I have broken the family contract. My mother enforced it: we (mother and three daughters) were never to acknowledge or object to my father’s alcoholism and emotional violence. He could do or say anything he wanted. He could behave any way he wanted. And we were supposed to just stay silent and take it: inarticulate shouting, screamed profanities, silent glaring, temper tantrums, thrown beer bottles, taunts and insults, misogynist jokes, constant criticism. That he never said anything or did anything positive for us was taken for granted. That he was incapable of tenderness and affection was taken for granted. That he was incapable of conversation was taken for granted.
My mother always acted like my father’s behavior was totally normal, so while I did sometimes try to object or defend myself, I was ignored. I came to believe that finding my father's behavior abusive was abnormal. My mother and sisters pretended to never be affected by my father’s brutality. This was their definition of a happy, well-adjusted family.
At the age of fifty-two, I have rescued myself after long suffering, even when the medical professionals I consulted concluded that I was abnormal, downright diseased, and my family of origin were model citizens.
So here I am shouting it from the rooftops: I’m alive! I’m healthy! I’m happier than ever because I recognize the truth and now I am living the truth, far away from the inhabitants of the land of delusion. The road before me is wide open.
