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I cant remember growing up, a time when Dad was Dad,
He always seemed to be drinking, and always seemed so mad.
I guess it all grew so much worse, when his parents died,
But in all the years I’ve known him, I don’t think he ever cried.

The drinking was his way of coping, to forget his pain,
But in my eyes, all it did, was fuck up my Daddy’s brain.
I used to feel sympathetic, while my sister hated him,
I used to hope he’d prove us wrong, and finally pack it in.

When my sister moved out of home, living there was worse,
I shut myself up in her room, trying hard not to curse.
My parents arguing increased, all they’d do was scream and shout,
The only thought that kept me sane was that I’d be moving out.

I don’t know how I made it through those rough times that I met,
But some events play on my mind, that I never will forget.
Now I’m out, I’m on my own, finally able to live,
I just hope that one day, I’ll learn how to forgive.

Now my Dad’s stopped drinking, he’s finally packed it in,
I guess I just want him to know, I’m really proud of him.

I wrote this a couple of years ago. My Dad hasn't been drinking for almost three years now. Its a rocky road but its a big acheivement for him.