I didn’t know that I grew up Unloved. I thought I was loved but that I was guilty of intentionally rejecting my mother’s “love”, that I was cruel for rejecting her.

I believed my mother was good and loving, and that I was bad and unloving.

In my mind’s eye, she was the loving child and I was the cruel, rejecting adult.

… often she did look like a child: her voice, her facial expressions, her naivetee. Often I saw in her the child frozen within an adult exterior.

She was uneducated, unsophisticated, easy to feel sorry for. Had a terrible childhood, a terrible life. Never got to be safe as a child.

I loved her so much, as if I was the adult loving a lonely, unloved child.

She told me that I was ungrateful and bad and mean. I believed her.

She told me that I was hurting her, that I was intentionally trying to hurt her.

And I believed her.

She told me that I was a Nobody, a Nothing, a ” big zero”, and I believed her.

More later.