Today, I learned some truths about my past...

It's no secret that I have an interesting and rocky relationship with my immediate family. It's gone from good to bad and back again a few times over for several different reasons. Some of it is my fault (bad choices in my youth and early adulthood). Some of it is their fault (not recognizing what I needed and passing judgement when it wasn't deserved). We have argued about that little fact for years and I don't think we will ever see eye to eye on it, but we persevere... survive. It's all I've ever known how to do. Survive. It's more than just a physical survival: keep breathing, eat food, drink water; it's emotional survival. How do I make the best of this crap-tastic situation? How do I deal with and move past these feelings about this situation? How do I keep smiling? Why do I keep smiling? 

For many years (most of my life come to think of it), I've put on a brave and happy face. No matter the circumstances, I smile. I laugh and making people laugh is a particular feat I love to achieve. It makes me feel good. Desired. Worthy. If I can get a genuine laugh out of someone, I feel accomplished and needed. Laughter is the best medicine, they say, so I serve it up to help people. I do this to avoid helping myself though. I smile and deal with other people's issues to avoid dealing with my own. I like to minimize my own pain and suffering. "Oh, what happened to me is not as bad as what happened to so and so". "Oh, it happened so long ago, I should be over it". "The perp is dead and gone, who cares? Quit dredging up the past". Smaller and smaller my problems get... or so I think. They're not smaller; they're just buried deeper inside. So deep that it roots and grows and then BAM! you're in a field of shit. The depression eats at you from the inside out when you can't drown out the voices. The anxiety takes over and makes you paranoid. The anger penetrates every happy thought or success diminishing their joy. So, I smile. I laugh at it. But I don't feel better. I feel worse. I've felt worse for so many years, I'm not sure I would know happy unless it hit me like a bus. I can fake happy though. I'm a professional happy faker. I can make you believe I'm so damn happy I believe it myself, but it's a lie. Now, let me clarify something... I'm not an unhappy person. I have plenty of happiness in my life; my husband, my dogs, my friends, my singing, my photography, my job, even the upswing my family and I are currently on makes me happy. I just know that I have unhappiness there too. And it's THAT unhappiness that I want to fix/make better/change. 

I must have inherited this ability from my bio-dad, Bill. He was a narcissist. He was a gas lighter. He was a manipulator. He was a liar. He was good at it. He lied, he cheated, he stole, he abused, he molested, he conned, he slept with prostitutes, he drank excessively, he did drugs, he blamed things on anyone but himself, he may even be a murderer. Basically, he's a piece of shit. He's dead. Died 20 years ago in his mother's kitchen where he was living while on house arrest/parole, whatever. He was dating some tiny, blonde woman who the preacher said was the love of his life at his funeral. He was 50. Heart attack. He was an Army vet, Vietnam, a captain. He was a brother; 2 sisters. He was an uncle; 1 niece and 3 nephews. He was a 3-time husband; my mom's marriage was the 2nd and the longest and bore 3 kids. 2 of us survived. I feel like mine and my sister's existence was the only good thing he did. Today, I learned different. 

Today, I learned some truths about my past. Some misconceptions were corrected, and some pieces were filled in. I called my mother after my therapy session to ask her for a picture of myself and Bill when I was younger. I'm not entirely sure why I feel the need to see, let alone have, a picture of the man who molested me for 6 years. Especially when I learned that he was "grooming" me from an early age. I had an idea of what it meant and then I looked it up and sure enough, I was groomed. Hearing my mom say that and then reading the definition and signs of it sent chills down my spine and made me nauseous. For the first time, I knew with certainty I didn't make it up. For so many years, I thought I had made it up in my head because I could only remember snippets of what happened: the magazines, the baths, the touching. I don't remember past a certain point in my memories; it's like my brain blacked it out. I thought I had accused an innocent man of molestation even though he was never charged with it. I learned that my mom knew he was starting to groom my sister just before I told her what was happening, and it stopped. I knew he was repeating similar patterns with her like he did with me, so I would provoke him to come after me and not her. My mom doesn't think that at that age (10-11ish) I was able to discern that concept. Whether or not I knew the ramifications or specifications of what was happening, I knew it was bad and I didn't want her to go through what I did or feel the way I felt. At the same time I was saving her, I hated her for not having to go through the same thing... for not being chosen. She still saw him as this guy that bought her anything she wanted and doted on her and made her feel special, but I got to see the man behind the curtain. A part of me is still upset with her that she wants to stay connected with his side of the family and that she doesn't hate him like I do. Why can't she just be on my side and hate him for what he did? Why am I so jealous that he loved her more than he loved me? If he loved me, he wouldn't have hurt me this way. Another misconception I was corrected on today and I'm struggling HARD with it. 

Anytime I talk about Bill, I usually end the conversation with his deplorable nature. In that very same moment, I hear my mother's voice telling me some years ago that he really did love me when I was little. I was the apple of his eye. He was a proud father figure and did his best to make sure I knew it. Until today, I didn't... I couldn't believe that for a second. He loved me? He was proud of me? I didn't know that version of him. I can't see that version of him. I won't ever know that version of him. My mom said he was different for the first few years of my life and the very beginning of my sister's. She said she doesn't remember anything specific happening that changed his behavior; it was gradual and controlled. She said his demons got the best of him. The demons that came from his past with his abusive father. The demons that came from the instance at the lake with his best friend who never came home that day they went swimming. The demons that came from his time in Vietnam. The demons that were fueled by his narcissism, alcohol abuse, mental and emotional control he had over my mom, the dangerous behaviors he exhibited (schtupping his boss's wife for example). The demons were his cancer. There are days I feel like his cancer infected me; like I will be like him. I can lie well. I can sell ice to an Eskimo. They said the same thing about Bill. I slept around A LOT in my early 20s. He slept around a lot. I did some drugs. He sold our toys to a friend for drug money. There were several occasions where I've lost chunks of time because I was so drunk. I can really only remember Bill drinking alcohol, no water, coffee, soda. I sucked at relationships because I wanted them to be my EVERYTHING. He was married 3 times and cheated on my mom multiple times. (I later learned that I needed to be my everything first... though I've never cheated on my partner, I've thought about it and I've been the person someone cheated with). I've manipulated people. Like Bill. I've stolen things. Like Bill. I've engaged in risky behaviors. Like Bill. Sometimes I'm not quite sure how I'm still alive, but I am. 

My biggest fear is that I will become like him or that I am like him. I fear that what he did to me has infested my life like a cancer. I fear I will never get past it; that it will haunt me for the rest of my life. I fear the power it has over my life and my decisions. I fear the comparison to him and his decisions. I fear not being good enough. I fear not being accepted. I fear being perceived as dirty. I fear these things will influence my ability to be a good wife and mother. These 2 things are truly my deepest desires and why I'm even attempting to clear this from my heart. I could have lived with this forever and pushed it so far down, I wouldn't see it. Naturally, as many ugly things do, it would fester and sprout its ugly head at the most inopportune times in my future potentially ruining my relationships with my husband, my family, my friends, and mostly myself. So, here I am... trying to take steps to deal with it. I'm strapping myself in because I know it's gonna be a bumpy ride.