I thought about my father today,and about the times he was cruel to my mother. I must have been 9 or 10 when I saw her on the kitchen floor and he was kicking her.
(I pause, and cry still ),after 53 years. I think I screamed, and if I didn’t then i know i did when i heard him strangling her another time on the bed upstairs. My brother , who was five years older said “stop faking”.to me. My oldest sister who was probably 18 at the time took me and my sister out for ice cream. I wasn’t faking, he was mean.
I just thought to myself before, I hated him, but I don’t really think I did. He just taught me early how mean men can be sometimes, men that you love and want to love. Men that are supposed to be your protector, who can be nice sometimes, but sometimes turn into some nasty monster. I kept so much inside, a few years later I learned to bury the pain. I took drugs I found in my mothers purse, “mother’s little helpers ” in those days the Dr’s gave them out freely. Also handfuls of Vanquish painkiller, they numbed me. Maybe also started the ulcerous gut I now have. Today I thought of these memories again after a screaming fight with my DH. Words spewed out of my mouth because i was at that point of fear again and I don’t feel like taking this anymore. Where it came from, i don’t know? I am always filled with second thoughts about what I said. I told him he is sometimes verbally abusive, I know he will throw that up at me again, soon. Maybe it’s always not what you say but how you say it, because that’s what got me so angry. He was my father again, that scary, angry, much stronger man who I feared.
He said I said things too, of course I did; but it always comes to words getting twisted and turned into something so crazy sometimes that they make absolutely no sense.
I need to stop now because this is so different than my usual post and my throat hurts and my heart hurts but I thank you for listening. I am so much calmer when I write.