Abused And Feeling Good

I have actually been feeling good the past few days. I am feeling, at the very least, semi-competent. I am feeling semi-capable. I am far from feeling safe.

I am living in a situation where I am being abused.

People wonder, if you suffer from anxiety and depression, if you’re being abused, how can you possibly ever feel good. The simple answer is because that is not how anxiety and depression works. I have good days. I have good times. I just don’t know what to do with them.

I will be heading back to school this September. The closer it gets, the more excited I am. I also have a small voice that tells me “No”.

No, I am not competent. No, it’s not going to work out. No, it’s all a fake. No, I will destroy it like I always do. Just “No”.

Today, right now, this morning, the volume of the voice is about two or three. Sometimes the voice is seven or eight or ten. Sometimes it’s twenty. The voice never goes away.

It is way easier to write about depression than abuse. I keep wanting to change the topic. I keep wanting to digress.

I am being abused.

My abuser says that she loves me. After a really terrible session she will buy me a gift or give me money. Really, she needs me. That’s part of the problem. She needs me as much as I need her.

I am being abused.

I am being verbally abused. I am being emotionally abused. I get called names. She calls me a con artist. She tells me inappropriate things. Two days ago, I knocked on her door and she told me to come in and she was almost undressed.

My mom is abusing me.

I have a voice in my head that tell me that it’s my fault. The voice is tricky. It is insistent. Sometimes it causes a physical pain. It is always here. It doesn’t matter if I listen to the voice or not. It never goes away.

I don’t really have family. My sister, as terrible a person as she is, escaped. My mom destroys ties to other family. She tries to keep me isolated. She used to be able to keep me from having friends.

I was going to be her friend.

Because she loves me.

She tells me about my cousins. None of them is ‘normal’. Nobody is any good. She says that they are all strange. No one is normal or good. The world is flawed and tainted.

I feel that I am the most tainted of all.

I am being abused.

A few nights ago, at three in morning, she woke me up. She was banging cupboards and doors. She was screaming. Violence?

I am not sure. I am not sure if it was violence. I know it was directed at me.

I am being abused.

It’s easy to minimize her behaviour. It’s easy to pretend that it’s all okay. It’s easy to just pretend. It’s easy.

And then I want to die because it’s my fault.

I am fifty four years old and my mom is abusing me.

I am being abused.

I need to get out. I only wish I could.