Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Hatred Fuels Me

When I was a kid, my father and brother beat me. Extension cords were fair game for my father, as was my back, legs, and occasionally arms. My brother knew no bounds. Once upon a time, I confronted him with a stick to defend myself from his wrath. He preyed upon my antiquated and useless ideas of chivalry, saying that I could set down my weapon or do the dishonorable deed of striking an unarmed man. I told him "fuck you" or some other reproachment, and set down the stick. He grabbed it, tagged me in my ribcage and broke it over my shoulder.

Many times, revenge tempted me to put them both in jail, or simply execute them in self-defense. I did neither. Now, I have to look at my father every morning, listen to him say that he loves me, and treat him as a son should treat his father. Every Sunday at church, I get to sit next to my brother and his wife. He has a life, a wife, and a future. I remain damaged goods. My father has my mother, my brother, and me I guess; that's more than I can hope. I could have killed them both hundreds of times, but I didn't; it would have been justifiable, but I didn't. I did so out of my antiquated sense of forgiveness and my often-wavering faith in Christ as my savior. It would be my hatred towards them if I would have used the law to its harshest extent, not their actions towards me.

Now, I operate with a sincere and accepted apology from my Brother. I have to forgive him no matter how much I hate his smug attitude sometimes. I never received a sincere apology from my dad, but I've grown to accept that. He hid behind alchohol then and now. It's not a proper excuse, but I have to live with him reminding me every day of power in pain completely out of my control.

Just because circumstances are out of our control doesn't justify taking life. Legally, it does with certain circumstances, but we all know inside those laws are for killers and revenge, not for the safety of the children of God. Just because a life reminds us of its injustice and horrors, doesn't give us reason to execute the human reminders of that horror, be it a brother, a spouse, a father, a lover, a friend, a son, or a child in the womb.


Xiporah said...

I've yet to expirience motherhood. I heard it makes you do strange things in to protect your children. I think if provoked, I could be driven to kill to protect a child.

You're a lot stronger than others who may lived in similar childhood shoes to yours, and your ability to accept and forgive them for the past still baffles me sometimes.

Anonymous said...

Xiporah...did you not say you can't stand people who are doormats for abuse and meanness...yet Thomas stays taking care of his father and watching his brother move on with his life and the both of them apparantly made his life a living hell. I'd call that a doormat. Thomas sounds like he needs the reality of moving out of mommy and daddys nest and having some new life experiences outside what happened in his childhood...otherwise what is the point...blogging? How about get a job and get laid...anything the brother has he can have to. Boo Hoo you have to take some pills...do what you are supposed to do and make a life for YOUR self.

Thomas Jackson said...

This is obviously personal. I don't know who you are, but you're full yourself. My struggle is not trivial. Take a moment to walk in my shoes. You don't know me. Schizophrenia isn't cured by antipsychotics, they only treat the disease with different degrees of success for different people. Generally, the longer one goes undiagnosed, the worse the prognosis. I spent three years undiagnosed; that's a bit of a record among the schizophrenics I know. The medication doesn't work well with me; I'm currently on the maximum dose of three different antipsychotics. None of them are effective. Schizophrenia has a suicide rate of 10%. I would quickly join them if I were out on my own. A schizophrenic suicide isn't a cry for help, nor is it a way to punish the living, like a depressive suicide. It's the only cure; some of us taunt eternal damnation to seek relief. I would not even consider leaving a note.

When schizophrenics leave a reliable home, we often jump into the fire. 40% of all homeless people are schizophrenics. I'm blessed with a home, with a family that supports me, and health care. You might not think I'm too badly off, but you only know my writing. That's my major blessing: I can still write. If you knew me in high school, you probably knew my silver tongue and razor wit. They're both gone. I have tardive dyskinesia in my jaw; I stutter badly. My thoughts are disorganized to the point where I can only assemble them to make sense in written form, where I have more time and opportunity to use the right words and ideas.

The point is survival. I've dealt with bigger fish than you, and I'm still alive. Your stones won't hurt me.

I tried the whole job/life thing before. I get released by the job when I can't be coherent twice a week; if one of my larger relapses lasts for more than two weeks, I'm totally done. Those relapses are getting longer with less time in between; you should know that by now.

Anonymous said...

If the medicine is not effective at the highest dose...maybe youre misdiagnosed. This is nothing personal, trust me...only reason I made this post was because xiporah is an ass kissing fake. How are you going to say you hate doormats and then applaud you for being strong for taking care of somebody who beat you. I think thats doormattish.

If Im totally wrong, then I truly apologize...but If Im totally wrong Im sure you are smart enough to not give a shit about what I have said. Cant have an internet blog and not expect to ever get anybody posting PITA things to you.