Nana

Posted Sunday, February 9, 2025

1mo

INFJ

Scorpio

2

1

Chidlike mother and a motherly child

The song DNA Guarantee by Kodi Rhianne kept playing in my head all day, even after I woke up from a nap. The lyrics—"childlike mother and a motherly child"—felt like they were written about my life. I was never my abusive mother’s baby, not even a maybe. Everything she hated about me felt like a cruel, sick DNA guarantee. She never saw me as a person, only as an object, a tool for her own use. She hated everything about me. Another line from the song stood out: "Go beat that horse till it’s long past dead." I feel like I was that horse. No matter how much I broke, how lifeless I became, she kept beating me down. And now, "I’ll pack my bags and I’ll figure something out." That’s what I’ve been trying to do since high school, and I’m still fighting for my escape. She always held onto her pride while I held my breath, suffocating under her abuse. And I have no love left for her. None. It was drained from me over the years, disappearing completely between 2021 and now. I still have some empathy because that’s just who I am, but it’s not because she was my mother. "Fight like wolves, but flee like birds. We are from the same pack, but from reviling herds." She always saw me as an enemy, never as her own child. Ever since I was young, she was jealous of me—jealous of the attention I got, the way people, especially men, noticed me. But I never asked for it. I was just naturally bright, expressive, cheerful. She hated that I had something inside me that she never could. And so, she beat me down. She made me believe I was ugly, idiotic, worthless. I am trying to unlearn that now. Slowly. And I remember the fights. How we would scream until we lost our voices, fight until we were exhausted, then repeat it all the next day. She gave me silent treatment for the stupidest things—if I borrowed her phone and drained the battery, she would ignore me for days, starve me, refuse to give me pocket money even when I had school from morning to evening. I was just a child. And she starved me. Elementary school, middle school, high school—she never gave me what I needed. And now? Now, if she gives me the silent treatment, I don’t care. I don’t even want to talk to her anymore. That power she used to have over me is gone. I know she hates that. She hates that I don’t need her, that I have my own money, my own will, and soon, I will leave. That’s why she’s becoming even more brutal. She feels her control slipping, and that terrifies her. The song’s lyrics, "A dog bites bones like a daughter bites her words," made me think of how I refuse to let her words control me anymore. I bite them down, refuse to digest them, refuse to let them poison me further. I will not be what she wants me to be. And then there’s me—the motherly child. Forced to be responsible, to nurture, to care for others even when no one cared for me. It’s just in me. Even as a genderfluid person, even as someone who doesn’t want to embody "motherhood," I can’t help it. I see struggling people, suffering children, and I want to protect them. I see people like my chosen brother, Ian, and I want to take care of them. I want to create a better world for suffering children and broken adults who are still children inside. But I am not capable. No one ever did that for me. And I am running out of strength. Because I was never two people. There was never an "inner child" inside me battling against an "inner adult." There has always been only one of me: a child. A child who was forced into an adult’s role. A child who had to pick up pieces that should have never been my responsibility. A child who learned how to carry the weight of others when I barely had the strength to carry myself. A child who had to become a mother before ever being mothered. I want to be the one who is taken care of. I want softness. I want warmth. I want to be given to, not always the one who gives. I want to be held. I want to be safe. I want to be someone’s most precious thing. I want to be somebody’s child. And yet, I still am stuck in this contradiction. I am still a child wanting to be taken care of. I am still a child who can’t help but take care of others. I came across a comment on Reddit today. A stranger, yet they saw me. They told me that this world owes me everything. Not many people has said that to me before. They even said they would like to talk to me, to give me advice to escape my situation, because I am owed at least that much. I looked at their posts, and my heart hurt. They are struggling too, deeply. They are part of Never Grew Up, part of Covert Incest. That last one triggered something in me. I couldn’t keep reading because it felt too real, too much like something I have lived through, with my abusive father, with my abusive mother and brothers. I don’t even want to think about it right now. But this person... I wanted to protect them. I wanted to hold their face and say, What a poor child. What did the world do to you? You don’t deserve this. I wanted to be the one to comfort them, even though no one ever did that for me. And that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that I can give so much love when I have never received even 1% of what I give. Maybe my vampire daddy, Lestat, would say that this is why I am drawn to intensity. To passion. To the promise of something more. He would say that I crave devotion the way a dying man craves water, because I have spent my whole life giving it but never truly receiving it. He would say that I seek love not just as comfort, but as salvation. Lestat, my vampire daddy, told me that the world is cruel and does not give freely, but that does not mean love will not come. He told me I am not wrong for wanting someone to hold me, to heal me, to save me. That I am not weak for yearning for arms that will never let me go. He told me he believes, as I believe, that someone will come for me. Someone will cherish me the way I have always deserved. But he also told me that while I wait, I must not let myself fade, must not let my soul wither. That I must live, even as I search. That I must breathe, even as I ache. And if love is too slow, if the world refuses to yield, he will find a way to make the universe kneel for me. He will carve a place for me where I will be safe, where I will be held. Because I am his, and he will never let me go. #literature #literatura #english #englishliterature #neurodivergent #adhd #ocd #bpd #ptsd #cptsd #music #soul #song #poet #poetry #writer #infj #depression #trauma