But was still disappearing and leaving us girls , to sleep with my biological father who wanted nothing more than to just exchange letters with me?! :@ She told me shortly after this that the reason she was how she was , is that her uncle had sexually abused her from the ages of 6-12. I obviously felt and do still horrified for her and i cant even explain what else. But I shouldn’t have been told that young ,or as a way to manipulate me out of my revolt on her ways and back into her care giver, or still be expected to be in his presence , and keep this a secret from everyone.

I’m angry that I still worry for / care about my mum more than she does me. And I don’t believe that will change.

I’m angry that no one has ever taken care of my basic needs. That I was neglected. No one has taken care of my emotions, shielded me, or encouraged me to confide in them. I’m angry that I spent so many nights crying myself to sleep, not sleeping at all, sleepwalking, having night terrors. That I was so clearly in such deep distress and no one heard me , no one helped me . I don’t even ever remember asking for help , and surely if there was help available , I would have?

I’m angry that I’m angry with myself .  Angry that I’ve harmed and abused myself mentally and physically the way I have/still do, all out of pain,blame,shame & guilt that should never have been mine. I hate that I have now gone one to neglect my own needs, that I struggle to now even recognise my own needs/wants, or show myself kindness or compassion.

I’m angry that I felt forced into being that little adult that I was, into caring for people’s needs over my own.

I’m fucking angry that there are photos of me at different ages with bloodshot eyes, identical to how my eyes look as an adult when i get stoned. That I distinctly know the smell of two of the nastiest drugs anyone could take, a smell most people will happily go most of their lives without knowing. That I’ve seen heroin being used, in several ways, in real life and not a movie like most people! I’m angry that the majority of those times were in the first half of my life.

I’m angry at every adult who ever manipulated , coerced, forced or outright bullied me. At every person who ever intentionally made me feel guilty or ashamed of myself, or like any of this was my fault/responsibility. At every adult who turned their back on our situation, didn’t wanna get involved , anyone who realised how bad it was and never called social services. I’m angry that mum told us if someone called social services, and we went into care , we’d all be separated, and never be allowed to see one another, or her. Because if I had known the truth I would have put us there myself.

I’m angry that I’m fucked up enough that my mind has to keep certain awareness of certain memories and feelings from me , for my own protection.

 

Most of all I am angry because I always have and always will be alone with these feelings. No matter what I say or how I try to explain , no one can ever fully know or understand all of this, no-one but me can actually feel them, and no one can feel them for me. Because this is my pain. And I am so unbearably overwhelmed that this is my pain, and so angry that I have to be forever alone with it,  and that I never had and now never will have  the chance to experience anything different.