“…opium for the masses”…

7 03 2012

It’s been almost a month since my last post. To be honest, the last few weeks have been nothing to write about really. I’m still unemployed and searching for a job where I won’t want to kill the people around me within the first week and thanks to Netflix I can take up my relatively boring day with watching old TV shows that I hadn’t seen before or had missed when they were on TV.

But last night I had a bit of a think about my dad, mainly because of my cousin.

I had gone over to hers after having gone to an amateur dramatics society that meets near where she lives, so I normally lock my bike up at hers and then walk the rest of the way. Coming back to hers for dinner afterwards. We were talking about me being in Bicester and the conversation turned to how I was feeling about living at home again. I told her that mum was getting on my nerves about banging on about being not being religious all the time. This led into a 90 minute discussion between the two of us about why I wasn’t religious anymore and how it came to be.

I tried to explain to her that after the way I was bought up and seeing the disaster that my family had turned out to be, I would attribute it to a narrow minded blind faith following of religion and getting the cultural side of things mixed up within the religion, I had no wish to become like them. My cousin tried to explain that she knew because of my experiences with my parents it wouldn’t be easy but I should try and separate the two in my head as it might help me, but I explained it to her that it can never be separate and I’ll explain why. I’ve not talked about this to anyone in almost 13 years before my cousin last night and no one outside my immediate family will have known about this.

I was beaten, up until I was about 10 or 11 years old. Abused basically.

I’m not talking about the kinda smack you’d give a child for acting up, I mean full on beaten, most of the times with a stick, sometimes tied up and beaten. I never spoke about it because quite honestly, I had no frame of reference for this. I thought this was just how parents acted. And by the time I reached the age where I realised this wasn’t how things should be, it was too painful to go back and it was a little embarrassing too. Now it would have been one thing if he was the kind of father that was going out every night and getting drunk to come back and beat me, but he was stone cold sober and his justification was in the name of religion. That if he didn’t beat me now, I’d only get it worse in the “afterlife.” It wasn’t until much later when I started to question the religion and his methods that I began to become aware of how much crap he spouted. My mother never beat me but I judged her with the same light for just standing by and letting it happen.

Over the years before I left home for uni, I made attempts to escape by running away and trying to commit suicide. Obviously neither worked and I was only beaten that much more after I got home. The end result of which gave me an absolute bitter resentment and burning hatred for the man which was still the way I felt about him when he died. Add that to the loss of complete emotional support while I was growing up, you might start to see why I am the way I am now. It’s been remarked by more than one of my family members how callously cold I am towards them and there’s constant remarks about me not being religious anymore. Maybe my cousin has a point and if I did manage to separate the history of him from the religion then I could one day go back to it.

To this day, when I think of those years, it makes my blood boil so for now, the two for me are inseparable and I have no desire to go back to that lifestyle. Who knows, one day, maybe, but I’m not holding my breath.