My father has attempted to control money in my life for years. When I was young he did as any parent does and set up an account. He also bought several shares. Gradually more accounts began to appear as well as the mention of more shares. He barely put any money in the accounts to begin with but kept all of their books. By the age of eighteen, if I wanted to put my money in the bank, I would have to take the book from him, deposit the cash then return the book back to my dad. These were his rules, enforced on me. For years he could see my bank balance, knowing exactly what I was earning or if any money was coming in. Eventually I plucked up the courage to confront him about it. He immediately berated me for insulting him and disrespecting his love for me. He would say I never trusted him and I had no respect for him over and over again. I left it be and let him have the stupid account. I then made the decision to open my own account somewhere else and to keep the information to myself. Thankfully they never issued a book, only a card which I kept very tightly hidden away.
After a few months of feeling some freedom I received a shock. As I opened my bedroom door to go to the toilet in the early hours of the morning, in front of me laid a pile of opened bank statements. With it read a note in his hand-writing,
“Why do you hide things from me? When did you do this?”
I was numb. He had been collecting my mail and reading it. He knew again what I was earning and now I had to deal with giving him an explanation to why I cannot trust him. An explanation I wouldn’t ever win. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
Morning came and I dreaded leaving my room. I could hear his heavy footsteps downstairs, the classical music booming in the kitchen. I braved it and went to talk. He was clearly angry and didn’t wait long to explode.
“You’re disgusting! Don’t talk to me!” soared out of his abusive mouth.
I tried to defend myself, I don’t anymore.
“You only ever think of yourself. Nobody else matters! I try to look after you but you don’t care. You are so selfish!”
By this time, with tears rolling down my cheeks, I had zoned out.
He continued to shout abuse at me. I would look outside and try to breathe the fresh air when all I could feel was his heavy breath on my tired face.
I walked away with no answers. I only knew to keep quiet and pray I get to my post before him.