My Father

I have trouble putting things into perspective.  This part is very confusing for me.  I would have to start with saying that my father was never a partaker in any child abuse.  None.  He didn't abuse me, or emotionally molest me or sexually molest me, or anything.  He was innocent.  He walked away and left us behind, and I never felt all that close to him.  When he died it was a casual thing for me. No real feelings regarding him.

Here's a problem.  I hate certain music.  I love to visit other ACON blogs, but I have to be careful when they post music.  I have to identify the song right away, sometimes I just can't listen to it. For instance, I hate the music from Newfoundland, Canada.  It's tone is very painful.  I have memories there I can't even think about.

My husband loves classic rock music.  This is painful to me too.  The fact that he loves it and I hate it, well, I'm not going to stop him from listening to his music.  Now, it doesn't bother me so much anymore.  I've grown used to it.  Dulled, numb, maybe, but maybe someday I'll have to explore those feelings for real.

And when my husband drives the truck in the snowy road and it slides all over.  He doesn't even put it in 4-wheel drive.  He doesn't.  He just slides all over.  It sometimes reaches the side over the abyss. This scares the crap out of me when I'm with him.  He doesn't say anything.  Just does it.  I don't say anything.  I didn't want to say anything to him till I explored these feelings.  And one day I looked over at him and I realized he just loves doing this.  Like a little boy, he loves how the truck slides all over and he plays with it like a Tonka.

Other people have emotions and feelings.  They have their lives they live.  They do things and they effect me like a burden I have to bear.  And I'm not very good at it.

I'm all over this thing about my father.  He too had his problems with mother I'm so sure, and those were oblivious to me.  I don't know exactly what would have turned out if we kids were not all triangulated against him.  If father spoke his mind or whatever.  What would have happened.  Truth was, we all turned on him and went to the "safety" of mother.  Because father was "bad".

The goal here is to find a way to piece back together the truth about father.  I will have to eliminate the triangulation and see for the first time through my adult eyes what he really was all about.  It is important to break free from this, it is part of the healing process.  We do not want to see things through the eyes of a psychopath.  No, not at all.  I don't feel like my father was a psychopath at all. Sure he left us and he fought with my oldest brother, but that was a triangle too, orchestrated by mother.  I doesn't seem that father "chose" to leave his mess of a family.  I think he was driven out. That and the lack of knowledge of how psychopathy works, is damaging, and so he went to the booze for salvation.

Father had his issues too.  His own mother died when he was 3 years old.  Then he had a wicked stepmother.  Maybe he was drawn to the abusive woman?  I'm not a psychologist I can't sort this part out, but just take for granted that he too was probably an ACON.

Father left us when I was 13.  It didn't matter.  It was ok.  "Your father never loved you, he never cared for you", mother would continually say.  In a sing song tone.  This meant she was lying.  I didn't know it then, I know that now.  When she didn't want to admit something like at my brother's funeral, to pretend she was grieving, she just used the sing song tone.  I didn't know it back then so this was hard.  I didn't want to believe it but I had to believe it because mother said it.  Over and over again, for days, for weeks, for years.

The challenges I faced from that point on was terrible.  I was 13. We were suddenly so poor.  Courts don't award the women of divorce as nicely as we think they do.  Mother didn't get much but the farm.  Taxes were high and the support she received from him had to be supplemented by welfare.  In a few short years, she would be forced to get a job or sell the farm.  Alas, she wasn't the type to want anything either.  Her narcissistic supply feed was now about being poor.  There was moments I could actually feel sorry for her.  I don't like to think about that anymore, poor impoverished mom, that would tank the whole goal of trying to figure out everything.  Mother didn't mind being poor, or trying to raise kids on little money, this was narcissistic supply.  If you think I'm heartless, then don't read just this one article, rest the rest of the blog, put it into context.

When I was in high school I wanted to get a permanent in my hair.  I had this straight hair that wasn't in style in the 80's.  I asked father for the money.  Father paid for it but he took it out of the support money he would give to mother.  I didn't know this would happen.  I asked him for the permanent and he took the money out of the support.  Mother told me this over and over again.  This was a major supply for her, she loved it.  For months until that perm grew out of my hair, I had that sad fact that it came out of the food bill.

There was the time mother had to go to court for her support because it suddenly stopped.  I wasn't in court but apparently father talked of me and the fact he was helping me through college.  He wasn't helping me through college, but what he actually did do, he gave me a few pots and pans and one very old tv.  He was trying to get out of paying his support to mother that way.  I had my own apartment in the city, so when I was visiting mother one time, her boyfriend told me this.  He was shacked up with mother, and he was laughing at me telling me I robbed my father of everything he had and that is why mother would receive no support.  Laughing and talking about it ALL F*CKING WEEKEND.  I didn't fight back, I couldn't.  It was stupid of me to stay there all weekend, I should have just stayed at my apartment in the city.  Mother loved him because she said he would make her toes curl up in bed, an absolute must in her relationships.  (ok, I'll try and make the rest of this posting cleaner).

Ok, back to my father.  He was overpowered by a horrible monster, my mother.  That I do know.  But relating with my father after he turned to booze and wild women was very hard.  He was always drunk after a certain point of my formative years.  Never even reaching out to us, never giving us a clue as to what was going on.  Isn't that an ACON trait?  We just thought he was awful and refused to regard him as father, . This was programming.  Survival instinct had kicked in and we had to battle the forces of darkness to survive, and this meant hating our father.

When father got old and sick, only one brother took care of him.  The rest of us couldn't or else we would face the wrath of mother.  Its been years and mother still won't talk to that brother.  Never mind that she had one son that died and he is the only son she has left alive, she won't talk to him. Mother blames brother's MN wife or the fact that she didn't get anything in the will or something like that.  It weird how that seems to fly with everyone now.  I have no ability to convict her for the awful crime that she won't talk to brother over the very fact that he helped father.  Just my own belief and that of the way it was growing up.

For as long as I can remember, maybe at the age of 2 or 3 or 4, mother and father had an active sex life.  They would romp and play and have good times with eachother and the sexual part, well, I can tell you that was intact.  When things ended, they ended coldly, with a hrmph from mother and that was all.  She was never in love.  She was never capable of it.  I think father was, but the confusion for him was that the sex was good.  Some men get so caught up in it, that they can't see when their partner doesn't give a crap about him otherwise.  I have no idea how she got away with bringing nothing to his life but the sex.  But, oh well.

But let me tell you of the wonderful growing up we had while things were still intact with my parents.  Father was kind, sweet, compassionate.  We would go to the store in town, father would give us a few coins, and we would buy candy.  Father had good relationships with people in town, he talked to everyone.  Always open, not an ACON trait I think, and he was ok with people.  Butchering cattle on the farm was never a problem.  He had meat managers all over the place cutting up the beef for him.  I'm not sure how he had social skills at all.  Maybe he wasn't an ACON.  Do all ACON's have no social skills?

It was fun how being around father was incredible at times.  He would take us in town grocery shopping even.  And this was like a huge event.  I still remember how much he spent on groceries every week, it was $80 and exactly 8 loaves of bread my parents bought for the week.

Father built me a pen to house my guinea pigs.  I still love guinea pigs and that beeping sound they make and it will always remind me of my kind father.  I can remember now the fun we had doing that, it was a hot day in May.  I had no worries or concerns.  Father had the plans for the pen all figured out, all I had to do what help a little.  This was a perfect time.  Father was always busy so these special times were precious.  It is painful to recall how mother would be sitting on the step and I felt she was jealous.  How old was I?  Maybe 8 or 9 but I felt she was jealous.  Is that normal I would think that? I don't remember her even telling me she was jealous.  I would have to pull away from father though because the feeling was that strong.

He would take me berry picking, this was an awesome time.  And I even remember smelling those pink wild roses, those will always remind me of him too.   I would ride my pony right past those wild roses which naturally grew in a row.  He liked the show, "The Rockford Files".  I can't ever bring myself to watch the reruns.

Everything to do with father memories is so melancholy though.  TV shows.  Not that he watched a lot of tv, because he worked so hard.  He had it where he was always busy.  He was short of stature, a short Frenchman, just like Napoleon, and always busy, busy busy.

I can remember so much about how mother talked bad about father.  That he was no electrician but he did the electricity in the barn hazardly.  Ok, that is bad.  One day when my brother and I came home from school, mother was badly burnt up.  Apparently, this happened over the bad electrical job father did.  So when she went into the barn to do the noontime chores this happened.

She could not communicate with father about how the electrical work he did scared her.  This was going to surely make him realize it.  She couldn't connect to him in any other way.  So I get that part.

When I first turned 13, I stepped on an axe.  Father was at work at the time and wasn't home, mother was and some friends we had visiting.  The friends got me to the hospital.  The axe split my little toe down to almost the middle of the foot.  I was a long time getting it repaired.  Father was blamed for leaving the axe out.  I didn't really get blamed for stepping on the axe because mother needed to blame father.  I remember him at that time.  He would walk away from me from then on.  He wouldn't even talk to me.  What did he expect of me?  To defend him?  To mother?  Seriously?

I know there was attempted rape talk about father and my older sister.  Sister said father tried to rape her.  I never got that, and I still can't figure that one out.  Because it was a rape accusation I will not judge it. And it wasn't my issue.  My sister did have sex with many married men.  Even, mother had to interject one time when a wife fought back.  That was horrible.  She was mean to a woman who was only trying to hold her family together.

I think at some point I did doubt my mothers insistent belief system.  I was disgusted by it.  Feminism was running rampant by then.  It was all over the place.  It was this system that gave her fuel to hate father.  She used it as a tool and as a weapon against father.  "Men are no good, men are creeps men rape, men screw anything, etc, etc."  She used feminism as a way of never bringing anything to anyone's life really.  I don't know.  It gave her a sense of entitlement, and she increased her abuse.  I guess it was the whole liberation phase.  It wasn't explained too well.  Feminism caught on too quickly and it didn't seem to require much knowledge.  She thought she was entitled to everything, including hurting people.

I remember wanting a positive and healthy relationship with father when I was little, just like my brother did.  Brother seemed to be allowed to have it at that time, and I wasn't.  I was told father was a pig and couldn't be trusted.  Why?  I got no ill vibes from father, I certainly wasn't scared of him. He was fatherly, that was all.  As far as mother treating me like the baby?  Well, father never did treat me that way, it was mother and this was normal in our family.  So I guess father thought it was normal and loving too.  I don't know, he never said anything.

When I was about 8 I remember an incident where we were sitting down in the living room.  Father was outside with his friend, and his friend came barreling into the house to fight with mother about something mother said about his wife.  I don't remember what evil mother said about the man's wife, but the man was furious.  Mother said that she didn't say anything about his wife.  Father was just behind the man and bellowed, "You did so, you said it, why are you lying?  You are always lying."  Mother continued to say she didn't say anything, and so father went at her and physically attacked her.  I ran from the room screaming, I was so hurt by father, and not by mother.  To this day, that seems so strange.  If mother had said something badly about someone, its ok, I sort of gave her that entitlement.

I know father had no good reason to tell this man what mother had said, other than the fact is that maybe father was trying his best at revenge.  Mother could tarnish anyone's reputation, and she seemed to make it a life goal, that I know.  If I ever get the opportunity to write mother's obituary, I'm going to add that.  But I was too young to know what it really was all about.

After father left, mother had many, many lovers.  One of which was a married man who came over now and then for a booty call.  When he would leave and go back to his family, then the incident would be forgotten about till he came back again.  Even if she was a woman's friend, she would still do your husband.  She said this was good.  No long term commitments for her at the time, she was "devoted to her children".  But, of course, sexual needs must be met.

Not me.  I wanted marriage, and I ended up 18-20 years with no good husbands.  One of which could never get out of bed.  That's ok, just be a good wifey he is your responsibility to take care of.  Even church members told me that, he will get better.  You know what?  He is still in bed. He can't escape it.  He will be there till the end of his days.  I didn't want him, I didn't want him almost right away after seeing what he was like.  I could barely work.  I had anxiety issues up the ying yang.  He didn't care about that, and treated me like an idiot.  I had to work, and figure out my own way.  Truth was, I didn't want this big grown up man in diapers.  There was no reason for him to be always sick.  A psychologist told me that.  The doctor said, "This life works for him."  One psycologist told me directly, "Yes, he does suffer from depression, but why would he want to get better?  So he has to work?  No way, he has got it too good."  My MN friend I had told me not to believe that doctor, but oh well.

My second ex told me all the time I annoyed him.  He told me that I was unpredictable, and I was all over the place.  He told me it was all my fault he was so "sick".  My MN friends encouraged that.   He told me to direct my life, to have a career.  There was daycares, so women don't have to be stupid. This is what he wanted.  Have you ever tried daycares?  They suck.  They are expensive, hard to get into, and will call you if your child gets a snotty nose.  This is progress apparently.

But.....here goes.......I wanted a real husband.  I wanted all he could give me.  I wanted all of his financial resources, all of his emotional resources, all of his love, energy, time, babies, his soul, body,everything, his mind, attention, everything, work his butt off for me, everything.  I didn't want to spend my life in some career, and wipe my husband's shitty butt.  I wanted to spend time with other women, raising our babies together, dancing and singing and eating chocolate and berries together.  I did not want to spend my time in corporate and man competition with other women. They are my sisters.  I want us to blab on about whatever came to our minds and souls.

Does that seem incredibly selfish of me?  Well, lol, I'm practically doing that right now with my life.
The man I have now is so directed, and quiet for hours at a time.  He seems a little grouchy, zoned out.  I am the exact contrast of that lately.  I'm bubbly, noisy, incredibly all over the place.  I scream, I cry, I get irrational, I get happy, I get sad.  I'll be talking about one thing then I switch and say, "The trees look so beautiful outside with all the snow on them."  I do this right in front of him, I can't help it, even when it seems like I'm supposed to be grouchy too.  Isn't that absolutely crazy? I am myself and no one is telling me to be more composed.  I'm hardly ever composed.  Well, I am sometimes. But more serene, not directed.  If I am not like this I feel like I'm rejecting myself, as I have been all my life.  So this new way feels weird.  I'm not used to it.  I have to dig to the authentic part of me every day.

And when my husband and I are apart, he calls me.  He wants to see me, to hear me, that is what he says.  I have to pull myself out of seething emotions and be real and be me.  He's not calling because he is looking for my advice or needs me to tell him what to do.  He calls me for that crazy energy.  I hate it, it feels so weird.  But its me, and I have to be ok with it.  But I have to tell you it feels so stupid.  I feel like someone is going to judge me at any moment.  I could be doing 20 different things in the kitchen at the same time, with the music playing and I'm singing.

I'm getting comfy with that, just the world tells me not to be comfy with that, it seems.  I'm supposed to be like him.  I'm not respectful, blah, blah, blah.

My sewing projects are on the go.  I'm making a macaroni salad for the church potluck.  He comes in the kitchen to help me.  This part annoys me, he takes over making the salad, because it looks to him I'm in over my head. I'm really ok, its fine, no problem.  He's starting to adjust to it.  To him this looks like chaos, and it is not chaos I swear.  One more tweaking of a relationship issue.

So father wasn't perfect.  After I turned thirteen, he was at the stripbar and seemed to stay there. He drank booze till he would be falling down drunk.  But I saw the side of him too was was so sweet and real to me back then.

Could mother have driven father crazy?  I know a lot of relationship stuff.  I blab on about it here ad nausem.  But I don't really care anymore about my parents.  No relationship advice will work with a psychopath.  Ever. It's like it is designed that way.  Father could have stood up to her and made sure he was not going to fall apart.  But I don't know.  If he was able to do that, I think mother would have won anyway, you can't win with a psychopath.  It is better to walk away.

So yeah, father might have been an ACON himself, I don't know. But he possessed the social skills of a superstar.  Just being around him was intoxicating and I rejected him.  But I had no other choice at the time.