The Reasons Behind It...

I struggle to understand why it is exactly I hate my ‘father’ so much sometimes. All I am aware of is how he somehow ruined parts of my life and was and still is a bully. I don’t really care all that much that I’m not certain as to why I refuse to talk to him because I know that’s how I have been recovering from it all, but it’s hard to make other people understand the pain he put me through at times, especially my direct family. It doesn’t make sense that they refuse to accept it because they can all see how much happier I am without him and have experienced his cruelty themselves. Most of the memories and feelings I had for him have been pushed out of my mind because I know I don’t particularly want them fresh in my mind all the time; all I suffered from constantly being crushed and mentally abused was not pleasant. I know them remain embedded into my brain because I am scarred by it but they are no longer visible and I know that’s how it should be for the sake of the rest of my sanity, no matter how I sometimes wish I could see them. None of it really makes sense to anyone, but to be fair they’ve got no chance if I don’t even know for sure. The only person that ever understood was my ex because he saw with his own eyes the pain my father caused me and how he went about it. He didn’t know exactly what going on in my head because you would have to be me and that obviously isn’t possible, but he knew enough and he actually formed hatred for him long before I did and at some point probably despised him more than I ever have. I thought my eldest brother knew vastly how I felt due to going through similar situations and developing hatred for him himself, but I was wrong. He kind of sees where I am coming from, but it’s not enough. He thinks I ought to just be civil now I don’t have to live with ‘my father’ but he led me homeless so there’s no way. My eldest brother believes he’s not that bad anymore, but I’m not convinced and I don’t care whether he has changed because I already gave him far too many chances.  My other brother seems to have accepted it the most; obviously it bothers him, but he seems to get it which is ironic really because he gets on with his dad and they have quite a close relationship. No-one will ever know the true torture I went through living with him and I guess its better that way because no-one will ever have to deal with the consequences. I am astonished at the outcome after growing up with him considering everything he’s put everyone through; I must be unbelievably stronger than I thought possible to have become the positive person I am. All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me, but all he ever saw in me was the worst; he never saw anything worth being proud of in me. I vaguely remember a hell of a lot of hurt and anger on several occasions and know he was barely there for me during my childhood, but fear is the clearest emotion I have because that was the very last thing I felt before letting him go for good.

It all started when I was innocently watching TV. He popped in just before he went to bed to tell me not to leave the dogs in the living room again. I hadn’t done it before, so I just replied with a simple ‘okay, but I didn’t do that’. He retaliated by saying I had so again I denied it, but in a defensive way. He refused the idea that he was wrong, so at which point he began calling me all the offensive names he could think of. One’s that stood out the most were selfish lying little *****. By his unnecessary reaction, I got a little annoyed so I began to snap back briefly. By this time, he was absolutely fuming. I swear I could actually see smoke coming out from his ears. I got so fed up I ended up just ignoring him and he made his way to the door to leave the room. Because he is the sort of person to never let go, he turned back all of a sudden and slammed the door with excremental force against the sofa I was sitting on and started yelling at me again. He had the eyes of a raging psycho killer. I never believed he would ever turn on me, so the shock of him turning like that almost instantly over nothing, petrified me. I had never been so scared in all my life and I had to deal with the most terrifying experience alone. His mother was sitting upstairs, so she heard it all, but there was no sign of her. All that shouting, yelling, screaming and thudding, but still nothing. I always thought she would be the sort of person to interfere with arguments, but she hadn’t. I’ve seen her get involved before, but not this time; the one time I needed her the most. Perhaps she was just as afraid as I was, or she just didn’t care. At the time I got the worst impression of her so it just made me feel worse because I was sure I was so unloved. I guess I will never really know though. All this happened within just a matter of a few minutes, but it felt like it was never ending. I couldn’t escape and I had absolutely nowhere to turn. I felt trapped and I couldn’t even bear to move, even when he finally left. When I was absolutely certain he had actually gone to bed, I legged it into my room, bolted the lock and barricaded the door so there was no way anyone could get in. That night, all I did was cry, hysterical, terrified and alone. I suffered from several panic attacks before I finally got to sleep at early hours of the morning. I hadn’t managed to sleep for long at all and was awoken by the sound of him getting up for work. I was bewildered when I opened my eyes because I was sure it had all just been a dream, but it wasn’t, it was a real life nightmare. I had the fear embedded into my mind that he was going to brutally murder me when I least expected it. I had to get out, no matter how impossible I felt it would be. Shaken up and reluctant, I packed a small bag and left that morning when he had left the house for work. I had no clue where I was to go, nor did I really care, I just needed to get away. Anywhere was safe to me but there; the worst part was escaping without being spotted. He was literally only across the road so I had to be quick. By this point, my mother was back home so I had to sneak out without her knowing and then when I got out the first door, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me to somewhere as far away from my parents house as possible. Even to this day, I fear the sight of him and shudder at even the thought of him. It has taken me almost a year to even stand anywhere near my parents house even when I know he’s nowhere near, so I dread the day that I have to live there while my family go on holiday without me.

Not only did he inflict constant spitefulness towards me, but also my mother and eldest brother. I think my other brother was safe other than getting told off for the rebellious things he did. My mother still is persistently mentally abused and sometimes physically which is why I feel so bad for leaving, but there’s nothing I can really do. I have offered to help her escape but for some reason she won’t leave. I wish she would, but I guess it’s her own responsibility and she will one day go ahead with her wishes when she’s ready. I have always promised that when I am living in a stable household, she is coming to live with me whether she likes it or not. Her biggest obstacle at the moment is her animals, and because of them she can’t be bothered to deal with the hassle of taking them elsewhere; like most people, her fear of change is probably drawing her back so she is just using her pets as an excuse. The reasons my hatred even began was because of the pain he was always causing to my mother. I will never forgive him for everything he puts her through and he’s too ignorant to even notice. The amount of times I would walk into the living room to discover her crying her eyes out in the dark just killed me. Since then, I have always been somewhat overprotective of those I care about. I always have been protective, but I am considerably worse now. Her husband may have been funny, affectionate and friendly sometimes, but his personality is overrun with bad traits and repeated horrible acts of behaviour and I see most of these ‘nice’ moments as just an act to draw people in and stamp on them when they least expect it because that’s the kind of person he is; a damn right nasty piece of work. This is why he doesn’t deserve to be a part of my life. It’s not really an excuse, but I have concluded over the years that he may be schizophrenic and that is why he refuses to accept the existence of mental illness, because to accept anyone else’s, he would have to admit to his own problems. It’s kind of like hatred has been erased from my system, but I know it is there because like love, once it has produced, it can never fully go away.
Vikz4913 Vikz4913
26-30, F
2 Responses Aug 14, 2010

Then maybe it will just be another something bad that will happen to me, because i can't.<br />
I have considered it several times, but i CANNOT do it. I don't have the strength to face and forgive him and I don't think I ever will. People will just have to accept that. I hate him and I always will. It doesn't matter to me how much he has changed and is different because he's not around, he will always be that horrible man who tortured me, you and our mother and I can't forgive him for that.

i will never forgive him. He is a son of the devil and people like that don't deserve forgiveness.