Yesterday I watch the documentary on Netflix “I just killed my dad” . A lot of light bulbs turned on in my head as the story developed. One thing I notice that was really confusing and disturbing, was how drugs and alcohol becomes “the problem” or “the reason” or perhaps the excuse for abuse. Of course abuse went on in that household, they all say, the guy drunk to much. My dad did not use drugs and alcohol and he was violently manipulating and torturing his kids and wife. So what was his excuse?…The absence of substances and alcohol made it look to our society like he was just being that good type of strong disciplinary dad who only had good intention for his kids. To raise his kids in a way that they learned to fear the messed up society we live in and hate street violence and disrespect and disobedience that goes on in a lot of families. To not give his kids a single desire to become part of a corner of our delinquent society that we call trash. That way no one saw what was really going on once the front door was locked and our home became this trap this military camp this place at times I didn’t know I would leave alive. He would say “Do you want my kids to turn out like one those spoiled kid out of control shooting themselves with heroin from who you ll have tones of problem with? No…. So let’s keep them in line. Let me do my job and come back to me when you hear that my kid is out of line I ll make sure I correct the slightest mistake they make. With this man I was not aloud to make a mistake twice and if I did the punishment would be twice harsher than the first. We learned fast all my energy was tuned in not making mistakes not doing anything wrong not to get dad upset and not to get tortured,. To be that perfect kid compliant so well behaved. That was his excuse for being an abusive parent yet we called it normal and a consistent disciplinary father. He had full control of the way he would have that happen and no one could interfere because he was doing a great job at bringing up two good members in our already contaminated by a poison of disrespectful lazy trashy good for nothing ppl. He succeeded. I was polite like any adult in this world like children to be polite. I was clean, dad had OCD so we had to stay bug free and clean around him constantly. I was behaving exactly how everyone wanted their children to behave . Obedient to perfection. All I heard was my dad getting compliments for how beautiful and so well behaved his children were. He succeeded because when he was out as a boy with his mom his mom constantly complained about him being a bad boy. She was ashamed of how badly he behaved and shamed him publicly. None of that happen on his watch when he was a dad. What my grandma wasn’t able to do with him he made sure he did to me. He could take me anywhere feel proud I did exactly what he said with a threat holding me by the throat. I was more than just this sweet and good girl I was petrified not to do the right thing. Horrified by the thought of what could happen to me when I didn’t perfectly to the inch follow his instruction. Look intelligent, hold a neutral face. A happy face was for a child who was spoiled a sad face would reveal his abuse The fear of him torturing me emotionally first then physical when I got home or when I was home alone was haunting me 24/7 for 15 years of my life. I couldn’t make a single move without him interpreting it as a bad intention to be a bad girl that had to be corrected and punished. I had to watch myself constantly if I didn’t I would forget to smell the soap on the plates I would wash and my dad would come behind and make me redo the hole chore again. I would forget something and I would be punished for it and had to kneel down on a broom stick with my hands on my head for a minimum of 30 minutes. If I got tired and rounded my back and brought my shoulders inwards he would get mad and add time so I had to make sure my posture was straight and strong.

There are a number of memories I remember but there some I had to forget like how violent he was to my mom and my brother and how my mom was left alone broken having to be a mother she could not get herself to be. Or how furious he would suddenly become and his rage would destroy everything around him. The damage done was mine or my mother to clean up. He was to sick and to devastated to repair and clean up the hurt the broken the damage. Nothing was ever addressed and spoken about after the abuse. We moved on. We pull ourselves by the bootstrap and kept on going as if the consequences of the tornado that had just shattered parts of our selves as if the bleeding open wounds where not there. This man was heartless he turned his head away from the pain the agony I felt around him as if it wasn’t there and keep living life as normal. No one saw that. He looked charming handsome well spoken smart and that was enough for our neighbors for the people they surrounded themselves with to not notice the monster that only came out behind closed doors.

He would close the blinds and told us that if we screamed or made a sound that the neighbors could hear we would get more hurt. He used his hands to correct us and discipline me to make me a better human being in our society but then his hands would hurt so he used the cutting board, a wooden or metal bar, a ping pong batt his size 13 slipper, the shower head, cold water. Isolation from the rest of the world, the part of my family who suspected something was not right. Deprived of food was an other strategy he used.

I did not want the the terror the hurts the intolerance to pain the emotional deadness in me and the damages done while I was growing up to be passed on to my daughter. I m sure he is quietly laughing today. Today your kid is not a delinquent but your grand kid is what you horribly controlled your kid not to turn out to be. That fear you had of not walking through a dark alleyway and finding your daughter sitting on the floor passed out with a needle in her arm has jumped a generation because I refused to torture my daughter the way you tortured me. I tried everything I could to not inflict such pain on her I tried protecting my baby from you until I realized I had not yet succeeded in getting you out of my head out of my system that was still operating the way you had drilled it in me. You still had a hold on me.

Not really knowing I continued seeing the abuse in everyone. Everywhere I turned I was reminded of the terror of the control of the paranoia. When my daughter freaks out I see you coming at me with be. When my husband raises his voice oh my god danger s coming at me, I see a threat. When I see a parent neglecting the pain of their child screaming telling them to keep quiet or else I remember the abuse. When I pass two ppl fighting on the street, when my friend tries to manipulate me into agreeing with his political view. If you don’t see what I see if you don’t agree with me then you are asleep you are blind you are ignorant then you r not the good person I want to be around. I see the abuse in my sister in law’s judgment and firmly fixed opinion she olds on me. I see the abuse in the controlling of a friend telling me exactly the direction our relationship needs to take and I don’t have a say. When I m available will do exactly what I like doing and go places I like to go and if go along with this I have a friend but if I try to change the direction and include something I like I loose my friend. I see the abuse in the lack of clear communication in most everyone who has to speed through life and gets exhausted by it so they either forget or can’t be bothered to reach out and come back to me.