The Story She Never Told
TW: Abuse
The following is a personal essay submitted by J. Alexandra
From the moment you’re born, there are very few lessons that get instilled in your mind. Some examples include: boys have cooties, vegetables are good for you, cursing is bad, etc. As a kid you ingest these lessons and live by them until you're old enough to know otherwise. However, there was always one lesson that stuck out like a sore thumb, a “no brainer” if you will. How could it be true that no one would ever love you more than your parents? She was aware of the fact that her parents did not live together, certainly not a couple. She knew that packing a weekender bag to go “sleep at dads”, was a foreign concept for most kids her age. What she struggled to come to terms with was that her dad telling her that she's ugly, that she made his life miserable, and that she was the biggest mistake he had ever made was far from normal. I am she.
Did I know my father did not love me? Yes. I felt it in every part of my body. He never explicitly said it, but he didn’t have to. Did I know that this was not how the typical father acted towards his daughter? No. Call me crazy, call me a liar, call me whatever you want, but I thought the emotional, mental, and physical abuse that became a part of my daily routine was typical. I didn’t talk to anyone about it, not because I was scared or ashamed but, because I thought everyone shared similar relationships. I didn't know anything different - I was numb. Every year fathers day would roll around and all my classmates would be so full of excitement to make a special fathers day craft for their dads, and so I followed suit. No one talked about abuse enough for me to comprehend what it was or to know that I was engulfed in it. It was not until I was around the age of ten that I realized my father, the man who was supposed to be my protector and smother me with unconditional love, was my biggest enemy.
Fast forward what feels like an eternity, here I am today. It has been nine years and ten months since my father has been a part of my life. Nine years and ten months of freedom, or so I thought. I can honestly say the years after leaving my father and moving away with my mom have been the hardest of my life. Despite the fact I went through ten years of abuse as a child, I have never felt so trapped, lost, and broken. I cannot fully put into words how it felt living in constant fear that I would unexpectedly run into him, receive a text from him, or simply just hear his name. It was the worst form of torture I had ever known. I never truly understood how deeply affected I was until I moved four hours away for university. What I told myself, in my head, was that I was moving away because I “liked my independence”. It did not take long to discover the real reason. I could walk down the street and not have to look over my shoulder anymore. I could hear my name in public and not be afraid to look for who said it. I was free, or again, so I thought. I never talked about what I went through as a child because I didn't really want to believe it myself. I wanted to pretend it didn't happen, and that he did not exist. I now understand that this suppression and inability to confront my trauma was the worst thing I could have done for myself. It built walls around me stronger than any concrete known to man. It deprived me of the ability to trust anyone. It made me the most emotionally unavailable person you could possibly think of. To put it simply, it fucked me up.
I did not, and still do not, know how to accept love. In fact, I even fought love because I thought it was fake. If you were to ask my friends they would say my favorite phrase was “love is a lie.” I always said it in a joking manner, but in the back of my mind I believed it. I asked myself almost daily, “if your own father couldn't love you, how could anyone else?” I won't sit here and lie, sometimes I still ask myself that very question. I found myself running away from every relationship I could, and settling for relationships that I thought I deserved, and they were anything but healthy. I questioned how anyone else could love me, especially myself. Something had to be wrong with me, something had to make me unlovable. I shared two siblings from my dad, yet I was the only one who faced the abuse to the extent I did, and I never understood why - until now. My father's whole life he controlled everyone and anyone around him. He was, amongst many things: a pathological liar, and world class manipulator, and people fell at his feet. But not me. I remember being 5 years old, taking my dad’s house phone and calling my mom to come pick me up. I would ask my dad when he was planning on dropping me off at moms. As much as I knew he was not my biggest fan - he knew he wasn't mine, and it drove him crazy. However, just because he could not control me does not mean I was not scared, in fact, I was petrified.
What I would want someone to take away from my personal experience is this: no one is ever going to love you more than you, and it is about damn time we start teaching that to kids. It does not matter if it is your parents, siblings, grandparents, or the cute guy in your science class; love demands to be earned. The only person you are obligated to love is you. I put my tail between my legs and was the quiet, submissive, weak daughter my father wanted, and that did me no good. If only I had loved myself a little bit more it would have saved me some internal and external wounds. It was not until I grew some love and self respect for myself that I left. I will admit the years after I left my father that love for myself dissolved and I was weak, once again, but that's because my internal wounds had left some bad scars. I am the person I am today because of them. He did not win, I did. No matter what your current situation is, never stop loving yourself, love yourself so much that if it wasn't you, you'd break up with yourself. I promise it will give you the strength, the will, the power, and the drive to overcome anything. My father didn't love me, and that's okay, because I do.