No Protection in A Childhood Lost

These last few weeks, I’ve been wondering what affect my dad’s fathering has had on me.
I knew it wasn’t good; I just couldn’t seem to sift through all the shit and pin anything down. I couldn’t connect with anything. There has just been vague negativity, an emptiness- a sort of blankness- and a deep terror.

Things that come to mind…
When I was in second grade, a boy came up to me to tease me. He barely got a sentence out when I slapped him fully across the face as hard as I could. It was shocking to everyone. No one tried it again for some time.
In third grade, a different (new to the school) boy picked on me in line waiting for something. He was calling me names and taunting me “What are you gonna do about it?” he whined, smirking. I turned around, and without hesitation, slammed his head against the brick wall we were both standing next to. Again; the shock factor ensure that he and everyone else remained too intimidated to do anything similar for a few years.
Later probably around eighth grade, my dad had us in karate lessons. One of the lessons was How to not be a victim. The lesson consisted of everyone lining up and walking through a gauntlet of the karate students. If anyone thought that they wanted to mess with the person walking down, they would step out and do whatever they wanted- it didn’t have to be to their face- it could be a trip, a sneaky backstab, whatever. Everyone who went down had something done, and learned to defend themselves. A few got mobbed. When I walked, however, no one attacked. I got to the end and joined a line, and there was a long moment of stunned silence. I was, as I recall, one of the few girls and by far the smallest and youngest female. The sensei was so impressed he had us all discuss why I was the only one capable of walking the gauntlet successfully- because success is not having to defend oneself, of course. At the time, I was not proud. I was angry and silent. At the time, I didn’t know why. But I do now.

I was angry because, not only did my own dad never protect me. But, he actively let everyone around me know that. It was like he broadcast to the world “HEY! UNPROTECTED FEMALE! RIGHT HERE!! COME AND GET ‘ER!!” and then sat around and watched in sadistic amusement as I was forced to fight off the bullies, the predators, the pedophiles. He watched in glee as I destroyed my vulnerability and my innocence just to be able to survive. He threw me to the wolves, and laughed when I had to learn to fight like one of them.
“Atta boy, girl.” he would say to me.

I realize that I have never had the experience of feeling at ease. I have never felt held. I have never felt protected, or looked after, or loved. I’ve always known that it was up to me- I had to discern the danger in my environment, assess it’s ability to hurt me, and set up some kind of defense against it.
My body is tense because I’m in perpetual danger. My anxiety is high because I know that no one is there to protect me. And that’s what my dad did.