It is 'very late' and 'normally' I would use this beliefs and idea's as a justification for laying back a while and watching some movie - with the hidden intention of wanting to slip into the mind again for a while. But instead I apply forgiveness and direct myself here. And now I write on my blog again.
What shall I write about? I already know that... today I read maites' story on our father. I was glad she had written it, because I was kind of waiting myself to get started on this subject. Lets' begin with an observation. I found not so cool reactions inside myself when she talked about my father hitting her. Why? Because I dont fucking remember it the way she does... I know now that I have been doing some cover up work, unbenownst to myself... Its particularly shoking for me because even after reading her words, I still dont fucking remember. She said he hit her so hard she would experience a burning feeling for a long while after on the skin (several hours). I always made myself believe it wasn't the spankings/hitting wich was scary, but the anger with wich he did it. Out off all the memories I have about getting 'punished' I mostly remember the fear, not so much the physical pain...
For now I haven't anything to add to my initial remark, so I'll just tell some story of my own. As I was doing forgiveness aftr reading maite's blog, I found myself gravitating around the following: seeing my father as a hero - kind of the complete opposite of maite's perspective... ok.
My father had been the most important human being in my life. I remember him being the one who 'introduced me to the world'. I relied on him with blind faith, I loved it when he told me all the things he knew about the world. his knowledge seemed so vast at the time - he seemed to know and to be aware of absolutely everything. I always had the sense it was him taking ALL the descisions - and this I admired about him, because to me he appeared to be doing so without any doubts. He knew what he was doing and there was no messing around with him. He was the one who gave purpose to both my life and my mothers, because she relied on him extensively aswell. He was the one who made my world go round. he stood in the absolute center - there stood NO ONE next to or even near him. He was the God of my world, the center of everything that i knew off. He gave direction to everything. With my mother it wasn't the same. Even though they were both THERE, he would take on the leading part, he was in control. My mother just being his support.
Obviously this image I had of my father could not last eternally. Yes, in primary school I had already started to figure out he wasn't all that great, but the great 'awakaning' happened somewhat later. Being in public school I'd meet several different kind of adults (teachers). I had never met 'intellectual people' before in my life. They seemed to exist on a complete different level than anyone I knew of in my family or anywhere else. This is also the time I took serious interest in writing short stories - this was all a year or so after I had taken my leave from kortenberg. Now, with this 'new kind of people' supposedly 'giving me an education' I started noticing that my father wasn't all that smart after all. So, one thing leading to another. It ended up me seeing my father as a pathetic and coward man who understood nothing about anything. On top of that he would at one point stop caring about how he looked like and get really fat. In a few years time I had 'lost my father' - nothing of him remained. Basicly I felt betrayed. Because my mother was undergoing the same process. I saw the dumbness of her. suddenly both my parents had become dumb people - my mother even more than my father. I felt all this 'life-situation' was getting really groteske. I lost all respect for them. My kindness became an act i performed out of practicallity.
Together with the loss of the ideal father-image, I lost all sense of purpose in life. I always had relied on him to be knowing what he was doing, so the choices he made for me would be absolutely necessary. In point of fact he knew shit. It was one great desillusion. Life lost all its splendour and hope. All this I am telling now happened somewhat more dispersed in time, and actually started earlier, bu that dont matter. My father had stood as the purpose and direction I had separated myself from and now he appeared to be a fraud. At some point i wouldn't even bother talking to him anymore. he never understood anything about what i said or about what i did.
So what i did was re-design myself some sense of purpose and direction. Now -apparantly - I had to become famous and recognised. I would make shure my name would get known - no matter what. I'd become a novel-writer. Now this choice is very specific of course. The purpose and sense I was 'giving' myself was all mirage and illusion-constructs - it only existed as a dream in my mind. it had no foundation whatsoever in reality. The stories I wrote would be attempts to experience some sense of purpose. Stories always have a 'clue', they revolve around something - there life can still be myserious. Because what I believed to be 'the real world' had lost all its mystery to me - no mysries left. The world was just a pointless and emarrasing performance run by idiots.
additional observation, in-the-moment realization:
an aspect of my father I didn't very much consider in the account I have given so far, is the HERO- aspect. Yes, I thought my father was a hero and this I have mentionned already. But what does this mean in relation to me and me growing older? The dethroning of my father from his god-like position, was the realization he was actually no hero. But here is the problem, I had already set myself the purpose of wanting to become a hero like my father. now, I'll be writing some more about this soon. Damn, is gonna be long and tough one. Its strange how unaware one can be of oneself...