(2) Blindsided (Prt 2)

Let's go back to that visit my father paid me, the one I talked about last time. Among other things, he told me that it was my mother's fault we never had any kind of social life, that we were never allowed to do anything that involved staying away from home for any length of time (no matter how old we were). And he said it was my mother's fault that we weren't allowed to go to public school and struggled with college. (Which we did not, by the way, thanks only to her).

My father has always insisted we never go to public school. He even told me at one point he wasn't even sure college was in God's plan for women. He strongly maintained that higher education wasn't necessary at all, and did all he could to discourage us from getting ours. If it hadn't been for my mom's determination, I'm not really sure where my older brother and I would be today. Still there, working for him on the farm, most likely. He told her once that we should just quit at ninth grade, like the German Baptists do. It's still an ongoing struggle for her with my four younger siblings.

As far as social interaction? Nah. Everyone is out to get you, and they are all ignorant, worthless people. I've never met anyone that he didn't trash talk as soon as their back was turned. We had no friends and if they dared come over to my house, he wouldn't speak to them. After I moved into the dorm, I brought some of my college friends over to my brother's graduation party and he glared at them all from the minute they arrived until the minute they left. Didn't introduce himself. Didn't speak.

So I'm not really sure why he thought I'd buy into that lie. I remember asking to sleep over at my friend's house, only five months before I left for a college dorm. (I was eighteen).

He didn't speak to me for two days, because I had dared ask him.

But…my mother did it, it was all her fault.

WTF.

I've heard of projection; I feel like that's what happened there. Everything we had to deal with from him, all the atrocities we put up with, he settled squarely on my mother's shoulders. But regardless of whether it was a carefully-orchestrated lie or some kind of alternate universe he truly believes he lives in, one thing is clear to me: the man has a mental problem - or, more accurately, quite a few of them.

I regret letting him talk for two hours. I regret it with everything in me. But when he invited himself in, sat at my table, and opened his mouth, I was taken by complete surprise. It came out of left field. But I shouldn't have been.

Since I left for college, the only time he sought me out, both in person and on the phone, has been to do something like this. That says something about a father, don't you think?

I think I should feel regret for cutting him out of my life completely; but truthfully, I only feel relief.

(1) Blindsided

Recently my father paid me a visit. He drove up to my new home - uninvited - sat down at my kitchen table, and proceeded to tell me the worst lies imaginable. Now, we have always been a church-going family. But there is a difference in religion and Jesus, and my father most definitely has always enjoyed showcasing the former. He raised his family to believe cutting hair, wearing makeup, and putting on anything but a skirt was a sin. I remember clearly the rude comments I received when I visited home for the first time with mascara on. I remember the degrading remarks he used to make whenever he saw the two or three friends I was allowed to see - they always wore pants. We stopped celebrating Easter, a "pagan" holiday. Halloween? Forget it, that's the devil's heyday. Vacation Bible school/Sunday school? A sin of the deepest proportions. (I know, I never figured that one out either. I think he told my mother one time it's because they used crayons and made crafts).

But on the day he came to see me, he told me it was never his idea to do any of this, that my mother had made him. He was only bending to her will, that she had always been a little crazy and changed her mind constantly. 

I was in shock. 

He told me other things, too, terrible things, but those are for another story. The point I want to make with this post is that I just watched someone turn his entire belief system on its head, deny he'd ever believed it, and call my mother's "religious ideas" craziness. Ideas, I must point out, that have always been his. He also told me he was sorry I had to deal with my mother all these years, he tried to protect me from her. (My mother is the only reason I escaped the situation with as little damage as I did. She put herself between us so, so many times). And then he told me he only came to tell me all this because she was insane and had suddenly stopped loving him, and he wanted me to understand nothing was his fault. He added that it would probably happen to my marriage, too, and I should be prepared. 

Before he left he told me I would always be his daughter, he was proud of me, and he loved me. I couldn't speak, I couldn't think. I just let him drive away.

I found out a few days later that he had gone back home, picked a fight with my mother, and told her she was the reason I was so messed up and my life was ruined.

After I recovered from the anger, rage, and shock that I felt, I blocked his phone number. I will not be going home anymore, or anywhere near Collins, MS. And if he shows up uninvited again, I will give him one chance to leave before I call the police to escort him out of my yard. 

I did not make that decision based on this incident alone. There have been a thousand more before it, and this one was the final straw. And as I said, he said more, terrible things to me. Lies that I knew were lies because I'm not stupid. I lived with the man. I know what really happened. 

Jesus promised to "make all things new again." I'm recently married, I have a lovely little house, and my life is coming together like I've always dreamed it would. I truly do feel like a new person. And the main reason for that is I've gotten out from under the shadow of a man who was my father but not my daddy. 

Telling My Story

My name is Karlie (Hart) Hall, and I am a survivor of abuse.

I don't have physical bruises and cuts. I've never had my face slapped or my bones broken in anger. But I have been afraid. I've covered my face with my hands to ward off words that hurt worse than any physical blow. I've hidden in the corner as a small child to avoid being screamed and yelled at, being told that I am "ignorant" and "worthless." All in the name of making sure I don't turn out like an idiot, just like everyone else. (And yes, I was told that.)

I was manipulated into believing this was love.

This is not love.

If someone tells you the sky is green, if that's all you hear day after day, if they believe it themselves so much that you can never convince them otherwise, you will start to doubt yourself. Even when you can go outside and look up and see with your own eyes it isn't true.

I have been silent for years, but that is changing. I'm telling my story - not out of hatred or a sense of vengeance, but in the hope that others will see and be helped. I want to raise awareness for those who are still waiting for help, and compassion for the ones who survived but will never be same. I want to make people understand how serious and wrong emotional abuse is.

My name is Karlie. I was abused, but I survived.

Lots of people don't.