Momster
Based on actual events.
August 24, 2021


Growing up, my mother and I didn't have a typical mother and son relationship. When I was a baby, she was very abusive and neglectful to me, she would barely hold or change me, she would just let me cry, cry and cry, it was my understanding that family members needed to do it, or if she did console me, it was very irregularly. I have been that my family members, such as my father’s mother, father’s sister, or my mother’s mother did most of my care as baby. This type of pattern continued through to my adolescent years. 

I had also been made aware that if my mother’s father would not have passed away when I was one year old, my life would be very different today. It was told to me that my mother’s mother and father took care of me regularly, I was my grandfather’s favorite. There were a lot of stories being told about he and I eating cheezies, and him getting up with me in the mornings to let my grandmother sleep-in when I needed changing or was fussy. These are the stories I love to hear, the stories I keep close to my heart.

As I got older, my year older brother, and five year younger sister and I would fight like all siblings do, but when this happened, my mother always took their side on everything, without even hearing my side of the story, I was automatically at fault (I am sure I was sometimes, but every time, come on...) Sad to say, but my parents hardly showed me any kind of support or gave me any love - most of the time when they gave me any attention, it was to tell me that I was "weak." or call me "a snob," and as a running joke in our house; they would say put "your nose down." I was called "a fag" by them and told "I am being too oversensitive and emotional." Looking back on all the name-calling that I received from my brother and sister, I cannot help to think they heard all of this from my mother and thought it was ok.  Oversensitive?  Try living with these actions and behaviours on a daily basis.

Being the middle child of three, I was forced to be the responsible one, I would have to look after my older mischievous brother, and sometimes my sister when my parents were always away.  I say sometimes, because my sister always went with my parents’ places even after she was the age of being able to stay home by herself. There were sometimes where we were “allowed” to stay home, however most times, my brother and I were sent to town or outside to play and most times locked out of the house until they came back.  About 90% of the times, we were never invited to go. When allowed in the house alone when they were gone, it was always my responsibility to clean the house, to do the dishes, dust and vacuum. The other two did not have to do any chores, the only thing they did was constantly torment me. There were many times that I would get slapped/beat around if I questioned why they did not have to do chores, or why my brother did not have to play with my younger sister all the time like I was required to do.

In my teen years, I remember having an ingrown toenail and instead of my mother or father taking me to the hospital to make it better and to ease the pain, my mother used to step on my foot and make my ingrown toe bleed as a form of punishment, and as a form of dominating me, then she would laugh about it. My foot used to ooze puss and bleed daily - I cannot count how many times or how many socks I went through. This happened pretty much daily, there was a time I thought I was going to lose my toe because of her stepping on my foot 10+ times a day and making it bleed as a cruel punishment. If it were not for my grandmother, I don't think I would be alive. She rescued me in so many ways...

There were several times that I would call my grandmother in another city and tell her how I was being treated. I needed protecting, but not knowing where to turn, I would call my grandmother and she would call her daughter to see why she was doing what she was doing, these calls helped temporarily, but not for long, as this treatment against me, happened pretty much daily.

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