"He brushed food off the table, grabbed me and began to choke me." The story of a girl who does not communicate with her father

At first glance, it might seem that she is a girl from a good family: an excellent student, an Olympiad, an athlete. Her dad has his own business, an apartment in the city center and several cars. He gave gifts and said that he wanted the family not to need anything. But all this was only a semblance of well-being.

“For my dad, I was always 'not enough'”

When I was little, my dad was often not at home. He worked a lot - he drove cars from another city. These business trips could last for a month. Therefore, when he came, there was a holiday. Dad always brought gifts, enveloped us with his attention. We went to the forest, went for a bike ride or rollerblading. He could easily come up with some kind of game. For example, we could go somewhere, and then he would say: "We ran a race!"

On the contrary, we had a bad relationship with my mother. She probably got tired because she raised my brother and me alone. I remember that sometimes she would grab me by the hair if I was guilty of something.

Therefore, as a child, I loved my dad more. And dad also treated me better than my brother. My parents said that my character was my father, and my brother was my mother. I was calmer and more obedient: I studied well, went to circles.

But despite this, I always felt that my dad was pressing on me more than my mom. Mom never said that I owed something. And for my dad, I was always "not enough": I didn't study well enough, I didn't look good enough, I didn't look after myself enough, I didn't smile enough, I didn't obeyed parents.

Sometimes, if I “didn't obey my parents enough,” they would hit me with a belt. It seemed to me that this was normal, that I myself was to blame. I didn’t know that you shouldn’t beat children.

Although my brother Philip (name has been changed. — Approx. ed.) got it more often. Filya, in general, by his father's standards, was a capricious child. As a child, he had a period when he dramatized everything. I remember he was five years old, and I was twelve, I pushed him - he fell and pretended to be dying. Dad saw this, fought and beat us with a belt buckle. It was weird and stupid: we were just fooling around, but we got it like we'd done something terrible.

When you have a brother and both of you are guilty, you are beaten in turn. It's so stupid: you sit in your room, hear how they beat him in the next room, and wait for your turn. Like, well, I'll wait, don't rush, there's plenty of time.

After the incident when I beat up buckle, all my legs were bruised. I went to tennis, and they started asking me where it came from. It turned out like in those stories when you say: "Well, I walked and fell." Although now, if violence was used against me, I would never say so.

But in general, I was not beaten often. More often put in a corner. I remember when Fili was not yet there, I was somehow guilty and dad said: “Stay in the corner all night”. I stood there. Then dad woke up, came to me and allowed me to get out of it.

Standing in a corner at night was worse than a flogging, most terrible of all. It was after this that I had my first nightmare.

“It was -30 on the street, I didn’t eat or drink anything in the morning, but they didn’t let me go home”

When I was eleven, my dad started having health problems. Due to the fact that he constantly drove cars, his back often began to hurt. At some point, dad could not even walk. Business trips stopped, and he began to live with us permanently.

Then, probably, her relationship with her mother began to deteriorate. He was unhappy with her all the time. He didn't like that she was working instead of studying. home (while he gave her money to spare). He didn’t like the way she was raising Filia and me. Dad could say: “I grew it up! Children are lazy like you. " And all this despite the fact that I was an excellent student.

My relationship with him also deteriorated. After all, dad was on the road all the time and did not know how to communicate with me. He had no idea who I was.

Big fights began to happen several times a month. Sometimes every week. Dad often shouted at mom, humiliated her. And then he began to raise his hand. According to my mother, it was not the first time.

Usually my brother and I were in the rooms and did not know everything that was going on. And when they left, they saw only the consequences: a broken remote control, broken glasses, a torn jacket.

Sometimes they deliberately drove us out into the street so that we would not see anything. I remember one evening I was returning home after school, tennis and English. It was -30 on the street, I hadn't eaten or drank anything in the morning, but they didn't let me go home. I was very sad because no one even explained anything.

I walked in circles in the yard, cried and did not understand why I was all this. Only an hour later, the parents called and allowed to come in.

When my dad's outbursts of anger became more frequent, my mother went with him to a clinic (possibly a psychiatric one), to psychologists. He was prescribed sedative pills and recommended treatment. But dad didn't like it all.

One day my father's mother came to our house. She said that we were poisoning him with some pills, collected them all and threw them away. This was the end of the treatment.

Only sometimes he drank some kind of herbs, because he believed in esotericism in the spirit of "touch a stone and everything will pass."

"He brushed food off the table, grabbed me, squeezed me in the corner and began to choke me."

During the same period - I was 13 years old - the tennis coach told me that I needed to watch my diet. Parents picked it up and began to develop it. At the same time, I was not fat. Yes, I weighed about 60 kg, but it was mainly muscle mass that came from regular training.

I was engaged professional sports, and there it is considered normal to constantly monitor the diet. But no one explained this to me, and for me it all came down to the topic of beauty. And my parents thought that if I lose weight, I will play better. And for some time it was, until my weight began to rapidly decrease.

I ate very little. Everyone was afraid that I had anorexia. Although I felt like I was in control, I was not.

Then I weighed 49 kg with a height of 166 cm. I didn't have the strength to endure the training. It lasted about 3 hours, and I could not stand after the first one. My head was spinning. My period is over. I couldn't go to the toilet for a long time, so they even gave me enemas.

I looked at pictures of girls with anorexia and admired them. I thought: "Why am I not like that?" It seemed to me that I was still fat.

And then everyone began to worry that, on the contrary, I was too thin. I remember having breakfast. And dad ordered to eat a bun for his health. It sounded like I had to agree. I said I won't. And dad shouted that one must not eat for someone's health, especially for the health of his father.

Then there was a different situation. I was having breakfast with some kind of buckwheat flakes. And then he came. He started the dialogue non-aggressively. “Look what your hands are. So thin that the veins can be seen. What are you bringing yourself to? Don't you understand that this makes me feel bad?! - he said. "Why aren't you eating normal food?"

We started to argue. And perhaps I somehow didn’t answer him that way, and this angered him. Then I only remember that he brushed the food off the table, grabbed me, squeezed me in the corner and began to choke me.

I was scared. I did not feel the floor under my feet - apparently, he lifted me by the neck. It seemed to me that this was not a dad, but some kind of inhuman creature.

When my dad had bouts of aggression, his eyes became large, empty and white. I still dream about them.

At home there was a grandmother - his mother. She heard that something was happening in the kitchen, came to us and started running around and shouting: “Petya (name has been changed. — Approx. ed.), what are you doing?! Stop it! " But he didn't stop. Then she knelt down and prayed that he would stop. Only after that did he let go of me and fell on his knees with her. At that moment I managed to run out into the street.

All this happened when my mother was in Turkey and cheated there daddy with another man. Dad found out about this and began to accuse her: "While you were fucking with someone, I killed our children."

I don't remember how my mother reacted, but we all lived together for some time. I practically did not communicate with dad.

After this incident, I began to have special nightmares. In them, dad tried to kill me or someone else, but I could not do anything.

"He threatened his mother that he would kill her - he would blow up the car, and he would take us somewhere."

And then my mother and brother and I moved to my grandmother (on my mother's side). We stayed with her for about two months. Then dad insisted that we return to the previous apartment, and he himself moved out. I don't know if it was his decision or if someone influenced him. I only know that initially he did not want to give his mother anything. He believed that she did not deserve either a car or an apartment.

After he moved out, another quarrel broke out. I returned home again in the evening, after school and all my clubs, I wanted to finally eat normally. But my mother called and said: “Ok, the code is 'Red'. You're going to the police now. We are writing a statement about my father here. "

I came there. My grandmother and mother were already there. It turned out that daddy is strong beat up Filia. Mom took pictures of Fili: he had a small body, the body of a six-year-old child, and it was all bruised. I don’t understand how it was possible to beat such a small person with what? He threatened his mother that he would kill her - he would blow up the car and take us somewhere.

When we were already at home, the doorbell rang. It was dad. Mom was very worried that he would really kill us, so we decided not to open it.

Then he tried to break down the door. At the same time, he called us and asked us to let him in, because "this is his house." He spoke not rudely, but pityingly. He felt sorry for himself. He didn’t understand why we were doing this unfairly. He was really convinced that we were the villains, that we kicked him out because he was sick and we didn't want to take care of him. We ended up calling the police.

I wanted the police to take him, take him somewhere and he never came up to us in his life.

I remember how they came into our corridor, brought my dad in and started telling him something like: "Well, why are you so?" And that's all. They explained to us: “We cannot close it, since you have ordinary family showdown. Nobody even got hurt. " They just took him to the entrance. This was the end of the story.

Sometimes it seemed to me that he was watching us. For example, we could go by car, and he stopped us. But, probably, we came across him because we lived in a small town.

Soon, almost on New Year's Eve, the parents divorced, although dad did not want to.

"Mom made me talk to my father so that he could give money"

After the divorce, mom said that we can not communicate with dad. This moment was the coolest - we finally started living as a three of us! My brother and I spent a lot of time, there were no constant quarrels.

But this did not last long. In the summer, mom and dad resumed communication. The most incomprehensible for me is why. Maybe she thought they would get back together. Maybe she still loved and pitied him, maybe she slept with him. Or maybe it was about the money.

It seems to me that mom hasn't divorced dad for so long, because depended on him financially. I don't think she wanted to keep the family together because of the children. Partly it was difficult for her because my dad always set us up: "There is no money." Even when, it would seem, they were. There was a feeling that we should try hard to get them to us. So it happened that time.

Mom forced me to communicate with my father so that he would give money. And I wanted to communicate with him, because he is my dad.

But nothing worked. All conversations were based on teachings, notations and conclusions about how wrong we live. Each time he found a new reason for dissatisfaction: do not wear black clothes, do not wear too colored clothes, do not go with a sad face, make friends, eat right, watch your skin, get a manicure.

He was suppressing with his mood. The main thought was: “I feel bad already. Can you at least be normal? " When we went to a restaurant and I ordered a salad, he would comment: “What did you order so little? Would you like to eat with me? " When I ordered something else, he would say, “Why are you getting drunk again? You are already fat. " Dad couldn't please.

"Everyone knew that I was cutting myself."

Every meeting with dad ended in hysteria. I came home, cried and said that I would never communicate with him again. At first I was angry with him, then with myself. I didn't know what to do with this evil energy. I wanted to beat, break, destroy.

And in the 10th grade I started cutting myself. I find it strange when they say that selfharm are engaged to attract attention. Before I started practicing self-harm, I didn't even know that it had a separate name. The first time it happened almost by accident. I broke a mug and felt like cutting myself. Just. To punish yourself.

At first I cut myself shallowly - small scratches remained. Then more often and deeper. For example, I would come home and think, “Today I'm not good enough. Ate something harmful / quarreled with the teacher / poor training. You need to punish yourself. " I think this is how I replaced my father, who punished me earlier.

There was a period when I cut myself every day. My hands were just itching.

Once I had a fight with my dad, freaked out and began to whip myself with a knife. And because I did it quickly and thoughtlessly, I got a very deep cut. Because of the gushing blood, the jacket stuck to my hands. There was a scar in that place. I didn’t want anyone to notice him, so I decided (I don’t know how I thought of it) to burn my hand with boiling water - it seemed to me that the skin should peel off and the scar would not be visible. I burned, the skin puffed up with bubbles, but the scar did not disappear anywhere.

Mom noticed my cuts and told Dad about them. And when we met with him, he laughed and said: “Why are you there, cutting your hands? You, of course, can kill yourself, but it will hurt us all our lives. " Later I thought that this was a strange reaction - indifference. Basically, I was told that I can do whatever I want, even kill myself.

And when there were more cuts and they had already entered my usual life, my mother commented on them like this: “Well, did you cut yourself again? What, some crazy freak? " It sounded like I shouldn't show anyone that I was crazy. “They won't hire you / they won't make friends with you / they will treat you worse,” she said.

Everyone knew that I was cutting myself. But nobody tried to find out why. This problem was not solved in any way. Everyone just started living with it.

And I got suicidal thoughts. I went to the school psychologist, told him about it, and he replied: "You haven't even kissed yet, why kill yourself?"

In general, the psychologist did not help. Someone else would not have thought of talking to me about what is happening in my family. Firstly, I practically did not communicate with anyone. Secondly, I thought that "it's okay," and in general, "probably someone was less fortunate than me."

"Classmates were surprised:" Alina, you have such a cool dad "

When I was in 11th grade, dad apparently decided to make up for lost time and started going to parent-teacher meetings. Before that, no one did this for me. I just gave my mom a diary, and she signed. But dad suddenly became the organizer of the prom and the last call.

I remember that after the last call, my classmates and I went to a cafe, and for some reason he also pinned himself there and paid for our entire table. There was a bill, I think, for 10,000 rubles. Classmates were surprised: "Alina, you have such a cool dad!"

I smiled tightly and thought: "Well, take it for yourself."

It was unpleasant for me that my father had arranged some kind of clowning. At the prom, he even performed with some number. I told my mother that I would not go there. But she made me. At the same time, on the day of graduation, we quarreled with her, went to the holiday separately, and there we collided near the entrance.

Dad was there too. He ran up to us and said: "Let's take a photo!" It turned out to be stupid, tortured, for show.

"It's so good that you still left there."

I was always told that I should leave my hometown and go to a good university. I had no such desire. I didn’t even think that my life was bad, and I didn’t want to "run away". They just said "must" means "must". Therefore, I entered the St. Petersburg HSE (NRU HSE. — Approx. ed.).

When I left to study, I had no sadness or homesickness. The only time I cried was when I thought I would never see my dog ​​again.

The first month of life in St. Petersburg was also easy. I thought, "It's strange that I don't miss anyone." And then began tantrums.

I cried on the bus, on the subway, in the back of the university. It seems that I have always had tears. It wasn't like the depressing episode I'm having now. I did not understand what was happening to me. It was just sad, and I regretted everything.

I called my mother and said that I wanted to return. But even then I understood that this was not longing, but something else. The statement that I miss someone was only an excuse for my condition, which I could not explain in any other way. Now it seems to me that this was due to the fact that I found myself in an unfamiliar environment: it was difficult to start relationships with new people. Yes, I really didn't want to.

The only thing that I felt for sure: I do not fit this life.

Therefore, I deliberately went to psychotherapy. And the therapist was the first person who told me: “It's so good that you still left there. You are now absolutely free and all the anger that you have, you can direct to what you want to do. "

Then there was a psychiatrist, he prescribed antidepressants and tranquilizers. The antidepressants didn't work for me, but the tranquilizers worked well. They improved their sleep patterns, removed tremors, and restored mood and appetite.

"Well, that's it, we won't communicate!"

When I left home, it became easier. Dad asked how I was doing, sent me money, although I did not ask him to do it. For example, he could write: "How much is left?" I answered: "30,000". He said: "Oh, very poor" - and sent more. This was not a problem for him. And in my fourth year, I wrote a diploma in his enterprise, and we began to communicate almost every day: we always had a topic for conversation.

When I had already graduated from the university and flew home, I asked my dad not to pick me up from the airport, because my mother had to do it. But he arrived anyway, stood in the parking lot, as always, with a sour expression. We had a fight again.

A few days later he wrote: "Come out to talk." We sat and talked in the car. And again the same claims began. Then I could not stand it. She began to shout: “Dad, do you understand that every time you and I just swear? Why are we meeting? You constantly do not like the way I look, what I do. I do not want such communication! " Then he blurted out: "That's it, we will not communicate!" I answered: "That's it."

At that time, there were several very personal posts about the family on my instagram. I wrote them during depressionwhen I already started going to psychotherapy. It was not a hype: I wanted to comprehend everything that happened in childhood and share these insights with others. The account was open, but I blocked everyone I could: dad, relatives, dad's friends.

But a few days after the quarrel in the car, he found out about this account. And he wrote me a big canvas that I was wrong and I remember everything wrong - the usual behavior abuser. He also wrote that I was making myself helpless and harmless. And even my voice seemed unnatural to him, as if I deliberately make it soft.

For me, it was tantamount to a complete ruin. It seemed to me that I should disappear - as if this situation would not have been resolved in any other way, and I would never be able to live with it. I had the feeling that I was betrayed, because someone sent this account to my dad.

After a while, he wrote to me again: “You are posing as a victim. You have to be strong. Look, my grandmother and I are not whining or complaining. "

"I start to shudder every time someone rings the doorbell"

He had a birthday shortly after. It seemed to me that I had to congratulate him. That's how I was trained.

For a long time I doubted whether it was worth it. But in the end she wrote: "Happy birthday!" And then she regretted it. He replied: "Thank you," and then added: "The easiest thing, of course ...". And it started.

I have not answered anything. Now I definitely decided that I would not communicate with him, although he was still trying to write something to me. Then dad stopped sending me money for a while. When I got a job, he found out about it and began to say that they would definitely leave me, deceive, and would not pay.

Abuser instills that you cannot do anything without him. Dad always acted like that.

I deleted WhatsApp, Viber, added it to the emergency, moved to a new apartment. I do not intersect with him at all, and it became much easier for me to live.

True, sometimes I think that I should write to him, ask how he is doing, how is his life. At such moments, I pull myself back: I want to communicate with my dad. But not with what exists in reality, but with an imaginary image - with a good dad, which I never had.

His persecution continue. He writes to me anonymously through some fake accounts, sometimes throws off money. I recently found out that he asked my mother for my new address to send the parcel, and she gave it.

Now I flinch every time someone rings the doorbell. I am afraid of passing cars: when someone is honking the horn on the street, it seems to me that it is my dad, that he came after me. I ban all fake social media accounts and don't answer calls from unknown numbers. Sometimes I think I'm getting paranoid. But this is better than pretending that we are a happy family.

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P. S. My brother is now being forced to communicate with dad the same way they once did me. But he is more characteristic and can refuse if he doesn't like something.