More than just my childhood. I apologize for the rant, but here is my story.
I was raised in a military family. No stability. When I could make friends, they could be gone with a few week's notice, or we could be gone. Dad was hardly around, and when he was, he wasn't much into the parenting thing. He would rather drink and say he was the law of the house. We never had a great relationship. He would get deployed for months at a time, then come back and expect nothing to have changed. Also, being in the military, mental illness was viewed as a weakness. A sign of failure. When I realized I was depressed, I wanted to go see a doctor. My parents said no. My dad was like "you are not crazy, grow a pair and move on." It took a suicide attempt at 15 years old for me to finally get the help I needed. Well, kind of. I got help, but in the military way of helping at the time. I was told I was bipolar, given some meds, and told to cowboy up. My dad kept my meds a secret. Made me feel ashamed for needing them. So, I did what any self respecting teenager would do, I quit taking my meds and started drinking, and drinking heavily.
This continued until I was old enough to join the military, so I did. I hid my issues and I drank even more while in. Drank after. Became a cop. Drank some more. Drank all the time. Finally, one day I was driving down the freeway and a guy cut me off. I pulled my weapon and pointed it right at him. The look on his face as he veered off the road with his family in the car was all it took. Something snapped that day. I cannot explain what happened. Within two weeks, my badge was on my commander's desk. I had no business being a cop. The drinking did not stop, however. I was more depressed than ever. I attempted suicide again. I was drunk, took my pistol, and placed it on my temple. I squeezed the trigger right as my wife was walking in the bedroom with my infant son. It clicked. I had forgotten to chamber a round. She called 911 and I was placed on a 72 hour. I almost lost my job over that. So, I drank some more. The final straw was when we were driving up the freeway, I was hung over, and my wife said something that set me off. She is the type who needs to have the last word. I am not blaming her, though. I slammed on the brakes at 80 miles per hour. Stopped the car in the middle of the freeway. Thankfully, there was little traffic. I got out of the car and left her, and my son, sitting in the middle of the freeway. I stood there in the passing lane, just waiting for a truck or something to come along.
That was it. That was the moment she had enough. She told me to get my shit together or I would never see her or my son again. She meant it. She moved out and filed a protective order against me. I began to see a psychiatrist. A real one this time. I began counselling. I quit drinking. I was diagnosed borderline with some bipolar 2 sprinkled on there for good measure. I also have PTSD, if everything else wasn't enough. I got on meds. I have not had a suicide attempt or an outburst like that in going on 4 years now. I am not cured, but my troubles sure are managed now. It has been a long and destructive journey. I am still travelling it. My wife and I are together and raising our son. Hopefully I can keep him from becoming borderline, at least. If he is bipolar or has OCD like his father, I sure as shit will never make him think less of himself for it. I should also add that now my father an I have an excellent relationship. We both acknowledge our past and are trying to make up for lost time.
Would I have raised myself differently? I have no idea. My dad did what he did based on what he knew and how he was raised. His upbringing was not great either. I do know this, however, I am raising my son differently. I am trying my best to remain stable and raise him with the support and compassion I was never afforded.
TL;DR: My childhood was one of abandonment and neglect. As long as I did not embarrass my dad in front of his military "family" we could live in harmony. My early adult years were more of the same.