Chapter 3: It Started Off Bad

I was two months premature and only weighed three pounds when I was born, but I made it. Since birth, my mother never let me forget that she almost died bringing me into this world, ironic isn’t it (you’ll have to read Chapter 2)?

I was born with a birthmark on my face. A birth mark so big a person could see it even if they weren’t trying. So no adult could resist commenting and no child could miss the opportunity to tease me.

I guess what I am trying to say is that since the moment I was born things were tough.

My biological father was still in the picture until I was about two. Clearly, my father leaving wasn’t my fault, but my mother would spend the next 18 years blaming me:

“You were a horrible baby. Your father left because of you.”

“Your ugly face made your father leave, no one loves an ugly baby.”

“If you were just a good girl maybe your father would have stayed.”

All of my her problems were my fault. As a one-year-old I should have known better then to be born ugly and misbehave. What was I thinking? (this is sarcasm)

BUT, think about it. When you are a child and your mother is saying terrible things toward you, how does a child know how to compartmentalize something like that? Emotional and verbal abuse can tear children apart. It breaks down their spirit, securities, and how much they value themselves.

As a child I never believed my mother loved me. I am still not sure if she does. What I do know is nothing that she ever said about me was true.

 

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