 When I was a kid, I'm thinking, I don't know, maybe 11, 12, I remember my dad disappearing for what felt like forever. I think he was probably about three weeks or something. He just disappeared. My mother never told me, or as far as I know, or any of my siblings, where dad had gone. It was a weird, weirdest time. I remember feeling relief and happy that he wasn't there, though I didn't know where he'd gone. My mother said to us that he was away working, but he never was away working. He was always home at the end of each day, normally, unless he had an overnight job with his driving, but certainly not for this length of time. I found out later, much later, that my dad had been to a psychiatric hospital, mental homes, as they were called back then, and he had had shock treatment, which then, I suppose, was kind of state-of-the-art treatment for people that were suffering mental health. It sort of feels and seems quite barbaric now, in light of what we know now about cutting-edge treatment of mental health and so on. It feels brutal what my dad must have gone through. I'm telling you this because I wanted to say something redemptive about my father to you all. Because at least my dad tried to get help. I don't know whether he was sectioned. I understand that now that he had to go. I think that was probably the case actually looking back, because often the cops were called to our house because of the violence that I've spoke about to you at other times. On the Thursday night violence, I spoke to you about in one of these videos. I came up with the cops often coming to arrest my dad or to caution him, and I think one of those incidents resulted in my dad being sectioned. I'm putting it together now as I'm talking to you. So perhaps he was sectioned and had to go. Three weeks, and then he just reappeared. Dad just reappeared. That was the dysfunction, the mess of our family that nothing was ever explained. Nothing was... We weren't sat down and told anything. Dad just reappeared with no explanation, no conversation. And as I said later, I found out that he'd been to a mental home, psychiatric hospital, where he'd had this shock treatment. I don't know that it made any difference because it seems to me that within weeks we were back into the same pattern of violence and abuse from my father, but I want to say to him and about him, thank you for, I can't say this to his face, but at least he tried to get help. At least he made an effort to get help. I don't know that it did help, but looking back when I felt my dad did nothing to help himself, that memory came to me. And I wanted to put it on camera for you guys because I think he tried to do something. And in some way that gives me some sense of comfort that my father tried to do something. And I think now, of course, that the fact that my dad had mental health issues would be commonly understood and would be spoken about without shame. But for my dad, in the man's manned world and era he was in, to have even admitted you had mental health problems would have been shame on him, but he did. And I wished my dad had got more help and I wished it would have been more mainstream to talk about it like it is now, even though now it's difficult for many people, as we all know. I was thinking about it the other day and I thought, I want to talk to you guys about it because it gave me some sense of small comfort that my dad, in his own trauma, got help, tried to get help, whether it was other times than that, I don't know. And maybe someone in your past, maybe someone in your life, you don't know and it would be both finding out, did they ever get help? One of the things I want to ask my dad, if I could, why didn't you get help? Did you get help? What help did you get? And maybe that's a good question to ask someone in your life that you assume got no help, but perhaps they did and perhaps they tried and perhaps that's worth mentioning and noting and being grateful for.