I grew up believing that my mother did not want me or love me because the alienator told me so. I was an extraordinarily angry little girl and an even angrier teenager. He loved every single complaint about my mother that came out of my mouth. He rejoiced in them.
How sick in the head does a person have to be to be happy that their child believes themselves unwanted by their mother? He liked it. It's an insane thought: he was glad that I was miserable. This goes back to the objectification. He did not see me as a person, though he once told me that my mother did not see me as anything more than a toy. The irony! Even more ironic was the truth my mother once mentioned about a different matter entirely: you only think these poisonous thoughts about someone else if you've had them in the first place.
I have children and it breaks my heart to think that either of them could wonder if I love them. Because of my childhood experience, I have made sure every day of their lives that they know that I love them.