Like father, like daughter...?

Woke up this morning. Read the papers online. Ate. Showered. Cleaned. Listened to two Dan Savage podcasts. All the while, still receiving emotionally abusive, guilt-ridden, demanding texts from Dad. One day he'll die and then I'll understand, he tells me. Call him, he begs. He wants to die, he says. This, quickly followed by a "Not that I would do that".

I ring him. I have three things to say to him: firstly, the abusive texts need to stop; secondly, I don't wait around by the phone all day so it isn't right to get shitty at me for not always ringing when you want; thirdly, the little bit of money you offered is obviously a way of manipulating me therefore I don't want it, but thank you anyway. He begs me not to hang up. I say I'm not going to hang up. So he hangs up. He rings my mobile. Should I answer it? I answer it. He says I must stop with "the nasties". I explain I'm not being nasty and remind him that it is his doctors who need to help him now, not me. I am not a doctor. So he hangs up. He may have rung back, I'm not sure. I don't want to look at my phone.

On the other side of the world and it doesn't get any easier. Well, a bit easier, in that now it's me who has control over whether or not we speak. But the conversations, the manipulation, the heart-string puppeteering are as difficult as it was as a kid. I still find myself feeling guilty, sad, bad.

I emailed his doctor, explained Dad's health had clearly deteriorated. This happens regularly, every couple months. Many people - including me - can't understand why there isn't a more permanent solution, a longer-lasting way to keep Dad well. Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that Dad is fine, no longer sick. But he is sick and will always be Schizophrenic and depressed. I love him. It's hard loving someone who so wants to love back but is so riddled with sickness. And then I think that, while it's hard for me, imagine how hard it must be for him. And in walks the guilt, the sadness, the badness.