Suffering from a mental disorder is not easy. But what's even more difficult and painful is to see it happen to someone close, and be around them while they are suffering from it. 

I was a very happy and cheerful kid till 15.

I used to joke around, have fun and talk a lot. 

My father had been diagnosed with depression when I was still a child and he'd been battling the disease since a very long time. It was when I was in the 11th grade that I began to notice some major behavioural changes in him. Everyone in the family was worried about him and upon consulting a doctor, we came to know that along with depression, he had bipolar disorder too. I didn't know at the time what it meant. I used to get really angry at his mood swings and whenever he used to get mad at me or my mom for no reason, I would blame him. I was still a child, remember? Sometimes, I thought he was using his disease just to demean us, treat us like shit, and shout at us whenever he wanted. When we protested, he would make us feel bad about ourselves by saying he couldn't take care of us any longer. I tried being oblivious to whatever was happening around me and resorted to escapism by occupying myself with studies. But that didn't help either. It was all still affecting me a lot.

Things turned for the worse when my father resorted to alcohol. During my 12th boards, the situation deteriorated badly.  My father had always been a heavy drinker, but during that period, he would just skip office, sit at home and drink. He'd get so sloshed that he'd fall on the floor. My brother(13 years old, then) had to pick him up and make sure he was okay. I felt infuriated, hurt, angered, and abandoned seeing all of that. 

But I tried to remain strong through all of this and keep the focus on my studies. In fact, if anything, this motivated me even more to work hard, move to a bigger city for education and somehow escape all this misery.  I won't lie, there was a lot of anger in me against my father during that time. I knew he was suffering. But didn't he see our suffering, too? My father, who was supposed to inspire me, help me, motivate me during the most important academic year of my life, used to be lying unconscious on the bed all the time. There wasn't a single day when I didn't cry. I thought I'd gone under depression as well. Now things have gotten better. He's left the alcohol, but the disease has still not left him. But I have forgiven him for whatever happened.