My dad, Philip Marcus, struggled with bipolar disorder for most of his life. He had been in multiple institutions throughout my life, and had threatened to and attempted to take his own life. My brother, mother and I walked on eggshells. My parents finally divorced when I was 17; to be honest, I was relieved. Growing up in my home was not easy. It was not peaceful. And it didn’t seem safe. I was happy when my dad remarried, and he seemed to be doing well.
Throughout his life he was, for the most part, a successful executive working in the environmental field. He took pride in his work, even publishing a book at one point. However in 2008, the economy was crashing, my dad started to see his investments depleting, his consulting jobs weren’t coming in, and his marriage was ending in another divorce. He had started to get really into shooting guns at firing ranges. He thought the world was coming to an end. He then purchased his own gun, which blew my mind, given his mental health history and suicide attempts. It was November 11, 2008, when I got the call. He had finally done it.