Thank you all so much, again tears are falling and it's STILL a good thing. It's still on my mind but not as much as I feared it would be - I've been prepared for it for the longest time.

Thanks Stu but I got that damn set anyway - by winning money at dressage competitions. (horseback riding)

I love you all.

Teacher said:

...oh I was talking about "other" collections- the kind that'll get ya banned!

CynthiasSocks said:

But that's all theoretical fantasy talk now isn't it?

Teacher said:

...oh I was talking about "other" collections- the kind that'll get ya banned!

This is an "I-need-to-get-this-out-of-my-system" thread. Apologies for any misspellings and rants, the first is because of tears and the second is bevause of sorrow.

I grew up in an alcoholic home. Both my parents drank and smoked pot. My father beat my mother, and he would've beaten me if I hadn't had the advantage of being sober and faster. Instead he locked me out of the apartment in the middle of the night, among other things. First things first though; When I was three my mother started shooting up heroin, and dad kicked her out. He took care of me, ok care I guess but he was very manipulative, really did a good job conditioning me that my mum was a bad woman and hated me cos I didn't give her the time of day for many many years after that. At age 5, my mum's bf had kittens at home and loving animals, I managed to get dad to allow me to visit with mum and him for a little while even though I was scared of mum. When mum and I came to the guy's apartment, he was sat at the kitchen table, head on his arms. He was dead, OD. I don't remember his face, only the kittens and the police, and my dad yelling at my mum. Later that year my mum moved back in, she'd been to rehab for a very long time and was clean. I didn't trust her though, I'd been forced to visit her at rehab and I didn't talk to her at all. Dad didn't trust her either, he told me to not let her lock herself in the bathroom cos she'd been shooting up. I remember panicking when she DID lock herself in, standing outside pounding on the door. I remembered what happened to her bf. I was 5.
When I was 6 all three of us moved to a new neighbourhood, this is when I remember my dad really starting to beat mum up on Fridays. The liquor store was closed on Saturdays back then and I did my very best to make sure all alcohol was poured out as soon as they'd passed out on the couch. I would lie in my room trying to sleep with this knot in my stomach, couldn't because dad would listen to very loud music. I'd go out and ask him to lower it but he never did, I asked him to please use the headphones but he never did. When I'd asked enough times he'd get mad and yell at me, I'd yell back. I was never afraid of him, never once. I didn't run from him cos I was scared, I ran cos he didn't have a right to put his hands on me. That's when he started locking me out of the apartment. Sitting on the stone floor in the spiral staircase for hours in just a nightgown was very cold. Sometimes, if I could work up the courage I'd carefully listen in my neighbour's mail slot to see if they were still up. They were a couple with no children, they were very nice. They would let me in to sit and look at their huge fish tank, I was always sure to say "I won't bother you, I just want to look at the fish." They never asked what a 6 year old was doing up at 11pm or whenever it was. I wish they'd asked but I wouldn't have told them, not back then. It wasn't as cold there.
When I got a year older or so I learned to hide keys out in the hallway to be on the safe side, and to wear a sweater and socks or slippers when I went to ask dad to turn the music down.
When I was 7 (and a half, such things are important to kids) my sister Sophia was born. Miraculously she was physically healthy. I hated her for a very long time, because I wasn't ready to take responsibility for her. She meant I could no longer leave the apartment risking to be locked out, who would feed her or care for her when they'd passed out? I never hit her when she was little but I do remember squeezing her arms very hard, so frustrated when she wouldn't be quiet. I could have hurt her so very bad, I', very thankful I never did. My parents would go down to the local pub "just to have a beer" and then they didn't come home. At age 8 I could dial that number by memory and ask for them, begging them to come home and they said they would. They did, several hours later. I was very tired then but would not let mum anywhere near Sophia, fumbly drunks are bad around babies. 8 year olds are much better. I still did not trust my mother or talk to her much. I hated her.
Some years later I remember the thundering in the thin walls as dad threw mum into them, her cries for help and the heavy meaty thumpy sound of fists on arms, chest, face. I remember hugging my sister tight in the parents' bedroom, not cos I liked her but because her crying would make dad take that out on mum too. I still didn't like mum though, I just wanted it to stop. I remember the police, always with a female officer kneeling, asking us questions. Of course nothing had happened, we had seen or heard nothing. Mum always withdrew her complaint.
They divorced eventually and mum, me and sis moved to the next house over. Dad would hang around all the time though and they still drank, and dad still chased me. By now I was old enough to have friends and we now had outdoor access, the apartment was on the first floor and you could easily climb down via the fence below to the yard from the balcony. That was nice. I remember once when I called my best friend Jen crying and she said "come sleep here, I'll meet you in your yard" and I fled out onto the balcony and climbed down. My father stood on the balcony, drunk but still cunning as ever; "How strange that the keys disappeared, see you tomorrow. Have fun!" Jen replied "who do you think you're acting for asshole!" I lived with Jen and her family for periods in my teens.

In February (I think) of 1990 my mother got double sided pneumonia and blood poisoning. I was home very little, spending my time in the stable, at the youth center or out with friends. I rarely spoke to my mum and cared little for my sister. She was much weaker than me and I hated her for that, for always crying. I rarely cried. I was at the youth center when our neighbour called and said they'd called an ambulance for my mum and that I had to come. I was very reluctant, I just didn't care. However, I went home and the ambulance took her away. My sister slept at the neighbours and I went to a dressage competition in the morning, just like nothing had happened. When I got back late in the afternoon it occurred to me that I should phone my dad and my aunt. I called my dad and somehow it was my fault that mum was in the hospital, everything was always my fault. I called my aunt too. My mum was sedated and put on a ventilator for 6 weeks, she wouldn't have survived on her own cos she was too weak. I hoped she would die, it's the closest I've ever come to praying. Outwards I was the perfect daughter though, visiting every day, doing her nails and toenails, rubbing her with lotion etc... ironically I was the only one who understood her thoughts and desires when she was on the ventilator, she couldn't speak but somehow I knew what she wanted to say. This from somebody I didn't talk to very often and never in a civil manner. My dad moved in with us to take care of us while mum was at the hospital, she was there for almost 4 months. One day he brought home a skank woman from the local pub and he was so horny that he tried to boff her in the kitchen but she ould have none of it, drunk as she was. I walked into the kitchen and saw dad with his dick out and I have never respected him any less than then. He called me back and told me that this woman he'd never seen before was such a classy one that she wouldn't sleep with him on the first date. Date. I turned on my heel and left.
Mum was effectively clean when she was released from hospital but she ordered the cab to go by the liquor store. That was just to be expected I figured. After this I became openly hateful to my mother, she'd try to slap me and I hit her back. Once I hit her and she lost consciousness, she fell right back on the floor and I didn't even check if she was still breathing. I went out to be with friends. I don't remember aiming for her to die or wishing she would, I just didn't care. I was mean to my sis but I didn't hit her, like I said before I just disliked her cos she'd cry all the time. That and she actually liked mum.

When I was 20, in 1994, social services decided me and mum shouldn't be living together so they arranged for an apartment for me. I was still in school so it was unusual, but they realised that somebody would die if they kept us together. I was so happy when I left, MY place with no drunks, no fights...just MINE, quiet to sleep in.
I hardly talked to my mother but I did need to borrow her vacuum to Christmas clean in '94. A friend drove me to her house and when I got there she wasn't there. It was in the middle of the afternoon and my sister was due home from school and she didn't have any keys. Eventually my mum came weaving down the street with a drunk, disgusting guy in tow whom she brought up to the apartment. I told this guy to leave in no uncertain words, he left after I told him I'd call the police on him for trespassing. I made him leave and then I left too, sans vacuum. That was the last time I talked to my mother for a couple of years, she never knew when I graduated high school.
My mum and sister moved to another town and I had very little contact with dad, he was a mean drunk as you have understood. However, I went to his 40th bday party and found him in the kitchen, giving my beloved Ollie whisky to drink. I plucked up the courage to ask him for money for the Hits/The B-sides that I wanted, it was a lot of money (500SKr) but I asked him anyway. He laughed in my face and asked me why I REALLY wanted the money - drugs he oculd get me and alcohol, well there was a lot of that. I kept saying it was for the cd set but he laughed maliciously in my face and told me not to lie. I told him to go to hell and then we didn't talk for a couple years again.

We've been doing that a few times now and each time he ends up hurting me. This last time which WAS the last, I told him that there was only two things I wanted him to respect - to not drink around me and to not phone me when he'd been drinking. The first one he's kept simply cos I'll leave if he HAS been drinking, the second he kept to for a while, then he didn't. I asked him again and he said "of COURSE I'll respect that". That was 3 weeks ago and last week he called again having been drinking, Monday and Tuesday. On Tuesday I told him in a civil tone (I will give him the satisfaction of nothing else) why he kept calling even though he'd promised only a couple weeks before. Then he hung up in my ear. Since then I found out that he thinks I cost him too much money (I'm on welfare/sick benefit) and he's been complaining about that.... to mum. I've asked him a number of times if he feels that I cost him too much but he's said "no, not at all. I'll let you know if that happens." every time. Tonight he brought it up as a weapon against me, I knew he would but it hurts nevertheless.
The alcohol has taken away my father, he's been an alcoholic since about 15 and now he's almost 60. He has nobody but me socially, he wouldn't even call my sis or see his only grandchild Tyra if it wasn't for me kicking him. I've helped him pay his bills, downloaded endless amounts of shite music for him... converted music for his mp3player and put the music there. Etc, etc. All that and I'm not worth the basic respect that ANY person has the right to demand. I'm his ONLY daughter by blood and I'm not worth that basic respect. I KNOW I'm worth this respect and I've had enough of this in my life. Last time we made peace I told him that this is the last time, I had never said that before because I didn't believe it to be true. Now I know it's true. I no longer have a father, and he'll die alone. I will not clean up his icky mess of an apartment when he dies. I will not go to his funeral. I mourn now, then I'm done later. Mourning hurts.

Thanks for reading.

Thanks people I've been offline for a few days and I'm really realising that what I've done is good - my heart no longer jumps when the phone rings and I don't have to wonder what shit he's gonna pull next time. I'm free!

Teacher said:

woohoo!!!!