I know what it’s like to love mother and to hate mother

This is the main problem of my life. My relationship with my mother. I’ve told you already how I loved her as a child and how she never ever showed any affection to me, just in the night when I kind of forced it from her. I didn’t
speak to her about other things… My relationship with my mother as a child was like that. She showed affection just to my sister, cause my sister was “easy going” and wasn’t “closed” like me. My sister went to everybody who wanted to hug her and caress her. We weren’t so strange in touching children then like now, when everybody is afraid to touch a child. She let herself be touched and hugged. But not me. I was always “closed”, I didn’t let anyone in my space and I observed everything from a distance with my wrinkled forehead. I have over-analysed everything from my childhood on. I have been like that. Always. I didn’t allow people to touch or kiss me. But they did that, since we had lots of visitors, lots of friends and family and everyone wanted to touch me and my sister cause we were so cute. And when they did that, I felt like dirty, almost raped. I don’t remember anyone who I would let kiss me, except my sister and my mother. And my father sometimes…

My mother had a terrific fear that me and my sister would be hungry. She was born during World War II, so, you understand her fear… In my childhood I was surrounded with food, her tears and her worries. My childhood was actually very happy when she wasn’t around….
During the week, she was working. She wanted me to cook potatoes for lunch, for when she came back from her job. She came back from her job at 2:30 in the afternoon and started to shout at me, what is wrong, why didn’t I clean that and that.. and how I didn’t do things the way they were supposed to be. She always found something bad in me. There was never ever something good in me. Even if I was the best in school. Even that I always cleaned the flat. There was never a good word for me… just criticising, finding faults and being nervous.
After she vomited all the negativity on me, she ate her lunch and went to rest a bit after it. She always rested after lunch. Then she woke up and went in to evening school or to visit her friends, she was never at home, regardless if my father was “there” or not. She was there again in the evening to make us supper. I don’t remember me being ever hungry when I was a child. But I was hungry for my mother’s love even though she was all the time around.
Food was all around and she was forcing me to eat although I was already fed up. Me and my sister had lunch at school but she forced us to eat lunch with her also. There was always this concern, what will we eat tomorrow and what we will cook tomorrow. But there was nothing to worry about since there was always plenty of food in the house.
When she was outside, she was a completely different person. No-one would ever believe me, that she shouted at me, cause she was to the others always so friendly and would do anything for them.
My father was not at home before I started school, since he was studying on Military Academy in Belgrade and in Sarajevo. I remember him at home after I went to school. I never missed him and I never felt sorry when he left. I knew that he would come back. So… why should I feel sad?
When my mother was at home, when she didn’t go to work, on weekends, she was just hysterical, running around the flat and trying to clean everything at once. All I remember is her complaining and criticising all the time. She was listening to music on the radio station, which had always the same music, where “listeners listen and say hello”. The radio was always “on”. When it was sad music, she was crying. When it was happy music, she was whistling. She would be crying and talking to herself lots of times. All the time the same words. She had her own “teather”. As a child… I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me and my mother. She was always so active, always moving around, never satisfied, never at peace. I listened to her self-talk , but didn’t understand why she was crying. It broke my heart seeing my mother cry. I never dared to ask her why she was crying. I understood, that she was crying because of my father. Maybe because she missed him. Sometimes she took me to the telephone box to call my father. I hated that. I didn’t like to speak with him on the phone. And specially not when my mother was listening. Or telling me what I have to say. I never liked it when they forced me to like anyone. Even my father. I never ever missed my father in my whole childhood. That’s why I never understood my mother why was she crying. If I didn’t miss my father, that didn’t meant that I didn’t like him! Maybe the crying of my mother was a sign that she liked him?
When my father came home for real, she was again crying. This time, because he was present all the time… Something else that was typical of my mother and me in childhood. She took me to doctor for every little cough. Literally. I was forced to drink milk with sage. I feel like vomiting, when I smell sage… I wore platform shoes, because my mother discovered, that I have flatfeet. And I was surrounded with Italian children who often came to eat in our guesthouses because we were cheaper than in Italy. They were dressed in these beautiful clothes, wearing stockings and shining shoes, they were loud and talking in this beautiful language, and I was there in my platform shoes, always in long stockings and always in dark blue or brown colour that I will not be too dirty… I actually was a model for apron when I was still in Kindergarten, I was 6 years old, but they didn’t want to take me, cause I had dark blue stockings on. I didn’t even have any other in white colour…
Our dresses were horrible, cause we were living in socialism, where everything was the same and without style. My mother bought clothes for me and my sister in Ljubljana, always the same model, just two sizes bigger for me. Actually I would not have noticed how poorly we were dressed if there were not all these Italian children, beautifully dressed. And there were also Italian magazines which I noticed around about twelve years old or something. Then I wouldn’t allow my mother to dress me anymore. And we started to buy our clothes in Italy in Gorizia instead of Ljubljana. It was nearer than Ljubljana, but it was more expensive…
I haven’t told everything about me, my mother and doctors.
Before going to school, my sister, me, my neighbours… all the children around had an operation to have our tonsils removed. We were in the hospital for one week. My throat was sore and I didn’t understand why my mother didn’t get me from hospital – all the other kids went home. She was waiting, so I would eat the lunch. We had a good time in hospital though. The kids were crazy, we were hitting each other with pillows and so on.
In my first class at school, when I was seven, my mother noticed, that my right knee was more red than left one. She took me to every doctor in the vicinity but nobody could figure out what was wrong with me. I had my whole right leg in plaster in my first class and at the end of school I went to the hospital, where I stayed for one month. They did an operation on my right knee. The doctor says: “Everything is OK. She grows too fast.”
I was going by ambulance to have an injection in my arm, because I had bad blood.
I was going to the hospital to suck the “water” from my nostrils, because I had “sinuses”.
Needless to say, that I have an allergy to hospitals and doctors and people who took their children to the doctor for every little sneeze. I haven’t taken any medicine since the 1991. I am always completely healthy and I train my body hard. Sometimes I cough, sometimes I feel that I have a high body temperature, but I heal myself with honey, lemon, horseradish and garlic.
I had enough doctors in my childhood for ten lifetimes. And I had enough drama. I really had enough!
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