Mindfucked

Reading from Sanctuary for the Abused, I came across this passage, which helps clear my confusion about 1) how this covert incest with my father, where sexual acts did NOT occur, led to my struggle with sex and love addiction and 2) why I had to completely exorcise him from my life in order to get better (I'll go into this more in a later post).

...since the atmosphere in which they were raised was sexually charged, it is common for survivors of covert incest to use sex as a means to intimacy. This can result in sexual addiction or other types of dysfunctional behaviors as an adult.

Covert incest can persist all the way into adulthood. As long as one remains in such a relationship, it is impossible to form healthy relationships with others. Unless the close bond with the invasive parent is altered, the parent will continue to interfere in the life of the child, causing problems to arise in relationships.

If the invasive parent refuses to change the nature of the relationship, there may be no other recourse than separation. This separation can be temporary or permanent. What is important is for the child to set firm boundaries which the parent cannot cross. Depending on the severity of the situation, it may even be necessary to permanently separate from the invasive parent.

It was the atmosphere that I was living in--and more so when dad's girlfriend came into the picture. My therapist uses the term "mindfucking" to describe my experience. And that's apt--you FUCKED with my HEAD, not my body, dad. And after that, I got the two confused.  I began searching for someone like him, at the same time as struggling to hold on to a healthy marriage. Thank God my husband was so intuitive, so smart, and had his head screwed on straight. Thank God.

My wedding was planned for October of that year, and in September, my father announced that HE was marrying the girlfriend. Talk about stealing my thunder! There was something very obscene about that, and I still can't put my finger on exactly what it was. I didn't attend his wedding (he didn't really expect me to, thank goodness), and I was trying to focus on my own impending marriage. He was passively aggressive during that time; he made promises about the responsibilities he would take care of for my wedding, and when the time came, he acted as if he had never promised anything. He volunteered to be the MC for my wedding, announcing when events would happen, etc. And he didn't do it. My wedding was chaotic. He didn't give a toast. He walked me down the aisle with an angry frown on his face; the wedding photos of us break my heart. He never wished me well. Before he left, he hugged me close and said "We'll talk." That was it. That was how my father sent his daughter off to be married.

And since then, I hadn't been able to have sex. It was mostly me; I was depressed, I was confused, frustrated, angry, and not allowed to vent my feelings toward the person responsible. He never took responsibility for the fiasco that my wedding became. He said only that he never agreed to that role at my wedding and then claimed he "forgot" because of a minor stroke he had a while ago. (He used the stroke as an excuse for all of his action from then on) I, for some reason, came to the conclusion that sex wasn't important. That my marriage was a sham because my husband wasn't physically affectionate like my father. I couldn't accept him for who he truly was--quiet, reserved, with a pool of love for me that was deeper than the ocean floor. He may not have been as extroverted about his feelings--he didn't express them in words as much--or as openly affectionate--he believed in private displays of attention rather than garish displays in public places--but, my God, did he love me. Twenty years later, I realize how foolish I was. How messed up and ungrateful for the person my husband is. My husband showed me through his actions what love is. My father flaunted lip service and infatuation.

(Image from botkinsyndrome.blogspot.com)