Toward the beginning of the year, I wrote a review of Pokémon Moon. I stated then that there was a moment that hit me hard, and that was when Lillie, one of the characters in the game, confronted her mother with these words:
I stopped playing when I read this, which is why the image quality is rather poor: I snapped photos of my screen because I wanted to remember what she was saying. I wrote in my review that it wasn't the time to get into why Lillie's words impacted me so greatly, but I think given the time of the year, it might be now.
***I'd like to preface this by saying that my case is relatively minor, but that it still changed me. Some of the explanations or descriptions may constitute a "trigger" for some people. Reader discretion is advised.***
When I was a young child--think about eight years old and younger--my world was relatively small. I didn't realize that the abnormalities that existed in my life were there, because they seemed... well, normal. Didn't everyone's mom work all day? Didn't everyone's dad leave them to their own devices most of the time? Wasn't everyone's best memory with their father when he called them his "good luck charm" because whenever they were around he was better able to snipe items on eBay at the last second?
Wasn't everyone's dad distant?
I didn't know it wasn't normal. It was only when I started going over to my friends' houses and seeing them interact with their parents that I started to realize that one of my parents--who were pretty much the whole world to me--might not care about me as much as I thought.
In retrospect, I probably should have realized that things were wrong when I was that young: I go through periods where I have an aversion to being touched. I always have. I happened to be in one of those when I came home from school when my father approached me, perhaps to pat my head or to hug me. I asked him not to touch me. His response? "I can touch you." He didn't care about my wishes or my autonomy. He created me. He was older. So he had the power. (This is sadly a reason he has used often since then.) Every time I watch "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" and I see this scene...
...I get uncomfortable, because that's essentially what happened. Minus the burning scar and the death. But I was helpless. I was a kid, and I didn't know what to do.
Over the next several years, things only got worse. He would scream at me for seemingly reasonable requests--like picking me up on time after an after-school activity instead of an hour after the event ended, forcing a staff member to stay late--and only be nice to me when he asked me for help with something, like when he wanted me to design a logo for him or write a description of him for an advertisement. He would still steal my food, he still didn't care that him choosing to sleep in instead of driving ten minutes to pick me up meant that I had to risk punishment from my school if I wanted to be involved in extracurricular activities and see my friends, and he still yelled at me all the time. He would scream at me about how stupid and useless I was, and if I ever dropped anything, bumped my elbow, or something of the like, he would deride me for being clumsy.
As though he didn't swear up a storm whenever he dropped anything.
Once or twice, I would ask him to get off the computer so I could do homework, and he put it off. Eventually I would walk into the room and he'd shut off the monitor. I was in middle school, not an idiot: his reply that he "thought it would turn the computer off" didn't cut it. I was thoroughly disgusted that he would be watching smut while I needed to type an assignment, often one that had been assigned that day and was due the next. I wiped down and sanitized the whole area before using the computer every time I needed it and took a shower afterward.
He got especially careless one time, though. I went to YouTube to pull up some music to type my essays to and noticed that my "suggested videos"--a new feature at the time--were very odd, so I decided to check my history. What I should have seen were a bunch of music videos, something along the lines of these. What I found was a collection of 200-some fetish videos. I started crying. I obviously knew the culprit but it was so disturbing to see it for myself, and on my account. It felt like I was somehow at fault. I told my mom, scared, because she'd told me not to tell anyone what my father was like and I thought she'd be mad at me for bringing this to her attention. She was not, but she again echoed the sentiment, I suspect because she was embarrassed or because she didn't want to deal with it.
I love my mom, but that was some of the worst advice she ever gave me. I should have told someone. It was like he knew I had discovered his secret, and it was like he thought I'd "told on him": he went from yelling at me about minor things to telling me to "shut up [my] f***ing face" and spitting at me. My grades started to suffer, and he tried--more or less successfully--to make me feel guilty for focusing on school and my own mental health. But I still didn't realize that what he was doing could easily be called "psychological abuse," and that he'd been doing it for years.
Even today, my father treats me as though all of my accomplishments are somehow his because he donated an X chromosome all those years ago. He treats my belongings as though they are his. He cares only about what I can do for him. Sometimes I tell people that he would probably return my brother and me if he could, and most of the time, they don't know I'm not joking. I know a lot of people in similar situations, and if that's you, I want you to know something: you owe nothing to the parent who treats you this way. They are not entitled to anything. Father's Day might be coming up soon, but that man is no longer my father.
Don't waste your energy on them. Appreciate the people in your life who add something good to it, who are positive influences, who don't take advantage of you just for what you can give them. And if you haven't already and need to, talk to someone. This doesn't have to be a hotline or crisis help line--it could be a trusted friend or family member--but don't be silent. It will never get better if you don't speak.
Ultimately, I think Lillie was a better person than I am: later in the game, she decided to help her mother "get better." But her mother wanted to get better, wanted to reconnect with her daughter, and Lillie decided to forgive her. My father does not want to change, makes no effort to change, and I will not forgive him. I don't owe him my forgiveness. I don't owe him anything, nor does he have any right to anything, no matter how much he might insist he does. We don't owe our parents love, or even respect, if they don't give it to us in return. You might hear people talk about how much they love their parents, how important their mothers and fathers are to them, but it's okay if that's not the case for you, and you're not alone.
So, happy day-of-the-week to you. Celebrate you, your strength, and the people who matter to you.
