With there being two recent post concerning him, I think it’s time I spill my guts.
A long long time ago, my father invented the internet. As in he worked for network solutions and laid down cables that later became what we know today as the internet. A few years later, that company was bought out and the higher-ups were given a phat check and let go. That’s the official story anyway. It didn’t really go down like that, but I’m not allowed to tell that truth. I’m sketchy on the details myself, anyways.
So my father started plans to begin his own business. While he waited to get things set up, he did day trading of stocks online. One thing led to another, it took awhile and then his father died. Suddenly the money he had saved was getting his mom, who later remarried, out of financial trouble. With his money for starting the business gone, he continued to do day trading and living off his retirement fund.
As the years went by, and the stock market started to not do so well, my father became very depressed. He had many dreams of how to support himself, but nothing seemed to be panning out. One day while painting his home, he took a bad fall off a ladder that was located at the top of some stairs. When he went down off the ladder, he went down the stairs as well, the ladder went with. This fall left him in mass amounts of pain, and still very depressed.
Not too long after my mom received a copy of his will, and his suicide letter in the mail.
That was a long day.
The police in NC, where he lived, entered his home to find him alive, but very sick in his bed after taking an entire bottle of morphine. He proceeded to spend the next week in the psychiatric ward of his local hospital. Around this time, while he was in the hospital, 9/11 happened.
That was a long week.
The doctors at the hospital pumped my father full of Wellbutrin and proceeded to see him on an out patient basis. That medication was not good to him.
Here is where I will never know the full truth, and I’ll explain why later.
There is a small percentage of people who can’t take Wellbutrin. It does not metabolize well in them. My father is one of those people. It causes psychotic break downs and has led to some violent crimes (for other people, my father never got that bad). As well as memory problems and seizures. When my father went to talk to his doctors about what happened they refused to discuss it and slapped a silence order on his therapist. My father stopped seeing them. All of them. As well as going off all meds.
None of my doctors in the field have ever heard of problems like that with Wellbutrin. So is it that rare? Or is my father that messed up mentally? More on that in a minute.
My father still has the memory problems and the seizures.
My father talks to people who aren’t there. Always has. He does this when he mumbles. He’ll never admit to it. But you can sometimes hear what he’s saying.
He also has fanciful tails of the security clearance he use to have for the government. The people he advised, the projects he worked on. These stories are all the truth as he knows it.
Have you ever seen the movie A Beautiful Mind? My father reminds me of the home game.
Will I ever know the truth?
Only if my father receives a diagnosis that points us in one way or the other.
It’s taken us a year of him living here (he lost his home finally due to the suck that is the stock market) but he is finally back into therapy. He is very VERY paranoid of the system so we are having to take it slow. My hope is that at some point he’ll get into the meds doctor and will receive a full diagnosis along with the appropriate meds.
My opinion is, that while at times I think my mom might have BPD, I’m pretty sure my father does. Everything fits well, and my acorn did not fall far from that tree. If my father is indeed having delusions, that would fit in well to Schizotypal. Only in his case I think it’s been his truth for so long, that he honestly believes it. Or who knows, maybe it really is the truth. As I said, I may never know.
Just like how I was really conceived. I fully recognize the possibility that maybe my father wanted to believe so badly that I was fully planned, that he convinced himself I was and that it only took x number of tries. So maybe both stories are the truth according to how both parents know it. I’m most comfortable with that version of things. That way, there is a little less hurt. Both parents are convinced they wanted me.
Will I ever know the truth?