Need to Vent - Thanks Religious Assholes

[Salacious B. Crumb]

So sorry you're going through this, Sal.  Your father sounds a lot like mine, albeit less violent.  My father was always a bit off the deep end.  Mental illness runs in his side of the family.  His father was a genius who bordered on complete insanity.  He liked to parent by simply beating his sons.  My father used to talk about it with a sense of awe and respect.  Thankfully, my grandfather died before me and my brothers were born.

My father was physically abusive to my oldest brother during his toddler years, but turned to verbal and mental abuse after that.  My brothers and I were never troublemakers.  We always did well in school, never got detention or in any real trouble.  Never stayed out late, vandalized anything, got into fights, did drugs, got anyone pregnant, etc.  Yet, we were disrespectful ingrates who were lucky to have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies.

Whenever we did something he perceived as being wrong (which was based on his whims... we could do the same thing every day with no issue, then out of the blue all hell would break loose on the nth time), he would make us stand in a line like we were soldiers while he did his best drill sergeant impression, ranting and raving in our faces, telling us how worthless we were. We were 12 and younger.  He was a Vietnam vet, you see.  A guy who stayed in the safest areas because he was an Air Force plane engine mechanic.  Yet, he demanded he be treated like a bonafide war hero instead of a grease monkey who essentially had an extended tropical vacation because he was as far from the fighting as anyone in the area could be.

He once tried to burn the house down with us inside.  I was like 3 or 4.  He would freak out at the drop of a hat.  It was always our fault.  He would kick in bedroom doors in order to yell at us.

He was always paranoid, but it came to a head when we got cable TV in 1990/1991.  It was during Desert Shield/Storm.  Suddenly, he was watching CNN all day every day.  And then he started watching C-Span.  Everyone was a communist.  And not in a 'ha ha' way.  The yelling and ranting got worse as time went on.  It became an almost daily thing.  He was paranoid that the government was out to get him, that there would be an revolution, etc.  Alex Jones shit before Alex Jones even existed.

Why didn't we leave?  We needed his income for my medical bills.  The 1980's were a lot different than today when it came to covering complete physical disability from birth.  The bulk of my 43 surgeries were done when I was a kid.  We had bills out the wazoo.  Mom, in addition to working a full 40 a week (sometimes more) went to night school to get her business degree so she could earn more.  She also brought me to every medical appointment both locally and down in Boston.  And took care of my brothers, who aren't disabled but were still kids.  My father didn't do much parenting due to us not wanting him to, and thankfully he was too lazy to insert himself into it.  We walked on eggshells enough with him simply sitting in the living room recliner chain smoking and smoldering with rage as he watched the news.

There was a religious aspect to it, too.  He repeatedly told us about this dream he had where god woke him up from a nap on the couch.  He went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw god over his shoulder.  He couldn't make out god's features, just that it was glowing and kind of humanoid.  And god told him he was a good person doing a good job.  Between his military service and god dream, he literally thought he was righteous in everything he did.  He was never wrong, never cruel, never abusive in his mind.

Turns out he was a child molester.  He molested my cousin/godmother when she was 8-16.  Why didn't she tell us until I was an adult?  Because she knew we needed his income for my medical bills.  I cannot adequately express the guilt I have knowing she was humiliated and suffered in order to protect me.

We call him Asshole.  He's in prison.  We were able to meet the statute of limitations for the last year of abuse (her 15-16 year).  Even with just that year, he got 16 counts of felonious sexual assault.  His purported last parole hearing is actually next Tuesday.  My brothers and I have changed our last names to our mom's maiden name.  I still live with her.  She's my hero.

Now, I'm not saying this to try to take over the conversation or one up you in the misery department, Sal.  I have no interest in getting into a terrible father dick waving contest.  I just wanted to share my story in order to illustrate that I really know what you're going through.  I get the constant defense, the locking yourself in your room, enjoying leaving the house for any reason, and dreading having to come back to a home that feels like enemy territory.  I get it.

My advice is simple: do whatever you can to get the fuck out of there and don't look back.  I haven't seen my father since he was arrested 15 years ago, and that time has been the best time of my life.  I feel a lot more confident, I don't need to hide away, etc.  Yet, I can still feel his presence in how I react to certain things.  Living with a psychotic affects everything, and the effects are long lasting and sneaky.  The sooner you get out of there, the sooner you get to heal, which can take a long time.

Beyond that, I'm giving you an Internet hug.  Stay strong and do what's best for you.  And full props to your grandma.

Thanks for sharing Kev, and I don’t see this as any kind of comparing story, so don’t worry about that. I think it’s somewhat healing to know I’m not the only one out there, and it helps to get some advice on how it was dealt with. Thanks for taking the time that you did to share. Sorry for the house burning incident and the fake drill sergeant antics that had happened to you.

I’d compare my dad to some crazy person with a horrible temper + Alex Jones as well. If he hears about ebola, he says things like, “It’s going to get a lot worse, mark my words.” He buys into the news so hard like your dad, and almost none of that stuff affects our lives directly, but he makes it an effort to convince himself and others that it does. My dad would probably love your dad, I think the only people on this planet that he respects are catholic priests, soldiers, Trump (and every other person on that stage). Also, he’ll stick up for the cops in every situation when they’re clearly in the wrong.

I’ve barely got into how my dad is on a daily basis, but it’s been rough, I never left either because I basically had no where to go, and didn’t want to put this situation on another family member, but my grandma seems to be glad to have me as long as I want to be there.

My dad has the same thing with dreams and signs. He thinks everything is a sign, and thinks every single one of his wacked out dreams, has a meaning from god, no matter how incoherent and silly they are. He hears god’s voice telling him things too, which is a pain in the ass. I’ve had a few traumatizing physical abuses in the past, but mostly he goes as far as he can with the verbal and emotional abuse, because I think he knows deep down that everyone would just leave him if he ever physically lashed out. Probably when I was 13, I think my brother and I were calling each other names in his room, and I heard him marching up the stairs, I ran into my ran room, and he picked me up by the throat and through me a few feet, thankfully I landed onto the bed and he walked out the door like nothing happened. I’d call the cops on him in a heartbeat if he ever struck one of us, as adults. I’m happy to hear your dad is in prison, if my dad was in prison, I feel I could breathe a lot easier right now, and move on.

The confidence thing too. He’s stripped me of my self-esteem, confidence, and I feel I don’t deserve happiness, but it’s good that I can recognize these things, however because of what’s happened my whole life, it’s hard to just move past it, but I’m trying. It doesn’t just go away in a few days I guess, especially when I don’t feel it’s resolved, there’s much more to be said and worked out, but I can’t deal with it right now. I also know deep down, that he won't listen to a word I say, and none of my attempts to get through to him will do one damned thing.