the apple never falls far from the tree.

i was a really anxious child, i would worry about anything and everything. i was also an only child for a long time, i didn't have brothers or sisters to share the ups and downs of my upbringing with. my dad was a registered nurse, he was also a chronic pill popper. when i would get really worked up he'd slip me some valium to calm me down. i'm not saying he was a bad father, i idolized this man, but from a young age i learned that a substance could always be used to cover up an emotion.

before he got brain damage, he had bipolar all his life. i'm not sure why, but since the brain injury he is no longer depressed, perhaps it's because he is now like a three year old or perhaps it's because he has no memory. i was basically raised by my mother and nonna. dad was around, but usually too depressed to get out of bed most days. when he was on a high it was great. he was fun and spontaneous, he would take me to the local toy shop and shower me with presents, spoil me rotton. in these moods, he was extreme..as a child being in his presence felt like an adventure, you never quite knew what was going to happen next. for some reason my mum and him would always have ridiculous arguments though. i would lay in bed at night yearing for them to stop, covering my ears to block out the noise. later i learned that his excessive behaviour put us in an awful amount of debt. as a result my parents' relationship was always on and off.

unfortunately (or fortunately, i'm not quite sure) these manic episodes were fleeting. depression ruled my father most of the time. from four until fourteen i would sit at his bedside, talking for hours as he chain smoked in bed. he didn't treat me like a child or his daughter, he treated me like his equal, like a best friend even. he confided in me; his hopes, fears, disappointments, successes, everything. i would listen intently, hanging off of every word he spoke. i remember thinking that this man was the most interesting, deep and intelligent individual to exist. frequently he would get so down he was on the verge of suicide, he would tell me this too..that he couldn't go on anymore. i would cry my little eyes out and plead with him not to do anything hasty. i was too afraid to leave the house when he was like this, too scared to even go to school. my parents' relationship was very strained so i felt like i was responsible for him and needed to protect him. i tried to be around him as much as possible in the hope that he would stay alive, for my sake at least. i remember visiting the psychiatric clinic he was admitted to on a regular basis. i liked it there. it was a big building next to the torrens river. there were so many perculiar people there, lazing around, smoking, making a scene..it fascinated me.

in 2002 his mother (my grandmother) committed suicide. like me and him, dad and her were very close. dad was also the person to find her dead in her home. she had chased a packet of anti depressants with a bottle of wine. i will never forget this period of time, because if dad wasn't a mental case before this incident, he sure did lose his shit afterwards. he became psychotic and started hallucinating, hearing voices and all that jazz. back then my mum and i didn't get along well. she was always spoiling the fun and yelling at dad. now i know she was just trying to shelter me from the circus our life had become. i feel sorry for her because being married to my dad has been one hell of a rollercoaster, and now after everything, she is his full time carer and barely has a life herself.

i don't blame my dad for anything. i always have, and always will look up to him, despite some of the things he introduced me to and the depression he has passed onto me. he can't remember anything from the past now, but i can and it affects me daily. i have grown up with depression, drugs and death, it is as normal to me as breathing. i realise this is fucked up, but hey, shit happens, right?