Take it all away

These are the gravestones my mother sent to me. I carry them with me, just like I carry the fear with me, every day.

There is no safety here, no sense of security. The very small amount I may have had is lost now. I spend every day waiting for her. I check for her behind the unlocked doors of the house I live in. I look for her down the street wherever I’m walking. I see her in my nightmares. I hear her voice in my head. She lives here, now more than ever.

Part of me wishes she would get it over with already. Punish me for my sins. End my life.

I was never supposed to tell.  And I spent so many years not telling a soul. But then I started to speak, only to be shut down.

I already knew that was happening. You’re just confused. You’re misinterpreting her love. Mothers don’t do those things. She’s not that kind of person. Your mother loves you.

My mother was right. No one understood. No one believed me. So I gave up the fight  . And then I escaped and I believed that I was free. I found my voice and I told the world who my mother was and is — I committed the ultimate sin, the most horrendous crime against my mother. And the punishment for that is death.

I wonder when she comes for me, will they all stand and watch, just as they stood and watched her abuse me? Will they cover their eyes and pretend like they can’t see anything, just like they covered their eyes and pretended they couldn’t see the scars? Will they turn and walk away, just as they turned and walked away from me all those times they knew what was happening?

Or will they see me on the ground, bloody and broken and dying, and give me a band-aid so they can say they tried to help me? Your bunnies, your prayers, your positive thoughts did nothing to save me. Bunnies didn’t stop the rape. Jesus didn’t stop the beating. Affirmations didn’t stop the pain. I needed help — not material things or spirits or empty words. I needed help and I got a band-aid. You can’t put a band-aid on a hemorrhage.

They want to hide me. They tell me they help me find safety. But they don’t understand that I will never be safe. They don’t understand that no matter where I run away, she will always find me. I will never be safe for as long as she is breathing. She cannot be stopped. She is a criminal free to roam, a monster in plain sight. No longer a captor of my body, but always a captor of my mind.

The damage is done. No one can help me now. The fear is a part of me; it runs through my veins. The pain cannot be healed; it lives on in every scar. That can never be taken away or erased. It’s permanent.

My mother thinks of my death as punishment, but I think of it as a reward. Killing me is the best thing she could do for me, the greatest gift she could ever give to me. It’s the only way the fear will end, the only way to stop all of the pain.

She’s already taken so much life from me. She shattered my mind, she murdered my spirit, she drowned my soul. There’s nothing left to take but the life from my body.

Take it all away.

9 thoughts on “Take it all away

  1. Ugh, your mother! She is horrible!

    Is there any way you might transform the meaning of those gravestone images? For example, could each one have a name marking the death of something you used to have to endure from her but no longer have to? (Lies, abuse, manipulation…) Or the death of her power over you, something like that. I don’t know if things like that carry any meaning for you, but sometimes playing around with images in drawings or collages is helpful to me. It’s also a way of saying she doesn’t get to define all meaning for you. You can put your own meaning on things.

    I know you are exhausted and feel beaten down. But your awful mother is not going to win in the end. Just hang on through the worst days, hang on. It won’t always feel this hard.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I never thought of doing that. I may consider it when I have a little bit more time and energy than I have now.

      And she is already winning. She always has been winning.


  2. Hi,

    I’ve been reading your posts for a while now and felt compelled to leave a message. I get it. And I know those words sound hollow and not true, but I truly, truly get the complete fear and the feeling that you’re always running, are never safe. For me, it’s not my mother, it’s my dad who’s the greatest risk and my god he sounds a lot like your mother.
    I know there are no words I can write to make it better. Because it isn’t better, it isn’t safe and it feels like you can’t do nothing about it.
    When I find the solution myself, I will share and untill then I just wanted to let you know that there is someone who understands and hears you, so maybe you can feel less alone.
    Sending support,


    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you for reaching out. And those words don’t sound at all hollow and untrue. I wish that people didn’t have to get it, but I know they do.

      I hope you find the solution soon. I am sorry you feel that, too.


  3. Dear Friend: I am so happy to see your new post at Healthy Place!


    First – because I have been worrying about you.
    Second – Ditto
    Third – Ditto
    Fourth – I may be able to use this to show some of my family – they simply don’t understand how I can be so great and so terrible! Thanks!

    Also – I had not seen you in Healthy Place for a long time – last week I realized I just hadn’t been getting it – and I reupped! And Here you are!

    So YAY!!! and thanks and hugs. TS

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, TS. You don’t have to worry about me.

      I did miss a few weeks of HealthyPlace. I’ve been overwhelmed and had to ask for some extra time. I’m glad you got to it again.

      Hugs to you.


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