Ever since I can remember, I grew up thinking something was wrong with me.
My mother disliked me, and she made sure I knew it.
My parents earned a combined salary of over 400k a year, we lived in a small mining town with our house, cars and bills paid for by the company my dad works for, but I started working at a fast food joint from the age of 13 while I was still in high school. I went to a private school, always winning awards and acing classes and I never had any problems making friends.
Somehow, no matter how many friends I made, how many awards I won, and how independent I was (I started having to pay for my own stuff when I got a job), my mother always hated me. Of course, I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me.
She enjoyed excluding me from the rest of the family (when I was 14, she told me I had to do my own laundry from now on. She would do everyone else's laundry, except mine...) and she would serve up dinner for everyone in the family, but tell me to get my own. My younger brother was always favoured, but I never resented him for it. He understood that what my mum was doing was unfair, and I understood that is was not his fault.
Despite having wonderful grades, a standing offer from UNSW (as I participated in a wide array of their writing and English tests) and teachers who constantly assured me that I would go far, my mother pulled me out of school at the age of 16 in Year 11. My teachers, school counsellor, and vice principal all attempted to contact my mother and to encourage her to re-assess, and every day, I watched as she deleted their voicemails from our home phone - their pleas interrupted halfway.
Being a stubborn bitch, I wouldn't let something as petty as a high-school diploma get in the way of my dreams. I relentlessly applied to universities on my own (with my mum scoffing at me and telling me universities wouldn't accept a 16 year old drop-out) - sending letters to heads of schools and Deans from a little country town and calling them on my lunch breaks at work. Because of this, I entered tertiary education at the age of 17 while my peers were finishing high school.
When I turned 18, my mother who works for a bank, got me to take out a credit card and a loan under my name. She somehow convinced me that it was so I can help my 9 year old cousin with a brain tumor pay for medical bills. In the end, my mother emptied all the money from my account and I am still left paying for her debts under my name.
She must always be the centre of attention. She insisted on throwing lavish engagement party for my then-fiance and I, and bragged about what a wonderful mother she is, but she fails to mention that she still owes me at least 30k and she pocketed all my university allowances while I juggled university and part-time work.
Last Christmas, at a festive gathering with friends and families, she wanted a photo taken of her and her friends. She called me over and announced "fatty, come over here and take our photo." I am only 51kgs and barely a size 8-10.
As I grew up, found my loving husband, and talked with some mental health professionals, it became apparent that while I now have depression and anxiety from her actions, the real problem lies in her exploitative narcissistic personality disorder.
But sometimes, I still think "why me?" and I catch myself feeling jealous of my husband with his wonderfully loving and nurturing mother.
As my husband and I start planning for future children, I am gripped by fear and anxiety that I will be just like my mother.
This journey to healing is so painful and slow, and sometimes, I wonder if I will ever even heal at all.
If anyone has any tips, insights or words of encouragement, it would mean the world to me.
