🔒Love the fkd

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Ok Iwant you to know that like any illness no one asks to have mental issues. Some of it is genetics and some environmental induced. The brain is a complicated organ that has yet to be fully understood.
I loved my dad. My dad was ill. Schizophrenic. Now it was a diagnosis he did not get fully assessed. Yet it became apparent.
Some knew him to be charming and funny and smart....he was. He could play guitar and sing like a star. And sometimes he was bat shit crazy.
An example. He came to my work...a health office...dressed completely as a woman...wig, nylons hat and all. It wasn't Halloween. I was grown and married then. It was one of the few times in my life that I felt white rage.
He had done these types of seemingly harmless acts many times over my life. It was just the surface of all the truly awful things that happened behind that. It was a sign that no one understood unless you had seen him at his worst. To some it would appear funny...it was the clown standing on top of the elephant under the carpet. I knew that elephant.
Yet. I do have many fond memories of my dad. I  guess that's why I  say...love the fucked.
I find myself very confused about dad. I love and then hate. He died in 1999. It wasn't a pretty time. I perhaps put too much faith in the healing power of death...his didn't heal me. I don't miss the crazy.
Perhaps it's like my ex-husband (gambled us out of love)...but I loved much about him otherwise. It was eaten away by disease. Kinda like with dad.
So...now I am fkd. Love me! 😆

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