Hardest thing I ever had to write. Most painful dream of my life. My soul knew it was true. I was reading Astral Dynamics by Robert Bruce before going to sleep.
I woke up this morning(technically yesterday since it is nearly 1am) after a dream. I was considering driving down to my parents' to figure things out, but I would have let my emotions control me.
In the dream, I remember asking my mom, "Does dad ever hit you?"
To which she gave an immediate "No."
I said something along the lines of, "Come on."
She said, "Well, you know he used to drink a lot more."
That was the dream. Here's what makes it hurt. Damn. Having trouble.
One night I was playing with my Ninja Turtles and my parents were arguing. Damn. Hurts. Shaking while I write this. I remember seeing my parents struggling down the hall over the keys to his truck. He was VERY drunk and my mom wouldn't let him leave. I don't remember if he left or not, but I remember throwing my toys around the room. That's when I figured out I could break stuff. My parents told me later that I shouldn't throw things. I still do to this day.
I don't remember if it was the next morning, or some other time, but there was arguing as usual, and I heard glass breaking in their room and screaming. I sat quietly in my room playing with toys. I was about nine, maybe ten. After school, I get home before my parents, rushed to their bedroom to look for more drugs, and the window was gone. The room was thrashed. I called my best friend and said, "Come look." Bottles and cans everywhere, through the window, just a mess. I don't know what happened.
In high school, I got home one night and argued with my dad some more. He pushed me into the sink and stood there waiting for me to do something. I called the police and they made him get a room for the night.
He had at least one affair that me and my mom knew of, and I wouldn't be surprised if there were more that I just never knew about.
These were the most memorable arguments. Then of course there were times more recent where I tried getting him to fight me. I swung on him one night a few times but missed and went to the bar after punching a wall, and drank a lot while the bartender was wrapping up my hand.
I think the question now isn't "If," but "why?" Why does all this have to be? I can't even talk to him deeper than surface level. If I get mad at him, he ignores me, and then tells my mom how much of an idiot I am. That's why our modern arguments end up with one of us leaving the house for a bit. Sometimes I wonder if we should just duke it out, but one or both of us would end up getting hurt. I left over a month ago. I'm sure I'll be back, and then leave again. I'm used to it.
At 28, I wish I could handle myself better, but I have High Functioning Autism(Asperger's Syndrome), and am constantly drugged. Other people are always taking care of me. I collect a federal check every month, otherwise I'd be screwed. I do have my driver's license, and my own car, so I'm not completely bonkers, just slow.
I've been on medications or drugs(Even Ritalin[Meth] in the beginning until I tossed that out) of some sort ever since 9. Now, I'm taking Prozac and Zyprexa. Anti-depressant and anti-Psychotic. But for the last few nights I haven't been taking them. All the sudden I have this dream that triggers memories and tells me why I'm on medication in the first place. I finally figured it out. The doctors aren't as greedy as I thought only days ago. My insurance gives them $1000 a month, and in turn, I stay quiet and ignorant. Peaceful. It seems like every time I make a huge stride in resistance, life throws me something, even if it's just a memory of something. I guess life had nothing else to throw this time.
I woke up this morning(technically yesterday since it is nearly 1am) after a dream. I was considering driving down to my parents' to figure things out, but I would have let my emotions control me.
In the dream, I remember asking my mom, "Does dad ever hit you?"
To which she gave an immediate "No."
I said something along the lines of, "Come on."
She said, "Well, you know he used to drink a lot more."
That was the dream. Here's what makes it hurt. Damn. Having trouble.
One night I was playing with my Ninja Turtles and my parents were arguing. Damn. Hurts. Shaking while I write this. I remember seeing my parents struggling down the hall over the keys to his truck. He was VERY drunk and my mom wouldn't let him leave. I don't remember if he left or not, but I remember throwing my toys around the room. That's when I figured out I could break stuff. My parents told me later that I shouldn't throw things. I still do to this day.
I don't remember if it was the next morning, or some other time, but there was arguing as usual, and I heard glass breaking in their room and screaming. I sat quietly in my room playing with toys. I was about nine, maybe ten. After school, I get home before my parents, rushed to their bedroom to look for more drugs, and the window was gone. The room was thrashed. I called my best friend and said, "Come look." Bottles and cans everywhere, through the window, just a mess. I don't know what happened.
In high school, I got home one night and argued with my dad some more. He pushed me into the sink and stood there waiting for me to do something. I called the police and they made him get a room for the night.
He had at least one affair that me and my mom knew of, and I wouldn't be surprised if there were more that I just never knew about.
These were the most memorable arguments. Then of course there were times more recent where I tried getting him to fight me. I swung on him one night a few times but missed and went to the bar after punching a wall, and drank a lot while the bartender was wrapping up my hand.
I think the question now isn't "If," but "why?" Why does all this have to be? I can't even talk to him deeper than surface level. If I get mad at him, he ignores me, and then tells my mom how much of an idiot I am. That's why our modern arguments end up with one of us leaving the house for a bit. Sometimes I wonder if we should just duke it out, but one or both of us would end up getting hurt. I left over a month ago. I'm sure I'll be back, and then leave again. I'm used to it.
At 28, I wish I could handle myself better, but I have High Functioning Autism(Asperger's Syndrome), and am constantly drugged. Other people are always taking care of me. I collect a federal check every month, otherwise I'd be screwed. I do have my driver's license, and my own car, so I'm not completely bonkers, just slow.
I've been on medications or drugs(Even Ritalin[Meth] in the beginning until I tossed that out) of some sort ever since 9. Now, I'm taking Prozac and Zyprexa. Anti-depressant and anti-Psychotic. But for the last few nights I haven't been taking them. All the sudden I have this dream that triggers memories and tells me why I'm on medication in the first place. I finally figured it out. The doctors aren't as greedy as I thought only days ago. My insurance gives them $1000 a month, and in turn, I stay quiet and ignorant. Peaceful. It seems like every time I make a huge stride in resistance, life throws me something, even if it's just a memory of something. I guess life had nothing else to throw this time.