How my father shaped my twenties
TW: (child) abuse; bulimia
My childhood memories are getting blurred. I don’t know whether that is a good thing or not. Does this mean I am suppressing the bad memories or am I finally able to move on? I actually don’t know. What I remember quite well is a situation when I was circa 13 years old: We were in the Netherlands on holiday and I asked my mother to please split up with my father. We were standing in the kitchen at that point. Ever since then, I didn’t change my mind. Living with my father was the worst thing for me and when I finished school, I moved out. My parents have not divorced until now, which complicates things.
My father is not a nice person. I can say that with sincerity. I was never enough: not good enough, not nice enough, not whatever you can think of. This feeling lingered with me until my twenties. Sometimes even now, I cannot figure out why some people want me in their lives. Why would anyone do that? And if they eventually leave, I’m not surprised. Who would stay with me anyway? Many things my father said keep repeating themselves in my head. I had to turn 23 to realize that there are actually things that I am good at. And that these things are exactly what he also is good at. So I dropped out of university and moved to the city he studied in and have studied almost the same since then. And it feels right. I needed this to admit to myself that I am genetically 50% my mother and 50% my father. Hopefully, the gens of my mother and my grandmother will repress the evil side of my father I know I hold inside of me.
My father is not able to show love — never was, never will be; he simply buys you things and you have to be forever grateful for that. At some point, I felt like a prostitute: I get things, you get love in return. This has resulted in one thing: I sometimes feel like I am unable to show love because I didn’t learn it from him. At one point, I even learnt the great art of becoming numb in a split second. Not being able to feel was a good coping mechanism after I had moved out and the shadows of my father followed me to my new life 300 km away. Before, I had sometimes cried until I had to throw up because my body could not handle the emotions that controlled me. So being numb really helped me to fight the bulimia that I got from all the throwing up while crying. But now it is hard for my husband. We can have any fight and I will turn numb instantly if it becomes too hard for me to cope. If that happens, I cannot feel that I love him; I know it, but it is just not there anymore. I need to cry to feel again but sometimes the crying gets out of hand and I start feeling sick again. I get that this is too much for him.
Although I officially have no contact with my father for at least six years, he still lingers in my life like a ghost. My family still sees him, and it feels like they chose him over me. None of them told him to never come back after what he did to me. Being verbally abused is not as bad as being physically or sexually abused and apparently no reason to break off contact. He did not do worse and because of this, I have to live my life around him. One Christmas, I did not see my mother because he didn’t want it. And everybody is ok with that. I sometimes need to visit my grandmother one day later to not run into him and my mother. And everybody is ok with that. I am the victim in this situation, and it feels like I am playing hide and seek. They say that they are sitting between chairs but for me, there is no sitting between chairs if your relative was treated this way — I would know which chair to choose. They don’t; I suffer.
In the next few years, I will probably start a family of my own and I am so afraid. Will I be like him? Like my grandfather was before him? Will I use the patterns of upbringing I am used to? I know from experience that one loving parent cannot even out one who is not. My husband is sure that I am different but I keep reminding myself of the possibility to go to therapy. My father did that. It didn’t help but maybe it would help me because I’m reflecting on what is happening. I know when my father is speaking through me and I hate it. Maybe this will change one day. But I definitely know that the relationship between my father and I will never get better. People don’t change. They just don’t.
