• MalachaiConstant@lemmy.world
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    7 months ago

    Times like this I wish I was still talking to her and she knew I was queer.

    Ugh, same. I broke all contact with mine a little before the pandemic and now a tiny part of me will always be dying to know how deep into the cult she sank.

    • june@lemmy.world
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      7 months ago

      part of me will always be dying to know how deep into the cult she sank.

      It’s the reason I still stalk her Facebook lol

      I broke contact with my mom 2 years ago on my birthday when she (middle school dropout) decided to tell me I (a college grad who learned how to research validity and reliability of various claims and sources) am a gullible fool for taking the Covid vaccine and that I needed to get on YouTube to do my research. It was the final straw of disrespect piled on a thousand other small things.

      I don’t miss her.

      • jdf038@mander.xyz
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        7 months ago

        I’m glad you’ve got peace with that but I don’t envy you for having to go through it ❤️

        • june@lemmy.world
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          7 months ago

          I never would have chosen it, that’s for sure. I may not miss her but I do experience grief over the situation often.

        • june@lemmy.world
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          7 months ago

          She was a lot better before. She ended up with a ruptured disc in her lumbar in like 91 or something and the only treatment back then was a discoctomy, which is a brutal surgery that usually leads to a cascade of disc herniation and rupturing. She ended up having 11 surgery’s over the next 25 years and during that time became very addicted to her pain killers. Then, in 09 she got breast cancer which has been pretty hard on her body, and has left her with literal brain damage today. She always had toxic traits, but her sickness has made it so much worse over the last 15 years in particular.

          To boot, we were fundie Christians and I had no idea I was queer, I only knew I never fit in and couldn’t figure out why. I was so isolated i never had anyone that could model what it might be like to be queer or to understand myself. Add in some mild bipolar, ADHD, and a touch of autism and it’s a recipe for failure to self identify. It wasn’t until my 30’s that I started putting the pieces together that maybe I’m not a boy and oh I actually like boys too.

          Most of my misery and trauma growing up was more religious than anything.