Grieving an abusive parent

[Cornstarch]

I am being slammed by complex grief.

My father was an extremely abusive man, a depressed narcissist in fact that terrorised his wife and kids.

He took his own life 6 years ago.

My grief has been protracted because life wasn't polite and didn't give me space to grieve straight away like other people can. I had to hold up my traumatised Mum who has a psychotic illness, quit my job, leave my friends to ensure she didn't go the same way. When I was little I was certain it would be her to do it - but I was wrong.

12 months later our Nana died. And then 9 months later Mum's best friend died, who was my "earth mother" that looked after me when I was little whenever Mum was hospitalised. Everyone was gone.

I am haunted by my fathers death. Haunted.

He was so abusive.............................but he was my Dad.

[Cornstarch]

My friends and family may disagree with you Dizzy. They squeal at my celebrity, Hollywood, trashy magazine ignorance. I'm always hearing, "Oh my god, how can you not know that/them?!"

I choose not to know.

It can be fun to engage in light, silly, mindless trash to forget about our problems but it can also snowball into really un-healthy behaviours. The main one being body image issues. I have lost count how many people I know with eating disorders, regardless of their age. And they never grow out of them. They could can come from the most wholesome homes with fantastic childhoods and be the most intelligent, worldly, travelled, sensible, rational women and yet be tortured by it. Absolutely tortured. I figured that if someone with my background immerses themselves in all of that toxic self obsession, that is never satisfied because none of us are young forever, it's just a recipe for disaster.

So I just don't engage. Why feed a traumatised trinny with more potential self-loathing. I've had enough soul-destroying experiences to deal with. I was the kid that you could never get inside anyway so I just try to be outside as much as I can.

Sometimes Dizzy it's not just my own grief that is hard but it's "the grief" if you get what I mean. Like the other day when I was at the clinic that has been working with the Royal Commission into CSA, sitting in that waiting room!! My god! Can you imagine what that collective grief felt like. It was like wading through Peanut Butter when I was called to get up and walk into the consulting room. After my appointment, stepping back out into the waiting room to high-tail to the exit, I just had to sprint and look at the floor and my shoes. I simply could not look at any of them, the heart-break was palpable.

So I scooted down the stairs with tears in my eyes and wished them well in my heart and thoughts however useless that is.

[Just Sara]

I was just heading off-line when I found your post. I have to reply...

The thing that struck me most of all, and yes there were a few biggies, is learning to protect yourself from the pain of others. I know it's a stretch...believe me I know. Dissociation continues to cause outward energy towards others in pain so I can forget...but it leads to helplessness. A horrible feeling...

Seeing as we're in the grief and loss section, I'd like to relay a Zen Buddhist story (proverb)..

A monk gathered together many orphans from the overcrowded cities and took them to the mountains to live; he devoted his life to them. One day an injured baby deer was found and bought to the monk. He set about feeding and nurturing the animal, and the children grew very fond of it; a little lost soul just like themselves.

The deer grew weaker by the day and the children were frantic. The monk couldn't bare to hear their cries of sadness. He tried relentlessly everyday to get the deer back on it's feet without success.

While sleeping, the little deer came to him in his dreams. He pleaded; "Please let me die" The monk replied; "I can't allow the children to suffer any more, I can't bare it"

The following morning the little deer had worsened. The children begged him to do more. That night the deer returned to his dream. He spoke; "Please let me die kind monk. I need to fulfil my destiny to teach the children about death and grief. It is my birth purpose..."

The next morning he woke to find the deer had passed away. The children were distraught and went to the monk crying for comfort. He finally understood his role and that of the deer...everything has a purpose.

The moral to this story can be perceived in many ways. What does it mean to you?

[Cornstarch]

Oh Gosh Dizzy I just don't know.

I have a porous nervous system, carried other people's pain for years and have a history of being lousy at boundaries (I've improved immensely in recent years).

I will have to read it a few more times, maybe even sleep on it..................

Buddhist riddles "n" that........Hmmmmmm

[Cornstarch]

Thanks Dizzy for the thought provoking post,

I don't have kids but to me that Buddhist story sounds like what it must feel like to be a parent.

That said, we are all in relationships in one way or another, and for me it means that no matter how much you love someone, or are touched by the tragedy in their life, life lessons are everyone's to experience and no-one can live it for you.

You can't teach life experience, it must be lived by the individual for it to resonate deeply enough for them to feel changed.

Obviously suffering isn't an even spread when you look around at the world but no-one can dodge loss, death and dying.

All of this is in conflict with my role from a very young age as a child carer. My siblings and I were the adults, and our parents with their needs were the children. I don't know if you have met many child carers in your life but when you do you'll be struck by how old we seem.

"Age appropriate responsibility" kinda went out the window very very early by lack of choice.

It was a complete role reversal. And to top it off if we didn't carry our fathers pain, we were punished. There was the "mind warping" of an abusive parent that felt entitled along with an inflated sense of his own suffering. No-on is more important than they are and everyone else will certainly hear about it time and time again!

I'm a work in progress Dizzy, a work in progress I say!

As for the others in that waiting room..............it just stings my heart.

But you are exactly right it tips the scales, it pushes too much energy out of myself, and makes me a very vulnerable person to the users and takers of this world. That pretty much sums up all of my 20s! If you wanna give too much of yourself there will always be people willing to snatch.

I'm attempting to re-wire my entire brain and sense of self, I guess that takes time, and can only be done by acknowledging all the LOSS

Hugs

Corn-Cobs num, num, num, num

[Just Sara]

Very nicely put Corny;

How eloquent and insightful. The Buddhist 'riddle' has no right or wrong answers, and you surely gave a tremendous explanation.

To me, it's about who I and others identify with. The children identified with the deer for instance and some may also feel that. But your approach gives an holistic look at things...I liked that.

I think you hit the nail on the head when you spoke of lessons learned from life, and allowing others to find their own answers. Had I not learned to survive, I wouldn't have had the skill to survive other experiences and, grow from them. My suffering may one day pave the way to greatness Corny.

The enablers of the world need to step back a little and leave us to learn for ourselves. But in saying that, watching children suffer is plain and simple heartbreak. I'll never forget the look in my little boys eyes...never ever. I dare say it is relative to your own at many times in your life too. It's the helplessness...

Your story is so tragic, child carers of parents with mental health issues should never have to be placed in that position.

So about loss, it sounds as if you're moving through the process. Still here for you...

Kindness...Dizzy xo

[Cornstarch]

Yeah. It will be a surreal feeling when Mum passes. Like losing a little puppy I've tried to look after the best I could with all of my own stuff to boot. I don't know if it was my anxiety talking the other night but I panicked it wasn't far off. I hope it was just the anxious, mouse on the wheel thoughts playing their tedious tune.

I kid you not approximately 6 months before Dad chose to take his life I rocked up to my clinical psychologists one day and said "I have had a terrible, vivid, lucid dream that scared me. Dad is going to die and this is how"...............sure enough, one Sunday night while getting my clothes ready for work I got "that call".

Regarding your own loss and trauma Dizzy with your son, I will not patronise you and pretend there are words for that. I'd rather remain silent in respect for something that has no words. There are no words for that. Horrific.

There is nothing positive except that he had you as his Mum. I think you would be astounded how many mothers are made privy to such violence, and turn the other way. A mother figure we spent huge amounts of time with was witness to mine and she started making me gifts and telling me how "special" I was. It is quite unbelievable the stories I have heard over the years from other victims. Complicit bystanders. May they rot.

You said you'll never forget your son's eyes.

It's funny how some things stick.

I will never forget the whimpering animal noises Mum was making when I arrived home that night when she found Dad. They haunt me.

Sending you Star Dust and Moon Spray, Dizzy Girl.

xxx