Reason # 2 Why I Hate Myself

To some this may seem trivial but for me it is a major stronghold. I have given it a lot of thought over the last 2 weeks and I have concluded that this is just another one of the reasons why I hate myself. I know that you are not supposed to hate yourself. To be honest, my counselor has really helped me realize that I am worth loving and that I should not hate myself. Even though I have known this all along, I did not believe it. I did not believe in myself. I did not think that I was worth it. It is sad to say that I literally felt like I was not worth being me. I have a strong, abrasive personality and although that side of me usually shines, the sad part of me is hiding nearby in the shadows.
Since I have been on my soul searching journey I have experienced high highs and low lows. There are days that I feel 110% and then there are days where I have no emotional grip on myself and I "lose it" from the time I get out of bed till I go to sleep at night. This "non-grip on myself" is the 2nd reason why I hate myself. I understand that I should not "beat myself up" for this reason. However, I have to question how much of my lack of emotional stability is learned behavior and how much of it is literally me?!?
I grew up in a household with my mother and my 2 siblings. My dad was gone for about the first 12 years of my life working. He was a cross-country truck driver and I only got to see him a day or 2 out of each month. Looking back on this, my mom really missed him too. But, that doesn't excuse her behavior. You see, my mom was pretty much a single parent to me and my bro and sis. We were not bad kids but mom had (and still has) her own battles/demons that she needs to deal with. Her anger and hurt carried over into our lives and affected every aspect of it. As kids, we got our asses beat nonstop. In fact, a day without a whipping was a good day. Mom doesn't seem to recall it exactly like we do but ...its 3 against 1. She was a good mother to us in the respect that she did stick up for us and tell people when they were wrong. But my mother was also my abuser. Pretty messed up, right? Right! I look back on my childhood and I can't remember most of it. And the parts I can remember...well most of it I don't want to remember. Part of me wants to know what I can't remember and the other part of me thinks it's best that I never know.
Till this day I don't think my mother understands how bad she screwed her kids up. I have no emotional stability. Granted, counseling has helped me get a grip on myself and now I can exercise emotional stability when I get upset--but only sometimes. I still go crazy, yell or scream when I am upset or I just shut down all together. None of these are the answer.
As a child, this emotional instability is what I was subjected to. Now at 25, I fight myself everyday to overcome this. I hate this part of myself because at times it seems like an impossible goal to reach. I know it is attainable but I believe it will be a long journey to achieve "a healthy grip on myself."
It is hard to talk about this because when my mother whipped us it was always emotional... I would say at least 95% of the whippings I got in my lifetime were emotional ones. My mom would get upset..she had absolutely NO patience! She made sure we knew that we messed up and then it was time for the ass whipping....They were not controlled...Wherever the belt landed is where we got hit....or whatever random item she could get her hands on is what we got whipped with....Needless to say, I remember crying myself to sleep from my youngest age as a child (prolly 5 or so) up until I was 13 or so. When my dad came home off the road the beating stopped.
I can't tell you how many times I could not sit on the toilet or I was told not to dress out in PE class. That's not the way a child should remember their childhood. It's sad...I'm 25 now, I drive by the house I grew up in...I have little memories of it...I remember the outside memories...playing with my friends, making huts so the bug man couldn't get us....but I have little memory of the inside. Even though I don't remember it all, I know it happened.
I hope that I can heal--which is what I am seeking--and I hope I can have a child later in life and be the best me, the best mom, the best wife possible. I want to break the cycle. I want my child to think of me as their best friend. I don't want them to have a void that will never be filled. I want them to feel loved.