Emotions - and my crap father

Last weekend my wife told me she didn't trust me with the company, and getting her half of the money. She had realised that she had no control by me not selling the company - and that was too difficult a proposition for her to handle. She wanted the money asap. For me it rang alarm bells, making me feel like I'd failed. Catastrophe. For 24-36 hours I was a walking trauma victim. We worked it out by Monday night/Tuesday. On the Monday I went to the gym which helped - and I lifted a lot of weights. But then Tues-today I've felt worn out and exhausted again.

Only now I know it's not the gym - it's the emotional roller coaster I'm on. It's as if something happens in our relationship and I feel a sense of impending doom, literally as if we are at catastrophic status. My insides turn to mush, twisting..

I took my wife to see my youngest sister find a wedding dress on Thursday. It's about one hour twenty minutes away. Only there was a traffic jam five miles from her house which added another hour. I was doing this for my wife, not for my sister. I'd been trying to work out what I would do - but as it turned out the shops were out of town so I just parked and waited. Then my wife was due to meet with a friend a further half hour away. I was going to see her brother in law who I get on with, but he wasn't going to be in. So then I thought I'd see an old school mate who I hadn't seen for 18 years. Then my wife couldn't meet with her friend - so I felt a bit used. Like I was just a taxi service. My sister was negative, didn't want to go wedding dress shopping (she's way overweight).

We'd talked on the way down about our relationship - what's it like to see friends, not see friends, holidays - I can't remember which but the end result I was feeling emotional stirred, then we sat in the queue for an hour only moving 1/2 mile - which still presses a button for me. Realised that being in a car with my dad used to be terrible. If it was just the two of us - it was both an opportunity to have some time with my dad, but also an opportunity to be blasted. Like being in a POW prisoner camp. The worst place to be with no control whatsoever.

So basically the day was pretty tough. I did end up seeing my mate - which was good - for forty minutes as we needed to get back for our girls. But it was tough.

Friday we didn't do anything - and I did some work.

Yesterday my wife wanted again to see her friend. Originally she was going to go shopping in Manchester - what was I going to do? Then she decided to visit her friend at her home (just under 2 hours away) which meant I could go to her brother in laws..

By the time I got back last night I just needed to escape. Turn off.

And now. Now I feel like I want to cry. I have a Hillsong CD on (This is our God).

So, I feel really crap. My guts are squirming as if filled with worms. I have a slight throat ache which interrupts my sleep. The impact is that physically I feel blah... Historically I would have thought it was because I'd stayed up too late, watched something I shouldn't have or whatever. I.e. it was because I'd done something wrong. NOW I realise that no, it's not that at all, it's a reaction to how it was when I was little. And the pain is still in there. And it's horrible, horrible, horrible.

What is it?

Dad. No power. Crushed. The glare. The brooding silence. The clear communication that it was my fault. Nowhere to hide. Isolation. How was it that with just one look I would be so crushed. So rejected. The power he had over me was unbelievable. I fear it even now. I can see it my mind's eye. Often the glare would accompany a one word instruction. "In". "Get in". That was if I was with a friend, or friends. It would mean get in the car. Get into the concentration camp. The POW camp. Lose all my freedom, and live in the same room as the all powerful sadistic mean vicious angry irrational violent man - and yet that doesn't do the feeling I have justice. It's deeper than that - and I know I've written about it before.

Being in the car with dad was like torture. One minute maybe talk about something (I craved his attention) - and yet the next he'd be moody. Maybe cut up by someone or whatever. If we were late he'd speed. We sped everywhere. Trips from the North West to the far reaches of the North East. Three hours each way for a church meeting. Me knowing he would ask me to testify, pray or whatever. Me bricking my pants. The only way to get his favour was to do what he wanted - which was to be part of his calling.

And even in the car I would get the look. I can't believe he taught me to drive - though I know I had no choice. But it was like being with the abuser - teaching you to drive - all the whilst abusing me. The uncontained toxic anger.

ANGER. Directed at me. The murderous look in his eyes and face. It was as if he thought I was threatening him. How could I? How could I possibly threaten him? And yet, there it was, so he would give me a look that said he wished I wasn't there. Somehow. I can't explain it. The effect of it was as if he'd fired a tank missile at me. And I realise now it wasn't just the look, it was the implied threat that came with it. The "If you don't do whatever it is that I am telling you to do now, then I will knock you into next week, literally." And that's what I feared.

So, from a very early age I feared my dad. And not in any good way. In a frightened, desperately frightened child way. In a way that there was no good thing about it. IN a way that no child should feel frightened. There was no sense of safety, of protection, of resting, of chilling. No - being with my dad was the complete opposite. I never knew when he was going to fire his missile into my insides. Presumably it was whenever he felt bad - he needed to blame someone else. Oh, the nearest person appears to be Mark. It matters not he is three years old. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Child cowers, no one protecting him. He stands in the full blast of the roar. No where to run. No where to hide. If I question it, the roar will become teeth. I will be eaten alive.

Fuck that, do whatever he wants and do it quickly. It's far too dangerous to think of doing anything that dad doesn't want me to - for he will roar. And that's bad. So what does dad want me to do? I'll go and do that. I can't play, mess around, be silly, be daft, choose my girlfriends, choose what I want to believe, get angry, get emotional, challenge him (laugh). No. None of that.

Bollocks and crap and fucking fuck. What a codswallop way of parenting. The poor Mark. Didn't have a chance - and as such it's amazing, grace, that he has done so well.