Where it started for me (TW: EA, PA, Alc)

[Beefbroth]

It took me a lot longer than it probably should have to piece together that what happened in my childhood and how I act now are both related and not normal.  I mean, I think about how I grew up, most people would probably be a bit envious.  I was an only child.  I grew up in a giant house on a wooded corner lot, in a huge neighborhood with plenty of kids my age.  One set of grandparents was only about half an hour away.  The area itself was amazing, lots of history, amusement parks, things to do.  Most times when I have a dream I remember I'm back in that place.

My father, when I was very young, seemed to be all anybody would ever want out of a dad.  He'd come home from work with horrible breath.  Preschooler mindset interpreted that as "They keep him so busy he doesn't have time to brush his teeth!"  We'd have dinner, then he'd stretch out on the living room floor while we all watched the evening shows, and gradually he'd fall asleep.  "Dad's had a long day, he's tired!"  Starting in about kindergarten, he'd usually find his way into the guest bedroom for the night.  "He didn't want to wake Mom up, he's being thoughtful!"  On the weekends we'd have what we called Dude & Dad Day, where we would run around together and get a bunch of the household errands done.

As I got older, he got meaner.  Less fun to be around.  More...just, angry.  Like not outwardly or expressively most of the time, but you know that anger you can just feel coming out of a person.  He became stricter.  He smiled and laughed less.  He raised his voice more.  He already didn't play with me, but now he wanted to be bothered less - he started thinking of it as being bothered.  His favorite hobby, as far as I could tell, was finding new ways to call me stupid.  I've never been able to make a paper airplane.  This was a sign that I was a failure as a boy and a future man, and he made sure to tell me so.  When Forrest Gump came out, I learned to hate that movie because it gave him the phrase "Stupid is as stupid does".  The most genuine laugh I ever heard come from him was on the way back from running errands one Saturday.  They had just put new signs in the neighborhood to help warn drivers that there were lots of kids.  I'm sure other countries have something similar, but they were signs like this:

"Beefbroth, that's for you!  They put that up because you live here!  Because you're a slow child!"
And there was the odd time I'd get a slap in the back of the head from him, but that didn't seem to be how he normally expressed himself.  Almost like he was trying it out.

My mother, on the other hand...mercurial, that's the best word for it.  I've heard from her sister (my aunt) that even as a young child she was prone to vicious mood swings.  She could be the kindest, wittiest person you've ever met one moment.  And then something would rub her the wrong way, or upset her, or disappoint her, or go against her opinion, or just annoy her, or sometimes who knows what it was, and you could see the change in her.  Bristling with anger, almost vibrating.  Clenching her fists so tight her knuckles turned white.  Like she was about to smash through a brick wall.  And then she'd start shouting.  Berating you for what you'd done, telling you all the ways it was a bad idea, a stupid idea, what were you even thinking.  Over and over and over.  Ranting and raving about the horrible thing you've just done, because you needed to know every conceivable reason why it was a bad thing to do.  It would be too much for anyone to take, being ground into the dirt like that.  So eventually you'd get overloaded from being yelled at and do what probably any kid would do in a situation like that:  you'd snap back.  And then...that's when it went to some place entirely different.  She'd throw her hands up as if to say "I'm done with you" and walk away.  Usually off to her bedroom.  And she'd ignore you for a while.  2-3 days at least.  Sometimes a week.  Purposely not talking or acknowledging you.  But she'd still be there.  She'd still be around the house, silently fuming anytime she went near you, and you just knew to stay out of her way, because in her state anything else was going to set off an explosion in her.  Except, she'd make it a point to go near you.  If you were in the kitchen making a sandwich, she'd come in and empty the dishwasher, or make a cup of tea, but she'd do it in a way that forced you away from her.  Putting her stuff in your space, knowing you'd move rather than risk her anger.  I sometimes wonder if she enjoyed doing that, having that power over another person that they'd simply flee in terror at your approach.

I was raised with a lot of really tough morals.  Always be patient with others - because they will get everything wrong.  Nobody's perfect, but always aim for it - because you have to make up for when others mess up.  The negative punishment tactic was the standing order in the house.  If something was done incorrectly, or not to their satisfaction, I would be punished to reinforce why I should do better next time.  If I got As in school, things were okay.  Anything less than that, and I'd start hearing about how I could do better.  I didn't have to be perfect, I just had to do as well as I could, and they knew that was better than this.  So I'd have something taken away (or sometimes everything) to make sure I was focusing on what was important.  Stand up for yourself - which was normally a bad idea when doing so was the fastest way to set my mother off.  Don't obsess.  I cannot tell you how many times I heard that.  "Beefbroth, you're obsessing".  If I was getting too passionate/upset/excited about something, they'd get angry.  I think this was just a way of getting me to stop bothering them with kid stuff like hobbies and toys and games and emotions.  And above all, just suck it up.  Stop complaining about things.  Be tougher.

So that was childhood.

And then it all came crashing down around me.  It's one of those memories I'll probably never forget.  Fresh into 8th grade, so it would have been around September.  A Sunday night.  My mother was upstairs in their bedroom watching TV.  I was downstairs in the living room with my father watching Space Jam.  We were in separate recliners, and he'd fallen asleep in the middle of the movie.  I finished it, and went upstairs to visit with my mother.  Maybe 10 or 15 minutes later, he comes upstairs - the doorway to their bedroom where we were was immediately at the top of the staircase to the left.  He stops in the doorway, looks my mother straight in the eye, and flips her the bird.  Holds it for about 5 seconds, then turns around, walks into the guest bedroom across the landing, and slams the door.  I'm busting out laughing.  It's the most hilarious thing I've ever seen, because of its sheer absurdity.  I look over to my mother to see her laughing, and she's just stone-faced.  Without raising her voice, she tells me to go pack some clothes for overnight and tomorrow, and grab my school stuff - we're going to stay with my grandmother.

Over the course of the next week I'd learn that my father was actually a raging, abusive alcoholic, and had been for years.  My parents had decided to hide this from me rather than let me be exposed to it, and to say they did a good job would be a massive understatement.  I legit had no idea it was going on.  The middle finger was the first instance of it being brought out into the light.  Apparently, it had been getting worse, and my mother had finally had enough and asked for a divorce.  The anger and resentment of hearing that built up in my father and then finally spilled over into the middle finger outburst.

I'm sure they'd say it was for my own good that they never told me, but I was so oblivious to any of it that it had the effect of shattering my entire sense of reality.  I had to recategorize every memory from my life up to that point.  "He's so busy they don't give him time to brush his teeth!"  No, he's coming home liquored up with booze on his breath.  "He's tired from a long day at work!"  No, he's passed out drunk on the floor.  "He doesn't want to wake her up, he's being thoughtful!"  No, she's kicked him out of bed and refuses to sleep with him because he's drunk.  And it suddenly clicked how Dude & Dad Day always seemed to involve a trip to a liquor store, so he could resupply.  His stricter, angrier mood was him getting deeper and deeper into the alcoholism.

By the end of the calendar year he'd moved out.  I'd see him once every couple of months.  By the end of the school year my mother had to sell the house and we moved into a dank little apartment on the outskirts of the county, because she wanted me to stay in the same school with the same people I knew.  The same people who now couldn't be bothered with me since I wasn't right down the street anymore.  So I lost all my friends, but stayed in the same school, so I got to watch them all interact and stay together.  By the end of the next school year, my mother was engaged to a new man, and we were moving out of state to live with him.  I protested, not wanting to leave the area - the last bit of home I still had.  Her response was to get over it, I didn't have friends or anything here anyway so there wasn't any reason they should stay for me.

New state, new family - the stepfather had 2 daughters, one of them with 2 kids of her own.  I never felt like anything but the outcast.  New school, new people.  I didn't try to make friends.  I think by then I'd just given up on it.  My world had been pulled out from under me too many times to feel secure anymore.  So I just retreated into schoolwork, and honestly into myself.  I had no social life - I'd get up at 6am, go to school, come home, study until maybe 2-3am, go to sleep, and do it all again.  Didn't do anything but study on the weekends.

I never heard from my father again.  He died in 2005 from liver/kidney failure.  Quite literally drank himself to death.  I'm told his last words were how much he hated me.

My mother died in 2007 from a long battle with cancer.

I think that's enough for now.  If you've read this far, thank you for letting me vent.

[Armee]

Hey. I read it all. It sounds really rough.

My dad died in 2005, too. 53. Died a self-inflicted death but also had cirrhosis and end stage kidney failure. He didn't know me, so there was no opportunity for the hurtful words your father uttered, but I did learn his kidney failure was a highly inheritable genetic disorder and he told his doctor he had no children (he was aware of us us) and never told us so we could be tested and treated. Indifference instead of hate, I suppose. I tell you that not to diminish your pain and story in any way, just to let you know that although details of stories of people you'll meet on these forums are different, you are not at all alone. I'm glad you made it over here for some support and healing. I've found these forums incredibly helpful.

 

[NarcKiddo]

That was a tough read, Beefbroth. The report of your father's last words was like a gut punch. I actually exclaimed out loud. That's just so awful - and who even would report such last words to you? Rhetorical question.

 

[storyworld]

I'm sorry for your pain. May you find healing and wholeness.

[Lakelynn]

Beefbroth,

Yours is truly a discouraging and painful life, so far. No security, no attachment other than what you managed to form with your friends. Alcoholism, absence of love, caring sucks everything from the core. I wish there were some words, some action to tell you there is hope and you can find it. Coming here and writing it down, is a big, big effort. I recently wrote my story and it had me bummed out for days. Sometimes, in the act of writing, things can be clearer. You are crystal clear. Thank you.

If you can take it in, I have some observations. The act of writing, remembering and chronicling the way you were raised and how it affected you is indeed a huge accomplishment. Can you give yourself credit for your tenacity? For believing that people reading would understand and respond to you in loving ways? Can you accept that your perceptions were valid?

Even though you lived with people who did not acknowledge reality, you are/were very in tune with that reality. Including your reaction to your parents absurdities.

If you've come here, it means you want to share something. And we will reciprocate. You'll find respect for your viewpoints and experiences. You may also find ways to help you live safer and meaningful life.

[Chart]

Yes, wow, truly incredible. I'm so impressed by your writing. I find your story painfully hard but wonderfully balanced by clear perception. I sense you give the facts but the emotions are perhaps waiting their turn to appear onstage. I wish you nothing but love but it's possible there is yet more pain to come. I hope not, but if this is the case, stay the course. You are clearly incredible and your evolution can only continue with your ability to see with such equilibrium. I don't know why I think of it, but I want to recommend a clinical therapist's youtube posts named Jacob Ham. Your story makes me think of his style of therapy treating cptsd. I find his approach radical and blazing with new hope and possibility. He speaks much of « facing the pain ». You seem to be doing exactly that as you have described your past here in your history. I hate clichés, but I think some truly amazing plants can grow out of the biggest piles of sh*t. Let's go, let's continue. There is wisdom yet to show its face for this play. But it is there. Your story makes me certain. Thank you for sharing.

[Little2Nothing]

Beefbroth, I am sorry you endured such adversity. I hope that in time you will find the peace your seek.