My dad didn’t want to go to a counselor. He said he wasn’t
depressed and he didn’t need to talk to anyone.
Mom and I would talk on the phone and I would tell her to make sure dad knew he
could help himself and how sad it made us that he wouldn’t just help himself. Tell him, tell him. The doctor said it was depression and
PTSD and he can go to a counselor and it will help him. Mom and I were both
mad. We badgered him. We got so mad at him.
So he went to a counselor. And he took the anti-depressants,
and he got worse. He’s getting worse. And I had gotten so mad at him for not
trying. I had been mad and he couldn’t have helped himself. He tried. We told
him it would work, and he tried, and he got worse, and I had been so mad at him.
How could I be mad at him?
What kind of a person would get mad at him?
Go back to the doctor and tell him what you’re doing and
tell him it’s not working. If it’s caused by the things he said, then this
should be helping. Tell him it’s not helping. Tell him it’s something else.
The doctor said he didn’t have anything new to say. He
didn’t say why the pills and counselor weren’t working. He didn’t seem to have
time for us. He said it was dementia. It was like we got kicked to the curb.
You’re on your own. I told you what it was. Go, and live with this dementia. I
have nothing more to say to you. Go, be on your way. Be on your way.
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