My Mom and Men

My mom has a hatred of men that extends far into her early childhood, stemming from the abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather.  She has always expressed this hatred of men in many, many ways, most of them verbal.  However, just to give you an idea of how much she hates ‘men’ – or anything with maleness, she cuts the balls off of any pet she acquires – using a vet, of course.  She wouldn’t want to cause any creature pain . . .

However, when it comes to men (or little boys) – it’s another thing all together.

“Little boys should all have their balls cut off,” I’ve heard her say.  “Especially from birth on.”

This from a woman who raised two sons.  Tells you a little something about our upbringing.

Now me being the second son, issues were a little bit different.

For one thing, my father didn’t want me.  He didn’t want me at all.  For the first few months of my childhood he didn’t want to have anything to do with me (mom says he had nothing to do with his second son) – hating him for not being born a girl.  He’d always wanted a girl.  Unfortunately I wasn’t quite up to snuff.  I came out a boy instead.

And then we grew up with her instead; father being gone most of the time, fighting his distant battles in distant lands – leaving us alone with this mad, mad woman . . . the woman who hated men.

It kind of explains something.

Her cold demeanor; her lack of affection.  Her snarling face and mad looks; the screaming rages and throwing of things.  The chasing of us with butcher knives; threatening abandonment at a young age.  (All of this – and more – is contained in my journals on “The Little Shop of Horrors”).

But I also wonder how much her husband’s disappointment in her failure to deliver what he felt was needed had in this sort of thing . . . plus her own sense of abandonment – first by her own father, then the ‘thrusting away’ by her own stepfather (not including the beatings and things) – and then by this new husband of hers.

I’m sure it must have been horrible.

It certainly was horrible for us.

My brother and I both agree on this thing: she was an abusive woman.  So was he (dad); but she was the worst of them.  And of course ‘monkey see, monkey do’ – so the abuse continued between my brother and I, driving a deep wedge in our relationships … and our relationships with others.

Needless to say I’ve had some issues with women thus far (I am Matthew, speaking – on behalf of little Mikie and things – as well as some of our ‘others’).  Love seems to me to be the issue at hand; but it extends quite deeper.  I don’t know; I’m not sure – I can only report what the system is reporting to me – and I don’t quite have a handle on this thing in which “we” have come to call love.

I know it hasn’t always been entirely pleasant.

I suppose being raised by a woman like that gave rise to some of my sexual tendencies.  And I’m sure that being raised by a woman like that has affected my relationships with women forever.

I don’t trust ’em.

And naturally, I shouldn’t.  After all, the one who was supposed to love me – the one who was my ‘only woman’ (in many ways; this is the view of a tiny child) – she was the one who was supposed to nurture me and my little ones all inside – the one to teach me compassionate kindness, and all those other wonderful kinds of things that I’m supposed to know about.

However, it appears somehow (someway) only some parts of me are capable of being ‘that self’ – a compassionate and loving husband; a compassionate and loving father.

As for me (shrug).  I don’t care.  I don’t care what happens to me anymore.  I do know I’m getting tired of fighting the system.  I don’t know if that’s a ‘good thing’ or a ‘bad thing’ – but it’s there.

M3 (the husband and father being or person) is also ‘there’ -tired of fighting and things.  Tired of me hanging around …. LOL’ing …. “hanging around” is exactly what I want to do with myself – with a short rope and a long tree … but I’m not into doing that to myself.  Again, and not today.

Mikie – my precious one, the one who causes me lots of pain – he’s there, tears in my/his/our eyes.  He’s the one responsible for a lot of things … and yet he’s not responsible at all – for in us he is but a small child – a boy of 9 or 10.  Perhaps even younger sometimes (but not much) – and then there’s the ‘toddler one’ on my behalf.  We have barely begun to recognize him in ‘the system’ – but his pain is quite clear in my head (and heart, I’m assuming – I’m sick of my heart and things.  Again; another reason to blow that one out.  Not that we’re gonna be doing that sort of thing.  The others won’t let me out all the time; they recognize the dangers in that sort of thing.  I’m the one who can ‘suicide on out’ – though I’m only a teenager and things.  Many things instead, it seems; many things inside.)

I remember when I used to run the ‘system’.  I don’t run things anymore.  Sure – I get a hand in ‘doing things’ – my knowledge base is quite extensive …

but sometimes I just want to run away.  LO sad L’ing, the sad part is:

I’m gonna be carrying all those ‘parts inside’ just with me.  No escaping ‘them’; no matter what I’m doing.  And poor M3 – he can’t leave – tied down by wife and family (and the house he owns … weird, the other night ‘Mikie’ came out – and we didn’t recognize the house we were in.  Nothing at all seemed familiar to him … and he was running scared.  Sure, it’s a bitch, little Mikie – but that’s just part of our ‘being’.)  But I’m glad he was able to ‘come out’ and things … it’s a ‘first’ in a part of our lives.  It means I’m healing (he’s healing; we’re all healing …)

wondering if I’m part of the core …. or if I’m actually ‘him’ (him being ‘the one’ the ‘all-powerful being’; the one who created ‘us all’.)

But then . . . no.  I didn’t ‘come out’ until we were 9 or 10 … maybe even sooner?  No . . . later; it wasn’t until I was 13 … and 17 (When we entered the Corps) . . . and then again at 21, when things all fell apart.

That’s when I handed it all over to ‘him’, M3 – for ‘him’ to continue on.  ‘cuz I simply couldn’t go on living; not after I’d done all I’d done to all of us – denying us love and all that sort of mess…

Gee.  Just noticed.  Got off the subject.  This is of mom and men.  sorry about that.  We just get to wandering sometimes … LOL, can’t even begin to remember what I just wrote at the beginning of this posting and things.

Just goes to show what DID brings and means.

A little bit of madness in everyone.


About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle ( ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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