There are times when I reminisce about a disastrous, super self-destructive time in my life. Almost immediately those memories are followed by thoughts and memories of my father. But why?
I started chasing this thread. Was it that I am more like him and less like who I think I am? Alarming, to say the least. Admittedly I have been an absolute bastard to the people around me, but I don't think I'm him. Sure there are genetic traces in my features and physical tics, but I know I am not him.
It's the feeling. The constant up and down emotional roller coaster of dealing with emotionally immature parents. Of mentally unhealthy parents with their own mismanaged trauma. As a child, you spend so much time trying to manage keeping them "happy" and trying to not disappoint them so you don't incur their wrath. Wrath, that, for me, came in the form of physical, verbal and, emotional abuse.
A constant rolling tide of silent treatment, ass whoopings, and being told I was stupid, fat, disrespectful when I spoke my mind, a crybaby when expressing emotion, or hearing from my father that I was not his child.
Now, in the interest of fairness. My father was apparently riding the white horse and keeping Budwiser stock afloat for most of my life and all of his. I can only remember a 4 month period where he was sober, coincidentally when his enabling sister moved out of the neighborhood. When I tell you he was a completely different human being....
It's such a strange thing to say and see in my minds eye. Even now I'm sure I am overlooking things.
Growing up in that particular stew of dysfunction has done wonders for my self-esteem and emotional health as you can imagine.
I found myself chasing emotional highs in my 20s. The hot and cold behavior of women I became attracted to and eventually (and stupidly) fell for. Feeling like you are a burden for most of your life and then being "seen" and feeling "valued" by someone who seems to actually enjoy you and wants you is an intoxicating change. It's like receiving a sustained level of affection and care youve been denied. It's like spending years starving and then someone lays out an exquisite meal for you.
Then their attention drifts, or their feelings change and they withdraw. This withdrawl leaves a massive gaping hole inside of you, and emptiness that rockets you right back to feelings of panic. Scrambling to set things right because you feel like you are in danger. Only this time it's not danger of being beaten it's the danger of losing what was once a safe space. A place where you could breathe, a place where there was no fear, just comfort.
Then the feeling of being abandoned sets in, you realize that the feeling of safety was temporary or an illusion. All the feelings come rushing back in. Feeling panic at having displeased someone that is supposed to be safe and protect you. Suddenly the entire world is uneven and you feel like you are being hurt purposely. So you fight back.
Except it's a projected illusion. You wind up making one person, the last person, the focal point of your hurt. When in reality they were just another in a line of people that hurt or used you. They aren't unique or spectacular, and more often than not the things you loved and adored never canceled out the red flags. You just ignored them. They aren't necessarily horrible people, they just aren't what you made yourself think they were.
A pattern. Scratch the surface of what initially attracted you to them and that pattern is there. For me it was the emotional high and lows, the feeling of having to walk on eggshells and censor myself to avoid rejection or backlash. There was one instance where I felt nothing was in my control, least of all myself.
It turned me sour and angry. I was tired of being hurt, so naturally I had to hurt someone. Myself mostly, but others as well.
It's taken a very long time for me to recognize and accept a lot of what I've denied for so long. To break cycles and patterns. To understand my short sightedness and my role in my own pain. To see people, and myself, for who and what they are.
Perspective is everything.
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