For years I've been convincing myself that the actions of my father have had little to no effect on me. I've trivialised my past and the abuse to which I was subjected. I'm not sure why I do this. Perhaps I do it because I don't want to admit that I could be affected in any way by him. And, until recently, I've made conscious effort to avoid facing it (something which I rarely do with any other situation, regardless of how psychologically traumatising), including telling everyone and their mother that my father is dead. It's true, in a way, that he's dead to me. I told him that I didn't want anything to do with him, and I meant it. But, in reality, he is alive (not quite himself since his heart attack, but he's still alive, nonetheless). And I must acknowledge that.

As I've mentioned, my father is, to the best of my knowledge, a malignant narcissist, albeit a relatively functional one. He wanted a Stepford wife and children who would bend to his every whim and help him create the illusion of perfection. And he tried to achieve this image through force (and arguably succeeded). I was his first son, so he wanted greatness for me. But, and I'm not sure if this is a result of the abuse or psychopathy, I was insubordinate. I never tolerated his abuse or his mind games. As a child, I had an insatiable desire for revenge (an unfortunate condition which carried into adulthood), especially when I got into pre-teen years. If he hit me or took something away from me, I'd return the favour, usually by attacking his pride or the family's "perfect" illusion. He absolutely loathed me for it, and the abuse quickly escalated. But giving in seemed so much worse. I couldn't bring myself to do it, even to escape pain.

That belief or feeling or unconscious reaction or whatever... is still strong with me today, even in situations which don't warrant such a reaction. With few exceptions, I cannot stand to not be in control of myself or others. If I ever believe that someone's trying to control me in any way, I start getting that nagging feeling. It feels like I'm suffocating, and I feel compelled to rebel or do something in order to breath. Sometimes I even want to feel trapped so I have the opportunity to overcome, to act out, or to rebel... hence the fantasies of living in an Orwellian dystopia and then burning it to the ground.

I don't know why I'm posting this... I'm just rambling... But I need to be somewhere, so... to be continued...