Fathers…

I have been thinking a lot about fathers.  Both father figures in my life have done nothing but disappoint me, and misuse me, in one way or another. It makes me feel very insecure  about relationships, especially with men, even my poor husband- and we have been together for 22 years.  I have issues with men in general, doctors, men in authority positions, I am very uncomfortable around them.

But it also affects my relationship with my Heavenly Father. It’s hard to imagine that there is a Father that loves me, no matter what I do, say, look like; no matter what mistakes I make.  I work hard to follow that little voice inside of the Holy Spirit so that I can always be in His will.

But I have been thinking about the text from last weekend, and maybe God is 1. Reminding me that no earthly father will ever compare to Him, and that I need to put more trust into Him, and to spend more time with Him. So I have restarted my Quiet Time first thing in the morning.

I have also been thinking that maybe God is pointing me back to unresolved issues with my biological father.  That while my step father is a father figure, I need to learn to forgive better, and learn how to have a relationship with my biological father, even though we have had the tumultuous relationship we have had, despite the fact that he continues to misuse me- maybe it’s through that relationship that I will find my voice.

I don’t know.  These are all thoughts that are just jumbled in my brain right now, and I am going to work through this texting debacle with PollyAnna on Thursday.  I did talk to Mary Poppins about it yesterday and she assured me, that first there is not one grain of truth in the text.  That it was way over the top, crossed so many lines and was lies though she doesn’t believe they were malicious intent simply ignorant and coming from the mind of someone who spends 24/7 on marijuana.  She is not a Dr against pot, but she also doesn’t feel it’s a 1 size fits all the way this person does.

Anyway, I obviously still have a lot to process, and to work through.  And I still need to decide if I am going to 1. reply to him and 2. tell my mom.

I don’t think I mentioned…. or it just goes to show how pathetic I am.

Not too long after my father told me that he was done with me, that he wouldn’t talk to me anymore, after he rejected me once again, he started calling again.

He’s been calling several times day, and surprisingly been pretty pleasant which usually leads up to unpleasantness…. but here’s what really bothers me about this story…

He has NOT called my sister. He won’t.  But he calls me because he knows I am so desperate to be loved I will take whatever anyone will give me, any scrap, no matter how unhealthy or not good for me. He knows, no matter what horror he has done I will take him back with open arms.

I am so pathetic.

And now, every time my text message dings I get a sick feeling in my stomach, worried it’s that family member again with more to say.  He has now added to my PTSD. Thanks so much.

Perseveration

Perseveration: VERB: To repeat or prolong an action, thought or utterance after the stimulus that prompted it has ceased.

Big One has Aspergers, high functioning Autism, whatever the buzz word of the time is.  He is the King of perseveration.  However, he learned this activity from somewhere, and that’d be me, the Queen.  I have not stopped thinking about that hurtful text for one minute since I got it on Friday morning. It’s constantly nagging at my brain.  It’s at the forethought of every interaction with my children.  It’s dictating how and what I will do to celebrate my daughter’s birthday.  It’s even crept into the dreams I’ve had between fits of sleep.

I don’t know how to rid myself of this poison.  It’s almost as if my brain ceased to accept new information after Friday July 21st, 2017 at 11:09am.  I’m stuck in an endless loop of thinking about this text, about what was said, analyzing what’s truth and what’s ignorance.  Im stuck in sadness, hurt, rejection and anger. I can’t think about anything else.

Talking to this person, will do no good.  Talking to their significant other may help, or may make it worse, because they could go either way- agree with them or disagree with some or all, or they could do what they do best, avoid and withdraw (hey I had to learn it somewhere).

This is my only outlet.  I am trying to put on a mask, I don’t want hubby to know just how badly I am feeling, I already had to make him promise not to text this person. I’d like to talk to my sister, but she has her own life to lead and we have talked this to death. And my brother already has a complicated relationship with this side of the family I don’t want to make it worse.

I feel so alone. I feel betrayed, rejected, sad, hopeless and helpless to change the situation. Just when I thought I might be clawing my way out of the pit, they took their workboot, put it on my face and pushed me back down to the bottom of the pit.

Vulnerability 

I hide my feelings, my thoughts, my secrets.

You got me to open up, with the promise of a father. 

I trusted you, I shared my deepest hurts.

I thought I had finally found a dad. 

But then you betrayed me. You blindsided me.

It happens over and over I put my trust in someone and they show their true colors.

Even if what you did had the best intentions, or was done out of love – you couldn’t have hurt me more. You could have slapped me and it would’ve hurt less. 

I will forgive you as Jesus has commanded, but I will never trust you, you will never be the “dad” I thought I had. 

Stepfather, mother’s husband- no more, no less. 

My heart and head say run – I already have a father who hurts me, but my kids love you – even if you think I’ve ruined them. 

*I haven’t written a poem in over 20 years.  I know there’s no real rhythm and it doesn’t rhyme but it captures my feelings right now.* 

Keeping up Appearances Part 2

When I got home from getting big one from camp, I put on gloves and cleaned both my bathrooms, my brother is visiting tomorrow.  I can’t have company with a dirty bathroom, it wouldn’t keep up appearances. And here’s the rub- he knows everything about my journey, because he reads this blog. He’s the only one of my family members that does I believe…. my sister may from time to time. So since he knows all this, he probably wouldn’t care, in fact he would probably understand why they were dirty. But I have to keep up appearances.

Now here’s the question…. do I clean up all the toys my daughter took out and didn’t clean up before bed?

Or do I just let it be? It definitely wouldn’t be keeping up any semblance of appearances…

 

Keeping up appearances…

When you grow up as an abused child you learn very early to keep up appearances.

In my family we had to pretend to be the Brady Bunch. He actually told us that. Dad could’ve just finished screaming and yelling at us, or hitting us with his belt but is soon as we were in public he put on his charm everyone loved him and we had to be the perfect family. My mom the Stepford wife, us girls the Stepford children. And so it was until my parents split.

And then after that dad blamed Mom, he was the victim, and appearances were kept up. When he owned his business and it was failing appearances kept up and no one knew until the doors were closed.

I know that’s why he’s fought his diabetes, his leg amputation, and his finger amputation. Appearances are everything, if it looks good on the outside if you’re charming and nobody will know the truth.

That’s why for years no one knew how bad my anxiety was. I kept up appearances. I ran homeschool co-op’s, my kids were in karate, played soccer, play basketball, did everything. I was Susie homemaker the house was clean dinner was very rarely something simple like mac & cheese I was keeping up appearances. What seemed like a controlling, hard ass was really someone trying to keep herself from falling apart and letting people see her for who she really was, someone broken.

When I had my breakdown it was a shock the people closest to me didn’t understand where it came from but I think it just my brain one day got overloaded I didn’t realize I was depressed because anxiety was suppressing it.

And even now I’m keeping up appearances, I am devastated no more than devastated by the text I received earlier from that family member. I haven’t wanted to hurt myself more in a very long time then I did today. But you know why I didn’t? Appearances. I see my hand doctor on Monday I wouldn’t want them to see the marks on my arms and with as hot as it’s been I’m going to want to wear shorts so I can’t mark up my legs. I thought about my feet but my physical therapist makes me take off my socks often so that’s out of the question too. I have been unable to find an outlet for this pain except feel it and I can handle it but I have to keep up appearances.

Earlier I went outside and helped my husband move his derelict car from the barn to under the barn. I was hot, sweaty and covered in chicken dust, I had to go pick up my son at church camp where he’s been for the past week so I had to shower and put on clean clothes because I had appearances to keep up. But I did one thing to remind myself that my insides do not match my outsides…


I left the house in a nice outfit, clean and smelling fresh- with mismatched socks. From now on that will be the sign of my mental state. I know it’s a fad with kids these days but for me it’s a sign that I’m not Carol Brady, and appearances are only skin deep, the battles are fought inside- and mine is raging.