...even going into the study with what I thought were honest intentions, this evening while reading a book wholly on another subject, a thought occured, I've recreated a father in my imagination that was caring, loving and attentive even though the reality of it was he was violent, kept a gun, threatened our lives daily, was a full blown out of control alcoholic that had to be carried out of restaurants and piled into taxis which we then piled into to haul him home in total silence.
Then the doorman helped us get him into the apartment, and then it was my job at 5-6yrs old to put him to bed, sing him a song, remove his shoes and socks, his belt. I dont know what my mother was doing during this time, I had my assigned task and did it.
No matter what we said, offered, begged or pleaded, he got stinking nasty drunk.
A father who really loved, who was capable of 'love' would not have left one family to start another only to be so abusive for so long to so many. A sane father would not have taken his 6 year old to bookmakers, race tracks, had me pour shots or fetch fresh cold water to wash down his scotch or tried to kill my mother repeatedly, another monster in her own right.
So as of this evening, maybe there is no breakthrough maybe its a breakdown because I'm totally confused.
But what I am sure of is that once I admitted this mess to myself the feelings of transference and obsessing about my therapist came to a halt.
Feeling angry and feelings of hate for being a child pawn in a sick game between two sick adults and never finding shelter or aid from any authority figures i.e. teachers, guidance conselors etc, seems more normal than fantasizing about grief over a dead man that wasnt really a father at all.
Then the doorman helped us get him into the apartment, and then it was my job at 5-6yrs old to put him to bed, sing him a song, remove his shoes and socks, his belt. I dont know what my mother was doing during this time, I had my assigned task and did it.
No matter what we said, offered, begged or pleaded, he got stinking nasty drunk.
A father who really loved, who was capable of 'love' would not have left one family to start another only to be so abusive for so long to so many. A sane father would not have taken his 6 year old to bookmakers, race tracks, had me pour shots or fetch fresh cold water to wash down his scotch or tried to kill my mother repeatedly, another monster in her own right.
So as of this evening, maybe there is no breakthrough maybe its a breakdown because I'm totally confused.
But what I am sure of is that once I admitted this mess to myself the feelings of transference and obsessing about my therapist came to a halt.
Feeling angry and feelings of hate for being a child pawn in a sick game between two sick adults and never finding shelter or aid from any authority figures i.e. teachers, guidance conselors etc, seems more normal than fantasizing about grief over a dead man that wasnt really a father at all.
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