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The Man I Didn't Know narrates my discovery of a father unknown to me. To be sure, I thought that I knew my father. Although my parents were divorced and I lived with my mother, I spent all day Saturdays with him for 11 formative years, from ages 8 to 18. And I continued to communicate with him by weekly letters and occasional visits for another ten years until his death. He was a good father: attentive and loving. But, then, 32 years after his death, I discovered his diary and myriad short stories that he had written. As I began to read the volumes in this trove, I quickly came to a startling revelation: the author of the diary and the stories was unrecognizable: a stranger, a father I didn't know. This stranger was beset by the insidious demons of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), demons that were foreign to the father I knew, respected, loved. Distraught, I was compelled to read further, hoping to resolve this disconnect between the fathers I knew and didn't know.
This became a study of a man's recovery from acute mental illness. The study derives from personal memories of my father and two interlacing narratives: my father's diary and his short stories written under a pseudonym, Ellis Worth. Over time-12.6 years to be exact-they follow the contours of my father's mind. They tell about his nervous breakdown, his hospitalization, his bouts of insulin- and electro-shock therapy. They tell about his conscious thoughts as he interacts with psychiatrists, colleagues, family, and lover. And they tell about his dreams: unconscious nighttime dreams and conscious daytime dreams, dreams of becoming a successful writer, dreams of marrying the woman he loves. narration tells of his gradual recovery from this insidious illness to become the father I knew, respected, and loved.
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The Man I Didn't Know narrates my discovery of a father unknown to me. To be sure, I thought that I knew my father. Although my parents were divorced and I lived with my mother, I spent all day Saturdays with him for 11 formative years, from ages 8 to 18. And I continued to communicate with him by weekly letters and occasional visits for another ten years until his death. He was a good father: attentive and loving. But, then, 32 years after his death, I discovered his diary and myriad short stories that he had written. As I began to read the volumes in this trove, I quickly came to a startling revelation: the author of the diary and the stories was unrecognizable: a stranger, a father I didn't know. This stranger was beset by the insidious demons of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), demons that were foreign to the father I knew, respected, loved. Distraught, I was compelled to read further, hoping to resolve this disconnect between the fathers I knew and didn't know.
This became a study of a man's recovery from acute mental illness. The study derives from personal memories of my father and two interlacing narratives: my father's diary and his short stories written under a pseudonym, Ellis Worth. Over time-12.6 years to be exact-they follow the contours of my father's mind. They tell about his nervous breakdown, his hospitalization, his bouts of insulin- and electro-shock therapy. They tell about his conscious thoughts as he interacts with psychiatrists, colleagues, family, and lover. And they tell about his dreams: unconscious nighttime dreams and conscious daytime dreams, dreams of becoming a successful writer, dreams of marrying the woman he loves. narration tells of his gradual recovery from this insidious illness to become the father I knew, respected, and loved.