Rearview Mirror and other things

Rearview Mirror and other thoughts

I have been trying to write all evening. I wanted to write the “ending” to the trauma of this week that happened 25 years ago but there is no ending. I live with it every day. I am haunted by the memories, though they aren’t intrusive as they once were. The song rearview mirror by Pearl Jam really sings to me. It’s about abuse and how you survived it.

I have a narcissistic parent, there is no doubt about it. He might not be diagnosed by anyone but he fits all the characteristics of the disorder. “supposed to endure, what I could not forgive” that was a common theme in my house. “it wasn’t my surface most defiled”. My father, though violent at times, didn’t hit us after the third grade when someone told the teachers he had been doing so. But that didn’t stop the verbal abuse. Still to this day, he abuses my sisters and I. He thinks he is the king and should be respected above all else. “I guess the beatings made me wise”.

I never call him a dad to other people. He is my father or sperm donor when I refer to him. I call him dad when talking to him but it doesn’t mean anything. See, when I was learning Italian, the word for father was “papa”. I guess I used the word a little too much because I got a few backhands to stop me from using it. So it was dad from now on though I loathe the word.

I wish I could put him in my rearview mirror. Just forget he ever existed. But I have to deal with him to get him to his medical appointments and such. There is no emancipation from him until he is six feet under. And the bastard wants to live until eternity.

Meanwhile, my patience for the guy has hit rock bottom. I don’t care about his demands. I just want to die. The depression has peaked and I can’t tolerate myself anymore. My psych got back to me but we are unable to meet at an agreeable time because of the bastard. I am sure we will find another time.

3 thoughts on “Rearview Mirror and other things

  1. The bastard no longer has the upper hand. He needs you. You have the right and privilege to structure your help to him in a way that suits you and is convenient for you. If he gives you shit about it, look him in the eye and say, “I don’t have to do this, you know,” because you don’t. He could go in a nursing home and goodbye, let your family visit him, you’ll be the sacrificial lamb for a while then they’ll all be happy he’s there. So if he chooses that option, fine, let him. Otherwise he dances to YOUR drummer.


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