The downside of abuse is that it doesn’t stop with one generation. The abuse that my brothers
and sisters received was horrific, especially in a society that is aware of injustice, and
protective of it children. Our culture, our parents and our government has let us down
because of their ignorance. Although they say ignorance is bliss, I liken it to an alcoholic.
While they live in a world that is free from complications, they make extra work for the
people around them. The government is not to blame for what happened, but they are
responsible for cleaning up the mess, such as persecuting the perpetrators.
Let me explain how cause and effect has been relevant throughout my life. Due to the abuse
that I suffered at the hands of my sisters, I passed it on to my son. We have both come out of
it better now, but there are still some issues that are harder to fix. For example, I suffer from
depression and anxiety, which is trigged by injustice and unrealistic expectations. My son
also suffers from depression and anxiety, but it is triggered by his mother’s unrealistic
behaviour. Now I’m assuming he learnt the disability from me, but because I have improved,
his mother, who was like-minded to me when our son was born, has not improved, and
therefore triggers his anxiety when she has unrealistic demands or treats him unjustly.
The biggest trigger that both my son and I have, is when we are accused of something we
didn’t do. This was something my older sisters would do regularly, and is quite common with
abuse victims. In other words they fit blame to someone before they have all the details. An
abuse victim would make a terrible police officer. They shoot first and ask questions later, as
my dad would say.
As for my two oldest sisters, they have sons of their own now and are all grown up. Both
their sons have problems with depression and anxiety, even to the point of violence. One has
spent time in jail while the other was put under hospital supervision.
There are other boys in my extended family, but none as bad as these two. My youngest
sister, who was not abused, has three boys of her own. She has three healthier boys, but
because my sister grew up among abusers, she is comfortable around them. Consequently her
husband is a bully and their kids have suffered to some degree under his regime.
The sons of my two oldest sisters are boys that a grown man would fear. The anger is rampart
within them and has been for a long time. The oldest has been improving ever since he got
away from his mother. I remember when he was thirteen; he would rather sleep in the park
than go home. As soon as he turned eighteen, it wasn’t long before he had to do a stint in jail.
He was then encouraged to find a life away from his mother, which he did. My other troubled
nephew lived an isolated and nocturnal lifestyle. His friends were the same. He made his own
rules, and if he didn’t like you he told you. Just like his mother would. He is a very clever
man who knows how to manipulate the law and the system, but lacks the basic skills to care
for others and their emotions. If you’re his friend, it’s for life, but if you cross him, leave
town. When he nearly hurt his mother, he was forced to live on his own under hospital
obligation. Since he has been under medication he has become very placid, but it has also
opened his eyes to his inability to look after himself as well as other people. I believe he is
on the road to becoming a better person. Sometimes the bottom needs to drop out of our
world before we realise that we need to share it with others.
The one thing that these three boys, I’m including my son, have in common, is that they want
to hurt their mothers. They have been bullied and mistreated so much by their mothers, that
they don’t know how to cope within their environment.
As for me, I was luckier than these boys, even though we are talking about the same women,
when I was growing up I had other authority or places to hide and other people to associate
with. If one sister was upset with me, I avoided her and spent time with one of the other
children. I remember doing that often when I was in my teens. As for my two nephews, each
of them only had one other sibling, as for my son, he was an only child. For them, they had it
worse than I did because there was no escaping their mothers.
When I was married the second time, I remember my wife asking my sister for advice about
my moods. Her reply was to just leave me alone for about three days and I’ll sort the problem
out myself. That goes to show how little my family understood depression, let alone me. My
wife would often ask me what was wrong, but to be honest, I never knew. When I’d tell her
that, she became confused. I guess she figured I must have some idea of what has upset me,
but alas, I never knew. That was fifteen years ago, I’m well into my fifties now and I got to
the stage where I could not cope at all and was forced to see a doctor. I had already been to
see my doctor on three occasions when I had had problems from work. I would visit his
office crying because my boss is manipulating and a verbal bully. My doctor would look at
me, a fifty year-old man and wonder how I could get into such a state. He had no idea what to
do with me. I went and saw different doctors who sent me to psychologists, but even the first
psychologist seemed to bully me. I think because she was a petite woman, she found her
strength by making demands. I think she enjoyed getting big brawly blokes to jump through
hoops.
I was struggling with this of course. I’m not a weak man by any means, I know how to fight
if I have to, but I found I was being intimidated and disrespected, along with being powerless
to demand my rights. When I was retrenched from my last job, I found the government
agencies were too much to bear. There forceful manner and disrespect towards me gave me
less hope than I had before. I was under the impression that they were there to help, not bully
me. I learnt that without hope, hope of a better future, a person with depression will spiral
down until they hit rock bottom.
I don’t use medication, although I tried. I don’t see a psychologist anymore, although I tried
three, as I found they don’t care either. They want a pay packet for telling me to 'just accept
who I am'. What I did find was someone who understood that my depression is linked to my
past, and not so much about what had happened, but more so to do with unforgiveness. He
was a Christian doctor who was not afraid to tell me what I needed to hear. Although I had
dealt with the issue of my fathers and my family, I had neglected to deal with the people in
my life since them, and some were supposed to protect me. In my case it was not only the
government, but the church who was supposed to protect. Which Church is irrelevant, but for
me, they had let me down when I had gone to them with the problems of my in-laws, who
worked in their church. I had a different occasion where a pastor had lied directly to my face.
He was easy to forgive because he lost his job. As for the people I had worked for, the
manipulators who I had to tolerate if I wanted to keep my job, I needed to forgive them also.
When I learnt to forgive them, I found I can put the past behind me and move on to better
things, like write this and other books.
What was healing for me was when I met a man who works in a job agency for people with
disabilities. He told me all the symptoms of depression and anxiety and I thought he was
describing my bad days. It felt good that I could finally put a label on why I was different. To
everyone else though, I didn’t seem different at all because I’m not depressed all the time, it
only when I’m being bullied. It just took me fifty-four years to work it out.
~ 16 ~