child abuse

I was thinking about Daffy's post, and my response to it...about how I used to get angry in proportion to how much I love my mother (and just for the record, I DO love her, and my father, very much). But that isn't all there is to it. Actually, if I'm going to be honest, I used to get angry with her in inverse proportion to how much she deviated from the mother I needed her to be. To my mind, that is a very different thing altogether. I used to be emeshed with my mother, and indeed, with my whole family, too...very much so.

I was in college for nursing, and one of the required courses was Child Psychology, and the professor who taught the course must have seen something in me, because I was in the habit of studying in the cafeteria between classes, and he one day he came to my table and asked if he could sit down. I was afraid that he wanted to get into my pants, but I said yes anyway because I was curious about what he wanted, so he sat down, and over the course of that semester there developed one of the most important relationships of my life.

So somebody asked me once: "what is you first memory?" My first memory is wanting to be dead when I was three years old. I remember it was my third birthday party, and someone stood me on a chair and they sang "Happy Bithday" to me and I stood there and started to cry and wished I was dead.

OK, I'm going to try and tell what happened to me, to the best of my knowlege. So far I have written about parts of it, but here I am going to start at the beginning. To tell everything that happened may take several days and several posts.