The wanker sharing my name

Yes so my father's a wanker. Well we all knew that anyway, but it has been proven yet again. So now he's threatening to sue my nan for entering her appartment while he lived there without paying rent. Trespassing and all that. What a joke, he wasn't even officially living there. He's clearly... I don't know what he is. Insane, but it's not just that. There's something about him, something spooky. He's like a bad memory, like an evil voice from an old nightmare... he creeps up from time to time. and it's always bad news. Or annoying at any rate (not like he's really a threat these days).

He's amusing at times... I mean some of the stuff he comes up with is just so out of it it makes you laugh, if you're not the target of his madness. But underlying it is creepiness, and something I will never understand. I can put labels on him: psychopathic, paranoid, deluded. But all of it united in one person, the actual reality of it, is something I find hard to grasp. How can he be out there? How come he's not locked away somewhere? He has been. Why isn't he still there?

So I had someone commenting on the fact that I preach forgiveness but don't practice it on my father. It's true, I see no reason to forgive him anything. But it's not only that - what would be the point of forgiving? There is so much more coming, he always has been and always will be a bastard, and I never want anything to do with him - not out of resentment (at least not only), but because nothing good will ever come from this person, ever. Not until he dies. He's a nuisance at best, a danger at worst.

My stepdad wasn't perfect, he had flaws, and I hated him at times, I had huge ugly fights with him. But he had good sides too, and they outweighed the bad. These good sides were the foundations of any forgiveness. They made it worth while getting over the bad sides, and they were what I loved him for. With my father, there is nothing good to build anything on.

I feel nothing but disgust for that man, and I'm glad for it. My nan loves him still, somewhere inside, the way a mother loves her son no matter how fucked up he is. "Right or wrong my son," she used to say. And she suffers seeing this complete failure, this vicious and selfish man who'd throw her down a bridge if he had something to gain from it.

I will dance on his grave, and I mean this literally. I hope I'll get the chance - the sooner the better. But I don't think he'll do us the favour. He'll probably survive us all, the bastard.