#41 ·
I am so relieved someone finally had the courage to speak up about this—I honestly thought my dad was the only one going through it.
In those last few months leading up to his diagnosis, he started withdrawing from everyone; he just slept constantly and seemed perpetually exhausted. Everything set him off—from casual small talk to even the most constructive discussions. We just chalked it all up to his PTSD diagnosis, so we tried our best to give him space and not make a fuss.
Then came the traumatic diagnosis, followed by surgery. And after the surgery—yet another diagnosis (brain metastases). Then radiation therapy.
At first, we assumed these shifts were just his mental state worsening combined with side effects from the radiation—especially since he’s always been such a gentle soul. But during his hospital stay after surgery and throughout the radiation treatments, things started taking a bizarre turn—more and more frequent, until it became a daily occurrence: he would lose his temper over the smallest things. Sometimes his outbursts were so terrifying that his entire face would contort. He lashes out at Mom, my sister, me, Grandma... he doesn't care who the target is. Afterward, he’ll break down in tears and apologize, saying he doesn't know why he acts this way and that he hates himself for it...
Even now, he still snaps frequently—though he apologizes less often. He’s constantly "training" Mom, trying to manipulate all of us; his entire personality has shifted completely.
My father—my best friend—is simply not the man I used to know. He has become a complete stranger.
There are days when I visit him and he just stares at the TV, not even acknowledging me when I say hello or even glancing my way. It breaks my heart—it truly kills me—even though I know deep down I can't hold it against him...
None of us know what we can or cannot say in his presence anymore... how will he react to a harmless comment about the weather or just everyday news? ...
If lunch isn't served at the exact second he wants it, it's nothing short of a catastrophe.
When a window is open and he decides he doesn't like it, we all scramble like our lives depend on it to shut it—just to prevent an outburst, because we know the chaos that follows...
The situation is harrowing. There isn't even a glimmer of normalcy left in our lives. We are all constantly on edge, like a coiled spring.
It is destroying me.
In those last few months leading up to his diagnosis, he started withdrawing from everyone; he just slept constantly and seemed perpetually exhausted. Everything set him off—from casual small talk to even the most constructive discussions. We just chalked it all up to his PTSD diagnosis, so we tried our best to give him space and not make a fuss.
Then came the traumatic diagnosis, followed by surgery. And after the surgery—yet another diagnosis (brain metastases). Then radiation therapy.
At first, we assumed these shifts were just his mental state worsening combined with side effects from the radiation—especially since he’s always been such a gentle soul. But during his hospital stay after surgery and throughout the radiation treatments, things started taking a bizarre turn—more and more frequent, until it became a daily occurrence: he would lose his temper over the smallest things. Sometimes his outbursts were so terrifying that his entire face would contort. He lashes out at Mom, my sister, me, Grandma... he doesn't care who the target is. Afterward, he’ll break down in tears and apologize, saying he doesn't know why he acts this way and that he hates himself for it...
Even now, he still snaps frequently—though he apologizes less often. He’s constantly "training" Mom, trying to manipulate all of us; his entire personality has shifted completely.
My father—my best friend—is simply not the man I used to know. He has become a complete stranger.
There are days when I visit him and he just stares at the TV, not even acknowledging me when I say hello or even glancing my way. It breaks my heart—it truly kills me—even though I know deep down I can't hold it against him...
None of us know what we can or cannot say in his presence anymore... how will he react to a harmless comment about the weather or just everyday news? ...
If lunch isn't served at the exact second he wants it, it's nothing short of a catastrophe.
When a window is open and he decides he doesn't like it, we all scramble like our lives depend on it to shut it—just to prevent an outburst, because we know the chaos that follows...
The situation is harrowing. There isn't even a glimmer of normalcy left in our lives. We are all constantly on edge, like a coiled spring.
It is destroying me.