Re: Trust Me
I'm responding, here, to OuyangDan's Trust Me. Which you should read. It got long so rather than do the wall o' text thing at her place I figured I'd do it at mine. Specifically it's this bit:
What shouldn’t have happened here was having everyone from the desk staff to the NCOIC (that’s Non-commissioned officer in charge) tell me how nice Nurse Midwife V is and how everyone likes her so much, and that she is well known for being very good at what she does.
It's infuriating. And provokes other emotions also. So often when we complain of being treated poorly we're told how awesome and wonderful the person who mistreated us is. You can't trust Nurse Midwife V. You can't trust any of the people who heard your complaint and told you you were wrong.
And if you do this long enough (it helps if you start early but it's not required as long as you're isolated from anyone who will tell you you're right) you don't trust yourself. This is why I ask other people for confirmation on things so much, because I don't. Whatever I said I thought or felt or remembered, it was wrong. Especially if I was saying someone was treating me badly.
My mother was physically and emotionally abusive to the point where I went to my grandparents (my grandmother's also abusive but I'm talking about my mother) when I was thirteen and demanded that they help me get out of her house because I was afraid for my life. (I went to boarding school. In another country. It was wonderful: I was almost safe there.) In December last year I asked for help keeping my health insurance. She told me I needed to figure out how I could live. She meant without having to ask relatives for help. It stuck in my head and became Since I can't figure it out, I shouldn't live. She wrote an email telling me she wanted access to and control over my finances in exchange for her help and that if she kept helping me she was going to wind up poor and on welfare. And she copied all my closer relatives on it. When I went in hospital she started driving from Washington State without consulting me or my wife.
I tried talking with her -- with a therapist present as mediator -- about some of these things. She had to drive down because if she didn't she knew she wouldn't learn anything because we don't communicate. I made her do it. I said she'd hurt me. She said we'd hurt each other over the years. She described my relationship with the relatives as one where I take and take and take and give nothing back.
It is textbook abuser behavior: other people are responsible for her actions. Reality changes to suit her immediate desires. Her emotional needs are paramount: if anyone else hurts, she hurts more. I grew up in this. It was the air I breathed. I didn't know there was anything else. I don't know if I'll ever trust myself. I don't know if it ever won't hurt.
According to my mom that letter said there wasn't any shame in being poor and on welfare.
Funny, the letter I got had lots of shame in it.
What shouldn’t have happened here was having everyone from the desk staff to the NCOIC (that’s Non-commissioned officer in charge) tell me how nice Nurse Midwife V is and how everyone likes her so much, and that she is well known for being very good at what she does.
It's infuriating. And provokes other emotions also. So often when we complain of being treated poorly we're told how awesome and wonderful the person who mistreated us is. You can't trust Nurse Midwife V. You can't trust any of the people who heard your complaint and told you you were wrong.
And if you do this long enough (it helps if you start early but it's not required as long as you're isolated from anyone who will tell you you're right) you don't trust yourself. This is why I ask other people for confirmation on things so much, because I don't. Whatever I said I thought or felt or remembered, it was wrong. Especially if I was saying someone was treating me badly.
My mother was physically and emotionally abusive to the point where I went to my grandparents (my grandmother's also abusive but I'm talking about my mother) when I was thirteen and demanded that they help me get out of her house because I was afraid for my life. (I went to boarding school. In another country. It was wonderful: I was almost safe there.) In December last year I asked for help keeping my health insurance. She told me I needed to figure out how I could live. She meant without having to ask relatives for help. It stuck in my head and became Since I can't figure it out, I shouldn't live. She wrote an email telling me she wanted access to and control over my finances in exchange for her help and that if she kept helping me she was going to wind up poor and on welfare. And she copied all my closer relatives on it. When I went in hospital she started driving from Washington State without consulting me or my wife.
I tried talking with her -- with a therapist present as mediator -- about some of these things. She had to drive down because if she didn't she knew she wouldn't learn anything because we don't communicate. I made her do it. I said she'd hurt me. She said we'd hurt each other over the years. She described my relationship with the relatives as one where I take and take and take and give nothing back.
It is textbook abuser behavior: other people are responsible for her actions. Reality changes to suit her immediate desires. Her emotional needs are paramount: if anyone else hurts, she hurts more. I grew up in this. It was the air I breathed. I didn't know there was anything else. I don't know if I'll ever trust myself. I don't know if it ever won't hurt.
According to my mom that letter said there wasn't any shame in being poor and on welfare.
Funny, the letter I got had lots of shame in it.