It turns out I had a predisposition to being in an abusive relationship. The cliche is that we seek partners in the image of our parents, and I was, after all, a daddy’s girl. Because my coping-skill-of-choice was putting a rosy glow on all my memories so I didn’t have to be pathological, I didn’t realize I had anything but a perfect childhood.
My parents were loving and emotional. They were lots of fun, and we had many experiences together, rather than indulging in material goods (not as if we had a choice). I remember hiking and camping as a family when I was younger. I remember them teaching me important things. I had a tumultuous relationship with both of my parents, but what teenager doesn’t? It wasn’t until I learned about the Ace Study that I was faced for the first time that my childhood was anything but idyllic.
My father was mentally ill. He probably was before Vietnam, and believe me, what he took part in out there didn’t help. He also spent the rest of his life in fear of being diagnosed schizophrenic and avoided diagnosis and treatment. When he returned home from his 2 tours, he got a dog and lived in a cave in a canyon for a few years. Of course, this was just likely a cabin in Singing Springs. Dad was always one for Hyperbole. Mostly, he was a fun dad. He wasn’t a particularly mean drunk, mostly picking on my mother, so we didn’t notice much when we were small. We barely saw him, anyway, he would take off for weeks at a time, mom insisting he “had to work late.”
He was just as consistent when they finally broke up. Mom said she stopped telling us when he was supposed to pick us up on the weekend because she couldn’t stand our sad faces when he didn’t show up again. If he did, it was a “giant surprise.” When I hit adolescence, I decided I hated my mother and went to live with dad. I was 16 at the time, having recently acquire my license. He handed me his car keys and told me that I needed to be home by 6 (AM) because he needed to leave for work. I was left to my own devices with only these directives: 1. Be safe, 2. Call if you need help, and 3. Don’t ever lie. I was somewhat aware that the vehicle was not insured, but didn’t really understand the full gravity of that fact at the time.
His parenting style was basically to leave me alone, which was the opposite of my mother, and what I was rebelling against. We both lied to each other about our drug use, and I somehow managed to both stay out of legal trouble and remain alive. I grew up fast, but I was far less mature than I led myself to believe. Like most teenagers, I thought I had it all figured out. Unlike most of my friends, I had the means to test my theories.
I fought a lot with my dad, I mirrored the relationship I watched him have with my mother. I even read my mom’s part in a live performance of a poem he’d written about their relationship. When I grew up and sought a partner to live out my fantasy of having the wedded bliss my parents missed out on, I sought my father’s effigy instead. I found him, and boy, did they hate each other, being too similar, of course. If I’d had anything resembling experience at the time, I would have taken that as enough of a deterrent. But I was in love and I was going to have my dream if I had to pretend it into being. As long as I had my rose colored glasses, I was on my way.
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happinessinavacuum 