This is a post following the one previous. Again I attach a trigger warning so consider this before you read.
So my mum and dad somehow, and for some reason I will never ever understand. More lack of understanding my mother than anything. They got back together. It started off with them just meeting up without anyone knowing. Not even us kids, I presume it happened that way anyway. After a while my mother started visiting my dads when I went. Then she’d bring my older sister and little brother too. It was weird but we kids just kinda went with it. I think I was 14/15 maybe. My dad was all of a sudden a changed man. They started the happy families shit. Took us out. Played games together. (more going swimming, grr) I guess some of it was nice. Soon enough she was moving him into our home. My big brother hated it. He beat my dad up in our kitchen, I didn’t even care that he had. My sister was screaming for my brother to stop. They became friends again eventually but my brother needed to get revenge or whatever for the things my dad had done to my mum before. So yeah. Everything was apparently happy.
All seemed to be going well. Except my dads drinking, my mother going over the top on the wine, and the laying in bed most evening listening to my mother begging him to stop. I have to admit that many nights I fantasized about going in there and killing him to stop him doing whatever my mother begged him to stop doing. His drinking was pretty bad. I suppose he was pretty grumpy too. We kinda knew how to keep things happy though, and I did loads for my little brother and stuff. Even did all the house work and stuff like that. My mum and dad were having parties and stuff a fair bit. Lots of beer, wine, soap bar (cannabis) and god knows what else. I think I became a bit of a recluse and stayed in my room. I had school work and stuff to be getting on with anyway. We barely saw my aunt. Because my dad wasn’t keen on her, she wasn’t him either. I don’t think things would have changed so drastically had some bad things happened regarding me.
Admittedly throughout my dads time back at home he still had his nasty words and kinda ruled me with a slap or two. Never beatings like when I was young though but when I was assaulted sexually at 15 things took a bad turn…
I didn’t tell anyone about it for a while after except my best friend. He ended up telling my mum I don’t know why, but the next I knew my mother was furious with me. I was sent to my room and told “just you wait until your dad gets home” I waited and waited. It felt like hours. I heard him, he immediately came storming upstairs to me and shouted his way through the door telling me what a fucking slut I was. I wasn’t his daughter. How I was dirty and an embarrassment to the family I ought to be ashamed of myself. All said alongside smack after smack. I couldn’t get away from him. He wouldn’t let me speak to tell him what had really happened. Eventually he stopped and told me I wasn’t allowed to leave my room. I didn’t dare disobey. I remember going and curling up on my bed. I cried so bad. I was ashamed like he said I should be. I think that may be the first time I actually tried to self harm. I wanted my life to be over.
The exact time things happened after is sketchy but I ended up telling them what really happened. My dad still said he was disgusted in me, that I was hard enough to fight a man off. I was taken for police interviews and examinations anyway, and did a video interview thing. My mother couldn’t do it with me, and sent my aunt. I think I really truly lost her support the day I was assaulted. Anyway, so I ended up at victim support counselling. My parents must have been okay with it because I had to go by bus to get there. So they must have paid, I don’t even know. After a while though I was still self harming, life at home was getting worse. So I decided I was finished. My life needed to be over.
After the assault my dad changed majorly towards me. He was worse. I don’t think he realised how badly it had effected me. He was always say how now I was dirty. How I was disgusting and he couldn’t stand to look at me, but he also made a point of keeping telling me he knew 100% I could have fought that man off. After so long just saying it wasn’t enough. He would wait until I was with him alone and wrestle me to the floor getting me into the position id explained had happened in the police interview. He’d hold me down. Laughing as I tried to fight him off and tell me I could fight the man off. I’d go crazy punching and striking at him but he’d never get off. He was so twisted and sinister. He’d have me stuck and start poking my body and stuff, telling me if I really wanted him to gt off i could have made him and how I must have wanted it. Again going through how I was dirty and etc. It’s no wonder really I decided to try to overdose.
Clearly it didn’t work. I did end up seeing my t though which was good. My dad however did not like me having a therapist. In fact he hated it. He never mentioned my trying to kill myself or anything though.
My first ever real therapy session wasn’t attended with a parents supervision like you’d expect. Instead my mother sent my neighbour along with me. She didn’t want to go. She rejected my need for her support I guess. Therapy was ok though. It brought about my DID diagnosis, which I don’t think my parents ever knew about, and it allowed me to be honest about the abuse (sexual and otherwise) I had as a child. It was difficult for me to get there though. I spent a lot of time in between sessions arguing with my father because he said my t was putting things into my head. He said i was weak for needing her and blahblahblah. You’d think that knowing I went there he’d have stopped pinning me down, hitting me and being a little too touchy wouldn’t you? But no. It just gave him reason to hate me more. He drank more, then hit me more. My life was a living hell. In between having to raise my little brother, school and looking after a house, I was dodging his fist or perverse hand.
It got to a stage where he was just a nightmare. He’d dislike what clothes I wore, how I did my hair, how I spoke. Basically everything I did. My self harm what at its highest. I always wore sweat bands to cover my wrists. Soon enough though my parents realised what the sweat bands were hiding. Then along came strip searches every few days. I’m not talking about a quick check either. My mum and dad would make me strip to pants at around 16 and check my body for cuts. Embarrassing is not the word. My dad would also make sure he was there, and the search could only be over if he said he was satisfied I hadn’t harmed myself. I suppose it could be said that they were just being extra vigilant parents, but I think there was more to it than that. It got strange when my dad would lift my top and stuff on occasion and say, just checking baby girl. I hated it when he called me that because it always meant he wanted something and triggered bad thoughts in my mind about other stuff.
My dad was just extremely inappropriate. All throughout my life. I think once i reached 16 i decided enough was enough. I was done, i told t about him being too touchy. I can’t deny the fact that my father touched me inappropriately. I have tried, but i cannot deny it, did he do more than touch? I do not know. Do i think he could have? It would explain a lot if he had! I ignored his advance 99% of the time. I was used to it after all, but one particular time made me have no choice but to tell T. He came home drunk, i had my little brother in my bed with me because he couldn’t sleep, he’d had a nightmare or something. Anyway, my dad came straight to my room when he got home. I had a nightdress on, and had pants on, because my little brother was sleeping beside me, my father though came in. Slurring his words, that stupid smile on his face. That sick smile. He stood beside my bed, it was a cabin bed kind, so i was at his arms height. He started to grope me, i said my little brother was here, to stop. He carried on though saying he needed to check that i wasn’t cut. His hands around my boobs was to check that i hadn’t self harmed?? Bearing in mind a few month before this incident they’d finally cut back the self harm strip searches. Anyway i remember saying, what if (lil bro) wakes up, stop it. It must have clicked in his head the consequences if (lil bro) witnessed him doing that because he took his hands away, which had made their way to my pelvic area, and again said that he was just checking for cuts. He went into his bedroom then to my mother, and I laid listening to her begging him not to. Again i wanted to kill him as he did whatever she wanted him to stop. Anyway, i had to tell T that time, because he did it when my little brother was there. I didn’t want him to see me get hurt. Not ever. Not that telling T did anything, because it made things worse, but still. I told.
I received some harshness for doing so, and it was made so much more difficult to go see T. I got a few beatings and hated even more. I don’t know why i thought it would make my life any better!!! Naivety i suppose.
Another memory i have of my father is also of him drunk. I don’t remember when it happened, but he came home from the pub, i don’t know if this was the same night as the previous memory, but he ended up sleeping in my little brothers bed, so my little brother must have been asleep with me or my mum, anyway the morning after we all woke up. My dad was still asleep, naked, everything out. I do not know how, nor do i want to, but he had faeces all over my little brothers bed. He had basically shit himself!! God it was nasty. He then tried to say my little brother had done it. I couldn’t let him blame him. I said if my little brother was brave enough to go take a shit on him during the night then he deserved a medal. My dad hated that. I mocked him. Slaps followed. It is dirty though that. drinking so much that you can;t control your bodily functions. Dirty bastard!
What with my fathers fab personality, i have nothing at all to do with him now. Well i kinda don’t. I hate the guy, he makes me sick, i wish he’d disappear, i can’t ignore him though. Stupidly i accepted him on Facebook. I don’t let him see what i post, but i accepted. Only because i feel guilty. Why should i feel guilty right?? I don’t even know. Each time he talks to me i hate it. He says hi daughter, or hi baby girl. it makes me feel sick. It feels like the way he talks to me, he is still trying to gain control back. I wish i could ignore him. I suppose I’m a fool….