Pluto
Meowing to go out
- Dec 27, 2020
- 3,865
I largely stopped interacting with him 25 years ago and last saw him about 11 years ago. I've fought endlessly to survive, sometimes out of naive hope, other times out of spite, knowing that if I outlived him, he'd never get to live out his little Dark Triad fantasy of reveling as the centre of attention at my funeral.
When I managed to pay off my house this year, I thought I was finally free from the lingering fear of having to go back to him. But instead, my mental health has tanked, somehow, from what was already rock bottom. Haunted by all the times I so badly wanted to hit him and stand up for myself, yet never did because I had nowhere safe to go. I especially remember the way he used to upset my cat while I watched helplessly, knowing she was my one and only source of love in my entire life. The intense fantasy of smashing him over the head with a baseball bat, strangely soothing at first, plays on repeat even when I want it to stop.
It all started in early childhood, being denied affection and having my sisters encouraged to take out their frustration at the family dysfunction on me. I was bullied throughout school, as I never knew what being worthy of safety or respect felt like. I didn't finish school and was already a suicidal wreck. Nfather responded cleverly, paying psychologists to explain away my fear of people as due to either a) being born mentally retarded or b) just being a nasty antisocial teen who refused to leave his bedroom. His Oscar-worthy act as the 'confused, innocent little old man' seduced absolutely everyone. From that point I lost contact with the family as his narrative made me the despised loser of the community.
Over years, I transitioned from a lifestyle of non-stop escapism to low-skilled employment, full-time work and finally a fanatical obsession with having my own safe place to live. I moved to a much cheaper city so I could afford to buy a house, though this distance eventually lost me my last remaining friendships.
Today, basic physical functions like eating and sleeping are dreadful. Just existing in the waking state is immensely uncomfortable, as if I've completely rotted from the inside. Even breathing; people at work have commented on my issues with breathing normally or my tendency to grunt and groan in everyday activities. I've proven physically incapable of intimacy despite numerous embarrassing attempts, making any sort of relationship impossible. I have lost the ability to feel safe around others anyway. My attempts at feigning normality around others are starting to fail, exposing my unspeakable secret and threatening my lame income stream.
This has all worked out perfectly in accordance with Nfather's fantasy: himself ageing surrounded by hordes of flying monkeys and sycophants while I have silently died the slowest, most drawn-out death possible. It feels like it was a poison right from the beginning that guaranteed certain death, but took 40 years of suffering to lead to a fatality. Every day I feel tormented where nobody can see; I see his smug smile and feel his demonic sadism so artfully masked even from close family, silently laughing at my desperate attempts to live. But alas, when all is said and done, my death will be nothing more than a case of Nfather poisoning.
When I managed to pay off my house this year, I thought I was finally free from the lingering fear of having to go back to him. But instead, my mental health has tanked, somehow, from what was already rock bottom. Haunted by all the times I so badly wanted to hit him and stand up for myself, yet never did because I had nowhere safe to go. I especially remember the way he used to upset my cat while I watched helplessly, knowing she was my one and only source of love in my entire life. The intense fantasy of smashing him over the head with a baseball bat, strangely soothing at first, plays on repeat even when I want it to stop.
It all started in early childhood, being denied affection and having my sisters encouraged to take out their frustration at the family dysfunction on me. I was bullied throughout school, as I never knew what being worthy of safety or respect felt like. I didn't finish school and was already a suicidal wreck. Nfather responded cleverly, paying psychologists to explain away my fear of people as due to either a) being born mentally retarded or b) just being a nasty antisocial teen who refused to leave his bedroom. His Oscar-worthy act as the 'confused, innocent little old man' seduced absolutely everyone. From that point I lost contact with the family as his narrative made me the despised loser of the community.
Over years, I transitioned from a lifestyle of non-stop escapism to low-skilled employment, full-time work and finally a fanatical obsession with having my own safe place to live. I moved to a much cheaper city so I could afford to buy a house, though this distance eventually lost me my last remaining friendships.
Today, basic physical functions like eating and sleeping are dreadful. Just existing in the waking state is immensely uncomfortable, as if I've completely rotted from the inside. Even breathing; people at work have commented on my issues with breathing normally or my tendency to grunt and groan in everyday activities. I've proven physically incapable of intimacy despite numerous embarrassing attempts, making any sort of relationship impossible. I have lost the ability to feel safe around others anyway. My attempts at feigning normality around others are starting to fail, exposing my unspeakable secret and threatening my lame income stream.
This has all worked out perfectly in accordance with Nfather's fantasy: himself ageing surrounded by hordes of flying monkeys and sycophants while I have silently died the slowest, most drawn-out death possible. It feels like it was a poison right from the beginning that guaranteed certain death, but took 40 years of suffering to lead to a fatality. Every day I feel tormented where nobody can see; I see his smug smile and feel his demonic sadism so artfully masked even from close family, silently laughing at my desperate attempts to live. But alas, when all is said and done, my death will be nothing more than a case of Nfather poisoning.
