In which I admit all and walk away from my mother

I got married last month. It's not legally binding because my state wouldn't recognize it anyways. It was beautiful and I could not have asked for a better day for it. I was beautiful. Sara was beautiful and we and Liam cried tears of happiness and excitement. It was awesome. I thought this would make a lovely preface for what is likely to be a rather upsetting post.

I was an abused and neglected child. I didn't even realize it until this past September, when someone pointed out to me that my mother is a narcissist. Outwardly, our family is wonderful. My mother is a triumphant single mother who raised three children on her own. We make a point not to share the family secrets and to hide the cracks in the veneer. But things were not as great as we put on.

I was a happy child, but somewhere along the road that changed. I became depressed. I felt like I was worthless, fat, ugly and horrible and that was before I hit puberty. Looking back, my mother put a lot of pressure on me to look a certain way. She used to tell me she used to be fat too. I later found out that at her heaviest she was around 135 lbs. At my lightest, I was 145 lbs. So, there's that. I wanted to please her, so I joined her on her one meal a day diet. I immediately went to my room afterwards and exercised it off through sit ups, leg lifts, planking, push ups and anything else I could imagine to get those calories off of my fat ass. When I went away to college, it took me three months to start managing another meal without feeling guilty.

When I entered adolescence, my, now diagnosed, mental illness started to make life unbearable. I became enormously depressed and, because my mother was never around, I relied on my friends to help me through. My mother first got a job that required a great deal of travel, so she got an old co-worker to check on my brother and me once a day. Then after my grandpa died she moved up to her new job and left us behind during the week. It was nice of her to let me finish out the school year, but I still felt abandoned. I grew up a lot during those months and when I moved back in with her, there was a lot of fighting because I wasn't willing to give up my freedom. Eventually, I just gave in because I didn't want to fight anymore. I asked her once to go see a therapist to deal with the crippling depression and was told "You don't need therapy. What can you tell a therapist that you can't tell me? If anyone in this house needs therapy, it's your brother". In middle school, when she got called into the guidance office because the counselor was worried I was suicidal, my mother was outwardly concerned. When we got home she angrily asked "So, do I have to put you on suicide watch now?" There are days I wish I had gone through with it. I was always an inconvenience. Later, when I became an adult I was hospitalized twice for suicidal behavior. The first time she was upset because she felt Liam was being hurt by it. The second time, it was at an inconvenient time for her. *sigh*

I wish I could say it was always bad because it would make everything easier to take, but there were genuinely good moments. When I first got my period, she was kind, understanding and caring. She took me out of school for a grown up girls day and we shopped and had lunch and it was fun. She took me to my first opera and occasionally we would go see plays together. But these were moments. Everyday life was unbearable and for years I have felt guilty for hating her and have been trying to fix the situation. I wanted a real mom who was proud of me for my accomplishments instead of trying to make them about her.

My wedding was the last straw though. The ceremony was fine. She behaved very well, but once pictures started, it became about her. A friend offered to take professional pictures and they turned out beautifully. I asked my mother to help with pictures so we could get some candids that were fun. *sigh* She pouted and got angry and as soon as she could get me alone, she told me how "that girl" had shoved her out of taking photos. I didn't want to fight and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell my friend to stop taking photos. I avoided two more arguments that evening. The next day, she picked the worst fight we've had ever. The last time we had a fight that even came even somewhat close was in 2005, but this one left them all behind. I would post all the gory details, but they aren't important. I said things I'd been wanting to say and she denied everything before screaming false apologies at me. I began sobbing and apologizing for everything I could think of. For being born, for not being a boy, for not being good enough, etc. I hadn't planned on getting into it with her. I'd been avoiding this argument for months and she finally got the fight she was looking for. We went on our honeymoon after taking a little time to regroup and after Liam was picked up when it was over, I let her know that I was done. I have walked away from my mother and while I'm working through the guilt of that, I want to know what it feels like to like myself. *sigh*

I get how bad this sounds and I get that it's bad to walk away from both of your parents. But remember, not all parents are nice and not all parents are supportive. I was the scapegoat and watched my golden child brothers have a fantastic childhood in comparison to mine.