At 23, who I am now is my own fault. I can't help but include at least my Dad as a cause of the massive fuck up I am now though.
I was going to say all this in the "Hitting Children" thread as it was relevant but at 10 pages long I figured it was pointless.
I hate to say the word abuse, when I think of abuse I think of sexual abuse which has never happened to me. The truth is though many would say I was abused, both mentally and physically and the effect it has had on me taunts me to this day.
I was beaten for the most ridiculous things ,not making a cup of tea correctly, not folding washing correctly, those warranted a harsh and painful smack round the head. If he missed or only glanced with the first one, especially if I tried to duck, he'd make sure he connected with the next one with the full force of his hand. That was for minor stuff. For things such as embaressing him in public by doing something silly, speaking out of turn or even defending myself I received far worse. When I was 7 years old I chased an older kid at the park whos parents were friends with my Dad because this kid had stolen something of mine. As I reached out to grab him I ripped his shirt. His parents then had a go at my Dad. Instead of siding with me, supporting the fact this kid had stolen from me and the shirt was an accident, he instead forced me to run home. If I lagged, or slowed down, he kicked me. When we finally got home he smacked my backside untill it was blue, then forced me to stand in a corner facing the wall for 3 hours untill bedtime. That day will be burned in my mind untill the day I die and in some ways I haven't progressed past it. When my Dad now confronts me about something inside I revert to that crying 7 year old boy frightened to move from the corner in case I angered him again.
That was the physical side. The mental side began later. He made it clear that I was a dissapointment, that I wasn't good enough. Despite getting near perfect grades he would still call me stupid, useless. I've always been overweight and he loved to point out that no girls would ever be interested in me if I was fat. All this shit could come in the form of passing comments or getting in my face and shouting at me. His mind would change from day to day so that I never knew where I stood. For a few weeks he would demand that I answer him with "Yes, Sir" or "Yes Dad" viewing a simple "Yes" or "No" as disrespectful, whenever we entered a room we would have to knock. Then it would change and he would get annoyed that we were doing those things.
By the age of 10 I feared that man. Whenever he came home from work I would go to my room and stay there untill dinner, eat, then go back upstairs untill bedtime which was 8pm untill the age of 15. I could read for 30 minutes but the lights had to be out by 8:30 and there was no getting up to the toilet allowed. In the mornings watching tv wasn't allowed, we had to get up and be ready in our uniforms an hour before we had to leave. During that hour all we could do was sit on the sofa, usually in silence because heaven forbid my brother or I woke him up.
I used to pray every night that he wouldn't come home, that my own father would die whilst doing his job. As I became a teenager I hoped instead that I could die as that was the only way I could see of becoming free. I never did anything about it though as I couldn't bear the thought of leaving my mum. As you may have gathered she was/is not a very strong woman, caught in the same web of manipulation and control as we were. I remember we had a talk one day at school about child abuse and I recognised what they were talking about, parts of it were my life. I said to my mum later that evening that I wanted to contact the people we were told to contact and she broke down crying saying if I did my brother and I would be taken away and she couldn't live without us, so I did nothing. She wouldn't/couldn't leave him, couldn't face the perceived shame of having her marriage fail. It was only after my grandmother died that my mum found out that for years her mum had wished she would leave my Dad.
At 16 my parents finally split up after a decade of rows and fighting. I was happy. What should have been a sad occassion to me was one to celebrate. I thought I was free of all the shit. I was wrong. My Dad set up home with a new partner not far from where we lived, he really had no clue the effect he had on us and expected us to play happy families. I tried, reasoning that he was still my Dad and you only have one, blood is thicker than water and all that bollocks. I was spiralling quickly into depression at that point though and ended up dropping out of school. He still believes, to this day that I was simply acting up and it was all a game I was playing to piss him and my mum off. Teenage rebellion he figures. In reality the years of being called worthless and useless had taken their toll and I truely believed it about myself, still do.
I tried to find myself, give myself some worth or give life some meaning but every choice I made he felt I was doing again just to piss him off. The music I listened to, the friends I had. In the end I even gave that up to keep him happy. I still listen to the music of course but the long hair went to keep him happy, I had one piercing and stopped there to keep the peace. I long for tattoos but dare not get any from fear of his reaction. I tried to be what he wanted me to be instead, hoping he could be proud of me or at least happy with me. Nothing I do is ever enough but in my mind the damage has already been done and I can't break it.
Alcohol, getting drunk, those are my main comforts. It's the only thing he actually had no problem with me doing, him being a big drinker himself. I don't bother with women because in my mind their answer is a foregone conclusion thanks to him.
Simply put, what started as a thought out answer has instead turned into a cathartic ramble on my part for which I apologise. I haven't posted this to seek sympathy or pity but so that you can understand when I say I hold my Father responsible for nearly all of the barely functioning human being I am today. He took my self worth, my confidence, my creativity, my desire to learn and explore. All I am now is a miserable adult still desperately seeking my fathers approval which I already know I will never get. I can't break away though because knowing him to step too far over the boundary would close the door forever. A couple of weeks ago he and I had an arguament about me seeing my friends. I went outside for a cigarette to calm down and he apparently said to my brother "If he wants to start let him but it'll be the only fucking time". So now all I can do is coast along in life, waiting for either him or me to die. If he goes first then I can finally live my life the way I want, if I go first then it won't matter anymore.
Sorry for the long post.