Sometimes, the place or the people we come
from aren’t all that great. Many of us were raised in a tumultuous home and for
various reasons have tried to keep that a secret. Many have experienced abuse
or traumatic loss during childhood that we just don’t bother to let other people
know about. We are ashamed and think that people will judge or pity us if they
found out. But these feelings and thoughts aren’t the truth; they are deceptions
that make us feel alone. The following is the start of my life story, the way
that I grew up. I hope that it can show others that they really aren’t so
different after all.
My father had been
abusive to my siblings, my mother and I since before I can remember, both mentally
and physically. As a means to protect itself, my brain hid away most of those
painful memories (and unfortunately many happy ones as well), but there are
certain very traumatic instances that still remain. I was maybe six years-old
when I was forced to lock myself in the bathroom to get away, only the door was
kicked in and then so was my stomach. When I was fifteen my father choked me so
hard I thought I’d died. We were thrown into walls and dragged across rooms by
our hair. It was a constant torture to always be walking on egg shells, watching
every word I said and thing I did; I still flinch at the cracking sound of a
belt and shrink in size when people yell.
Still,
it wasn’t all bad, there were a few good times and a lot of neglect too. My dad
often recognized my high intelligence by calling me “the smart one” (unfortunately
it made my older sister “the dumb one,” my younger “the one that tries hard”
and my little brother “the boy”). He taught me to play golf, baseball and how
to fish (my younger sis and I were surrogate boys before my brother came along).
Work always came first, but when he was around and in a good mood, he found the
things that he liked about himself in
me and celebrated them. The things that he hated about himself he made my fault;
he made everything everyone else’s fault. Of course, I didn’t have nearly as
much psychological insight at the time to know that.
So
I believed all the lies his words and his actions told me. I felt insignificant,
worthless, weak, and that I wasn’t entitled to my emotions. I felt that it was
my responsibility to hold everything together, to try to fix everything and
everyone. I felt like I would never be
good enough and that I had done something to deserve being treated that way. It
seemed like I was fated for that horrible existence and the best thing for me
to do was suffer in silence.
Some
of these feelings I also learned from my mother. She never really tried to
change anything, but sometimes she would manage to pacify a heated situation
and cope just enough to tolerate more abuse (twenty-eight years of marriage and
several more through a bitter divorce, to be exact). My mother was so busy
coping that she instilled a sense of abandonment on her children. I can’t tell
you how many times I attempted to run away and was drawn back because I felt
obligated to my siblings. They needed
protection and they didn’t deserve to
be punished and I was the only one who would do anything about it.
Honestly,
there were many other ideas for posts that would have been easier for me to put
up, but there are two good reasons why I have chosen to tell my story instead.
The first is because I started reading a book that inspired me to. The second,
and more important reason, is because my father recently made choices and
actions that would change the lives of everyone in my family (except for my
older sister who lives on the other side of the world and couldn’t careless)
and it has been weighing on my mind..
I
am currently a third of the way into The
Happiness Makeover by M. J. Ryan. It’s a rather short, kind of quirky publication
that is marketed as a self-help book, but reads more like the memoirs of a life
couch. The chapters are brief and don’t always flow from one to the next, but
there are noteworthy little gems every few pages; my blue-green sharpie marks
and dog-eared pages stand as proof.
In
Chapter 5: Are You Envious of Others?
M. J. Ryan says “Everyone struggles with inner demons, everyone has challenges.
The more we share them with one another, the less alone we feel and the more we
understand every life is a mix of happiness and sadness.” She goes on to say
that being open with one another is the way to alleviate the negative feelings
people get when they compare their lives to others. Ryan explains that, often,
this kind of dialogue reveals a mutual jealousy. While I do agree that people
can find comfort and resolution in realizing that nobody has a perfect life, I
feel there is more to it than that. By simply letting others in on our
troubles, we are showing ourselves that what we feel is important. We are asserting
that our stories are significant; enough to have someone listen to them and
maybe even get something out of it. The person listening gives us validation as
well, validation that we return when we listen to them. Exchanging stories
reminds us that we are all worthy of being heard. As for the other reason, my
dad gave up any bit of sanity he had left and ran away.
At
the beginning of the month, my father was supposed to show up for a child
support hearing because he hadn’t been paying it. This meant that there was a
very small possibility that he may go to jail (again) if he attended the hearing.
Instead of going, he chose to pile his cat, dog and whatever he could manage
into his truck and “head south,” knowing full well that this would guarantee
that a warrant would be issued for his arrest. If he couldn’t pay child support
where’d he get the money to leave? Well, he’d just received an insurance check
from a claim he filed a few weeks prior. A car he doesn’t really use
mysteriously caught fire and subsequently burned the garage he kept it in as
well. It may be a coincidence, but I will let you draw your own conclusion. I
suppose you could say that my father is “in the wind,” but really he was the
wind. He was a violent hurricane that flooded our heads with lies and broke our
hearts with his hands. Like being devastated by, but surviving a natural disaster
I am feeling conflicting emotions. I am relieved that the storm is over and
experiencing a sense of loss.
For many years, I’d
struggled with the idea of taking my father out of my life completely. The
physical abuse stopped a number of years ago, but being around him has always
been and will always be emotionally damaging. But I loved my father for the
good things about him and because children can’t help but love their parents
even if they don’t really deserve it. Sometimes, we would talk about the way
people think and act. I would discuss psychological issues and new information
I’d read or heard about. I was careful never to show that I knew he had these
problems; his ego could never tolerate the sympathy of others. Many visits were
like covert therapy sessions because I thought that I could save him. Now that my
Dad is gone, I am saddened by the fact that there is nothing I can do to help
him. He is severely mentally ill and there are no arguments that can cast doubt
on that fact. I already miss the good things
he brought into my life, but I find comfort in knowing that I will never again trade
pain for those things. Fixing him was never my responsibility and I don’t have
to try to do it anymore. Sure, it would have been better for me to figure that
out and have made that choice for myself, but what matters is just that it
happened, not when it happened.
It was very difficult to
write this all down and to share it with people. Because I was taught that my
emotions are invalid and irrational, part of me is still afraid that I will be
criticized for it. By putting this out
there, I am actively working to release the power that this lie has on me. Thank
you for reading this. Your time is valuable and I am happy that you have spent
some of it listening to me. If you are someone who needs to tell their story, I
hope that this one has pushed you closer to doing so. I am sure that there are many
people you know who would love to be let in on your life. Give them a chance,
give yourself a chance. You can even share your story with me if you have the
desire to. Whatever you choose to do, be good to yourself.
