posted on Jul, 7 2012 @ 03:12 AM
Alright, friends. Here it is; I'm intoxicated and heartbroken enough that I finally do not care. Take what I've seen and do with it what you will.
I do not post this for your validation. I do not post this for empathy. I'm sick of it, and if you think I'm doing you a favor, you are wrong;
I'm giving it to you as a disease.
My mother was a seer. She still is, though we seldom talk. She was subjected to molestation and depravity which words cannot describe until she was
about fourteen or fifteen, and it stopped due to circumstance. At that age she met a man who stole her heart, metephorically speaking, and she bore a
son; my half brother was stolen from her by my grandmother, who, in my youth, I thought evil, but now now better. He was raised by my aunt and uncle,
the latter of whom molested my mother from age three to twelve.
She was broken by it. She met my father at eighteen, and by age nineteen she was institutionalized by the diagnosis of schizophrenia. She was
convinced that the Devil himself was clawing into her soul. So convinced was she that she gnawed through her leather straps, (it was only the
seventies), and escaped; she was recaptured before leaving the building, and still my father stood by her side. Years of drug abuse of all kinds
followed with my father's aid, and years of attempting to have a child proved fruitless. One abortion, two miscarriages later, I was conceived
despite the contraceptive sponge. It was in 1998, and I was born in 1989. I was held as a miracle baby to them; I spoke at thirteen months, I
escaped my crib two months later, and I walked at sixteen months.
It was never enough. Her madness consumed her, at least, for the time being. I cannot remember every detail. I am told that I was three. She had
been working under the idea that the world was already ending, and that she would be judged by her works. She had a contractual deal with PBS to
organize a charitable drive for children, and she stopped sleeping. I was told years later that she was snorting coke each night to do God's work.
One morning she woke me up in a frenzy, telling me that the trumpet of Gabriel had been sounded. I had never been baptized, you see, and so I was
damned. This is hard to write. I've never told strangers before.
She dressed me in my Sunday best and took me to the pool out back, a simple kiddie pool. Inflatable, if I remember. Blue with shapes on it. It was
a cool morning, where you could smell the onset of autumn; there were leaves on the pool, and the trees were all but bare. I'll never forget the
smell of those leaves.
She asked me if I loved God, and if I wanted to be forgiven. For what, I did not know, but I did love God. I said yes.
She plunged me under that water, without so much as a warning, without even a breath, and I did not struggle. She was my mother; how could I not
trust her? But as the light reflected on the surface grew brighter, and the water entered my lungs, I fought. She held me still; I swear, to this
day, I can hear her saying that it was for my safety.
But she let go, and I lived; I was drowned for long enough to fill my lungs, and I lived. My grandmother and my aunt, evil as I know them to be, did
God's work and showed up just in time, and I was saved. Today I know my father had concerns, and had called them, but on that day it was a miracle.
When my father got home that night, he was only sad. He only loved my mother, and he wanted her to be well. We had a habit back then, poor as we
were, of booking a cheap hotel over the weekend and making it our vacation; he thought that was all she needed. Just a bit of sleep, and thus,
On the road that night she swore God was talking to her, and tried to steer our car across I-45 into oncoming traffic. What happened next is for me
to know, but rest assured, she got the psychiatric help she needed.
God bless my father, but he should never have left us alone together. Two years later they split for thee years, leaving me alone with her. At this
point she was on so much medicine she didn't know where she was, and was by no means a fit mother.
Next post continues.