What do you complain about the most?
Well, that’s a hard one.
When one suffers from major depression, severe anxiety, and trauma from untreated childhood sexual abuse one tends to have a lot of observations, but I wouldn’t necessarily call this complaining. Okay, maybe some of it is complaining, but fuck it.
It’s just that when one has to work so hard to get to a certain place in life while watching those who have never suffered a single bruise or blemish in their lives cruising through life and reaping all the rewards without the slightest in effort, it gets fucking annoying really quick.
I think one of the things that pisses me off the most is watching those who came from supportive families cruising through life with nary a want or a encountering an unfulfilled desire.
Did my father ever show an interest in school when I was a kid?
Nope.
Did my father ever get his drinking under control?
Nope.
Did my father ever protect my bother and I from his alcoholic mother, who in his own words to social services, was extremely cruel to his children?
Nope.
Did my father stand up to the chain of command in 1980 when the decision was made by the Canadian Armed Forces to minimize the number of charges brought against Captain McRae?
Nope.
Did my father help me with my first car?
Nope.
Did my father help me with my first apartment?
Nope.
Did my father help me when I ended up on the streets after one job prematurely ended and a promised job after relocation fell through?
Nope.
Did my father write me into his will?
Nope.
Did anyone help me with the last minute and completely unexpected travel expenses and cremations expenses to dispose of my younger brother’s body?
Nope.
So here I sit, at age 53, watching all those that came from good families, that never had a single unfulfilled want in life, go through with their happy fantasy lives while I get told to be happy because my life could have been so much worse that what it actually is.
And yes, I’ve known people who have been in the foster care system. A system that I could have been placed into had it not been for the actions of Canadian Armed Forces officer Captain Terry Totzke. These people seemed to enjoy the support of their foster families. All the while I keep getting told that I should be happy that I lived with my father.
Even though my grandmother went through the Indian residential school system, and her alcoholism that led to my brother and I being sexually molested by our babysitter and Captain McRae could rightfully be blamed on the trauma she endured at residential school, do I get any sort of support for this.
Nope
Let’s face it, my father’s anger, his alcoholism, his cruelty, his complete lack of concern for anybody but himself, and his inability to take responsibility no doubt originated with his mother. The fact that she was an alcoholic during her pregnancy with him probably explains a lot of his behavioural difficulties. Do I get any type of support for this?
Nope.
In fact, when I bring up what I believe to be the root of my family’s dysfunction, I get called a “pretendian”.
I also get told that I should be thankful that I had the opportunity to grow up in a safe environment like Canadian Forces Bases and that I had the opportunity to play with military toys that kids in the civilian world would have enjoyed.
So yeah, I guess I have a lot of gripes.
However, people telling me to get over the past and simply move on with my life are probably my biggest gripe.
Fuck I hate those assholes with every fibre of my being.
Beeshive 