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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 657184" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Splitting, yes. Cedar, I do not understand trust in relation to my family, of whom, I only trusted myself.</p><p>I was the most valuable child. I looked like my mother. You must, too, Cedar, or else your Mother would not so prize your appearance.</p><p></p><p>That I was pretty counted as a demerit. She could not take pride in me. I always sensed she was jealous.</p><p></p><p>When I was a teen, my mother felt I was not sufficiently capitalizing on my looks. She enrolled me in a modeling school, like a charm school. I remembered my shame at the initial interview. I like my mother was big busted. Not the body for a model.</p><p></p><p>My mother, the entire interview, laughed uncontrollably. Really, could not, would not control herself. Hysterically. She could not speak. Just laugh.</p><p></p><p>Of the two of us, my sister was the loved and protected one. I became Cinderella. My sister had taken on the parts of my mother that I rejected: Avaricious, materialistic, vengeful, hard, grasping, plotting, blaming others. I believe I was the moral center of the family, and that this went over somewhat poorly. True or not. I do not know.</p><p></p><p>My sister's daughters were the crown jewels. As I had no genetic children, my sister could lay claim to my genes as well as her own. She could gloat that her eldest twin, looked like me, had my brains.</p><p></p><p>This twin traveled to the same somewhat out of the way foreign country, city, even neighborhood where I had lived, learned the language, studying in the same school. This I sometimes thought was a little strange. After all, there was no real relationship between us. I had kept far, far away.</p><p></p><p>This was victory. Stolen bounty, not sisterhood. It felt like my sister had through her daughter successfully usurped not just my appearance, but through her children, the ability to make history through a bloodline.</p><p></p><p>I am in touch with my hatred of my sister, here. How she used her daughters for a narcissistic victory, by feeling that she had stolen and usurped what was me. *And remembering here, her cruelty, by stealing all of my baby pictures, so that I could not have my own visual history. And those of my son.</p><p></p><p>How my son would FB my nieces and they would not reply. He never could understand why they did not love him.</p><p></p><p>That he could never understand the danger of my family I hope indicates I did not recreate it with him.</p><p></p><p>QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 657165, member: 17461"]it is an important thing having to do with that destruction of the generosity and warmth and strength to be found in family. It has something to do with seeing to it that no matter how many times we try to come together, mistrust will be the word that comes up,</p></blockquote><p>I have never seen before a better representation of what my family came to be. I cling to the belief that when my grandparents were alive and we were babies, in their arms, a loving and protective family existed for me. I believe it did. Or else where did this survivor come from?</p><p>My Mother stuck up for my sister. Until the end when my sister abandoned her completely. I stuck up for no one except myself.</p><p></p><p>Only at the end, when my mother was vulnerable, did I protect and care for her, but stick up for her or defend, how could I? And to whom?</p><p></p><p>Myself, I guess, as she was dying and after her death.</p><p></p><p>I loved her.</p><p>[/QUOTE]</p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 657184, member: 18958"] Splitting, yes. Cedar, I do not understand trust in relation to my family, of whom, I only trusted myself. I was the most valuable child. I looked like my mother. You must, too, Cedar, or else your Mother would not so prize your appearance. That I was pretty counted as a demerit. She could not take pride in me. I always sensed she was jealous. When I was a teen, my mother felt I was not sufficiently capitalizing on my looks. She enrolled me in a modeling school, like a charm school. I remembered my shame at the initial interview. I like my mother was big busted. Not the body for a model. My mother, the entire interview, laughed uncontrollably. Really, could not, would not control herself. Hysterically. She could not speak. Just laugh. Of the two of us, my sister was the loved and protected one. I became Cinderella. My sister had taken on the parts of my mother that I rejected: Avaricious, materialistic, vengeful, hard, grasping, plotting, blaming others. I believe I was the moral center of the family, and that this went over somewhat poorly. True or not. I do not know. My sister's daughters were the crown jewels. As I had no genetic children, my sister could lay claim to my genes as well as her own. She could gloat that her eldest twin, looked like me, had my brains. This twin traveled to the same somewhat out of the way foreign country, city, even neighborhood where I had lived, learned the language, studying in the same school. This I sometimes thought was a little strange. After all, there was no real relationship between us. I had kept far, far away. This was victory. Stolen bounty, not sisterhood. It felt like my sister had through her daughter successfully usurped not just my appearance, but through her children, the ability to make history through a bloodline. I am in touch with my hatred of my sister, here. How she used her daughters for a narcissistic victory, by feeling that she had stolen and usurped what was me. *And remembering here, her cruelty, by stealing all of my baby pictures, so that I could not have my own visual history. And those of my son. How my son would FB my nieces and they would not reply. He never could understand why they did not love him. That he could never understand the danger of my family I hope indicates I did not recreate it with him. QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 657165, member: 17461"]it is an important thing having to do with that destruction of the generosity and warmth and strength to be found in family. It has something to do with seeing to it that no matter how many times we try to come together, mistrust will be the word that comes up,[/QUOTE]I have never seen before a better representation of what my family came to be. I cling to the belief that when my grandparents were alive and we were babies, in their arms, a loving and protective family existed for me. I believe it did. Or else where did this survivor come from? My Mother stuck up for my sister. Until the end when my sister abandoned her completely. I stuck up for no one except myself. Only at the end, when my mother was vulnerable, did I protect and care for her, but stick up for her or defend, how could I? And to whom? Myself, I guess, as she was dying and after her death. I loved her. [/QUOTE]
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