(TRIGGER WARNING)
Imagine a small house, nothing fancy
With a perfectly manicured lawn and a white picket fence
Lots of children happily playing on a quiet street
The wood screen door slamming shut as they run in and out
In the kitchen, the wife is preparing a delicious meal
While after a hard day at work, the father sits back in his chair
Watching life unfold around him
I call it the ‘Leave It To Beaver’ dream
A fantasy taken from a popular 1950’s television show
Featuring the most idealistic, conservative family of the time
It was my father’s dream to have a family like that
But he was nothing like a 1950’s TV dad
My father lived in his own world
He liked to call himself, ‘an idea man’
Because he had ideas for everybody and everything
In reality, he was just a narcissist who liked telling people what to do
And if you didn’t listen to him and take his advice
You were either suffering from depression or delusional
Depression was his favourite reason to explain someone’s lack of participation
And according to him, a lot of people were depressed
I had seen this man on almost every occasion
Shake hands and compliment people
Only to turn his back and call them assholes and losers
It’s what narcissists do when they feel threatened
I don’t think he ever had any friends
Acquaintances yes, but friends, not in the true sense, no
He certainly would not have been a good friend
And this is where we transition into him not a being good father either
I have maybe only one or two nice memories of my father
The rest are so traumatic, I can only share pieces at a time
It’s only been five years since his passing
And I’m still triggered when I see men that look like him
A panic, and in the moment, I need to remind myself he’s no longer here
But it always takes a minute or two
You see, my father never saw me as his daughter
I was his possession, a tool, I served a function
He talked of what a proud father he was when I came into this world
How he took me everywhere and showed me off to everyone
But he lied about it all
The stories he told were all designed to make him look like a hero
It’s what all narcissists do
But he was nothing more than a villain
A man who punched holes in doors and walls
Drank too much at times and taunted my mother to tears
Never caring his children were in the next room crying
A violent and emotionally abusive man
One who often hid behind a staged image
Those are my earliest memories of him
My father lied to me my entire life
He tried to control every aspect of my life
Using every person involved in my life
His way of maintaining control
He would say I battled depression, an illness I was never diagnosed with
Pushed me into the arms of controlling men
Knowing he could control me through them
Instructing them to call him
Because he could tell them how to handle me
So when my boyfriend dragged me by the feet
Across the kitchen floor, a wooden porch and then down the stairs
Across a gravel driveway till I was thrown onto the front lawn in front of a few stunned spectators
And because I was screaming, crying, terrified
Ultimately responding in the most correct way
It was then I found out my father had spoken to and had advised this man
Because the words that were screamed into my face that night as I was dragged out like a piece of trash
Was that I was just as crazy as my father said I was, and he was told to drag me out on my ass
So how did it get to that point you ask?
Well, I had been cowered into the corner of a room because my bi-polar boyfriend had stopped taking his meds again
He had been screaming into my face, accusing me of stealing from him
A truly terrifying experience
And somewhere in between a conversation took place with my father who suggested how to ‘handle me’
I never went back after that night
But I really wanted to hurt him
And it was just one of the many things my father was responsible for
So no, Father’s Day is not a good day for me
It will never be a good day for me.
