tearonthefire: (me)
[personal profile] tearonthefire
It seems that I'm still a little too close to the revelations I made last Monday, cause I said practically nothing in my last post. I was staring at the symptom and not the cause. The cause, is that my parents have fucked me right up. My mother's done most of the damage but my father's done his fair share as well.

They supposedly divorced when I was 4 but were practically separated from around the time of my first memory, about 2 and a half. From that time forward I looked toward my dad as being better then my mother. He and his side of the family were all brutally honest and came off as pretty rude, in all likelihood it's where my aspergers comes from or at least some general autism. It was completely unlike my mother and her side of the family, for them everything was secretive. They would be the family why'd say someone was at a spa or retreat when they were really in the loony bin.

My idealism of my father was the worst thing for my psyche. He was, in short, a sociopath and terribly narcissistic. Everything revolved around him. If he wanted something from his kids, it had to be at that moment. He took to waking my sister at 6 o'clock for whatever reason he had on his mind. Since I was technical, he'd want me to do things like; go through all the cellular companies for him, or fix their VCRs, or whatever else he wanted. And if either of us didn't do what we were asked at the moment we were asked, he'd ignore us for some length of time.

The punishments for non-capitulation were a lot worse for me. It was probably due to the fact that I'd kept coming back to him more quickly then my sister or that I'd try even harder to make him happy. My sister had our mother's father as a father figure and that was likely why she didn't give into my dad's games as quickly. One of my father's favourite punishments was to have my sister beat me up. I've been passive aggressive since birth and the fact that I wouldn't try very hard to defend myself was in all likelihood a major sign of weakness to him. But it also lead to atomic explosions of anger when someone put me under stress for long periods of time although I could probably more easily contribute that to my mother's upbrining.

Over time my dad got worse and I kept trying harder. Eventually every free moment I had was devoted to my father. If he needed cigarettes, I got them. If he needed a phone card, I got it. I even lent him money for which he repeatedly wrote rubber checks for. My mother had been absolute poisons with issues like these, because of her long list of serious defects she'd repeated say that you had to look past peoples issues and look for who they really were inside. Partially as a result of this twisted wisdom my sister, who was sheltered by my exceptionally judgemental grandfather, disconnected from my dad in high school, long before I. I was 25.

My dad also treated women like uncared for toys. For the most part his lovers consisted of worn out hookers he'd manage to get to move in with him, I'd also have to do whatever they needed to. I guess the prospect of staying on the street was worse then living with my dad. While I'd be his errand girl, they'd be his sex toys, well dumping ground for sexual tension would be a lot my appropriate.

Actually my mother and father had one very important thing in common, neither could stand being the least bit uncomfortable. One of the manifestations of this for my dad, was the constant intake of marijuana and I do mean constant. He'd have a bowel at least every hours and in most cases more often then that. He'd wake up from sleepping in the middle of the night to have his self proscribed meds. But they both dumped their stresses on my sister and I, and because I was older I got the brunt of it.

Whenever either of them had stress in their lives, they'd turn to yelling or demanding something from us. Again my mother was far more damaging in this regard but my father shaped my instinctual reactions to romantic love. I actually find it an irony that my emotional reactions to men are similar to my reactions to my mother, mostly dismissive but my reactions to women are my reactions to my father. The crossover seems strange to me.

The tireless advice of looking past someones faults and the selfless martyrdom culminated in my first real female relationship. I had, had several relationships before this point, one with a man and one very minor 'teeny' one with a girl. Actually my relationship with the girlfriend I spent the most amount of time with started shortly before my first sexual one and the sexual one was as a direct result of her.

Natalie, at this point I didn't even know her name, initiated our relationship by kissing me as everyone was leaving school. It was my first real kiss from a girl, the other was just childish lip pressing, actually it was mostly my first real kiss from anyone, for some reason I've never wanted or liked kissing my boyfriends. It also marked the end of my sanity for the next 10 years. She screwed with me every single day, I wont get into details but bipolar would be an apt description of her treatment of us.

So to make her jealous I went out with someone else. I hadn't expected to fall into a long term relationship nor did I expect her to be my first but she was damaged. It might be all the issues I have with my mother that makes me want to help people or it could be part of the conditioning from my father, either way seeing her stress out and breakdown made me want to reach out to her. But it was the conditioning of my dad that made me believe that the only way I could truly show my love, was to be everything for her and actually her behaviour was identical to my father. I'd pick her up from school by bus, I'd be home to entertain her, I'd listen while she complained about everyone in her life, and I was always there when she wanted to talk about her past.

Her thanks for my support was; to demand more, accuse me of being abusive and neglectful, vilify me to everyone, and hit me. To say she beat me wouldn't be accurate, she'd lash out with a single act and once sent me to hospital with one of those out lashings. She did everything my father did, for example I had dropped out of school and we were sudo living together, if I was even a minute late arriving at her school to pick her up, by bus remember, she'd go to her mother's and stay there, refusing to really talk to me or come back home until I went and got her. Another example is that I'd wake up to oral sex, for some the opposite of an issue but if I wasn't in the mood or I refused, she'd throw a fit. She was actually treating me exactly as my father treated his hooker girlfriends.

I turned myself into her whore just so she'd feel comfortable. I think the relationship even ruined my sex drive, before I think I might have had a somewhat healthy outlook and apatite for sex but with her I hated it. It was a chore. Now I see it as only and ends to make someone feel good or to heal them in some way, I'm basically Florence Nightingale or rather the condition named after her. I started to get really necrotic near the end to, I'd do things like secretly masturbate just so I wouldn't climax for her.

But above all, everything was my fault. Not only was I convinced of it, she even managed to somewhat convince my mother. And I practically begged my mother for help but either her advice made things worse, was lacking, or she just badgered me for involving her. I think I really wanted her to tell me to leave the girl but my mother would never say such a thing and I'm not sure why, I've never heard her tell anyone to leave an abusive relationship. I stopped seeing my friends so I could give her more attention, I stopped playing games, stopped listening to my music. Everything I'd do when I was with my dad. And the worse she got, the more I'd try to accommodate her, just like dad.

It's the height of ironic that my dad put a stop to that relationship or maybe it really isn't. He might have thought that she was detracting my duties to him, which was true. I had stopped running his errands, especially those for his hookers. His saving me from her also reaffirmed my childhood need for him. He'd saved me from my mother every time I was with him and not at home. The never ending mid-level stress that came with the heavy and oppressive air of my mother's home didn't exist at my dad's. Even my sister says that the small of his brand of cigarettes is comforting. In retrospect it was the choice of the lesser of two evils.

I'm not really sure I know how to say what I next want to say but;

Despite some very minor sexual stuff, and I say stuff cause it wasn't molestation nor do I think it was sexual abuse even though it was abusive, my dad never affected my 'sexual self'. Even knowing that his girlfriends were prostitutes and even the very misogynistic and inappropriate comments that came out of his mouth, I never felt sexually scared by my dad. He would insult and belittle; my intelligence, my attitude, my behaviour, everything except my looks. His contribution to my psyche was purely my expectations of what my love would expect from me.

My dad did something to me that in and of itself doesn't necessarily generate something negative but leads me to seek out those with problems and make myself vulnerable to them, which then leads to me being hurt by them. If I were to get my wish, I'd find someone I could forever help but whom would also cherish my support and care for and love me.

This statement seems like an ending but there's still something else and this is part of what's hard to word. I still want a relationship with my dad, one might call that desire 'Stockholm Syndrome' but I always enjoyed our time together. We went fishing, we fixed cars, we work on and in the garage, we did everything one would do with a dad and it was great. It was unfortunately coloured with his disgusting behaviour and comments and his never ending demands on me. Eventually I cut all contact with him because of his psychopathy and his grossness but ultimately it was my sister's embargo and a life change in me that really triggered it. I wish for things to be different even though I know they will never be.

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tearonthefire

February 2014

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