A few disclaimers:
- Like stated in my last post, I am not doing this blog for any other reasons than to help myself get some things out of my head, and to help someone else who may have gone through anything similar to realize that they can make it through.
- This post is going to be about my father and an event that happened between us. For me, he is a touchy subject. I DO NOT want anyone to hate/dislike him for what I may say here. Any problems between he and I are just that, between he and I.
- I am not slandering him, anything I say I have actually lived through, and it is documented in custody court cases between my father and mother. If you feel like anything I am saying are lies I suggest you reevaluate how much/well you know my dad. I guarantee I know him better; I grew up with him.
Thank you for reading these disclaimers before you lose your mind and attack me.
WITH THAT SAID;
My parents had divorced before I was old enough to form memories; there is not a time in my life that I remember them being even civil towards one other. They at some points were completely cruel to each other; this made things hard sometimes when I was young. I didn’t want to dislike my father simply because my mother did. I gave him NUMEROUS chances to prove that he is/was a decent person; he has failed every time.
My father is a very peculiar man. He is extremely old-fashioned and convicted with the belief that women ought to be barefoot, pregnant, and doing domesticated housewife activities. Women are to be entirely submissive to their fathers, then once married to their husbands. To him, a woman should not be strong, independent, or empowered. To him women are property. These ideas have been imposed on me and shoved down my throat my entire life. I was told from a very young age that he was going to choose my husband. And he did, he had a man he wanted to be my husband. I could not be more thankful that this never happened. Along with wanting to choose my husband he wanted to make sure I stayed “pure” in all fashions. Sex before marriage may have been the ultimate sin, but there was a long list of others. It was a sin for me to have my ears pierced, for me to have short hair, for me to color my hair, and to even want tattoos. I also think he has a problem with women wearing makeup. In spite, or to spite, either here will do, I have colored my hair numerous times, I have several tattoos and want more, I have a naval and nasal piercing as well as two sets on each ear, and my cartilage pierced. I also consistently have short hair. I will not be ruled over by anyone. And no woman should EVER let a man tell her how to live.
In my original post, I stated that I had been abused physically. The violence came from the hand of my father. On to a specific example of one event, I remember as though it were yesterday.
When I was much younger, I remember my brother, dad, and I wanted to go camping. We decided to set up a tent on the side of the house. I remember having fun, playing and spending time together. Then, like all humans, I heard the call of nature, so I went inside and did my business. And since I was young, I remember getting distracted. For whatever reason, I looked on the mail table and saw something that bothered me immensely. My father had received a mail-order bride catalog. I picked it up and looked through it; it seemed so dehumanizing to me. An entire magazine of women to choose from, like buying a car, or a dog. I flew into a wild fit; I remember tearing the whole thing to shreds and throwing it away. I was baffled that anyone could view that as an acceptable thing to do. I then went outside to finish the tent and confront my dad. I don’t exactly remember what I said, but the next thing I remember is him picking me up and swinging me in a circle by my neck. My father choked me. I ran inside crying. I don’t think I understood what had happened entirely at that point. I called my mom and told her everything, and she instructed me to call the police, but I was scared and didn’t know what to say. So, being the great mother she is, she called for me. The next thing I remember my father, brother, and I were watching a “documentary” about 9/11 being an inside job. Then all of a sudden there was a knock at the front door; it was the police. The only specifics I remember about the police being inside the house was my father kept trying to get them to watch the video. I remember getting into the police car and being at the police station. My aunt came to get my brother and me until my mother could make the five-hour trip to pick us up.
This event is just one of many. The result from this is that instead of the original visitation agreement made by the court, where my brother and I were required to spend the entire summer with our father, I now only had to stay for four weeks. My brother still had to stay the whole summer.
Another memory I have is the day I made a two-mile walk with my father and brother taunting me from a van.
But that, my Dears, is for another post. Thank you so very much for taking time our of your busy days to read my posts.