Inspired by (but not in a TAAT sense) something that came up for me on the bullying thread:
My dad is mentally ill. He's probably been mentally ill since before I was born, having had a major schizophrenic episode when my mum was pregnant with me (though I didn't find out until I was in my late 20s). My parents were both very young, him being barely 19 and a fresher at uni when I was born. Naturally, I wasn't exactly planned.
Having said that, I had the lovliest dad in the world for about the first 10 years of my life. A fairy tale dad, really. One who would make up songs and stories for me and my baby sister. One who'd build tree houses and igloos not only for us but with us (and, him being an architect, those were some seriously fancy tree houses and igloos). One who'd indulge me by debating politics with a 7-year-old and who used to tell me every single day how very precious and special I was. When that one Christmas my sister got several very special presents from our GP and her god parents and I got the usual generic stuff only (by pure accident, no malice intended), he took me to the shops and let me chose one thing I really wanted for myself. He's arguably the reason for me being professionally successful nowadays, having bought our first computer in the late eighties and teaching me how to use it at a time when I was barely at school and people honestly believed that personal computing thing was never going to catch on. He was my hero and he loved me so very, very much (and I him)!
And then I lost him. He didn't die or go away, he merely went completely barking mad. And, yes, I do get to say 'barking', call it a privilege of my position, if you must.
The man who I know is my father now is a stranger to me. He's a lunatic, self-absorbed conspiracy theorist who causes untold hurt every time he opens his mouth. He forgets my birthday every time and only ever calls every other year or so, whenever his latest wife or girlfriend (usually some 'psychic' around my own age) has left him and he needs to hear a comforting female voice. He brags about his daughter the successful computer engineer and manager to anybody who will listen, but on the rare occasions we do speak scolds me for being blinkered, blind and one of 'them'. He calls me spiritually retarded, interrogates me about my mum's sex life after their divorce, tells me I need to get laid (but men don't like smart women like me, so maybe I should get a boob job), disappears for a year and then calls out of the blue in the middle of the night demanding I help him put things on the internet so that they'll never disappear because Big Pharma has hired a hitman to prevent him from disclosing the secret. He promises to help me move my stuff into storage when I'm about to move abroad and then stands me up, having decided to go to Brighton all of a sudden. And when I confront him about it, he sancrimoniously declares that all souls choose their own parents and that I'm here to learn a karmic lesson from him. He claims that with the help of the extraterrestrials he speaks to his brother, who committed suicide rather than waiting for his terminal cancer to kill him, and that his brother is against suicide now because it solves nothing - and he says this to his mother who still struggles with what happened. He didn't turn up to my wedding because he 'forgot' FFS! He's out of it and in a constant state of severe delusion and lashing out at anybody who's not fast enough to run away in time. And he's been like this for the last 20 years.
In a nutshell, the man who I know is my father doesn't give a shit about me or my sister or anybody, really, and is basically just one huge arsehole who hurts anybody who dares to come within his reach.
I realise that this is not his fault. He's obviously ill (though we're not quite sure with what; he's been diagnosed with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression and general psychosis over the years). He's never going to get better because he refuses treatment. The one time he lost it so completely that I attempted to have him sectioned for his own protection his then wife stopped me. He's now on wife #4.
And the thing is: I deal with my dad being my dad, and I can cope. It's not always easy but it's doable and it isn't ruining my life.
But I do so, so miss that other dad I used to have. The one who'd walk down the local high street happily wearing my skipping rope as a 'harness' pretending to be a pony because it made me happy. The one who told me he was proud of me for standing up for myself that one single time I slapped a relentless bully back. The dad who baked me a salami cake for my 8th birthday because I prefer savoury to sweet.
I wonder what he would be like now that I'm an adult. What he would have told me when I first had my teenage heart broken, when I graduated, got my first job, was sexually assaulted, on my wedding day, when I miscarried, when I got divorced, when I moved abroad, when I built a successful career. I missed him on every one of these days and I so, so miss him now.
And, FWIW, I'm completely aware that my 'dad who was' is a dad as seen through an adoring child's eyes. That he was never perfect. But I also know that others who were adults then agree that, for all his flaws, he was a brilliant dad. This includes my mum who, having been married to him when he lost it and having brought us up entirely without his help subsequently, doesn't have too high an opinion of him generally (and that's putting it rather mildly).
I'm sorry this is long, sorry I'm rambling and I don't even know if it's something I'm asking. I guess what I really wanted to say is that I loved that man and that i felt loved by him, too, and that what happened to him is sort of like him having died but stayed around to haunt us.
I just really miss him and, having posted about how he used to try and comfort me when I was being bullied, I suddenly vividly remember him the way he used to be and it feels like a recent heartbreak all over again.