It’s not part of my memory, but a part of my learning. Dad was a brilliant man, having read voraciously throughout his lifetime. He had a hunger and thrust for knowledge which eventually took him as far as a full PhD in educational research at a university. That thirst of Dad’s turned out to be a basic subject which, in round about terms, has benefited me greatly over the years.
He was became research associate for a certain board.
I have always wondered how it was that Dad became so violent. Turns out that it was a bi-product of his first breakdown, or a bi-product of the electroshock therapy. Dad was not naturally violent, according to Auntie. Mom and Dad were friends as children, but Dad used to insist on inviting Auntie in on their childish games. Auntie was Mother’s sister. She was there too.
If it weren’t for the research people, I would not have the medications Dad lacked in his day and time. Dad was initially a gentleman and a scholar, which was not simply an expression in his case, but was an accurate summation of my father’s character. The very idea of it is somewhat of a foreign concept to me. It was Auntie who told me of the initial character of my father in childhood.
Besides, I’ve heard of electroshock therapy. I think it’s what ruined Dad. It effected his character. He was thoughtful, gentle and kind as a child. Dad even achieved an ordination as a Methodist Minister, and practiced that profession until I was about eleven. Reconciling his violence with his ministry is something Dad never even attempted to do that I know of.
His ministry, his elegant vocabulary and emphatic manner of speaking, I found electrifying, as well as confusing. I have struggled for a lifetime to make my peace with God. In the final analysis, I ultimately prayed once for sobriety, and God did the rest. All I ever did beyond that one prayer for sobriety, was remain faithful to what it was that God asked me to do, which was stay sober.
I’ve found the church to be resistant to my attendance, mistaking some of my behavior for something other than it was. I decided the last time there was a break between me and the church, that I wasn’t going try to go back. It doesn’t matter what the issue was, because I know it was not mine. I consider myself to be a man of God, and when I call on His Holy Name, He comes to me.
Mother gave me the information about Dad’s breakdown after I was an adult, that it was back when I was in the womb that Dad had that initial nervous breakdown of his. He had gotten so angry he had broken down the front door of the place where we lived, because he found he didn’t have a key to get in. He was violent and irrational. Mother had to lock him out out of fear of him.
Mother was apologizing to me for her fear in my own adulthood, poor dear.
Mother had been steadfast to me throughout the worst of my own chemical imbalance and drunkenness. I would always be in a state hospital again, Mother would promise to visit me at a certain time on a certain day, and she was never late. She would always be there. Mother was the human rock in my world, and only her own health would some day cause her to falter and pass away.
When it finally did, I was there for her every day until she found her end.
I wondered aloud in front of Mother, and she gave me information. Mother had a lot of fear for my safety, in my unborn state, and could not avert her fear to help my fetus. Please forgive her, she said. I have marveled at Mother’s contrite heart, every day since. She was always ministering to my needs in my adulthood. My siblings had all moved on, fairly quickly after high school.
I stayed home with Mother and Auntie when my siblings moved on.
Breaking away from Mother and Auntie was difficult for me. With my own chemical imbalance, it was almost impossible for me to support myself, much less support a family of my own. The progression of my development could not consummate, because I was frequently starving, left to my own devices. It was a matter of not having an adequate income.
The other thing was that I had an alcohol and drug problem from very early on. I was a young adult when there were hippies and flower children, and there was always at least one other person to fan the fire of my addictions with some sort of recreational chemical. I was not one to understand addictions or know how to conquer them on my own. I starved for ordinary food a lot.
God ultimately came to me when I prayed about addictions, and helped me recover sobriety. He found that there were many issues in my psyche needing attention. He came to my heart many times after I put the plug in the jug. The Lord did a lot to deliver me from my unrest and confusion. I learned the concept of a rigorous honesty, and have practiced that principle ever since.
I don’t know how far along Mom was, when Dad had his breakdown, but my fetus was dosed with all the fear Mother suffered, because Mother could not avoid feeling fear. I learned fear that day in the womb, and have never been successful at shaking it since. My special, innate fear of threats and of violence, have always stood by me, as a barometer for my own impulse control.
I was almost always afraid to act out when I got angry. Fear has always stood by me. I learned that my own instincts are my friend, there to help me. Those feelings have always kept me out of trouble, and have always stood me in good stead. The couple of times I ignored my instincts, and gave into my impulses when I was young, acting out got me beat up worse than you can imagine.
Those injuries only had the effect of a further commitment on my part, to avoid ignoring my instincts, and make more of an effort to practice non-violence and passivity. I’ve become a man of peace, craving tranquility. We had such unrest at home, the few times I was in attendance in my father’s house, that by now I recoil to any noise in my environment whatsoever.
To put it another way, I got good and hopping mad a couple of times, and tried to act like John Wayne, but the results were always disastrous. The disasters only stood to get me hurt, and reinforced my dedication to non-violence. I have generally not let go of that policy since. There was only one time God directed me into sticking up for myself with violence that worked out alright.
Dad’s Achilles heal was always his rage, and God always helped me with that.
Dad’s violence wasn’t fair to us, but what could we do? Dad took the door down, fixture and all, way situation. Apparently, Dad just walked right in as if it was nothing wrong. Maybe he even sat down? My older brothers, who were only toddlers, and Mother with me, but all remained unharmed.
It’s a mystery to me, how it was we survived to face a lifetime.
Dad went to a laughing academy temporarily. Grandpa him put in there for medical treatment. My big brother speaks reverently of my father, with the idea that it was safe to be around the man. It seems preposterous to me to think that my father wouldn’t hurt us. He always strapped me with his belt. I still can’t remember Dad being safe to be around. Dad was a monster.
He was always doing violent things at home.
When I was about two years old, Mom took me out of Sunday School for screaming, and took me to my bedroom in the parsonage. Though I did not have the vocabulary to say this at the time, my message was, “Mother! I don’t care if he is a minister. Dad’s a monster. Get us all away from that man before we get hurt.” It took Dad deserting us when we were all in our teens to make the break.
Auntie got a phone call, and came to take us to Grandma’s. Otherwise we would have starved.
Dad had to submit to taking major tranquilizers and electroshock therapy while at the hospital, wherever Grandpa put him, when I was on the way. Psychiatry and Psychology were both young sciences then, and Dad didn’t have to be told the fact. He was one of the many geniuses in our family, very knowledgeable and erudite. He understood the limits of the psychiatry of his day by intuition.
Finally out of the hospital, Dad immediately threw out his medication’s, surrendering himself to a lifetime of an untreated chemical imbalance. When I had my initial breakdown, at twenty years old, all the doctors had, to give me were major tranquilizers. Those drugs were not any picnic. They made a person question their perceptions and convictions worse than LSD.
When I was a young adult, when eventually my breakdown became like Dad’s breakdown, without a doctor’s explanation, even though I practiced non-violence, by enlarge, I spent time in a laughing academy too, just as Dad did. The only thing I did not have to endure was the electroshock therapy. When I broke up with my girl, I had visions of my parents’ marriage on my mind.
Mother and I were so upset in the womb, I might have chosen to abort, were it not for the Lord my God speaking my name to me in the womb, right then and there. I asked the Lord when I was in early sobriety, in my adulthood, when the Lord and I were talking daily in my heart, having conversations regularly, how I could know He would take me home?
What the Lord our God said to me was, “George Stanley Geisinger, I have called your name from the Place where Souls are Made.” It took me awhile to figure out what the Lord was telling me. Later, I realized the Lord was referring to my mother’s womb. You see, a woman’s womb is a sacred place in the eyes of our God, since the body is the Temple of God.
There is a great profaning of the Temple of God in these days. There are a lot of people taking their own lives today, who will never receive what they’re looking for in death. God is telling us to look in his Word, if they’ll only look. He told me as much when I was about to go jump off a bridge. People clutter their bodies with chemicals, and wonder what’s wrong with them.
God gave me the gift of sobriety, and next, had to turn around and save me all over again, from my own hand. It wasn’t as if He fished me out of the Chesapeake Bay, or was likely to. He came to my heart when I was doing something else, and gave me a personal message I needed to hear. I know these things because my initial trauma has effected my entire lifetime.
This is a sign of the end times.