Topic: Dysfunctional Family?

Every family has some level of dysfunction. Its only natural when any number of humans try to exist together through various life-stages. There was indeed a lot of dysfunction in my family. We were your typical middle class suburban family. There was no outward abuse, no substance abuse even, but there was a serious lack of communication. When there were problems, they were mostly ignored, brushed off or diminished in some fashion. There was a hierarchy of judgment that started at my mother and trickled down to me, the youngest of three children. I was different from my siblings, I knew in my heart of hearts from an early age I was different. But the one incident I clearly remember and feel has had a significant impact on my personality was waking up after having a terrible nightmare (I had recurring nightmares as a child.) I remember waking my dad up, I was bawling hysterically, but I couldn't explain what was wrong. My dad got angry. He needed an explanation as to why I was freaking out and not getting one was very frustrating for him. This sent a very clear message to me: you can't go to anyone with your problems because its just going to make them angry. This became my reality as time went on and I tried to voice my troubles and feelings (always failing miserably,) that doing so just made other people angry or uncomfortable or got you into trouble. So I hid everything.

The idea of nature vs nurture has rolled around in my head for a long time as I try to get a handle on this thing we call alexithymia. For me, I believe its a bit of both. I was born this way, or at least I was born autistic, but my father could have just hugged me and tried to make me feel better. He didn't. Instead he reinforced a reality where I might possibly never learn to express myself because that expression only resulted in pain and anguish, over and over. This pattern of unintentional emotional abuse is still a pervasive part of my personality. I know it was unintentional, so I can't really blame my parents for being emotionally bankrupt... they're like that because of their own parents. (And this is why I will never have a child!! I can't stomach the idea that I might completely screw up another human being.)

Wow, about 95% of what you said was my childhood, too.

Except my father, he couldn't talk to me at all. Other than making my life into a joke...... Everything important to me was made into a joke. When I protested, my mom did the "can't you take a little teasing....." NOT WHEN IT HURTS! Oh, but then I got called "too sensitive." Ok, is it a crime to be "sensitive?" No, it's just that the parents didn't want to deal with it.

Not to mention getting TOLD how to feel, which has a name: EMOTIONAL ABUSE!

I was regularly beaten starting in 6th grade if I did not perform optimally, I can still remember the first time. I had moved from Iowa after 6th grade to New York and I did not fit. I was bullied heavily and naturally my grades began to slip with my disposition. When I got home the day I got my report card I was extremely nervous, as my mom has always had an inability to deal with stress and can snap into a rage almost instantly. She was waiting for me inside the front door when I opened it; at this point she simply took my report card and looked at it for a second. She didn't say anything her face simply changed, the way it always does when she snaps, and she struck me in the face. I stepped backwards into the door, I remember it being cold and hard; she followed and rapidly and repeatedly struck my face. She would scream at me during these abuse sessions, which became a pattern after this event. Her insults varied from, "you fucking pig," "are you fucking stupid," to "how could someone ever love a such and such like(this part varied depending on the reason for her anger, it could be slob, failure, or a few other select terms) you. Typically the verbal abuse was more or less constant, while the physical abuse came in short bouts of rapid strikes to the face with pauses of a few minutes between. A session could last anywhere from half an hour to several hours, but invariably ended before my Dad got home from work; they occurred perhaps once every few weeks to every other month until I stopped the physical side of it by catching her arm out of the air in 9th grade. During this time I would desperately attempt to be perfect in all aspects of my life until I invariably broke down triggering another episode from her. The emotional abuse continued until I left for college. Additionally I believe I was sexually abused by a man before the age of 8, for some reason I want to say 6 was when it occurred. I believe this because I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor barely conscious and sick to my stomach during videos about child predation, sometimes I vomited as well; additionally I lost consciousness during the cancer self check video in high school and on several occasions where something sexual was being discussed. I also have dead zones on my back that I forget are wet after showering and have a profound dislike of being touched.

I certainly came from a dysfunctional family in many respects. My father was extremely mentally ill but nobody in my family treated him as such. It seemed everybody was afraid to say anything to upset him. Though he was completely unstable, he was the primary decision maker and leader of my immediate family. His mental illness drove him to obsessive religiosity, praying and quiet reflection became the job of everybody in my household. He'd "sin police" constantly, gently reminding us that this our that would certainly send us to hell. He became almost neglectful of the entire household, spending multiple hours a day behind closed doors in meditation or at church when he went out. In a town of 5000 people in the middle of nowhere, he became would tell my sister and I how he constantly feared that Satanists would kidnap, rape, torture and sacrifice us. I realize that religion is often not seen as abusive, but this was pretty close.

I learned growing up that my feelings didn't really matter. It became clear that I should keep my feelings to myself or flat out ignore them entirely, especially if expressing my feelings were likely going to upset my father.