Moctimore

Diary of memories (part 1)

I opened my diary again. I know what I want to write about. I was spraying with anger but today I watched some videos about PTSD and I feel like I need to close this wound or at least try to do it.
I don't even know where to start. Probably the stories of my family and especially about my father. The most vivid memory is his deep scar on his leg. I don’t know exactly where he fought in the USSR Marine Corps, but I think it was the Czech Republic or Moldova, he never told me exactly where he was, he only said that I would never understand what it is like when the flags of your country are burned at rallies, he is talking about the flag of the USSR.
He worked in a special police unit that specialized in dispersing demonstrations and guarding something important.
When he tried to educate me it was mostly humiliation and punishment and sometimes physical. He said that I was stupid, weak, worthless. Thus he wanted to raise a man in me. We always had a lot of books at home and almost all of them were military or historical reference books. Coming from school, I had to show him all my grades, and if they were low, he would throw a diary with grades or notebooks at me and burst into insults in my direction. In these moments, or moments when he grabbed me and beat me, I remembered this look, absolutely dead eyes that try to look into my soul but are so filled with adrenaline and hatred that they are blind.
These dead eyes I have seen many more times in my life, much more than I would like to.
In my family, all the men are military men, everyone except me and everyone was at war, my great-great-grandfathers were at war. I'm the only one in my genealogy tree who was able to break this curse.
This look can be compared to a monster who wants to snatch all the impatience out of you, namely the impatience, this is what everyone scares and hates them and what they will never understand. They may feel sorry for themselves and love themselves, but they are not able to have the same feelings for other people and therefore they try so hard to deprive everyone around them of this feeling. Do not confuse a phlegmatic look with this dead look. A phlegmatic look is always calm and you just want to relax, a dead look causes muscle contraction, trembling and coldness in the back, you will understand if you see it.
Probably from the third grade of the school, beatings and humiliation began. When my father came home, I tried to find any corner where I could hide, usually it was next to the wardrobe or under the bed in the bedroom. When I was 9 I was already grown up and couldn’t hide anymore and so I just walked on the street until my father got drunk and fell asleep or went somewhere or I prayed to God that I would get good grades, then it was a computer and the Internet. By the way, if you pray, God doesn't give a shit about you, you can not waste your time, but rather read physics and biology.
By the way, after that I had such a strange reaction, when someone stands behind me or passes me, it throws me into a shiver and I have a short cramp.