The retainer story.

I rarely post here. My mom was the narc, and there is so much to unpack, I’m not sure where to start. She did so many things to my sisters and I, so many things that are still affecting us today. Of the 4 of us, there’s ptsd, anxiety and depression, eating disorders and body dysmorphia, along with tons of little rbn “quirks,” that I’m sure you all can understand.

In my head, I have two mothers. One, who is small and sweet, made food for my friends, watched old movies with us on Friday nights, told us that we were good girls. The other mother is huge, purple-faced, screaming about how no one will ever love me, forcing cold spaghetti down my throat until I vomit, squeezing my mouth over my braces until I bleed. The big mother usually wins out in my head.

Once, when I was 13, I forgot to bring my retainer to my orthodontist appointment. I realized I had forgotten it before we walked in the front door, but I was too afraid to say anything. I thought that if I waited to bring it up until I was in front of the orthodontist himself, she couldn’t react. He chuckled and said it happened all the time, checked my teeth, and sent us on our way.

I knew when we got in the car that I had messed up big. My parents never had a lot of money, and I’m sure she still had to pay for that appointment, and that’s where her anger came from. She drove 100 miles an hour the whole way home. When she was mad she drove so fast. She screamed the whole way, about how I should have said something before the appointment started, and I probably should have. I was just too scared.

When we got home, she locked herself and me in the back bedroom for about three hours, she screamed herself hoarse, about how inconsiderate I was. About how I didn’t give any care to what she was going through. About how no one would ever want to marry a stupid forgetful girl like me. That was a favorite of hers, telling us that no one would ever want us.

She started hitting me, arms wildly flying at me, over and over. My nose started bleeding, she let me out of the room to clean it up. But I had to go back in after. At one point, I hit back. At 13, I was already taller than her, and probably stronger too. As she was slapping at me, I pushed back hard against one of her arms. She was so furious.

After she wore herself out, the day went on as usual, except she wouldn’t speak to me. She didn’t speak to me for about three days. I had to crawl on my knees and beg for forgiveness for her to acknowledge my presence again.

Her arm was bruised where I hit back, and she told everybody that I had ripped a vein out of her arm. To this day, she laughingly tells the story to my sisters and family members, and tells how violent a child I was. She forgets to tell the part where she screamed for hours, endangered my life driving home, hit me so much I bled, and wouldn’t speak to me for days.

She writes us a birthday card every year, and tells us that we are her greatest creations, that we are the best things she ever did. But she didn’t do anything to make me. I grew inside of her, and I was born. But after that, I made myself.