I’ve never been any good at obedience, but I’ve been listening to Richard and Aunt Ruby for the whole time I’ve been grown. That makes better than half a lifetime. The very word, obedience, grates against my craw, if you’d really like to know. Aunt Ruby died awhile back, so now it’s just Richard.
The issue is marriage. Richard’s my big brother, and I rely on him for certain things. I’ve never had the resources to tie the knot with anybody, until now, and these terrible in-capacities which have kept me single. I don’t know what’s so basically revolting about me?
I’m making advances toward the ladies, while including rejections to the same people. I just push her away from me by the way I beg off. That’s not fair to them. I feel badly about rejecting someone, but I can’t seem to stop treating people that way. I’m in a process of journaling here.
Generally, I don’t do all that badly with the ladies. I’m told most frequently that I’m a nice guy. I’ll go with that. There’s nothing wrong with my wind up, it’s just my pitch that gets on their nerves. Grandma and Mother taught me to be respectful and kind. I never stopped doing that.
Now that I’m getting older, I do my best to treat everyone with the best kindness and respect. I flatter myself that I’ve gotten rather good at it. I’ve always practiced nonviolence, ever since I was little. Tried playing John Wayne once, and it was a disaster. I never did it again.
Dad tried to get me to knuckle under for him, when I was a little kid. All I would do for him was disappear from the parsonage first thing every morning, from the age of five, going hungry all day. Being out of the house before breakfast on a regular basis, when nobody was watching the back door.
That way, there were fewer people around to tell on me. I’d find myself walking around hungry all day, smoking cigarettes at an alarmingly young age. It was a wonder I wanted to go to Grade School at all. I understood my lessons the whole way through, though. Stayed there all day too.
It’s a wonder I didn’t become victim to predators, long before I did. They were an amateur bunch, like a sex club or something. The only kidnapping they did was to imprison me among themselves, and require lude things of me. That wasn’t when I was terribly little. I was thirteen.
It was just before I reached puberty. I was a child. I was afraid of those men. Do or die, was the way I was interpreting their behavior. My entire adulthood has been unfocused and confused since that time, and I say it ruined me. I say it’s not fair. You want to hurt a person for life? Do that.
I remember when I was a kid, Dad had another nervous breakdown when he finished up his PhD. I was a teenager then. He had a disability from the time I was in the womb, and there had been a big scene, way back then too. My Mom got scared half to death, she told me, much later, apologizing.
She’d been pregnant with me, with my brothers still very small. Dad had knocked down the front door, with all of his irrational violence. I don’t remember the incident, of course, but I’ve always had that certain fear holding me back, just enough to keep me out of the worst kinds of trouble.
I thank God for that fear of mine, because I realize it always helped me stay out of trouble.
Mom was thinking about the other boys and the one on the way, which was me. Then, when we were all about halfway grown, Dad had the same problem again, over finishing his PhD. I didn’t see it, but I’m told Mom started throwing dishes against the wall, demanding an income from Dad.
He wasn’t lazy. He was disabled. The man had no business fathering a family. He was never qualified to hold down a job. That’s why I broke up with the love of my life later. I recognized my father in myself, a year after my own breakdown, and felt obligated to break up with her. So I did.
It was a devastating circumstance when it finally happened to us, at the age of twenty one. I can’t imagine how my girl felt. It was only that I witnessed all that trouble in our family household growing up, and somehow, I knew I had my father’s disability.
It would never be fair to go on with my girl, knowing what I knew.
I didn’t have a violence problem like Dad did, but it seems to me Aunt Ruby told me Dad never did either, before the onset of his schizophrenia. I can’t get confirmation about that now, because she’s already gone, dead and buried. I’ve had schizophrenia for better than forty years now.
What’s the use? I have no business being around a woman and her family now, so I won’t be.
Collected his things, Dad Overtly headed for Florida from Pennsylvania, leaving all his family, which he was ultimately responsible for, to fend for ourselves. Mother would refer to that day throughout her lifetime, suffering from the injustice of it. The money he took was not his, it was hers.
She’d exclaim it, over and over again, that Dad had no right to her money. Dad said he gave Mom the house, but… Face to face with the girl, who had been my girl, she palled to a very human person, quite capable of misunderstanding my own disability and throwing all the dishes in hysteria.
I was not the slightest bit interested in reenacting my parent’s marriage. I was not going to put that nice girl in that sort of position, and that was that. My mind was made up about that. I spent my entire youth struggling to recall that one girl’s body, and failing utterly to recall.
She had been a tangible person, who was instrumental in getting me committed to an institution. When I got released, she as standoffish at first, but eventually warmed up to me again. With a disability, I would never have known how to face her parents again.
It took Dad an ominous threat to get me to go visit him in Florida after I’d grown up. I was off on some kind of careless adventure with a buddy of mine, out in California, of all places. What the heck I thought I was doing way out there, from coast to coast, I can’t rightly say.
I don’t obey Richard anymore than I have to, and I sure did not obey Aunt Ruby any. It has always gone against my grain to obey anyone, even if they told me good sense. Always head-strong, and frequently irrational, at the very least, certainly on the occasions I ran away from a hospital.
The thing that happens to me is that I get just so far with a relationship, which which looks like a commitment’s coming, and suddenly I suffer an old fear. I don’t know where he got it, but Dad seemed to have the same fear, except that it drove him to violence. We can’t handle it.
I cannot override my own fear by any means whatsoever.
Sometimes it takes me awhile to come to the truth of the matter, but that’s the basics of why I’m a heart breaker. I’ll be cogitating on such important things as these, but whatever happens in my very turbulent existence, and I realize I can’t get past my own fear, try as I will.
Whether I can explain it to anyone or not, I’m going to compliment the ladies on certain things. On the other hand, I’m going to flee a situation that’s scary to me. It’s the reason I can’t play guitar anymore, the reason I cannot abide with circumstances only I know are frightening.
How anyone’s supposed to figure that out by watching me, I don’t know.
How it is I took hold of the conviction any of my most valuable and lofty principles, I have not a clue. I can say, honestly, I finished grade school, as well as high school, with good marks, knowing and understanding my lessons well enough to go to university, with scholarships.
We all spoke highly of advanced education, and abiding by the law, in my family, except for Dad’s achievement. It would seem that Florida was not far enough for Dad to escape to. I can’t help wondering whether it’s the same scenario at my former girlfriend’s house. My name is mud?
That was a long time ago, when a lot of the young men were growing their hair, smoking wacky tobaccy, playing guitars. In my day and time, the guitar was the instrument of the times. I did as my peers did, followed them down a road with a lifetime, debilitating illness to show for it.
Please don’t get me wrong. Recreational chemistry only triggered the flawed gene in my gene pool to activate into schizo-affect disorder, which is a form of schizophrenia. I was only twenty years old. How was I supposed to know any of this stuff then?
If Grandpa, the old chemical engineer, had been there, he probably could have told us a lot more about our recreational chemistry than we already know. We really nothing about chemistry, by the way. It was a young people’s university, and Grandpa had no place there. He stayed away, with his wisdom.
If I’d have listened to him at all, would have been remarkable.
The tragedy is that, from time to time I must surrendered my liberty and gone back to a psych ward again and again, over forty years time. The hospitalizations wouldn’t seem so bad, except I’ve been required to do exactly what I’ve said at intervals, for better than half a lifetime. I’m not done.
The facts are that I find myself behind at least one locked, door, time after time.
Also, the noise level in a psych ward is ordinarily overwhelming. I am accustomed to living in relative silence. I write in silence, I sit in silence, I eventually find someone to tell stories to. Telling the stories drowns out some of the white noise of the TV, but interferes with my train of thought.
I’ve always been otherwise head-strong and self-willed, regardless of how far any of my intellect or talents get me. I’ve significantly struggled with many things in my lifetime, not the least of which was being a flower child, and experimenting with recreational chemistry.
By this late date I’ve conquered that by a full thirty years.
Richard had given me that big brother talking to, before I went to university, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. Heck, the guy was square, for Heaven’s sake. It’s a mystery to me how I ever got an eduction, from grade school onward. I managed to go two years into higher education. Paying attention to the different drummer, the way I went on and on with that stuff, was dangerous.
I think that behavior of mine has gotten me in more trouble than anything else I’ve ever been influenced by. It’s a wonder, for one thing, that I never broke the law, that I ultimately survived all the times I was following my own head-strong, self-willed way of thinking.