Ever since I started my Psychiatry class, I've thought a lot of people in my life have aspects of psychiatric illness - myself included. And today, I thought my dad was psychotic. I still do.

Today around noon, I saw 2 missed calls, a voicemail, and a text message. I've received bad news several times this past year through my cell phone, so my thoughts immediately become negative when I see my cell phone blasted like that. I'm usually wrong, but today I wasn't. I see the missed calls are from my dad and sister. The text message was from my sister asking me if I've gotten a "weird" call from dad. So now I dread listening to the voicemail. It was in Cantonese, allow me to translate for you:

"Jenny Phung? It's daddy, today is August 1st [sic] 11:33am. If your dad dies, it'll be at ______ Benito Ave by murder. Do you understand? It'll be by murder, okay?. Don't delete the message, don't delete it. Okay, bye. That's it. Your dad is now (don't know what this means). Bye, bye. I love you, honey. Bye-bye."

Ok, it sounds weird in English that he greeted me with, "Jenny Phung?" But it works in Cantonese, so that part shouldn't weird you out. Of course the rest of it should. When I called him back, I asked him where he was. He was still at that address, that's how he described his location. He didn't want to say "Wendy's house." Wendy's a whore that houses my bum of a father in San Gabriel. I asked him why he doesn't leave if he's going to get killed there. He said he's too drunk to drive (yes, it's noon). I asked him who is going to kill him, and I think he said the "woman's boyfriend." Blah. He told me not to worry about it and study hard.

I didn't think much about it until a couple hours later when I was walking alone for 20 minutes. I felt this very intense emotion that's difficult to describe. The emotion felt visceral, like I had the urge to cry. I kind of fought the idea of crying, because I don't cry for him. I don't think of or feel much for him. But since I couldn't figure out what this feeling was, I finally let myself cry...but I couldn't. No tears came (which says a lot because I produce tears easier than anyone I know). But that urge was still there, that urge to release something inside me, to release that feeling inside me. The closest thing that brought relief was singing with deep breaths. Eventually the singing distracted me from the emotion, and my head was cleared.

If I had to choose vocabulary, I think what I felt was anxiety. Anxiety over my dad's very odd situation, and anxiety about feeling compassion for him. It really throws me off that he said "I love you, honey." It's so fucking weird to me and it really freaks me out. Not just that he said it, but my emotional response to it. So what's very interesting about the anxiety I was feeling was that associated urge for release. That urge for release transformed into an urge for action. It seriously pumped me up. I was walking to the gym, and I got so pumped to run and work out. I also got so pumped to tackle my stressors (aka planning the Body Donor Memorial Service), to just fucking deal with it because I have to face it some time. I've calmed down now, but I have to remember that ferocity I felt. I gotta do this shit!

Anywho, with the craziness of today, I had to call my mom just for the hell of it. I didn't necessarily want to tell her what happened because it could be really stressful. But she actually brought it up. Long story short, my dad's becoming a crazier drunk than he already was and was being belligerent towards Wendy. She wanted to kick him out; he wouldn't leave, and threatened that if anything happened to him, he'd tell his wife and daughters where he is. So that's what that voicemail was about. Basically a threat to Wendy and a desperate plea for help and attention from us. If the situation were more serious and my dad really was in danger, we talk so infrequently that it would be months before I tried to contact him (not counting that I would find out from other family members).

Wendy has 2 relatively young sons that my dad also lives with. Man, their lives must suck. They're getting a worse father-figure than we had.