Dear Daddy, I Write You In Spite of Months of Silence

It’s been a long ass time now hasn’t it? Between writing a book, some family drama, a new relationship; life has been an absolute mess in both the best and, worse way possible. My mind has been so much of a mess that the Trump administration would be jealous. As a matter of fact, the Trump Administration wants to trade messes with me right now. The last six months of my life have been both really awesome and, really shitty at the same time but; that’s the sort of thing you’ve gotta deal with when you’re me. Six months ago I met this really awesome woman on Catholic Match who I am now ecstatic to call my girlfriend. Six months ago was also the beginning of drama that would result in me being estranged from my father. You’re probably wondering what the fuck daddy issues have to do with Autism. Quite a bit so buckle up your seat belts bitches; we’re gonna snort 20 lines of coke, take 3 acid tabs, a couple of shrooms and, jump into the really fucked up rabbit hole that is my brain.

I never really had a close relationship with my father; My mother and I were two peas in a pod but my Dad, I could never connect with him, like ever. Unlike my mother who spent sleepless nights trying to get into my world and, ensure the highest quality of life for my siblings and I, my father sat on the sidelines doing his own fucking thing, usually only stepping in when he absolutely had to. My dad never bothered to understand me on the same level my mother did; I was just another child so, when I failed to meet my his expectations he was pretty fucking disappointed. I’ve mentioned in previous blogs that I practically lived in my brother’s shadow for a very long time. My brother developed normally despite a few behavioral issues and became somewhat of a prodigy child in the family. My brother became an honor roll student and, was enrolled in ballet. He even had a TV appearance when news crews came to our school. When asked what he’d do with $20,000 he said he’d buy his dad a car. My dad was so fucking proud of him and wasted no time bragging about him to others. I always felt like we were extensions of his ego. When any of us failed we were instantly an embarrassment to him and, he’d make pretty fucking sure we felt it. He’d constantly berate us every time we fell short of perfection. We were bombarded with a hail of verbal abuse that would force us to try harder. I never understood at the time that abuse wasn’t just a physical thing. I was never physically abused so, I never thought much of my dad calling me stupid and, berating me one afternoon because I didn’t know how to spell the word “special” until my adulthood. I never realized that the man had sowed a seed that would grow in to many of the problems that plagued my college years.

Fast forward into early adulthood and, I’ve got some pretty serious self esteem problems. I had become very painfully aware of how different I was from my neurotypical peers. I did everything in my power to blend in but, some days I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was pretty harsh on myself and, I never understood why. Every time I screwed up I would start insulting myself, sometimes in a mirror. I’d tell myself how much I sucked and I could never understand why I was so harsh. Maybe it was that one time at the age of 13 when my dad insisted I should wait for people to say hi to me when they enter a place but, I got excited and said hi first anyways so he spent an entire hour telling me how stupid I was. Maybe it was the time I was learning how to drive and, I struggled compared to my brother so he would always compare me to my brother to the point that I felt incompetent. Maybe it was that time when I got so fed up with his verbal abuse behind the wheel that I decided to get driving lessons from an actual school and, he proceeds to tell me how much I suck and that no one was capable of teaching someone like me how to drive. Maybe it was the time I mentioned above at the age of 14 when he would start yelling at me because I didn’t know how to spell the word “special”. Maybe it was the time I went clubbing in college and he wasn’t thrilled with that so, he stops talking to me for three weeks, we get into a big fight, he calls all of my female friend whores and, proceeds to tell me I’m a bad son. Maybe it was the time I failed a science test in 7th grade and decides to take his anger out on me by purposely not acknowledging my birthday. Maybe it was all the times he doubted my judgement in various situations but, trusted my brother’s in those same exact situations. Maybe it was the time I brought home As and Bs from college, made deans list and all he could ask was why my grades couldn’t be all As. Getting bullied by my peers didn’t help the matter but; when bullying happens in your own home first, it’s really easy to feel as though you deserved it outside of your home. It’s makes it a whole lot easier to see yourself as the problem when your 9th grade physics teacher gets frustrated when he’s explained something several time and you just don’t get it. I can see why it was so easy for me to fall in a depression that nearly resulted in suicide.

I have some fond memories of him from my childhood but, as of late it’s really hard to figure out if those fond feelings were genuine or, if they just simply justified the verbal abuse I endured in between. I remember the day I finally got my drivers license and my dad proceed to say “you see, the yelling worked”. That was a big fucking red flag and I was too naive to realize that at the time. He basically justified all of his verbal abuse right in my face. He didn’t see he was doing anything wrong because they produced the intended results. I became an honor roll student, I got my driver’s license, I graduated from college, all at the cost of my mental health. There was a point in my life where I absolutely hated my dad and wanted nothing more than for him to drop dead. The good Catholic woman that was my mother warned me on many occasions how toxic this way of thinking was. I let my anger drive me in ways I couldn’t imagine. I would realize later down the road that this came from a woman who got it worse than all of us combined. I was baffled to hear a woman who endured more than what we did tell me not to wish such an evil thing on him. It was ironic because every time we got into a fight with him, he’d start gaslighting us and convince us that our mother put those ideas in our head. To him, he could do no wrong. It was impossible for him to process the fact that his own children didn’t agree with him.

Fast forward to the present, I can’t explain the events that got us here because I’m not at liberty to just yet. After years of psychological manipulation, I put my foot down and stood my ground. I basically don’t exist to him now and even though it’s his loss, it still hurts quite a bit. To be honest, lack of a connection with my father has hurt for years. Six months ago I went to a Catholic Men’s conference where I saw all of these men with their sons. I was hit with the painful realization that I may never have that connection with my father because that would require I live life by his rules and, give in to his manipulation and verbal abuse. I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to him again, I don’t know if a relationship is even possible at this point. I’ve lost all hope in ever establishing any relationship with him what so ever. I don’t think he ever understood who I was as a person nor will he ever. I never bothered to vent about him because I’ve known so many people who wished they had fathers in their lives.; I felt like I was just another person bitching about their dad. You really wouldn’t want my father if you knew what that entailed. Shit, I don’t want my father a lot of the time. Will he ever be at my wedding should that day ever come? I don’t know. Will he ever meet his grandchildren? I don’t fucking know. Will he ever know that I drove my family to New York and Montreal? Would he be proud? No of course not, his ego would be so bruised he’d berate my mother for letting that happen in the first place just to spite me. Will we ever have a good relationship? The fuck I look like, a fortune teller? I do know one thing, him walking out of my life is more of a loss to him than it is to me. There will never be another son like me. I wish I could write a happier blog, I’ve just been through a lot in the last six months. I don’t want anyone’s sympathy; I just want people to understand a part of my life I’ve kept out of this blog for years.

Stay Classy…….

Wait you mean I had you at “New relationship”? You actually want me to elaborate on that? We’d be here all night if I had to go into that one. That will be for another blog on another day. Just be happy you got a blog in the midst of me writing a book. I will start updating this site more and you will get more of my life and all things Autism. I just needed to vent.

 

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