This is never something that is easy to speak about, let alone write about. Suffering mental and emotional anguish from any human being is terrible, but even worse when it is the person who is supposed to protect and care for you. On the other hand, I never cared much for my father either.
Growing up, my dad wasn't really there much on a day-to-day basis. He was and still is a police officer for my home city and has worked the 4 p.m. to midnight shift for as long as I can remember. While I would see other police officers enjoy as much time with their families as the job would allow them, my father just went to bed and stayed there until he had to get up at 2, begin his routine and scoot out the door at 3:30. If there was ever a chance he was awake during the day, it was a living hell. The house would be filled with the thundering sound of his voice, screaming at whomever looked at him in a funny way or said something that he didn't like. Some of the time he yelled my brothers and I, but usually it was my mother who would get the brunt of it.
I was never close with my father, nor did I really want to be. We weren't interested in the same things, and he never made an effort to try to get to know me. I remember once when I was younger I got so angry at him that I tore up a picture of us from a trip to Disney World, and it doesn't get any nicer than that. He said nothing to me when I came out of the closet, neither approving nor disapproving of who I was. The only "positive" memories I have are of when he bought me things: Barbie’s, Polly Pockets, Harry Potter collectibles, Titanic trading cards... It seems as if since day one he had been trying to buy my love, which is sad when I think about it, because it means he himself never knew love as a child unless it was through receiving a toy or what not. But I do not pity him at all, it's just sad.
Speeding up to December of 2011, five days after my seventeenth birthday and the best retreat I had ever been on and 18 days before Christmas. It was a Thursday night, and I was doing English homework for Mr. Toto up in my bedroom. It was around 8 p.m., and my mother called me into the living room. To be honest, I thought we were going back to Disney World, because the last time we went it was right around the same time of year. I run down the stairs with a smile on my face to find my parents at opposite ends of the room and my three brothers spread out on the two couches. I looked at my mother and she had tears in her eyes and my father just wouldn't look anywhere except the wall. I sat down next to my brother and after a few seconds my mom said, "Go ahead, tell them."
My father uttered the words, "Daddy fell in love with another woman."
Immediately my world flipped upside down, literally. Everyone says that during/after a traumatic experience, but you literally get so dizzy from the shock that your vision flips. All I remember from that night is how blindingly angry I was. I began screaming and crying and hitting the wall and all sorts of things because I couldn't believe it. How could this evil person, who at this point in my life I had no feelings toward except resentment, do this to my mother and brothers? I couldn't care less about the relationship between him and me, because now I didn't have to have one, but I remember telling him to make the biggest effort possible to do right by my brothers because my mother and I were done. He heard nothing I said.
Yes, the abuse pre-separation and divorce was bad, but what followed has been much, much worse–the worst you can ever imagine. I can only speak for myself.
Because I didn't necessarily feel anything for my father even before he admitted his affair, I think I found it easier to be mad and lash out at him. He would demand to be at every big event of my senior year, and every time he asked I would say no. Then, he would threaten me for days, everything from not helping me out with college to taking my phone away among other things... The worst thing he ever did and continuously does is hurt my mother in front of my brothers' and me.
To be a child and see one parent hurting another is so beyond confusing because I was brought up to believe that love is the most powerful and precious thing on earth, so why would he hurt my mother and us if he said he loved us? My bedroom was right across the hall from my mom's room senior year unfortunately, so I heard every sob, scream, phone conversation, everything. And believe me that screws a kid up nice and well. And then came the calls that my mother was admitted to a hospital for fear of _____ so she had to stay overnight while he patrolled our city in his squad car with quick access to a gun.
Now I know what some of you are thinking, "Duh, of course he has a gun, he's a cop but he would never use that on his own kids." Thankfully, he never did and hasn't, but that didn't stop me from thinking about it.
Because of my strong personality and self-awareness, he never did that much to me directly, but as I said, hurting those around me is what has done, and still does, me in. My brothers and mother are pretty strong people, but they can only take so much. There was another instance where my mother and brothers and I were on the way to one of my brother's sports banquets coming from a very close family friend's wake. We were all on the floor sobbing at the funeral home, and we were the same way in the car. Lo and behold, my father calls my mom as we're about five minutes away from the banquet hall and screams at her because he has been supposedly sitting in the car waiting for us to arrive because he's too insecure (which he won't admit) to walk into a room full of people who hate him. Who the hell does that? It ruined the day completely.
Coming home from college is like being locked in a cage where everything has been tainted with blood, some completely dry and some still sticky and warm. Just the thought that he is here, a few miles away at any given moment, is the most frightening thing ever. Since he is a police officer, we cannot file a restraining order against him because if someone puts a restraining order on him he gets his gun taken away, which means he loses his job, which means no child support (not that he's giving much anyway, bare minimum for Massachusetts law). I worry all the time about running into him when I don't want to, or his mistress coming into my work and blindsiding me. I have extreme anxiety in certain situations, but I'm wicked good at hiding it.
One of my friends sent me this picture, and for my family and I, we don't have the honeymoon or excuses phases, because sadly the abuse is routine and has been since their separation in 2011 and subsequent divorce in early 2013. There is no way out. Moving is an option, but 1. We shouldn't have to because our home is our home, too, and 2. If we did move within our area, he'd still be there, watching and trying to have as much control as possible. Hopefully we'll find some way to stop it, but who knows.
This is what it is like living under the thumb of a monster, someone who is supposed to fight monsters away. The abuse goes beyond what I can even comprehend, simply because I haven't had enough time to sit down and think about exactly what has happened to me or my family. All I know is that we take it day by day and deal with the problems we face on our own, but 100 percent together at the same time. No one else has gone through exactly what we have gone through, so all we have is each other.
Now it is 2016, and for what it's worth, all of us are doing pretty well: my mother is looking for a new car and a job to begin in September, my next youngest brother is starting the process to become a US Marine, brother #3 is on five baseball teams and winning championships left and right, and my youngest brother just placed ninth in the North American Irish step dancing nationals and they are both beginning high school in the fall. As for me, I am looking forward to my senior year of college surrounded by amazing friends and supportive faculty. While we carry this burden with us every day, we do not let it deter us from enjoying the wonderful lives we lead. My father may be broken on the inside, but my family and I are not.
Be kind to one another and have a beautiful day.
***If you or someone you know is suffering from domestic violence, get help immediately. Do not tell yourself that this is just a phase or that it will get better, because it doesn't. Everyone deserves better than experiencing what more than 3 million children in the US experience per year, and 85% of women in their lifetime.***
For more information and help, visit these websites:
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