The men my father set me up for.

There is something very important about being able to use real photos and talk about what really happened to you.

As a survivor of child abuse, neglect, and abandonment, I now write about mental health and trauma to provide validation to those who have been through the same.

I also get to give myself a type of healing that happens when you develop a deep sense of self-awareness and depth in understanding what happened to you in your past.

I have Complex PTSD and these stories are not just tales, but moments in history that deeply affected my life. These are moments I cannot change, cannot go back to in real-time, and cannot seek any kind of revenge for.

But I do know this. Remembering the past so you can reparent yourself and revise the way you see yourself in the present is a gift.

One that I choose to deeply practice and cherish through my own creative self-expression.

CHARLIE, MY BIO FATHER, SHAPED THE WAY I VIEWED MY OWN WORTHINESS OF LOVE.

When your father is an addict and self-medicating many deep-seeded mental issues, he is very much an unavailable man. Charlie was not available for many things when I was growing up. From the time I was born until I was 15 (when he finally abandoned me), the relationship was entirely a rollercoaster.

There were many highs and many lows. Of course, his memory served to only remember those high moments, and pictures I have now only show "fun" Charlie. No one ever captured the terribly dark moments but me. And I only have proof of those visions in my mind.

What does speak volumes is when the photographing stopped. When the memory-making stopped. At some point, when I was in my early teens, Charlie became absent mentally - a few years prior to physically disappearing as well.

What I know now does not matter to child-me.

I had no idea Charlie was bipolar, schizophrenic, a heroine and pills addict, as well as narcissistic. I did not know he was self-medicated instead of properly diagnosed and treated by therapy and a psychiatrist. I did not know about his own trauma and losses in depth.

I only knew that my "hero", the man I idolized and loved as a small child, was slowly becoming a villain in my own story and I was so aware of his changes even though I did not know what caused them.

My mother, his ex-wife since I was a toddler and the one with residential custody of me, would remind me that there was one FACT in the scenario. Me.

It had to be my fault that my father deteriorated and grew angrier over the years. This she reminded me of when I was crying at the window when he did not show for visitation. And eventually when he ceased to come back at all.

Sure, Cathy helped stage the scene with her narrow mind and sharp tongue. She was heavily emotionally abusive and dependent on her own addictions to cope with each day. But she was not the one who molded my view of my own worthiness around love with men. She and I had never had a relationship built on any sort of emotional closeness or trust. But I had a bond with Charlie. The only relationship that really broke my heart was the one I had with my father.

Charlie was the fun guy. He was the one who took me out during his visitations to do the cool things. Go to the parks, the ball pits, the arcades, the skating rink. Charlie let me wear his leather jackets and play his guitars.

He wanted me to learn to ride a bike and told me stories about my grandpa who had died when he was 14. My grandpa "who had taught him everything" was this amazing man who died way too soon and too young. It was devastating for my father, who spiraled out on drugs and went to rehab (live-in) for two years after his father died. Instead of attending high school, he lived in that facility that was supposed to fix his addictions and depression. It did not.

My father raised me, his only child, like I was a cute little niece...or really like he was my imaginary friend. There were never any rules, no structure, no expectations, no curfews. We just hung out, went wild, and went home.

Nothing then stood out to me as bad, wrong, or scary. Not until I was a teen and began dating.

Truly, I only now at 31 have the widest perspective of what was terribly wrong with my childhood. Why my memories were actually clouded by gaps of memory loss and trauma. As well as why Charlie was majorly unfit to be alone with me, take me anywhere unsupervised, or have permission to teach me anything.

The pictures I have kept until now in a little album all show me smiling, playing, and having adventures at dad's house. Those were not staged or fabricated. I was shown these photos as I grew up by my dad's family and I cherished the time spent laying on my belly (feet up behind me kicking) as I flipped through the pages of those albums. I loved the pictures so much, I asked for some over the years and that is what makes the big stack I have now.

Only now can I fully grasp what was not captured and why I suffered so much through my dating years. Anyone looking through my photos could easily be fooled into thinking I grew up in a safe, healthy, middle-class home with married and supportive parents. Anyone can pick up these photos and see a happy kid who was not abused or going without. That hurts me the most.

My father did now show me that he loved, respected, or cared about my mother in the way that he needed to. In all right, he resented and hated her. But 31 year old me now sees how toxic, codependent, and abusive their relationship was. Not just when they were dating and married, but for the 16 years after that, they had to "put up with one another" while both seeing me. That was until I left both of them and legally filed for emancipation through NY state to protect myself.

My father was so angry at my mom for how she did everything because they were very opposite (or so they both said). Yet both of them were OCD, controlling, manipulative, addicted to alcohol as well as heroin and cocaine, and were absolutely terrible in relationships. Both were addicts starting in their teen years, both dropped out of high school because of it, and both never got any further education afterward because they were too discouraged and mentally ill to follow through. Which was very unfortunate.

They were physically, emotionally, and psychologically damaging towards one another by the time they dated and got married in their mid-twenties. They got pregnant by accident and rushed to get married, then lost that baby as a stillbirth at 7 months along. I was conceived a few months after and it was the only year (or s0) both were "sober" in order to have a healthy baby (me). They did not last even another year before separating. It was a loud, violent, and messy marriage that was better off finally ending. But both of them were not in any way capable, ready, or committed to becoming a parent. I still wonder why no one ever stepped in or saw how blatantly obvious that really was.

The pictures did not capture that though. The sixteen years I spent as an only child, being babysat by both of their moms while they found ways to work and make a living. My mother remarried (her boss) and had an awful codependent and abusive marriage (which might still be going on 23 years later at least legally). My father sort of dated on and off for years, which was a train wreck and a sign of how bad his mental health really was. These two people never learned how to love, be loved, or hold meaningful relationships in their lives.

If my life were a book, it would be a no-brainer seeing why I became emancipated and would be better off on my own. It would make sense to people why I was hyper-independent, self-reliant, and tragically fell head-first in love with abusers for years to come.

A lot of my life story, if written, would have readers SCREAMING at the book with anguish that Jean would make all these crazy twists and turns that they could clearly see were no good.

But that's the funny thing about being the main character.

I never saw the bad guys coming. I was trained not to.

Charlie did the fun things. Though I had no concept of what things cost or how much money he had when I was a kid (so I had no idea we were poor until high school), I always remembered him wanting to give me experiences. That meant something to me.

I did not know that not all of those experiences were appropriate for a father to do with their child. Charlie brought me out to do things that only older people did and very often. Also, very late into the night. On school nights and during vacations from school - Charlie brought me to 7-11 and Starbucks. This was back when Starbucks was a slam poetry - mermaid and mid-century modern styled artistic cafe. It was not corporate yet. It was cool before people thought it was cool in such a massive level.

Charlie got coffee and I can still remember how he ALWAYS smelled like coffee. His breath. His hair. His jacket. He wreaked of coffee. Charlie got me yoo-hoo chocolate milk and poured it into a paper Starbucks cup so I could drink "coffee" too.

I never put it together then but he wanted to hide the smell of liquor, marijuana, and other things he was taking.

My mother had this tik but it was different. She popped CERTS mints in all day every day. She was obsessed with them and never wanted to share. Certs were tiny mints - the tiniest but very potent in minty smell and flavor. It hid the smell of alcohol on her breath at work, at parties, at family gatherings etc.

These little details, they change everything.

What Charlie really did was bring me often to go buy drugs. He would bring me to his dealers, who actually gave my mom drugs too back when my parents were still together. One of the dealers, my mother had even dated and slept with after the divorce between my parents. Both of my parents kept buying from this guy anyways.

I remember the man and I remember several other people who just seemed like friends of my dad but were complete strangers.

Charlie brought me to do things near where he had to go. But he also supposedly had periods of sobriety in my childhood years where he was trying to clean up his act and get a steady job (according to his family). The thing is, the same family members were addicts. I have no real proof or timeline. I only have the evidence of what happened over time. And what still goes on now even though I am legally estranged from both parents.

When I became a teenager and began to date, I was completely on my own to learn everything. Back then, I had no idea what I was doing and I had no idea what I was worth to anyone. I only knew that boys wanted sex, to be entertained, or to be flirted with. I had no idea how to make friends with boys. I had no idea how to reject anyone.

What I learned from Charlie was that anyone who tried to offer to take you somewhere or show you something meant they liked you or cared.

My parents never explained puberty, periods, sex, or intimacy. They never taught me red flags, consent, or what to do if someone tried to pressure me.

What this translated into was me falling for any guy who liked me. Especially if they were indifferent or gave the bare minimum, I was all about trying to earn a morsel of attention from them.

The intensity of how fast and hard I fell for each crush had nothing to do with how much they respected me, talked to me, or showed me real emotional connection. I had no consideration of how their words and actions were showing me the quality of the relationships. So it was a complete shock every single time any boy lied, cheated, used me, peer pressured me, manipulated me, shamed me, or tried to reel me into chaotic situations. I had no grasp until it was too late.

I had no way of talking to either parent about these crushes or relationships, which went on from seventh grade (11 years old) to my junior year of High School. I simply lived two lives. The life at school where I learned the hard way, and often, about relationships. And the home life (between both homes) where I stayed alone in my room (sometimes with furniture in front of the door to keep myself safe from my parents who were violently fighting or drinking away the night).

In those crucial years of learning about puberty, sex, and relationships I was learning by FALLING face first into the worst scenarios. I dated boys who were completely emotionally unavailable. I only read it as a roller coaster because I attached myself to the experiences they showed me and then felt crushed when no emotions followed.

THE TRUTH IS THAT THE ROLLERCOASTER DOES NOT EXIST, BUT ABUSE CONFUSES YOU INTO ENJOYING THE RIDE.

I now know why Charlie was the fun parent.

He love-bombed me with events and experiences as a facade for his own b.s. --- but something much deeper was going on.

Charlie had NO emotions to give.

He had no emotional intelligence around relationship-building, boundaries, empathy, or social context. He had no clue how to interact with people because he spent all his developmental years on drugs and was completely isolated from healthy people. He married a very unhealthy woman and never recovered after.

Charlie had no clue how to have a healthy girlfriend-boyfriend relationship. He had no idea how to have a healthy or normal marriage. He had an intense and ugly relationship with his ex wife. He continued to have toxic and abusive relationships for the rest of his days (until present time). All of his relationships were immature, abusive, and codependent.

So it should be obvious to my readers now...he in no way had the capacity to be a father, role model, or example to his daughter. With no sisters, no real direction or lessons in his life, no close friends, and no one ever holding him accountable - he was the absolute worst role model for me and my own dating life.

I only learned what abuse felt like. And I learned to love it.

Not just love it. Lay with it. Feed it. Fuel it. Beg for it.

What I mean is, I had no idea what healthy ever looked like. So I never found it.

What men I did attract, date, sleep with, and fall madly in love with:

• Emotionally abusive and apathetic
• Judgemental and withdrawn from my life
• There to ridicule me, not guide me
• Often used dramatic situations to manipulate
• Cheated, lied, disregarded my feelings and worries
• Absent for the important achievements and events
• Let me imagine, dream, and ramble without reciprocating any real commitment or promise
• Never had important, valuable, or serious conversations with me about life, health, or wellness
• Never took responsibility when they were wrong, never said sorry, accused me of being the bad one (or doing the thing I said they were doing)
• Made me pay for everything and never got me anything I wanted
• Gave me random things that maybe they regifted or belonged to someone else or was picked up by someone else to give me (thoughtless and careless)
• Never wanted to compliment me straight out. Always back handed, judgemental, or criticizing comments.
• Let me be the giver and act like they deserve every single thing I give, plus what they point out I do not give
• Selfish and self centered, always worried about their own wellbeing. If it wasn't fun or part of their agenda, they were not going to do it.
• Made me feel ashamed, less than, or pathetic for how I was raised or what my trauma was. Making me feel poor, inadequate, or not special
• Always looking for smarter, prettier, sexier and making comments about their future that did not even include or consider me

But still, I fell. I fell again and again. When I was given the least bit of special treatment - or so I thought - it felt right. I had no idea that I was literally given nothing ever. I was not given compliments, hugs, cuddles, or deep conversations. I was not given meaningful gifts or meaningful letters. I was not complimented, supported, or even respected. I never saw it at all. I had no idea.

WHEN YOUR DAD ABANDONS YOU, WHOEVER SHOWS UP NEXT GETS THE CROWN.

What has really happened all these years... what really determined how I chose dates, lovers, and eventually my husband - it all had to do with filling an empty seat. I just did not understand that until now.

My dad went off the deep end when I was about 14 and I spent that year up until he finally left me just going along for this wild, emotional ride. It was really painful. My father was no longer in that man's shell of a body. Fun Charlie had left the building.

I had actually lived with Charlie in the 9th grade, a little over a year prior to his bender. I had to, by order of CPS after I reported my mother for trying to kill me while drunk. It was during midterms week and I had escaped with my life, telling my favorite teacher at school the next day what happened in my mothers' home. I was immediately placed for six months to live at Charlies, which was the next town over. My school allowed this temporary arrangement to work while I walked to and from that school daily.

While I lived with Charlie, I barely had a memory or grasp of the time that passed. I had been so traumatized he took me to a doctor who said I was in shock. Those six months felt like two weeks in my mind because I was so out of it.

In that duration, Charlie had me doing the grocery shopping and budgeting his money. He had me making major decisions and I had no curfew or rules otherwise. He also had me sleep in his bed with him, though I remember nothing ever happening other than sleeping. But it was all around weird, inappropriate, and awful. I just did not know it then because what I had in his house felt like love. His house was an attic studio apartment out of his friends'house. Because he could barely hold his job and was on drugs.

I did not know SO MUCH back then. Not what I know now about his addictions and what he did for those two years, until he ditched me completely. I had to go back to my mothers' home after she did some Social-welfare-ordered therapy and that was it. No other legal reports or records, no legal consequences, and no rehab for either of them.

IT FELT LIKE LOVE, BUT IT NEVER WAS.

Every time I have ever felt "safe", I have only been masking to survive and gaslighting myself. The truth is, I don't think I have ever been in a healthy dynamic where a person just loves me and has my best interest at heart. I have been truly, madly, deeply in love with "just good enough".

I felt loved and safe with Charlie because he was not my mom. He was not loud, throwing things and screaming every night. He was not insulting me, gaslighting me, or shaming me in my face. He was not falling over drunk or blackout drunk. I barely ever realized he was high. Because his demeanor was always the same my whole childhood. He was fun Charlie.

The truth is, my mom was Jekyll and Hyde from addictions. Everyone knew her as a polished kick @ss boss woman because she was a highly functioning alcoholic with a lot of mints in her Coach purse. She wore her mask well.

My father was messy. A hoarder. Wanted to feel up all the time because he was depressed and down. He wanted stimulants, adventure and to spend money he did not have. He wanted to FEEL anything at all but did not know anything about emotions or responsibilities.

These details will not ever be found in the pictures. But they are so important. I am reparenting myself but I am also parenting 3 children of my own now. These truths that I lived.. survived through... all matter because I get to have a choice now as an adult. I get to learn how to be a positive role model to my own kids.

My daughter is 14 now. As it turned out for me, I became a mother during the year Charlie left me for good. With a man who was no more interested in being physically or emotionally there for us than Charlie was. So I raised her alone until I was 25 (and she was 7), when I began to date my now-husband.

I am only learning now in the last 2 years what kind of LOVE I deserve. I am only now realizing, asking for, and even demanding the love + respect I desire in all types of relationships. I am cutting out the abusive people from my life so my kids do not have to go through what I did. Which started with never letting Cathy or Charlie meet or know my children. And will continue with me protecting all three of my children from my toxic family on all sides for as long as I need to.

I am only now learning who I am, what I want, and who I want to be on the other side of trauma. Which means I am learning how to be in a marriage with this new knowledge. I am also learning how to be a better advocate for myself and my own needs in my relationship.

These are hard lessons that I should have learned about when I was a teenager. Someone should have taught me about courtship, being treated right, being respected, and being supported. What it sounds like, looks like, feels like etc. I should have known sooner. And that breaks my heart for all the younger versions of myself.

For the times when I cuddled up to cold and calculated a$$holes. For the gifts I pretended to like. For the times they did not show and I acted like I knew. For the dates I paid for, the walks of shame, the hidden texts and secrets I discovered, and the nights I cried myself to sleep begging that someone would eventually love me.

Charlie is no longer allowed in my life and that was my choice. He did try a few times when I was in my earlier twenties. At least that is how I remembered it until recently. What really happened is I messaged Charlie a few different times over the years. I led myself into conversations with that man, thinking he might say sorry or show some ounce of remorse. Prior to knowing his mental health and the truth behind my childhood memories, I was just trying to redeem the version of him stuck in my head. My "daddy".

Instead, I forced myself into texts and messages with a man who was still apathetic, weirdly inappropriate, arrogant, sociopathic, and still high. I entertained conversations with him about his guitar, his music "career" that he was fabricating out of psychosis and delusion, as well as hearing about his sex life with a teenager who was not even of legal age yet. He was a homeless, sick, and still addicted man who was very much not my "daddy". He was no longer friend Charlie, funny Charlie, or ally Charlie. He was just a deranged man whom I was ashamed to have been missing.

Some of this still feels harsh to say. Some of it makes me still sad. My neck and back are in pain right now while I write. Not because I am sitting up late typing about my experiences. But because my body holds trauma and locked up memories still from those years I lived with him. From the time when my mom tried to kill me to the time Charlie tried to with his work truck. The final moments I saw him face to face.

AFTER ALL OF IT, I AM JUST THANKFUL I GET TO LOVE MYSELF HOW I NEEDED TO BE LOVED.

The most freeing and healing aspect of looking at these old photos is knowing exactly what they are for what they are. Moments in the past. Having PTSD is a curse and a blessing. It is painful to relive, resent, and feel pain from the past. But at the same time. I have this gift and the ability to reframe things.

I am not the sum of being Charlie and Cathy's child. I am not the sum of poor and addicted parents. I am not an orphaned or abandoned little girl. I am not a disappointment. I am not a failure at all.

I am not a little girl anymore. I am not someone who is forced to smile or made to mask the pain. I am not trapped in either of those homes and I am not either parents' caretaker. I am no longer a victim, a kid who was not protected by CPS, or a scared kid shaking as I walk to school to find anyone at all who will believe me.

I am an adult woman who is safe in her own space. I am parentless and happy that it means I am safe. I am able to heal and feel through these things. I am able to love myself, be mindful of myself, and care for myself. Daily. Weekly. Any time. Always. I can provide myself with answers, attention, and support.

I also get to set the bar for how others treat me, what I want to happen, and how I want my life to go.

All of that is not because of Charlie.

It's in spite of him.

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Hello! I'm Jean Grey, a mental health blogger, a content creator, a mom of 3, and a wife. I write about my trauma to help my own healing journey as well as provide awareness and validation to others. I currently exclusively work from home, so tips and pledges directly help support my little family. Thank you for your support and for subscribing to my work. I hope my writing inspires and empowers those who need it most.