I'm not sure if this is a CSA issue. I'm sorry this post turned out to be much longer than I expected; bear with me.
A bit of background:
My family immigrated to Canada when I was 14. I did my highschool + univ/college here.
All through that time, my parents reminded me, every change they got, that the sole purpose of coming here was our education. If there was one part of my life my father controlled, it was school. In high school, he chose which courses I would take and what grades he expected. He sent me off to univ for Computer Engineering. I wasn't fond of the field, but for whatever reason, I followed. May be I was trying to be 'a good son' or I felt indebted to them.
It took a couple of co-op positions to realize my heart was never in it. I was really depressed and it was around this time, I started becoming aware that my 'childhood experiences' were actually CSA.
I also found out the truth about us coming here. You see, my dad had a brief stint in the U.S. where he failed due to 'workplace politics'. He was actually working for his childhood friend and he felt the betrayal was personal.
So, he decided that I would be the'proverbial son who succeeded where the father failed'. Even through high school, he often talked about how we would move to the States after my univ.
Anyways, I dropped out of univ. I really didn't know how to tell them. I kept working the co-op job for about 6 more months. I finally came out to them about my depression (not the abuse). Understandably, they were upset. I still regret not approaching them sooner. A couple of months later, I let them talk me into going to college (computer programming) to 'salvage my education'. I knew I would never work in the field, but I did it anyway because I felt guilty.
Fast forward a couple of years, I'm 26. I had just started smoking. When my dad found out, he tore me one. He said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "You are not depressed. What have you got to be depressed about? There's nothing wrong with you. You've always been a manipulative bastard, even as a kid. I'm so ashamed of you. You have been the reason I don't hang out with my friends, I can't show my face to them. You don't love your parents or your grandparents. I'm 51, I wanted to retire by now. We would have been in California if you had just gotten your head out of your ass."
I just let him get it out. I just sank into the chair I was sitting on because I get really light headed when I'm accused of something. After he was done, I said I was sorry.
I still don't understand what he meant, "even as a kid". I never did drugs (not even pot) in high school/college. Never had alcohol. In fact, every friday night in univ, while my roommates got boozed up and offered me some, my reply was "my parents wouldn't like it if I drank alchohol". And I hadn't touched a cigarette until 26 and this is his reaction?
This incident was last year and it's at the forefront of my thoughts quite often. I plan to move out at the end of the year and no longer be a burden to them. My parents still disapprove of my line of work. I work at the airport as a baggage handler and I can understand their disapproval. They still talk about my getting a job as a computer programmer.
My dad said I didn't love them. What is love? When you love someone, wouldn't you want to do everything you can to see them happy? (even at the expense of your own happiness). If love is about sacrifice, then he's right - I don't love them. And I don't think I'll ever feel that way about anybody. All I feel towards my parents is duty and responsibility.
Why am I like this? Am I just hurt because I feel used or am I just an ungrateful asshole? I just wish someone would tell me either way. It's the not knowing that's driving me crazy.
A part of me just wants to come right out and say, "Gee, thanks! Dad! Remind me again, how do you know what I was like as a kid? You went away for two years, about 6 months of which I was abused. But, if you'd ask me who I am more angry with, my abuser or you, I'd say it's a tie. He used me for his personal gratification. You tried to use me for your personal vendetta. I am so sorry I'm not grateful (sarcasm)."
Sorry if this came out like a rant. I've just been thinking about this all day today. I couldn't turn it off. I would have written this in my journal, but last week my dad went through my stuff under the pretence of cleaning up my book shelf. Luckily, I took the journal to my work that day. Anyways, I tore it up into pieces (5th incomplete journal in my life) because I was scared he'd come across it.
"We're not broken, just bent. And we can learn to love again!"