Okay, this is probably the most personal post I’ll make in quite a while. I was a little hesitant to reveal so much about my real ‘life,’ but it needs to be done. A warning though, I’m most probably going to sound like an insensitive asshole because I won’t be censoring myself.
I said my mother actively prevented me from exploring my sexuality in a previous post. At that time, it seemed inappropriate for me to go into detail. Not only would it have derailed that post, but I also didn’t know how to express myself. Truth be told, I still don’t. The only difference is, I don’t give a crap any more about what other people think. Conditioning is a bitch. I thought I had gotten rid of it. But that isn’t the case. I have yet to deal with some unnecessary beliefs which are holding me back. Anyway, I have some venting to do, so here goes.
My mother is a weird person. I don’t know what to think of her. She cares for me and treats me well when she’s in a good mood. But she turns into an abusive, psychotic bitch when she’s pissed off for whatever reason. I first noticed this change in personality when I was 13. She would curse and hit me whenever she felt like it. I somehow knew that it had something to do with sex, but I was too fucking scared to ask. It got to the point where I was afraid of morning erections. The fact that pissed me off the most was that she pretended that nothing happened and would go back to being ‘nice’ when it suited her. This messed up my psyche big time. We had it drilled into our heads at school not to be a nuisance to ‘normal’people. So I bent over backwards to keep my mother from blowing a fuse. Fast forward to college and I had absolutely NOTHING in common with the other students, thanks to not being allowed to consume media appropriate to age. I was even offered porn which I had to refuse. All the while, I had to watch people forming friendships and relationships, it was frustrating. No wonder I fell sick, I would’ve done anything to escape that environment at that time.
The thing that frightened me the most about these episodes was the pure hatred my mother directed towards me. I couldn’t understand exactly why she did it and after a certain point, I stopped caring. At that point, I started giving her a healthy dose of her own medicine. Every time she went into that state of mind, I would work myself into a rage that was more intense than my mother’s. I expected to get a good beating. But to my surprise, it actually frightened her lol. Eventually, working myself up into a psychotic rage became second nature to me. This allowed me some freedom to enjoy anime. movies and porn. And yes, I consider that an achievement. However, the price I had to pay wasn’t obvious until I started researching feminism.
At first, I didn’t understand why I was so bothered by something that had nothing to do with me. It took a lot of self-exploration to figure out that it had something to do with the way my mother treated me. So, after a lot of preparation, I decided to confront her. She held up pretty well all things considered. That is, until I asked her to book me a session with an escort. I knew shit would hit the fan, but I had to know how she would react. My mother said some pretty hurtful things and tried to strangle me a couple of times. But what pissed me off the most was the hatred directed towards me. It turns out that she was sexually abused as a child and for some reason was taking out the anger on me. And on top of this, she had the audacity to tell me she did it for my own good, so that I wouldn’t go down the ‘wrong path.’ At that point, I really wanted to torture and kill her. Of course, that was impossible thanks to this goddamn crippled shell I’m trapped in. I know this sounds pathetic, but I was kinda relieved that I couldn’t do anything. My mother later apologized for the way she had behaved, but I cannot forgive her. I don’t hate her. But I don’t particularly care about her either.
Looking back, it’s quite obvious why I hate feminists. They throw out accusations so casually, as if it were nothing. I see the deranged side of my mother in every one of these nutcases and want to punch them in the face. More problematic though, is the fact that the psychotic rage that I had developed as a defense mechanism rears its ugly head every time I read about sexual abuse. The rage is directed at the criminal AND the victim. I know this sounds irrational, but I can understand the reason why, I’m subconsciously convinced that the victim will turn into someone like my mother. No matter how much I tell myself that this is illogical. I haven’t been able to get rid of my rage. I’m still trying to deal with the resulting guilt. The self-loathing caused by the guilt is also something I’m having trouble with.
This has got me thinking: When exactly does one stop being a victim of something? My mother had a lot of time to deal with her issues. Yet she was stupid enough to bottle up her anger. I just happen to be an easy target back then, so of course I became her punching bag. In my opinion, you are no longer a victim when you the freedom to make your own decisions. I still have a lot of healing to do, but I think I’m on the right path. I sometimes wish there was who could look into my fucked up head and tell me if I’m missing anything.
This responsibility to heal myself seems like a pain in the ass at times because I don’t have a clear idea of what exactly I’m going to gain. I talk a lot about freedom, but I don’t understand what it means. I said that I have no one that I particularly care about, but that’s not entirely true. I have the attention, of at least one spirit who’s willing to be my partner. I could feel Her warm, comforting presence while I was working through all these issues for the past few days. I have to make sure that the work She and I put in doesn’t go to waste. I know that my anger and hatred will not disappear any time soon, but I don’t have to be a slave to my emotions either. I’m not a clueless 13 year-old after all. It’s time to move forward as best as I can.