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Family of Origin
When your past as a child, follows you as a mother, as a person.
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<blockquote data-quote="Copabanana" data-source="post: 669870" data-attributes="member: 18958"><p>Somehow I envision a Roman toga here. I do not think you had this in mind. There is a brand I love. I saw it at that store you told me about City Something. Maybe with your permission and encouragement, I will buy one. Of course, it is close to the most expensive brand they carry.I feel that I am the only one, really, that was not morally compromised and had a true sense of responsibility. </p><p></p><p>My sister is able to take responsibility, but it is very strange. It feels like she is playing a role in a play. It seems very shallow. </p><p></p><p>My mother could take responsibility, but here too, her sense of responsibility had very clear limits. She would mail letters. That would be about it.</p><p></p><p>My sister is very odd. When her youngest twin, maybe 18 then, became a binge alcoholic, she responded appropriately and sent her to treatment. </p><p></p><p>When she told me, she laughed. The affect was all wrong.</p><p></p><p>There is just something wrong with everybody. I mean, I have my limits, and my issues. But I think there is some there there. </p><p></p><p>So that addresses their limits, to some extent, at least perceived by me.</p><p></p><p>I am thinking now of my childhood's mother who would say over and over again that she had never seen a child with so much responsibility. I was 9. Housework. Watching my sister. Making dinner. </p><p></p><p>I remember my mother coming home from work and telling me somebody had told her she looked like Sophia Loren. I was 8. That seems odd that I would remember that. Except think about how happy my mother was. </p><p></p><p>The happiness of my mother was everything. My mother was happy only when she was told she looked like Sophia Loren, or when she was dressed up to go on dates. </p><p></p><p>That would be my happiest moment. She would look a starlet on the red carpet. A cloud of perfume surrounding her. She would smile. I would be her audience. Oooh. Aaah. To get her smile, would make me happy. I was there to be her audience. I was happy for those moments.</p><p></p><p>The rest of the time she was unhappy. Too much responsibility. Kids around she did not want. Too much work. When she was not happy, I was frightened. </p><p></p><p>I think my mother may have had a mood disorder. She was told that, but always refused medication. That I know of she never became depressed like I have been. She would become moody. Irritable. Impossible. Self-indulgent. And when she was like that she wanted the world to suffer with her. I was that world. I would try to buck her up, to make her feel better. I hated it when she was moody. She could be very mean.</p><p>Well, of course, this must have been so. She must have targeted me, blamed me, if she was unhappy. She would have picked at every single thing. She would have blamed me if my sister cried. She would have held me responsible for my sister's care. And been mad at every little thing not done well. </p><p></p><p>Of course, I would have believed it was my fault if she was not pleased. What choice did I have? What other way could a small child think?</p><p></p><p>My mother is mad. She is unhappy. She says it is my fault. There was nobody else that could be responsible. Nobody else to turn to. </p><p>This is a choice that a small child cannot make. </p><p></p><p>It is a choice that an adult can make. I will try to get there.</p><p>When I was able to say: My sister is Germany and I am Argentina. Germany as a nation can be aggressive, kind of wacky and can be mean. They take themselves very seriously. </p><p></p><p>Argentina does not need to take Germany seriously. They are too far apart. All Argentina has to worry about is a few Nazi war criminals. And, who cares about Germany in Argentina? They have the Tango and Borges.</p><p></p><p>When I was able to see my sister in that way, and myself, too, I could get to the point where I no longer judged myself or looked at myself through her eyes. </p><p></p><p>We really have nothing to do with each other.</p><p></p><p>It is just that I wish it had all worked out better. I wish I had had a family that could love me like I needed. I wish I could have been close to my mother, like a real mother. Instead my mother hurt me. I was afraid to be close to her. Because I had been so hurt by her. </p><p></p><p>I never really trusted my mother to hold me in a safe place. If given a chance my mother would have eaten me alive, like she did in the months before she got very, very sick. Given a chance, my mother would have consumed me.</p><p>I did, Cedar. And it almost killed me. But I did it anyway.</p><p></p><p>As I write this I realize that while I might feel responsibility for the outcome there is nothing I could ever have done. My Mother's and sister's personalities were formed...they were who they were. Their destinies were determined by that. </p><p></p><p>It is like watching an ocean liner like the Titanic sinking from afar. There is dread but there is nothing that can be done. </p><p></p><p>It is actually a minor miracle that I am who I am. I took the best and made the best of an environment that was difficult and hostile and conflicted and dangerous and cruel...and impossible to understand. Thank God for my Grandmother. Both my Mother and Sister thought she was a little bit nutty. She saved my life.</p><p></p><p>COPA</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Copabanana, post: 669870, member: 18958"] Somehow I envision a Roman toga here. I do not think you had this in mind. There is a brand I love. I saw it at that store you told me about City Something. Maybe with your permission and encouragement, I will buy one. Of course, it is close to the most expensive brand they carry.I feel that I am the only one, really, that was not morally compromised and had a true sense of responsibility. My sister is able to take responsibility, but it is very strange. It feels like she is playing a role in a play. It seems very shallow. My mother could take responsibility, but here too, her sense of responsibility had very clear limits. She would mail letters. That would be about it. My sister is very odd. When her youngest twin, maybe 18 then, became a binge alcoholic, she responded appropriately and sent her to treatment. When she told me, she laughed. The affect was all wrong. There is just something wrong with everybody. I mean, I have my limits, and my issues. But I think there is some there there. So that addresses their limits, to some extent, at least perceived by me. I am thinking now of my childhood's mother who would say over and over again that she had never seen a child with so much responsibility. I was 9. Housework. Watching my sister. Making dinner. I remember my mother coming home from work and telling me somebody had told her she looked like Sophia Loren. I was 8. That seems odd that I would remember that. Except think about how happy my mother was. The happiness of my mother was everything. My mother was happy only when she was told she looked like Sophia Loren, or when she was dressed up to go on dates. That would be my happiest moment. She would look a starlet on the red carpet. A cloud of perfume surrounding her. She would smile. I would be her audience. Oooh. Aaah. To get her smile, would make me happy. I was there to be her audience. I was happy for those moments. The rest of the time she was unhappy. Too much responsibility. Kids around she did not want. Too much work. When she was not happy, I was frightened. I think my mother may have had a mood disorder. She was told that, but always refused medication. That I know of she never became depressed like I have been. She would become moody. Irritable. Impossible. Self-indulgent. And when she was like that she wanted the world to suffer with her. I was that world. I would try to buck her up, to make her feel better. I hated it when she was moody. She could be very mean. Well, of course, this must have been so. She must have targeted me, blamed me, if she was unhappy. She would have picked at every single thing. She would have blamed me if my sister cried. She would have held me responsible for my sister's care. And been mad at every little thing not done well. Of course, I would have believed it was my fault if she was not pleased. What choice did I have? What other way could a small child think? My mother is mad. She is unhappy. She says it is my fault. There was nobody else that could be responsible. Nobody else to turn to. This is a choice that a small child cannot make. It is a choice that an adult can make. I will try to get there. When I was able to say: My sister is Germany and I am Argentina. Germany as a nation can be aggressive, kind of wacky and can be mean. They take themselves very seriously. Argentina does not need to take Germany seriously. They are too far apart. All Argentina has to worry about is a few Nazi war criminals. And, who cares about Germany in Argentina? They have the Tango and Borges. When I was able to see my sister in that way, and myself, too, I could get to the point where I no longer judged myself or looked at myself through her eyes. We really have nothing to do with each other. It is just that I wish it had all worked out better. I wish I had had a family that could love me like I needed. I wish I could have been close to my mother, like a real mother. Instead my mother hurt me. I was afraid to be close to her. Because I had been so hurt by her. I never really trusted my mother to hold me in a safe place. If given a chance my mother would have eaten me alive, like she did in the months before she got very, very sick. Given a chance, my mother would have consumed me. I did, Cedar. And it almost killed me. But I did it anyway. As I write this I realize that while I might feel responsibility for the outcome there is nothing I could ever have done. My Mother's and sister's personalities were formed...they were who they were. Their destinies were determined by that. It is like watching an ocean liner like the Titanic sinking from afar. There is dread but there is nothing that can be done. It is actually a minor miracle that I am who I am. I took the best and made the best of an environment that was difficult and hostile and conflicted and dangerous and cruel...and impossible to understand. Thank God for my Grandmother. Both my Mother and Sister thought she was a little bit nutty. She saved my life. COPA [/QUOTE]
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When your past as a child, follows you as a mother, as a person.
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