Maybe emotional abuse, maybe just overreacting

I'm seventeen. I'll be eighteen in March. I have a mother, and I have a father, as so many do. But seriously. My parents are together, and my mother loves my father very much. My little brother adores my father. My little sister? Eh, she may be lukewarm towards him.

I've always had a rocky relationship with my dad. I mean, when I was little, he was so, so important to me. He showed me the baby birds in their nests and played Tarzan and Jane with me and read me a story every night. He always sang me lullabyes. But I was always too emotional for his comfort, and he was too conserved for mine.

I would cry, a lot. I couldn't control it. I still can't control it. The littlest, most unusual things have always set me off. So I would cry, and he would tell me to stop. I would keep crying, unable to stop, and then he would tell me to stop crying, or I'd be given something to cry about. And that always terrified me and made me cry harder, because he is a very big man. Tall, lean, strong. When we misbehaved or stepped out of line at a school or forgot homework or something, we would be spanked, with his rings on, until we couldn't sit. And we would cry. And be told that if we didn't stop, we'd be given something to cry about.

So that's really the first thing I remember when I think about my relationship with him as a very little girl. First I remember his reactions to crying, then I remember the spanking, then I remember the games and lullabyes and stories.

In third grade, I received a parrot for my birthday. His name was Leelee. He was a lutino cockatiel, and I loved him very much. Instead of spankings or taking away my non-school-related reading, he became my punishment by the time sixth grade rolled around. If my grades started to drop or my mroom wasn't clean or I misbehaved, he would tell me he was going to sell my bird. Mind you, by this time, my bird had become important to me. I talked to the bird about my fears, my self esteem issues, my anxiety around my father... And it was nice, because he wouldn't judge me. He was a bird. Birds don't really judge.

In tenth grade I began cutting myself. It would be several months later that I was diagnosed with moderate to severe depression, but at the time, I just thoughts I was broken. I had learned how to cry silently so that he wouldn't hear me, because even though he hadn't said those words in heard by that point, I was still so nervous that I'd be given something to cry about. I was never good enough. I hadn't been for as long as I could remember. I couldn't load the dishwasher correctly. My hair was never okay. I was going to die before I was thirty because I liked Mexican food. How could I fail that test. I was being wasteful with my birthday money. I baked too much. I folded my clothes wrong. I didn't think church and religion was fantrastic? How ungrateful.

I was just never good enough.

And then, once I was diagnosed with depression, once I finally thought I had a reason to feel so small, so broken sometimes, that I wasn't just screwed up, he made it very very clear that he wouldn't 'walk on eggshells' around me just because I was depressed. That if I just exercised more than tennis twice a week in winter and spring, and marching band in the fall, and recreational swimming in the summer, and dog walks around the neighborhood in between, then I wouldn't be depressed. That it was my own choice and dependency on depression medication was shameful.

And I'm still scared of him. He hasn't spanked me since elementary school, but I'm always so scared he'll hit me anyways, because he gets so mad, so quickly. He'll be mad at my mom for playing tennis with her friends on Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of going right home after work. He'll be mad because our backpacks are at the kitchen table, because we're slobs. He'll be mad because the dogs peed in the house within five minutes of coming inside after running around outside for an hour.

And I've talked to him about this. Or, I mean, I've tried. I'll try to bring it up, about how he makes me feel awful sometimes, that I'm scared of him more than I should be, but I can't bring any of that up without bursting into tears, and he thinks that I try to manipulate him by crying, hence the eggshell comment, but honest to god, if I could have my tear ducts removed, I would. And anyways, I don't even notice how but it always ends in me apologizing for overreacting.

And last week, he was away for a business trip, to teach police training courses in California. And it was amazing, going through the day to day activities, being satriafied with how I reactor and respond and solve my own problems. I was asleep on Friday before he came home. Saturday, I woke up, surfed tumblr,read. He called my name, and suddenly, in my room, I couldn't breathe. I jusgf froze, and teared up, and felt like iron bands had crushed my chest and a mountain of stress had collapsed upon me. And all day, I was miserable, and my medication wasn't effective at all.

I tried to keep it from my mom, but she knows me too well, and I ended up crying and explaining to her, and she said she was so sorry, that she had already tried bringing up the fact that I seem to act differently around my dad, but that he had chalked it up to mom being overemotional. I ended up calling my best friend and she listened to me and cried with me.

But what the hell? Why Am I so mistrustful of him? Nobody's perfect. I feel like such a hypocrite resenting him, and I feel so guilty because he has always kept me fed and clothes And in school and protected and paid for my bird's food until Leelee died, but he's so closed off emotionally unless its anger or want or disappointment, unless its affection towards the dogs, and I want that affection too,but when he's randomly shown it recently I just panic and shy away before I even realize it.

So I don't... Know. Emotional abuse? Can you even be abusive if you don't intend to hurt others? If you are trying to be a good parent? Or am I a hormonal teenager who feels persecuted as so many hormonal teenagers do?

 

Thanks for the responses, guys and gals.

There have been times when in trying to discuss something with him, as in defending myself against an accusation or discussing how he makes Me feel, where I've just told him I was not going to be able to talk without crying, so could I write my responses or email him. His reaction was that if I had somethingbto say, I needed to just say it to his face, so yeah. That method doesn't work for me.

The only counselors I have access to are male. One works at my school, with my mom, and the other is the psychologist that prescribes my depression meds. I'm anxious about speaking on this with either because a) I have an aversion to talking to people whose job it is to listen. I don't want them to have to tolerate me, because I hate to impose myself on others or cause problems. B) I just have a general mistrust of male figures. I'm not scared of men in general, but whereas every female teacher, mother's friend, etc is someone I feel I could go to for help or connect with, there isn't a single male I feel that way about. I'm thinking maybe once I'm in college I'll seek someone out?

I'm also... I'm afraid of not being believed. For all intents and purposes, he's a great father. I'm afraid of being told I'm mistaking things, because I'm afraid that I am, and if an authority figure tells me I'm wrong, I tend to question myself immediately and feel guilt. It feels safer just to keep it in for now.

I'll be heading to college or Germany next fall, so I'll be moving out then, but until then, I'm doing my best to handle things. I really appreciate the advice and support.

 

So, nix on the Germany thing. My application to spend a year as a student in Germany was not accepted. The farthest I'll be able to go is about two hours away, if I get accepted to the college there.

What do you guys think about support groups? Maybe once I'm in college I'll try to find some sort of support group or meeting.