Trust and distrust

How would it be to live in a household where not only did one parent not like you but they also hated you enough to not trust you and blame you for anything and everything.

This was my life growing up, my stepfather and I never saw eye to eye and never really liked each other as much as tolerate each other. It didn’t matter what happened because I usually, or more often than not, got the blame as well as the resulting punishment, and with this man there was always punishment and it was always brutal.

The bearings in the wheels on my skate board wore out, I got blamed for how I rode it, if I got a flat tyre on my BMX bike again it was my fault and he refused to fix it or even help fix it because I damaged it so it was my problem, I would have to go and earn money myself if I wanted it fixed. And when I snapped the frame after coming off my bike, if the pain from the crash wasn’t bad enough the hiding I received when I got home was.

One of my best friends when I was young betrayed me when he stole a few hundred dollars  from a local retail store and bought a remote control car, which he then bought to my place to play with and left it there so we could play with it during the week after school. I had no Idea he had stolen any money but my stepfather had already read about the theft that day and the story said it was a child involved in the theft, he found the toy car in our garage and instantly had it in his head that I must be the thief.

He asked me where I got the car from and I told him it belonged to a friend that had bought it over. Now instead of believing me he put me and that toy in his car and we drove to my friends house, all the while he was telling me about the theft of money and that if he found out it was me he was going to kill me. When my mate was confronted by his mother at the front door about his toy car he told both his mum and my stepfather that it wasn’t his, it was mine and that’s why it was at my place.

My stepfather hurled me back into the car and got in the drivers side slamming me in the chest with the back of his hand and telling me what was in store for me when I got home. We got home and as soon as the door was closed I copped the hiding of my life up until that point, he flew into a verbal tirade of calling me a thieving little (expletive) and a lying little (expletive) and laid into me physically until I nearly passed out.

These episodes with him in my teenage years were frequent and bought with them a lot of anger and trust issues for me, I had created a survival mechanism where I would make sure I always got in first and put the other person down, both physically and verbally. These where some very dark times for me and I had very little to no friends.

This is just one of the many bad times in my book entitled Walking with the black dog.