Weird as it sounds, finally coming to terms with the fact that I have been disabled - probably my entire life, and I'm only NOW accepting it and making changes to become more comfortable in my daily life is...freeing.

What's frustrating, is that my Mother (a narcissistic abuser, that denied me time with my Father, and my heritage and went out of her way to bully me because I look just like him ) got her Diploma to be a nurse. She always denied there was something wrong with me.

When I was a child, I started to get very sick one afternoon. Nausea, pain in my lower back, and a sudden fever. I told my Mom I didn't feel well and she didn't believe me - even though I started throwing up around 8pm.

Over the weekend, while she was at work, it got progressively worse. I wasn't able to hold down any food, liquids were impossible due to how quickly they would come back up.

I did try. But nothing was working.

Finally, when my Mom came home one morning to wake me up for school - I was barely moving, let alone breathing. Only THEN did she run me to the hospital. ...turns out my kidneys were having serious complications, and I was massively dehydrated.

I was meant to be watched by my Step Dad, but he himself was an abuser and heroin addict. ( We didn't find that out until I was 17 and he was well out of our lives. ) ...but a lot of things about him now make sense to me.

The power would randomly be shut off. My Mom would have money missing from her purse, and none of us could figure it out. But sure, she wanted to keep a male figure around because "my girls need a good role model and protector"..

The man violently abused me for years. Physically, verbally, emotionally, and financially hurt me for years. Went out of his way to break my things, throw me against walls and scream at me.

I was taken into rooms, to be alone with him - because I needed "discipline"..

Why am I venting about this?

Because I'm unpacking my trauma, finally and facing the fact that my Mother cared more about my sisters, and some guy she left my Dad for.

For years, I thought the man abusing me was my Dad. Which, lemme tell you - did not do great things for my mental health.

When I finally did meet my Dad, I freaked the fuck out because I had no idea who he was or why I was being put into a truck with him.

She broke us both with her lies, and I lost so much time with him. I miss my Dad.

My Mother will never get any punishment for what she did to me, let alone what she allowed to happen. I know I have to let it go - and I am.

…but it still hurts.