Like our father, but not as often, Mommy Hyde slapped me across the mouth when she didn’t like what I said or how I said it, and did so into my teen years.
But when I was a very little girl, she also sometimes hit me with a belt on my bare rear end–sometimes, the buckle end. And sometimes, she hit me with her mother’s beautiful metal hairbrush–even the stiff boar bristle side. I can tell you that it hurts a lot and turns your bottom very pink.
This Isn’t Like My Usual Posts. Here Is the Only Picture.
I used to pretend these hurt more than they did so that she wouldn’t swing harder. I thought that was smart.
I was afraid of the belt–not so much of the hairbrush–but given a choice (As if! Good one, Babe! 🙂 ), I would have taken any hits to the bottom from objects if it would have ended the hits to my mouth from my parents’ fore- and backhands.
One time, mom sent Meg flying across the kitchen: WHACK! into the corner of the counter with her head. I could tell that scared her. (I don’t think she was scared because she was worried for Meg–she was scared she’d be in trouble.) Another time, my brother Paul was too fast for her. He ducked, and her speeding hand connected with the wall behind him. She screamed out and started crying.
It was the first time I had ever seen her cry. I was shaken. But more than that, I was ecstatic! SHE had gotten hurt! SHE, instead of Paul! How great was THAT!! I had to fight to hide the happiness and not jump up cheering.
My male parent, Warren, came running to comfort her. Neither one gave any of us a glance, or felt any shame that Mommy Hyde had been swinging so hard at a small child that when she missed it caused serious hurt to her wrist.
It turned out her wrist was sprained, poor thing. She had to wear a brace.
No guilt over “What if it had instead been little Paul’s neck?”
***
Mommy Hyde added her own twist to rinsing the mouth out with soap. With the water running, she stoppered the pink bathroom sink and held my face down under the water while she rubbed the soap against my teeth, forcing me to breathe in soapy water through my mouth and nose.
I still remember how very scared I was. I thought I was going to drown. I inhaled a lot of soapy water, and came up coughing and crying when she finally let me up.
***
When my bedsheets became bloody from my nighttime scratching in my sleep due to my allergic eczema, she made me carry them down to the basement laundry tub in the mornings and hand-scrub them in cold water using Lava soap (rough with ground-up pumice stone) to get the blood out—thus guaranteeing increased irritation of the skin on my hands, thus guaranteeing worse nights of eczema and scratching to come. I often bled fresh blood even while I was scrubbing away.
Mom, this was truly sick, sick behavior. Do you know how this made me feel? Let me tell you. I felt sad, and very small and helpless, and hopeless.
While I was scrubbing, standing on a chair, my hands would hurt and sting from the sores where new blood was coming out, and I would be crying, because I was sad, but also because I was mad at myself for scratching in my sleep and not being able to stop.
What a terrible thing to do to a young child.
Part 4 of a 7-part series that will be posted daily. Following that, the focus will shift away from my mommy issues.
Hateful Mommmy Hyde–Part 5
The Last Half 
Paul
/ 2014/08/20This just gets better and better -NOT. Whew OB, I’ve never heard a first hand report of such abuse. It is incredible – they must have been sociopaths to have completely ignored the pain they were causing.
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/08/20My father, yes. I do not think my mother. Which, I suppose should make me feel that she is worse, but it doesn’t. She was more a victim than was he. He was never abused growing up. He had every advantage. He…I’ll write about. I decided tonight that, when I do write about him, I’m going to make the posts funny. And that is going to be a challenge, and a lot of fun!
Now here are my nosy none-of-my-business Qs:
1) Why do you need dialysis?
2) A brother of a friend was, aeons ago, and at that time, dialysis was limited to around four years before you were effed, basically. Is that still the case? In other words, are you on a transplant list somewhere, waiting?
(When I’m rude and tactless, I get to pretend I’m totally towards the autistic end of the spectrum, when really I’m barely Aspie anymore now that I’m a big girl.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/08/20Is anymore a word? Someone should look that up…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Paul
/ 2014/08/20Got an e-mail address and i’ll answer the questions. just send it to paulccurran@hotmail.com and I’ll answer – I don’t mind answering any questions but I’m very long winded and don’t want to fill up your blog.
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/08/20YOU’RE long-winded? Isn’t that the gray pot calling itself black to the ebony kettle? (Or…something like that there. And isn’t that whole expression based on racism and not ash deposits? Tomorrow, must OED that. For now:)
Must. Sleep.
LikeLike
Maggie Wilson
/ 2014/08/20No words.
LikeLike
Yemie
/ 2014/08/20Jeez! It appears like Mommy Hyde derived some kinda twisted, sweetened pleasure from meting out pain to her own kids! That’s not normal behaviour! Perhaps she was suffering from some sorta disorder, I dunno, but narcissism became her! Mommy behaving badly I’d say, stuffs horror blockbusters are made of! Not funny at all! sighs
Good thing you’re rising above all of these abuses, and you’re the better for it too! I’m in awe of your resilience and bravery in the face of all these adversities! You’re just like a Phoenix, rising outta the dust and ashes and determining to make the best outta a very awry situation! You’ve done a fine job of it thus far and I urge you to keep keeping on! Double thumbs up and several rounds of applause, you go gurl, you’ve got this locked down like BAM! Grace multiplied! LOL
LikeLiked by 1 person
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/08/20I don’t know if it was pleasure, or a need. One has to wonder what exactly was done to Mommy Hyde when she was a little girl. I remember the day she first used the hairbrush, there was something tentative about her first whacks. Something was just “off”–unlike when she used the belt. In other words, I’m guessing she’d observed (experienced) first-hand some of the kinds of abuse she inflicted, and others were her own.
Dunno how graceful I am (if you had ever seen me try to dance, you would choke on laughter), but I love the Phoenix comparison! I’ll take it!
Thank you, Yemie!
LikeLike
Sonya
/ 2014/08/20Chilling. Your account of these memories is so candid and innocent, no anger involved. How did you overcome the anger?
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/08/20In two ways. Here is the first:
By realizing there was no target. At whom could I be angry? My father was a sociopath and a bully. Those types take great delight when you get angry at them. They have succeeded! You make them happy when you react. What does that anger achieve? My mother was never going to start to love me the way she should. I would never be cherished. I would never have a parent.
I was when I FINALLY realized that I was an orphan, and cut off relations with my still-emotionally-abusive father, that I was able to turn the corner.
Sonya, that didn’t happen until five years ago. I suffered a moment of shame before admitting that, but I have nothing to be ashamed of. Without extensive therapy, I’m lucky I escaped psychologically at all, and I’m proud I did not go postal or become a street lady prior to that.
I did, however, marry my father.
Which is when the second way kicks in. For me to know that now would bring a visceral reaction that could make me vomit and cease to function for some moments. As a coping strategy, I have learned to take each horrible event in my life and put it in a box and put the box on a shelf. The idea is “I can’t deal with this now. I can always open the box later and deal with it when I’m ready.” But you can choose to never open the boxes.
(I learned this when my fiance dumped me, in college. He later asked for me back, and I said “No.”. What kind of lifetime commitment had HE shown? But he would have been a better choice than my father-substitute abuser!)
My life is still filled with an unbelievable amount of stress, and I would not be able to function on a day-to-day basis if I’d not developed some method of distancing. I highly recommend shelves and boxes! 🙂
LikeLike
RR
/ 2014/08/20I wish I had something more to say than what I am about to – such small, insignificant people are those who chose to pick on and torture children.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/08/20Rebecca, that says quite a bit.
LikeLike
ChristineR
/ 2014/11/02OMG, Babe.
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2014/11/02It was ugly, but many, many helpless children lived, and live, with worse. I do wish, however, that I had married someone supportive. My sister did, and that has given her a family, whereas I have never know what having a family is like.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Silver in the Barn
/ 2015/01/31I’m just beside myself with anger and frustration and tremendous compassion for the little girl you were who was so carelessly and brutally treated. I just want to wrap you in my arms and tell you it’s not your fault.
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2015/01/31Ah–you must have finished the Mommy Hyde series. Thank you for that : ) Now my whining is out there for the world! Bwah-ah-ah!!!
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2015/01/31Barbara, thank you for your warmth. I honestly do feel the caring. I also feel…sort of embarrassed that I love it–the sympathy. For obviously, that must be why I write posts such as those.
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2015/01/31oops–I hadn’t even noticed upon which post you had been commenting. (blush). Sorry about that.
LikeLike
joey
/ 2015/07/05Jeez. We all, apart from my husband, have eczema. So much skin crap in this house, the military had to skip certain stateside shots like smallpox for him and gave them to him abroad. I have never punished my children for scratching. I warn them of the risk of secondary infection, and when it happens, I treat that, too. But you know, I love my children. I’m so sorry for your suffering.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Outlier Babe
/ 2015/07/05The they who are the they who we always refer to are getting closer to a cure for all this skin garbage. Yay! Mine was likely 1/2 eczema from food allergies and 1/2 lupus/Behcet’s. My Autocidal series will say something about the second. The first, because in highschool, Meg figured out I was allergic to milk. I stopped drinking my quart a day, and a lot of the rashiness reduced. Later, I backslid, and remembered about this, and again less milk, less rashes, even in adulthood. Rare allergy in non-blacks, but I ain’t 100% whitey-white–as who is 100% anything?
LikeLiked by 1 person
joey
/ 2015/07/05I’m a mutt, too. Red dye is one of mine for eczema, but so is stress. The ocean cures it, which makes me slightly bummed to be land-locked at times. Not allergic to much food, just sweet potatoes and red dye. I have a pile of allergies, but I don’t have celiac or lactose intolerance, or any of the biggies.
LikeLike
Outlier Babe
/ 2015/07/05No lactose intolerance here, and gluten was cool, too, as was maltodextrin, until… I’ll be bloggin’ about it. : )
No sweet potatoes!! 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
joey
/ 2015/07/05I eat a bite or two each Thanksgiving or Christmas social and then I pray they stay down. lol They’re sooooo yummy!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Outlier Babe
/ 2015/07/05Ye-ess… 🙂
LikeLike