This post, I suppose, is an extension of my previous post Death Wish - - just an inane ramble of things nobody wants to hear.
There are times when I think my blog is boring and repetitive. The spark that I once had (or imagined I had) has diminished. Yet, I continue to write - out of habit and necessity. Necessity - because writing (for me) is an addiction.
I've thought about giving up blogging.
Probably impossible.
Or cutting down my posts to one a week. Some bloggers do this very successfully. I'm much more spontaneous than predictable. I write when the mood strikes me. Which is often.
There's a danger in writing too much. Readers grow weary of your unrelenting presence. Yet, there's even more danger in writing too infrequently. Readers will lose interest, assuming that you don't care.
I occasionally (often more than occasionally) repeat things that I've blogged about before. This is not the result of senility (hopefully). I deliberately do this for the benefit of my newer readers.
And, hell, some good stories are worth repeating.
That's what I did in my previous post.
I write about my violent father and dysfunctional childhood mainly because it so severely affected the rest of my life. I can't ignore or escape the detrimental repercussions.
I don't want sympathy. I don't consider myself to be a noble survivor. My story is nothing special. We're all survivors in one way or another. Life sadistically kicks everyone in the ass and we all have our own private bloody crosses to bear.
I could easily write a book about my father. To say that he was complex would be a vast understatement. In many ways, he and I were alike - except that (thank God) I didn't inherit the insane violence. I am alarmingly complex and infuriatingly complicated, which sometimes frightens me.
It would be an impossibility to analyze my father in a blog post, but I'll mention a few things. He was definitely psychotic, paranoid, and probably quasi-sociopathic. When he went into a rage, the level of violence was beyond extreme and all sense of reason was abandoned.
What caused his insanity? Inheritance. His type of behavior was prevalent among many Hungarians. I have my own definite opinions, which I won't go into here.
In "normal" times he could be kind, extremely generous, humorous. I hated those times most of all because they didn't last.
He never handled any situation in a mature manner, but rather reacted with childlike tantrums. He had a terrifyingly intense desire to get even. Nothing was ever his fault. His mantra was "You made me do it" or "It's entirely your fault".
He never, ever said "I'm sorry".
The violent rages were inevitable yet unpredictable. He'd explode in an instant. The anger was never brief. His rampages could last for days, even weeks. And when he finally returned to "normal" it was as though nothing had ever happened. He chose to remember nothing.
What would spark my father's rage? The smallest things imaginable would set him off. When I was fourteen, I got in his way while he was working in the yard. He grabbed me and stomped on my bare feet until they bled (he was wearing heavy work boots). Then he pummeled me with his fists and squeezed me so tightly in a vicious bear hug that two of my ribs were fractured.
Only one small example of hundreds. Many incidents were far worse.
I think the hate that I harbored is understandable - - a hate that nearly consumed me.
I'll regret posting this. I've said far too much. All of it is past history. My father died in 2005. He mellowed slightly in his old age, and I think he had remorse.
I've forgiven him. I no longer have hate. Yet, it's impossible to forget.....
