So what do you do when you find out this prize possession that you have been working on for over a year now called your memoir… actually is so intense that it’s caused people to get sick? Sounds a little far-fetched right? I think that’s a little touchy and funny too. I do have two people who have been ever so kindly to help me work on my book for editing and both of them got severely sick and had to take a break from the book. Get this… it was so intense that they had to take a break from the book! It was bringing their emotions to a complete overhaul. I think personally that this is quite an honor. My life has touched someone so deep that people are actually struggling to keep composure of themselves? Wow!
I’m seriously trying not to freak out! I’m seriously starting to wonder if my story is doomed forever to keep people sick and down and emotionally with drawn. It’s hard not to feel this way when everyone who touches it seems to fall down in one way or another. I am trying not to cry and freak out. I feel my two years or so put into this is going to waste when the whole point was to touch people.. not destroy them. I feel myself breaking down and not wanting to continue with this wonderful plot to make the world a better place one reader at a time.
I now have a son who’s completely out of whack and there’s nothing I can do about it right now. I’m seriously scared to know if he’s ever going to make it out in the real world at the rate he is going now. I am watching him fall more and more and the only reason I can’t catch him is his disease. The disease to be seen and not heard. The disease to destroy you from the inside out. The disease that’s not curable and only seeks revenge for its destiny. To dig way down deep into whatever conscience is there and tear it apart idea by idea or dream by dream. To fray whatever thought process you thought you had until the reality is… there is no thought process. In fact it almost hurts to think. It hurts to feel and to smile and to just be alive.
He tells me the voices are back and they are getting worse. He tells me it’s getting harder and harder for him to know the difference and now they take him to a dark place where he can’t see or hear anything of what he considers real. All he hears is little whispers of low voices telling him he’s in danger or he’s doing something wrong or to hurt someone quickly before they hurt him. All he hears is whatever the voices want him to hear. The loving voice of a mother is no longer carried along side of him. The loving touch of a mother is no longer comforting to him. The caress of a caring human being whether it be a principal or counselor no longer matters. He can’t hear or see anything or anyone. All he knows to do is cry and try to dig and scrape the bad voices out of him or off of his face.
The scratches begin! The scrapes! The self manipulation! The little cuts and bruises show up in little numbers all over his body! The pacing back and forth… the constant sorrow of wanting to be “normal” is now on the floor of hope. My boy lost in his own world of darkness where the devil babysits his thoughts and the only God he knows is the one who gave up on him and made him this “thing” he’s become. When will his family give up? When will the teachers and students show their true colors? When will his life finally begin? How long before they find out the evil dark thoughts that go through his head? Is it true they will take him away? Is it true they will still love him? Is it true that they will understand after they find out all the blood guts and gore that is running deep down inside his thoughts about all his friends and family? How will they handle it as he gets older and the thoughts and visions get more and more intense? How will they handle it when the find out he actually enjoys the thoughts and knows it’s wrong?
When will they turn their backs? When will they look the other way? When will they just push more medicine on him and hope it all changes or disappears? How long before the thoughts and visions and dreams are so intense that everything that was good in life… now fades…..
So my boys are all in baseball and one of them is in football with my daughter. Yes, there’s them key words again.. son and daughter. Once again… bloodline doesn’t mean a thing to me. I love watching them learn and play and try to fail and just everything that comes with the sport. What’s funny… is I can’t stand baseball, but I love watching my boys play it! I would learn it and wear it and be apart of it as much as I could for my boys. Just like I would get back into football if my other son and daughter take it seriously and really get into it. I would love to have the jerseys and sportswear. I would love to go to the games and enjoy being the embarrassing mom screaming “go baby boy” or “go baby girl”! LOL! It’s always been my dream to support my kids in whatever they do… just as long as they “do” something.
Well… off to care some more…