I argued with myself on the decision to write this post, or live through the day without comment. This morning told me not to write. I was also called "humble" by a very attractive woman. The cause for both escapes me; I'm usually arrogant and verbose. I stared at the screen for a while trying to write a brief letter to a parishioner at my church currently serving in Iraq. All I could come up with was "Thank You."
Today is the thirteenth anniversary of my madness. It started as laughing at the back of my ear. Today, the sympotms have names, voices, personalities out of my control. Most of my time is out of control. I look fine, but I'm not. I'm in a good mood, but my symptoms are spiralling. I've got a smile on my face, and so does The Harvester. Usually he stands behind me, and scythes me down like so much wheat. Today, he went out of his way to stare me in the face.
I just walked away and looked in the mirror. I have The Harvester's smile. My claws are coming out. Old visions fit my gaze like Christine's curves as I remember them, but this is not about her. Prester Bane would smile if he had a face. Both my hands grin like fools; my fingers float over the keys, with only the tips of my talons touching plastic.
I'm not fighting tonight. I don't feel like fighting. I won't do it. They don't sleep.
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If Jacob is renamed Israel for Struggles with God, perhaps I should only be whispered for struggles with words.
2 comments:
I know what it's like to be psychotic, both the total-disintegration-of-reality and the THEY-are-coming-to-get-me! kinds.
I know what it's like to take Jesus as my saviour.
I know what it's like to try to commit suicide, and to regret failing, even on the happiest of days.
I know what it's like to face three kinds of medication every day and night just to stay sane... for now.
And right now i know what it feels like to have my body fall apart.
I know all of these things - not to the same depth of intensity that you do, by any means, but bad enough to make my life often seem unbearable.
But tonight I feel a little bit better for having discovered your blog, for i feel a kinship with you.
Thank you for being alive tonight.
Best regards,
HopletonBrown AT hotmail DOT com
p.s. on a totally unrelated note, regarding '300' remember that there're two sides to every story... i'm from iranian parentage and from that part of the world the Spartans are regarded as infant-murdering backwards facist savages.
Thank you for your readership. I love comments from readers of my blog. It always makes my day a little better.
On the same unrelated note, I have more historical opinions that stray dangerously into politics.
There are two sides to most nations. I admire the pluck of the Spartan defenders, but not their politics: I prefer no kings and paper money. The Persians never shined as a fighting force against the Greeks. They were conquered by forty thousand Macedonians, considered savages by even Greeks. Aristotle was Alexander's personal tutor.
On the other hand, the Persians were tremendously helpful to the Jews. "Darius the Mede" from Daniel was probably Cyrus; he freed the Jews from the Babylonian captivity. Ahasuerus, who was probably the same Xerxes who lost the war in Greece, was instrumental in preserving the Jewish community in Persia against Haman.
Santa Anna is a more troublesome figure for any Texan to appreciate.
"Say to Mr. Poinsett that it is very true that I threw up my cap for liberty with great ardor, and perfect sincerity, but very soon found the folly of it. A hundred years to come my people will not be fit for liberty. They do not know what it is, unenlightened as they are, and under the influence of a Catholic clergy, a despotism is the proper government for them, but there is no reason why it should not be a wise and virtuous one."
There's no tragic virtue there; he's just a thug defeated twice, first by next to no Texans, and then to underwhelming numbers of determined free Americans. "Napoleon of the West?" I think not. At least the Corsican won a battle or two.
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