See the video for the rambles as I try to unravel more of my daddy issues and where they stem from. Another memory involving a shower came to mind which I explore, along with the general conditions of my childhood, and finally a tidbit about night terrors and complex PTSD flashbacks to a traumatic sensation.

Okay. So all this said, I honestly think I realized something. There is one thing this all adds up to which is ringing bells and whistles and alarm sirens all over the place, so I feel like this is likely going to be the closest to truth I’m ever going to find in respect to my relationship with my father. It also would greatly impact my relationship with him now, however limited it already is. Some things, I am not convinced should be forgiven, particularly considering how disinterested he has historically always been in pursuing counseling for his numerous issues. No. How dare he.

It makes sense why I disowned him as a father a long time ago, lost the trust, didn’t feel safe around him even if he never spanked me. Because he did try to do something, multiple times, but once in particular, I could have died. He was quite nearly responsible for that. He was. Drunk, plastered, miserable, depressed, and not wanting to deal with any of those fallen pieces, he just wanted to run away again. Only there I was, his son, the one he’s responsible for, that he sold his piano for, the one he is going to handle the right way. Only he was incapable wasn’t he? And he was convinced of this. And so what happened?

Looming over me as I sleep, or pretend to sleep, or try to sleep, or dissociate to just clear out of reality, he would say some of the cruelest and most awful things. Things including simple statements like “I could never be your father” and “Your mother is crazy” and “The world is a terrible place”. These sunk in. These loomed over my life. Combine that with any, and I mean any little shred of physical contact during these sessions of terrortelling, was a violation. How dare he touch me while I am sleeping, in any malevolent or sneering or demeaning way. How dare he talk to a child, his own son, in such a way, EVER, much less a toddler, an infant. How dare he assume I didn’t hear him, I didn’t understand shreds. How dare he put me down as a coping mechanism to feel better about his own incompetencies. How dare he use me as a buffer between himself and my mother. How dare he even consider the possibility of removing me from the picture. Ever. For any reason. For all his own traumas. How dare he never seek counseling and help when he had these compulsions. How dare he do that to me.

I may make a wrap-up video for this soon. We will see. But there it is. Dig enough and nuggets of shit covered gold you shall find. Keep searching. Clean it up. Bring it to the light. Keep moving thru the pain. It’s all we can do.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s