I'm in a quandary, sort of, well.... I know what I want but it may not be feasible. I want to keep my dad's Aya shotgun, for sentimental reasons, not sell it like my mother is suggesting for monetary gain. I just did a quick Google and saw one for sale for £19,000, is that a price worth selling my good memories for? Mum wants me to sell them. The fond times I had with my dad when he let me come shooting with him and I sat in the hide quiet as a mouse with Sally our dog, excited so much my dad - my hero, my superman - had let me come along. I want the gun but I have a money problem, I don't have much, and I've just found out that probate could cost me £600 to give my own mother her own house.... I'm confused and upset by it.
If only my dad had left a will, why didn't he? Was this his final act of 'f*ck you' to my mother and myself? Was he really that intent on destroying us both? I stood up in church and told happy stories of what my dad meant to me, which was everything, but they were all before the age of 15 when he suddenly turned on me and the years of torment began. No, it wasn't just him that shot me down, but he was the main perpetrator, I was suicidal at 17, such a young age to be so tormented, he made me think that part of me was so repulsive that I spent years soul searching trying to find it and get rid of it. I asked a few weeks back when my penance would end and then it did, on 25th July, I guess I got the answer to my question eh?
I just love the fact I made all their mouths fall open as I eloquently read my witty and well prepared speech at the funeral, the stupid one came good, in a big way. They all wrote me off and I surprised them all, I feel pretty good about that and I think I should, pride is a pretty unfamiliar emotion to me, it would have meant so much to me to hear my dad say the words "I'm proud of you", nothing would have made me happier in the world in fact, nothing.
I'm a bit worried about these antidepressants and what they're doing to me, I've almost turned into an emotionless robot, it worries me, life has pain and we all have to feel it to be real, I don't want to be numb to everything, scary. I didn't once cry or even think of crying at my own father's funeral, that's wrong isn't it? That I looked at the coffin and it meant nothing to me, he went 4 weeks ago as far as I'm concerned, not Tuesday in that crappy little wooden box, which he probably creosoted as he did everything else.
Otherwise busy still, having a house meeting with 'LS' and her daughter Sunday, try and sort some stuff out. Got a working toilet again - yay! About bloody time I say, it's only been 4 weeks. Been up since 6.45am, need some sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep, big time.
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