I invited my dad and his girlfriend over for dinner tomorrow night. I don’t know why I did it. It’s making me crazy. I hate being near him for long periods of time, and I’ve totally invited him into my sacred space.
My dad is not my abuser. He may not have ever known what was going on. It certainly isn’t my intention to ever tell him.
He gets my anger because he SHOULD have known. Even if he didn’t know about the sexual abuse he knew about the drinking, the filth we lived in, the parentifying of a scared and lonely child.
He did nothing because it was convenient. He did nothing because his needs got met. He might as well have stepped over me oblivious to the world. He made me feel invisible and worthless.
Of course my inner child is still trying to get him to recognize and validate me. If we are in a room together watching tv and I find something funny, I immediately look to him to see if he finds it funny too. Am I right dad? Was it funny? Are YOU having fun because if you’re not screw it let’s watch something else. You first buddy.
I know why I invited him over. I want him to bear witness to my adulthood. My home, my husband, my success. Part of me wants him to validate it. Part of me wants to rub it in his face.
The parts…that’s another gift from this legacy of mine. I heard an expression once…”He’s like a 6 pack without the little plastic thingy to hold him together.” That’s what it’s like sometimes, but I’m rolling with a lot more than 6 cans 🙂 I think I have a fridge pack going on over here.
I shouldn’t complain. From what I understand I’m pretty lucky and resilient. For the most part my adult self is always present, even if not driving. I’m not saddled with lost time or behaviors I can’t account for. On the other hand sometimes the fear that comes from feeling paralyzed and powerless is overwhelming, and I wish I COULD check out.
I’ve been in therapy for years. I’ve finally found someone who can handle the DID – who actually brought it to MY attention because I had no idea what was going on. He is strong enough to tolerate the stories of my abuse without falling into a comforting role. I hate that – don’t want to be pittied. It took almost 3 years for me to tell him about my mom but he was ok with that…all the while he was making friends with my inner child and letting me test and test and push back. Now I worry sometimes that he will just drop dead or I will tell him something that will make him mad at me.
Ok I’m going to stop now. Too much. Too tired, scared angry. Need a book, not a hug.