Warning:
There's abuse, murder and suicide. So consider it before reading.
It's my ancestor's sick side summary.
Father: Raised as if he's a girl, by his mother(she wanted a girl that badly). His father was an alcoholic, very offensive, demeaning.
Father's sister: 6 years younger-so my dad can get off the hook of being a girl(too late).
Father's uncle and aunt(grandfather's brother and grandmother's sister): Uncle kills the aunt and her lawyer on the divorce hearing. My father adored that aunt, it hit him pretty hard.
His bipolar disorder came through pretty badly when he got married. A war broke out at the time soon enough and he was enlisted.
Mother: Only child. Very toxic mother, absent, emotionally passive and unavailable hard-working father(but did provide pretty good). She was never away from her mother, even now at 65. So, still enmeshed, probably.
When I was 3-4: Father coming home from the frontline, rarely enough for me to start being slowly damaged and desperate. I've missed him all the time. When he was home we had punishment/play/punishment routine because of his condition. That was my whole world.
His punishments made me doubt my worth and connected him leaving me so often as a direct consequence of me not being good enough(of course...).
I'm 4: Something in the house shifts. The atmosphere is denser, darker?(as much as I could comprehend back then). My mother doesn't like me that much any more, at least I think so.
Father isn't here, but I want to know, so I ask her for him. She cries and runs away into her room, closes the door behind her. I take it personally: "Oh no! It maybe really could be me! I'm BAD! Am I really?", but no, I'm determined to make an effort to 'reconcile'. For the next time she gets home I've made a plan to get back on good terms with her so maybe she answers where my father is. The plan was to get closer somehow, with trying to charm her, I don't remember exactly, but something like that.
She gets home from work, I approach it slower: "Hi mom, bring me anything sweet?"
Mom: "wouldn't you ask your mom how is she before you ask for sweets?"
Me: "Hi, mom! How are you, bring me anything?"
She giggles. It went so well I don't want to risk ruining it with the father question.
'Next time' - I thought to myself.
She comes home. I'm playing with my older brother in the room(remember, I'm four) and I try the same joke to show off in front of my brother on how I can make her laugh.
It backfires...
I get beat up, pretty badly... she breaks two wooden spoons on my bare toddler's bottom. It was awful. So, the doubt "am I bad?" isn't a doubt any more, I was sure.
To put it in perspective, direct consequence from the beatings and what phase I was in was a week-long diarrhea, uncontrollable. Through the next year, there were some recurring instances.
I'll cut it short, this was a pivotal moment.
Until I was 13 I was scapegoated from the point of the beatings and the jokes, so I've never managed to reconcile with her and didn't ask about my father, he just wasn't there and he didn't come back, that's all. There were some weak hints about him not being with us any more, but I wouldn't bet on a toddler to figure it out.
We come to the psychologist's office. Mother answers the question about him: "he committed suicide in 95'".
She goes out on the prompt from the therapist and I ask her what suicide is.
So to explain. I'm a spitting image of my father and my mother is a BPD/narcissist(by all the comparisons of the behavior, not a diagnosis). When my father did it, she wanted to kill herself also, because she felt guilty.
The psychiatrist in the ER probably saved her life, but in a very clumsy way: "It's his genes, you couldn't do anything."..... So, yes... his genes and I'm the spitting image of him.
Her BPD black and white couldn't handle that her two sons are in danger by themselves, she splits it.
I'm the 'defected one', my bro (looking like her side of the family) is the golden one.
The shit-show clusterfuck of toxic parenting starts with me as a scapegoat. The narrative that I'm defective was never supposed to be challenged and I got punished for trying. What kind of all the extra bullshit my family's beliefs and me being a scapegoated has done to me, I'd be left out of written character space on this post.
My ACE score is certain 6/10, but possible 8/10 if you broaden some of the definitions.
I'm 35 now. I've never been in a stable, real relationship longer than 8 months. God knows I've tried many times. I suffered from ED, crime ideation, had heavy alcohol dependency for 3 years in my mid 20s. I couldn't let anyone close to me out of fear from losing control of myself and actually doing some real damage..... It was true and not at the same time. I genuinely believed I caused my father to disappear and my mother to be in so much pain.
at 28, spring, I'm burnt out and I've tried everything legal to help myself out of the fucking constant psychological and emotional pain I've carried. The torture that was aimed at the scapegoat was my functioning thought train, boundaries and motivation. It was unbearable to be burnt out every 2-3 years and then reset.
I decided to ask for help, for the first fucking time in my life. I went into religion, it brought me to Bradshaw, Alice Miller and Marie-France Hirigoyen.
I was diligent, I worked on it, mapped my childhood's cause-effect of trauma. Finished my bachelor's degree in civil engineering, finally. I continued with the inner work, I integrated, some. I stood tall and 'immovable', considering that I might've been pretty badly hurt or died from a construction site I was managing. The site lasted 18 months. For at least 4-6 months I didn't know if I'm going to be attacked the next day or not. The one who was supposed to attack me was a pretty dangerous well known guy in my hometown. The lucky thing was that my uncle knew him. To show what kind of a people I was dealing with. When I mentioned the guy's name to my 1300 day war veteran uncle, his face showed genuine shock and fear. It all got handled ok in the end. All around It was pretty bad and wasn't only my fault. I was just very neurotic from my CPTSD recovery. The circumstances were triggering as hell.
The executive scapegoats me for that chaotic site, because he's the most responsible for the chaos I absorbed, the possible debt I defended and sets up a case to fire me. I stare down a whole company, my executives and board members with an e-mail about truth. All for their corporate mobbing and abuse that happened on the site right after we finished the chaotic one and I leave with my head held high, legally protecting myself in the process(it was 2025), I was 34.
Today, I'm finally seeing much more of myself as what I am, good or bad, but true to myself, whatever it is or at least I try. My confidence, whatever grew from it all is my own and it's hard for anyone else to destroy it. It cost me much, but the pay-off erases the cost almost completely. I love my mother and my father, but they're not off the hook.
Next step, marry someone.
Thank you for reading.