I realised that i am somehow scared to actually say/write the words: "My father hit me." Why is that? There exist a reluctance to use the word "hit", because of the connotations that go with it. I seem to be scared to exagerate it - to make too much a deal out of it. When I was 17 or so I would visit a psychotherapist. One time - very early - I told her about the situation with me, my sisters and my father, and I talked about the violence at home. When I was done, she said: "It must not have been easy for you (me and my sisters) then..." Immediately I felt like I had overdone it, I wanted to correct myself, take back my words. Say something like: "It was not actually horrible, you know - there exist much worse, etc." I was afraid of painting a bad picture of my father, to give the impression that I felt sorry for myself. I felt like a traitor also, a traitor towards my father. I even was kind of ashamed of myself.
Once, she suggested - as an experiment for myself - that I should imagine my father was sitting in the empty chair that was left (the chair between me and the therapist, to the left of the small table that stood between us). She said, "if he were actually be sitting here right now, what would you want to say to him." The idea alone, made me freeze inside. I replied I couldn't, and I felt my body went al twisted inside, tense and frightened - I shivered. I did not want to even think about it.
There is not one person in the world of who I am more scared than my father. His presence alone in a room makes me feel unconfortable, like it even gets to my breath. I feel threatened when he's around, I'm scared he might talk to me. I'd prefer he never spoke to me again. Whenever I hear his footsteps, my whole attention becomes focussed on where he might be going (is he somehow walking towards me?). when I'm sitting with him at the table, I try to never look at him - to keep my attention focussed on what is happening infront of me and to the left, where usually the televison is on - and then I pretend I'm watching tv, but actually I'm not.
The moment we're sitting at the table - eating - is actually the only thing we do "together as a family". it's the only moment where I feel forced to be in his presence, where I cannot escape. There was a time the hairs of my neck would stand up straight with every sound his mouth made as he was eating - I would be consumed by utter repulsion.
So, back to the therapist again. Why was I so scared to speak bad words about him? Suddenly I would block myself - even though it did not feel as coming from within myself. It just felt IMPOSSIBLE. Many times I thought I'd rather die than to tell him how I feel about him. a couple of days ago, I was looking over leila's shoulder as she was typing on the chat. Somewhere she had written, "I hate my father." I felt much agitation and supression inside me as I read those words - I felt she shouldn't say that... It was my mind speaking.
I never allowed myself to express my anger towards my father - that is to say, to him personally. Nor even towards my mother, as she would stand besides him - in time of conflict. Ok, I'm getting overloaded right now. I'll type faster shorter.
Father hates me.
Mother hates me. She never intervenes, she causes every conflict with my dad by telling him 'what I had done wrong'. In the end I would justify HER by saying to myself and convincing myself that she was actually kind of retarded (there HAD to be something wrong with her!), and that that was the reason why she apparently could not - ever - forsee that my father would actually hit us and scream at us, when she told him how 'bad' we had been. And we could get so scared we would pee our pants. But she did it every fucking time again. And afterwards, when were left alone crying - father gone again- she would comfort us and say - it's okay. And me - stupid prick - I wanted to believe all this bullshit of her, i wanted to believe in her tenderness and kindness. I say 'stupid prick', because I allowed myself to become infected with her poison. I bullshitted myself wile knowing it was a lie - out of fear to lose her, because I believed I needed her, to be able to accept myself.