Fahrenheit,
I see you are a real person, and I am really sorry about your dad. Only someone that has lost a parent can understand how you feel. You don't believe there is a God so you can't be mad at Him. I do believe there is a God, and my earthly father was overly forceful in my child-rearing. There was a time when he would come home from his job and whip me everyday. He did more than just whack me with a belt a time or two. He had bipolar disorder. I got to the point where I didn't want to live anymore. I wished I was anyone but me. I had a huge monster to face everyday when he came home from work. Nothing I did for him was good enough no matter how hard I tried. My mother was afraid to step in on my behalf. I felt abandoned and alone.
So one time, when my father was getting ready for the spanking, I being a 6 year old child, laid into his shin as hard as I could with my shoe, then I socked him in the stomach, and I told him, "You don't know how to whip anyone your just ...." and he whacked me across my back really hard, knocking the wind out of me, then he slung me around violently while lashing me with his belt. I wanted to make him madder but I couldn't speak -- I tried so hard to voice the words "go ahead chicken, you ain't got the guts to kill me", my carefully prepared suicidal speech was not finished yet, but the wind was knocked out of me. I wanted him to kill me.
During that episode, my mother came into the room and intervened. She didn't want my dad to kill me. He was visibly shaken, knowing that he could have killed me. He agreed with her: he needed to go to a mental institution and have his problems dealt with. Here we go again: I guess I'm just another outlier point near infinity.
Let me give you a peek into my persona that I have shared with very few people:
I wanted revenge, and I wanted out of the situation. If my dad killed me, I got both wishes. He would live with the guilt for the rest of his life, and I checked out of here with all the misery gone once and for all. I got real mad at God too, because after all I was only a six year old child, and here I was facing death square in the eyes, and taunting him, daring him, threatening him, to get it over with. It took a tremendous amount of courage on my part, and I was prepared to die as a 6 year old. My dad made me a threat -- if I ever told anyone about his beatings I would get the all time big one like I've never seen before-- in other words he would kill me. So let's just skip the threats and get it over with, I thought to myself. OK daddy let's make good on your threat!
I also had another motive:
If my dad killed me then my mother and sister would finally love me. I felt so neglected and rejected by everyone.
I had a dream:
I dreamed that my dad was in prison where I thought he belonged, and I was so happy. I was laying in a casket in a tuxedo with a beautiful, large, white corsage on my chest -- I was a hero. My mom and my sister said "Poor Woody, he just wanted us to love him", my sister leaned over and smelled the corsage, she said ohhhhh it smells sooo sweet. I noticed a wonderful fragrance in the room. Then they said "poor daddy." I thought to myself what do you mean poor daddy -- he killed me! and I was so furious about it, but I was dead so I couldn't say anything.
I decided my life was useless, and I went to a phsychiatrist when I was 28.
The psychiatrist picked up on the dream real quick:
He said it was the victory of sweet revenge that I smelt, and it was a great feeling in the moment of victory, but in the long run it can never be satisfied. So now I had a monster, and I had to deal with it, or it would destroy my life.
You'll probably say I should hate my dad for all the abuse. I carried a tremendous resentment toward him for many years. The abuse, understandably, caused me problems in my own life that I couldn't face, so I turned to drugs in my late teens and early 20's. I couldn't function as a normal human being.
Is my childhood any better or worse than those starving children in africa and india, I wasn't starving to death, but I lived in constant dread. Which is worse: ongoing physical starvation, or ongoing mental anguish? I think God knows. Can anyone else tell me? I wanted to be dead -- how bad is that on a relative scale?
You might say where was God in all this, where was his love? I can honestly say I felt God's love was far from me, but I made bad choices too. I have another brother, by the way, that threatened to shoot my father and they didn't speak for 20 years.
The psychiatrist asked me what I thought about all the beatings I received as a child, and I told him I had real bad ill-will toward my dad. He asked me if that was right. I told him I felt like it was, but I was in conflict with the bible which commands me to honor my father and mother. I didn't know much about the bible except the ten commandments and a man called Jesus that people thought was God, and a few other trivia that everyone else knows.
The psychiatrist got me off the dope, but I still had resentment toward my dad. Within a year I came to faith in Christ by another life threatening miracle outlier event - another story for another day.
After I came to Christ the very first thing I had to do was forgive my father for what he had done to me. Boy was that a tough assignment! I couldn't do it on my own, so I asked Jesus to help me, and together we did it! I forgave my dad 100%. My mother who had divorced him after 20 something years of marriage, said she didn't see how I could forgive him. I can honestly say, I couldn't have done it on my own. You be the judge -- Could you do it on your own?
Looking back on my life, I say: Jesus if that's what it took to get me in heaven, I thank you for standing by me.
Every tear I cried for my dad when he laid there dieing came from the bottom of my heart, and I hope beyond all hope that Jesus took him to heaven. I can't say it without crying, I'm sorry. I just showed you the worst side of my dad but there were many good things I can say as well. We had a great time doing outdoor events, I still cherish those times. He had a very creative mind too. He did care about me, and vice versa.
