Writing with bruised fingers part 1

Today in a struggle with my father the fingers on my left hand
 are bruised and they hurt when I type.

For several years I have been a carer.
My fathers decades of alcoholism(and my mom's)
finally caught up with him in his late 50s.
Rather than take the direct approach and die of liver cirrhosis like mother
he instead opted for the much more fun route of Korsakoff’s syndrome.

He started going into his own world for hours at a time at family gatherings
 even when his favourite subject ,politics, was brought up
he would sit silent  .
Once on  a journey to a nearby opticians he confidently guided me around in circles
for over an hour.I eventually exploded ,reminding him that he had just take his  fourth 90 degree right turn in a row.Whilst I began loudly explaining that we were going back on ourselves again,I realised he didn't understand .He feigned understanding.
Later he would feign recognition
 of people,
friends
then eventually
 family members.

I found myself out of a job since there was a recession and things were tough all over.
(still waiting for the bankers  that caused it all to do one single day of jail time?)
I became his watcher
"just keep an eye on him"
became "dont let him walk outside alone "
 which became "dont leave the door unlocked.".
Whilst my many siblings got on with there lives,
 I was now stuck
with an increasing dependant shell
that used to be my father.

My comic book dreams were put on hold whilst almost all my time was divided between looking after father ,taking care of the house and the rather more disturbing chore of making certain my siblings didn't take advantage of father's condition.Borrowing money from him knowing they wouldn't have to pay it back,eating our very limited food supply with no intention of replacing it and generally being utterly reprehensible human beings.
What I needed was help
what I got was new enemies.

Then it came to blows..