Now, my dad. As I mentioned with my dear mother, I have had good and bad times with him as well. Nobody is perfect, I should know.

He always had the best of intentions and only once in my life did he spank me for misbehaving. I think he was the first to call me “my princess”. Father of mine was a fan of bad jokes, those that are so bad they are good. Believe me, I adore him just like I do my mom.

Now, there was a period of time I claimed to hate him. Not anymore, and I also don’t like talking about that. Dad was one of the ones who always wanted me exercising some way. And one of the people I feared the most.

I must admit, it was partly mother dear’s fault. Why? Well I recall with my girlfriend in high school my mum told me that if he found out he would take away all the economic help he was giving us. I knew my mum couldn’t pay my tuition, she couldn’t afford it.

Second, sister Leech claiming he was the devil incarnate with my “best friend” confirming every rumor the fat nun said.

Third...he always wears the same expression. He is hard to read, I couldn’t really know if he approved or disapproved something. Only by his “aura” that I “felt” would I know how he felt. It’s been hard, but so much time living with him...I’ve learned.

He was my teacher when it came to math and economics. Everything that has to do with numbers, Father of mine was the one to go to. He was also my main provider.

I met his girlfriends (two were introduced as such).Dad was a hopeless romantic like me, he adored the ones he was with.

And he loved me very much.

He couldn’t understand my sexuality. I could call myself a demisexual, but his concept is, you are gay or you are not. You choose to be one of the two. And if I dated a girl...well he supposed it was because I didn’t have a good “natural” relationship. As if anything else but heterosexual was not natural.

He was the one who suggested a psychiatrist. He picked me up from school when I had my break downs.

Then came the terrible day, it was the start of may I think, the psychiatrist had been talking to me. For the first time my father saw how bad I was.

I was hearing voices, the doctor knew, also wishing to die the 29th of may 2017. She told my parents I needed to be locked in a clinic. I tried to run, my dad caught me in his arms, and the doctor gave me medication to “sedate” me.

It was terrifying, he payed for all the bills there. I was one of the few lucky kids that got to see her parents every day from 7 to 8 pm…

He always wished for the best for me, pushed me to make dreams come true. I thank him for all he’s done.

But, I feel bothersome, like an extra payment. No matter how much father of mine said I am not I can’t believe him.

I want to die because if that happens he doesn’t have to spend so much money in me. I will let him free.