Daddy...

Just spent an hour in a chair, alone, holding an old photo of me and my dad. I was only 7 in it, but I looked genuinely happy... I wanted so much to cry, but of course I can't tell that to anyone in my family because they're all convinced I hated him just because our dynamic was... screwed up I guess is the best term... Then I put it up, had a dizzy spell, knocked over a chair covered in stuff, and just about started crying then... but what's the point? It never makes any difference to me... I can't remember the last time I was really, truly happy... How messed up is that? If I could remember the rant I'd had going in my head during that hour, I'd share it... but I'm not sure it would really help one place my frame of mind...