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The Vicious Circle of an Abusive Parent

The vicious circle of an abusive Parent

My father was my hero growing up. He was a true colossus of a man who I loved and respected.

This carried over to the greater community on the Creggan Estate in Derry, Northern Ireland. He was viewed as a bastion of strength in tough times that many turned to in times of need.

Creggan, where I grew up;

We shared such a connection. The standout was our love for sports. We were actively involved in football, snooker and boxing. He trained me in all three. He was in charge of running the local boxing program at the community gym. As well as assisting in the coaching of the juniors at Derry City FC. Our chats over the snooker table became such a source of learning in my upbringing.As well as bonding between a father and son.

I appreciated his pragmatic view of Religion. My dream growing up was to be a Catholic priest. His view was refreshing in an evolved sense. That was removed from the dogmatic nature of the Catholic faith which had caused suffering for many.

Before my thirteenth birthday, cruel fate flipped the script on my life.

My mother collapsed at home. After being rushed to the hospital it was discovered she had terminal Cancer. I can still remember the doctor coming to us and delivering the grim news that she had only 3-6 months to live. The devastated silence from my father was almost deafening. She was his bastion who he relied on in so many manners.

The news was too overwhelming for him to process which cast him into deep denial. It took the form of him drinking to excess as a means of escape from something he couldn’t face. The defensive mechanism embodied selfishness. He was so caught up in his own devastation that he forgot the needs of my sister and I. Who were both trying to reconcile losing our mother at such a young age.

He left us with our own devices to deal. As he wallowed in self-pity. The feeling of betrayal burnt deep. As felt by the one you always relied on turning his back on you at your time of need.

At the same time reports of rampant child abuse in the Catholic Church started to surface. The reports were made worse by it involving children that were in the care of the church in their childcare network. It became galling when the priests in question were moved to other parishes to avoid accountability.

My mother was on death row and my lifelong dream was obliterated. I needed my father for I was brought to my knees. I was lost and engulfed in grey that delved into very dark phases.

He was symbolised by his absence. The only relationship that existed now was avoiding getting hurt during his drunken stupors. The bruises faded and the broken bones healed. The battered mindset remains today. It was not the physical abuse that hurt so bad, but the feeling of always being on edge. This fractured my identity at such an impressionable age. It rippled my pond with anxiety, insecurity and fear. As well as imprinting denial on my being.

My mother passed and my sister who was rarely around, finally completely fled. She was four years older and married her boyfriend. It left me lonely and completely alone. At the mercy of my father who was racked by grief. His violence got worse. The worst part was he always apologised in its aftermath but never took ownership of his actions. He never thought to get hold of his drinking and start to look after his son who was crying out. The abuse of knowing you were the least of a parent priorities killed inside.

I spiralled out of control. My two main expressions were violence and sex which led to having such a self-destructive youth. I had no boundaries for I had no responsible adult in my life. In the past I turned to many in the church but after the paedophilia culture was exposed. I wanted nothing to do with it. It saw me drink to excess and get deep into the gear. In the cold hard light of day, I was ripped to ribbons inside. I thought many times of suicide. The only thing that saved me was my cat, and thinking if I wasn’t around who would look after him. My father during the unconscionable depths he reached during his drinking probably would have killed him.

Before my seventeenth birthday, my father passed. He succeeded in drinking himself to death.

I thought this would represent an escape from years of abuse. Instead, it was imprisonment to its legacy

The struggle to interact with others was the dominant theme. My father’s betrayal instilled an aversion to intimacy. Out of fear that anyone I got close to would inevitably turn their back on me. The only interactions I had were on a sexual level. Any opportunity for relationships I avoided for my skewed perception deemed them sure to fail.

Before my 19th birthday, I met my ex-wife. She challenged my mindset by compelling me to dedicate to her. We got married and enjoyed nearly 21 years of wedded bliss with three children. She saved me in so many ways but I never allowed her to completely save me. My father’s legacy always lurked in the shadows. I allowed her to get close to me, very close, but not fully into my inner sanctum.

She deemed this as a trust issue that she could no longer deal with which led to her ending our marriage.

I embraced denial to this devastation like my father did 30 years earlier. The same selfishness ran true which saw me take a teaching position in Australia as a means to run far away. In the process completely overlooking the needs of my children. To the point of making them feel like I did not care.

History once more repeated. As seen in my son failing to deal with the split of his parents. I wasn’t there to help him reconcile his feelings with the assistance of my ex-wife. He expressed this in following in my footprints by getting involved in the gear. An issue with ICE ensued that ripped him to the core.

I rushed back to be by his side. Only to be so confronted by the realisation that I carried on the abuse of my children. That I made a vow to never do during the abuse imposed on me by my father.

Once more imprisoned to a gut-wrenching legacy as embodied in the vicious circle of abuse

The Vicious Circle of an Abusive Parent
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