Plants and Grandma

 My dear old grandma. She hated me. At least that is what my mother told me when I was real young. The first memories of that grandma. The biological grandma that I never got to know. What a harsh reality for a young child. I did not get to meet her in person until I was 13 and then I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to say to her. Looking back and also talking to my therapist about these matters and getting her in site has been really good for me. This therapist was the first to talk about how my mother was using me as a power play over grandma, and that totally makes sense. My mother told me that grandma hated me so that I would behave in a manner that would keep us from talking to each other so mom had better control. When in actuality I kind of wonder about grandma's story. What was my biological grandma's REAL story? All I heard was the worst about her, in fact, the stories my mother told about her were very similar to what happened to Carrie in the movie with that name, but maybe not as religious. My mother, I adored her so much. I loved her so much it hurt so bad. I still love her, but it is an adult kinda sad love now...not the intense admirational love I had as a kid. She would beat me and I would still love her and look up to her. I tried so hard to please her. Some times I would actually please her, but really not that often. Mostly I was told how bad I do anything. I was remembering how mad she was when I was 4 and didn't know how to tie my shoes well even though I kept trying. She would scream to all mighty hell when I couldn't figure out shit fast enough for her. Then, of course, the hitting and the cussing and the constant annoyed tones saying she had to do everything herself. Boy, did I annoy the shit out of my mother because I didn't learn fast enough for her. Looking back and thinking of my little kid face streaked with tears while she screamed at me about how dumb I was I couldn't tie shoes at 4 years old. At 4 years old I needed to know how to tie my sneakers after one try! BOLOLOL! It is weird because sometimes I think I even did or was about to get it right but she slapped my hands away angry still before I would be able to complete the task even? Weird how some of these memories work.....like really? WOW. Sabotaging your own kid is really weird thing to think about. I always thought the best of my mother even though she terrified me. Then even moving made myself out to be the bad one and that I needed to go away because I was so annoying to my family. I could never do anything right around them and also I was afraid they would get super violent with me because of that because that is the way it was. If I didn't get it right I was often hit or slapped and screamed at. Welp, I can't wait to talk to my therapist today. I think she has already unlocked a lot of shit for me! Let's hope it goes alright today still. 

O ya, planting is a way to kind of take the positives about my family and healing. Grandma's famous garden! Everyone always used to marvel over grandma's huge, beautiful garden. Looking back that garden was quite something! She must have had every plant native to the area and then some and all the flowers! My mother used to talk about how great grandma's garden was. The one positive thing about grandma. My mom liked to garden, too, well, sort of, I guess. Maybe I have an anger bias against my mother rn, but ya, mom's garden wasn't that great. In fact, the only thing I remember about my mother's little garden was that she slapped my hands or would slap me hard and tell me to go away and find my own thing to do. My mother didn't like to show me how to do much, it seemed. She often would slap or hit me and scream at me to go away. That is what I remember the most about my childhood. So, I would, I would go away. It is kind of weird to think about but the one thing she did encourage me to do is draw! I mean she would make me do the cleaning and household chores and hate however I did it and would still make me do it even though I always sucked at cleaning, but she always encouraged me to draw at least, I guess. She did not equate it as a job thing, though, and that I need to work ad get a job. She was going on about jobs as early as I can remember. Always telling me to get a job at 5 yo or how I need to work ect. Work was a very big deal to my family. My parents had me selling hot dogs at 7 even though I couldn't count back people's change very well. I felt real clumsy in that small ass kitchen, too.