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Sick to death of my family

Posted by Quintal on May 11, 2008, at 8:23:19

My dad in particular. I was on painting my front and back doors, and the job was going so well - I was in a good mood and looking forward to getting the job finished today. Then I found my front door key was missing. Only one person could have taken it - my dad, because I sure as hell didn't move it and he is the only one that has been in my house (or is likely to do such a thing). I could tell the way this was going to go before I even called him - anger, denial and blaming me for the problem.

"Have you seen my front door key?"

"I've moved nothing!!!"

"I didn't say you had."

"Why are you being so nasty?"

"I don't think I am. I simply asked you a question."

"Don't get funny with me sunshine."

"I'm not getting funny with you. I'd just like you to answer my question."


"Could you please just check to see if you have it anywhere in your house?"

"I'VE MOVED NOTHING!!! I've never seen any of your keys."

"Could you please just go and check for me?".

Five minutes later:

"There's one here with a yellow tag on it. Is that it?"

"It could be. Could you bring it down for me please?"

[Groaning and huffing and puffing.] "Arrrgh. Do I have to?"

"Yes, please. If you could just bring it for me. I need it today"

He brought it down, and no, it didn't fit. It was the back door key. More tantrums and outbursts of rage ensued while I myself tried to keep a lid on my rising temper. It was me that was left with a door that wouldn't open afterall, and almost certainly due to his carelessness and forgetfulness. I'm so sick of things like this happening, and me having to live with the consequences. When I was in hospital he came into my home and threw out a great deal of stuff that had sentimental value for me, but in his eyes were rubbish to be gotten rid of. He also had my dog spayed against my wishes, and I just can't forgive him for that. The week before I went in to hospital I *begged* him not to have it done, and he agreed not to do it. It's getting to the point where I can't stand the sight of him.

At times I find myself wishing he would die and leave me in peace. We have this pattern where he will say something to provoke me, then blame me for being angry. It wears my already limited patience thin, and I start to resent him being here. In the past I asked him to go for counselling, and later, go on medication to control his temper because it was making me ill to live with this behaviour. He's a brute when he's had a drink or two. Many times, when I was younger - soon after my mother died, he nearly drove me to suicide on several occasions, then blamed me for having suicidal feelings. He's an extremely aggressive and obnoxious person, especially in drink. Often I'd go and hide in my room on a weekend when I knew he'd been drinking, but even that wasn't enough - he'd come and find me, then verbally abuse me. By the time I was nineteen my confidence my in tatters and my nerves were constantly on edge. It was like living in a battle ground. I have no love for him any more. That died long ago.

Anyway, thank you for listening. I just needed to vent. At times I feel like a pressure cooker just waiting to explode. If I'm not careful he'll push me into having a relapse, and I just can't let that happen. To be honest, when I was younger I seriously considered killing him, either by poison or stabbing. It was one of the fantasies that kept me going through that time. Sometimes I'd take a knife into my bedroom just to feel safe for when he came for me. At times I felt pretty close to using it, but the most I ever did was throw a cup at his head (I didn't expect it to hit - my aim is so poor, but it did). He played this up to my social worker when I was in hospital, but I was pleased when she said she guessed there was another side to him because of some of the things he'd said. I'm grateful she now recognizes that the stress he put me under was a major factor in my eventual mental 'breakdown'. It continues to be a problem, even though we now live apart (by my request). I can't trust or confide in him. He isn't (and never really was) a parent to me. Quite the reverse.





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