My father is a real character.
I’ve always wanted to write comic about him.
He’s suffered from OCD since he was 12 years old and now he’s 75.
I won’t say it’s been easy raised by a father with real clinical OCD, but I always focus on the positive fun part of anything, and looking at it from a storyteller’s point of view, it’s always looked like it makes up, with his own admission, an entertaining and informative story with a better or new representation of the case than what I’ve seen from mainstream media.

This year though, specifically this month— right now while I sit waiting for his dialysis session to end, I stopped seeing it through a comical lens and I’m pained.
Stress and anxiety from everything in this setting and in these times, took too much of my father.
He’s just a mental condition personified and I’m in tears.

Edit: December 22, I said he’s suffered from OCD but I think it’s better to say “he’s lived with”. It’s us who don’t have his brain that see it as suffering and maybe struggle with sharing a life with him.