If you saw a man with no legs in a wheelchair, you wouldn't push him out of the wheelchair and tell him to just freaking walk, would you? Of course not. Clearly, you see that he can not. Seeing is believing, as they say. And thus, the real problem with mental illness is that you can't see it.

He tells me that we need to get a new bottle of glaucoma eyedrops because the people that are trying to get him sneak into the house at night and inject poison with a very fine needle. He is clearly afraid. I tell him we have a security system and if anyone tries it, don't you worry, we'll get them. No one can get you here. He sighs, relieved. Hugs me.

Delusions and paranoid thoughts occur in approximately 25% of dementia patients. Anxiety is common. Other behavior problems include agitation, irritability, wandering, restlessness, sleep disturbances and aggression.

"No kisses for you. Get away!" he shrieks, holding up a hand to my face like garlic to a vampire. He is angry over an appointment card that came in the mail.  The date is all wrong. It's not when he wanted to go. My fault. My fault. Later, he says he is sorry and asks me to please hug him. I do and he cries on my shoulder.  Asks me what he would do without me. Silent tears that he can't see roll down my face as I pat his back and wipe his tears away.

He is almost always paranoid. Sometimes angry. Often afraid. Occasionally lucid. Seldom logical. He has lost his vision and he is slowly losing his mind but he was and is always - my father.

They're trying to get me, you know, he whispers. They paid that place to poison my food. That's why I had to stop eating. I didn't want to die. The food was poisoned. I couldn't eat it.  They gave it to me and stood to see if I would eat it. But I wouldn't. I could smell the poison. But now that you came to take care of me, I can eat all I want. You don't want me to die, like they did.  

Sometimes, I hear other people tell him he's talking nonsense. Contradict him until his hands shake with frustration. I listen to people argue with him because "he is so clearly wrong" and they feel compelled to make him understand exactly how wrong he is.

Do they not understand the concept of mental illness?  Though they can not see his illness like missing legs, can they not see his distress?

Is the need to be right so strong that it beats compassion until it is left bloody and cowering in the corner? 

And, I have to wonder; if you argue with someone that is clearly mentally ill, who is the crazy one?