I, Edith, am the strongest of “the others.” I am the one that is most often up/in control. I am the mother, every part of me calls out for children/someone to care for. Of the group, I am its leader, it’s mother. I control them with an iron fist, but it is for their own good. When they try to break away from this control, this is when I become despondent and desperate. Without me, they are going to run amok.
I hate the quiet. I must always have some kind of noise. The quiet just let’s in “my stuff”, and I’d rather not deal with that. It also allows the “others” to start voicing their opinions. It’s like having a stadium full of yelling people inside my head. So I mute them as much as I can. But even I get tired after a while and have to go under/allow someone else up. I’m only really comfortable with allowing Rose or Genevieve control during those times.
I have been the mother in my family for so long that I don’t remember ever being anything else. I was there when my own mother couldn’t, wouldn’t, be there for my sister and I. I was the practical one, the one who made sure we got picked up from school, had food in the house, etc.
I’ve spent most of my life putting others needs before my own. I am a doormat that people walk all over and take advantage of, and I allow it in a hope of getting some form of love or acceptance in return.
It was important that my sister got to have a childhood even if that meant I never did. I protect her from my grandfather and his abuse by sacrificing myself. I protected my mother, by keeping quiet about what was happening to me. Afterwards, there was no need to make her feel guilty because she didn’t protect me from my grandfather, it didn’t change anything. I was still molested, there was nothing that could change that. Her guilt just made what happened to me harder to deal with. That is why I won’t talk to her or let “the others” talk to her about what happened. I protected my family by being the adult and picking up the pieces.
I was there for my parents when they needed someone to talk to and they couldn’t talk to each other. I was there for my sister as much as I could directing her, trying to keep her out of trouble. I have and I still walk on eggshells trying to make everyone happy, even at the expense of myself and my feelings. I have basic made a doormat of myself. I have big welcome sign on me and I ask for people to walk all over me. Why? Because it is my way of looking for/hoping for love. If I’m a big enough doormat, I might get the appreciation and love I so desperately seek.
It has been my life’s dream to marry and raise a family of my own. I was devastated when I was told that due to medical issues that was never going to happen. I was never going to grow round with child, I was never going to suckle that child at my breast, I would never get to watch them grow and be able to be proud because they were mine. I had made them. Watching my sister get this, has been the hardest thing I’ve had to deal with because it makes me hate her, while at the same time I look at her as my child/my responsiblity, so how can I hate her?
I am like a cross between someone’s grandmother/mother and an artist. My hair is in a bun/ponytail at the nape of her neck, comfy clothes – like jeans and t-shirts, no make-up. The truth is, is that I don’t really care what I wear or what I look like. I’m just me and people will have to accept that.
I like oldies and old country music. I like to watch classic movies and period pieces. I like to knit and cook and finds both relaxing. Nothing makes me happier than cooking a huge meal and having lots of people over to enjoy it.
I know that Edith is a name the “A” part of me doesn’t like; in fact it is one of the last names she would have ever picked. “A” needs someone to handle things, but it a love-hate relationship.