I grew up in a family that believed money was love. I never received the affection that most daughters receive from their parents. Like a simple hug and cuddle from a mother or a kiss on the forehead from a father.
I was bought toys and a “Do you like it?” Never even I love you. Growing up I knew why Tim never showed any affection towards me. Anytime he did I would have a crazy reaction to his touch. And for good reason.
A memory that forever haunts my brain is a moment from one of our annual Christmas Parties with Tim’s family. We were all lining up for a family photo, I quite frankly already doped myself up on all my Klonopin just to get through this awkward commute, and Tim simply touched and squeezed my shoulder.
Tim was horrible at this time. He constantly went through a vicious cycle and always knew when to bounce on my innocent soul. As I grew older Tim no longer physically touched me, but he taunted my hazel eyes with himself masturbating behind his bedroom door “hiding.”
As we all lined up, Tim of course had to stand behind his favorite victim, me. As he touched my bright blue shirt and gazed my shoulder. He slightly squeezed my shoulder and placed his hand firmly on it. He knew he owned me at that moment and I could no longer hold my tears back.
I completely lost it. My chest was tight. My shaking, blueish hands, squeezing into a tight fist to hold back the rage.
My parents’ excuse, of course, was my pill-popping addiction. It’s quite sad that none of my so-called family ever came to me and asked if I was okay? Without the comfort of my parents around me.
My mother on the other hand also confused me with her love. I saw on every classic mother, daughter series and saw the love they had for one another. I never received that sort of love, even though I was beyond imaginative creating that perfect mother-daughter world. And spreading my creative world to those around me.
The only moments of true actual touch were maybe a hug every once in a while, but only in front of others which in return made me downright angry.
And I always looked like the brat. The ungrateful soul. Because who would not want to hug their mother? Or why would I cry and make a scene when Tim would simply touch my shoulder?
I was always their lost cause. My parents always re-directed the focused on my perfect image brother. He was much easier to groom, he didn’t ask as many questions.
And that was my Holiday. Full of uncomfortable, forced situations that everyone seemed to ignore. And everyone wonders why I act crazy?
That was my love. I was a prop for Tim that he could use and abuse with a mother who never had the courage to help me escape, even if she couldn’t do it her own. I always thought a mother’s love was the very most love one would ever receive.
And that’s how I figured out my mother never truly loved me, she resented me. Even though she was the 17-year old that decided to have sex without a condom, I was too blame for her actions.
I’ve taught myself how to love where those have the love of parents to teach them. And I would give up every top, hit toy to receive love as a child. True unconditional love.
MySo as you browse to find the next hit toy or go to an actual retail store with anger because it’s not the right color. Don’t lose sight that there are children in this world like me that want love and comfort. Who wants a true, genuine touch. Who wants to know that at least one soul that truly cares for them. Because I am most definitely not the only lost soul in this fucked up universe.