Manipulative People: My Experience Growing Up With A Bully

"After a while, you simply are what you are" - Nick Fury

I was the victim of abuse growing up, both physical and psychological. I was raised by a man who was a bully and a coward. He was also, unfortunately, my father.

There was a substantial quantity of physical abuse which I will talk about another time but today, I’d like to discuss his controlling nature and the psychological bullying that went on while I was a child as that did more damage me than a punch or a kick ever could.

If you’d spoken to 5 year old me about my family, I probably would have said that it was all pretty normal. I knew my parents argued a lot and that my father, Mick, wasn't the sort of person you crossed or argued with but what 5 year old me didn't know is that for years, Mick had been bullying my Mum in order to make her feel worthless. He did this with a mixture of put-downs and punches; he constantly questioned her mental health whilst simultaneously endangering her physical health.

As we got older, the control he exerted over me and my sisters increased. We were not allowed to watch any TV that came from America (seriously) which led to a wonderful game that my big sister and I used to play called “Find the proof that this was made in Canada”. Once we saw the maple leaf with “Made in Quebec” written under it (thank you Mona the Vampire), we were okay to keep watching that programme. It was just pointless and pathetic; a way of controlling his children with no real goal or aim.

When visiting relatives or at events, we were there as display pieces; his children standing still looking pleasant. He would present us to someone with a list of things that we had accomplished since they last saw us and then, like good automatons, we were silent unless asked something directly. If we failed to follow these rules we’d catch hell for it later.

The most common time that this happened was when we went to visit Mick’s parents (who were wonderful people). There were many thousands of reasons why I loved my Nanny Mary but the fact that she told Mick off without any reprisal was hilarious and a little bit amazing to me as a child. If my mum would ever stand against Mick, it would always result in Mick shouting or throwing something at my mum (including, but not limited to, a punch). However, when HIS mum told him off, he went as quiet and sheepish as an 8 year old caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. For someone who had grown up in fear of this man, it was really cool to see him taken down a peg or two in such a way.

Janus is the Roman god of beginnings and transitions and is presented as a two faced man (not to be confused with Two-Face, who was substantially better dressed). Much like Janus, Mick was also a two faced man.

To the world he was good old Mick or Uncle Mick or, somewhat puzzlingly, Badger. He was a friendly guy who called everyone “mate” and always had his well behaved family around him; he’d raised his children in the Catholic faith and worked hard all his days. This image he presented to extended family and friends was, as you can guess, a complete facade. He liked being in control of those around him; if he could control you through intimidation then he would but, if he felt that you couldn't be intimidated or manipulated due to your size, age or the fact that he didn't have the authority to govern your every move THEN you were his “mate”.

A prime example of this is my good friend and fellow twitchy nutcase, Max. Max’s mum and my mum are best friends who lived close to one another and, therefore, Max and I spent a lot of time together as young children. Mick was NOT a fan of Max, how could he be? Here was someone who his children liked who wasn't under Mick’s direct control! Oh no! He spent many years making his utter disdain of Max and anything Max would mention quite clear (remember, Max was a small child at this point). However, after Max shot up to about 6 ft, he was suddenly Mick’s “mate” and Mick couldn't hear enough about Max and what he was up to and interested in. Coincidental timing, eh?

Mick was the sort of Catholic who was only really Catholic because he liked feeling superior to others without all that pesky self-improvement stuff. We were marched to church each week where we had to be perfect (yawning in church, for instance, put you on the receiving end of a beating). He enjoyed the fear he could make me feel and would often start something to see if I flinched or cried, if I did, he would sneer and call me “idiot boy” or “imbecile”. I was about 12 at this point.

From a psychologist’s point of view, Mick’s need for control probably stemmed from something bad that happened when he was a child. Quite frankly, I find myself not giving a toss. If you can’t control your pain then you shouldn't have children; I don’t plan to have children until I've worked through the issues that I have. Mick, however, was far too arrogant to think like this. He loved the idea of having his own “mini-me” so much but was then unable to deal with any signs of independence; lashing out in order to maintain his perceived crown.

I have found that this controlling, manipulative personality type is common with abusers; there have been guys that friends of mine have dated that reminded me of Mick to a quite startling degree. These pathetic little children have a need to command respect but lack the ability or personality to earn respect so they create a facade and once people get close, they wear them down through various types of bullying. These people rely on your fear; they rely on the fact that you believe them when they tell you that nobody cares about you or that nobody would believe you if you told the world.

Despite talking about what happened to me, I have still lived with fear. I still have nightmares about the physical violence and issues around the emotional bullying because at the time, I bottled it all up and ran away into being a man-child; it’s not a particularly healthy coping mechanism, I admit. I’m trying to work through it now by writing about it but I’d be lying if I said I wasn't worried it was too little, too late. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way” right? I hope so...

Thanks for taking the time to read this ramble (if indeed you did) and if you have had a similar experience with a controlling person and want to ramble back at me, feel free to leave a comment or message me on Facebook.

Have an awesome day  (:

My name is Peter Marshall and I’m a little bit... odd.

“Changing is always harder than staying the same.” – Dick Grayson

I've begun this voyage into the blogosphere with a number of goals in mind=

1)   To talk about the way I was raised and the hilarious cocktail of issues that it has left me with. I hope that doing this will help me move beyond it all and should also make for some interesting reading (or not, one can never tell with these things).

2)   To offer my flawed and bitter opinion on various topics in the hope that it makes you laugh, cry or even just think about general stuff.

3)   Drunk Film and TV Reviews. I watch a lot of crap and feel I can drunkenly review ANYTHING and will valiantly attempt to do so.

4)   Share random facts and bits of trivia with you.

5)   I will post my terrible short stories. Be afraid.

“But Peter, you charismatic stallion” I hear you cry.

 “This blog is completely disjointed with no proper theme. What’s up with that?”

Well, that’s kind of the point; it’s a mixture of bad jokes, awful puns, drunkenness, Film and TV, poorly thought-out opinions, useless trivia, clichéd fiction and light-hearted anecdotes about child abuse.

It’s essentially my brain as a computer. Imagine Skynet except weirder and infinitely more pedantic.

I’m in the process of writing my first “proper” post so stay tuned for that...

...of course nobody might actually be reading this which is which I named my blog “Screaming into Space” because that is, essentially, what it feels like.