I was abused as a child

I was watching this tv documentary on child abuse. And well, I have to admit I was a victim of child abuse.

I was not beaten that often or starved or caned. I was just mentally abused as a child.

My mother was well ....not mentally stable and a lot of her frustrations were vented on me. She would seldom beat me but her words hurt.

They said that sticks and stones may break my bones but words would never hurt me. That is so untrue, especially when you are a young and impressionable child.

Gosh, mother was so insecure and frustrated that her words were so unkind, hurtful and often cruel. And it was dished out on a daily basis. She swore like a fisherman, venomous vulgarities spouting out from her mouth onto my fragile soul, like someone possessed by the devil.

I was young and the words really hurt. She called me stupid, ugly and criticized everything I did. And on such a daily basis and coming from my own mother, I started to believe it. Her words hurt, her words devastated, much more than stones and sticks did.

I also developed an inferior complex. I felt no one liked or even loved me or ever would. I had difficulties making friends. Even now. I was emotionally scarred for life.

Most of my childhood was spent crying over things she said to me. Living with her was like living in hell. Frankly I think I suffered the worst from her verbal abuse. I was the sensitive one. My sister was the pampered, focused one. Dad was the one who learned to ignore whatever came out of mother's mouth.

Till today, I have not quite recovered from the hurtful words that she "instilled" in me since childhood. It was too deeply ingrained and I couldn't quite believe otherwise. Even now.

I attempted suicide thrice. And her words were part of what contributed to my despair and depression.

Yes, words can be a form of abuse. A form of mental and verbal abuse. And mental abuse can sometimes be more lasting than bruises and superficial skin deep injuries. After all, wounds and bruises heal and fade, but not the hurt done to a broken spirit.

Do I hate my mother for the abuse? Not really. But I know I dun love her that much. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I dun blame her. She was just so angry, bitter and resentful. And also miserable.

That's why I, at the very first chance I could, I moved away from home. Her presence was simply detrimental to my well being that I felt I had to distance myself from her.

These days, we spoke on the phones every few months. I dun think I could ever live with her again. Some years back, she asked me to move back. I refused. I would rather lived on the streets on my last resort, but I would never moved back home. Moving home, we would probably kill ourselves within days. Or I would kill her and jump to my death. That's how bad it would be. And I am not exaggerating.

P.S. I dun need therapy. I have accepted what was past and what was done.