I always thought I grew up in a pretty decent environment. Then again, what did I have to compare it to? My previous lives are a mystery to since I recall nothing. Perhaps I lived in the third world and died young. Perhaps I was an aristocrat that never had to work a day in their life. The only thing I can really compare it to is what I've been told my life is 'supposed' to have been like.
Both my parents I loved to death, but like most people they had their issues. Before she passed my mother explained a lot to me. She had attempted suicide several times in her life, and that doctors would say she has something called Bi-Polar Disorder. Even though I heard the words, they just brushed passed me. For all I understood, my mother was just angry and sad a lot, and always had bad ailments. She often tried repressing it with smiles and performing good deeds for others. Perhaps she believed in karma, that if she did enough good things that the bad future occurrences would be countered. Unfortunately, that was never the case.
She would bottle up everything inside and let the pressure build, much like a volcano. And as volcanos tend to do, she erupted every once in awhile. All the lava that had been collected would be released and I'd make futile attempts to run for cover. We had no way of predicting these events so we were never fully prepared. Over the years I had learned to be on alert at all times, to have all necessities on person. This was a dangerous zone. It wasn't "if," but "when."
My father on the other hand repressed everything in a different way. He would never explode. To see him angry like my mother would have been as rare as a hurricane hitting New England, although still quite a bit less devastating. He'd hide himself away and be left to his own devices. This is a paradox though, because any time I wanted/needed him he was there for me, so there wasn't really a distance between him and I.
His relationship with my mother was a different story.
Whereas he constantly tried to make the situation generally decent, my mother would always come by and throw fits when things weren't exactly how she wanted them. My father let most stuff go and so my mother felt vindicated in 'picking up the slack.' My father never really judged me, and even if he vocally expressed his dislike for something he'd still support me with my desires. My mother tried so hard to compete with that by giving me rewards based on conditions, and she had preconceived expectations as to how I should react. If I didn't act accordingly, there were consequences.
My dad instead gave just for the sake of giving. My mother naturally detested this, as it undermined her method.
Now this may all sound like I'm taking sides here, though I assure you that I'm far from that. Again, I love both my parents unconditionally. I'm just describing the world I had been brought into so that one could see the reflection that I had become.
Apparently my father had a track record of entering relationships with women who had tons of issues. His first wife, mother of two of my half-siblings, had actually committed suicide a time after they were divorced. To this day I know very little about her. Not one picture exists of her that I've ever seen!
The woman that my dad began living with shortly after my mom passed is certifiably mental as well. Living under the same roof with her for that brief period of time constantly felt like imminent death. She was nice at times, though when she got mad she also got very physical. I've called the cops several times out of fear for my own life. She would always apologize the following day, transformed back into her nicer self. It put into perspective how much more my mother had control of herself as opposed to others who suffer from that affliction.
To this day, I'll never forget hearing a knock on my bedroom door and opening it to find staring back at me my father with his face covered in blood.
Many years later they are still living together. Nothing has changed, aside from the fact that I'm out of there and on my own. I've realized that it's pointless to get too upset over it though, since it's all my dad's decision. He can leave whenever and he chooses not to. I've tried several times to help; we all have! It's a lost cause, so as long as he seems to be doing okay, what more can any of us do?
Mom was a bit of a lost cause as well. It was common to see her fill a tall glass up with vodka and pour in a little bit of Diet Coke in order to make it not look so obvious. With it she would gulp down her pills which included percocets.
When confronted about it, all she said was, "Oh, the alcohol is what really makes them work!"
Every time I see my father these days he's constantly drinking cheap beer. He justifies his constant diet of alcohol as being a wise choice since it's cheaper than soda, and plus he doesn't care for all that high fructose corn syrup. When asked if he'd consider water he replies, "I don't want to rust from the inside out!"
He then goes on to say, "You know, it's the alcohol that kills all the germs!"
- Ether
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