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Living In My World
Posted by therealnicebrit
29th Dec 2012

Living in my world is hard to describe. The mixture of confusion is baffling at times, i have good days, and i have bad days, sometimes the bad outweighs the good, when this happens, i feel so broken and get to crisis point.

Years ago, when i was 4 (i'47 now), my dad moved out and my dad's brother moved in. I didn't understand what was going on at first, thou i have a better understanding now.

When i was about 10 i started to visit Dad, he had a room above his parent's shop. My first visit i went alone, i never expected to see each wall covered in writing, So many sentences, that you couldn't even see the wallpaper. All fours walls covered up in handwriting, mostly to do with God and my mother, obscenities, foul language, i knew then something wasn't right with Dad, When i went back and told Mum, she just said it was him seeing attention and that he was okay really. Each visit to my Dad bought me new issues, a bucket of water with a lead and plug, empty pill bottles, sherry bottles, always in bed, there was attempted suicides, but still as far as Mum was concerned, this was just him wanting attention.

I didn't know what was going on, even through teens, i found it difficult to cope, why was no one helping him? why had things got this bad, i didn't know what to do so i started hurting myself, the only thing i used to do was to bang my head so hard against the bathroom wall so hard until it throbbed, i then loved the feeling of being in pain, it was kind of a distraction.

I failed in school, on the outside i was a happy go lucky, but inside the pain of knowing i couldn't do anything to help my father was killing me. It seemed no one gave a damn, He always has to have things in certain places, can't be moved, and he repeats his actions time and time again, Today he is a recluse and no one can get to see him. He is 82, no life, trapped in his own bubble world, i do get a phone call every now and again, but it's often a few months, i do phone him, but can only leave a voicemail cos he won't answer his phone. I can't even visit because he won't answer his door.

My story continues, and when i get the strength to write more about my life and my mental health i will, I just wanted to give you an insight to my Dad's illness first.

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