Sunday, August 14, 2011

Sunday, August 14th, 2011 Part 1

I decided to start this journal today. Hopefully it won't all be negative and pathetic... maybe in the near future I can even change the blog title... "the magic has miraculously returned"  or "I found the magic in this mental mess".... something a bit more "up"...but for now.... "down" basically fits the scenario.  So... read along if you are interested or even have a morbid curiosity... but if you're looking for a fun good-time read maybe you should opt out of this one.

 I've been considering writing my thoughts down for a while and today seems as good as any day to family is out, I'm home alone....caught up on work, so sitting quietly trying to control my painful thoughts.. I spend a lot of time with my thoughts...manipulating them and twisting them around...trying to figure things out and make them manageable to me..make them bearable.... thinking is easier than talking about how I feel because who wants to hear what I'm thinking's horrible.  And most people wouldn't even understand these thoughts.   I'm feeling like my reality is beyond my comprehension right now.  I am a strong person but I have to bend and twist my thoughts so I can deal with what's in my life at this time.  I have to settle them in my mind somewhere so I can be comfortable (probably not the right word but I need comfort so I'll use it)  with this thing facing me....and I feel like it's facing ME.  Me... I feel isolated by my thoughts of this disease and the consequences it has brought into my life. Our life...our family life.  I have to stop myself and realize OUR life is what it's destroying... I have a husband and two daughters and my son... but this disease has separated's not our disease...yet it has spread it's ugliness onto us.  And with this disease infecting all of us, coating us and including us ..we've grown separate and apart.

  As I sit quietly typing I am reminded constantly of the existence of the subject of my wondering thoughts by my son's repeated coming and going - in and out of the house.. his OCD about washing his hands and showering takes him to the downstairs bathroom... then up to the kids' bathroom... into his room...back to the kids' bathroom....and then the way he walks aimlessly through our home as if in a confused search for who knows what.... something always missing that he cannot find or recover.  I wonder...does he really know what's happening to him?  Losing his touch with reality.....does he know what he is looking for?   Is it something he just can't remember?  Or does he have a secret goal?  Cash from my wallet?  Change his sisters have left behind to use for a cigar or cigarettes?  Or a dollar for his new drug of choice.. "spice"?     He seems to enter the kitchen often with determination...only to leave it empty handed after a quick check in the fridge.   Nothing appeals.   His mind is blank and bland.  Empty and cold...and uncaring.  So different from the child he once was.

Today, left alone with nothing to distract me from thinking, I did some online shopping for fun.  I didn't intend to....but I am secretly stocking up on a wardrobe of black.  Today I ordered a long sleeve black wrap dress from   I always liked wearing black but this wardrobe is not for daily wear.  These pieces will hang in my closet.. hopefully never to be worn...but I feel some odd ease that this wardrobe is there...ready.  My family doesn't know the existence of these specific thoughts or items.  They wouldn't understand and wouldn't want to consider the possibility...the reality.... I'm a mom.  His mom.  I have to mentally prepare for what I am most afraid of...just in case.  He has tried to commit suicide three times already.  I don't think having black clothes hanging in my closet is a frivolous thing.

 My sorrow is currently overwhelming me...I get comfort from hug or kind word touches the grief buried so deep in my heart.. preparing and magical mind bending thinking, and now writing will get me through this lonely journey... my son is a stranger to me.... a loss I cannot even begin to describe.  He's not dead.  He's here... only he's hollow and empty and gone from me... but walking and eating and sometimes speaking to me... sometimes answering to a mystery I cannot hear or see.  I am bereft and confused.  Lost.

The words for it.   The pain.....unbearable pain if I dwell on it.   Sometimes I can pass these feelings off as anger and frustration.  But who is there to be angry at?  Only my son....Often I get short tempered and aggravated with him... but then to what end?  He doesn't understand my feelings.  He has no concept of empathy. He's only half here with me.  I don't even know if he has any idea about the consequences of the poor choices he is making.  (drugs, excessive smoking, stealing, isolation, lying...)  It's part of the who can I get angry at?  Where can I put my pain and sorrow?  Right now just in tears ...and buried within the words I type here.

To Be Continued..... Part 2 of this entry

Zack 13

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