But Fucking Ryan is kind of the one member of the family that everyone dreads to some degree or another.
Notice I called him Fucking Ryan. This is what he is called by everyone that curses. Which, since the last person that didn’t call him that died years ago, that’s essentially nobody.
And both of his parents are alive. They don’t call him that all the time, but they slip up sometimes.
So, we’re not talking about him being totally cut off from everyone. He lives with his parents, and some of the family as a whole will put up with him. However, he is fully, strictly banned from my home on pain of having his ass beat again. That’s again because when I told him that if he ever darkened my door again, I would beat his ass down the road, he didn’t believe it and got his ass beat down the road.
So, going backwards from there.
He shows up after being warned never to come back or I would beat his ass down the road. He pulls into the driveway, gets out, and is coming up the steps when I make it out the door and start beating his ass. Now, I’m not speaking figuratively. I took my damn cane and was beating his actual ass with it, down the steps, down the walkway, and then down the road. Once he was down there and fell into the ditch, I told him to gtfo. He said he’d go back to his car in a minute, and I said “the fuck you will. Step in my yard and see if I don’t beat your ass right back here.”
He believed me. Asked me to call his mom to come get him. She drove his car, he drove hers. When I called her, she said something to the effect of “jesus, he didn’t show up did he? How bad is he?” Not shocked I beat his ass, not upset I beat his ass, just disappointed she was going to have to pick him up, and wondering if he would need a doctor.
So, backtrack to why he was banned from my house. The straw that broke the camel’s ass was him standing in my living room, doing a southern goodbye that was one sided. He picks up DVD I had sitting on the entertainment center and slides it into his pants. Right in front of me. I told him to put it back and gtfo. He asked what I was talking about. I pointed and said that fucking dvd you just put in your pants. He said he did no such thing.
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled the DVD that was still visibly poking out of his pants out and told him I was done with his bullshit, to leave and never come back.
He starts trying to talk his way out of it and picks the DVD up again. I tell him to put it down, or I was going to beat his ass.
He says “what DVD”.
So I beat his ass. Popped him in the nose and then literally kicked his ass out the front door and down the steps. I told him if he ever came back, I would beat his ass down the road. I meant it more figurative, in that I would just whup him again until he left, but once he came back, I kinda wanted to make a point.
So, why did that merit assault and battery?
Wellllll, pull back to a long history of shit disappearing into his pants, pockets, or coat. Never anything huge or super valuable. Like, a fork. Or a post-it note pad. That kind of shit.
One time, we’re having dinner. Hamburgers. My wife had never seen him go full fucktard before, she thought I was exaggerating.
He gets up, says he needs to use the bathroom. He picks up his burger and takes it with him.
He comes back out, and there’s fucking ketchup and mustard on his left pocket. He starts making another burger. Now, I know Fucking Ryan. I know damn good and well he didn’t eat the burger in the bathroom. He put it in his pocket. But I tell him, “dude, if you wanted a burger to take home, you didn’t have to pocket it.” Dude straight faced asks me what I’m talking about. I point at the juicy bulge in his jeans, and I’m not talking about his cock. I’m talking about the hamburger that’s now dripping juice through the denim.
He then spends fifteen minutes playing dumb until I tell him to go the fuck home.
That’s Fucking Ryan in a nutshell.
Like, years and years of that kind of thing.
Back in the late nineties, I go over to his place. Well, his parent’s place. His bed is gone. There’s just a mattress on the floor. I ask him what happened. He just says he ordered a new one. Knowing Fucking Ryan, on my way out after we fuck around gaming for a while, I ask his parents what the deal is. His dad starts saying they took the damn thing before Ryan’s mom shushes him and says the posts were in the way and refusing to elaborate.
Just one of those Fucking Ryan things, right?
Well, a few weeks later, I’m at the hospital pulling a shift as a fill-in down in the er. Talking to some of the folks there, swapping war stories, I hear that some guy came in with anal injuries from having gotten stuck on the post of a bed.
Again, I know Fucking Ryan, so I know damn good and well it was him. Years later, his dad tells me the story of Fucking Ryan yelling for help and him having to figure out how to pull his adult kid off of a bedpost
So, you may be thinking that Fucking Ryan at that time must have been some teenage idiot. No. He’s only a year younger than me, and I was creeping up on thirty. The hamburger thing? We were in our forties.
You may also be thinking, “Gee, this sounds like someone with some kind of serious neurological issue, maybe something like autism combined with other things.” Nope. His parents spent a good bit of his teenage years and early twenties schlepping him for various tests and exams because he’s always been a fucking twat. His IQ is well above normal, no autism, no obscure disorders, no brain abnormalities.
Nor is there any hint of abuse from his parents or anything like that.
Dude pulls down mid to high six figures, does freelance computer shit, like security, cryptography, that kind of thing, not just tech support.
He’s just Fucking Ryan.
Oh! Back in the eighties! So, his mom is my grandmother’s niece. My grandparents did really well for themselves overall. Had a decent sized house, a few acres of land, that kind of thing. One section, where my grandfather built us kids a treehouse, is basically a half acre of trees we called “the jungle”. So, this was when I was maybe 14 or 15, during the summer.
All us kids were out running around and playing and such one Sunday. Ryan has disappeared. I go looking for him because I was the oldest kid, so it was in my head that I had to take care of everyone. I head towards the back of the jungle and there’s Fucking Ryan fucking a tree. Not humping, not grinding. He’s got his pants around his ankles, and his dick shoved into a hole in the tree, fucking it.
He later on, maybe a year or two after that, dug a hole in the ground and fucked that. How do I know? Because I’m the one he asked to put bandaids on his dick. I told him if he didn’t tell me how it happened, I was telling his mom because I was worried someone had done it to him. I didn’t believe him, because even though I had seen him fucking a tree, I didn’t think anyone would fuck a hole in the ground.
Nope. He took me to the hole and there was jizz in it.
So, allll of that is what justified beating his ass twice.
Oh! And I fucking forgot!
After beating his ass the second time, dude calls me maybe six months later, asks if maybe we can go shooting over at our uncle’s farm. I’m kinda dubious, but a bunch of us had been talking about a family get together and shooting session. So I call around see if he’s welcome. Strangely, nobody objects.
So, we’re all out there and he comes walking around the old barn. No gun, no ammo. Of course he wants to borrow something, and be provided ammo. But, hey, it’s whatever, wouldn’t be the first time his dad wouldn’t let him borrow one of his guns for a family shoot.
I loan him my 22 rifle (ruger 10-22 for anyone that cares), load him up a few magazines, and fun is going to be had.
And it was, for a while. He’s actually got a great sense of humor usually, and he’s a good listener. However, he’s also Fucking Ryan.
He pops off a few rounds at a target, misses, then swings around to crack a joke, while the rifle ends up pointing at multiple people, including me. And, as luck would have it, guess when his finger hit the trigger. If you guessed it was right as it was pointing at my leg, you win the prize.
Luckily, it just barely creased my leg. No damage to muscle at all. Hurt like a motherfucker, and I thought for a few minutes I was going to put a bullet in him, but my family includes a few smart folks, and they secured all the firearms well away from the angry, cursing dude with a bleeding leg and a ruined pair of pants. They were also smart enough to bustle him away and into his car and send him the fuck home, because shot leg or not I would have beat the fuck out of him if I’d seen him again.
He definitely sounds like he has some mental issues, from what you describe schizophrenia stands out as a strong possibility. High IQ doesn’t prevent you from having mental disorders, and showing support rather than physical abuse would be a better way to help him, and you.
Yeah, I couldn’t help reading this and feeling extremely sad for Ryan. If they’re in their 50’s-60’s, the parents had tried to get him diagnosed as a kid in what, the 70’s?!? I’m not sure what they’re expectations are for people with a mental disorder, but it sounds like they’re expecting a trope and someone halfway functional is completely fine.
There is apparently a childhood full of sexual deviancy, which was never properly addressed and caused more anxiety and strain on his relationships his entire adult life. Dude’s stealing post-it notes and anything/everything regardless of value, that’s kleptomania 101
Kleptomania (klep-toe-MAY-nee-uh) is a mental health disorder that involves repeatedly being unable to resist urges to steal items that you generally don’t really need. Often the items stolen have little value and you could afford to buy them. Kleptomania is rare but can be a serious condition. It can cause much emotional pain to you and your loved ones — and even legal problems — if not treated.
Kleptomania is a type of impulse control disorder — a disorder that involves problems with emotional or behavioral self-control. If you have an impulse control disorder, you have difficulty resisting the temptation or powerful urge to perform an act that’s excessive or harmful to you or someone else. (link)
He’s doing these things, but I think the expectation is that he should “just stop” or “get over it”. He’s so out of control he can’t even stop him self while in front of other people or performing dangerous sexual acts, this is a person who has been untreated and needed help for decades.
First, he’s been through the whole diagnostic process multiple times, with multiple doctors. This includes psychiatry and psychology, as well as neurology. No diagnoses of anything that would excuse petty thievery as something outside of his control.
Second, the first time I beat his ass was after roughly thirty years of bullshit. A little longer tbh, but still. We aren’t talking a recent change here. We’re talking a pretty damn full lifetime of fuckery. Support was shown through all of that. The dude would pilfer some shit in an obvious way, and I’d just take it back, tell him to cut his shit, and try and figure out what the living fuck had him doing it. Every time, over decades.
Seriously, support has a limit. Even if it was something like schizophrenia (and I don’t know how that many damn doctors would miss something like that), it reaches a point of absurdity.
And, once someone tells you they’re going to beat your ass if you come to their house again, and you go back, that’s on you. The first one, if you choose to ignore the decades of fuckery, you can blame on me if you like. I could have just removed him from my home using less intense force, but it’s still force, and he was going to gtfo one way or another. But that second one, nope, dude needed his ass beat.
Then, no injuries beyond bruising. I trained in martial arts for pretty much all of the nineties and into the naughties. No broken bones, no internal injuries, no joints damaged. Minimum amount of force to get the job done and make sure he knew I wasn’t joking or fucking around. I didn’t explicitly say that in the original comment, but the dude was saying he’d walk back to his car. And his mom picked him up, and he drove her car. Obviously, a very limited use of force if you’re whacking someone’s ass with a stick and they can still drive.
I mean, ffs, I can’t even count the number of times I tried to talk to the dude and figure put wtf was in his head. Nothing but outright denial, the same as when he’s standing there with a fucking hamburger in his pocket saying he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
I want to be as gentle as possible and just kinda point some things out that I’m reading as a stranger. I don’t think anyone is blaming you or trying to shame you about the ass beatings. You’ve put up with a lot and not calling the cops kept it from escalating. It sounds like you’ve got solid boundaries in place now so hopefully you can look back on all of it a little more relaxed and from an outside perspective like I’m forced to have.
You gotta understand, we’re all a little crazy dealing with life. Mental health ranges from having a stretch, to full on institutionalized psychiatric care. A person can sit down with a therapist for years and never open up to get a proper diagnosis. Behavior disorders can have no neurological symptoms, chemical imbalances can go for decades without being discovered. Sometimes the systems just aren’t able to provide the right support because there’s no flashing red sign to point too.
He seems like a functional adult from what you’ve described. Probably have a lot of “ok” moments with him where it just makes you want to smack him upside the head when he starts doing the fuckery shit. There are so many other things to do in life besides shoving hamburgers in your pocket and giving your parents the worse algorithms after searching “help son stuck on bed post” online. I enjoy gaming and tinkering while also coming on here. I could be carving a special tree in my back woods for some play-time, but I never learned and/or didn’t have the wiring to enjoy sexual pain as a release and gratification (not kink shaming, just not built that way).
We all have stupid shit we could be getting into, thoughts that come into our minds or dark paths we decide not to go down. It’s that impulse control that keeps you floating above water. You could argue that he “physically has the ability to use that control”, but regardless of the wiring, it’s not being used. His actions have a negative effect on the people around him and are harmful, even if it’s behavioral and a “daddy didn’t love me enough” kinda excuse, you will still need support and proper guidance to address the issues (sometimes shit’s just too tough for people to handle on their own, a lot of us suffer in silence and some don’t even want to know anything’s wrong).
Support can have it’s limits. But at that point you seek other support mechanisms, we don’t really have a functional mental health system that can lead you to the next steps properly. I’m sure there was more recommendations to address his behavior but it probably became circular with no real progression.
A lot of “Ryan’s” are in jail because they stole from the wrong person or didn’t have a community like you guys were to him. There’s a lot of Ryan’s running around everyday that you pass by but they keep their shit together for those fleeting moments to seem normal. idk what else to say really, I hope you don’t have any more run-ins with the guy. Just sounds like a horrible experience and that’s gotta be stressful as a family. I feel sympathy for him though, hopefully he finds what he needs for a more peaceful rest of his life where he’s able to make the decisions that benefit him and those he loves around him in the future.
Disowned may not be the right word.
But Fucking Ryan is kind of the one member of the family that everyone dreads to some degree or another.
Notice I called him Fucking Ryan. This is what he is called by everyone that curses. Which, since the last person that didn’t call him that died years ago, that’s essentially nobody.
And both of his parents are alive. They don’t call him that all the time, but they slip up sometimes.
So, we’re not talking about him being totally cut off from everyone. He lives with his parents, and some of the family as a whole will put up with him. However, he is fully, strictly banned from my home on pain of having his ass beat again. That’s again because when I told him that if he ever darkened my door again, I would beat his ass down the road, he didn’t believe it and got his ass beat down the road.
So, going backwards from there.
He shows up after being warned never to come back or I would beat his ass down the road. He pulls into the driveway, gets out, and is coming up the steps when I make it out the door and start beating his ass. Now, I’m not speaking figuratively. I took my damn cane and was beating his actual ass with it, down the steps, down the walkway, and then down the road. Once he was down there and fell into the ditch, I told him to gtfo. He said he’d go back to his car in a minute, and I said “the fuck you will. Step in my yard and see if I don’t beat your ass right back here.”
He believed me. Asked me to call his mom to come get him. She drove his car, he drove hers. When I called her, she said something to the effect of “jesus, he didn’t show up did he? How bad is he?” Not shocked I beat his ass, not upset I beat his ass, just disappointed she was going to have to pick him up, and wondering if he would need a doctor.
So, backtrack to why he was banned from my house. The straw that broke the camel’s ass was him standing in my living room, doing a southern goodbye that was one sided. He picks up DVD I had sitting on the entertainment center and slides it into his pants. Right in front of me. I told him to put it back and gtfo. He asked what I was talking about. I pointed and said that fucking dvd you just put in your pants. He said he did no such thing.
I grabbed him by the arm and pulled the DVD that was still visibly poking out of his pants out and told him I was done with his bullshit, to leave and never come back.
He starts trying to talk his way out of it and picks the DVD up again. I tell him to put it down, or I was going to beat his ass.
He says “what DVD”.
So I beat his ass. Popped him in the nose and then literally kicked his ass out the front door and down the steps. I told him if he ever came back, I would beat his ass down the road. I meant it more figurative, in that I would just whup him again until he left, but once he came back, I kinda wanted to make a point.
So, why did that merit assault and battery?
Wellllll, pull back to a long history of shit disappearing into his pants, pockets, or coat. Never anything huge or super valuable. Like, a fork. Or a post-it note pad. That kind of shit.
One time, we’re having dinner. Hamburgers. My wife had never seen him go full fucktard before, she thought I was exaggerating.
He gets up, says he needs to use the bathroom. He picks up his burger and takes it with him.
He comes back out, and there’s fucking ketchup and mustard on his left pocket. He starts making another burger. Now, I know Fucking Ryan. I know damn good and well he didn’t eat the burger in the bathroom. He put it in his pocket. But I tell him, “dude, if you wanted a burger to take home, you didn’t have to pocket it.” Dude straight faced asks me what I’m talking about. I point at the juicy bulge in his jeans, and I’m not talking about his cock. I’m talking about the hamburger that’s now dripping juice through the denim.
He then spends fifteen minutes playing dumb until I tell him to go the fuck home.
That’s Fucking Ryan in a nutshell.
Like, years and years of that kind of thing.
Back in the late nineties, I go over to his place. Well, his parent’s place. His bed is gone. There’s just a mattress on the floor. I ask him what happened. He just says he ordered a new one. Knowing Fucking Ryan, on my way out after we fuck around gaming for a while, I ask his parents what the deal is. His dad starts saying they took the damn thing before Ryan’s mom shushes him and says the posts were in the way and refusing to elaborate.
Just one of those Fucking Ryan things, right?
Well, a few weeks later, I’m at the hospital pulling a shift as a fill-in down in the er. Talking to some of the folks there, swapping war stories, I hear that some guy came in with anal injuries from having gotten stuck on the post of a bed.
Again, I know Fucking Ryan, so I know damn good and well it was him. Years later, his dad tells me the story of Fucking Ryan yelling for help and him having to figure out how to pull his adult kid off of a bedpost
So, you may be thinking that Fucking Ryan at that time must have been some teenage idiot. No. He’s only a year younger than me, and I was creeping up on thirty. The hamburger thing? We were in our forties.
You may also be thinking, “Gee, this sounds like someone with some kind of serious neurological issue, maybe something like autism combined with other things.” Nope. His parents spent a good bit of his teenage years and early twenties schlepping him for various tests and exams because he’s always been a fucking twat. His IQ is well above normal, no autism, no obscure disorders, no brain abnormalities.
Nor is there any hint of abuse from his parents or anything like that.
Dude pulls down mid to high six figures, does freelance computer shit, like security, cryptography, that kind of thing, not just tech support.
He’s just Fucking Ryan.
Oh! Back in the eighties! So, his mom is my grandmother’s niece. My grandparents did really well for themselves overall. Had a decent sized house, a few acres of land, that kind of thing. One section, where my grandfather built us kids a treehouse, is basically a half acre of trees we called “the jungle”. So, this was when I was maybe 14 or 15, during the summer.
All us kids were out running around and playing and such one Sunday. Ryan has disappeared. I go looking for him because I was the oldest kid, so it was in my head that I had to take care of everyone. I head towards the back of the jungle and there’s Fucking Ryan fucking a tree. Not humping, not grinding. He’s got his pants around his ankles, and his dick shoved into a hole in the tree, fucking it.
He later on, maybe a year or two after that, dug a hole in the ground and fucked that. How do I know? Because I’m the one he asked to put bandaids on his dick. I told him if he didn’t tell me how it happened, I was telling his mom because I was worried someone had done it to him. I didn’t believe him, because even though I had seen him fucking a tree, I didn’t think anyone would fuck a hole in the ground.
Nope. He took me to the hole and there was jizz in it.
So, allll of that is what justified beating his ass twice.
Oh! And I fucking forgot!
After beating his ass the second time, dude calls me maybe six months later, asks if maybe we can go shooting over at our uncle’s farm. I’m kinda dubious, but a bunch of us had been talking about a family get together and shooting session. So I call around see if he’s welcome. Strangely, nobody objects.
So, we’re all out there and he comes walking around the old barn. No gun, no ammo. Of course he wants to borrow something, and be provided ammo. But, hey, it’s whatever, wouldn’t be the first time his dad wouldn’t let him borrow one of his guns for a family shoot.
I loan him my 22 rifle (ruger 10-22 for anyone that cares), load him up a few magazines, and fun is going to be had.
And it was, for a while. He’s actually got a great sense of humor usually, and he’s a good listener. However, he’s also Fucking Ryan.
He pops off a few rounds at a target, misses, then swings around to crack a joke, while the rifle ends up pointing at multiple people, including me. And, as luck would have it, guess when his finger hit the trigger. If you guessed it was right as it was pointing at my leg, you win the prize.
Luckily, it just barely creased my leg. No damage to muscle at all. Hurt like a motherfucker, and I thought for a few minutes I was going to put a bullet in him, but my family includes a few smart folks, and they secured all the firearms well away from the angry, cursing dude with a bleeding leg and a ruined pair of pants. They were also smart enough to bustle him away and into his car and send him the fuck home, because shot leg or not I would have beat the fuck out of him if I’d seen him again.
So, yeah, Fucking Ryan.
Oh wow. This was an entertaining read, and I’m so grateful to not have a Fucking Ryan in my family!
He definitely sounds like he has some mental issues, from what you describe schizophrenia stands out as a strong possibility. High IQ doesn’t prevent you from having mental disorders, and showing support rather than physical abuse would be a better way to help him, and you.
Yeah, I couldn’t help reading this and feeling extremely sad for Ryan. If they’re in their 50’s-60’s, the parents had tried to get him diagnosed as a kid in what, the 70’s?!? I’m not sure what they’re expectations are for people with a mental disorder, but it sounds like they’re expecting a trope and someone halfway functional is completely fine.
There is apparently a childhood full of sexual deviancy, which was never properly addressed and caused more anxiety and strain on his relationships his entire adult life. Dude’s stealing post-it notes and anything/everything regardless of value, that’s kleptomania 101
He’s doing these things, but I think the expectation is that he should “just stop” or “get over it”. He’s so out of control he can’t even stop him self while in front of other people or performing dangerous sexual acts, this is a person who has been untreated and needed help for decades.
Well, let’s break it down.
First, he’s been through the whole diagnostic process multiple times, with multiple doctors. This includes psychiatry and psychology, as well as neurology. No diagnoses of anything that would excuse petty thievery as something outside of his control.
Second, the first time I beat his ass was after roughly thirty years of bullshit. A little longer tbh, but still. We aren’t talking a recent change here. We’re talking a pretty damn full lifetime of fuckery. Support was shown through all of that. The dude would pilfer some shit in an obvious way, and I’d just take it back, tell him to cut his shit, and try and figure out what the living fuck had him doing it. Every time, over decades.
Seriously, support has a limit. Even if it was something like schizophrenia (and I don’t know how that many damn doctors would miss something like that), it reaches a point of absurdity.
And, once someone tells you they’re going to beat your ass if you come to their house again, and you go back, that’s on you. The first one, if you choose to ignore the decades of fuckery, you can blame on me if you like. I could have just removed him from my home using less intense force, but it’s still force, and he was going to gtfo one way or another. But that second one, nope, dude needed his ass beat.
Then, no injuries beyond bruising. I trained in martial arts for pretty much all of the nineties and into the naughties. No broken bones, no internal injuries, no joints damaged. Minimum amount of force to get the job done and make sure he knew I wasn’t joking or fucking around. I didn’t explicitly say that in the original comment, but the dude was saying he’d walk back to his car. And his mom picked him up, and he drove her car. Obviously, a very limited use of force if you’re whacking someone’s ass with a stick and they can still drive.
I mean, ffs, I can’t even count the number of times I tried to talk to the dude and figure put wtf was in his head. Nothing but outright denial, the same as when he’s standing there with a fucking hamburger in his pocket saying he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
I want to be as gentle as possible and just kinda point some things out that I’m reading as a stranger. I don’t think anyone is blaming you or trying to shame you about the ass beatings. You’ve put up with a lot and not calling the cops kept it from escalating. It sounds like you’ve got solid boundaries in place now so hopefully you can look back on all of it a little more relaxed and from an outside perspective like I’m forced to have.
You gotta understand, we’re all a little crazy dealing with life. Mental health ranges from having a stretch, to full on institutionalized psychiatric care. A person can sit down with a therapist for years and never open up to get a proper diagnosis. Behavior disorders can have no neurological symptoms, chemical imbalances can go for decades without being discovered. Sometimes the systems just aren’t able to provide the right support because there’s no flashing red sign to point too.
He seems like a functional adult from what you’ve described. Probably have a lot of “ok” moments with him where it just makes you want to smack him upside the head when he starts doing the fuckery shit. There are so many other things to do in life besides shoving hamburgers in your pocket and giving your parents the worse algorithms after searching “help son stuck on bed post” online. I enjoy gaming and tinkering while also coming on here. I could be carving a special tree in my back woods for some play-time, but I never learned and/or didn’t have the wiring to enjoy sexual pain as a release and gratification (not kink shaming, just not built that way).
We all have stupid shit we could be getting into, thoughts that come into our minds or dark paths we decide not to go down. It’s that impulse control that keeps you floating above water. You could argue that he “physically has the ability to use that control”, but regardless of the wiring, it’s not being used. His actions have a negative effect on the people around him and are harmful, even if it’s behavioral and a “daddy didn’t love me enough” kinda excuse, you will still need support and proper guidance to address the issues (sometimes shit’s just too tough for people to handle on their own, a lot of us suffer in silence and some don’t even want to know anything’s wrong).
Support can have it’s limits. But at that point you seek other support mechanisms, we don’t really have a functional mental health system that can lead you to the next steps properly. I’m sure there was more recommendations to address his behavior but it probably became circular with no real progression.
A lot of “Ryan’s” are in jail because they stole from the wrong person or didn’t have a community like you guys were to him. There’s a lot of Ryan’s running around everyday that you pass by but they keep their shit together for those fleeting moments to seem normal. idk what else to say really, I hope you don’t have any more run-ins with the guy. Just sounds like a horrible experience and that’s gotta be stressful as a family. I feel sympathy for him though, hopefully he finds what he needs for a more peaceful rest of his life where he’s able to make the decisions that benefit him and those he loves around him in the future.
What a ride