Was my mum emotionally incestious?

I showed my wife a family photo from when I was 17 (before I'd left home). We were all sat around the table in our usual order (it never changed);

4yr OLD ME
MUM
8 yr OLD
DAD
16 yr OLD 12 YR OLD

My wife (intuitive as she is) pointed the following out; Why is it that you are sat next to the two youngest in the family? It's normal for the parents (both of them) to have the youngest sat down next to them to ensure they are ok. Normally it would be babe, mum, next youngest, dad. Whereas in this picture I'm playing the role of dad. And it's as if mum is looking after dad, who is then sat next to the next oldest 16yr old sister.

Further, my wife pointed out that in many families, if dad was useless, it would have fallen to the next oldest girl (certainly if they were 16) to look after smaller sisters. Not so in my family.

It was almost as if I was a dad to the family. Where my dad was liable to fly into a temper, I was more likely to play with my sisters. Where my dad was unavailable, I was available. My mum couldn't rely on my dad, but she could (and did) rely on me. I was stable, calm, positive.

Before now I wondered whether we were allies. Allies against the raging monster that could be my dad. We were the buffer between dad and everyone else (including our family?).

The trouble is however, that there was a sicky yucky thing too from my mum (and I don't know if it was just with me - or with all of us. I suspect the latter). So as a result my mum had this knack of getting me to do anything she wanted through coercion, control, manipulation and guilt. When I did whatever it was the worst was the sickly feeling I felt afterwards - when she would communicate that I had done it out of an undying love for her. gf jasdg jasdg j even now that makes me feel sick. It's why I can't send her mother's day cards. Struggle sending her any card. Struggle saying love at the bottom of emails. Because it's like looking into a bottomless pit. I throw her some love, and she simply latches onto it and demands more until there is nothing left.

It's no wonder I have issues! It's no wonder I'm not emotional available to my family - because to be so would result in losing everything to this wraith like creature.

It's also no wonder that when I left home it was like a schism opened up between me and everyone else in the family - and all for different reasons! My mum had lost the stable man in the household. She'd lost her ally. The one who could depend on to do anything she wanted him to. My sisters had lost the stable man too. My dad - what had he lost? The ability to control his son.

It's no wonder it's been so bloody difficult. When I left home it was like hell itself sprung open. I had to contend with a raging dad (you are not doing it my way son), a mum who couldn't understand why I'd left her (please come and see me, write to me, speak to me), and sisters who both had to live through the middle of that whilst also being cut off from the one stable man they'd known.

g hassssssssssssssssssssssssssssghhhhh

Poor me!

Karl Jung - thinking, feeling, emotions, intuition - and where am I?

How am I doing? Karl Jung defined four basic types where our conscious and unconscious operates;

Thinking, intuition, emotions, feeling. Each of us is operating more strongly in one, and thereby weaker in another. My therapist continually asks me how I feel about things -so clearly that's the area that I've subjugated - despite the fact that I think that as a boy this may have been my strongest area. I wonder if my therapist were to meet someone who is over emotional - he would ask what they are thinking..

As a boy I think I was (and still am) very sensitive. Very sensitive to other people, very easily rejected (though I'm guessing that's as much to do with a sense of identity/security). My dad and the world pressed on me, forcing me to abandon my feelings for working things out, namely thinking/logic. I thereby built strong defences against my feelings (which hurt too much) in order to get on in the world. And to a large degree these have got me to where I am today. Married, children, managing director of my own business. However - they have also got me to the point where I have not looked to see how others feel. Because other's feelings are also too much for me - as mine are.

I somehow see feelings as weak, passive, door mat, turn the other cheek - everything which is not masculine. How can I as a man operate as a man if I feel my way through things? My dad gave me no example of how to feel as a man, and I saw my mum as far to weak emotionally - she can't talk about her mum without crying. She's sentimental, with a yucky controlling effect. No wonder I ran a mile from feeling. I didn't want that!

Interestingly a Myers Briggs test showed me as a ENFJ. Extrovert, Intuitive, Feeling and needing structure/order. Intuitive and feeling. The opposite of me is ISTP. Namely Introverted, relies on the five Senses, Thinking and experiences life through perception (lack of order). My wife is an ISTJ. Common for jobs which require rational thinking, not given to too much emotion.

So deep down I am a sensitive, soft, emotional, feeling, intuitive man. But I want to project (Karl Jung calls it my theatre face) strong, capable, masculine, rational man. I must be able to keep up with banter, hold my own in a group, not appear to be the weak one. Yet to do this requires my defences - because before I had them I was the butt of jokes, couldn't hold my own in a group and did appear to be the weak one.

Coming back to Jung, he says that I have repressed my feelings/intuitive side. So my conscious mind works with the defences, but my unconscious mind says - woa - you are feeling here. It breaks out (as the unconscious does) in my IBS, exhaustion and weariness. I take stock, go to therapy, and start to look at my feelings. Woa - I have them. And they are hurting (because I have been ignoring them for so long). They have been hurt (by external influences). They are feeling hurt now - so I need to allow myself to have the space to feel again. Feel the pain, the hurt, the anger, the rejection and the rage. Presumably somewhere there must be feelings of joy - though I think I have allowed myself to feel positive things (joy, excitement, happiness, desire) and suppressed so called negative feelings (sadness, anger, rage, grief, pain, hurt).

I have never been a thinker. Not in the way others are. Theories have never interested me. Science never has either - and by that I mean relativity, chaos theory etc. Neither has philosophy, nor religion. I don't sit and ponder the questions to life. I don't read voraciously anything to do with science. Science fiction maybe, but otherwise not. Although I am bright, I am not an intellectual. I'm useless at general knowledge. Find it difficult to retain facts which don't interest me. I'm much more into people. Historically this has been leadership, mentoring, friendship. I'm not so sure where I go from here, but that's certainly been the case to now.

However, that said, I do have a sharp mind. I work things out quickly (if they are worth knowing) which I guess is my intuition. I do have a rational/logical mind - so can quickly get to the root of an issue - far quicker than anyone else - which makes me a natural leader. By working things out, again, I don't mean meaningless theories, but real life practical issues. This covers even technical issues (in the arena of computing which is what I studied at university and my business is based on) - I find this easy as computing is really just logic.

So, I can think very logically, but am also pretty intuitive. Nowhere near as intuitive as my wife however. She works people out (what makes them tick) very very quickly. In fact it quite can be quite unnerving how quickly she does it. And how accurate she can be about people and situations long before anyone else can see it.

Anyway - before I get lost in logic again, the point is is that therapy is getting me to focus on my feelings. The feelings I've repressed. I want to be a whole person, and in order to become whole I need to allow myself to feel again. And that alone is a painful process..








So therapy is taking me through the process of

Escaping the moment rather than living in it

Read through any self help manual and they will talk about living in the moment. What a great thing to do. You can enjoy the sunshine, the way your wife looks at you, the way you child giggles, a friend shares, the warm stone floor under your feet, the song of the bird WOOOORRRRRRP.

Unless of course the moment hurts. Sucks. Is painful, full of guilt. Then the moment is to be escaped. Pretend it's not there. Live for the future, when all will be well. Aim for the future. Keep it non specific. And just keep fighting.

I think that's me. Escape the moment. Forget things you are supposed to do, places you are supposed to be, chores I'm supposed to run. Don't give me an envelope to post - it will never get there. Tell me at 10am to pick someone up at 4pm - and I'll forget. Whether it's relating to the girls, my wife or me - I forget. Weirdly I'm more likely to remember meetings at work - but I guess I need to impress there.

Why do I forget? Why am I soooo terrible at remembering basic responsibilities? Is it because I don't want to live in the moment? The moment at home was painful. Like living in a POW camp. Not to be savoured. To be endured. Living for the moment when I may be free.

When I lived at home I couldn't wait to get married. I looked with jealousy and envy at young married couples. I longed to be married, and to run a church.

Basically I had a stunted life. With stunted options.

When therapy is over, I'm hoping that I will enjoy living in the moment. In fact if I'm not then I should not end therapy.

Projecting my dad & mum onto my wife

Karl Jung - bless him. An incredible man, who went to extraordinary lengths in order to understand the psyche - or the whole person. I'm reading a quick summary of Jung, and following on from my last post it turns out that not only am I projecting my father on to my poor wife, but I'm also projecting my mum. It's a wonder we are still married.

When I'm at home with my wife I feel trapped. Claustrophobic even. I feel guilty if I don't do something, but at the same time I don't want to do anything. It's ok if we go out (on holiday without the children, for a walk etc.) - but at home, it's like I'm stuck. I always thought it WAS my wife. But as I proceed on the path of therapy I'm now seeing that it's actually how I felt when I was living with my parents.

My dad - well that's pretty well documented in this blog. But my mum.. she had a way of smearing me with almost incestuous yuckiness whenever I did anything that she wanted me to do, and similarly a yucky guiltiness if I did something she didn't want me to do to. So as a result if I did something at home, say a chore, or a hobby, my mum would have this way of praising me whilst sucking all the goodness out of it. She did it completely unconsciously, but the end result was the same.

Like the wraith in Stargate Atlantis - needing life from other humans to survive - so they literally sucked it from others until the human was dead.

So there I am at home, not really wanting to be there as I feel that my mum is stalking the house. Despite the fact I left home over 20 years ago. I now project that same fear, guilt, yuckiness onto my poor unsuspecting wife. I blame my wife for my feelings of unease. "You are too clingy, needy, you make me feel guilty, I can't rest when I am at home...".

So why do I feel it now? Why is it that if my wife is out I feel relaxed, and will even start jobs or hobbies. Yet when she is around I'm paralysed. I hate it. Hate being at home. Why? Because I did pre eighteen. But why do I still feel it now?

Jung would argue that it's because I repressed these feelings when I lived with my parents. And now my unconscious is trying in the only way it knows to get it out - and that's by externalising it in terms of projecting it (my pain, repressed feelings) onto others. Therapy is allowing me to see the truth of what's real inside of me, and why I do the things I do.

And there's no easy way. No easy path to take. No magic bullet, wonder drug or red button. I simply have to live my way through it. In the here and now. Recognise that I hurt on the inside because my mum was so controlling. So needy herself. She couldn't be pleased for me, only pleased with herself if I did something well. She said the words "Well done darling" but inside I'd want to puke. It was a horrible incest thing - not that there was any sexual aspect to anything. I more mean emotionally.

Last session with my therapist, he asked me what I look for in others to see whether I am being rejected or not. I said the face, the lips, facial expression and even the look in the eyes. I realised just how much I read body language for the slightest expression hinting at rejection. It's like 100% full on radar. Everything I do monitors for it. Everything. With everyone - unless I have decided that I don't need them/don't need to impress them. So my sisters for example get nothing. But my therapist, my wife, my friends, people I work with, people at church, anywhere where I do care what people may think of me I am on alert. Down to the smallest wrinkle and inflection.

Why?

Because both my parents were excellent at communicating disaster (rejection) with a stare, an expression, a tone of the voice. Mum used it to ensure we all stayed in line, dad did it when he was about to get angry - or vehemently dissagreed with whatever hint of a course of action we were thinking of taking.

There was no escape. It was one way. If you didn't do it the way they told us it was the equivalent of telling them that we didn't love them, and worse we were dishonouring them meaning we were being sinful. All the way round, the level of guilt we would feel if we were to try and do anything (and I mean literally anything) which did not conform to what they wanted was overpowering.

We were prisoners from infancy. We did not have a chance. None of us. It wasn't like we were well balanced individuals who were adopted at age ten - and then had a choice as to whether we were going to fall into line. No - this was from birth, we never had a choice. To have chosen otherwise would have been like phoning childline and telling them your parents were serial abusers resulting in the whole family being split up. Worse. I can't explain it - there just wasn't an option.

And that hurts. Sucks. sd skj aslj aslgjsgjasgjas;g. No choice. Right up to eighteen years old when I left home to go to a university that was the furthest away I could get. Got married as far away as my parents as possible (invited them, but dad couldn't speak to me).

Imagine eighteen years of abuse. 18 years of no choice. 18 years of guilt, of rage, or smarmy yuckiness, of no choice, of being told that to follow God (which I wanted to do) meant to obey your parents in all things at all times. Regardless of their behaviour, their hypocracy, their anger, their pain, their control, jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjkl;.

No way. Lock down. Like being in an emotional prison. No choice. Couldn't rebel. Couldn't express anger. Couldn't express dissaproval. Couldn't express my own identity. Couldn't express full stop. kl CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP CRAP. kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkg ndbWKG JjfSFV.

No freedom. No choice. Full cream guilt. Full cream fear. What a heady concoction. What a bastard.

And how it affected me. Without me realising. I thought I did ok, managed to work through stuff at 13 and 20. Turns out I've been abusing my wife for the last 20 years as I've been subconsciously projecting all that pain and hurt onto her. So I've been feeling like I've been living with my dad (who will reject me at any random moment) and my mum (who makes me feel guilty and traps me).

Dad -> anger, rage, rejection
Mum -> control, manipulation, guilt

Gee - swell - thanks mum and dad. You really set me up for life there. Rejected and guilty. I can claim all the verses in the Bible, and I often have. Remember I've fasted, prayed, interceded, read my Bible back to front numerous times, studied it with my Strong's concordance, preached, seen people healed, delivered, filled with the Spirit, spoken in tongues for hours (even days) on end, seen countless become Christians, run Alpha courses, nurture courses, run intercessory prayer meetings, done door to door, run youth groups, youth events, read countless Christian books on all manner of subjects, praised for hours at a time, enjoyed the powerful and heavy presence of God.. I've done everything there is to do - and with passion,excitement and a real desire for the Lord. So it's not as if I've not lived the life. Not as if I haven't done it the Christian way, and yet here I am.

I've pleaded with the Lord. I've waited on the Lord. And yet, if I were 21 again, I think that if I still asked my wife to be to marry me I'd be a schmuck. I needed to sort myself out first, because I was only going to damage her because of the well of pain I was carrying around. And church, and prayer, and praise alone don't do it. Of course God is mightily gracious, and He could touch me and in an instant I would be anyone He wanted me to be. But in a way God doesn't work like that. He works with us as we are. He made us, and won't violate that. He leads us by grace, and let me tell you, therapy is just a humongous expression of God's grace. And for all the weird stuff that Karl Jung did, I thank God for him.

Transference - seeing my dad in authority figures

I don't really like my bank manager. He annoys me. It's not that he's a bad bloke. He tries, he's helpful - there's nothing to dislike really. And yet I have to be really careful not to react to him. Why?

Why do I struggle seeing my therapist - apart from the obvious reason? Rationally of course it's not easy going to see a therapist - but my wife does not have the same issue. Why - because it's about control. And fear of rejection. And submission. For me to go to my therapist I have to submit. But for me submission is a really bad thing. It means being lead like a lamb to the slaughter. It means not resisting when someone wants to rape you. It means allowing a POW camp commander to arbitrarily and violently degrade me - kill me. It's allowing my dad to have authority over me.

Why do I still struggle when I drive? Why do I get stressed regardless of whether I travel at 70mph, or 90mph? Why do I not want someone to better me, overtake me.. because I don't want to submit to my dad - and I trasnfer this onto every other car on the road. If I allow them to overtake me, I'm allowing my dad to get the better of me. And I can't have that - so I put my foot down, get aggressive (about the only place in life I allow myself to), overtake, go faster..

My dad. I hadn't realised that I was seeing my dad in so many places. Anyone who has any form or semblance of power over me. It could be a council official. A jobs worth. A man who tells me to get into a queue. A man who wants to lend me money (insurance sales man), hotel manager (unless I feel in control), a traffic warden - anyone anywhere. When I take clothes back - and you have to write your address - I write Mickey Mouse, 1 High St, Basildon. I can't give my address! Don't want them to know (my no 3 sister is exactly the same).

My therapist got me to see this today. When I go to see my therapist, it's like I'm going to see my dad. I transfer my dad onto him. Which is why I find it so difficult.

PING. The light went on, and I felt really upset. I realised I feel like this everywhere. I see my dad in any situation in which there is any form of submission. So I fight against it. With everything I have. I can't submit, for to submit would mean allowing my dad to have dominance over me.

This is a big thing. Really big. Really really big, as it affects everything I do, everywhere I go.

I need to think more about this. Feel more about this. And allow the realisation of how big this is to wash over me. Just how wide, how deep and how high this goes..

So what do I want to do with the rest of my life?

And in the midst of all this pain and heart ache - I took some time out yesterday morning to start evaluating what I wanted in the future. For the first time - and it felt good! In fact I encouraged myself doing it. See, it goes like this..

If all my life I have been living to try and please my father who is impossible to please. He has so powerfully shaped my life that I have tried to follow this course of action. Now I've had enough. I'm re-evaluating.

My wife wants to buy a farm and build a number of different businesses on it. She's attracted to the whole self sustaining lifestyle. Eco friendly. Being rather than doing. Allowing other people to partake and find what they want to do. Cafes, crafts, craft shops, eco farming, being green, forests, outside activities/sports. I'd add commercial fisheries, business start ups, shooting (?).. but back to my wife. She's been building to this all her life. She's brilliant at crafts. Absolutely brilliant. She can make things, buy things and make wonderful things out of them, knit, sow, crochet.. Examples; she buys underground train signs (the things that are on a roll at the front), cuts them and sticks them to black boards. They look great. And you see them in films - very fashionable. All round the house are fantastic original newspapers, film posters, old five pound notes (1950s) etc. She has 1920 working phones (candlestick as well as bakerlights). In short, she could open a trendy arty contempary shop and sell well at a profit. She's just so talented.

On top of that she loves the outside. She loves walking, outdoors, green/eco stuff (the chap in Devon who is on the TV and gone eco self sustaining with the peat bog toilet, wind powered electricity etc. She loves travelling, loves the 1920's, Agatha Christie.. She thinks outside the box, is gracious, can't pretend. She's very bright, intuitive, and very very loyal.

Anyway - this wasn't meant to be a eulogy to my wife!

My wife wants to buy a farm - probably at least 150 acres. So not a small holding! And as I start to comtemplate life moving forwards, without all the crap I've had..

Crap; needing to be in control. Needing to be successful. Needing to dominate so that I'm not dominated. If I don't need those things - then I'm free. I'm actually free to support my wife without fearing that I will be swallowed. I don't want to go back and work in a professional IT firm. Or a consultancy firm. In fact, right now I don't think I want to set up another business in that way. It's just too much work - no matter how great an idea I have. I could change my mind of course - and I'd be allowed to - but still -that's how I feel right now.

So I don't need millions to start my own business. Yes, I want to be comfortable. I want to be able to buy new trainers if I want, go for lunch, put in a pond. I want enough money to not to have to worry. But - I don't need millions. I don't need to be in control. Which means we don't need as much money. I don't need to protect myself in that way. I can be there for my wife. Without fearing I'll be dominated.

And that's a relief. Quite liberating in fact. I'm not there 100% yet. It may take me a while longer to get there - but that's where I am headed. Not needing to proect myself. Not fearing that I will be dominated by others (my dad). Therefore being able to relax, be, help, support, empathise, enjoy, be at peace.. without having my own axe to grind. Oooooo. I want that. My insides ache at even the thought of it.

I've no idea what I am going to do. But I'm not going to do what I did before, and certainly not for the same reasons. I'm going to be free. Able to see others. Be at peace. It then really does not matter what I do..

An imaginary letter to my dad

Dad,

Much as I appreciate what you say about wanting a relationship with me, I don't believe that you are able to have the type of relationship which I (and you) so desire. For this reason I need to pull back as every time I've tried to relate at a deeper level you have not been able to.

All my life you have blamed me. You blamed me for your anger when I was young. You blamed me when I became an adult, and you blame me now. I was not a bad kid. I was desperate to please you, worked hard to please you, did what you wanted me to. In fact I've pretty much tried to do what you've wanted me to up to very recently - bar submitting to you in my adult life.

I was not a rebellious child. I got on well at school (despite being deeply unhappy and being bullied, thinking I was thick etc.). I got on well at church, leading groups from the age of 13, and seeing friends making decisions to become Christians from as early as me being 9 or 10 years old. I related well to adults, was polite, caring, responsible, well behaved, well spoken. I didn't drink any alcohol, listen to non Christian music, go out with non Christian girls, didn't smoke.. didn't do a lot of anything really.

Then I went to university. I worked for the church in the second year of uni - and you reacted as if I were working for the devil. I chose to get married in the town the uni was - and you couldn't talk to me on my wedding day.

It seemed to me that you had a plan of what you expected me to do - and every time I didn't do whatever it was - you believed I was rejecting you and reacted as if I had deliberately caused you offence. Along with your reaction was an inability to talk to me, to see (the real) me, a feeling of your own personal hurt. It was like me trying to relate to a someone who has been hurt and needs to lick his wounds. You can't see me, or my pain, only yours. And you do all you can to defend yourself.

Then, as has been the case since I was born, we have to ignore the fact that you are now unable to relate. We have to pretend that nothing has happended. Everyone pretend that dad is actually behaving perfectly normal. Despite the fact that dad is a mess on the floor, and we are all in a 911/999 situation, whilst no one being allowed to talk about the fact that dad is bleeding all over the floor. What - dad is in in pieces again? Upset? Angry? Abusive? Blowing? Pretend nothing is happening and batten down the hatches.

That's what really gets me. Everyone of your children (me and my sisters) have been desperately hurt, and are struggling in real life. Three of us have issues with tiredness related to IBS and ME/CFS. Three of us can't work at the moment. One is continually depressed. None of us can make our own decisions - for fear of getting it wrong. Why are we afraid of getting it wrong? Because we couldn't get anything wrong at home without our dad blasting us. Literally. We are shit scared of getting it wrong. We are all eager to please - but can't please the one person we've tried to. You.

You would come home and blow up the moment you walked through the door. You didn't have an evening paper. A slipper or shoe would come sailing through the air at me with a mouthful of anger and violence. I would duck and get out as quickly as I could. What had I done wrong? Nothing.

We would be sat around the table, and for no reason you would erupt. Arbitrarily, at random, without reason or logic. WHAM. You would raise your fist to your mouth as if you were using every piece of your will power not to knock us into next week (though you often threatened to do so). What's more we were supposed to be grateful for this - bollocks. Gee thanks dad for not knocking me into next week. Sorry I did nothing. Sorry it wasn't my fault. Sorry you want to erupt because you are a walking volcano. Sorry you feel so crap about yourself that you have to make everyone else miserable. No one else can have a nice time, because you are not having a nice time. So you have to pour misery, cynicism, pessimism, negativity, crapness all over everyone else's party.

I remember the only joke we were allowed as a family was that you were Eyore. With your own rain cloud. The only other time we were allowed to refer to your anger issue was that you were like Donald Duck in a strop. Making that sound that only Donald can. And when we did refer to Eyore or Donald - we had to do so in a oh so nice way - as if we were relating to a very sensitive three year old who will throw all of his toys out of his cot at any moment and have a tantrum.

Oh how I hated going on holiday with you. The first three days were just hell. If we had to put up tents - despair and fear. We all knew the score. You would be hell, blame me (anyone) for anything and everything. It was out fault, you would just blow your gasket. Nothing we could do. Nothing we could say. All pretend nothing was going on. Yet all of us would be being ripped apart. Once the tent was up, the same would happen over the first meal. The second. The third. The fourth. None of us dared do anything which may be perceived as being naughty - because we would be blasted with 10,000 volts to our very core if we did. Note that it was not you we hated, it was the violent outbursts of hate, anger, violence.

We were scared. Very scared. Scarred. Running sores down our insides.

Still think it's my fault we don't have a relationship?

Of course I have forgiven you - as much as I know how to -but that's not the point. The point is that you damaged us. No matter how much I forgive, the effects remain.

* I can't get things wrong -they have to be right. Because if I get them wrong I will feel the effects of canes across my legs, a voice telling me I'm thick, an eruption of anger way out of balance with what just happenned.

* I have to be in control at all times, otherwise someone may be able to dominate me like you did. That's very tiring and not nice for anyone who lives with me. It's why I've set up my own company, it's why I find it hard to settle in a church, it's why I'm aggressive when I drive, it's why I can't do things 50/50 with others - I have to be in charge or not really present.

* I can't empathise with others - because I am too focussed on protecting myself. This has a huge effect on my relationships with those that I love. Absolutely huge.

* I could go on all night.

When we speak all you want to do is talk about money, insurance, finance, church, career - as well as how bad things are, how bad health is (of people you know). It's like talking to Victor Meldrew on a bad day. You would like to talk about other things - but don't know how to. You can't relate at that level.

See - you blame me for our lack of relationship. But may I ask you - what is your relationship with my other sisters? Sister number one? Sister number two? Sister number three? Sister number four? And before you give a pat answer - think. How often do you see them? How often do they talk with you at a meaningful level? How often are you welcome at their house? And just in case you try and pretend something else (something which you and mum are past masters at) I talk with number's four and five a lot, and enough with number two to know full well what they think and feel.

They are all shattered. All grieving. All trying in the only way they know how to to get on in life. Yet almost all of them have no idea what they are battling with. They suspect but because of how we have been brought up they are not allowed to think what they want to. Yet the truth is they are damaged. Damaged by years of abuse. Abuse. Yes, abuse. No, not sexual. But verbally and physically. And that's the truth - whatever you may think.

Pfff. I'm in therapy because of you. I've struggled in my relationship with my wife because of you. I've struggled in my relationship with my daughters because of you. And I mean big time struggled. Almost ended in seperation leading to divorce. Argh. I can't write how I feel. It's too strong and painful.

And the difference between you and I? I'm addressing it. I'm willing to look at my pain. My hurt. My fears. My utter fear of rejection. My need for constant approval. My transference of my authoritarion father on any person in any form of authority or power. How I react to that. I'm willing to look inside of me, to recognise how I feel, what pain I've caused, how I've hurt others, how I feel on the inside. It's really really difficult. Very painful. seeing truth about myself, willing to take out and bring it into the light.. how I wish you had done that.

So. I'm taking responsibility for me. I'm working on me. Wanting to change and being willing to go to the difficult painful places in order to do so. Are you? Have you? Or will you continue to blame me for your inability to relate to not just me, but others too. After all, it's not everyone who gets banned from numerous supermarkets. Dad - that's just not normal.

So where am I at?

I feel inside pretty blearg. I'm angry, because I can see the pain each one of my sisters (as well as myself) are currently living with - and it's because of my parents. It's like each one of us is trying to live with the fact we were abused. The abuse wasn't sexual, but it was still abuse.

And it makes me really angry.

I called my next oldest sister (I'm the first born) on Friday night. I told her what I had seen in therapy two weeks ago where it wasn't her fault that she had reacted so much to dad resulting in slaps, whacks, and general misery. She had done nothing wrong. She told me that she appreciated me calling, had missed me, had always missed me, knew that she had been claustrophobic with me, loved me, was ready whenever I wanted her (?), didn't want to put pressure on me (phew). I told her that the last time we'd met she had told me that she had a Mark shaped hole in her life that nothing else could fill. I told her that that was some pressure on me, and not one that I could fulfil. She sounded depressed, and after the call I just felt sorry for her.

I can not meet her needs. I can't even attempt to which is why I never call or visit her. Never have since I've been married (over 20 years).

The sister (no 3) who is staying with me is so scared of anything trying to control her that she's a control freak and very prickly. She has very similar symptoms to number 4.

My youngest sister (no 4) has been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS) and ME. She hasn't worked for over a year and is in a mess.

Sister number 2 can't make a decision to save her life, is desperate to have a family but can't find the right man. She appears to judge all men by my parents criteria which means she will never find a man. She's lonely, has few friends, can't make any decisions on anything (literally) and from time to time hjas panic attacks when she realises she is on her own.

Dad - you messed us up. Why don't you say "guys, I messed up, and I'm really sorry". Instead he bristles with his own defence mechanisms, blames each one of us when we don't see him, thinks it is because we don't care.

Bollocks. Truly. Bollocks. Each one of us is a walking sore. With our parents we try and have a level of relationship which revolves around talking about nothing. But on one can offend anyone, because if we offend dad it's just repeating history all over again.

BOLLOCKS. BOLLOCKS. He responded to my email. A long justification of why he was ok. G AGF JAKG JDG JDKLG JJSG JDFK G JJsgjSG JAKGFJ sg jSG JSG Js jgkasfg k;gsdfg sfjg ksg 'kfjgk'sfjgklsfjgk\fjgsf jgs\ jgsf jgsgsg js jgasg jworg iwrg irog iwrg iiW Iwigsid,f',CF,cf#SD,GF SDGFS \D.G LSD\g lK\SDG LSD\GL S\DL GASLGK, AFJ FG FG JJL;dKL;DKÁKl:SDKGZSDG S\G SF\GJ HJ J HZDFZDFJ

Bolliocks. Crap. Crap. Bollocks. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Dad - it's your fault. Why didn't you try and get some help? dfkkkkkkkk kl kl;l;';

AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It's not us. It's not me. Yet we all have the same. We are all damaged. All fearful of being controlled, dominated. Fearful of getting it wrong. Fearful of making decisions. We bristle with our own defence mechanisms. We believe everyone else is at fault. We are ok, everyone else isn't. We have to fight for our space. Fight for what little identity we've got.

WE ARE ALL DAMAGED. WE ARE ALL SCREWED UP. IT'S NOT OUR FAULT. WE DID NOTHING WRONG. IT WAS OUR PARENTS.

gjjjjjjjjjjjjjkdffg jawrt u[TU9[24T Uw49t u49uiry9uamryou590yuuuuuuuuuuuuji,drs jiisro jso hihdfhjjhjoh;xh'sj hso hjosehjxkhjsrothokjksrhjhjsd hjj iphjsghkghpshghxgf jhh jxgf kl h kf cgf hkcgf hjohjtihjsto i#xd htr iuttohgf hjsk; hj

Duty and my sister, duty and my mate

So, my sister is staying with me. My best friend is moving house. That's two big reasons to need to help.

Firstly my sister. She's the fourth (out of five children) in the family. She was badly wounded and lost everything including her partner and best friend in the Tsunami in Thailand. We've done a lot to help her - and she currently lives in Israel. She's over here for a couple of months whilst she sorts her storage which I helped her pack from when she was living in Germany and placed in storage here where I live.

Only she's wrecked. She has the same symptoms I had at my most knackered, but much worse. Some days she can barely move, is totally wasted, suffers with IBS, can hardly eat anything. She's as skinny as a rake. On top of that she's very fragile, and pushes my buttons. We can get on ok, but right now it's too close for me. So I end up trying to avoid her whilst being available when she needs lifts down to storage, needs me to move boxes (all the time whilst I feel like I'm trading on egg shells). She's very sensitive. Prickly. And at the same time, I'm sensitive to her.

So I "have" to be available to her when she needs me. Thank God for my wife.

Last night my sister said could we go early to the storage? Sure says I and am ready for around 11am. It's now 1pm and we still have not gone. I told my mate that I would help hom this afternoon - fitting him round my sister.

So now I feel grumpy. Annoyed. Don't really want to help my sister but feel duty bound (who else can? - no one in Derby).

Secondly my mate. I helped him Thursday, Friday, half of Saturday and three hours Sunday. On top of that I helped him before that sort his garage out. No problems so far - and I don't mind. I feel for him. He's the one who got into financial difficulty and needed to sell his house quickly. He moved this weekend - and what an interesting episode that was!

First of all the interplay between him and his wife. Oh my. Do they need couple therapy! Made me quadrupally thankful for my wife.

Secondly, how badly organised! Moving day and almost nothing was packed. Result - long days, stressed parents, kids awol.

Thirdly - they are moving from a large 4/5 bed detached into a small three bed semi (renting). The house they are moving into is not ready (upstairs being plastered etc.). So they have had to fit all of their belongings into the ground floor.

Fourthly - there is no room to sleep, so they've had to hire a holiday "cottage" 3 miles up the road for at least a week until upstairs is finished and they can start to put beds and wardrobes together.

Fifthly - my mate was more concerned with his ponds and moving his fish than anything else. Though I couldn't live with his wife (nice though she is) neither could I live with him. There is his wife is humping things from the old to the new house, and he is arranging a tank for the outside fish, trying to catch fish, moving fish, filling up tank etc. Could this not have been done a week later? Is not getting everything out of the house a priority? And similarly trying to get the new house sorted?

Still - I realise I am a rescuer, a fixer, and want to help. So I find it difficult to stand idly by when someone else is struggling - whomever they be.

I've got pain of my own, which I find hard to review and process. I play on the PS3, go on the laptop checking football etc rather than spend time on my own looking at me and how I feel. Cos it feels crap..

Living with my dad - and I'm still doing it today

It just goes to show - I'm really struggling at the moment with the crap from the past - and I feel physically crappy. Tired, and my guts feel like they have been injected with Plutonium. It's rancid, makes me feel sick in my stomach, bubbling, heavy, dense, consuming, eating my insides, churning, growing. It's dark, grungy, scary, unstoppable, continuous, self perpetuating. I want it to stop, but can't. I want to get it out, but can't. I want to access it, tackle it head on, but can't.

My therapist would ask what I want to do with it. Historically I would have said pull it out and beat it to death. He would smile wryly. And after a process of further questions I would realise that this was ME that was feeling this - and that what I was in effect saying was that I wanted to pull myself out of my body and beat me to death. I feel like this, because I've been hurt. Dominated. Crushed. And now I am processing the domination and crushed-ness. I am processing the feelings that came with it - the black bags I've chucked stuff into and forgotten about. It's a painful process. Physically demanding as well as emotionally.

It hurts. I want to sob, scream, shout, cry, bash myself against a wall.. I want the pain to stop. I want it to stop, and be able to get on with my life without this pain walking round with me. I want it to stop. Wish I knew a magic cure, a silver bullet. Wish I could pull it out and whack it to death. But I can't, because if I did I would be beating myself to a pulp. And I've already had that experience as a child. I don't want to repeat that, I want to be kind to myself. Nice to myself. Look after myself. Parent myself. Tell myself it's ok. The pain was in the past. My dad isn't beating or abusing me any more. I'm safe now. There's no one around me who wants to beat me up. There is no one. Despite the fact that my radar is on 100% full alert all of the time to ensure I pick up the first sign of someone wanting to beat me up. Never letting go. Always on maximum alert. Just in case. With my wife, with my girls, with my friends, at work. Anywhere and everywhere. Can't stop, must keep my eyes open. OOOOOOOOoooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww.

I want to stop - but can't. Yes you can stop. You don't need to be on maximum alert any more. You are in a safe place. You are surrounded by people who love you and don't want to dominate you. You don't want to dominate yourself. You can breathe, relax. Let go. Let it go. Let go off the tension, the pain, the needing to hang on for dear life. You can let go. He is not going to dominate you. He lives 100 miles away. You never see him. He doesn't have that hold over you. He can't dominate your life over the phone. Or via email. He may inadvertently try, but you are grown up enough to spot it. Plus your loving wife will help you if you get pulled down. Which you won't. You don't need to be on alert. Your dad is not going to burst in, throw something at you, raise his fist to his mouth as if he is going to strike you, shout violently at you, chase you as you run away.. He isn't going to do that. He isn't.

But I feel he is. I'm on guard in case he does. I'm expecting that any moment he will. Any moment, of any day. I've done it wrong. Got it wrong. And now retribution will follow. Swift, total, absolute retribution. Whallop, utter rejection, utterly crushed, utterly dominated, utterly shot to pieces, in unbelief that my dad would do that to me (what did I do?). Run to my room hurting like hell but not wanting to show it. Get to my room. Anger burns within my bones and chest. I think through the unfairness of it. Think, smart at the pain. There's no way out. There's no other option. I have to stay in my room until I'm called for tea - and then he will be there. Either himself hurt that I'd somehow rejected him or stood up to him, or he'd be morose at his guilt for taking it out on me, or completely ignoring what happened just 30 minutes earlier. As if nothing had happened.

That was as bad. Having to be at the tea table with the family. My dad sat at the head of the table like a king. Us mere minions competing for attention. Whilst our bottoms were still sore, and our spirits crushed. He ruled our family like a fiefdom. We were his subjects. To do his will at his pleasing. And the moment we even looked as if we were challenging his authority in any way, retribution was swift, absolute and violent.

We lived in fear. I lived in fear. I still live in fear. Any time dad might walk in the room and explode in a violent rage all directed at me. And what had I done? No idea. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Take it. Miss the flying objects. Can't miss the anger, names and words. His look was his worst. Utterly dominating, utterly crushing, contorted with anger and besides himself with rage. Gosh I must have done something really bad, I must be bad. I must be really really bad. I've really really hurt him. for him to react like that must mean that I'm a shmuck. I've done something worse that serving the devil. I've done something so catastrophically bad that it justifies my dad's complete rage. Face contorted, eyes wild, barely controlling himself from punching me into next week, unable to express words coherently - it's all my fault.

IT IS NOT MY FAULT!

IT IS NOT MY FAULT. IT IS NOT MY FAULT. I DID NOTHING WRONG. IT WAS NOT ME. IT IS YOU. IT IS YOU THAT IS WRONG. I DID NOTHING WRONG. WHY ARE YOU TAKING IT OUT ON ME?

Dad - you miserable sod. You terrorised me. I still live with the fear to this day. Every minute of the day. I lived in fear of you. I was in fear of you. I dreaded when you would come home from work, and rejoice when you went to work. I dreaded when you came back from being away, and rejoiced when you went. Dreaded if I had to stay in, rejoiced when I went out. Dreaded tea time, car journeys, holidays. Dreaded it (and yet wanted deperately to) when you asked me to help you. I knew it would end in tears. Me not being able to do something you asked of me. You getting really angry, resulting in shouting at me, telling me I was thick, taking over whatever it was that you'd asked me to. Leaving me to feel like a fool. I'd got it wrong again. My dad had got cross with me again. Told me to get out. Go away. I was worse than useless. Failed. Failure. I couldn't even do that simple task.

Sometimes it would follow with a beating of some sort. With whatever was to hand. Bamboo canes? They'll do. A slipper or shoe? Perfect. A belt - yep.

Punishment for a deliberate act of willful disobediance anyone can stand. Corporal punishment for something you didn't do is difficult to take. Welcome to my world. W WDF JAWKDFJ ASF ASF SDF JAwf WDF Jkagf klWDGF l;f qETF GJwdg jWD JFCDCF,wcf,WDGJ, ASDFJ,CASDCG,DFJG,SDGJETV GIRG WROG FG JJGJVASDA SDG ASFG JASFG JASFG JASF JGASFG SRG WRG JIJDFG JFJCGAWRCGJMCGJ,GJ,AERJGMAEFGJM FJGMCGJMZSFSDF SD\G MGH

erth aegsd fg hsdg hsdg sdfg sdkf hj hj

The thing I fear the most is the moment my dad drives a whopping great big nail right through my insides. That's the moment he turns his big ugly rage onto me. And I fear it to my insides because each time was/is as destructive as the first. And there wasn't a single thing I could do about it.

And as a result I feeling dog tired

So, for the last 4-5 days I have felt dog tired. Better than I was some time ago, but tired nevertheless.

This last week has included;

• My youngest sister staying for 3 days
• Giving a life to my sister back home (1.5 hours away)
• Staying overnight at brother's in law (and staying up till early hours of morning playing on his xbox :)
• Travelling back on the Friday
• Arguing with my wife Friday - swearing at my wife (a first) - she retreats into her bunker (not because I swore - she swore at me too)
• Saturday brother in law comes to stay
• A person looking to move into our village comes for a coffee
• I go fishing with brother in law Sat pm
• Sun am/afternoon I go fishing with friend (father's day)
• Sun pm - one of my other sisters arrive to stay all week while she sorts through her storage.
• Monday - take sister to storage, afternoon attend board meeting discussing required redundancies.
  
• Tuesday - Take wife to her therapist (takes all morning). Joiners in the house fitting skirting boards. Afternoon meeting at work with bank manager.
  
• TodaReason I'm so tired? Dealing with acute rejection for my wife for a week, lots of visitors staying over, workmen in the house, lots of taxi driving for children (oldest on work experience this week, so needs dropping off and picking up), sister staying (two different ones) plus emails back and forwards to my dad..y- kitchen people fitting counter tops, joiners fitting skirting boards, I go to therapy

I want to sob but can't

I really want to sob my eyes out. I hurt on the insides. It feels yucky, painful, pressing, demanding, constant, inescapable, drilling, pushing, continuous, grungy, gungy, crappy, gutsy. It's there, 24x7. Like some radioactive dump which doesn't go by itself. Requires proactive action to clean up. That's what it feels like.

My wife sat down with me last night - and showed real softness. Holding my arm/hand as I battled with these emotions. Able to discuss them, tears pricking my eyes, tears forming and escaping. But no sobbing. No real crying. It's as if; if I allow myself to really sob it will give power to the person in front of whom I am sobbing. And I can't do that. It would leave me too vulnerable, and give them too much power.

Why? Because as a boy I feared my dad's anger. I couldn't show any weakness because to do so would give him more power. And if I did that I would be squashed to nothing. So to ensure that I don't ever get into a situation where anyone could dominate me I have to keep my guard up high, on maximum alert. And as such I can't become vulnerable enough to really let myself go and sob like a baby. And yet I want to - I want to sob like a baby and rid myself of this pent up pain and hurt. And yet I can't. I tried really hard with my wife last night - but yet I couldn't.

Speaking with my therapist today, I explained how I felt, and he was gracious about it. Said I was processing things just feeling what I was feeling, and that some people go through therapy successfully without sobbing. He also agreed that as per last week ref my sister, it's not a case of trying to take the whole thing on, but just dealing with things in bite sized pieces. I can do that which I am pleased about - as I feel that the feelings in my gut as a whole are too nig for me to deal with..

He encouraged me to carry out writing my journal (this).

So I am!

How much can change in 24 hours (wife)

So, there I was, suffering whilst my wife was feeling hurt and barricading herself in her bunker. She wasn't able to talk to me because I'd hurt her so much. I was leaving her to it, waiting for her to come out and talk to me - making the first move. It was very difficult, very painful. She was answering direct questions - but not relating to me in any other way. It was pressing my big red button called rejection. But I had to sweat it out.

Almost a week later, I dropped my wife off at her therapist's. Afterwards we went for a 30 minute drink (not something I wanted to do, as I wanted her to make the first move, but there you go), and she asked me "so what do you propose we do about our relationship?". I stated that I felt that we were pressing each other's buttons, she'd retreated into her bunker as I'd hurt her by not connecting after fantastic love making some 10 days earlier. She said that she was torn 50/50 as to whether one of us needed to move out to give each of us some space. She stated that friends had recommended we go out for a date, to which she had replied why would anyone be so mean? And she meant it. And it cut to my heart. Again, very painful and I had to fight hard to hold back the tears. She also found that when I was trying to help her I was being bossy and abusive.

So, we carried on talking, and agreed that we would give each other a bit more space. But that we would also try spending a certain amount of time together to ensure we connected at least at some level. I told her that I was really attracted to her and liked her.

We got home, and everything was different. Phew! We went out for a walk. She showed me some affection. I even told her I wanted to make love to her that night - which we ended up doing!!! Since she's shown me more affection in the last 24 hours that I feel I've received in the last 5 years!!!!!

So - on that front all good!

I'm quicker to let out my frustrations..

There I was, reversing out of my drive.. past the hedge to stop before being able to see if any cars are coming. Boooooooooooooooppp went the car's horn. My immediate response? I swore.

The smallest things cause me to let off with a vent of anger and expletives. And this from a man who has never sworn in his life (well, rarely).

Do I feel guilty about this? No. Do I feel that God will judge me for it? No. I think that God is far more interested in us being real, rather than false. Looking holy but underneath festering with hurt - or being genuine and honest about the pain. Which would you rather? Dealing with someone who was seemingly perfect and yet not at all genuine, or someone who was rough and ready but completely genuine?

There's still lots for me to work out reference God. And right now I am not praying or reading my Bible. Many Christians would read that and tut-tut . Where's your daily bread? Where's the entrance of truth? My answer? I've already eaten and it made me sick. The reason being that the truth was mixed in with lies. And at the moment I'm finding it difficult to separate one from the other, as the lies (not deliberate, but lies all the same) were given as truth.

So - I feel crappy because my wife is not connecting with me. I feel crappy because I am processing my pain (and it hurts). I'm still mixed up. Still haven't spoken to one of my sisters about it not being her fault (which I will at some point).

:( Now my wife is not relating to me

So, my wife is not relating to me at the moment. And it hurts. I'm trying my hardest not to try and make it up to her in some way - as I always do that. It's been around 4 days now. She will speak to me if I speak to her, but otherwise says nothing. If I go out fishing, she doesn't ask how it went. Even if I go with someone else. She'll go to bed without saying anything. Get up without saying anything. Work in the garden without saying anything. Treating me as if I were the cleaner, but with less politeness.

I know why she's doing it too - because she feels hurt by me. Because I've not been able to relate to her. I'm on and off as I work through stuff. So she feels hurt, and now she's protecting herself by not relating to me.

And it screws up my insides.

:(

A brave move - an email to my dad

Dad,

Thanks for the dvd [on stress as per previous posting]- though to be honest I'm not entirely sure why you sent it. I'm assuming you think I'm really stressed, and as a mark of your concern and care you sent this to me? In which case thanks for caring, and to just put your mind at rest, I'm really pretty chilled and relaxed :) I'm sure with John Cleese in it contains humour too - but I can't promise when I will watch it..

Thanks,

Mark

--

Mark

Therein lies the problem and hopefully an answer.

Having discussed our present non-relationship with many the most hopeful and desirable possibility suggested was that :

'you were probably overworked and very stressed out

and that this was probably why you were avoiding what I and they considered normal relationships father-son relationships.'

So yes,

it is because I love you, never mind care for you,

and thought you might be stressed out

that I sent you a DVD on Stress hoping it might help you.

Love Dad

--

Dad - I love you. I really do.

But to answer your question..

I've tried talking to you over the years about the things which cause a barrier in our relationship, but each time I've tried you either felt utterly dejected/rejected and/or incredibly angry and sometimes outright aggressive. The bottom line is, it's not been possible. The end result is deep pain - and it's not something I want to repeat. Despite what you may think, I along with you deeply grieve the fact that we do not have a true father son relationship.

Mark



====
So - let's see if dad can handle that. I very much doubt he can, it will cause him rejection, hurt and pain. Then he won't know what to do with it - and will probably try calling me. I'm busy this weekend - so won't answer. Neither have I sent him anything for father's day - which I detest. And just for the record - I'm not expecting anything from my girls either..


Meanwhile - I will shore up my defences..

A tantrum

*&FDJHF!!

SHOUT! ARHGHGHJDGHJ. WHAT A B&&&S*SD. FIST through a cardboard box. Screaming and shouting at the top of my voice whilst driving in my car - to the point my ears are ringing.. Pounding the steering wheel in frustration and anger. Letting off a stream of expletives.

I want to smash, wallop, crash, stamp my feet, shout, scream, bang about, let everyone know I am not happy.

I want a full blown out of control tantrum. The mother of all tantrums..

AF iosdddddddgGJKLGKLDG KLSDG SDKH DFB KGO\KL;S\ OripV YUTV

I AM NOT HAPPY. I AM ANGRY. DO NOT GET IN MY WAY!

A phone call with dad - after 12 weeks

So what did we speak about? I couldn't speak about anything too personal as we'd end up going down a route he wouldn't be able to cope with. Much as I love my dad, and much as he loves me, we can't really talk about anything.

He asked about my health - and I said I was getting stronger/better after my exhaustion.

We spoke about dad's knees - he needs new ones

We spoke about my mum - she is deputy head at a coucil - dad said how bad it was, people were out to get her, she had to apply for a job which meant more work but only a thousand more pounds, the post was only for six months, there were ladies bitching (she didn't use that phrase), it was all doom, gloom etc.

He asked me what was new. I told him about a duck with 7 ducklings that had decided to visit my newly drained pond (!). We'd decided to capture the duck with it's ducklings (there's no water near here) and take them down to the local stream/river. "You didn't watch Springwatch then?" he said. "No" says I. "Well - a pike will take the ducklings. And if he doesn't the weasel or foxes will.".

Everyone else's response was - that was sweet, that was thoughtful, that was kind. Not my dad. Mr Pessimistic! Bloomin typical. No wonder I was Mr POSITIVE at home, and up to recently. I had to continually assuage the carpet bombing of pessimism that erupted from my dad.

He thanked me for his birthday present I'd sent through the post, and then told me he'd sent me something through the post too. He was very secretive. I'd heard that one of my other sisters had received some money. So I though - great, I doubt it is money, but maybe it's a nice surprise. It arrived this morning. A DVD on stress, with a list of numbers to call including the Samaritans, Saneline (I kid you not) etc. WHAT?

I know he's trying to reach out, he's worried about me and loves me. However, he just can't relate. Can't talk about anything real. What's a son to do with such a father?

So it wasn't my sister's fault?

So, there I was in therapy today. I'd explained how I'd felt and the last week to the therapist. He asked me how I felt. I said I really didn't want to go there as it was too horrible and difficult. But somehow or other we got talking about, surprise surprise, my dad.

I recounted the fact that my dad used to slap my next youngest sister (18 months younger than I) across the face on a what seemed fairly regular frequency. Any show of anger, resentment, back biting, basically anything that was at all saying she didn't want to conform, and SLAP. It used to leave the hand mark.

Now when I was, say, eight, and my sister six, I thought it was her fault. No - you must honour your parents. You must do as they say. You musn't be angry, be resentful, get bitter. Don't call them pigs behind their backs. Don't try and run away. I always blamed her for dad's attacks on her.

So, my therapist asked me how I felt about it now, thinking about the fact that my dad used to slap her. I smiled. He asked me was it funny. No.. it wasn't funny. And as I thought about it, I felt upset. I felt upset for my sister. I felt upset that I used to blame her for what was actually an abusive father. I would do all I could to be passive, and not to give any reason for him to slap me - but my sister couldn't do that. So time and time and time and time again she would get slapped, smacked, shouted at - generally abused by my father. And I made it worse by being sanctimonious, blaming her for her attitude.

AS IF!

If someone slapped one of my girls at any age across the face for any reason, I would have them. Literally. I'd rip their bollocks off. It is so demeaning. So degrading. It's abuse. Pure and simple. And my sister endured it time and time and time and time and time and time and time again. Repeatedly. Through her entire growing up life. And then she had her big brother judging her. The fact that her big brother may have only been eight at the time wouldn't have mattered to her. I knew no different - as my therapist pointed out - I was doing what any normal boy would have done who feared his father so.

Poor sis. The rejection she endured. It was vocal. It was deliberate. It was constant. It was concerted. It was uncalled for. It should not have happened. I will have watched from an early age before I was old enough to realise anything - and seen her attracting my dad's rage. What impact did that have on me? The impact on my sis was devastating. She had to wear awful shoes to school. The kids called her Madussa - presumably because her hair was unfashionable (mum used to cut it). She cut a loner figure, object of derision (much like I must have been). She couldn't talk about it at home because that what the cause of the problems.

Poor girl. I feel somehow responsible. Yet how can I be? An eight year old (second or third year at junior school) - more concerned with army soldiers, toy cars, a make believe world - how can an eight year old be responsible for his sister eighteen months younger. And yet I did. She was my shadow. She followed me everywhere. I was her hero. This is the same girl who at the approximate age of 35 told me, my wife and another of my sister's that she still had a Mark shaped whole in her life that no one else could fill. Her husband was sat beside her too..

Damn. It was so painful growing up. We couldn't escape. In Belgium (we lived there till I was eight) we had no friends. Literally. So the two of us hung round together. There was no escape. No friend's houses. No sleepovers. I think my sis was invited to a party once and I was so jealous. I don't think I was ever invited to a party. I can't find the words to describe what it was like.. other than living in a japanese prisoner of war camp in the second world war. The camp commander was our dad. And he could summarily execute anyone for any reason - without fear of retribution, judgement or come back. His control was total, ruthless and absolute - and woe betide anyone who even hinted at a challenge.

I can't remember having tantrums (does anyone) - but it strikes me that we probably weren't allowed to have tantrums - at least not with dad around. We would have had a beating (bare bottoms, smacked red). Sometimes we were beaten with sticks. Slippers and shoes were common.

ARRGGGHHH. I feel sorry for my sister. She had such a hard time, and has struggled with rejection, weight and money (spendaholic) her adult life. I've cut myself off from her, like I have really from my entire family since I left home. The pain is too much for me to handle. I just can't handle it. I become physically wasted, IBS flares up, I feel rotten - whenever I need to spend time with my sisters because I feel so responsible.

In part I was that figure in their lives that made life at home more bearable. So they looked up to me (though that didn't stop the fights!). So it hurt even more when I left home, and cut. I had nothing more to do with them. My next youngest sis even more so. I can't talk to her, be in the same room as her. Her rejection grates on my nerves. It punches my buttons. I can't handle it. So I don't meet her, talk to her or anything. I've seen her at most once a year if I go to my parents and they happen to me there.

Yet it is not her fault. She did nothing wrong. She had an abusive father with little parenting skills. And an older brother who didn't understand, and in adult life cut her off..

Dad. You bugger. You really hurt us, deeply, cut to our inner most beings. Ensured we were picked on and bullied. The target of ridicule because we didn't know how to stand up for ourselves. You smacked us, raged, became violent, when we were just being kids. Grace was a word you could preach on, but never live. You were the camp commander. Your ruled with a rod of iron. No one could question - and your response if someone did was immediate and total. We lived in fear. And it was horrible.

And it affects us today..

Yuck - this is crappy - and I don't want to go to therapy..

Yuck. As I turned up at my therapist's today, I realised I really didn't want to go. Why? I asked myself. Because it was hard, difficult, crappy, tough. It's all hard, crappy, difficult yucky. On the one hand I want to be a kid again. Freedom, no responsibilities, do what I like when I like. But without an angry one beating me up at every turn. On the other hand I want to be a good father, husband, connected and relating. Not switched off. Dealing with the pain. The two ends are being squashed together, with lots of pain in the middle.

I can't trust my own judgement. Can't relate to God at the moment (though I know He's there), can't fathom church. Don't trust my own opinion on what I should do in a given situation (should I tell my daughter off, hug her and tell her I love her, be more low key - I just don't know!). Do I tell my wife how I feel? Sometimes it works out well (despite me being very vulnerable in the process). Other times it results in my wife being incredible hurt and telling me I'm arrogant and hurtful beyond description.

My map is a mess - with barely anything left on it.

So - that's why I didn't want to go to therapy..

I'm (still) getting it so wrong with my l/wife..

I'm blowing it. Getting it wrong everywhere.

According to my wife, I'm;

• Arrogant
• Selfish
• Can't connect
• Can't relate
• Bossy
• Am a boy
• Blame her
• Don't want to be with her or the girls
• Want to do my own thing

And you know what? Bar maybe the first thing (which I probably am anyway), all of these things are true. I connect, then pull back as if my life depends on it. As soon as I think I have no choice - WHAM - I need to batten down the hatches. I can't do this in a mature way, oh no, as I can't risk rejection. So I say nothing. Ducking. Hiding.

Meanwhile my wife looks to see I've disappeared.

Of course I have - as inside of me there is a little boy who is defending himself against total parental domination. I can't help it. This thing rises up, like a mist, and I have to escape. All other things are not visible. I forget about all my responsibilities. All the things I've committed to. The diary goes out of the window. I forget all conversations about anything. I'm out of there..

For my wife - this is a hard thing to bear. One minute I'm there, the next I'm not. How can she have an adult relationship with me? It hurts her, and causes her pain.

And I can understand that, I just can't change right now.

My therapist would say - "Mark, it's a process. You'll get through the other side.".

"Yes", I'd say, "but she may not be living with me by the time I get there".

My therapist would just shrug (as this is outside of his powers). "Mark", he'd say, "you can only be responsible for yourself".

Pfff. Easier said than done.

Meanwhile, from my cavern where no one can see me, I try and carry on living...

I just can't believe that I have been so negatively affected by my parents. I thought that was other people. Yet here I am, unable to cope. Unable to connect. Unable to truly support others. Unable to empathise. Unable to be there for others (unless I'm rescuing).

"Be more vulnerable" my wife says. So I, with great courage, tell how I feel at various moments. The result? She can't speak to me because I am callous, arrogant and hurtful.

AGHH! I can't win..

How do I change? How do I process the crap of my childhood? How can I really? I know the theory. Feel it, work through it, allow myself to feel what I feel. But as per previous posting, a) this is very difficult to do, and b) it's horrible.

There's a mass of emotion. ANGER. RAGE. PAIN. LOSS. GRIEF. It's chokingly deep, gut wrenchingly painful, frighteningly scary. The anger goes against everything I've taught myself. So to let out the anger, or rather allow myself to feel it goes against myself. Like eating pork if you are a jew. wkfj afjasf jasf jasf jasf js jfasf jasf j;awje PGJwwwwwwwwwwwwwwghhAF:KL j.

And my map - remember that - the thing we live our lives by? The one that balanced individuals continually update? Well my map is in tatters. Literally. All of the things that used to be on it are gone.

• The sense of calling through which I found significance. Gone.
• The dutiful relationship with God. Gone.
• The sense of purpose, career, that I was to achieve something incredibly special. Gone.
• The thought that I was ok, and it was others who struggled. Gone.
• The thought that it was my wife who needed help not I. Gone.
• The thought that I was friendly, open, vulnerable, emotional, open to God, able to connect, relate deeply, everything was well with me.. Gone.

What's left. My map is just a very worn piece of paper with bits cut out, rubbed and smudged. There's little that is legible any more..

So what I am supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go? At what level do I relate? I hurt the person who means the most to me. I try and escape. I batten down the hatches. I can't do it. If my wife were to leave me - where would that leave me? If it weren't for the girls, I wish I'd never married. I would not have caused the pain I have to my wife. I see now that it would not have mattered who I'd have married. I would have caused pain to whomever - unless of course they were unable to connect either in which case it would have been twice as bad.

God? Church? Christians? Two of those three turn me right off, and I don't know how to relate to the first.

Who am I? I don't know.

I'm so afraid of being squashed

So, there we were. We'd had a great day in London. We'd watched a show, and then we made passionate love when we got back home. It was awesome sex. 10/10. Everything about it was great. She wanted me. I wanted her. The sex was great. Full on mouth to mouth kissing throughout. WOW.

We finished around 11pm. And after cuddling for 5 minutes, I went down stairs and watched Euro 2008 highlights - eventually going to bed at 11pm.

This morning my wife woke up, and said that she thought it strange I'd left her the previous night. Naturally speaking she would have made love to me again this morning. But I felt pressured. Oh I could have, but I didn't want to spoil the previous night.

We talked for a while. Then got up. We had breadkfast, and around lunchtime she told me there was a train from where we live into the local town in 45 minutes. What? Thought I. What train? I don't want to go on a train into town this afternoon. It's a beautiful day, and I want to go fishing.

It went downhill from there. She got very angry, stating that I was connected one minute, not all connected the next. I went fishing, and didn't get back till around 7.30pm. My wife wasn't willing to engage with me.

"Why do you blank me? I can't live like this - one minute you are connected. The next minute you want to do your own thing, on your own. There's only one way where that will end.."

So - why do I do it? Bfff.

I think that I fear being squashed. And why do I fear that? Because my dad squashed me off course.. But that's only when I think about it. In reality, when I think that I may be about to be dominated by anyone, my wife included, then I go into self protection mode. At bed time I will stay downstairs to watch a film. I will then go to bed an hour or two after my wife.

So - I will read a book, watch TV, go on the laptop, go fishing, switch off, go into self protection mode.

This is not because I don't like my wife. I love my wife. And want to be close to her. And want to support her. But when push comes to shove, I look to protect myself more. To stop myself from even the hint of being squashed. There are aspects of my behaviour that then becomes like a boy. I run to do something by myself. I do something for too long, as if there is no discipline. I then fear the reaction I'm going to get. So it's a double bind.

It leaves my wife without a husband. Me feeling like a little boy who needs to run away.

Pffff. Crap, bollocks. My fear of being squashed is so high that I bunker down, cut and run.

Pain. ARRGggghhhh. PPPppffffff. GGrrrrrr. Why? Because I was squashed. By my dad. OOoooowwwww.

How do I now win my wife back over?

Grief and anger

Grief and anger. Grief at realising all the things I have not been able to do. Grief at realising all the things I will never be able to do. The things I've missed out on. The choices that were made by others. The pretty girls. Sex. Oh - I may never have wanted to if I'd known my own mind. But I didn't (although I thought I did). Hanging round with mates - I was Billy No Mates 11-18 apart from the odd weekend when I met up with a (very good) friend from school but who lived an hour away.

Scream. Shout. Pound the steering wheel. Try and force the door opening further apart. Jump up and down. Try and squeeze a piece of wood. Scream louder. Shout. Ears hurt, shout louder.

This hurts. It's painful. I've lost something which I can't ever get back. The time has gone. I'm not 8, 12 or 15. I'm 39. Get over it, you have to live as a 39 year old or you will be 50 grieving when you were 39. You are married. You are responsible. You can't sleep around. You can't pretend you have no responsibilities. You can't do what 10, 15, 18 year olds do. You are 39.

TANTRUM. SCREAM. Chest tension, feel the pain and anger. Need to release it. It's seeping out, stronger when I am on my own.

My map of my life has been obliterated. All the things that were the firm structures and markers in my life have or are being removed. My need for control. That I'm a leader. That I'm called. That I'm chosen. That my life is mapped out for me. God. Church. Leadership. Business. Everything. Wiped. What's left? I don't know. It's scary. Who am I? I don't know, because all I can feel is the pain of not being allowed to be me as I was growing up. And now too. As because of my past I am not free now. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. GROOAAAAANNNN. ARGGGGGGGHHHHH.

Anger that comes from anger.

My therapist tells me that there are parts of me which are still little. And much as I hate to admit it, he's right. As I look at how I feel, I realise that I feel like a lost scared little boy living at the bottom of some huge mansion within a huge vault/cave sitting at a console. On the console are levers and buttons which I have to press or pull from time to time to ensure the outside world thinks I'm doing ok. The only problem is, I don't know which buttons to press or which levers to pull anymore..

And I'm scared. Really scared.

It's like my life has happened without me. Like I am in a back compartment on a train hurtling along at 125 miles per hour. Only the train is my life. I know this is me, but can't work out how I got here. How did the house extension get there? How did the company get there? Woooaaaa. I'm out of control. Like a dream. Someone else's dream. I have no control. Hurtling along.

How did this happen? Why am I so scared? Why do I feel so lost? Why aren't I in the middle of my own life, able to savour each moment? Why can't I relate to my wife as an adult? She longs for an emotional connection that I am unable to understand. I try - but trying is just pressing buttons and pulling levers. It doesn't do it for me wife. And I'm not surprised. It's not doing it for me any more either.

So, focus on the feelings. Where do I feel them? In my goin, gut, to my heart. In my chest. What do I feel? Pain. Loss. Hurt. Grief. Anger. Why? Because I was told what to do when I was little. More than that, I was utterly dominated. My dad crushed me. Gave me no way out. Penned me in. I tried so hard. To please. To gain acceptance. But it wasn't forthcoming. I followed his puny way. Tried to live to his impossible standards. Just hacked out the insides of me instead. Where's me? Where am I? No room for that, because being me was not an option.

Me. WHAM. But.. I. WALLOP. Wait a minu CRASH.

No room to manoeuvre. Have to do what dad says, or else. There is no option. The only other option is to be on the receiving end of rage, anger, rejection, domination, crushing, pain. And none of it my fault. There is nothing I can do. Nowhere I can hide. Nowhere I can be me. Mum encourages me to go with the hits. It's just his way. He doesn't mean it. WHAM. CRASH. WALLOP. SHOUT. RAGE. Don't say anything Mark, you'll just make it worse.

Meanwhile - inside I die.

Now - what do I feel now? Well - a mishmash of emotions and feelings. Like a tangled pile of spaghetti. Pull at one emotion, and a whole load of others follow it. Pain. Hurt. Loss. Grief. Anger. Rage.

Anger. Anger that I vowed I would never show. Anger that is so destructive. So corrosive. So dominating. So controlling. So nullifying. So crushing. How can I be angry at my dad's anger when my dad's anger was so violent and negative. If I get angry - surely I will be acting out of the same spirit. Oh my mind says it's ok to be angry, as long as you don't "sin". But deep inside me, every fibre of my being has trained itself not to be like my dad. Yet - I feel anger. And when I look at it, I want to shout. Scream. Wallop. Crash. Cry like a warrior. Punch. Kick. Stamp. Then I must dial it back - because anger is what I trained myself not to do. But my mind and therapist and wife say - no, it's ok to be angry. It's normal. But it's so ingrained within me.

Anger. I feel it as I write this. Anger. A tensing of the chest. A rage. An inferno. A crushing. A desire to crush. In my heart. Chest - down my arms. I want to get it out, release it, let it go. ARRRRGGGGHHHH. But I sit here, silently tapping on my keyboard.

I can't be a little boy anymore. I can't be eight, and live the life I should have had when I was eight. Or ten. Or twelve. Or fifteen. Or even eighteen. I can't go back. I can't relive it. I can't do the things I should have been allowed to then. Wear the clothes. Change my hair. Listen to music. Pull girls. Hang in a crowd. Go for a pint. Go to a nightclub. Have a laugh..

No. No choice. The guilt and pressure from both parents was immense, and it was not possible to run from it. It was like a choking cloud of ash from a volcano which was at the top of the mountain you lived on. You knew if you stepped one inch in the wrong direction you would be consumed by molten lava. I REALLY HAD NO CHOICE. It wasn't that I was weak. It wasn't because there was something wrong with me. It wasn't because I wasn't strong, able to stand up for myself. No. It was because my parents were so dominating in every area of my life that I HAD NO CHOICE.

And now I'm grieving what I could not do. What I did not have. The choices I could not make. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger the lot of them. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. F Jklf jSF ASJF HJKASF ASF ASF HASDF ASF ASF ASF ASF HHqir 9UT9TUpghhhjjjfSNFIOAwg klasgjgS JOIGKLAS GJKH Awgtr aipwg jasg JWH IWUGIFKG JHASG J.

They smeared their domination with a sugar coating of crap yucky sentimental love plus a triple dose of yucky christianity. Honour your parents. awkfj ;fasdf as jfasf asdgf asd kl;asg kl;asfg kl;g kl;asg jaskg askg jasg jg hhb. It sucked. It sucks. It still sucks. I hate it. I loathe it. I can't stand it. Crap. Fuck off. I don't want anything to do with it. Get off me. GET OFF ME. I don't want anything to do with you. You trampled all over me, then made out it was my fault. I believed you, thinking there was something wrong with me, and that everyone was against me. Turns out that everyone is NOT against me, and that there is nothing wrong with me - other than the wounds inflicted by my own parents. Gee thanks. Brilliant. One job as parents - and that is to parent. Waa-waaa. Nil points.

I need to go and pull a figurative head of a figurative body. Or something..

Inner turmoil, a flood of mixed emotions

Wow, time flies. Like the proverbial arrow.

Ok - a summary.

Generally over the last two months - I've been fishing, have built a tan, done more to the house, stayed away from work (but instigated redundancies as we're making heavy losses)..

My mum called me last week - which was a shock. After an hour of talking and her pleading to have a relationship with me, she apologised if she hadn't protected me as she should have done, and agreed that dad would not be able to talk through anything. That was quite something.

Meanwhile - over the last month or so - apart from being very aware of my rescuer mentality (see previous posting) - I'm becoming aware of what feels like a large pool of emotion. What's confusing is that the emotion feels like spaghetti - in that it feels like a plethora of emotions, all leaning in different directions.

There's fear, scaredness, self protection, grief, hurt, despair, anger, rage.. And all that in one place means "Whoaa! Let's not go there!!".

I start to focus on the pain I feel, then I feel parallel emotions of anger and rage. I relate to the heroes in action books who take out the baddies showing no mercy. Wham, snap of the neck. Wallop, a knuckle duster through the skull. Boom - a shot to the head. It's as if I am relating to the anger, the force, basest of human emotions.

Last week whilst at Centreparcs for a break, I went out for a walk. I ended up taking a sturdy stick and beating the living daylights out of a .. tree (not a person!). I smacked this tree as hard as I could 50 times or more (my shoulder still hurts). And I found myself saying "It's not my fault, I did nothing wrong, there's nothing wrong with me". As if that's what I have been fighting against all these years. A feeling of injustice. A needing to prove myself. Prove that I was not a weak failure who anyone could pick on. Who was the target, the nerd, the idiot.. The drive to be successful, to successfully serve God, start a business, grow a business, be married, have children, have the best car, the best house..

No. Smack. WHAM. NOOO. It's not my fault. I did nothing wrong. There is nothing wrong with me.

The pent up anger. The strong flood of emotions that I dare not let go. The pain. The anguish. The torment. The grief. Why? Why did my dad do it to me? Why did he squash me so? Why did he reject me so? Why did he so totally and utterly dominate me, in every area of my life? Why does he still blame me to this day?

It's not my fault. I told my mum that. Six times. On the same call. It's not my fault we don't have a relationship. I want one. But I can't, cos it's not my fault.

There's nothing wrong with me. It was not me that did it. It was someone else. My dad. He hurt me. He injured me. He lied to me. He told me I was wrong. I believed him. So everyone believed me - so I was the kid they bullied. I was the kid who thought he was thick. I couldn't talk to girls. Who committed himself to serving God as a way of finding some acceptance, approval and significance. Now - I'm still a boy on the inside. Can't relate in the way I should with my own wife. Too busy defending my own hurt, tending my defence mechanisms. Can't book holidays (I can't get it right). Do things out of duty (almost everything to do with my wife - and probably lots more besides). Have no idea where I am with God - as so much of it was infused by my dad, and his dominance.

I find myself reacting out of duty. The things I SHOULD do. Kind of put there by dad and mum. So I I choose not to do them - then I feel incredibly selfish, and guilty. A double bind. I can't win. A no win situation. Yet to do nothing does not work. But to actively do something consumes me with guilt. Yet I know I must, and it's a process. But shit, it feels crap.

Fuck. Bloody fuck. Fucking bloody crap. That's how it feels. Anyone who thinks that people who go through therapy are taking the easy route.. .forget it.

And anyone who doesn't like my language - go and find another web page. I don't care.

Bizarre isn't it? The labels for this post; emotions, anger, rage, pain, grief, despair, mum, dad

Surely it should be; love, acceptance, approval, unconditional, time, joy, peace, mum, dad.

Ah well. Seeing my therapist tomorrow. Lots to catch up on. I will feel frustrated as usual that I didn't get further in the session, and yet I will leave at least a step further on.

PS I've struggled over whether I should remove the swearing. I'm not one given to swearing. But I wrote it, and I want this to be honest. So I will leave it there.