My mom use to beat my dad and I but never laid a finger on my younger brother nor my older brother (but that may be because he would probably fight back.) Most of all I hate that I’m in my mid 20’s and I’m still struggling with wondering whether or not I deserved it and I still think about it nearly daily and it makes me feel angry, shameful and sad.

My mom wasn’t so bad when I was in elementary school. She would occasionally grab me by my hair to get me to walk to my room, sometimes grab me by my neck and shake me when she was frustrated with me or something, or spank me. But nothing too bad. The first time she shook me by the neck was when I was 7, I was sick on the sofa and coughing a lot. She got off the phone with the doctor and grabbed me by the neck and shook me and told me to “STOP COUGHING.” It scared me so bad because she went from a nice, polite, calm voice with my doctor to instantly angry. When she let go I started crying asked her why she choked me. She said “oh my gosh I didn’t choke you, you could breath just fine.” Let it be noted my younger brother was also just as sick as me but did not get the same neck shaking that I did.

She was really abusive to my dad though. I remember laying in bed and hearing them fight nearly nightly. My mom was always angry and sometimes throwing things and my dad trying to calm her down. Always the same.

At 12 my mom drug me by my hair across the floor for the first time. I don’t remember what I did, but how naughty could a 12 year old possibly be? Starting at 13 my mom use to beat me at least once a week, but usually more. It would usually start because she would be yelling at my dad after she had a glass of wine (and possibly anti-anxiety or depression medication to go with it. Though it never occurred to me until I was an adult that she might have been an alcoholic or had an issue with prescription drugs.) it dawned on me when I was 19 when I saw my mom asleep on in a arm chair with a glass of wine still in her hand. Oh yeah, and I hate that the smell of red wine instantly makes me think of my mother.

My dad tried to soak up most of my mom’s physical and verbal abuse most of my childhood. But when I started inserting myself into their arguments (idk why I did this or picked this timing to express my frustrations with things I felt but I always did) my mom would always lash out at me instead. One day my dad told me he was going to “stop protecting me since I won’t stop picking fights with her.” And he did stop. And he effectively taught me that I repeated what I sowed. If I came to her and yelled at her for example that I hated her and that she loved my brother more than me and let him do whatever he wanted but she always controlled me. It. Always. Ended in her flying into a rage and her chasing me to my room. Sometimes I was fast enough to get the door closed but she would kick holes into the door until I opened it or she got a key and opened it herself so I stopped trying to close the door. She would always grab me by my hair or arm and throw me to the floor where I’d curl up in the fetal position if I had time, or lay on my back if I didn’t. She would straddle me with her legs on either side of my body and hold me down with her weigh while she either threw her fists or open hand repeatedly across my face. I would always cover my ears while this was happening because being slapped in the ears would make my ears ring badly. My dad would let my mom hit me for a little while until he felt she did enough and then told her to stop. Her and my dad would walk away and leave me sobbing on the ground. Often times they would come back 15-20 minutes later and she would cry to me and say she doesn’t remember hitting me or anything that just happened but she’s so sorry but I shouldn’t have made her mad. I always said if she was sorry she’d stop but she never had an answer to that. And I don’t get how tf she “didn’t remember” anything that JUST HAPPENED so I always thought she was full of bull crap. How convenient! This went on for about 2/3 years and tapered off mostly by 16. I think it only ended because at 16 I finally stood up for myself and said “you better not hit me! I’ll hit back!” She dared me to hit her and I said no and she kept shouting it until I did. I hit her in the shoulder but hesitated halfway through and it turned into the most sissy punch you can imagine. My mom instantly flew into victim mode and kept telling my father “look! Her behavior is escalating now! I can’t handle her!” I felt a huge knot in my stomach now I really am not the victim here, how would anyone believe me now? I regretted standing up for myself in that moment, though it may have been the reason my mom slowly stopped hitting me so much. Or maybe she thought “oh no, she’s figuring it out, she might actually tell someone and my perfect mom, bad daughter facade may be ruined.” Idfk.

I hate that one time when I was 15 I came to my mom crying and told her in the most honest and vulnerable way possible “mom, I spend more time being sad than I do being happy. Can I please see a therapist?” She flew off the handle and said “awwwww...! You think you’re so sad? Then we can put you on medication so you can become a zombie and feel nothing at all!” I never asked again.

I hate that they ignored me when I started cutting myself. Except for once when I cut myself before their best friend’s wedding and my dad said “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” I said “as if you care.” Even then, I think he only said something because I embarrassed him.

I hate that when I was 16 my mom pointed a gun at my father. I hate that my little brother told me to call the police but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew what 10-20-life was and I told him no and to go to his room and lock the door while I watched from the hallway. As much as I didn’t like her I still couldn’t bring myself to call the police on her. I could have had her put in jail but I still couldn’t do it.

I hate that my mom abuses my father.

Most of all, I hate that I was a piece of shit kid often times and my mom was really, really great and nice most times, and I really do feel like she was mad most of the time because I provoked her or disobeyed her. I’m 100% certain she would have hit me less often. But the other side of me says “but she was the adult, you were the child, whether or not I was an asshole kid doesn’t change the fact that it was her job to be the bigger person.” And so I’m constantly in a tug of war with the question “did I deserve it? Did I not?” But at the end of the day I still feel angry and I still feel so invalidated. And it’s her f^king birthday tomorrow and I haven’t bought her a gift and I don’t want to see her and just can’t do it, I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired of pretending and knowing that they feel I was the difficult kid that brought them to that point. Why does it bother me so much? I’m getting so much anxiety right now as I’m about to post this!