Cystic_Cynic

Redemption from Persecution
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2004-03-08 07:15:31 (UTC)

Chapter One: Father, abuser, psychotropic healer.

My father...there is so much I still do not know about him,
even though I've known him all my life. Ever since I was
born, I have not been a "daddy's boy" I'm have a more
feminine mind than he wanted. I am much my mothers' son. I
guess I just didn't like the filth and embarassment he
brought to me, I mean like, he would come in, full of
sawdust from his shop, and hug me, and get shavings all in
my hair and on my clean clothes, which (while I was about
7) pissed me off to no end, because I would get in shit for
cleaning my clothes too much. I appriciated the love and
attention he gave to me, but I just didn't want to be
around anyone, like, I would watch him scream and throw
things at my adopted brother, and then he would turn around
and scream at me for trying to keep our family together...
Don't get me wrong though, I do love my father, but he is
more of the hands on person, and I am typically the silent
observer with "great advice" ...He is a really caring man,
and I wish I could be as giving as he is...Like, about five
years ago, this "demiliating disease" or whatever the
doctors call it, started affecting his work performance, we
all believe it started a really long time ago, like his
father...but he couldn't keep his balance at work.....and
thus started the whole fucking piss pot mess that we're in
right now, at first it wasn't so bad, it would just be Dad
and Mom at home instead of just Mom, and he even helped
with the housework...but like all bad things, it's only
gotten worse. Now he constantly complains about his
feet...he has a giant lump on the left side of his head,
almost extenuitating his temple, and (thanks to him passing
out) he has a broken neck. Not only that, but since Brian
moved out roughly 6 years ago, basically no-one understand
what my father is like, I mean, he complains about it
constantly, but people don't realise that he is dying
slowly...Not only this, but Brian took out basically all my
parents patience when he was growing up (basically the
example of a special needs adopted child) and now even the
slightest bit of noise (that my father doesn't make)
provokes him to scream worse than what he did at Brian. Not
only this, but even my mother says that he's a changed man
from the man she married. Since I am the middle child out
of this giant mess, I prefered to stay in shadows, and
express the darkness inside of me, not only through my art,
but my daily dress, my writing, and now through this site.
The sad thing is; I don't try to upset my father, like both
my brothers do, I try to make him proud, which he isn't of
me, but of both my brothers... it doesn't really matter
though, it's just, my father is not Hitler with a
conscience, like, he thinks that material things can please
me when I only want his love, but then he goes and slurrs
his speech, and contradicts himself. It seems as if he
needs a glass of wine a day just to stand talking to me, or
for that case, even looking at me...Thats not a good plan,
because he is a recoverring alcoholic...but I guess it's
his life and he has the right to choose. When I first
started dressing and weaing black, after I had given up
being a Satanist and a Devil Worshipper, I was mourning the
loss of Buddy, a frisky cat that pissed everyone off but
me... That way, back in 2002, (I believe anyway) I came
home to find my dad in the shop, and when I came up to him,
he screamed at me "RUSSELL GET THOSE FUCKING BLACK CLOTHES
OFF, I DON'T FUCKING WANT A FUCKING SATANIST IN MY FUCKING
HOUSE, AND IF YOU WANT TO WORSHIP SATAN, GET YOUR ASS OUTTA
HERE" That day, I spent the day wondering if he knew about
my past actions, or did he just mean to call me that to
hurt my feelings...and later he proved that he knew shit
about me...


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