Loved To Death

LOVE, LOVE LOVE. The topic is love.

How do we begin? Where does it come from? Where did it start? What is love?

Most modern science would lead one to believe that love was learned because it was a beneficial social tool, providing all sorts of advantages, such as protection of the children through the bonding of the parents etcetera, etcetera etcetera  According to science, we've been passing these love genes down ever since and they still work for us usually.

An infant will fail to thrive without a mother's love.  This bond is probably the strongest, deepest love affair of all mankind, that between mother and child.

The father, on the other hand, well that's different. It's more illusive, more ambiguous. Yet every single human being has an innate need for a father’s love and it will not die. There is not one soul on this planet that does not strive for their father's love.

Let me tell you a little unknown truth about love. IT CAN KILL.

Oklahoma City: September 1975

I had not seen my father in over two years. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off. When I was thirteen, he had no choice but to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance scam. Too bad it involved burning a building with someone in it. That spelt murder charges. My dad became invisible for quite awhile.

For the past couple of years I had been quite a problem for my mother and her husband Dick. I had just been kicked out of school for dealing drugs, had overdosed and nearly died in the hospital. This wasn’t the first time. Now I was on home-bound teaching twice a week with very little supervision. My mother worked, my step dad worked and I was home all day.

But I wasn’t just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise. And that was fueled by the impossible amount of drugs that my sister and brother in law were stealing from pharmacies all across Oklahoma. First, it was limited to burglaries, cutting holes in roofs, cutting the alarm and filling pillow cases with Class A narcotics that are totally controlled like morphine and demerol, among every other imaginable drug that people were seeking in the mid 70s. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, dexedrine, white bennies, etc.

I had developed a tendency to test my wares, which had led to my present predicament. I got caught dealing at school, and then overdosed. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it.

I was fifteen when he showed up at my mother’s apartment. My dad had the answer. He had resurfaced in the little town of Raton, N.Mex and was thriving there. With a population of 6000 it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug enterprise. Also, he could get me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. And then there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

But the main fact was, my dad wanted me. He wanted to save me, take care of me. My mother was more than ready to share the burden since she had been carrying the entire load of all four kids for the last few years. I truly believe that no one knew what was going to happen. Well, except for a certain someone. He always planned in advance. I would be going to live with my father in New Mexico.

Raton, New Mexico: September, 1975

It’s been proven that it doesn’t take long for the “Stockholm Syndrome” to set in. This is a state where the victim realizes how powerless they are. They realize they must rely on the kindness of their captor to survive. The threat of perishing is real and survival requires pretty much doing anything and everything to please their abuser. This is a common occurrence with persons in such a situation I was forced into.

“You’ll sleep in here now”, he told me the day after I arrived. “After last night, you must know how much I love you…” I was still in such shock, I couldn’t utter a word. I just walked like a zombie to the big bed and sat down next to him. I am his daughter. How could this be?

“This can’t be my life….this can’t be my life…the thought kept repeating over and over in my mind….this just can’t be my life!!!  At fifteen it seemed that I didn’t have much life to compare to but mine has been no ordinary life. 

My father proceeded to LOVE me to death.  I was 5 foot tall. I weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body. I had my daddy. I had never been so thrilled…until we went upstairs to the apartment above the restaurant that first night.

There, I was forced into madness by my father. At breakneck speed I changed. Mind-bending events unfolded and the impossible began happening to me. He yanked my head off, turned it backwards and thrust it back down onto new crooked shoulders. My reality flipped upside down and turned inside out. My life suddenly turned to shit as his twisted worldview, his warped morals and ethics were shoved down my throat.  He knew my need for love was so profound I’d take it anyway I could get it. He knew the price I would pay.

It wasn’t about me, it never was about me. It was all about that motherfucker. Was I wrong not to see the future? Was I so stupid that I couldn’t see the signs? The devil has two faces. Dad wore a very convincing mask and when it slipped I knew I was in the presence of pure evil.

My father was a brilliant sociopath. That is not a good combination. A sociopath feels no guilt. Complete disregard for others is justified as long as it benefits him/her. Social norms are dismissed as they just get in the way of whatever self-gratifying goal they are after. In the 1830’s this disorder was called “moral insanity” which described my dad perfectly It didn’t help that he was extremely intelligent which led to very grandiose schemes.

I was amazed at how quickly I accepted that the world was not what I had previously conceived. But I really shouldn’t have been, all things considered. I was swiftly convinced to believe the unbelievable. Acceptance gave me some peace and nasty little compromises provided some safety. Surrender allowed me a false sense of security and gave me the opportunity to relax. But my instincts told me there was no going back; there would be no more color. Everything became a graveyard gray.

So rationalization was a powerful tool. Alcohol became my armor. Somehow it kept me alive. Denial was the most cherished gift alcohol gave to me. This was reinforced when my dad got me completely shit-faced on cream sherry the first night we arrived in Raton. What happened next would have made me entirely insane but the escape that alcohol provided became my savior. And I learned to agree with everything my father said. But it didn’t mean I believed it. Just to agree with him was usually enough to keep things fairly bearable.

My father attacked me with such a maniacal force; there was no chance to change the circumstances. He got me really drunk and raped me.  I died in that very instant. He laid me down on the floor and began kissing me all over my face until he found my mouth. He plunged his tongue deeply down my throat and I could feel his weight shifting on top of me. His hands went everywhere, until they found the buttons of my shirt, my pants. “I love you, I love you” he kept repeating. He left no time for me to process anything before my pants were off and he was in me, still saying over and over “I love you”.

There is not a word I can find to express the devastation and sheer disbelief of what I was experiencing. That night my eyes were clamped shut, barely allowing the tears to roll down my side-turned face until they found the crevices of my ear. It was ok though. I heard less.

From then on, I willed my eyes to remain open, to laugh at the insanity. My smile became fixed. I began to accept extreme and profound acts of evil as if they were as normal as brushing my teeth or walking the dog.

What Is Normal?

As time went by, things slowly began to take on the appearance of normalcy. Repetitiveness has an uncanny ability to change one’s perception. As days went by and nights went by I started to think this was normal and I even felt sort of safe again. It had become normal to take a few slugs off a pint of Seagram’s Seven before home room. But soon I wouldn’t have to do that anymore.

My Dad was amazingly powerful.  With a small intimate murmur in her ear and a peck on her cheek, the blushing school counselor was all his.  An understanding was reached. I was much too intelligent for such remedial education as high school. So then it was no longer unusual having to suck my dad’s penis at 1:00 in the afternoon when I should have been in art class learning the skill of using pastels.

And it became just as normal to lumber downstairs in the morning to serenely drink my coffee with Kailua or Tia Maria or Wild Turkey.  The early morning was a golden time for me. He would be unconscious for at least three more hours. I could do what I wanted which was to drink and think in peace.  It made me giddy and happy to have so many delightful choices behind the bar and they were all for me! Soon the bar became my favorite place to socialize...and since my dad managed the establishment, it didn’t matter that I was just fifteen.

With his easy charm and inviting good looks Don could woo the most pampered clients, even the stars passing through on their way to Aspen before Telluride became the choice getaway for such dignitaries. The men thoroughly enjoyed his presence but it was his invisible scent that captivated the women. It would slowly permeate the air. A blend of old spice and talcum powder mixed with expensive after shave highlighted his clean breath that held a hint of rare scotch and a trace of sherry. His confidence exuded from his pores and it was almost erotic.  His unique aroma drifted through the air and became present a number of seconds before he appeared at the table. It was if he owned the Hotel.

Then it was my turn. Throughout the evening I would complete his persona.  I provided the most attentive care to everyone’s wishes before they were even aware of them. I had quite a talent. As if clairvoyant, I would place a new pat of butter on the table just as the patron glanced down at the roll that it would accompany. To ask for water was impossible, it was already provided. With a sleight of hand that made me appear invisible, I tended to their every need. I became aware that treating them with such delicacy was rare and this was proven out at the end of the night. The tips I earned usually equaled what most adults were used to paying for their monthly rent.

I’ve always had a skill for fitting in with people much older than me.  I easily honed my adult veneer, and it didn’t take long before I was one of them. No longer did anyone see me as a child.  No longer was it odd to see me up at all hours, wittily conversing with people 2 and 3 times my age. And I was no longer my father’s daughter. That conveniently faded out of everyone’s conscience. It was alarmingly easy to charm or outwit any concern or disbelief because people have an innate need to deny things that make them edgy. Or maybe they were just convinced that I was a midget. So that’s how I became his most reliable partner, his gopher, his confidante. People started to ask questions if I wasn’t glued to him.  I was expected to be next to him sitting with the after hours crowd, ordering a double when the server came.

So here I am at 2:00 in the morning, at some cheesy piano bar on the outskirts of town. I’m not yet 16 and I’ve already been served 2 bottles of wine. I’m perfectly normal; this is the usual evening for me. Until I stand up. That’s when the bar starts spinning and I throw up all over my dad’s new suede loafers. I’m bent over making pathetic noises so my dad pats me soothingly and tells me not to cry.

He has no idea I’m stifling a gigantic burst of laughter.  Not only did I soil his shoes, but it also convinced him that I needed pity. I peeked up at him. He had a pout on his face and his shoulders slumped. I immediately forced the evil grin off my face. I was drunk alright, drunk with power! For the rest of the night I would be sleeping next to the toilet, while he slept alone with his unsatisfied boner. Sometimes it’s the little justices, the wrongs made right that kept me getting up in the morning.

Chapter 7: 1976 Ski Trips

Since this became my only reality, life was tolerable all things considered. There were benefits to growing up at the speed of light. I didn’t have to go to school, I had a lucrative job as a waitress at the hotel and at closing I could drink pretty much constantly. I could stay up late; learn all kinds of new things. I could sleep until I woke up. It was comforting to see my horse every day, to feed her Twinkies when I had them. I learned how to predict winners at the horse track by becoming a guru with the racing forms.  I was respected and people appreciated an occasional inside tip. BUT WAS IT LOVE?

Then there were the frequent ski trips to Taos or Red River or Angelfire. There weren’t many children on the slopes since we normally skied on week days. We would arrive around 10:00 in the morning and head back at around 3:00 in the afternoon. That was more than enough ski time, as all of the resorts were less than 80 miles away. Sometimes a crowd of six or eight of us would go, sometimes just Dad and me.

I always looked forward to getting drunk on the mountain from the wine in my goat skin. These ventures never failed to entertain. As if on cue, someone would put the wine to their lips, gulping that one gulp that threw them into stupidness. That’s when the fun really began. Watching perfectly sane adults get completely shit faced and turn into Jean Claude Kili was priceless! Limping down the mountain became a frequent mode of travel.

Ahh, the memories, I still smirk when I think about the time Dad swerved off the main trail, mounting a young juniper tree at 30 miles an hour. To maintain his coolness, he laughed with the rest of us. I was laughing harder on the inside. He was injured more than he realized. But I knew. He was going to be out of commission for at least a few days. The black eyes, raging headache and torn groin muscle took the Casa Nova right out of him. There were many other hilarious shenanigans but none made me laugh as hard and long as that one.

I became a pretty good skier, easily racing past most people. Then I took to choosing the expert Diamond trails, the ones that make the experts leery.  I was confident Dad would follow. He had to, he had no choice.  His arrogance and faulty self confidence forced him to beat me, to out-ski me, to rule over me in all things. I snigger when I remember this. I was picking up ways to beat him at his own game.

“Are you sure? Are you sure Dad? Should we really try this one? I’m game if you are, Dad! You wanna, Dad?  Huh, huh, you wanna?”  There, I got him. Sometimes he was so fucking easy. Or maybe I was getting savvier.

I looked over the edge and nearly peed my pants. This was going to be a blast. Finally I pushed off and slowly eased into a confident rhythm, going back and forth across the slope.  After 20 yards or so I slowed up and came to a stop. I looked up at him with a huge grin and gave him the ‘hi’ sign. I could see his face turning red. My grin got bigger. I could even see the beads of sweat forming on his brow. It’s 5 degrees outside and we are 4,000 feet above sea level. The man looks like he just stepped out of a sauna!

God, it felt good to be winning. The danger of going down a 40 degree slope with deadly caverns and crevices didn’t faze me a bit. I’d never been happier to be in so much peril!! This was nothing! I risked it all and tore down the slope another 50 yards then slowed to a stop and let out a whoop. “Wow! That was so cool!!”  I yelled up at him.

I allowed him a few seconds to gather himself before looking up to see where he was. He was bent over, fiddling with the boot strap on his right ski. “Dammit!! I knew the guy at the ski shop didn’t set this right,” he yelled. Then he took off the ski and began to troubleshoot in earnest.

After a few minutes of this, I yelled, “Want me to go ahead or do you want me to wait? You want me to go get ski support, maybe they can fix it!”

  “No, they a bunch of ignoramuses just like the ski shop guy. I’ll fix it. You go on, I’ll catch up”.

“Are ya sure? I could walk back up and take a look at it for ya”. Now I knew this would do the trick, this would really piss him off.

“Goddammit, you think you can fix it if I can’t! Go ON!! I’ll meet you at the bottom!” With an apology and a shrug, I turned and headed down.

I beat him, I beat him!! Ha ha ha!!!! Whoo hoo!!! I’m free, I’m a bird! I’m flying!!!!  I’m flyyyiiiing!!!! NOW THIS IS LOVE!!  God I LOVE being alive!!! I’m finally flying!!! I’m really…flyi…. Whoa…uhh…. Hey…. I really AM flying. My vision is blurred and I’m possibly hitting 40-50 miles an hour, speeding in a straight line down a very steep mountain.  I’m going way too fast and far too reckless to survive this for much longer.

My smugness and gloating sank under the weight of the chunk of ice that had taken up residence in my stomach. My surroundings assured me that my complete and utter terror was appropriate. Dammit!! Holy Shit!! Oh MY God!! I might die, right here, right now!!!
I’d gotten so absorbed with the possibility of accidentally killing him, that I forgot about me!!! I don’t want to die!!!
God, I’m such a baby. I know what to do when I stop panicking. I begin to make longer S turns across the slope, crossing back and forth horizontally until I finally loose all momentum. I push my ski poles into the snow and lean my arm pits into them. Whew wee.

As I looked out across the horizon I could see peeks that seemed at least 100 miles away. As long as I looked at them I was OK. But the moment I looked down, my knees began to buckle and I couldn’t breathe. I was on top of the Empire State building. I was being held over the edge of the top floor by my ankles. I felt someone letting go. I could see the splat and felt like vomiting.

I was afraid to close my eyes because I would surely go into the spins and fall off the mountain. I looked at the sky and tried to think of puppies and kittens.

Then vaguely familiar warmth began to melt my frozen stomach. My trusty old survival mechanism was slowly waking up, then it began to chug. Soon it was purring steadily, pouring sanity into me like warm syrup. “Sit Down you Idiot! Take a breath! Suck on your goat skin, now!!” The slope was so steep it seemed like I was sitting in a lawn chair. I tilted the bag back and squirted the wine into my mouth, not missing a drop. Then I removed the cap and took a long gulp. Then another gulp. Then another.

Time for a cigarette. I inhaled deeply and it hurt my lungs. Aah, finally! The warm calm sensation entered my brain and didn’t stop till it reached my toes.  Another gulp, another puff.  Geeez, this is heaven!!  I LOVE this!! It’s beautiful up here!

I pulled out a joint and coughed while lighting it. After a few deep hits, I was at peace with the world. My situation was not so grim. What was I thinking? Sheeeit!! What’s my problem? I’ve done this a million times. I start laughing as I looked down at the mountain of death. God this is funny!!! I’m laughing uncontrollably at the sky now. And when I look down, it’s kind of fun! “Whoa there pardner, steady yerself!

My reality is wonderful now! This was a kiddies’ slope, easy as pie. I could ski down as far as I wanted and then take another break. It’d be a blast!! I may die, but then I may not!!  I could even take my skis off and walk down, but wasn’t really an option because the chance of flying into oblivion is what made me feel so alive. It’s what made it so fun, so worth it.

After an hour or so, I was sipping on my third cider and rum. The ski lodge was the usual walls of glass meeting at the top of the A-Frame. Out of the corner of my eye, I couldn’t miss the bright red rescue jackets walking towards to lodge. My dad was still cussing the ski shop guy and was demanding to be unescorted at this point. I quickly looked in the opposite direction towards the deer head over the fire place. Ahh, how nice. As he walked in, I feigned surprise, relief and camaraderie.

“My God Dad, I heard there was a white out up there? How in the hell did you make it??”  And so began the circle of himself. Perfect. I would believe every word of his bravery and courage, just as long as they kept those ciders coming.

Heading back to Raton was and adventure in itself. The driving was treacherous on the way back through the Cimarron canyon. The one lane road snaked through tremendous palisades on one side with a steep cliff on the other. Not much room for error, you might say. One tiny swerve and you could be meeting Gabriel, or Michael or some other big shot from heaven. That’s what made it so fun. Now you live, now you don’t!

You felt so lucky and invincible every damn time the road finally got wider, and the canyon faded into calm rolling meadows. I would always feel a sense of indestructibility. I felt like had I just went sky diving from 50 thousand feet. I was confident when the main chute failed. With steady hands I cut it away and pulled the string of the pussy little extra chute. I land perfectly. What, me worry?? I laugh in the face of danger!  Yes, it truly was good to be alive.

Yet oddly, in the deepest place within me, a churning never ceased. A thought kept screaming at me and would not shut up. It repeated constantly: EVERYTHING IS ALL WRONG!  That’s how I knew that reality was not lost on me. This truth was my very own; no one would see it, hear it or know about it. I swore I secretly I would hold onto the truth. I swore that I would remain sane. I made a commitment to myself to do anything to live.

My Dad was in love with me and I swore right there and then that I would not let it kill me. I knew what I was in love with. It was life.



4197 Words.