Obsessed with reality

My relationship with father is similar to the relationship I had with mother when she was alive:

every day, I would do everything I could to stay away from him/her. I didn’t want to help, I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to make the abrasion of responsibility to be as painless as it can be for today. The CODA duty is like water hitting a rock: it disintegrates you slowly and as you watch the cold water drop, you know that each one digests you one bit further to oblivion.

Dad went to a 4-day trip today with his girlfriend. The feeling I have now is not new. I used to feel the same when he and mom went to trips (obviously, I’m not feeling the same way towards his girlfriend). The thing I have for Dad for is that I love what he is, but I hate who he is. His personality is childish, annoying, manipulative, useless. But what he is, he is my father, he’s the helpless, puzzled giant who mirrored every helplessness I ever felt and into whom I reflected every fear I have ever had to endure:

I borrow his deafness and his stupidity and his inferiority because I feel deaf, stupid and inferior myself.

And when he goes away, I suddenly stop considering what a pain in the ass he is and immediately start swallowing the pill again that he’s just like me: self-serving, terrified, embarrassed about who he is and how he looks like and what he does,

and still shamelessly trying to make the best of it.

I got a thing for Daddy and it’s hardcore love. I can’t beat it with logic,

it always beats mine.