Muttly
Diamond Member
I don't even know exactly what to call him. The dad? the bio-dad? The father? That man. The abuser... It was all so messed up. Because... he wasn't all bad. In so many ways he was the best one in the family to me. I write that but I feel dirty. Because there is a word I hate. A word I struggle to speak or write. "groom'. Undoubtedly he did that. Ugh.
I have good memories. Throwing a football with him, skiing, camping, flying kites. He was the one who taught me how to be a functioning adult. He was the one who saw me more as I am. I think some of that was real. I know it helped make me who I am. I am not like the mother or brother. they are trapped in the family cycle - abuse, addictions, mental illness, disability. I made it out. In so many ways I'm ok. In so many ways I'm like the father.
But... but ... he was an abuser. he hit and screamed and treated women like sex objects and made me what I am. There is that part of me that is still there. That is still his sex toy even though I haven't seen him for years. That still plays out that role. I hate it. I have spent so much time trying to destroy it and I have scars all over my body. That part is strong and active right now. It's his birthday. We see him in the store and then realize it's some other man and that the father would be much older now.
Some parts expect him to show up. To demand. It's going to be his birthday. we are supposed to make him happy. We are supposed to be the good one. We expect his anger and coercion. We expect the whole family drama, because they all wanted us to be his. Better me than them. The mother knew and was glad he wasn't all over her. The brother... well... I don't think he knew? But he was still happy to let us be the caretaker. To be the one to meet the parents needs.
I have good memories. Throwing a football with him, skiing, camping, flying kites. He was the one who taught me how to be a functioning adult. He was the one who saw me more as I am. I think some of that was real. I know it helped make me who I am. I am not like the mother or brother. they are trapped in the family cycle - abuse, addictions, mental illness, disability. I made it out. In so many ways I'm ok. In so many ways I'm like the father.
But... but ... he was an abuser. he hit and screamed and treated women like sex objects and made me what I am. There is that part of me that is still there. That is still his sex toy even though I haven't seen him for years. That still plays out that role. I hate it. I have spent so much time trying to destroy it and I have scars all over my body. That part is strong and active right now. It's his birthday. We see him in the store and then realize it's some other man and that the father would be much older now.
Some parts expect him to show up. To demand. It's going to be his birthday. we are supposed to make him happy. We are supposed to be the good one. We expect his anger and coercion. We expect the whole family drama, because they all wanted us to be his. Better me than them. The mother knew and was glad he wasn't all over her. The brother... well... I don't think he knew? But he was still happy to let us be the caretaker. To be the one to meet the parents needs.