For about a week I’ve had writers block and I’ve been trying to come up with things to write and nothing comes to mind. It was until I was driving down the road, windows down, and music turned up that I began to think about my dad and how I lost him. Not lost in him in the sense of he passed away and I'll never see him again. The thing that I found painful the most was the idea that he is out there, alone, sick, and I am not there to be with him because of everything. My father has a mental illness, an illness that has completely destroyed him and everything around him, an illness that will never be fixed because to him he is normal.

I'm not writing this piece to gain sympathy or even gain followers or a share. I'm writing this for me, to get it out in the open, to write about it, to gain closure, hell maybe to get over my own writers block. Whether you read this or not will not effect me, but me writing about it will help me. If you have a similar situation with a parent, then you'll understand. If you feel how I feel, then you know where I'm coming from

My father's and I relationship when I was younger was... rocky. Growing up with him was difficult I'm not going to lie, but at the end of the day he was my father. If you think I'm whining and complaining about my "horrible childhood" then you're wrong. I have zero complaints with my childhood, children all over the world have had it ten times worse then I did. My parents paid the bills, put a roof over our heads, and put food on the table, I have no room to complain. But I'm going to be honest, growing up with my dad was difficult. He was not abusive, he was child himself in some aspects, and at the end of the day he loved all of us.

My father had a quick temper that held little to no justice and a strive for power that made some of his decisions questionable. Even today I look at some of the things he has done and wonder, "Why did he do that to me?". I sometimes catch myself trying to rationalize some of things he's done and look at it from an adults perspective and sometimes I can look back and think, "Yeah I was totally in the wrong, my dad was in the right." Other times I'm left wondering: "what the hell was he thinking?"

But you know, that's parenting. They're not going to be perfect all the time and I understand that. The point I'm trying to make is that my father and I really became close after my parents divorce. I was living with my mother and my father and I saw each other almost every weekend and we really bonded. Being away from him helped our relationship. We always had something to talk about when we got together, we had the same interests, the same hobbies, and the same humor. Yes I am my fathers son.

Suddenly, without really noticing, my fathers mental health was starting to tumble. He would come to me during our talks and he would tell me things he believed was happening around him. Thinking this was just a rant I ignored these ideas and theories that seemed very strange. I ignored them because I am sometimes the same way, I think everyone does this at some point when they're angry and upset. You say anything and everything that comes to mind and you really don't notice the things you're saying. You're just ranting and everyone needs a rant, right? So that's what I assumed, and I just listened to his strange theories and agreed with him.

It wasn't until my father broke his back from a stunt he pulled off a roof that really sent everything spiraling down faster and faster. He was now disabled with a monthly prescription of pain pills and inability to work and be active. He was able to get an office job that didn't manage to last very long.

I remember one day he came to me and he told me his boss had tapped his work phone and was listening to his conversations. I believed him at the time and I was very concerned. I asked what had happened and why he'd believed all of this. My father went into great detail about how he was talking about his boss on the phone to my grandmother, and his boss was listening the whole time. He then went on to say his boss met with the HR director and they left for lunch to speak with a lawyer to have him fired, but they were unable to do so because of no probable cause.

I couldn't believe this was happening to him and was very worried for him. I asked how he knew all of this was happening to him and I was enraged for him. But my father just said he didn't have proof, he just knew. This is when I began to worry for him. These strange ideas were starting to really take off and form on their own and I didn't know what to do but just look the other way and grasp the idea that this was all just a rant. Everyone needed to rant. That's all this was.... right?

But it got worse. Suddenly, everyone was out to kill him. Yes, kill him. One day it was about people trying to fire him or to kick him out of his house. The rants got worse and the ideas were becoming so unbelievable I was left confused and worried. But I wanted to pretend that none of this was happening, that this wasn't real, my father was my father and he was the person I've always know. All of this was wrong, he was slowly becoming someone I wouldn't be able to recognize anymore, a stranger that became very dangerous.

This is the harshest truth you can ever face when you're becoming an adult. The person that raised you, the person that you feel you know inside out is slowly turning into someone that you don't even know. A part of me wanted the real him back, the father that use to write stupid songs with on the piano, the father that would go on adventures with, and the father that would listen to your own rant for hours and never say a word, just listen.

That father I knew very well ended in the Spring of 2014. I was in my second semester of college and I hadn't talked to my father in awhile, which was very strange at the time. I assumed he wasn't speaking to me because he found out I came out of the closet weeks prior. I assumed he wanted nothing to do with me and I heard him saying that I would burn in hell. Not surprising to be honest, but one day I decided to go see him.

I walked into his house to find him laying down and he looked very sick. I quickly went to him and asked what was going on only to get a response that sent shocks through me. He told me he was being poisoned.

At first, I didn't believe it. Only because this wasn't my first rodeo with him on people trying to kill him. Another day and another theory. Then he showed me the paper work. You see, my father use to work in environmental science when I was a child, I remember he would take me to these old abandoned Mcdonalds and collect samples such as bacteria, mold, etc. My father believed he was being poisoned and he took an open Mt. Dew bottle to these testing sites and had the bottle tested for everything. Only to get the paper work back saying the bottle had been laced with arsenic.

I looked at the paper work and to put it frankly, I freaked the fuck out. I saw right on the paper work that the bottle had arsenic in it. This wasn't a lie, he had proof and I felt ashamed for even doubting him for one second. All of a sudden I was in a panic. Who would want to kill my father? Why did they want to kill my father? How long had this been going on? And how bad did it effect my father? I quickly took him to the ER immediately and we brought the paper work.

We sat in the ER for hours as my father came up with theory after theory about who could've done it and why. The list stretched from his best friend of thirty years, to my own mother, all the way to my own sisters. I once again ignored these theories about my mother and my sisters, I once again felt this was just a rant and brainstorming of a who-done-it. These theories became more and more unbelievable as my father began to tell me all the times people had tried to kill him by having him shot.

I remember sitting in this uncomfortable hospital chair watching him as he was going on and on about these rants and ideas and all the while I felt like I was staring at someone I didn't know anymore. Someone that was becoming very sick and needed help. But I had too much on my plate, I felt like everything was going wrong in my life and this was another problem that I couldn't face. I couldn't deal with another issue in my life, I needed everyone to be okay including him. So I continued to be in denial over it all.

Then my father went into how God was speaking directly to him and this was when I became very worried. I am a religious person and so is my father. My entire family is very religious, but not in the sense in which we shove it down people's throats. I was noticing prior to this, that my father was rewritting the bible in a notebook. I remember looking through it and I remember thinking how odd this was. But I looked past it thinking that maybe, since he was disabled and nothing to do, he was just filling the time. So I just blew past it and didn't pay attention to any of it.

But now he was really talking like someone that really needed help. He kept telling me over and over that God spoke to him, that he pointed to a random Bible verse and this Bible verse had to deal with murder. So since he was being poisoned, then that was God speaking to him. I remember I nodded, agreed, and I listened. He was my father and I love him, he deserved my respect to listen to him and I did. In the back of my mind, I was begging for a doctor to come in and tell us what to do. Maybe they could see what I see and they would do something, anything.

When I felt like I couldn’t bear to listen to any more of this, a doctor finally came in and told us that there was nothing that they could do. All they could do was have him collect his urine for a week and bring it in for testing to assess the damage of what the arsenic had done. I was still internally panicking at all of this and what to do next. My father kept telling me over and over that the person had been sprinkling arsenic on his bed, his furniture, his clothes, food, and even the floor.

So immediately I took him back home and we threw everything out, the furniture, the bed linens, and all the food. I even offered to take him to the store to get new food and for him to just stay at my uncles until everything was squared away. I was worried for his life, but surprisingly I felt he was acting as if this was nothing new to him. He sent me home after I gave much protest and I returned to my grandma and uncle and told them everything that was going on and they had the same reaction I had. We were all freaking the fuck out. We believed him and his theories and we were left wondering who would do this to him.

Every day my father would come to my uncles and tell us a new theory of who could have done it. Theories that blamed his best friend and theories that claimed he had been poisoned for five years by own mother, yes everything you could possibly imagine. The entire family participated in these conversations trying to figure out what happened and who did it. We were a part of his world and his ideas, we were along with him on this ride.

Until one day, the world of his came to a stop and reality came knocking on the door begging to be let back in. I was judging a Speech and Debate tournament in Norman when I got a phone call from my grandmother and it wasn’t good. I had missed the phone call and got a very distressed voicemail. I called immediately when I could and my grandmother was panicking. I asked her what was going on and in that moment I felt as if everything had built up and exploded.

My father came over to my uncles to get away from his house because the arsenic was making him really sick. He was watching TV with my uncle when he began to suspect my aunt of poisoning his Mt. Dew drink, this then preceded him to have misplaced his pain pills and that’s when everything took a turn. He misplaced them, and in an rage he went storming into my grandmothers room and started throwing her things and my things everywhere in an attempt to look for his pills. He truly believed my grandmother took them and became violent towards her.

My grandmother—a force to be reckoned with—had enough and chased him out of the house, only to have him grab my car keys and leave. My car keys were gone…great. How was I going to get school? Not to mention my mom’s house keys were on there and that wasn’t good for my mom either.

I decided to have my boyfriend take me to his house, I knew I could talk him down. He was my father and I felt like I still in some way I knew him and knew how to handle the situation. I knew I could talk him down and I could help him find his pain pills. But that would’ve made me wrong… dead wrong.

I got there and knocked on his door and when he answered, it was like I was seeing a different person and this time I really noticed it. There was no looking away, there was no denying it, and there was no pretending it wasn’t there, it was there and it was staring me straight in the face. He looked unrecognizable and I felt as if he would smash my face in if he had the chance.

In a very tense voice he asked me what I was doing there. I calmly told him what was going on and he didn’t believe me, he was sure they took his pills. I tried to reason with him, to calm him down, but nothing I did worked. He felt as if everyone was looking at him like he was crazy but to him he wasn’t crazy he was in the right. So I could understand that, but how do you get him to see his true colors if he doesn’t want to see?

I finally told him I had no way to school and that I needed my keys back. In I fiery tone he told me that he would give them back when he got his pills back. This struggle went on for a moment and then finally he erupted. He screamed in my face that he didn’t care if I could make it to school and that I was helping my grandmother murder him. So now I am a murder and I needed to get out of his house.

I know I shouldn’t have done this, but I was hurt and that last comment pissed me off like there was no tomorrow. You see, I’m the type of person that doesn’t like fighting and I know people around me are laughing at that statement because I can pretty bold and blunt with my thoughts and actions, but honestly, it’s an act. I’m just trying to entertain you and be funny, but only two people in my life have seen me when I am so angry that I lose it all and I myself become someone I do not even recognize when I’ve been pushed past the breaking point. And that comment he made? Pushed me past my breaking point.

I do not condone showing disrespect to your parents, nor should you even yell at them. But I couldn’t help it, I broke and there was no going back after that. I completely lost it and till this day it’s one of my biggest regrets. As I screamed and threatened him and became this evil person, the look of fear was in his eyes. As a child, you never want to see that look in your parents eyes, when they look as if they fear you… it’s… not a good feeling and it’s hard to even explain how you feel when you see it. But I saw it, and I knew I was going past the point of no return, but man, he had it coming. How could he call me that when I did nothing but help him? I took him to the ER , listened to his hours upon hours of rant and theories and for what? To be called a murder and thrown out of his house? No freaking way. Though, I know it’s not his fault and he can’t help it mentally, but at the time all I could see was red. My last words to him that day was “You’re going to push everyone away over this, you’ve pushed me away for good.” I said this as I stormed out and he slammed the door.

He was gone. Just like that. The man I once knew was gone. I got in the car with my boyfriend and I had him drive. I remember looking out the window and thinking why everyone around me was leaving me. Now, my father was gone, and I didn’t know what to do or what to think. I didn’t know how to solve this problem like I had solved every other problem. This was a big fat problem that now was consuming everything about me.

After that I stopped all contact and ever since I’ve been haunted by the idea of him. Every day I wish I could tell him something or even vent to him. But since then he has gotten worse. His teeth have been chipped, his appearance has gotten worse, and he has aged drastically. I tried to have him committed but it was no use and there was nothing I could do about it. I talked to family about him and the stories about my father had gotten worse. He believed someone in the TV was watching him so he destroyed all electronics in his home, besides a home phone that he rarely answers. Once in a while my sisters will get calls from him shortly after their visits with him as he accuses them of trying to kill him, then the next day forget about it and pretend it never happened. The stories continue to grow and grow and all the while I sit there listening to them and try not to cry.

I can tell sometimes that my sisters think I am being selfish for not speaking to him because they often do and see how he is deteriorating. But I don’t have the strength to watch him fall and crash. Not to mention I am too afraid of what he’ll do to me when he really truly believes I am trying to kill him. To him he will be acting in self-defense, but in reality it’s his own mind that’s playing tricks on him.

My sisters go over to him less and less now considering that his delusions are becoming more and more extreme. I sit and look out the window and think about him and wonder if he is okay. Sometimes I hate myself because I know he’s alone and he’s sick with no one to care for him. I just wish deep down he would get the help he needs, but there’s nothing no one can do but wait. Wait for an absolution to come and make everything seem clear, but it’s been two years and I’m still waiting.

Sometimes I look back at my life as a child and remember when the man I once knew would play all the games with me and my sisters. How we would laugh and how my dad was the perfect play mate when growing up. He made our childhood fun and exciting with adventure.

But that part is gone now and I am left with memories of what I knew before. I am left with the shaking idea that my dad died a long time ago, but his body still walks the Earth with a different brain operating it. I look at him and wonder what happened to the dad I knew long ago and realize he’s been gone for awhile, I’m just starting to notice his disappearance.

Every day I act fine and happy because two years later the pain has become bearable. But some days I really miss him and I miss everything about him, even when he was being difficult when I was a child. I catch myself dwelling over it and realize there is nothing I can do but live and try to be a better person.

I know this article sounds like I am begging for sympathy, but I’m really not looking for it. I’ve learned in life to get over my own problems, I have to write them out. Lately I’ve been missing him and I feel that’s why I have writers block. I am hoping that writing this I can move on and try to be okay, but lately I’ve been having some bad days. Bad days because I really want to speak to him again, but I know I can’t. I hope everyone out there who has a parent knows to never let them go and to always stay in touch, even if you and your parent fight sometimes, it’s okay, it’s normal. When they’re gone for good, it really affects you whether you like to admit it or not. I hope you never have to feel like that. But tomorrow is another day and I know I will be okay, life throws us a hard ball sometimes and we just have to roll along with the punches. Sometimes it’s nice to write about those punches that hit you hard, to talk it out, and to move past them.

Dad,

Just know I miss you. I need you. I love you.

Your son,

Jeffrey