Modern Day Tragedy: Am I tragic?

It was 2013 when I sat in Mr. Arters Greek Mythology course. He introduced the topic of tragedy and the origins of the word tragic and how it pertained to Greek society. He summed it up as being a circumstance of your birth. Inevitable because you were destined to live that life. Tragedy was inescapable. Routine,

sometimes wonder if my misfortune was unavoidable. Am I hexed,cursed. Is this a family, generational curse. Yes, i believe so absolutely. And here's why.
It's just this pattern, this track that I've been on throughout my life. It's like the abusers I've met them before in a sense. These demonic entities latch onto my life force and drain it. Looking at each of them it's like looking at all the rest.

 This is not just limited to relationships either. Men,women, friends, spouses. They all shared the same agenda,to see me fail,to bring me down. Sabotage, revenge.  My circumstance of my birth was that I unfortunately was born into a premade situation, i was already endangered, a statistic, a stereotype. You could say. Being brought into a situation i had no control over. perhaps my birth made it even worse. Since once a baby is introduced into a relationship that makes both more likely to feel inclined to stay.  Maybe i am the curse of the curse. Or the blessing.

 Maybe if it weren't for my birth my mother wouldn't have tried to leave my father with such urgency and determination. Maybe he would've killed her then. Either way i was in a torn situation. Born as a product of my home life, my environment? Yet there were also biological factors that came into play with my decline in my mental state. They say under the right circumstances that an illness can awaken. It's already in your genes/dna but not until under negative predicaments does it feed the illness bringing it out to life.

I must be cursed then cause my upbringing was a perfect breeding ground for this disease to thrive. Born to a mentally psychotic father, who's father was unstable mentally who's wife my grandmother was passive like myself yet was born to a very mentally ill mother then a father who was an alcoholic with suicidal tendencies who eventually drowned himself. Similar story on my mothers side suffered abuse at the hands of her mother which she also was abused by her mother and her father was an alcoholic who drowned himself.

I was conveniently exposed to trauma very early in life. Throughout my time in the womb and infancy through my toddler years. It had ceased by age five but that didn't stop the cycle as i call it from hitting my mom again. She had continued to seek out it seemed similar instability. Although my dad wasn't there i still suffered. Exposed to obscenity. A child is fragile, innocent, pure, naive in a sense because they have no familiarity with adult things. Until you introduce it to them. You, the adult. They're so impressionable during the stages I was exposed to trauma because their brains, ideas, interests, identities, personalities and perceptions are still forming.

Am I worth more? Maybe I'm just like my mother

I'm sitting here, thinking. I can't resist him. As demented he is. As demeaning and belittling he deals with me. I feel I am nothing without him and that I have no willpower. I cannot rise above him and reject his abuse. I've been so conditioned that I crave him still. I still want to believe that he is different. The way he used my soul, dimmed my spark. Caused the light in my eye to be no more. To burn out. I still feel no one else loves me and that I must 'tolerate" the bad in him. Because, afterall no one's perfect. I'm setting myself up for failure here I just know it. But, I've been battered so much, at least this is a small amount. At least it hasn't quite progressed into psychical assault. But, the other rational voice in my head. The angel over my shoulder is saying, shouting, AGC, you know it will progress. He's shown you how capable he is of rage before. You know how it starts. First the put-downs, the demands. the disregard. Verbal abuse, emotional, mental then physical. Remember that time that he expressed his deep-seeded jealousy and envy toward you. He said you thought you were too good because you were able to point out that his mistreatment was wrong. What about all the remarks, the broken promises. The way he abused your body. Made every sexual encounter all about him. Then, he transferred all his feelings into you. The reverse psychology. The way he made it all about you that he couldn't "finish" during sex. Without your fulfilling some sexual deviant request. Some taboo desire, that every time you agreed to you were left feeling void, sick to your stomach and so very guilty. Why, why oh why do you subject yourself to this? Well it's because honestly I'm so used to seeing women around me settling. Settling, disregarding their own desires, hopes, dreams, feelings. They die so that he can live. Just like with my father and mother. She uplifted him all while he destroyed her. It was this crazy, unrealistic quest for love that no matter how hard she tried, how desperately devoted she proved herself to be the abuse only intensified. I feel unworthy of anyone else. I feel like I'd rather be abused than alone another night. I feel pathetic even saying this. I feel like a nobody, a nothing, dead on the inside. Just a sexual object on the outside. He wrote me a message yesterday on snapchat. Boy, that boy is like a private investigator. I blocked him on everything, my phone both numbers, facebook, whatsapp, instagram the works. Yet, he's capable of finding me everywhere when he wants to get a hold of me. Yet, when I need him he's never there. I wish it weren't like this. I wish he didn't always let me down. Just as my father did. I'm so used to letting men tell me these stories and sell me these dreams, just to be let down. I want so badly to believe them, i wanted to believe that we were gonna be together. but, no he only says these "heartfelt" things when he's been drinking or he's cold, alone at night. He doesn't love me. How can someone love you who doesn't even respect you enough to tell you about a sexual infection.

Tales of a fatherless daughter, maybe I am my father. What's a real dad?

Is it worse to have a father that's deceased or one who's alive and virtually nonexistent. I'd say the one who's alive and never played a role in your life. I wonder if my father expresses any remorse, I think so but he's afraid to express it. He always manages to remember my birthdays for the past 23 years of my life. Always sent a card from prison, I luckily still have them. It hurts me to look at them. I used to be so ecstatic when i received them in the mail, then id cry cause it would always claim that daddy will see you again. Implying that perhaps his sentence was unfair, we were kept apart as daddy and daughter unfairly. Yet, it was for a reason.

I have memories only of knowing him as being imprisoned. Kept away from my mother and I so that we could live. If he were out he'd surely finish the job he had started. We'd be dead. yet, there I was forced to visit him every weekend. Put on my best clothes, wake up at 4am. A seven yea old child who barely escaped his attempt at murdering me. Was made to go see him and "make amends" "he's your father they would say." then later, as I got older, my claims were shot down by "It was your mother he did that to not you." and "he had his reasons, you don't know, you're not remembering right cause you were so young."

They're in denial. They justify, all of this helps enable him, like he has been all his life, cause he had his family by his side. Shooting down my mother and I's accounts despite evidence to the contrary. I feel hatred for them, then pity. It switches a lot.

Growing up I had no choice but to do what adults said. That's one of the disadvantages of being a child. You have no voice. You must do what you're told even if you know it's bad or unfair. I can remember the dollhouses and the stage at the prison. All of us kids, there visiting our long lost fathers. Were made to feel normal again, like a real family. Even if for just a few measly hours. The correctional facility wanted to make it worthwhile.

There was a stage equipped with play ovens, paint, crafts, easels, balls, dolls, the works. We would play pretend, and make our dads come up on stage with us and join us. Daddy, look, look what I made. All things we should've been saying in real life. In life outside the prison perhaps as they visited our parent teacher conference nights where we showed off our best masterpieces. but instead, I was an oddball. I only had substitutions, good ones but still not biological dads. I was confused. Everyone at school thought my stepfather was my dad, I loved him dearly. But I was left conflicted every time I spoke to my "real" dad.

But here's a question that might be up for debate, and I want you readers to comment on it. What makes one a real dad? Does biology and genes make someone a real dad? Or is it in his actions. Because I don't categorize my father as being my real dad. I only spent time with him while he was behind bars. I had to be stripped of all my electronics, jewelry and dignity being pat down by corrections. I was petrified and now still am of law enforcement and people in uniform. Perhaps, because it brings back memories that every time I saw them although they were essentially saving me from him it was because my mom was near death or in a hostage situation with him. Due to this I associate police with me being in danger, not by police but by him.

Yes,it was certainly unfair to me,the child in this situation. But, his sentencing, HIS fate was fair to him. They say don't do the crime if you cant do the time. And there i was, seven and eight years old. Experiencing reoccurring flashbacks of the trauma i had endured and barely escaped with my life four years earlier. You see, my only memories really of my father are vey faint, very vague, blurry. The good ones that is. The times where he would teach me to walk by placing my feet on his, g me mimic his steps. One two, one, two, one two three.

Go yan yan. Id be smiling ear to ear. How do i restore the relationship i have with my father? Im an adult now. Will it begin with me going to guyana in an attempt to salvage this relationship?is there any hope in us? I still love him, but its been a difficult road. For through loving him i feel I'm betraying my own mother. Due to the abuse she suffered at the hands of him. I feel like a traitor. How could i love someone serving a sentence for attempting to murder my mom? But, lil ol me i had wanted to believe in the good in him. The good aspects.

My good father. But, it's hard when he never gave me any images of this goodness. Most of it is simply me hoping he's good, hoping he's capable of love. Loving me. And yet I crave for his love. I want my daddy. I'm still that same little girl inside waiting by the phone for him to call again. You have a collect call from orange county correctional facility One thing I commend my mother for is for her giving me the ability to make my own decisions when it came to communications with my father and fathers family. She never, ever kept me away from him, well from them and from speaking to him. I have this one memory of waking up in the morning to my mom and dad sleeping peacefully side by side. Me, being hungry, going in the fridge and finding gold coins, the chocolate ones in the fridge on the door. The Hanukkah kind.

But, perhaps, by only focusing on the good I am enabling or maybe justifying his destructive behavior. Most of my good memories in my mind are all sabotaged by bad because after every good event like trips to the Big Apple Circus were followed by the beatings. The delusions, the paranoia, hallucinations. Beatings to my mom fueled by paranoia and insecurities, trust issues, abandonment issues. He swore my mom always had a wandering eye.

Even if there were evidence to the contrary. At times I worry I'm him. I have the ability to become as sick mentally as he was or is. They say the gene for this disease is inherited and activates under the right conditions. In this case my exposure to the trauma inflicted by him are the perfect match along with his defective gene. So maybe I'm that small statistic the one they say was rare. I'm the one who inherits from her parents. they say there's a small chance but I have the chance.

But again I end this with what is your definition of a father? Can adopted fathers fill the void children face from the abandonment of their biological father? Comment below.
Thank you
-AGC