This year will be 10 years my father passed away. He would be 43 years old.
He was an alcoholic and nicotine dependant. From what I remember he was nice to me when I was a baby, but as time passed his addiction turned him into a retard.
He was the one that took most care of me since my mother was the one who went to work.
As I got older I've realized how mentally unstable he was. My mother separated from him when I was 7 after his behaviour got worse and could no longer forgive him. I didn't protest as a kid at all kek I knew he behaved odd and wasn't okay without it being explained to me. He did things like
hit me in the head so hard I had to get stitched and threat my mother with a knife. Surely his behaviour towards me had consequences when I grew up.
The last time I saw him was when I was 8, what I remember is that he was very weird and broke his crt tv. The house was a mess. A corner was filled with cigarette butts, another with rum bottles or something like that. just awful.
He passed away in 2015. I was very indifferent about it at first, didn't get it entirely. The casket wasn't open, so I didn't see him. But I could smell him, his characteristic smell mixed with rot.
I wonder if not seeing him a last time affected me in some way. Think I've never got into my head he was dead. Like I thought he was just far away and I wasn't able to visit him, since it was like that until then. I remember as a kid I had dreams where he came to see me and went "I was here all along!" and spent the day with me.
I don't know. Despite everything I still find myself missing him a lot. If he was sane he would be so fun to hang out with. He was creative and knowledgeable.
He had a random metal band where he played the bass, I always found rock and metal music interesting but couldn't get too into it because it reminded me of him. It still does but I now got into it regardless. I want to ask him about it and go to concerts together. I could ask my uncle but the fucker tried to steal my inheritance. He also could draw, I think I got it from him. He loved nature and animals, specially dogs. We share many things in common, even without realising.
But a moid is a moid regardless. He had to rot himself beyond saving even before death. I wonder how he died though.
I've been tearing every time I remember him. I want to see him one last time. Tell youhow I was doing and how it's been, show you my art and how I
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