Parents are supposed to be the protectors of the young, innocent children that they bring into this world. Be there for guidance during times of struggle to bring about the silver linings of all dark clouds that may cross over us in life. Bring happiness to them, making memories that they can pass on to the next generation.
However, as much as we wish for this to be the case, it’s not always true. Life is funny like that. It deals out hands to many, hoping that they can learn and grow however many falter as it becomes too much.
Sometimes I wonder why I haven’t yet. My life has always been hard, though I’ve been blessed with pockets of happiness to clear out the darkness that regularly threatens to break me. However, that doesn’t mean I’ve been spared from that darkness.. no. Far from it. Yet I try to smile and continuously strive to see the best in every situation. I’ll admit, some times I fail.
Like today. I mentioned about how parents should protect you and love you. But what happens when they choose to be selfish, throwing themselves into drugs which allow the untapped mental illnesses they have to blossom into an uncontrollable mess that destroys not just their lives, but their children as well?
In my case, it meant more horrifying situations that I was thrusted into that no child should ever go through never. As an adult, I still try and heal. Battling with my depression and the need to see everything in a glass half full mentality. Though, I have moments where it slips and I feel the darkness surround me in a cocoon of pain that pours through me. I’m trying everyday to be strong, but it’s hard. I’m struggling more than anyone knows.
Lately, it’s been triggered by my father, whom fell privy to teenage drug use and the dormant Schizophrenia took over him. Throwing his life into chaos. Twenty years ago, he was at a point of no return (high on his usual cocktail of drugs & alcohol and then toss in a schizophrenic episode) when he stepped in front of a moving train, hands out, thinking he could stop the train. But alas, he could not and was thrown twenty feet, suffering a massive head trauma rendering him to a childlike persona. One where he doesn’t remember all the horrible things he did, especially to you.
He was placed in a home to live and be watched, reminded to medicate daily, as he isn’t fit to live on his own, his schizophrenia so bad that if one day of medication is skipped he will be thrown into a violent rage. When medicated, he is docile and has a mindset like he is still in high school, ranting about a car that he used to own before one of his brothers stole it.
It’s heartbreaking on so many levels to me that anytime I see him call, I get hurricane of emotions, unsure of what the end result is.
Deep down, I’ll always love my father as he is the reason I’m born. But… if I’m to be honest with myself, he was never a father to me. He loved me, yes, but in two ways, which causes bile to threaten to rise as I forever suppress the visions of those moments of me as a helpless child.
Who he is today is a shell of a man who can’t remember the last thing he ate. He calls me everyday, if not multiple times a day, just to “talk to his little girl who he hasn’t spoken to in so long,” forgetting we spoke the day before. It’s maddening and saddening. He doesn’t remember anything from the past. Just that I’m his “baby girl” and that he loved me.
Part of me wants to block him from calling so I don’t have to constantly have the same conversation with him. I’m beginning to come unhinged. To constantly have to remind him, my father, a man who hurt me so deeply in the past, what is ok and what’s not. I’m crumbling.
Then the other part feels awful for where he is in his life. Truly alone. The rest of the family disowned him after the mayhem he caused on so many avenues as well as their inability to handle his mental state. As it’s hard. But I find myself trying, hoping that I’ll learn about who he is, what his likes and dislikes were despite his appetite for drugs and alcohol. But it’s like listening to a broken record, repeating the same track over and over and over again… making you want to scream STOP!!!!
I don’t know what to do. I really don’t. I try and manage the calls and the conversations as best as I can but it’s hard. It makes all other communication with others harder as the strength I have to gather for a phone call from him depleted my social battery faster than you can say “Merry Fucking Christmas”.
But if I’m to be honest, he’s not the only one causing distress. My mother as well who is in her own hell of her own. After being pressured into sex, landing herself pregnant and forced into a teenage marriage, she fell into selling and using drugs with my father, awakening her Severe bipolar disorder in full gear.
Fast forward to today… she’s on disability, lives on the street in a trailer, managing her bipolar while also watching over my brother… who out of all my siblings went down the same path, killing his brain with drugs and causing the hereditary gene of Schizophrenia that is in our blood to bust out into the strongest forms.
So much more to be said… but I’ll stop for now as this is moving in a direction that I didn’t intend. Another day I’ll delve further.
But, I’ll end with this. What does one do when the parents meant to love and cherish you, break you at such a young age? Then you grow to heal your broken heart to find it shattered again with a feeling of responsibility to be there for them? I’m struggling to come to grips with what I should do.
My eldest sister (who got out early) doesn’t have anything to do with them. My eldest brother (schizophrenic) does because of my mom only. And my youngest half brother has contact, though minimal as he also got out early and was raised by someone else.
I just feel at a loss. I do have love but I also have a lot of hurt. Hurt that has been heavily masked from the severe PTSD that I live through on a daily.
I try to be happy, everyday, being grateful I’m alive. Normally I succeed, causing others to call me fake. Though, if they only knew my inner struggles that force me to live that way in fear of what I would be should I let my past dictate my future.
However…. When the past calls, that control over my happiness breaks and sadness rolls through me. I feel like this is a loosing situation.
I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.