Hi, Jan.
No, I don't mind the questions at all, don't worry. My relationship was both bad and good. Unfortunately, he drank, and when he did, I was the only one struck, chased out, blamed, etc. My whole life I was told that he drank because of me. I was the youngest child, and named after his mother. He was a very sad and anxious man, didn't go out, didn't have a single friend, was treated like dirt by his father and brother, and was very unhappy. He drank to relieve those feelings and to try to sleep. I know I can say this here on the board...he slept in the basement, and whenever we heard his foot falling on the lowest stair, everyone scattered to their bedrooms. That left me, with no bedroom, sitting there with no escape, and he would start questioning me as to where everyone was. So he always came up to an empty house (except for me). I don't know if you've ever lived with an alcoholic, but the endless repeating of the same questions over and over and over is terrible. You have to always say the right thing, and they are paranoid, so they keep checking to see if you're lying.
It fell to me, thanks to my mother, to make his sandwich for work, pour out his tea, and wake him up for dinner. That meant I had to creep down to the basement, couldn't turn on a light, make my way to the door of his "room". It was just a section of the unfinished basement with a bed in it. I would feel my way past the furnace, and head for him. I had to stop every few feet and call him. No answer. Go a few more feet and try again. I was always so scared and sick inside, and I could hear everyone upstairs getting ready for dinner, and there I was standing in the dark, terrified and shaking inside. Finally he would call out and I would say, "Dad, dinner's ready." He would mutter something, and I would have to wait, and then ask, "Are you going to eat?" because if I didn't, Mom would send me back down. Then I was allowed to escape up the stairs.
Every day when I came home, I would look for signs. All alcoholic's children do this, I know. At the front door, I would check to see what lights were on in the house, because that told me if he were up or not. Go straight to the kitchen and look at the left counter, to see if the drink was there. How many are left? Is that glass that he drinks from out? All the things you have to check to keep yourself safe. He's been gone since 1987 and I still find myself doing it.
He was such a nervous wreck that we couldn't make noise, or drag a chair or bang things. Everything was centered around keeping him quiet and non-anxious. I bore the brunt of this because when I wanted to do anything, he was used as the excuse for me not to be allowed. You can't go mail a letter, you don't need to go to the store, don't ask Dad for a ride, etc. He was afraid of everything and got mad if I wanted to do anything that would make him nervous (like leave the house). I had a part-time job working at a movie theatre a few blocks from the house. Most of the time I would walk home, but a couple of times he picked me up. He told me to stay in the lobby until he came, which I did. This one time, he pulled up at the curb, and he was drunk, and I stepped out into the street and the car. As soon as I got in and locked the door, he started yelling that I was standing on the street, and started beating me. I couldn't get out of the car, and he kept hitting me until we reached home. I jumped out and ran into the house and straight into my mother's room. She kind of hid me in there and when he came in, told him that I had
not been standing in the street. He slunk off downstairs and stayed there. All she did was tell me not to tell my brothers! Instead of
anyone going to him, and saying, "this will never happen again!" It was dropped like it never happened, and no-one did anything to protect or stand up for me.
So that's what life was like. I was a nervous wreck, and trapped in the house, without even a bedroom to escape into. My mother (kindly - sarcastic) said I could come in her room and sit on an 8-inch footstool at the foot of her bed while she watched TV or read. That was lots of fun (sarcastic again). Thanks, Mom. I don't really know who kept the peace; Mom constantly had us keeping him quiet, and everything revolved around him, so on the surface she did, but after his death, I was
shocked to discover that nothing really had changed. He was gone, yet the selfishness, the lies, the cruelty went on.
The things I can't understand, and that enrages Lord Crown, is that I got hit, yelled at, blamed, but my lazy brothers who wouldn't even take out the garbage, got nothing. No criticism, no yelling, nothing. And the main thing I can't understand is that this man, who was treated like dirt by his father and brother,
let the exact same thing happen to me. You would think that he would come down like the wrath of hell on my Psychopath sister for treating me like dirt, instead I was the one struck and blamed and stripped of everything.
I will never understand that. Before his death, he said to me that my Psychopath sister was just like his brother. He should have been beating
her senseless, why me?
Now, the good things. Beyond the drinking and the beatings and the hell, he was a very sad and fearful and kind man. He could have been something great. He was unable to go on vacations with us, but always endured us going, despite his fears. He never bought a gift or went out, but paid for everything we chose. He was generous and funny and wanted to be loved so much, but never felt it. Why he let my siblings develop into monsters, I don't know. I would talk to him about history and Irish geneaology and whatever family stories I could glean. He told me things about his family and his mother that no one else ever heard, probably because they didn't care, got to go out, and avoided him. I couldn't avoid him, but when he was sober, I did enjoy talking to him. I was shocked when I was 17 years old and found out that he had a brother, living 30 minutes away, whom I had never met. All he said was, "He wasn't kind to me". He would have loved geneaology being on the Internet and I wish I could have shared that with him. Plus he let me get my darling cat, and when my mother objected, he said, "She already has it in the house, and it's staying." I always begged for a pet, and didn't get him until I was 18. He taught us to swim despite being afraid of the water, and I would buy him souvenirs and books because I hated that he was left behind in the house. He never went out, as I said, but once when I was working at the movie theatre, there was a double feature that he really wanted to see. I arranged for him to come to the theatre, swore that no-one would bother him, kept open a special seat for him right by the door in case he needed to flee, kept the surrounding seats empty, and he actually came! I brought him in right past the ticket line, took him to the seats, got him popcorn and a drink, and he made it through the whole first movie. He couldn't stay for the second feature, but he did get to see the one he wanted. That's a good memory.
Jan, you and Lord Crown need to talk!
He too plans on me "helping myself" to the albums, as long as it's a time when it's safe and non-detectable. He hasn't figured out when that is yet, as apparently my brother has them hidden in the attic, but he's got his sharp eyes open, and an unbeatable sense of timing!
I hope this wasn't too unbearably long, it just kept pouring out and it did me good to write it. Thank you, Jan. Sometimes I answer questions that I think are dealt with, and then while writing it, I am horrified at the description of what I went through. It's like seeing it a different way, and thinking, "that's appalling!". You are right, they are beginning to be unsure about what is going on, they know there is a change, but they don't know what that is. Of course that means the pressure will increase for me to be the other way, but that's not going to happen. Still no mention of the album or Easter. More invisibility pressure. But it's not changing how I feel, and it's not going to be okay that it happened. Thank you for your constant encouragement. Pinky hugs and love,
Lady Crown
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