When we (or maybe it’s just me) go out and form bad relationships it’s not just a coincidence. Whether you realize it or not you form relationships based on what was modeled during your childhood and the things that happened to you. For example:
· I was 5 years old and I loved pancakes. Just the thought of a hot pancake and syrup was one of the small joys during my childhood. I remember sitting there eating a 4 stack with my family. My father had a really bad temper and I was chewing with my mouth open. He asked me to stop but I didn’t exactly know what he was talking about and continued to eat my pancakes, reveling in each bite.
A minute later, I was on the floor and didn’t how I got there and my ears were ringing. My father had used his open hand and smashed me on the side of my head. I flew off the chair and hit the wall on the other side of the room. I must have been unconscious for a few seconds as I couldn’t remember the exactly what happened right away. There was blood down one side of my face and a few teeth were loose and my dad was glaring at me. “Don’t chew with your mouth open!” After that I didn’t eat pancakes anymore. It didn’t dawn on me until much later in life. I hate pancakes but I remembered loving them as a kid, I connected the incident and realized what had happened.
· My parents weren’t very good at feeding us. I remember being hungry most of my childhood. I got up in the middle of the night (I was seven) and padded out to the kitchen. My stomach woke me up and the pain was too great to ignore. There sitting in the fridge was one slice of apple pie. We weren’t allowed to touch these things as this belonged to my father. I couldn’t help myself as I picked up the pie and ate it. The flaky crust with the sweet apples was like heaven to me. I finished the entire slice as quickly as possible; I didn’t want to get caught.
The following morning, I was watching TV when my father got up. He got into the kitchen and was looking through the fridge. He roared out of the kitchen, slammed the TV off, “Who ate my fucking pie?” He was pissed. He lined up my older sister, brother and me – the youngest and started the interrogation. “Who ate my pie?” I didn’t want to get my siblings in trouble and I stepped forward and in a small voice “it was me”.
He grabbed me and swung me up and held me by my ankles, he stripped my clothes and started smashing me all over my body with his other free hand. I couldn’t even cry at that moment. He let me go and I hit the ground and I crawled under the table. I spent the day under the table, naked and bleeding, it was my sister that coaxed me out.
· When I first attended school and kindergarten, I would sit there and watch the other children, never trying anything. I was mute and didn’t talk to anybody, years of abuse left me afraid of any adult. I remember the teachers trying to get me talk or play but I was too afraid and I didn’t know how to play with other children. My mother never let me out of the house as a child and didn’t let other children near me (to this day I don’t know why).
In today’s society, my behavior as a child would send alarm bells through the teacher, the school and to social services but back then it was assumed I had some kind of mental handicap. My behavior was reported to my mother which led to a one-sided conversation “what the fuck is wrong with you?” I didn’t know what to so that wouldn’t end up with me getting clubbed over the head, so I learned that silence was the best option.
My point about the stories above is not to get anyone to pity or sympathize with me. My point is if the only love we know as children comes through with violence that’s what we move towards as adults. The only way I know of to break this cycle is to go to therapy. Yes, professional help, think about it.
