In an last moment attempt to work out my psychological trauma - which in itself is an insidious monster - I thought it would be a good thing to come back to the source and a try to rectify the matter. For more than twenty years I have held a burden on my shoulders - the pure hatred that I hold for my father.
My childhood was a never ending parade of physical and mental abuse from him. Millions of painful images burn my mind like fire. He was not and is not a drunk - that would justify it, I guess - no, that old monster was simply a sadistic control freak. Sadistic in that he actually attained enjoyment from terrorizing the entire family. Why? I haven't a clue - he just did.
The crux - the turning point in my young years happened at this moment - when I was eleven or so, the old monster storms into my room beating me savagely. Screaming abuse and pummeling me with fists - it continued for a long time. I tried to induce myself to pass out but fate had me endure it. I saw in my father's eyes that he was actually enjoying it - watching my writhe in pain and cry out to stop. It was at that moment that I actually hated the man - purely hated the evil fucker - feelings that had not lessened but grew as the years crawled by.
This is just one of hundreds of incidences.
For years I had roamed not wishing ever to speak with him again - occasionally a relative would contact me and ask how I was and when someone would casually ask where are my parents. "They're dead." Was my usual response. Until recently some smart ass smiled and quipped, "Yeah, I use that excuse, too. Where they at?"
I purposefully distanced myself from my family - not because in fear of them finding out about my self destructive lifestyle - but because they are truly evil, as far as I am concerned.
The years passed and I had changed - into a cold, empty robot. All I want to do is die - nothing on this planet excites me anymore. And that is not being over dramatic - I literally mean nothing!
Lately I was contacted again by a relative to see how I was and it got me to thinking that I really need to deal with this and over come it. So, four days ago I arrived at their house and it has been crippling insidiously depressing. I sit in the living room ignored, answers to my questions are usually given by grudgingly guttural remarks. I have tried to stay pleasant with him - I helped clean, cook - nothing seems to please him. Driving home that I am not wanted - never wanted - in this household. Hundreds of pictures line the wall - sisters, cousins, uncles, grandparents - but, not one of me. Not one.
It is not my custom to stay where I am not wanted - so I am leaving. Where? Haven't a clue. And I guess it does not matter either. Staying here has clinched the finality that I am completely alone - no love, no compassion, nothing.
Like a super imposed photograph, I can easily fade away...
7 comments:
Allow me to cross a serious line here. Your feelings are very legitimate, but this part:
"All I want to do is die - nothing on this planet excites me anymore. And that is not being over dramatic - I literally mean nothing!"
just doesn't sound honest. I think it deserves at least a blog post entirely dedicated to it.
About promising yourself happiness when your old man dies, don't promise yourself something that just won't happen. Your happiness lies elsewhere. Which brings us back to the original point.
…Until I turned 5 years old me and my younger brother lived happily at our grandmother’s and grandfather’s home – a nice sweet place in a countryside. Those were the best years of my life, the only time I felt happy and safe.
Then we moved to the city where my parents have settled down – I still hate that place and I know I always will. I remember first time we saw our new house (some moments just engrave in child’s memory so this was one of such moments) – a multistoried monster – one of many uniform soviet buildings erected for families like ours. Now I call that building ugly and unsightly but then… We were just happy – me, my brother and my mom, looking up to the 12th floor where my father was standing on the balcony waving and as I could see he was smiling. It was early spring, there still was snow but the sun was shining. I guess that time we were sure – everything will be just great from this point (if the U.S.A. won’t start the war, of course – it was 1983, I think).
I don’t know what has gone wrong but since then my life became some kind of permanent nightmare. My father, a pathetic looser, maybe sloppy but harmless person in public, needed to wreak his anger on somebody – usually my mother, but she could more or less defend herself, and what about me – I was the perfect victim to abuse so I became his favorite victim for years. I need to clarify – it was not about sexual violence – he didn’t rape me or something, only humiliated and caused me mental and physical pain abusing me all the time. Curiously enough, my younger brother happily managed to avoid this fate – on the contrary, he always was his pet. For example, one of my father’s most innocent “games”: it was beginning of the 80s, we were poor enough, so we had just one TV – in my father’s room, of course. Every evening at 9PM they used to broadcast a funny TV show for children – something like “Sesame street” – we loved that show and every child in the U.S.S.R. – from Norway to Japan – watched that show every day. What my daddy did: when he was in the right mood he let my brother in his room to watch his TV and I stood outside just watching TV through the door’s glass hearing no sound. Sometimes he also stood in front of the door for I could not see the TV and time to time he glanced back at me – I remember his face – he was happy.
As time went by things became even worse – in addition to everything my father noticed that I am “not that way” – I was not masculine enough, I was not interested in soccer and so on. He was a hard drinker at that time already and those days I remember I could recognize by the sound of the doorbell if he’s drunk or he is not. When he was drunk he sometimes opened the door to my room with his foot and said some kind of shit like he was waiting to come home just to do it. Usually he told me to leave home but I remember one time he told me “Hang yourself!” – I remember his eyes were cold and saliva or vomit trickled down his beard. Still remember his smell – vomit, old sweat and dirty socks – it makes me sick just to remember.
Well, now I am not a child any more, but…I sometimes feel like I hear that doorbell and I can’t help myself, just can’t relax – I still have that fear. And what even worse – I feel shame for myself – I am a freak, a pervert, nobody will love me and nobody will respect me, I deserve nothing. I wish I were invisible – for people could not see me – how ugly I am. They call it sociophobia - a gift from my dad)
What about now – that disgusting creature, my father, has touched bottom – he is alone and all he can do is to drink and say shit about me and my mother. Good for him, he is under the protection of our heroic police. Anyway, he’ll end his life in his own feces.
I sometimes think – how a human being can fall so low to act like he did, to do things he did to me? Is he just a sadist? In this case I’d say it was a kind of sexual violence, although he did not rape me. Or something else? He is nobody, a looser, he always was that way – I remember he always had great plans and managed to do nothing. That’s why he needed that shit and I believe that’s why your father did that to you.
You say you feel alone – but what about your mother – does she mean something to you? Why don’t you speak to her?
My mother now regrets she didn’t do something about that situation – she told me that many times. I sometimes catch myself thinking I blame her too although she was a victim herself and as I understand now that time she was much too infantile and lost to do something about it.
Try to speak to other people, your father doesn’t worth the effort. Not your father, but you should ignore him.
Awen: Up in the left hand corner of the blog, you will see a search engine for this blog only. Type in Depression, Suicide, Sickness, those entries solely devoted to those thoughts in question will appear...it was not the first time I had typed those thoughts. And surely not the first time I had acted upon them.
Vadim: Yes, we seem to be both cursed from birth. And as for Mom - she is dying. That is why I am here. Not for him, but for her.
MKF: Oh, Mike - you know sympathy is the last thing I want. You know - coz I have written it so many times before - I write to vent. If people want to leave thier oppinions, fine - but it is usually circumstancial.
Sorry for your Mom... It is really a reason to be depressed. One of my friends is in the same situation
I think this is beyond rediculous! Who are you to judge your parents when you never have been a parent? Have you ever wondered how difficult it is for a man who has a gay son to understand why he is gay? Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe he feels guilty and blames himself because of the lack of understanding? Have you ever thought for one moment he resented you from the time you were old enough to be gay. He probably new all along you were gay. Not knowing how to handle it. Did he turn you away? According to your writing he did not. Has he ever helped you? Has he bailed you out when you were in need? If yes to any of those questios - why the hell are you blaming him for your life going wrong? What about the drifting? What about you saying they were dead? NOW that is sick - your own family - you should be ashamed. Have you read your blogs? Most people do not know how to handle people in your situation. You are pathetic!!! AND you should leave their home. Get a life and quit blaming others. You are the drifter and you chose that life for yourself. There are thousands and thousands of people who place blame on the parents who did the best they could and they pick themselves up and make a good life for themselves. It's the few like you that truly want sympathy even when you say you don't, butyou do don't you? Right? Be honest. So hatred in your heart will continue as long as you hate yourself. Find a meaning in life. Give yourself to someone - maybe god. Good luck. You certainly need it old friend.
Dear Anonymous, so you think Luis’ father felt greater pain when beating his teenage son, than Lois did?
You ask him “Did he turn you away?” As Lois said, he was 11 or something when it all was going on. His father, being a “guy next door”, a good Christian, – he just couldn’t turn his 11 y.o. son away from home – what would other people say? But beating him and humiliating him was ok for his father (and seems like for you too).
There are a lot of people who are not homosexual but they were abused by their parents when they were children. What was their fault?
VADIM: Thank you and don't worry for me nor my family. All is taken care of.
"Anonymous": There are 987,982,546,998,342 other blogs online - I suggest you take your unwelcome overopiniated views elswhere. THAT is why I cut you out.(I know who you are, old friend - remember I have a map that keeps track of who logs on and where.)
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