I urge you please to look at my profile and my recent posts before reading this; it was supposed to go in the BPD daily check-in thread but I have to profess some things in special.

My father's family fears him and refuse in taking extreme measures to get him to treat; in other words, as laws are different here than in the United States, and it's a controversial subject although he's clearly approaching dementia, roughly (but very differently) the equivalent of a 5150 in California - involuntary commitment and treatment. My father already drove three families to move out of the building he lives and his delusional state is in such a way that he simply keeps on a monolog as you try to reasonably talk him out of his paranoid rants about the people he's taking measures to sue as they ''sabotage'' his life, ''poison his water'', ''release poison gas in his apartment'' (he has sealed doors with four special locks, and cameras installed through his place AND the building - where he spends the day in what used to be my bedroom sitting in a chair and watching the monitor and reading newspapers. The rest of his apartment and my former room are covered with JUNK - trash, plastic bags, papers, newspapers; it's simply disgusting).

Well then, lets cut to the chase. Suffice is to say that I despise his family - those who recognize his illness (his brother and sisters, who entered his s--tlist already) and fear him and don't help him, or the ignorant, sycophantic ones who CONDONE and SUPPORT his actions.

So I went to my therapist at noon, telling him how great I felt and that however I was just waiting for thr moment where I'd be in the pits of hell again; and how my life was in danger because I was unable to control my temper towards anything that angered me -WITH the caveat of thinking twice before jumping on and armed robber's throat at the mere sight of him, or that guy for whom I nearly posted a heinous torture and death threat on my blog. I didn't, as you know it, but I still REALLY REALLY hope I don't meet him, for when my father and I met to go and apply for membership at swimming school, he made a good point when saying that he's a psychopath and thrice my size and threatened me first two years ago.I retorted "you, strong, evil or not, do NOT mess with the mentally ill in a state of sheer rage and hatred''.

As I've said I do not condone violence nor I don't know any fighting moves but I've been capable of doing things I don't know where I've got the strength to do so.

My father simply started his usual monologue about me being an idiot, brain damaged by drugs given to me by my false friends and my excessive smoking. I should also add that my therapist asked me what were my expectations of meeting with him to do something he always took pride in me (my swimming skills) and that I was taking measures to improve my health and reduce the smoking - ''at least FIVE things will go wrong'', I said. I was right. Since I was diagnosed, I no longer see my father except for occasions where I needed to buy a medication in emergency; in three months, I talked to him twice on the phone, and met him twice. I'm his emotional sparring and the only person he has at the same time. No more. His monologue quickly escalated to his persecution amd paranoid rants, and I couldn't control my temper enough to not answer him to go treat himself and stop saying that bulls---t to me, and I quote myself in verbatim. But upon arriving at the school, I told him, ''be civilized''.

He criticized my choice of scheduling my classes at night (I've developed photophobia due to being in the dark for so long), could perceive that my clothes were too large and my pants falling off of me and called me a fatass as we asked them if they had swimming shorts for adults - he cant even look at anything but himself and see that his son lost 30 pounds.They didn't have em, and indicated a sports store in a place not too close, but he insisted we'd go downtown because he didn't have too much money for a cab ride. I said ''you're lying, you have more than fifty bucks'' to what he ragingly reached upon his wallet and there it was - 70 bucks. I immediately walked out phoning my mother for an extra concerta, went to the nearby bakery, bought two Gatorades and water, and took my cab home.

Arriving at home, I took my concerta with absolute regret, more valium, but calmed down as I simply started to finish my serach for torrents with Keith Richards' discography, having the pleasure of also finding his book in pdf, for I lost my copy, and got my interest piqued by the First Barbarians - apparently, the concerts Keith gave in benefit of the blind with a band called The New Barbarians, one of them notorious as The Rolling Stones played half of the concert, in 1979, as a sentence to his trial over heroin possession in Canada in 1977, had origins in Ron Wood's first attempt at a solo album as he was joining the Stones and The Faces were finished back in 1974 while Mick Taylor was quitting, and he first tried his songs live with an all star band comprised of his Faces band mates, many others, two special appearances by Rod Stewart at the concert in Kilburn, and Keith as part of the band. Got the CD and the DVD, plus New Barbarians stuff, the rest of my Keith Richards discography in vinyl rips, the concert for the blind, and slept gladly while listening to my new discovery.

But sadly, I no longer can see my father anymore.
I'll have my physical exam and will buy my short with my mother at Monday, and will start swimming on Tuesday - things are still looking up.

But I no longer can see my father anymore. I want to live. And I will. With no regrets.

Now then, lemme put on some music and enjoy my night.