The people closest to me are the ones who have hurt me the most, caused the most emotional and physical damage. I imagine that’s the same for some people.
Tonight I had a flashback of an incident involving my father abusing us, verbally threatening to kill me or one of my siblings when we were younger. He was beating the living daylights out of our mother. His anger was overwhelming and we were all crying. For some reason every Saturday morning he would rage, smashing up the house while violently assaulting our mother. We would hide in our rooms in our beds and under the blankets. The abuse would go on for hours and be relentless.
One particular Saturday morning after hours of screaming and hearing objects being thrown around the house breaking against the walls he summoned us children. I can not recall why but we all stood there in his bedroom petrified while he yelled and screamed and told us – promised us – that one day he will kill one of us. This was said such overwhelming conviction, so convincingly it was hard not to believe him. I stood there numb wondering which one of us was going to die by his hands.
Looking over at my father while completely scared a moment of realisation came over me. The threat was hauntingly real and it was then I realised he never really loved us. We meant nothing to him at all. There was no love just hate and anger. My parents do not love me and never have. Their lack of love has had a profound effect on my self worth as an adult. I’ve never felt anyone could love me because I’m not worthy. Deep sadness swallows my heart up until it’s rock hard.
Love evades me.
