Topic of the week

My father installed fear in me. I’m not really sure how he did, but he did just the same. He had a way about him that you didn’t argue with. And being as afraid of conflicts as I am – also thanks to my father I guess – I  certainly wasn’t the one to argue with him. He could say anything, and I would agree. He had a way to manipulate me and give me a really bad conscience if I didn’t help him immediately.

“Okay, if you can’t, you can’t. I have to do it myself then, and I’ll probably get a heart attac, fall over and die right there on the floor, but don’t feel bad. You have other plans.”

How do you argue with that when you are young and the death of your parents is what you fear the most?

I always ended up dropping anything at hand to go help him whenever he called out. And I continued doing that til he past away. Have you ever had the feeling of being on a lifelong guilt trip? I have. It’s not a nice feeling. Not nice at all. And it didn’t end until he died. I’m almost ashamed to say it, but I’m actually happy he finally past away. I know it’s not something you should say. But after his passing my life started. It has now been five years, but I’m still not where I want to be, where I should be, feeling the way I ought to. I can still hear his voice inside my head, dictating me, giving me “advice” that felt more like orders. Placing the guilt, fear, lack of self-esteem in me. Growing up like that for almost 30 years it’s not easily turned around. And even though it’s been five years, I still don’t have full control over my life.

I have a hard time saying “NO” and almost bend over backwards to please others. And by doing so, killing myself little by little, every time. My father made me a “scared of conflicts, people pleaser”.  Not the legacy I would have choosen had I been give the opportunity to decide.

Dad is always dad, and I will always love him, but he had the personality of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. You could feel what mood he was in when opening the door. The tension was sometimes so thick you could touch it. Those times I just said “Hello, how are you?” hoping he wouldn’t give a hour long lecture what was wrong with him, you, the world, so you could leave as soon as possible. That tension gave a destinct feeling of unease. It was almost scary. Waiting for him to end his speach on everything wrong, I most of the times let my mind wander, while holding a washcloth or something of the sorts in my hand trying to tidy up a bit in his rather unorganized and dirty home. Just making sounds now and then to let him think I was paying attention to him and what he was on about.

“You always ask for help with money, driving you to somewhere or something else, and your brother is the same way. Your sister never visits. I don’t understand. I have never done anything wrong. Never done anything to hurt you. Still, you do that to me...” On, and on, he went. And I nodded and said “Mm...” now and then. I had heard that speach over and over and knew it by heart. It changed slightly depending on who he had talked to last, and if my brother had said “no” to him, as he seemed to be the only one with the balls to stand up for himself against my father. He could easily make you go insane, and I bet he did that to me – make me insane. Perhaps that is why I am the way I am. I didn’t feel like I was entitled to feeling, thoughts or the power of words with him. I was supposed to be his little ray of sunshine all the time, not talk back to him. For years I thought I was just fine, that this was who I was, but underneath the depression was growing stronger and stronger, but not being allowed to show that either I became an expert at hiding and putting up a facade.

Everything evolves around fear. Fear of myself, of what people will think, fear of succeeding, fear of failing, fear of Life.