Letting things go: Installment #2

I really feel like I have only briefly touched base on how screwed up things were for me during my teenage years. I remember a few events that stick out and I suppose some of these show in a way how dysfunctional we were. 

For example, I remember writing a poem for English class that I knew was really good but touched on a lot of the "do not EVER discuss" issues in my family. My teacher wanted me to submit it to our local youth writing contest but I was afraid to because I knew it would win and I would end up in deep shit at home. She convinced me to enter, I won, and we had to go to an award banquet with the other winners and their families and we each ended up reading our piece out loud to EVERYONE. I didn't know that ahead of time or you can bet I sure as shit wouldn't have entered. The whole ride home I was convinced my dad was going to kill us by crashing the car he was so pissed off at me. Not because I had aired our dirty laundry for others to see but because there wasn't anything wrong to begin with and I was an ungrateful bitch and nasty little liar for implying otherwise. Each participant was given an award certificate for their entry, when we got home dad took mine and burned it. In any normal family winning something like that would have been an accomplishment, although maybe not so much if it was about something private no one else was supposed to know about.

Anyway.... Just before I had left for college I had my last Therapy session and my therapist insisted that my parents be there so we could address some of my issues with them, namely my dad's drinking problem. I still don't know how she convinced me to bring this up to my dad since I was scared out of my mind with the idea of what was going to happen to me once we weren't in the safe room with her acting as mediator, but I did it. 

It was awful; I cried, he yelled, my mom cried, I yelled & the therapist had to step in more then once and tell my dad to sit down & be quiet so I could talk. I was so scared I shook through out the whole thing and was crying more out of fright than anything else. I thought for sure I was in for the beating of a lifetime as soon as we got home, but that's not how dad operated. He was the kind to give you a verbal lashing that was mentally devastating and never actually touch you. The therapist made him promise that there wouldn't be any kind of repercussions toward me after our talk and I remember sitting there thinking "Boy, are you naive Lady. What the hell do you think is going to happen when we leave here? You won't be around then to protect me." But for the most part she was right, at least he wasn't any worse to me than he normally was. He still denied that he had any kind of a problem though and yelled at me for wasting their money by convincing the therapist that we had problems we really didn't.  

This was the beginning of years of lying and attempted deception on my dad's part to hide his drinking from me. I think part of it was an honest attempt on his end to try and help me, though. I believe that deep down he was really disturbed to think that his drinking had that much of an effect on anyone but himself and he didn't want it to hurt me anymore. So, rather than admitting he had a problem and getting help, he just continued what he was doing (in fact he started drinking more) but whenever I would come home for a visit he would pretend like he didn't to make me feel better. It was always a big show about how he reformed he was and how he didn't do that anymore. He really wanted me to think well of him and tried very hard to prove to me he was better. I didn't want to hurt his feelings because I could see he was trying and that it meant a lot to him that I believed him, so I would pretend I did even though I knew the truth.

I honestly, don't know much about my family's problems in the years I was away at college. I went back home the summer after my first year of school and never lived there again. I loved being away from the burden of all those emotions and was happy for the first time in a very long time. I didn't want to know about their issues, I didn't want to have to deal with the dysfunction, or with dad's drinking; I liked my freedom better. I would still go back for visits of course but I found that by not being there my status had changed, I was missed and loved and spoilt when I came home now, because having me there was a novelty. I had become one of the outside people who they had to put in a face for and I loved it because it meant I could pretend we were normal. My sister was now the one having a hard time, she was the one who had to deal with things on a daily basis. I know she resented me for her burden and she has always insisted that once I left things got really bad, much worse than they had ever been while I was there. I can't say for sure if that is true or if because I as her protector was gone and she was older she was more aware of what had been there all along, but I am pretty sure she is right. 

Mum & dad separated during the year I graduated college and were divorced a year later. And that was the end of my pretend, I couldn't ignore what was happening anymore and I was dragged much against my will right into the thick of things.