Mum Abuse II

When I mention to a friend, a relative, anyone about my shoutings at the boys, they would feel so sorry for them. Their heart aches more when they hear about the spankings, even just the flicks on the ear would generate a cringe on their faces. What they don't see nor hear, much less feel, are the woes and distress their mother is going through. Do I take joy in scolding and spanking them? My actions certainly appear like I am a sadist. But inside me, the guilt and aches, the tears and pains hit me so hard it's indescribable. Of late, I could even feel some constrictions in my heart when I shout at them. Physical pain. Who knows I might soon suffer a fatal heart attack? A paralysis-causing stroke? Seriously, if they were not related to me, I really couldn't care less. For what do I waste my energy on them? They would be damned and doomed and that is still none of my business. But they are my flesh and blood. So every tear they shed, every wound they get, every scoldings they receive, is every pain I feel, as if I were them. Just that I feel it 5 times more, including my own.

What mothers don't want the best for their children? Even the poorest and starving would give up their share of food to their children. The children are more important. Mothers are not. Take care of them, for they will be the pillars of the future. Mothers are meant to only suffer silently in the background. The lucky ones get appreciated, those unlucky ones, shame on them, for they are not deserving of any forms of recognition for their incapability to bring them up as righteous, grateful, understanding, sensible, independent young adults.

When the focus is on the kids, why would anyone feel sorry for the hurting mom? The emotional turmoil trashes, crushes, steps, then spits on me. And I am expected to pick myself up again, brush away the dirt off my sleeves, stand upright, pretend that nothing has happened and move on with my life. I am not that.

The negative feelings don't magically vapourise overnight in my sleep, which I wished it would. Instead they are brought forward to the next morning when I wake up, causing me to begin yet another day in low spirits, so low that I couldn't even bring myself to lift the corners of my mouth and give them a motherly hug and goodbye kiss before they leave for school. In a way I am rather appalled, but understandably not surprised by my cold reaction towards them.

I don't know how to re-generate myself. I have no idea how to pick me up. Right now, I have just gathered enough strength to sit up. But nothing else. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to clean the house. I don't want to clear the snow. I don't want to cook. I don't want to do the laundry. I don't want to spend time with Johann. I don't want to talk. I just want to sit here and cry. And feel sorry for myself. Because no one would.