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My Stepfather Is Dead - Printable Version

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My Stepfather Is Dead - Black Aeronaut - 08-13-2026

It''s been a while, hasn't it?  But, despite what some might wish for, I'm still around, clinging on for dear life.

And I know for sure they're thinking something along the line of "Here we go again, it's all about him all the time."

Well yeah, of course this is gonna be about me.  What the hell do you expect when someone decides to finally break the silence?

And really, as the thread's title implies, I have a good reason for that.

Earlier this year, in the month of January, my stepfather died.

It was not a clean passing.  He was riding his motorcycle, trailing behind my mother while she was driving the car when something happened.  We don't know what because it was night time out in the hinterlands on I-37, but it was horrible.  Shovels were involved, and that should tell you just how bad it was.

I know some of you might feel that I need to be comforted, but no, I don't.  This is mainly because I had the opposite sort of connection with him that everyone else did.  So instead, it's the rest of my family that are going through the grieving process, and there isn't much I can do about it.  All I can do are the more mundane things to make life easier on a person.

Some of you probably think ill of me after what happened a few years ago.  The same people who think ill of me probably know a bit about what I went through growing up.

But now that dad is gone, mom has come out with some... very alarming details that will take any pictures I've painted in the past from "bad feels" and outright into the territory of "fridge horror" - that belated realization that you don't quite get at first when you're watching/reading it... that is, up until you go to the fridge for some refreshments and it suddenly hits you.

How bad was it?  Buckle-up and hang on tight.  Rough doesn't even come close to describing it.

In essence?

I was raised to hate absolutely everything about myself.  Even though he would have insisted otherwise, my stepfather had no appreciation for me.  He wanted to change me into something I could not be.  And because I could not be that thing he wanted me to be?  He made me suffer by stripping me of everything.

You see, he didn't necessarily want me as a son.  He wanted me as something that he could be "proud of".  Something that made him look "good".

He wanted an appliance.  An automaton.  Something that he could program to function without faults, and carry out his directives.  Something that would not trouble him for anything at all, save for basic needs and necessities.  Something that appeared human by becoming an utter mockery of what a human is.

And it was pretty much just me he was focused on.

I bet you're thinking, "Oh god, it's a Cinderella story."

Folks?  Cinderella ain't got shit on me.  (Albeit the Disney version - the original Brother's Grimm version was a helluva lot darker.)

Let me demonstrate just how distorted things were in my family.

Quote:"Fishy needed a bath and a haircut."

No, that is not metaphor or some strange sort of code.  This was what literally happened.  My younger brothers gave my pet fish, a beta, a "haircut" by trying to cut the fins using scissors, and a "bath" by dumping dishwashing soap into the tank and stirring it up.

And that ridiculous "bath and a hair cut" line was their excuse for ALL THREE TIMES IT HAPPENED.

Yes.  This happened not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES.

(I know some people are thinking, "Psychopathic much!?" but it was actually a one-two-uppercut combo of Impulsivity Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, and ADHD+Autism.  But these revelations didn't come until later when these guys were in middle school.)

But what was done about it?

Simple.  It was decided that I should not have any pets.

Now, stop and think that over carefully.  You might consider it a wise move on my stepfather's part to make that mandate - that it was too dangerous to bring an animal into the household.  But that would imply that I was the liability, and not my brothers.

I obviously had no part in what my brothers did, aside from keeping a colorful tropical fish that is easy to care for as a pet.  I was not neglectful in any way, shape or form.  The aquarium was always in my room - not any of the common areas in the house.  Which means each time it happened, they came into my room to do as they pleased.

Yes, this could have been prevented by putting a lock on my door.  That would be the sensible thing, right?  But my stepfather vetoed that each and every time it came up.

Why?

Because if I had a lock on my door, then I could ostensibly hide things from him.

That's right.  He didn't want me to have any way of hiding anything from him.  And that overruled any right I had to protect anything of mine from my brothers.  And despite me having no fault whatsoever in this, the eventual consequence was that I was no longer allowed to have a pet.

As for the consequences for my brothers?  Well, my stepfather did believe it was uncalled for.  But in the end?  He saw it as boys being boys.

That's right.  I got punished for something my younger brothers did.  Something they did to hurt me.  Getting my pet privileges revoked wasn't their aim because it meant they no longer had that avenue for hurting me open to them.

I literally could not have anything nice because if I had anything nice they would destroy it, kill it, or vandalize it.

And keep in mind, this only applied to "nice things" like Lego sets, toys, and model kits.  Essentials like clothing, furniture, and bedding were left alone.

Before you think, "Well, at least you had that much," stop and think that over.

Most convicts serving out their prison sentence has at least a room (albeit a shared one), a bed, and other essentials.

Not that I was a prisoner in the traditional sense, but for how often Stepfather thought I was doing something "wrong" and needed to be punished for it?

Yeah.

So please, disabuse yourself of any notion that any aspect of this had a silver lining.  I was being treated like I had no rights at all.  I only *barely* got fed what everyone else ate.  And believe me, if my mother wasn't there for me?  I would have been given pet food because I hadn't earned the right for anything better.

Yes, my stepfather was *that* kind of person.  More about him in a minute...

Things only got better because the oldest of my younger brothers had to start going to school.  This meant that he couldn't get at my things while I myself was at school.  And he was definitely the ringleader with the others only being three, two, and one year old.  Not that they *couldn't* do things, but really they were mostly along for the ride.

But even with that, the difference between how I was treated and how they were treated was always a stark contrast.

That same brother of mine, on a whim, once got a hammer and started tapping it on the glass of a computer monitor (back when CRT's were still pretty common).  In front of my stepdad.  He only snapped at him and took the hammer away.

I once spilled acidophilus milk because my stepfather purposefully did a jumpscare on me while I was pouring it.  And then he backhanded me so hard that I slid across the floor to the other end of the kitchen.

While mom and stepfather were out running errands, my younger brothers would get into fights with me, which quickly escalated to the oldest one finding the razor-sharp carving knife that would only come out for holiday dinners and trying to cut me with it.  And nothing was ever done to rectify this.

If I had hit any of them, whether it was out of anger or self-defense, my punishment was to have my bare ass whipped with a leather belt.

My brothers would only get yelled at if they were running around the house and screaming.

I would try to make as little noise as possible, only to be punished for it because I was "slinking around".  Why?  Because if I was doing that, then I simply *had* to be in the middle of committing an offense that was worthy of punishment.

(By the way, his hearing was hyper-sensitive.  I kid you not, he used to be able to hear a mouse farting on the opposite side of a room.  So I got very, VERY good at being quiet.  So much that even to this day I make people jump out of their skin because I'm calibrated for avoiding my stepfather's attention.)

My brothers rarely ever got lectured because they were "too young to understand."

I got angry sermons that would run at least 45 minutes long that pointed out all of my flaws, and how he expected better of me.  Oh, and he would DEMAND constant eye contact the entire time.  And if he thought I was giving him a dirty look (which was most of the time because by God my neutral expression alone is intense), I'd get backhanded hard enough to see stars.

I couldn't even get away with getting actually sick.  He'd only let me miss out on my chores if forcing me to do so otherwise causes more damage.  That is, not to my person, but to what I was supposed to be tending to.  Like cleaning the kitchen - not much point in that if I'm uncontrollably vomiting, spewing bile and pathogens all over what I'm supposed to be cleaning.

(This has had knock-on effects.  Remember this thread?  http://www.accessdenied-rms.net/forums/showthread.php?tid=13575  The thing I forgot to mention there was that *I drove myself* to the hospital, over ten miles, and half of it was city-driving because the expressways were shut down for construction work.  And I pulled this off only because I was raised brainwashed for this kind of behavior.)

It's insane, right?  But that was how high the bar I had to clear even for being sick.

That was my childhood.

And you wanna know the most fantastically fucked-up part about it?

It was practically condoned.

Oh, don't get me wrong.  If the true extent of what was going on was known, then I would have been put into the foster care system faster than you can say "Parental Rights".

But it wasn't known.  Instead, what I was put through was downplayed, and spun into a narrative of "He's so difficult to deal with - look at how he acts!"

For the record, I have diagnosed ADHD, Auditory Processing Disorder (like dyslexia if it was applied to your auditory cortex instead), a sleep disorder known as Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome (imagine having jetlag you can never get rid of), and I am almost assuredly on the Autism Spectrum as well.

So yes, I was difficult to deal with.  But we all know that nothing warrants this kind of treatment.  He just used my neurodivergent behaviors as an excuse and made it look like I was blowing things out of proportion.

Most people simply accepted what my stepfather said.  They never looked hard enough to see what was really happening - how my stepfather was hiding just how messed up my treatment was.

The few that didn't buy it?  They were either so horrified that they distanced themselves as far away from us as possible and pretend it never happened, or they had absolutely no idea of what to say or what to do because it was so far beyond the context of what they knew as common sense.

And anytime I spoke out?  Even to other people my age?  I was just "looking for attention" and acting like a "special snowflake".  I didn't have the communication skills to properly convey what was happening to me.

Worst of all, some people even thought it was funny.  To them, the story I told was absolutely unbelievable.  A work of fiction to be sure.  A sitcom, even, because what have most sitcoms done in the days of Gen-Xers and Millennials?  Portray a dysfunctional family for comedy.

(I detest sitcoms for this reason.  And don't even get me fucking started on The Big Bang Theory - every time I hear "Oh!  So you're just like Sheldon!" it makes me wanna punch someone.)

In every aspect of my life, my stepfather made sure to isolate me from anyone who would probably not buy into his story, and mostly by making it clear to me (or rather brainwashing me to think) that I was nothing special.  That I didn't warrant anyone's attention.  He'd dress that up by telling me that the world doesn't revolve around me, and then take it far beyond simply instilling a sense of modesty and humility.

I was to be absolutely subservient to him.

I was to do everything right the first time, even if I wasn't sure what to do because that much should be obvious to someone as intelligent as me.

I was to perform all tasks with the swiftness, accuracy, and diligence of a machine, and without making enough noise to bother him.

I was to anticipate all of his whims and moods, to both somehow intentionally make my presence known but without upsetting him.

I was to look him in the eyes at all times, even though that kind of eye contact sometimes registers as a challenge to one's authority.

I was to accept all punishments he meted out without pleading, crying, or flinching, no matter how brutal it was.

I was to never complain or cry for any reason.

I was to be everything he expected of me, and also nothing at all.

Do you have any idea what that does to a child?  Do you have any idea what that does to someone who grows up that way with no means of recourse, escape, or respite?  And all because he made damn sure that you were certain that the alternatives were far, far worse?

Can you imagine someone being 25 years old and cowering like a frightened child because he had accidentally angered his sister's at-the-time-husband to the point of violence?

That is how fucked up this was.  That I was stuck in there until I was that old.  The *only* reason I got out at all was because of two friends of my sister's saw it happen and got me the hell out of there.

And that was only because they knew *exactly* what it was when they saw it, because they had both lived it, too.

So, now I bet you're wondering about the man himself.

Well, wonder no more.

While he was in the Air Force he once got put on medical leave because a psychiatric evaluation flagged him for signs of psychopathy.

Imagine that.

Except that there was nothing imaginary about it.

You ever watched the anime, A Certain Magical Index?  How it turned out that all those children with esper abilities were subtly being trained to be an army of superhumans?

Guess what?  That's pretty much what his dad did to him and his brothers!

See, Grandpa J was of the opinion that either the Russians, the Chinese, or even both were gonna invade America at some point in time, and so he lived his life accordingly.

And no, not quite in the Burt Gummer sense - he didn't have a massive collection of guns in a house built like a bunker.  Instead, he only had his .30-06 Lee-Enfield rifle... one that was rebuilt specifically so you can't mount a scope to it, thus restricting you to the iron sights alone.  Yeah, Grandpa J was incredibly hard-core because he'd take this thing to all kinds of shooting competitions.  And more often than not, he'd place in the top three.

(My mother, being an excellent genealogist, has found strong evidence that implies stepfather's patrilineal line are descendants of the infamous outlaw, Jesse James.)

And though he was no Burt Gummer, he certainly did keep a modest stockpile of preserved food, firearms, and ammunition.  And not just bullets, but also the materials and tools to *make* freakin' custom-loaded ammunition - we literally have several boxes of fucking 7.62mm armor piercing and steel core bullets for his rifle!  And it's legal because they're not complete rounds, but the individual components.  We would only get into trouble if we assemble them without first getting a permit from the ATF to do so.  Which can be done if we can prove it's for a sporting purpose... like hunting large, dangerous game like brown bears or wild boars.

(Yes, I checked, because holy fuck we had to go through the Border Patrol Checkpoint in Falfurias while we were getting mom moved out of her house in McAllen.)

That said?  Grandpa J was subtly molding his boys to become a group of survivalists, each with their own role.

The older brother was taught to be charming and good at social engineering - the metaphorical face who made deals with others.

The younger brother was taught to be the store keeper and technician - the one who fixes things when they break and keep track of their supplies.

And stepfather?

He was taught to be the stone-cold killer.  That if there was ever any need for it, then he would have no compunctions at all about finding someone and eliminating them.

Are you freaked out yet?  Stay tuned, it gets better worse.

My stepfather and his brothers were raised in what is the absolutely most fucked up perversion of patriarchy you can possibly imagine. 

While their father dined on steak and potatoes, they got beans and franks.  Road trips were a thing, but they only stopped when the car needed gas - bathroom breaks would only happen then, and food was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches made by their mom while their father drove.  And if he had to deal with an issue their mother couldn't handle?  They all got beaten for it, even if one of them was completely uninvolved.  He only voluntarily interacted with his sons to teach them what he considered "Men's Matters" like those aforementioned roles, as well as how to hunt, fish, live in the outdoors, and even how to lay with a woman.

Of course, he didn't want much to do with his father for a while afterward.  When my stepfather was 16, he already had his own car and his own money from working with contractors building houses.  When he was 18, he joined the Air Force and did not look back.

And I'm pretty sure that the only reason he had relations at all with Grandpa J afterward was because Grandma J and Granny were very different people.  They were even kind to my mother, even though they felt she wasn't a good match for stepfather.  And Granny was more than happy to share some of her Swedish culture with us.  I got to experience things like pickled herring and pepparkakor cookies.

How Grandpa J got a woman like Grandma J to marry him is a mystery to both mom and me, and will probably remain unsolved since both have long-since passed away.

The most ironic thing about this is that my paternal biological grandfather, Grandpa R, would have gotten along with Grandpa J like a house on fire.

Grandpa R, like Grandpa J, felt the it was only a matter of time before the Russians and Chinese came a-knocking.  Although his survival strategy differed, it was in a way that would have dovetailed perfectly with Grandpa J's strategy.  Where Grandpa J focused on a hunker down strategy, Grandpa R was a professional truck driver.  He intended to use his trucker skills to stay mobile and evade enemies, and also run a trade route in the process.  Thus, if the two had ever met, Grandpa J's spot in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains would have made a perfect way station for Grandpa R, and the two would probably have worked out all kinds of survival schemes.

So yeah, you can count that in my makeup as well as part of the "nature" side of things.

Now, with all of that said, you might think that I hate and despise my stepfather.

Honestly though?  I don't.

The thing is, I learned a long, long time ago that there's just nothing to be gained from stirring up that sort of drama.  And you don't have to go looking far to find proof of this - sometimes it's even living right next door.

And honestly, I simply never had the spoons for it, and I seriously don't understand where people find the energy to carry on with that kind of thing.

Besides, he was suffering already from the side-effects of my abuse - that being how he neglected to discipline my younger brothers.

Remember what I said about this sounding like a Cinderella story?  Well, here's how the deconstructed real-life version ends.

The two oldest ones wound up going to prison for a few years.  Both for incredibly fucked up reasons that I *will not* be getting into.

Two more, the middle child and the youngest, were failures to launch.  Both because of equal parts physical and mental health issues.

One signed on for a term of enlistment in the armed forces.  (He went Marines while I went Navy.  Funny that, huh?)  He's been the one who's had the most success, and I primarily chalk that up to him being so much like his dad that all he had to do was follow his example.  Fortunately, he's the second-youngest among us, so he got the least of stepfather's bad examples.

And me?  So-so.  I have tried, I really have, but I'm sure you can understand that with the mental and emotional scarring I had, and only having the chance to be properly treated for it when it's too little, too late?  Yeah.  My life has just been one big let-down.

There are only two of us who have married and had children.  Ironically, the oldest of my brothers was one of them despite being the walking cataclysm he is.  Of course, once he was convicted for what he did, his wife divorced him in short order and took their daughter along with her.

The other is my sister.  And trust me, that is a can of worms we do *not* want to open right now.

Me?  I never even had a snowball's chance in hell because, like I said earlier, I was raised to hate absolutely everything about myself.  And not only that, but I was always expected to get things right the first time.  I've pretty much been programmed to have a horrible aversion to making mistakes and because of that... Let's just say that I have unwittingly come off as a real-life Marty Stu in the past - in some ways, I was too good to be true.  Add in the fact that I was so insecure I could barely hold anything together...  Yeah.

The only one that wasn't put off by my damage was probably a high-functioning autistic like me, and one of the very few women I've been intimate with who had an intellect that actually rivaled mine.  (Keep in mind, I had a 12th grade reading level when I was in 4th grade, and a collegiate reading level by time I was in 6th grade.)  Rather than put her off, she found me to be charming, sexy, and just downright fascinating.  Things between her and I might have worked out...

The reason why we didn't get to find out was because I was moving along in my training in the in the Navy and bound for Seventh Fleet, and she didn't want to wind up being estranged from her family.

(Think about the film, My Big Fat Greek Wedding.  Yes, it was exactly like that, including the fact that her family was 100% Greek and that they were in the restaurant business... except unlike the movie, there was no happy ending for us.)

So that's a major part of the reason why I don't make drama out of what I went through, even though a lot of people could say I'd be perfectly justified in doing so.  The birds came home to roost, and the anguish this caused my stepfather was far worse than anything I could have done.  Even the fact that I myself have been such a failure hurts because he spent so much time trying to correct me, only to have it turn out that turning me into a high-strung perfectionist with a metric fuckton of insecurities is not conducive to proper socialization.

So, like I said, we buried the hatchet and we worked on it.  It wasn't going to undo anything that had been done, but there was nothing to be gained by causing even more pain.

And then?

Then the Accident happened.

Say what you will, but even I feel he didn't deserve to go out like that.  I can only imagine the combination of terror and resignation he must have felt - that for all of his skills (especially those he's honed as a motorcycle rider - he was incredibly good at that), this was the thing he was not able to avoid, and it was all over.

While I am nowhere nearly as impacted by his loss as the rest of my family, the fact of the matter was that he and I had been trying.

And now that will never be.

So, I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm spilling my guts like this.

You can rest assured, there is a purpose in mind.  But for now?  It's important that you understand what I've been through and how screwed up it has made me.  Because that has a lot to do with what will come later.

Bob Schroeck, Rob Kelk, Labster?

This will not be the thread for That Discussion.  This one I am reserving so that others can ask me questions about the abusive relationship I only barely survived.  You may join in if you like, but I imagine you won't have the stomach for it.

Just for a bit of Ha-Ha, I'll leave you with this Skeletor meme that is oh-so-painfully relevant.

[Image: image.png]

RE: My Stepfather Is Dead - classicdrogn - 08-13-2026

Shit man, that sucks. Count me in the "don't know what to say" group otherwise, I guess, because I am nowhere near good enough ast How To People to have any more meaningful response.