BLESS ME FATHER

Sharing a 2nd extract from 'BLESS ME FATHER'

I am leaving the Introduction for the 1st part here incase there are any willing readers here who never read the 1st part.

Life with a Narcissistic alcoholic is far from a walk in the park. It is a journey of emotional turmoil, taking the co dependent through a daily uncertainty of what may trigger a burst of verbal abuse and mental abuse .

My aim in putting a humorous take on my life with one is to highlight his behaviour, rather than to focus on the effect it had on me.

'BLESS ME FATHER' is fact mixed with fiction., Hopefully the reader will quickly identify which is which.

Warning: ‘Strong’ language.

To portray ‘him’ as he really was/is, I had to quote him as he really spoke.

Once again apologies for dreadful puncutation which I am hopless at. I have someone waiting to fix it :-)

OH CRUMBS - THE BREAD BAG

Are you ready now father for me to continue on

Confessing my sins and admitting I was wrong?

Now I’ll tell you about the loaf of bread

The trouble it caused and what was said.

Well darling came home after his usual trip to the pub

Arrived home as always wanting some grub.

He decided a sandwich would go down well

Little did I know this would cause hell.

He got upset when he saw that I’d closed the bread bag with a knot

Instead of turning it under so the bread could be easily got.

He ripped the bag open with anger, shredding it to crumbs around the floor

His rage had him frothing at the mouth as he slammed his way out of the door.

‘It’s only a fucking stupid bitch’, he spat, ‘that would close up the bread like that’

I shouted after him, called him a drunk, behaving like a 5-year-old brat.

Like a raging bull he reappeared, said I knew how to turn the key

‘Who would tie a fucking knot in a bag’ - apparently no one only me!

I was furious father, gave him the sharp end of my tongue

Told him he’d better pick up the bread that he had flung.

I went off to bed; I could not have cared less

About his anger, his hunger or the bloody mess!

Are you beginning now to see father, what a lousy life he had

With a wife who did things daily to deliberately make him mad.

It was wrong of me to tie that bread bag in a knot

No wonder he was mad at me, I deserved the abuse I got.

From your experience of confessions do you think I’m doing well?

Will my begging for forgiveness keep me out of hell?

If I treat my darling better, from now until I die

Do you think I’ll go to heaven and be given golden wings to fly?

What’s wrong father your face is glowing red

Do men get hot flushes like women do, or is it something else I’ve said?

Why are your eyes both meeting in the middle, and you’re grinning from ear to ear

Are you receiving a message from above that only you can hear?

Is the gatekeeper telling you I’m deserving of a heavenly place?

Is that why you have a stupid grin distorting your holy face?

Well speak to me father for heaven’s sake; don’t just sit there grinning

Or are you just truly pleased that I’m going to live my life free from sinning?

Oh, I know what it is that’s making you look funny

It’s the house wine you’re drinking, I’d bet any money.

Shall we have a top up because it’s helping me through

Looks like you’re enjoying it too!

If it’s not too rude a question father where do you get your wine supply?

Is it from the local store, and do you get discount for bulk buy?

When the bishop pays a visit do you spend a little more?

Because the cheap stuff we are drinking would make his head feel pretty sore.

Does the church have its own vineyards; it would make sense if they did

Defiantly the only way to go if they’re looking to save a few quid

Your congregation could save their empty bottles, recycling is the way to go

More money in the coffers, and up and onwards with the show

You know what Murph, I’ve just had a thought about the bread that ‘darling’ threw

Instead of dumping it in the bin, I could have donated it to you!

That would have been another saving, it would have lasted a pretty fair time

I’m sure it wouldn’t have made a difference to those who come for the bread and wine,

Goodness me, what have I said to upset you now? You have such a very short fuse

If this is how you react to helpful folk, you should lay off the booze!

How am I supposed to know that Hovis is not the same as the Eucharist Bread?

And does it really matter what brand it is, as long as they’re getting fed!

You say you serve wafers, not crumbs off my kitchen floor, well I thought bread was bread!

And calling me ignorant is very unfair, considering I was very mislead!

Who mislead me? you ask, well I seem to recall it may have been Sister Malone

Attending her bible classes when I was barely 4ft grown.

Ok, so she never actually said the bread was Hovis, but what’s a child to think

She never really explained it in full, maybe she’d been on the drink!

Now, as I think back to it all, her face always seemed pretty flushed

Her patience seemed pretty fragile, and her bible class rather rushed.

It’s all making sense now, I feel bad that we kids took up her precious time

That she could have spent by the fireside, nursing a large glass of wine.

I suppose it must have been nice for her to get home, chill out, and be somewhat normal

On with her old nightie and slippers, thanking god for evenings less formal.

The uniform she wore, her chubby cheeks all squashed up, and the double chin

Fighting for air, her face poking out, of the headdress she was firmly locked in

I suppose when one has a job so important, there must be a price to pay

It wouldn’t have been appropriate for her to toss her headdress away.

My word, I seem to be in trouble again, it’s a ‘habit’ she wore, and I’m a disgrace

For the ridiculous way I described her dress, and my description of her angelic face

Angelic my foot father, I can assure you it was anything but

To us kids at the time it looked more like the face of a rabid mutt!

THE KIPPER TALE

Do you like kippers Murphy, the one’s that are smoked?

Well I did too, ‘til the night I almost choked

No Murphy, it wasn’t a bone I almost chocked on

I wasn’t even eating them because to bed I’d gone!

What did you say Murphy, your totally confused;

Well your face tells me different because you’re looking rather amused.

If you stop interrupting for a minute or two

I will explain what happened in detail to you.

In fact it may be a good idea if I take five minutes out

I could do with stretching my legs so I’ll take a walk about.

This will give you a chance to communicate

With the one up there manning the gate.

You say you’re worried that he will notice you slurring your words when you speak

You’re reckoning he will accuse you of being weak.

Well tell him it’s none of his business as you are the boss of this place

That will wipe the smile off his ‘Oh so angelic face’.

You know what Murphy; it’s the same wherever you go

The higher up the ladder the more (they think) they know!

Ask him who he thinks he is, sitting there on his perch

Tell him he has no right interfering with how you run your church.

Ah! That’s better Murphy, that walk has done me good

I couldn’t help noticing your pews of expensive wood.

You must have generous customers putting money on the Sunday plate;

All hoping their generosity will get them through the gate.

Well it’s too late now for me to go down that road

That’s why I’m here confessing my sins, to secure my next abode.

I desperately want it to be Heaven; I don’t want to rot in Hell;

For the miserable life I gave darling, by not treating him very well.

Sorry Murphy, yes I will get back to the kipper tale

Though the memory of it still turns me, a lighter shade of pale.

Well here is what happened on that dreadful night

I thought I was a goner, I could see the beckoning light!

He arrived home as usual and wanted to be fed

I said ‘There’s smoked kippers in the fridge’ as I headed off to bed.

It was late you see Murphy and I had work the next day

I left him in the kitchen, ‘fucking bitch’ I heard him say.

I turned back and told him to get a grip on his life

I was fed up of his drunken tantrums; coming home and giving me strife.

He reckoned it was ‘fucking sad’ arriving home to find no food prepared

I turned on my heel, continued to bed, did he think I cared?

Snug in bed I fell asleep, but suddenly awoke

Toxic fumes were filling the room; I felt I was about to choke.

I ran through the thick black smoke to find him snoring in the chair

Hugging a glass of Whiskey, oblivious, without a care.

He awoke to me screaming that we were going to die

You drunken Moron, I heard myself cry!

Murphy, he just swallowed his drink as he looked at me and said

Stop you’re fucking whining woman, I’m off to fucking bed’

I tossed the charcoaled kippers wishing he’d choked on them instead

At least that way I wouldn’t have had to evacuate my bed.

He would have winged his way to heaven, or plunged his way to hell

Arriving at his destination before I awoke to the alarm clock bell!

I wallowed in self pity as I stayed up through the night

Scrubbing smoke damaged walls, surely this wasn’t right!

The drunken slob slept like a baby without a care

I was consumed with anger, feeling life was unfair.

As I took down the curtains to wash away the acrid smell

I cursed his behaviour and prayed he would rot in hell -

For his bullying ways towards me, a good woman and wife

And the way his drunken behaviour was affecting my life.

Where was his conscience I asked myself; as with frustration I cried

Didn’t’t he care that we both could have died?

I wasn’t the drunk who treated him like the dirt on my shoes

So why did I have to suffer because he couldn’t’t live without booze.

Daylight arrived and I heard him call out my name

Followed by a request for a cup of tea, was the man insane!

I was ready to knock his lights out Murph as I felt the my temper rise

After years of it lying dormant I was ready to punch him between the eyes.

Like a raging bull I approached the bed

I knew then how it felt for a bull seeing red.

I couldn’t believe he was acting as though all was well

For his behaviour I told him he should rot in hell.

Murph this is another case of neglect on my part

I had gone off to bed, oh where was my heart!

A dutiful wife would have cooked the kippers for him

But I ignored his needs which is another mortal sin!

I was so wrong to expect him to come home and cook himself food

And to think I wondered why, he was in such a lousy mood.

I had only been sitting on my butt, in front of the TV

I deserved the abuse he dished out to me.

Oh lord I bet the heavenly board of directors will be shaking their heads in disgust

I expect they will want to save the heavenly places for people they can trust.

They will be wondering how I could ever expect them to let me in

After living a life committing sin after sin.

HEAVEN FORBID!

Can you imagine him arriving in heaven Murph, rattling the pearly gate?

‘I hope there’s a fucking bar in here, hurry up and let me in Peter mate’!

He would cause chaos in thirty seconds if they only served sodas and tea,

Now that would be hell in heaven for him, and heaven on earth for me!

To have to spend eternity in heaven with not a bar in sight,

Would make him want to die again and follow a different light.

He’d drift down to hell to check their amenities out, ‘is there a bar in here‘?

‘I’ve just left heaven so I hope there is because I need a fucking beer‘!

I can imagine him ranting and raving as he did twenty four seven in life,

Wanting total control and accusing everyone of giving him strife

He would run a reign of terror until everything went his way

Murph listen up because I reckon this is what he’d say:

‘I died an hour ago and I’m fucking pissed off roaming around,

At least on earth there were plenty of bars to be fucking found.

Is a man’s needs not important, in life after death, if not, then why did I die?

That is nothing but a waste of my time and life is a fucking big lie’.

On earth they say you have to be nice, if to heaven you want to go

Through some awful mistake I ended up there, but how I will never know!

I spent my life being obnoxious to all, was a bully boy to the very last,

It must have been a fucking woman in charge of where I went when I passed’!

‘Why else would I have ended up in heaven, when I tried so hard to keep away?

I bet through her prayers my bitch of a wife definitely had her say.

I can hear her saying ‘please lord, when he dies let it be payback time-

By sending him to heaven, he’ll hate it there but will have to tow the line’!

Father, do you know what heaven is like, have you been able to sneak a ‘look see’

Is it all fluffy clouds and angels with harps; or is that just how it’s shown on TV?

The problem with that sort of heaven, is that darling would not feel at home

He would dessert within minutes; wing his way back, where earthbound he would roam.

I can see him now, bar hopping to his heart’s content, no last orders to worry about

The days would be gone where on closing time they could throw him out

He could serve himself, not have to pay, and never have to go home

He’d be known as ‘the pub crawl ghost’ as from bar to bar he would roam

THE BIRTHDAY BREAK

Ok so his birthday came around and I planned for us to go for dinner

A bonding session would do us good; I felt I was on a winner.

We planned to catch up with friends when we were done

Let our hair down and have some fun.

As expected he was already out celebrating by the time I got home

I rushed out to join him and found him sitting at the bar alone.

He was already as drunk as a skunk so I suggested we go somewhere to eat

As he made his way out to the car he was unsteady on his feet.

During our meal he fell fast asleep, I was mortified as people looked on;

I shook him awake helped him up and said it was time we were gone.

We stepped outside and down he went, like a ball he rolled around

‘My fucking ankles broken’ he screamed, as he lay in a heap on the ground.

So there he was laid up in a hospital bed, his self pity was clear to see;

‘When you visit later bring me a drink‘, he gasped, through his pain to me.

‘Some whisky along with some coke, it will help me to cope being here;

Oh and don’t forget to bring a few bottles of my favourite beer’.

I was speechless at his request; he must have banged his head when he fell

He had to be delirious to ask such a thing, he clearly wasn’t well.

When I refused he called me a ‘fucking mean bitch‘, he reckoned I had no heart

His hospital stay meant him and the booze would spend some time apart.

This was what he needed, I told myself, a chance to dry out and get sober;

Then my days of his verbal abuse, through drink, would thankfully be over.

I could see that he was agitated at my refusal to agree to his request

I wasn’t worried about it; confident my decision was best.

He had no need to worry though if his ‘mean bitch of a wife’ didn’t’t care

Because he had reliable friends, ones who would always be there.

A call to them was all it took; they arrived laden down with booze

Sympathetic towards his plight, upset at the birthday fall news.

I was angry with them, what were they thinking

To assist him in hospital to carry on drinking.

They were idiots and had no right to interfere

Encouraging him to mix morphine and beer.