Father dearest rang me about an hour ago.
He’s in Heathrow, just come back from Baku… And he’s so drunk he can hardly speak. JOY TO THE WORLD. I’m going to have to see him now. Or get really upset because I can’t see him because he’s pissed.
I don’t even care that he’s pissed, really. I care about the fact that he works like mad and drinks to match it. He always looks soooo ill and rough when I do see him. Really ill. The kind of person you’d possibly avoid walking past because he looks really dodgy. I worry that he’s going to kill himself. He’s either going to drink himself to death by the actual alcohol or he’s going to do something while drunk that’s going to result in him dying. Or worse… being severely injured. I actually worry about these things. In fact to a certain extent I can imagine it happening. It feels like a real threat.
The worst thing I imagine happening to him is him committing suicide. He’s got no friends- he’s alienated them all. His wife and her children are a nightmare who just take and take and take. He works too many hours. His mother is extremely odd and shows him no love and attention despite the fact they’re in contact. His sister refuses to have anything to do with him and I don’t blame her and his father is just… He’s just given up on him despite the fact that he’s an ass hole himself. I see no hope for him. He has no quality of life. When he gets his two week breaks he comes home to what? Me? Apparently not. Just drinks drinks drinks. What is he living for? How the fuck does he still have the ability to get out of bed in the morning to just do another day working and drinking drinking drinking. Talking shit. Worrying people. Freaking people out because his mind is so fucked up and he can hardly string a sentence together. There is no enrichment or luxury to his life.
I can’t think about it. Because if he does do something permanent to himself.. what can I do? Nothing. I just have to harden myself and not care. I do care. I can tell. I feel like my emotion is like a water balloon… It can withstand a bit of pressure, you can squeeze it a bit and it won’t burst. But as soon as you overcome that threshold the whole thing explodes and you can’t stop it. I think that’s what I’m like regarding this. I’m fine.. I really really am fine- the water is still in the balloon. But if something or someone (most likely dad) over does it, that’ll be it. I’ll be over whelmed with worry and pity and love… and hopelessness. WHY THE HELL? Whyyyy????