Insanity

My dad’s in the hospital now.

After my dad didn’t leave his room for a couple of days except for in the middle of the night, my grandma told me to see if I could get the door open. I was able to pick the lock with a bobby pin after a bit of trying. I’m still trying to avoid thinking about what was going on inside, but I know I’ll have nightmares about it if I don’t write it out.

All of his books were torn apart and thrown across the floor. Pages were everywhere. All of them were covered with mad scribblings. Hundreds of thousands of pages covered in nonsense graffiti. There were markers scattered across the floor as well, apparently he’d run out of them because when I walked in, he was scratching more nonsense into the walls with a penknife. His fingers were bloody from holding the knife by the blade, and his words were bolded by blood. I didn’t think about it then, but the similarity to my nightmare is terrifying.

I stood there in shock for a while before he noticed me. When he finally saw me staring, he stopped his scratching and looked me straight in the eyes. He told me to get out, but his voice was hoarse and quiet from disuse. When I didn’t move, he dove at me with the knife and screamed at me to leave.

That’s the part I didn’t tell the hospital staff. I don’t want him to go to jail. Grandma and I were able to get him to calm down and let us bandage up his fingers before we took him in.

They’re keeping him overnight at the hospital, and they’re going to do a psych evaluation today. I think I know what the results are going to be.

Before I left, he stopped me. He told me not to go back into that room. He said that “he” got my mother and “he” was going to get him. He said that he wouldn’t let “him” get to me.