My father shifted back again, and after all these years, the crazy scumbag can still get to me.
The details are irrelevant. He turned and bit, savagely. His shift from “Good dad” back to “Evil Bastard John” was marked by his having no memory of the last three weeks, including the room transefer ( where he’s visited me multiple times) or the new number (where he’s called ne just as many)
To stay alive, I eat it and smile.
I’m the only person in the family left that talks to him, thus i am the only one left to turn on when the paranoid, vicious personality re-emerges. And with my current dependence, he can pretty much do it at will.
It’s like Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, only with less makeup and more formal letters.
It would be so much nicer if he’d just fucking die.