It's almost my birthday (yes yes, thanks, but that's not why I mention it ) turning 54. My dad died (back in 1976) at age 55, fried liver from alcohol. Which explains why for the longest time I didn't want to drink at all, but when it did happen, and I found myself heavily addicted as well, I had this irrational idea that it was inevitable, that I would die at the same age, from the same illness.

The fact that I had seen the devastating effects of his passing, how my mum kept talking about how great a man he was until 15 years later she snapped and let it all out - 15 years hurt, of anger towards a man who had left her behind, together with her 6 kids. The way it upturned my own life. How it forced me to be a 13 year old grown up. How it made my family explode into factions who fought each other tooth and nail.

All this made it all the more inexcusable in my eyes that I fell into the same trap. Which depressed me even more, so down the spiral went.

I snapped out of it - probably just in time - so in 368 days I will be older than my dad (as he died on his birthday). Walking-under-a-bus scenarios aside, I will not die that day, or at least not for the same reason.

Hating the mistakes someone made, and then making the exact same mistakes, I don't know if it makes me plain stupid, a horrible person, or just human. Given that I had promised myself to be kinder to me, I'll tentatively go with human, but the other two options still linger in the back of my mind.

Somehow, I feel like that moment, turning 55 plus 1 day, when I'll also have 5 years sober under my belt, will be a good moment to forgive him. And maybe myself too.