I find myself writing this because I don’t really fit anywhere at the moment and I need to just let it out. I’m 40. My mum died in 2019 and due to Covid happening shortly after that I haven’t really processed any of it. I just put it all to the back of my head.
This isn’t a “stately homes” type thread. I’ve popped my head into there a few times and whilst I have so much empathy for those there, I don’t fit.
My childhood was horrendous really. My mum had schizophrenia and was an alcoholic who was sectioned on and off throughout my childhood. I was looked after by my workaholic dad who couldn’t really be bothered and who was also an alcoholic. At times I would go into foster care. These are my happier memories. And then back home again. My mum trying to stab my dad or screaming at him thinking he was trying to poison her etc. If my mum was well enough for me to be at home with her she was like a zombie on the sofa and I learned to make myself as quiet and inconsequential as possible because I was scared of her. When she was nice she could be nice but when she was bad she was really horrid.
I could go on all day about all this but the point is, despite all this my Mum was really the pinnacle of my world right up until I met my now dh over ten years ago, and Mum and I lived together all that time. Her basically controlling me and me not realising this until I met dh (despite being married before and him and my dd also living with my Mum, long story, I guess I felt responsible for her). Now she has died I find myself very unsure of who I am as a person. My identity was and is so intrinsically linked to her. My sense of “being” etc.
I am trying to find myself and it’s very hard because I am also feeling that life itself seems very pointless - someone I put on such a pedestal (wrongly) has just been snubbed out as if they do not exist and that makes me question the point of everything. I know that sounds very despairing and I don’t mean it to, I’m not at risk of harming myself etc I just mean the futility of everything.
When I close my eyes I can often just see her face either just before she died or at random times during my childhood like little fires of flicking flashbacks. Sometimes I push them down and sometimes I can’t.
I have had counselling but it hasn’t helped. It always seems to focus on cbt type stuff and I think actually I need to go over things, to talk about things rather than push them down and to brush them away.
I’ve made a good life for myself. I have two lovely children and I try and be a good mum. I have a happy marriage.
But yet in my quiet moments I am still that child and it’s very hard. I feel I can’t relate to other people in general because not many people (thankfully) have had that experience of being both the child and the adult at the same time, of having to survive. I have learnt to be so self reliant I don’t know how to relate to anyone else.
Is that something I can learn? I don’t even know where to start. It’s all hugely complicated but I guess I’m wondering how others manage, cope, let go. Make sense of any of it. Or is there no letting go, no real end to the suffering.
I guess part of what I’m feeling is anger. I feel angry that even at the end of my life my Mum wasn’t sorry for anything. And I feel angry with myself for wanting her to be sorry because some aspects like the mental illness she had no control over. I feel torn with myself.