CW Death. Filth. Abuse. Sexually explicit descriptions. Child sexual abuse. mention of murder, Suicidal ideation. Mention of self harm
So as usual it has been a while and again, as usual, there has been so much happen. So much my brain barely functions, its keeps shutting down, for a few days I was competent and capable even though I was emotionally traumatised. Ive been too busy, too exhauseted, too depressed to write. Same old. I’m trying to use my dragon program but its so slow and clunky compared to typing and I still cant get over my frustrations with it. But typing right now is difficult though I’m still having to make a lot of corrections by hand.
I concluded a while back that my sister would eventually get in touch with me if she really needed to so when I got a text from her asking to talk about our father I knew it would be one of three things. Either he had done something horrible, was in hospital, or dead. Turned out it was the latter, my so called dad is dead. He had apparently been horrendously drunk and behaving even more bizarrely than usual, not the drunk part that is just a normal day for him. Concerned neighbours kept trying to help and check on him eventually police were called who forced the door and found him dead on the floor, the poor neighbour is traumatised. After spending way too long trying to get an appointment changed I booked a room and train for the next day feeling more about seeing my sister and the mess he has made of our grandmas house than I did over him dying. He was an awful person, abusive, neglectful, unable to accept help or see the truth and a vicious vindictive piece of shit. Seeing my sister was odd, I offered no hugs or consolation, I am not going to open those emotion for myself, she does not want to be in touch it is sad but it is what it is.
Its also sad that our father died the way he did, refusing help and likely in a drunken rage. But that was his choice, he did it to himself. And I have had Radiohead playing in my brain on loop since then. *Sings Just*. The house is disgusting it is so dirty and grimy, smelly and full of crap. We went in wearing masks and gloves and being very careful about what we touched. And because he was a vile and disgusting person with intense mental health problems, untreated of course, we are going to have to pay A LOT of money to get specialists in to clean the place up, throw out lots of hoarded crap, clean the shit off the walls. We spent a couple of days searching though things, the things that didnt make us wretch, looking for anything useful. Bills, contracts, bank card, a will….anything. The fucker had a filing system a thousand times worse than mine. I found medical paperwork mixed in with manuals and warranties, offensive (to us) bad writing mixed in with all sorts of random bits that made little sense as a collection. Bad writing everywhere really, he liked to think he was a writer. I mean, technically he did write stuff, I have no idea if he ever sold any of it, there was a lot of rejection letters, didnt see a single acceptance but that doesnt mean they dont exist. Anyway, we tried to clean up a bit, gathered up the million empty bottles and rotting stuff. Found some useful bits of paper, and of course a lot of not useful but interesting bits, though still very little of what we needed. Considering theres no obvious will, no funeral plan or instructions and no named executor its down to us to not only do all the admin but also find out who the fuck it is we need to admin with. It took us a whole week just to get all the initial notifications done, calling companies asking if the bastard had an account with them, following up from letters from years back, with nothing to indicate a change of provider. Hours of fun (just how sarcastic can I make it)
Looking around that house the first time in a couple of years and it was like seeing where I would end up if I wasnt determined to NOT do that. Of course I could always still go that way if my mental health gives way and I stop reaching out, not out of the realm of possibility.
It has genuinely been a way to try stay alive because I dont want to do that to my sister who would be the one left to pick up the pieces and I think its selfish to leave such a mess for others to clesn up. but that was him all over, selfish, entrenched in his white cis male priveledge.
I used to think there was something wrong with me because i felt and reacted differently to things than those around me, such as someone dying…. its what traumatised people often do, we just get on with things, this kinda shit is just another day, just more sorting out somebody elses mess…..obviously thats a massive generalisation, it doesnt include the fight/flight/freeze response that takes over when a specific or sudden event happens, things that can send one into a traumatic flashback, reduce the strongest most resiliant into a gibbering wreck hiding behind anything available.
But there isnt something wrong with me. my reactions are “normal”. Traumatised brains deal with things in a manner unlike that which we’re taught is supposedly the normal and correct way. For me, my emotions shut off, I go into action mode, I just do. In the vast majority of urgent situations I settle down, the large amounts of hormones normally coursing through my body actually have some use then, I may feel panicked but act calm, which has the benefit of keeping others around me calm, most of the time.
I felt capable for the first time in years, I could focus for a while certainly more than I can expect to generally these days, I felt like I had energy though it was of course stealing spoons from days to come, Most of it was not particularly healthy, I had to force myself to eat or rest but in the short term its okay, relatively, but the thing is I FELT OKAY for a few days, its been so very long since I experienced that. It was clean, clinical, productive. much like reporting this has been. The emotional bit has been all the negative effects he’s had on others in life and death.
once i got back home that exhaustion hit hard, ive been back over a week and have barely finished unpacking let alone done any of the much needed housework. And there’s a hell of a lot that needs doing here as I’m going to be moving house, probably. Something I have been desperate to do for years but right now, right now is such a bad time *cries*
Going back to the unexpected trip to my grandmothers house, I felt sad that things went the way they did, not that he was dead. I was uncomfortable with seeing my sister but am good at compartmentalising and shutting off emotions for something, even while experiencing them for something else. What made my eyes go glassy, apart from the stench, was the state of the place and how he’d disrespected the home of his mother who was house proud and always kept things clean. Such an unbearable mess. It felt claustrophobic, like my place does with the never-ending task of decluttering. The reminder that this was the way I was headed before I decided to stop it, though its taking many, many years to try and fix my mess and driving me insane at how long its taking, its happening even if it doesnt feel like it so having that sight poking at me was truly disquieting. And going around that house felt like being in one of my nightmares, it featured regularly in them and now that house has the ghosts of 3 of the main people in my nightmares, I was totally creeped out for a minute or so, but then shoved that nuisance out of the way and continued with trying to clean up. Trying real hard not to vomit all over the place at the mess and the smell.
But we plugged away at it as much as we could cope with. On the first day I found some drawings that I had done as a child. Just normal, a kid drawing what they know and see around them kind of drawings. The first one’s quite cute with two people sitting opposite each other, the second one rather risqué with presumably the same two people nekkid, in a tight embrace and kissing. The next again both naked, one sitting on the bed (I’m actually impressed at how well the breasts are drawn, they look like normal full boobs, none of this perky & perfect stuff we’re bombarded with) the other standing facing them. The one on the bed is saying hurry up. The next drawing is a more clinical one of two headless figures both sat/laid back with legs open wide one with a hairy vulva the other a lightly haired penis. Again reasonably accurate drawings though the relative size of the penis and ballsack to the leg length is exaggerated.
Now, this envilope was dated. I was TEN YEARS AND ONE MONTH OLD. why the fuck is a 10 year old drawing pornographic and explicit figures??
What the fuck is my father doing with them in his possession?? And how the hell did he get them?
He wasn’t even living with us then. Was my mother finding them and sending them to him? If so, EWWWWW. was he snooping through my drawing pad and stealing them on our mandated weekends with him? If so EWWWWW. was I just leaving them laying around because it was so fucking normal for me that I didn’t give it a second thought?? If so EWWWWWW. I would have know they were taboo, particularly for anyone outside the family to see. I knew about not letting others know how much I knew about sex and bodies, because I was told that everyone else was a prude and would get upset. The unspoken bit was that if someone gets upset at her, she gets upset at us and that meant a beating and further punishment. But seriously, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?? I remember drawing other similar things, I did caracatures of the adults in my life, at least half of them naked, and one of them, her pedophile boyfriend of the moment was demanding sex and had an erection. Drawn around the same time, and I know my father had that too. How??
I was rather disturbed seeing these pictures, ones I’d forgotten about, and quickly shoved it in my pocket to deal with later. Didn’t mention it to my sister as somehow I felt I wouldn’t get the interaction or support I needed. That makes me sad.
We carried on, I grabbed loads of paperwork to take back to my Airbnb and work through that night. And sent a message out to the WhatsApp group someone had set up for me to scream at with anything I needed support with. After I got back, and had a shower! I spent most of the rest of the night looking through papers. I’ve got a feeling this was the night that my hosts kindly invited me to join them for dinner, which was such a lovely thing for them to do. Which means it was the second day I found that envilope as the first night I ordered food and sat upstairs reading through other papers. The second night I did a bit of reading but couldnt focus. Had a talk with a friend about the pictures until I got called down for dinner, which gave me enough energy to go through paperwork after.
Reading though my father’s old school reports, hes been a disappointment his whole life, all of them basically said must try harder (something that was echoed in my shool reports though never with the frequency or ferocity of his) I suspect he was likely being bullied and abused, probably at home and school. He certainly had a lot of undiagnosed mental health issues, though none of that gives him licence to be an arsehole and hurt everyone around him.
We spent two days searching to anything useful, one of the neighbours helped a lot too, and when I first arrived the vicar was there which I found somewhat amusing. Even after 2 days we still didn’t have half of what we needed and were going to have to go on the computer, which was not password protected, to search emails and files for the rest. We ALL knew there would be A LOT of pornography on there and both my sister and I suspected there would be photos of children somewhere there too. I said I would do it, when nobody else was there so they didn’t have to see any of the porn. I discussed with my therapist the next week, I didn’t know if I was being protective, or martyring myself to make myself look like a good person. I can’t tell the difference. But back to the house. My sister and her husband went back home the second day. We changed the lock that got busted by police and went round checking making sure everything was as okay as we could make it. I was going to return the next day to drop off that days paperwork.
On the driveway we had a short chat then she headed towards the car door, her husband said something along the lines of we probably see you again at some point. I said yeah, picked up my very heavy bag and turned and walked away. No goodbyes from anyone. She had asked me if I was okay (neither of us were but both stoically getting on with stuff) which is a caring thing to do. But that was it, no affection no touch no goodbyes. Along with the events of earlier, and grumpy with my unweildy heavy bag, I got a bit emotional walking back. Thank goodness for the kindness of the strangers whose house I was staying in, who knew why I was there and that it was not a good familial relationship, but no more than that.
Earlier that day, amidst the drawings, and filth and emotional drain I realised that my body felt lighter. A weight had been lifted, I would never again have to fear him contacting me, would never be harassed by him again or dead named or deliberately misgendered or abused and called all sorts of nasty stuff. He’ll never be able to hurt me again.
I had one more night booked at my place and was struggling to find another, wasn’t ready to go straight home and planned to have a days rest before travelling. My super kind hosts were booked up from the following night but offered me their sofa if I wasn’t able to find somewhere. Which was way above and beyond and made me feel a sense of care I rarely experience, especially from my family. But I would feel uncomfortable and in the way so was relieved when a friend found me a place in town.
After another sleepless night I packed up my stuff and dragged it and the paperwork back to the house. Picked up more paperwork to check, got distracted looking through the less horrific rooms, spent a bit of time in my grandmother’s room, just sitting and taking in the warm memories. And apologised to her for what he’d done to her home, promised we’d get it cleaned up. Then I went to check the dreaded computer, I had my flask of tea for comfort and my gloves to stop the filth from getting onto my skin. There were already some files listed from a quick search the day before including ‘how I became a cum bucket slut’ in all caps, classy. thanks to dyslexia all the other listed items were just a blur of swimming letters all jumbled up, making it hard to pick stuff out, I’m sure the anxiety didn’t help with reading stuff. But I had to change to icons so I could more easily pick out written documents and pdfs. I mentioned earlier, his filing system was bullshit, I could not figure it out and annoyingly when I switched over somehow way more files would show up in the search. Absolutely tonnes of porn, just average mediocre pornography. Though I could just scroll scroll scroll until I spotted something worth checking. Annoyingly there was still a drastic lack of useful information. And when I opened the email to forward something the default email account was one he used for sex stuff, I was so anxious about accidentally emailing my sister from ‘yourfatherisapervert .com’ was so nervous about that! I did manage to find a few useful things, each time having to scroll through hundreds of pictures. Which included gay porn, sissy stuff, forced bi. So he was also repressing that side of himself, explains a lot of the homophobia and some of the toxic masculinity.
Then I saw a child, a so called candid photo taken at a campsite of a young child in knickers, several versions edited and cropped to zoom in on them. I had been intending to check for that stuff after I was done but here it was. After staring horrified for a bit, I moved past it and texted my sister saying I was definitely handing the computer over to the police, that I’d found a picture of a girl in knickers. I didn’t need to say more than that. Though I did have more things to find at this point so I pushed on. More and more photos of children, lots of early pubesants in bikinis or naked, more candid shots of young children, their knickers visable, one labelled ‘4 year old boy’. A poor child standing in front of a bath someone else pinching their penis. Then there was worse, much worse. Stuff I will not describe. Stuff that’s burned into my eyes. At that point I just could take no more, I’d managed to find and forward a couple of things but we were going to have to find other ways to get what we needed. Shaking I got myself outside and for the first time burst into tears. Clutching my tea and pacing, or not, I’m not sure. I shakily phoned a friend and offloaded while I caught my breath and tried to calm down. Full of rage, and regret, and guilt, sorrow for those poor children, horrified I didn’t protect them, and so fucking angry that I had been right.
Of course he got one last kick in, one last hurt to add. The one I’d suspected but could not prove. The one I feel guilty about for not protecting those children. The one I needed evidence for but only found after the piece of shit was dead and would he never face justice. He got away with it, in part because I didn’t go to the police with my suspicion. Even though I know they would likely do nothing, they don’t even do anything when people go to them with actual proof of harassment and threats as I learned to my personal cost, why would I go there with just a suspicion? I know it’s not my fault, I know it was not my job to police him or all the others, but I cannot shake the guilt. I was bred to be a carer, a peacekeeper and to carry the responsibility for the health and behaviour of my younger siblings. That kind of training is hard to shake, and keeps a tight grip in situations like this. I’ll take on the responsibility of the (other) adult, like I have my entire life. It’s my job, my purpose.
Still crying I could not face going back inside. I tried calling the police but no way I could handle being on hold for an indeterminate time. So I decided to go check in to the hotel and report online, ducking inside quickly to grab the bag. My taxi came, he insisted there was only 1 place called the britannia so took me there. I dragged myself upstairs with heavy bags again and got in to find a queue of at least 60 people ahead of me. Yikes! And only 3 of them wearing masks. I wabbled my way through the oh so fucking slow line, eventually getting to a clerk, only to find out it wasn’t the place I was booked into GRRRRRRR that fucking taxi driver. And stupidly this hotel didn’t have any way to communicate with the other one down the road, like WTF. They wouldn’t even phone them for me, fuckheads. Dragging my distressed and exhausted self I tried to find the other place, it took so long and I’d already spent something like 40 minutes in a stupid queue. Eventually I got checked in, they took payment up front, not a good sign. Only 20 mins complimentary WiFi a day unless in the foyer, ouch. So I spent a lot of time pacing around there trying to get in touch with people. Though I did make my police report upstairs as soon as I got sat down. An hour later my sister texted to say they had called her, which pissed me off, lazy policing and they showed me absolutely ZERO care while being nice to my sister, they were treating me like I didn’t exist. I was the one that made the report, but they just phoned her because they’d already spoken to her. What if I hadn’t told her yet about what I’d found? Imagine finding out that way. Also, fuck the fucking police. I have just been traumatised and they didn’t even check if I was okay. Fucking wankers. I’m still angry about that. Though my sister responded as though I was over reacting and she was being ‘incredibly patient’ with me, that stung. I tried to brush it off as my anxiety and imagination.
I spent the next hour ish pacing around waiting to find out if the police wanted to go round that night or the next day, did I need to get myself together again or could I try to relax. Eventually I get a text saying theyre at the house already, still nothing from them, utter uncaring incompetence. My sister was being very defensive about it, I don’t give a fuck if it wasnt malicious just them being too lazy to contact me, it was Incompetent and they have a duty of care towards me, the one that fucking reported it. Later it would emerge that she was imagining that I was accusing her of withholding information and stated that she didn’t have a number for that officer. Which showed me she is making assumptions about me similar to other family members, with further implications that I was over reacting and other gaslight-y stuff. Which is one thing I suspected and even asked that time a couple of years agao, if I was somehow triggering stuff in her that brought up bad feelings, causing her to pull away from me. It hurt but whatever, there was already more than enough to deal with. Like noise.
This was the second worst hotel I’ve ever stayed in, the one thing in its favour was it was quite clean. However neighbouring guests keeps slamming their doors, shaking my wall every time and a bar next door played LOUD music until 5am. Hotel staff were fucking rude, refused to move me or do anything at all and I was not confident or energetic enough to cope with trying to find another place, especially as they’d already taken my money. All I wanted was to lay down and sleep, get set up for having a rest day and going back to the house the day after. But with the images haunting me, the anger of being ignored by the police, the fury of confirming that my father was a nonce, the disgrace of what he’d done to himself and the house.
I spent a lot of that night pacing the foyer, uncomfortable and tired, trying to process the last 3 days of madness and disgust. Spoke to another friend and glared at the staff. Momentarily distracted by a terrapin suddenly moving in a pond the level below.
After eventually getting a little sleep I was so wound up I couldn’t get back to sleep or rest at all. So I changed my plan and headed back to the house to drop off paperwork I’d managed to go through despite the noise. Stopped off at the neighbours, who had been friendly with him and been a great help to us, they were not coping well. I hope I was able to give them some resolution despite the horrors of the week. And I checked a photo of one of their kids to see if I recognised them from any of the photos on the computer, thankfully not.
Going back in it was a relief to see that the police had only added a small bit of mess, it was a small comfort to find an empty space where the computer had been, I really hope they catch someone from whats on it. Dropping off the papers, some of which I should probably have kept hold of but nevermind, I wasnt exactly thinking clearly by this point, grabbed a couple of things, leaving some other items to pick up another time and headed back to the second worst hotel. Heavy hearted and exhausted but unable to relax, the following day was a monday and the admin would start in earnest, plus travelling, urgh. We’ve now done pretty much all we can with that, we dont have a death certificate as theres going to be an autopsy. I want to go and punch the body, smash its face in, but alas the world is unfair. We’ve been sharing the responsibility of this crap which is good as on my own it would be too much. So much time spent making calls (a literal nightmare) comparing quotes, figuring out what to do with stuff, informing companies and actual nightmares. Once the first batch of things was complete and things slowed down a bit I started to feel the exhaustion, and sank back into depression. There’s SO MUCH going on that I cant cope, I’m back here surounded by the never-ending, barely sleeping, tired beyond belief and lacking that composure and functionality I’d had the week before. I’ve hardly done a thing thats useful since I got back, struggling to talk to people even though I really need the company. I dont have the strength to stand my ground around those that just talk over others and am really sensitive to it right now, which has lead to many occasions of me dropping out of calls distraught and hurt, lonely but unable to try reaching out to anyone else. I can force myself into doing a bit, put the mask on and block out the feelings, most of the time. When I cant and I get a wave of emotions I get suicidal and have intrusive images of grabbing a knife and slicing my neck open, I feel the need to cut myself but dont have the energy. Besides, it would only connect me with my feelings and thats just too much to deal with. Had my last session with my counsellor last week, start off with a new one next week, I have no idea who it will be. Not the greatest time for instability in my support network. Something I’ve been working towards for the last year, given the final push by both this and the coming change of therapist, was talking for the first time ever about the first time (that I’m consciously am aware of) that I was sexually assaulted by a man in private, with no witnesses. I was still shaking and hour later from verbalising it and am hunched in a tight protective ball around a Teddy bear. Shaking and scared, trying to show my brain that it’s over, that I’m safe from him. But I keep going back to it and keep seeing those photos. And I dont feel safe, I feel rage and disgust, I feel fury at the bitch that kept bringing these people into my life, I feel such guilt at not protecting those children, my sister might not need me any more but those other ones still do, and I failed them. And sometimes I wonder, when I was young and we started having our weekend stays seperately allegedly to give me some time away from my siblings, was he thinking of me in that way? Is that the real reason I got to go there on my own? Was his pleasure because he was thinking about me as a sexual object? then I remember one particular photo on his computer and I just see my face there instead of the poor child it was. It could have been me, if things had been slightly different it could so easily have been me in those pictures. I dont know for sure that there arent photos of me as a child out there on peoples computers or in their attics, I dont think there was ever a situation like that I saw (at least not until I was quite a bit older and very jaded) I dont think theres anything that intense locked away, and I kinda hope I never find out.
Its hard to describe how bad I feel, when I do feel anything other than stress. I hate this year, I hate this universe and most of all I hate my life. I do finally have an answer to that manipulative question of how will you feel about not talking to your “parents” when they die?? Well, relief mostly. Not a lot else beyond fury and disgust. I’m glad he’s gone, maybe now some people can begin to heal. I’ll never get any resolution with him, but death wasnt the thing that stopped that, he did with his refusal to face up to anything, his volatile temper and lack of connection with reality. He maybe deserves some compassion for the way he was treated as a child, but not from me, I want to resurect him so I can kill him myself. I spent my life being afraid of him, tiptoeing around some things and being unable to push for others, and for what? A belated ‘discovery’ of his utterly vile behaviour. Before then he was a decietful, violent, drunken, misoynistic, homophobic, transphobic, sex obsessed, delusional, creep who mistook money for love and lashed out at everyone around him one way or another. Even in death he is fucking up my life and mental health, I’m spending so much money on cleaning up his fucking mess. Money that I really need to pay to be able to move house, but I cant delay or I lose this flat. I’m going to be stuck paying rent on an empty flat, packing and moving on my own over christmas and new year. I keep telling myself it’ll be worth it but all I can feel towards that right now is stress and resentment. That moment on the second day when I stupidly thought he couldnt hurt me anymore, I’m such a fucking idiot.
I feel abandoned and pushed out, left to pick up the pieces of the thing that spawned me. This is such a bad time of year to be in need of help or company. Unable to talk or make myself heard over others. Unable to human, can only fake it, meanwhile things build and build. I’ve already surpassed my limits and I cant force myself to deal with the neverending even though theres an actual time limit now. I just want to scream and hurt him, I want to run, I want to curl up and die, if only it would stop the pain.
I wish I’d been braver and confronted him, about everything
I wish I’d gone with my instinct and reported him despite lack of evidence
I wish I’d somehow pushed him out and protected my grandmother from him
I wish I’d hit him
I wish I’d strangled the life out of him
I wish I’d protected all the people he abused, groomed, predated and hurt
The Bouncing Spoon 