Me, the Cactus

Article by Quercus. All photos are courtesy & copyright of Ruth at "We are One". 

Photo by Ruth - see her blog at We are One

One of the many cruel nicknames my NM dished out was "Cactus-girl", suggesting that you'd get poked by a sharp spine if you tried to get close to me. Cactus-girl.

Yes, somehow I was the one causing the injuries. I can't see how. I can remember longing and longing for some affection and affirmation from my heartless mother as a child. As a young adult, I remember reaching out to her in humiliating emails, baring my soul and then some to see if she'd show some kindness - put metaphorical band-aids and kisses on the sore spots of my life, my love life, etc. Did she? Of course not.

Or this one time, where something really awful happened in my professional life: I called her crying, looking for advice, help, something, anything! Did she help? Of course not. Could she help? Well, in this case, perhaps not. So I wasn't hurt by her reaction in this scenario until a little later on, when I visited her father, the evil malignant narcissist. He gleefully told me that the terrible situation at work was brought upon by me, and it had only been a matter of time before I had messed everything up completely, because I was a pathetic person who lacked this and that and the the other thing. According to him, I deserved every bad thing that happened to me. And he seemed to actually be saying that he enjoyed seeing me 'leveled'; apparently I had gotten 'above' myself.

And it was at that moment that I felt, conclusively in my heart (God forgive me!), utter hatred for my mother. She had run to him and told him all this. And she had told him only the unflattering details in such a way that he could concoct a diatribe like the lines he hissed at me. There was no way he could have just taken a stab-in-the-dark at my general situation and come up with those particular jabs that were surgical in their precision! And there was no way my mother had been fair or kind to me in her relating of the story to him. All the laudable parts were missing, and there was just too much detail, too many specifics, for my evil grandfather to have guessed at. She had fed him all this specific information.

And worst of all, she had set me up to go and visit with him, something I had only done a handful of times as an adult. She waited for a moment when my whole world was crashing down around me, and she set me up for complete destruction with the evilest man I have ever met. They arranged the coup de grace expediently, with this delicious turn of events - Cactus-girl, flying high, had been brought unexpectedly low. Had they been biding their time, laying in wait for their opportunity? One day, I would be weak again. And on that day, they'd waste no time.

My mother used to do this to me as a girl, and then as a teenager. I would be going about my merry way, doing homework, or talking with a friend on the phone. I never suspected anything. I hadn't done anything wrong, so I wasn't expecting punishment. And my evil grandfather would come over to visit.

My NM would force me to spend time alone with him. I would be pulled away from what I was doing (and whatever I was doing would be being done quietly, in my room. Reading. Doing homework. Drawing. I never did anything to incur her wrath - I laid low, always). "Your grandfather wants to visit with you in the kitchen." There was a tone in her voice and fire in her eyes. She was getting off on this. And I had no choice but to visit with him.

My grandfather would be sitting at the counter, his teeth clenched in an unconvincing 'friendly grin' . Gleefully, almost lustfully, he would slowly embark on a complete attack on my character through a smiling jaw and fiery eyes. It was like being thrown into the crocodile tank. He was really enjoying it, building up to bigger and more cruel sleights. He'd eat his treat, a sweet of some sort, one that was offered to me to 'lure' me into sitting down next to him. He'd make some 'innocuous' but hateful comment about my body, or more often my personality, while his fat, ugly lips wrestled with the pastry on the end of his fork. I think he was suppressing laughter; maybe that's why his lips stumbled over the fork.

NM always left the room, though she'd had escorted me to him - I guess she didn't want to see it happen? Or maybe she knew I'd see her smile. I was always punished by him on her behalf. She'd always insist, with this wicked smile, that I needed to go and 'spend time with him alone'. My EF was never at home when these little 'meetings' took place. That could hardly have been a coincidence. I doubt he'd have stood up for me, but I also know NM and her father would be too chicken to try it with any witnesses. My siblings were always, always sent away on an errand while I was to 'spend time alone' with grandfather.

When I was older, I found ways to 'not be home' when he would visit. I'd volunteer, or be out with friends, or would simply be hiding out somewhere outside. I began to figure out that my evil grandfather only wanted to visit me 'alone' before my EF came home from work, and while my siblings were elsewhere. So I'd "be home to see grandfather and everyone else at dinner." What could NM object to? I was visiting, wasn't I? She'd lose it if I did this; she'd literally rage at me. This was an ice-woman who never showed emotions. But in these few situations, it all came flooding out. She couldn't hold the anger in - it would seethe out of her. The resentment, the threats, the hatred she had for me would simply boil over. I don't ever remember her losing it like this in any other context. Clearly, she had an enormous emotional need to have me be verbally horse-whipped by her father. Denying her the opportunity to have me abused would cause her to lash out at me, even physically at times. She needed me to be abused.

I really am "Cactus-girl" in many ways. I grew up in an emotional desert - an arid environment, harsh climate, and I had to grow spines (apparently) to defend against the scavengers that tore into my watery flesh to feed on me.

Photo by Ruth - see her blog at We are One

The nickname used to hurt me - it was meant to. Now I realise it's a pretty apt handle. I was a cactus in the desert of despair. What were the spines I grew? I still don't know. Boundaries, probably. Weak and feeble ones at that. Just the act of trying to defend myself 'hurt' my NM, no doubt. I sure never tried to hurt her. Not once. Not ever. I spent every waking minute worried I was "killing her". I still worry about that. Having her accuse me of intentionally hurting her is and was the cruelest thing she could do.

I hate my grandfather. (The Lord knows it's in my heart, so I'll confess it). I hate my grandfather. Zealously. He is the worst person in the entire world. He delighted in the soul-annihilation of a good and kind little girl. He's a monster. And my mother is not much better. In fact, she's worse - she abused me mostly by proxy, keeping her hands clean, and playing the innocent victim card every time I dared to squeak out 'Foul!'. She was probably treated like dirt by my grandfather. Did she care enough to make sure the same didn't happen to her daughter?! NO! She made sure what happened to her also happened to me. Maybe she set it up so worse would happen to me. I can never know for certain.

The police have told me that, in regards to the sexual assault that happened to me as a child, that my mother was "hiding something". They said that they were sure she either knew something and wasn't cooperating, was intentionally obstructing justice, or may have even been complicit in the whole thing. Something rubbed them so wrong that they contacted me to tell me this. They told me I ought to know of their suspicions, and that I should use this information to be 'cautious' around her. Too bad I was already an adult by this time. I wish I had received such a warning earlier, though truthfully, what good would it have done me? I had no place to go, and no one to help me escape.

Here's what I think was going on in my NM's mind: her life had sucked. And she'd be damned if I, this horrid little upstart of a woman, was going to be more than she was. More happy, more pretty, more successful - no! Not if she could help it! "All we ever wanted for you was for you to be likeable. We didn't want you to become conceited.". That's what they once said to me. They stripped me of all self-confidence. They may have even accidentally-on-purpose had me savagely raped as a child (that's the sentiment of the police, as well as myself, now). They certainly never reported the crime to police, and they told me to tell no one. They made sure I was mild-mannered, passive, polite, self-sacrificing, eager to please, totally trusting, and a complete and utter doormat. They did everything they could to keep me trapped at home physically and emotionally. And whenever I was showing signs of growth or autonomy, the big guns got called for, and the evilest man I ever met would go to work on my soul with an emotional pick-axe. I would be chopped right back down to size.

If I had literally grown spines that projected from my skin, could you have blamed me? Would you not be glad to see that this helpless child had some rudimentary protection? I would, looking back. At the time, I cried myself to sleep believing that I was ugly and spiny and that it was my fault my mother didn't love me.

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Many thanks and all due credit to Ruth at We are One for the gorgeous, professional photos of cacti. She always has the most beautiful photos, and I'm so grateful she allowed me the use of these two images. Thank you again, Ruth! xoxox