I was in therapy yesterday — Yes. Just yesterday discussing how important it is for me to feel financially secure. How little and seemingly inconsequential expenditures upset and cause me a lot of stress. If I deem something in the ‘wanted’ category, I ignore the desire until it goes away. Yes, no fun for me.

But, typically we started to talk about childhood and how my dad spent money since, apparently a lot of my core values are based around what I thought he as looking for from a daughter.

Anyway… dad was a great frivolous spender.
Some of which I could understand.

Because of stress and addiction, he went through three or four packs of unfiltered cigarettes a day.
Okay. I get that.

But some of his buying, like with Barbie dolls and porcelain plates, I did not understand. Nor will I ever understand, especially since the money could have been used for car and house repair. Partly.

I feel that if a person confesses to loving another, that person’s needs and wants are placed above personal needs and wants. If my mom had car trouble, repairing the car was more important than buying a Barbie. Course, there can be an argument for and con. It isn’t my place to examine the reasons of my parents as I was a child and didn’t have the knowledge or complexity as I do now.

Still, I close to believe that my parents loved each other very much which makes dad’s spending habits more perplexing. When Jason is unemployed, I place him over me. Money is spent on his needs, like food, and I strive to minimalize myself so he can avoid.. in my head… wanting and needing. Which partly lead me to anorexia.

Anyway… somehow… the conversation switched to female influences on y dad’s life.
This was interesting and not a topic I had really considered.

In short, the female influence on dad’s lie was messed up.

It always starts with ‘mother.’

Dad watched his mother burn alive with of a horrible accident with a Franklin stove.
It’s unknown what type of relationship they had. Mother/son? Something more intense like the way Hitler worshipped his mother or it could be just bland and even adversarial. But, it’s an unknown factor.

From there, he was completely rejected by a stepmother. With the dad’s dad’s consent, he was placed into a Catholic orphanage.
The women there verbally, mentally, and physically abused him. That’s where he stayed collecting broomstick scars on his skull until rescued/unofficially adopted by the woman who later became Grandma A.

Tough, mean, and intelligent, she eventually fell for dad – a young, scruffy, bad talking boy.
Still unofficial, she adopted and raised him.

Eventually, dad met mom – supporting, loving, tenderhearted woman, who carried him the rest of the way throughout his life.

…. Unless you toss me and my sister in there.
I’m also glossing over dad’s two sisters, first wife, and any potential girlfriends he may have had.
I’m also choosing to believe that he never cheated on my mom.

So… because of this man, I am paranoid about spending on myself.
Well, that’s not right I’m paranoid as all get out about spending on myself. I’d rather save the penny forever then to provide a moment of fleeing satisfaction.