That is how long it has been since Mary, my “maternal figure” died from cancer. It has been a long year, a tough year, but not for the reasons most people would think. I do not mourn her. I am not distraught like a daughter should be. Her death started my healing.

Most people that knew Mary, didn’t really know her. they knew the mask she showed to society. The mask of a loving, caring mother and a faithful and strong woman of God. That is not the Mary I knew. The one I knew was manipulative, abusive, narcissistic and cruel. The problem is, I didn’t realize how bad she was until after she died. Well, I knew, but I put all the negative experiences tucked away in a black box deep inside my psyche. I forced myself to only remember the good, and just keep stuffing that box to capacity. The problem with stuffing boxes is they eventually get too full and will burst if you keep adding to it. That is what happened when she died.

My box burst. My wall protecting my emotions tumbled down to dust. Every part of me, mentally, spiritually emotionally and even physically ached. The suppressed memories came flooding to the surface like a tsunami. The pain, sadness, anger, confusion, abandonment, all of it kept hitting me nonstop. I thank God for Xavier, my sister and my close friends that helped me navigate this. If it wasn’t for them, I probably wouldn’t be here writing this today.

So let me clarify more on this mask and elaborate on the “fakeness” of it all. As I said above, most people saw a good woman. After remembering multiple suppressed memories, reading journal entries and writings, and even looking at pictures…I remembered the truth. The beatings. The yelling. The name calling. The abuse.

Her journal entries spewed hate on such a high level it was nauseating. She hated my dad. Literally wrote “I wish he was dead”. Words of this nature were not a one time occurrence either. This is the same man she “wept over” when he died. I don’t think she was sad he died, I mean it was her wish. I think she was sad she had no one left to manipulate. Or maybe the sadness was to garner pity to fuel her narcissism. Who knows. After reading those words in her journal, I cannot believe that a single tear she shed for my dad was genuine. After reading that I remembered how behind closed doors she constantly put him down, called him pathetic, weak, “not a real man”. NONE of those words describe my father. As I started going through pictures, I found one of my dad when he was young. On the back in Mary’s handwriting was “Que Feo”, which means “how ugly” in Spanish. She had zero issues saying and writing these things and had zero respect for my father. THAT pisses me off.

The hate didn’t stop there. She wrote multiple times about my sister. Her oldest daughter. Such awful words about your child. I refuse to repeat those. I love my sister and to know she said those things, along with the actions I witnessed, makes a rage boil up inside of me that I have to fight to bring down. As a mother myself I COULD NEVER! I would never.

When it came to me, not much was said, but what was said was disgusting as well. Within a week of being placed in that home after adoption, she had spanked me for peeing myself (I was 3 years old in a new home) and she “thanked God for the experience bc she felt it brought us closer”. Uh, what? Another entry was from when I was an adult. She was accusing me of being possessed and other ridiculous things. This event I remember with such clarity bc it was the last time I saw her in person. She had come down as I was in the hospital. I did not call her, a person I once called friend did. I was having anxiety induced seizures. Her presence was making it worse. She called her pastor and said “Pray for my daughter because she is possessed”. I was having seizures. With her it was always something spiritual that could be fixed by prayer, could never be a physical manifestation or god forbid mental. To me it seemed like she had some form of religious Munchausen syndrome by proxy. After this visit, she was forbidden from coming to my home again.

She spoke ill of people she said were friends. Vile words about them as well. The only thing she talked about that involved love and utter devotion was God. I would say 90% or more of her writing was about God. Her love, her devotion, etc. I don’t understand how someone can pour out love to God, but utterly despise the gifts He gave to them.

Yes, I am aware she was “sick”. I am not talking just physically, but she was mentally ill. So am I. Difference is I recognize it, I am actively working on fixing it, and I don’t use it as an excuse to act irrationally. I have, and am continuing to, work through these memories one by one, processing them, and moving on. I do have cPTSD and severe anxiety due to my childhood. It sucks some days, but for my kids I will continue down my path of healing. Mary tried to break me, but all she did was make me stronger. She did teach me a valuable lesson though. She taught me how I should NOT be. I am a mother who owns up to her mistakes, and truly loves her children. I am a sister who will do anything to protect my sister, from anyone or anything. I am a daughter to my father, the one who was there for me unconditionally. I am a friend who does not speak ill behind your back and smile at your face. I am a woman who was beaten down, but got back up and said “You hit like a bitch” and got up and fought.

So a year later I am doing well. I still have my days where I am a mess, but I will never give up. I no longer use the black box and I openly express my feelings. I take the good and bad in life as that is what makes me human, makes me, well, me. I no longer let anyone use me, manipulate me. I stand tall in the woman I am. This has not cut off my faith in God, it has strengthened it. I am determined to be the opposite of what Mary was and be that phoenix rising from the ashes. The weight is gone and I am finally free.