I've known it long enough. I recognise that there is no escape either.
I preferred to deny it to myself, or at least, to hide it. (From myself).
Though I've now accepted it, I've only accepted it quietly.
But there is little point.
I am what made me. Some good bits, probably, but at the moment the worst bits too. Even more.
Those bits I despise about my father, well, they are too me. All the bad bits.
And the bad bits about my Mum (those tend to be health problems). I'm sure I have them in some shape way or form as well.
C'est la vie!