No Escape. I'm tired

The phone calls number over ten a day.  They start around 8 in the morning and last well into the night.  I've received calls at 2:30 and 4:30 in the morning too.  The calls are all from my dad.  
I've told him to stop.  I talk to him each day for up to an hour, after all.  None of the calls are emergencies.  He says that he is lonely.  I say I have a life and I can't spend it on the phone.
this past Saturday I told my dad I was going out in the evening and would talk to him the next day.  We'd already been on the phone for at least an hour and this was his third phone call.  Did he listen?  No.  He started calling at 5.  I answered.  We talked.  We ended the call.  Five minutes later he called again.  I answered.  We talked.  We ended the call.  Five minutes later he called.  I answered, told him I needed to get ready.  And he continued to call until I stopped answering.  Then he left messages, all about how he knew I was leaving him because I wouldn't answer the phone.  I didn't listen to all the messages.
Now, dad is blocked.  I'll unblock him in the morning, but every night he will have to be blocked.  Or I won't get any peace.
I'll tell anyone that dealing with the mentally ill is hard. Anyone thinking of settling down with a mentally ill person should think of their future children.  It is they who will be there in the end, suffering due to a mistake that was made before they were born.  My parents were married nearly 50 years before she passed.  I've been suffering for 58 years.
I know this sounds harsh, but I'm used up.  Tired.  Don't have anything left to give.  I wasn't always this way.  I used to see my dad as a victim.  He hadn't asked for his illness.  His brain imbalance was no different than any other issue with the body.  He could no more control his problem than a blind person could control their lack of sight.  But here's the thing--I'm human.  I'm not a robot that can have all sorts of pressure heaped on them and never break down.  I get bitter and uncaring because I've cared too long.  Carried the load by myself too long.  I'm no longer rational.  I'm not the nice girl I want to be.  I get angry because he's always normal, never needing medication.  While I get to take medication to calm the constant stress he puts me under, all so he can sit there and say he doesn't need the medication.  I'm tired...tired....tired.  I don't know how to be anything else.
 
You see, I want to be the person who says---that the mentally ill have a right to have children like every one else.  And it's true.  They have a right to a life without me putting my two cents in.  But I'm tired.  And I just want to rest.  My dad likes to say he has combat fatigue from fighting in a war he was never in.  Now, I say the same, because I've been fighting this war for 58 years.  And I lost.  I want to know what the hell my mother saw in him?  I want to know why I have to pay for something she did?  I want to know how the hell I can get out of this hell I'm in?  I want to know how the system could allow people like my dad on the street?  
A shotgun, a riffle and two guns.  That's what he had in his arsenal.  And God help me, I finally managed to con him into turning them over to the cops.  But since then, I've had to hear how he's a member of the rifle association, so the cops didn't have the right to take them.  
I finally gave him his dog back because I thought it would calm him down and he treats the dog better than me and it's safe.  But not me.  Because either my dad is going to kill me with his hands or the stress of dealing with my dad will.
 
I'm tired...tired....tired.....tired....tired...tired....tired....tired.....tired...tired.....tired....tired.....tired...tired.