Wow it’s been awhile for this journal, eh?
I’ve often reminisced about how I had little to say about my dad. That I just hate him, he’s an asshole, end of story, no need to look further.
Shit.
I’ve often thought about and written of my mother, who I largely gave blame to for my childhood. After all, it was she who chose my dad. She who gave him children. She who not only failed to protect us but offered us up to him with hardly a compunction.
And, all that might be true.
But it doesn’t touch the foundation of terror that characterized my childhood.
I asked that hatred of my father, what it was that it was protecting me from. And it told me that I could never go back, once I knew.
Double shit.
I said, okay. I’m ready. Tell me. I had to hate my dad. In order to protect my soul- the very essence which is me- from being scooped out and thrown into the dark abyss where the evil things dwell. And oh, do they do more than dwell. They claw and eviscerate and scream with blood evaporative force. They consume. And once my soul is scooped out, a demon enters my body. It wants my body
It wants my body just as it wanted my father’s body, when he was a little boy. Someone scooped him out and fed him into that abyss. Someone sacrificed my father to the demons. And this- this Compassion which I feel now, most strongly- the urge to step in to try to save him and to put myself at risk in order to have a loving father. THIS IS WHAT MY HATRED PROTECTED ME FROM. My compassion for my dad.
It hurts. Knowing that I hated him in order to save myself from the same fate. Knowing that that selfishness was actually my saving grace. I hated my compassion for him in order to remain mySelf.
It hurts to know that I am as selfish as they always said. I’m a selfish little manipulative shit. Incapable of love. I have no feelings. They were right.
They really were.
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