Spinning Plates update...
past the 50, 000 word mark.
We're into parents and pain and sorrow and all the good stuff in books.
It's all there...harumph
A taste:
Both my parents, well, it was never good with them and their brains. They have been forever sabotaged by that one illness that is like a vice, squeezing and warping reality forever. They have schizophrenia. It's ok. Really, I am just glad that I don't. But, it made for life as a son, it made it fucking weird. Never believing, never taking the side of blood. I knew, had to betray too many times my parents. They do not exist on the same plane as the rest of us. It has probably a lot to do with my detachment from the rest of the world. I don't know. Maybe that is just an excuse, a cop out. Oh my folks are nuts so I get a free pass. I don't know.
No, I do. That is all bullshit. No one ever wants to think about the horrible things that are so close to oneself. I ask nor accept any sympathy for having to grow to learn, to know from too early an age that my parents can not be trusted for much at all. It is an odd sensation though to listen to them, to hear the sad delusion spilling out, and to not be able to say ok, sure, I'm on your side.
The last time my mom was committed it was because of me. I had it done. I was in the ninth grade. I had my mom locked up in some sub standard state facility, to get better. Whatever the fuck that means. Usually, just more chemicals. You don't get over being crazy. You live with it, until you die. Then, it doesn't matter any fucking way.
It is a death sentence. But one much more cruel than cancer or AIDS, or any other fucking thing where you know you will die, sooner rather than later. Because in those moments of clarity, rare though they may be, when the meds are actually working, you can sit back and realize that no matter how functional you might be, you will never be the same as before, before that blade came down, before the synapses starting misfiring. All you have is that delusion world that you spend most of your time, and if lucky, family, and maybe friends. And to have your own son cast you to the wind. Well. You know.
So maybe I am guilty. Maybe I feel bad about the distance I keep from my parents. Or, or maybe I mad at them for corrupting me, for causing me to lead my life down this lonely path, this path where I hide from people for fear of learning that it may all turn out bad. Because the most important, the very first relationships with other people in this life were with people who are fucking insane.
Or maybe, none of this shit is true. Maybe, I'm just scared of ending up like them. Fifty years old and permanent cripples. Maybe I am terrified, maybe. My mind, my ability to think and live and work, and create, and be who I am dangles on a thread, a thread clinging to this unlikely 50/50 split of genes from two very smart crazy people. Maybe I am thankful, eternally, stupidly thankful that in the great ping pong ball mashup that is human genetics, that I have dodged the bullet.
Maybe I am sick to my inside to think that I could bring someone into this world that would be afflicted just like my parents. And if I cast them away, what would stop me from doing the same to my own progeny. I am sick to think that's even a possibility. Maybe, I just want to be alone, to stay alone forever, because that is safer than risking it. Safer to suffer alone than to bring another hopeful soul into this world only to have the curtains drawn at the dawn of their most hopeful time.
Maybe I am just tired and have been in the car too long.
Posted by thynkhard
at 8:15 PM EDT
