One of the worst, darkest parts of the abuse I don’t see mentioned.

The fact that I became so used to it that I started seeing it like a transaction. I would internally barter with myself on accepting or even outright asking for different abuses just so I could placate my abuser. My mom’s a malignant narcissist and a sadist, and I learned from a young age that she got some degree of pleasure or enjoyment from hurting me. I knew if she got that from me, she might be nicer to me afterward, but if I denied her, it would almost always be worse later. These ranged from things that were more tame, like letting her dress me like a doll instead of a person, to more heinous things, like CSA. And everything else.

Everything she did to me was an internal calculation. Do I fuss here? She’ll get mad later. It’s not worth it. Do I reject her here? She’ll get mad now, but this particular offense won’t bother her as much. So maybe I am willing to pay for the “no” here. “No” cost me. Anything besides straight obedience always cost me.

The worst of this transactional mentality is that I would literally ask for abuse at times. Even CSA, especially when I was really little and didn’t understand how wrong it was. My pain was a bargaining chip that I knew would buy me a brief sense of safety. I knew that letting her abuse me made her happy, but asking for it meant it could happen at a time when I felt strong enough to take it. And asking for it made her even happier. She’d give me treats, and paired with food restriction, this “reward” meant a lot to me in other ways. This happened not just with the CSA, but that one is the hardest for me to remember.

It made it harder when I got older and tried to complain, too. Anytime I complained about the abuse, she’d argue and say it wasn’t abuse because I’d asked for it when I was younger. Or she’d say I liked it (when I definitely didn’t).

I don’t really see anyone mention this part of the abuse, but I doubt it’s just me. It’s one of the deepest pits of shame, too, even though logically, I know it isn’t my fault. But I didn’t realize the extent of this until last night. Someone asked me if my mom felt remorse. I don’t know why, but it made me think of this. Then, it just opened up for me as this realization I’d never had. It also hammers in for me how vile my mom is. A parent has to be truly evil for their own child to ask for them for abuse, only because the child knows it’ll make the parent less cruel.