From my Journal:
I haven’t seen or talked to my dad in weeks. I have forgiven my dad, my parents, for a lot because I believed deep down, they could be better people. That they could redeem themselves by caring about their family and themselves more than working. That they could find hobbies and joy through friendship and family. But I haven’t seen it yet. I know part of this is somewhat a poor immigrant mentality, work to support you and your family – build a legacy, develop food and shelter security at all costs. But it’s one none of their kids (not surprisingly) subscribe to; and yet we’ve been raised that way. It’s been a point of stress in our family for as long as I can remember. On top of that, my dad ruled our family through fear. I was painfully aware of his moods, so that I wouldn’t upset him. I would guess this contributed to me being extremely sensitive and aware of people’s emotional state later. But at this point, life was all about maintaining homeostasis and avoiding being noticed. Except for this one time.
If I recount the events of that night, I don’t know whether it seems as bad as it was or whether I just think it was bad because it happened to me. Either way, I was crushed that night, physically and emotionally. Something broke in me after that. I was even less equipped to handle any stressors, arguments, perceived arguments, with anyone. It caused me panic and anxiety to hear anyone raise their voice or get upset with me and it still does. I hated people to touch me already (no hugs please, but later sex was fine lol) and it made it worse. But hey, I got a car out of it. lol
By the time I was 15, my parents were rarely home, and my brothers had both moved out of the house. So, I entertained myself by being online most of the time. Back then, chat rooms weren’t regulated at all…so I ended up meeting, “dating”, and eventually losing my virginity to a guy who was 45 (I had just turned 16). But that’s another story. Chat rooms were my lifeline to a social world. We had moved when I was 13 and I had a hard time making friends because of how different I felt. So, I made connections online and that kept me sane. The only problem was that my parents hated how much I was just sitting in the office on the computer, I think they sensed something was off with how much time I spent online (owing to me talking to that guy all the time). They didn’t understand I had a whole social world (and painting programs haha). They wanted me to get out to do things or go with them to work.
One day my dad wanted to address the fact that I was on the computer so much or maybe he insisted that I go with them to work, and I refused. To be honest, the actual reason for the fight I don’t even remember. But his tone and attitude were unbearable. I was getting older, and I had put up with it for so many years. It wasn’t even directed at me most of the time. I hated how he talked to my mom especially. I finally decided I wasn’t going to be silent for once. I was upstairs in the loft area talking to them while they were downstairs – this weird distance between us. Whatever we argued about, it started to piss off my dad something fierce. He started pacing back and forth and I could tell he was losing it. I told him if he was so upset, if wanted to hit me, go ahead because he hit my brothers enough anyway. I don’t know why I said that, I think I was just tired of living in fear of it happening to me. I had been spanked growing up (actually mostly by my mom lol) sure, but not like my brothers. Not with a belt and with my dad’s ferocity. So yeah, I egged him on, my bad.
There is more there to why I finally chose this day, this time to resist. I was always so alone, and it seemed like the only time they cared was when I wasn’t doing what they wanted. But I’m not going to get into that. The next moments are burned in my memory. After I egged him on, my dad came barreling upstairs towards me like a freight train.
My dad’s not a small guy, but I was a small girl at 5’1” (maybe 110lbs at the time). I braced myself as he came up over the stairs and for a moment, I was able to push him back as he grabbed at my shoulders. I lost that battle quickly and he pinned me to the ground in one swift move. I defended myself putting my arms up as he tried to backhand me. I was too weak, and he was able to hit me across the face several times. At this point, I saw my mom from behind him and she was screaming at him to stop but not doing anything. I reached one hand out to her for help, and I’ll never forget, she cried and looked at me helplessly, but she did nothing, so my dad continued. For a split moment, I thought he was going to kill me. Full stop. I really thought that.
In my head, I reasoned that if I don’t act like I’ve passed out he’ll never stop. This thought process happened in mere milliseconds, I just gave up. I stopped defending myself and closed my eyes – whatever happens, is fine I said to myself. He stopped shortly thereafter.
He got off me and walked downstairs breathing heavily and I laid there with my eyes closed. My mom came over to me crying and tried to help me up. I finally got up on my own and told her not to touch me. I remember my dad being upset that I had scratched him in defense with my nails, which is.. whatever. I went into my room and locked the doors. I walked into my closet where a few pillows and blankets were on the floor and I curled up in a ball and scream cried harder than I ever had in my life (short of when my brother died many years later). I didn’t know what to do. Do I call the cops? I didn’t want my dad to get in trouble (how fucked up is that?). My mom came to check on me later and I just told her to go away. I think that may have been one of the first times I engaged in self-harm (cutting specifically) and thereafter it was more common.
The next day a bruise formed under my right eye and my left eye was bloodshot and yet I still went to work (family business was an auto garage at the time). I remember my brother Eddie’s friend K worked there too and he was there that morning. He took one look at my face and asked who did that to me? I meekly motioned towards my dad who was in the garage. He said “Nu uh..” in disbelief – shook his head and minded his own business. Later my mom told me to go home early.
Time stood still that day. Eventually I got over it, but it sticks with me. I’m a grown woman and I’m still afraid of him. I still start to panic when he raises his voice at me. When I otherwise get anxious or panicky my right shoulder tenses up in defense of being hit – but there’s no one there. I’ve worked hard to gain my own power back, my confidence, but I’m still forever hindered by those things.
I think I wanted so bad to believe he could be a better person, because I’ve seen flashes of it. Despite all that, I did feel loved growing up, just also often not acknowledged, respected, or even liked at times. I don’t think my parents really understand or know me to this day.
And with all that, I desperately wanted my dad to have the chance to make up for the pain he caused. I wanted him to retire early and focus on family and finding joy in something other than work, maybe even his kids/grandkids? Eddie had it the worst being first born and I always held out hope that as my dad got older he would soften and somehow show Eddie how much he really did love and respect him, in the right way. But what do you do – when there’s no more time left?