Domestic Abuse

I am 18, it has been about 5 - 6 years since my father left to live in another country after the divorce. I met my dad for the first time in four years in 2011; he stayed in Australia for two weeks then left. Soon after I had a mild depression for 6 months, it was quite unpleasant; my art teacher was worried that I would hurt myself so she asked me if I needed help at that time. Recently I have met my dad again and I can’t help remember things and feel things that are unpleasant. My memories of my dad for the most part are unhappy; I remember how he used to hurt my mum. The first time my parents fought that I remember was when I was 7 my mum ran away to my cousin’s house. My memories are a bit fuzzy but I remember loud noises, my cousin told me that she saw my mum have bruises. I remember when she ran away the first time I cried so hard in the arms of my cousins because I was scared. But the next many times I never cried I felt numb. When I was seven my mum took my brothers and I to another city to a safe house, I remember the bruises on her face that time. While we were staying at the safe house my dad told me on the phone to tell my mum that he would kill himself if we didn’t come back, I did and she cried when she heard that. We soon left and came back home. The period of having to watch violence lasted from years 7 to 12, at the end of which they had a divorce. During those five years I never felt safe at home, the violence wasn’t that frequent but the memory of it made life suffocating. Because I was a kid I somehow believed it was my fault, so I always felt horribly pressured to be the perfect child outside and inside the home so hopefully I wouldn’t trigger my dad into hurting my mom or my parents hating me, or leaving me. I ended up believing that if I didn’t talk to anybody no one would be mad at me. I was so fucking scared of everybody, so scared that if I did something wrong my parents would hate me. I had to take speech classes because I was so scared to talk. The teachers thought at first it was a disability or learning difficulty but my English skills was average even though I didn’t speak a word. I was a very lonely kid.

Whenever my parents fought they would speak in their home language Philipino/tagalog, they fought over money I think and how my dad did not want to work. My mum told me once after the divorce that he would take money from my mother for food for a week and gamble it at the casino. My dad once threatened my mother with a hammer, she was cowering into the wall crying and begging in philipino, he smashed the hammer just beside my mother’s face into the wall. Another time it was daylight my toddler brothers were standing beside me inside the room, my dad had my mum pinned to the bed and he was threatening her with his fist and his words. She would be crying and begging “Not in front of the kids,” I remember turning my head to look at my brothers and they were crying so bad. Another time I can’t remember exact details of the fight but my mom was begging me to call the police, I did and I was terrified, my dad told me to hang up so I did. I didn’t have to call the police again after that, but there were times my mum begged me to. Whenever they fought even if it didn’t end with violence it felt like my world was breaking. My dad did not directly harm me in any way, it’s funny in a sick way but he really loves me. Sometimes when they fought I would put my head underneath a pillow to cover my ears and cry or just feel pain inside, sometimes I would go to my brothers so I didn’t feel lonely, they always seemed to sleep easily through the banging and the shouting.
I was 10 when I first thought about killing myself, I was in front of the school gate waiting to be picked up, I was feeling horrible and real lonely. I imagined that if I walked in front of a moving car and died someone would be shocked and it would be proof that someone cared and potentially they could see how much I hurt all the time. From about 10 until I was 13 these kind of thoughts would become quite bad. My parents divorced when I was 12. I’m going to say something now that I never verbally told anyone after all these years, was it because of shame? Maybe. I never wanted to think about it and I wanted to forget. I was 11 turning 12 I was sleeping quite nicely in my bed room until I woke to a scream, the kind of scream that sounds as if someone is dying, it wasn’t like those old Hollywood screams which are comical in its fakeness, it was my mother’s scream. It was pitch dark and my body was cold, sweating and heart beating hard and fast. I didn’t dare move, i imagined that there was a robber or killer in the house, I was scared for my mum. I heard the neighbour an old woman that loved gardening call out from her home, “Is everything all right?” No one answered. I think I stayed frozen on the bed for an hour. The lights were visible underneath my closed door so I went to get out of my bed room. My dad was there walking about looking worried and I asked him if my mum was all right, he ignored me. So I went to where my brothers were to feel better, they were sleeping in the bed, I sat next to them. Still terrified I was wondering why they weren’t awake after the scream. My dad later on forced all of us to go looking for my mum at night, she had run away again. We were in the car going in the direction of where my cousins lived, he asked people in the street if they saw a lady in pyjamas about. I didn’t see my mother until the next week. My dad, brothers and I went to see my mum at a shopping area. When we were there my grandmother took me aside and told me, “Your papa tried to force your mama to make love with him”. I was at minimum very shocked, when I heard that it was as if something broke in me, I didn’t feel a thing in response, my emotions collapsed on itself. I always loved my dad even though he hurt my mum, even now deep down, he was my hero, he was one of the humans I loved most in the world other than my mother. But I couldn’t keep deluding myself that he would change, that we could be a happy family, that he would stop hurting my mother and not make me feel so bad. I used to pray to god when I was religious for these things. I think I started hating him from then on. Soon after there was a divorce and he left for another country. I became even more depressed; I truly believed I was lower than dirt, not worth love or the air I breathed. It was a fact to me like the sky was blue. The reasoning went for example if there wasn’t something wrong with me perhaps I would have friends and maybe my dad would have loved me enough to stay. It took a few years of painful work before I mostly got out of that hell, I didn’t want to die after all.

It’s funny now that I think back on it that I mostly hurt because I felt like I was abandoned. But what worries me now is that I can’t seem to trust anybody, I’m scared of the people I love in particular, and I push everybody away, I’m distant emotionally to friends and family. Showing any kind of emotion or weakness scares me because I’m convinced I’ll get hurt. I’m scared of relationships, I don’t think I can get a girlfriend without thinking that even if I loved her and she me she’d still hurt me and leave just like him. I feel as if my emotions don’t matter and what I experienced is not serious but trivial, that I haven’t truly suffered to complain and expect people’s compassion. I still cry over my dad and I wonder if there is a way for me to get over this and not care anymore. I also get angry and its scary, I get violent when angry. A part of me thinks that if I don’t fully resolve this I could end up a wife beater as well, I don’t want to be like him. I want to be the kind of person that is not scared of people, love and my emotions. I’m not sure what to do about this.
Thanks for reading this.

 

I never had any therapy or help from anyone, I dealt with everything myself. I was too scared and I had speech problems, I didn't even know how to express myself properly back then.