History - Part two

I have been trying to find out the how and why since I can remember. I wanted to understand. Now I'm not so sure if there's anything to understand.
Looking back I can find lots arguments why things happened the way they happened, how everything went from bad to worse. I still don't really understand though. The reactions I get when I talk about stuff happening in the past are usually the same, 'well your mother was nuts', like it explains everything to them. Yet it doesn't explain anything to me.
There's a point in every parents life where they can hear their parents talking (well if they listen that is), they look at their kid, say the same deadly phrase they used to get from their parents and go scared (or well they should be! or rather I should be really). As most people I think I promised myself (and my unborn offspring course) that I would never ever be like my parents. Except mine was more like a solemn vow. And yet, I could hear my mother talking through me. The most scary part was that I also could see the thoughts my mother probably had. How kiddo was doing all things on purpose to annoy me. If hell exists, it must be something like that.
So there I was, having really stupid thoughts about kiddo and at the same time being thrown back in time and being there again. The feeling of fear mixed with confusion. No fecking clue what it all was about and why my mother was so angry with me again.

So I tried again. Well I tried drinking more and I still felt like I should hang myself because I was badbadbad. So I called them. I wanted to talk. I wanted to understand. She said I lied, that nothing I remembered ever happened. And besides that I was a bad child anyway. And that was kinda the end of it. I couldn't really stay sane and be a semi-normal mother while I still had to pretend nothing ever happened when I was a kid.
In a way I feel sad it's like this, that I won't get the answers I crave, the answers that would make me feel different (or so I believe). I believe that it would be so much easier if I could understand. If I could talk with my parents how things got to that really bad point. But during all those years I could never make them (or her rather) understand I didn't want to talk about blame or the bad things specifically, just the need to know things and maybe hear for once that I wasn't all that bad. Most of the years after kiddo was born everyone pretended we were all one big happy family. There was one huge area nobody dared enter, besides some remarks that it was nice that all was fine now (which I always translated as: See, it was you! We only did what we could with the best intentions.). The occasional yourememberwhens always seemed so fun and normal but they made me scream inside since there was nothing fun and normal back then.
The one time where I had been brushing my teeth for hours and hours till I finally had enough courage to go downstairs to ask if I could stop now, a room filled with guests and they all laughed when my mother said she had forgotten about me. Nobody thought it was a bit odd maybe that a child keeps brushing her teeth for hours? And now it's like a funny childhood story for them?
How could I keep up that charade and not go freaking insane? I couldn't. I honestly tried. Mostly so I could believe we could have a normal relation. That we now were all grownups and should be able to be mature about the past. So yes, I ended it all. I know I will always have questions and I know if I kept on seeing them sooner or later I would try to understand again. Over and over hitting my head on that brick wall being my mother or the guilt or the shame or whatever reason she doesn't want it all dug up again.

Memory is a weird thing. But I know I didn't make it all up. I know I know, I know she knows, she knows I know she knows. So I'm alone with them. My sister says I shouldn't keep dwelling in the past, we are living now, things are fine. My brother has a loyalty-conflict and is torn between me and our mother and I can't help him with it. He thinks I should forgive, that the mother from my past isn't the same as the mother in the now. But it's not the point and I can't make him see that.
I am my past and I want to change the future that is connected to that past. I am a sore, whiny, self-pitying, frustrated bitch if I don't try my hardest to keep remembering that I don't have to be like that. And I remember. And I try to not let it influence me too much. Since I'm still there.