There is a Hell on earth, and it’s in my house. Anyone who refuses to believe in the Devil should just come over for tea and see my dad. Lucifer would be proud.
Things had been almost normal for a while. I suppose more than an effort for normalcy, it was the simple fact that he was too occupied with his new secret affair and upheavals at work to pay too much attention to us. or focus his energy on new ways to torture us. I honestly didn’t even care that his so called business trip was a clandestine rendezvous with a girl even younger than me, because it bought us a few days of much needed quiet. Even that didn’t work out, though.
As it turns out, the ‘other’ woman isn’t just a gold digger, but a cheating one too. I don’t know what kind of delusions my father harbors. He was on cloud 9 thinking that he’d landed a young girl who was madly in love with, ready to leave her life behind and move to be with him, wait on his every whim, etc. Instead he found out that she’s been regularly fucking other men, through the entirety of their affair. A cheater gets cheated on? Heavens, how could that be?
It’s not any sort of consolation to us that Dad’s crawled back home to lick his wounds, though. We’re having to bear the brunt of his msiplaced, wrath, mom most of all, and she can’t understand where this new surge of maniacal behavior stems from. To a certain point we all try to be clinical about his madness, but you can only be detached for so long. After that…. well let’s just say it gets nastier.
So you have an almost Taliban-esque religious figure who is taking out his frustration on his family because his secret girlfriend cheated on him. The irony is not lost on me, but I’m not smiling. There comes a place where you become so tired of being so bitter day in and day out that you literally just want to end it, to stop feeling like this exhausted, hateful person whose every nerve is their last nerve. And on top of that you have a figure like my father haunting your every step, nagging you about everything from why you’re drinking from that mug, taking one teaspoon of sugar instead of two, wearing a color as bright as blue, sitting a certain way, arranging cans in the shelf nonalphabetically… the madness is incessant, and I’m tired. I’m tired of the constant snide comments that I’m going to Hell because I didn’t wake up at five am, how my eating habits are pointless because I didn’t eat two bananas before going for a run in the morning, how I’m a sinner and I’m filthy because I like to shower after breakfast, instead of before… Each of this is a repetitive topic, practically every day in fact. As far as I’m concerned, I’m in Hell already.
Three years ago when I started my blog, I still had a modicum of hope and ambition left. Now, I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up being thirty and living in my parents’ house under this monster’s thumb, simply because I’m too afraid of leaving my family behind with this creature who will almost literally eat them alives, devour their happiness as he has mine. At the same time, I’m not strong enough to do something that will extricate all of us from his iron hold. I’m a girl with an IQ of 159, sitting and arranging dusty old newspapers by date because they ‘should’ be arranged before being sent for recycling. I’m in love with a man who wants to get away from everything and everyone he knows quite as badly as I do, but the only difference is that I’m included in the ‘everyone’ for him. I’m a doctor, and I just spent forty five minutes standing impassively and trying not to react to the blood oozing on the floor as my father slammed each and every piece of meat in the freezer onto the ground, screaming and bellowing at our incompetence because we forgot that there was chicken in the freezer and he bought some more.
And this is my life. Bring on eternity, I suppose.