I think
that abuse is a nebulous topic. It's hard to know where to draw the line--what
exactly constitutes abuse? I would say that, yes, I was probably abused as a
child, physically and emotionally, by my father. He was authoritarian. He had
the last word. It was always his way. He is a short-tempered person. I can
still remember seeing the hate and fury in those icy blue eyes of his. His way
was hitting, sometime beating: with a belt, with wooden paddles, with
"switches" cut from young, green hickory trees. And his
words--stupid, jackass, irresponsible, impulsive, fatass, untrustworthy--dotted
his lectures towards me when I would get out of line. He never hit my mother,
thank god. If he had done that, I probably would have gone crazy. His treatment
of me made me hate him. Often, I would fantasize about killing him. I wanted to
smash his skull with an aluminum baseball bat. I wanted to bludgeon him to
death. I got to the point where I could no longer call him "dad"--instead
it was always "he" or "him". I was always asking my mom
where "he" was. Anytime "he" would walk into the room, I
would want to escape.
"He" was also abused as a child. Apparently his mother used to hit
them with the wooden leg of a chair. Who knows how far back the cycle goes. The
whole "spare the rod, spoil the child" attitude is the most
destructive thing I've ever heard, and ironically, it is done in the service of
religion. My grandmother on my mom's side once told me that in the early years
of my parents' marriage, my father would not allow my mother to visit her
family unless she were accompanied by his mother. So he was controlling as
well. He never hit her, but he often spoke very unkindly toward her. I don't
know how she was able to stand it over all these years. I used to beg her to
get a divorce. I used to tell her in secret how much I absolutely hated his
guts, as much as you could possibly hate someone. One time, in high school, I
had the boldness to tell him he was crazy and even said "fuck you".
He chased me out of the house, threw me to the ground, and punched me in the
face. After that, I went to live with a friend for awhile. When I came back
home, I was made to live in the garage.
I know that I can no longer hate him. I know that holding onto my hatred of him
does me no good. Sometimes I try to do spiritual exercises in which I envision
rays of light healing the deep conflicts within him. I cannot imagine what it
must be like to be a person like him who would treat his own family with such
brutality. What must be going on in his mind? I am trying to understand. He has
done many good things for my family that I cannot deny. I know he did the best
he could, given his knowledge and his own emotional makeup. I think I have
healed a good deal from my experiences, but still I often feel very insecure
and question myself all the time. I have a hard time forming a solid identity
for myself. Most people think I'm pretty nice, but every now and then, my own
rage will erupt and I will have an angry outburst with someone. I have to watch
myself very carefully for the signs of rage. I manage my emotions through
meditation and contemplation. It's been a very complex, subtle, complicated
process. I've tried to talk about this stuff with a couple of therapists, but
it just makes me feel worse. I don't like delving into the past. I would rather
move forward. So that's what I try to do, move forward. Some days are better
than others. A lot of times, I feel very isolated, even when I am surrounded by
friends. I have suffered a lot of depression and anxiety, but I've also had
times where I've been very happy. I have great friends and have had many
wonderful opportunities and experiences in my life. So I'm trying more and more
to focus on the positive, even though I am often drawn toward
darkness and even feel very comfortable there. Mostly, I want to learn from
this and use it to gain profound insight into the human condition. Maybe
something constructive can come from it all.