Oh Brother

Today my brother Max was readmitted to sub-acute, a residential home for kids with behavioral and developmental issues. I knew this was coming for a while and was frustrated when it seemed like no one outside of our family saw that we were in crisis, that we needed help. It doesn't make it any easier though, to think that he may not be with us for the holidays. 
Yesterday I was talking with my mom about the choices we make in our lives and how much they shape our experiences. Although the choice to bring my brothers Zach and Max into our family wasn't mine, it has shaped me in ways that I'm still discovering. I know without a doubt that I would not be the person I am if they had not come into my life.

I remember the night Max came home. He was wearing a jacket at least three sizes to big for him and I remember thinking his head fit his body in a similar way. It was huge! And goofy, bald and the cutest thing I had ever seen. 
Then the many days I would lay with him on the floor of his bedroom (the one I had given up), watching him roll around and giggle and play.
Feeding him in his baby chair. Watching his head bob to "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley and thinking he was the smartest baby I had ever encountered.
He grew to be this ball of energy, with a sense of humor way beyond his years.  

It has been heart breaking to see his struggle. These days he is a person I feel I hardly know. It's not his fault and I don't believe it's forever. But the days and moments he is someone recognizable have become far and few between.

I love him fiercely. I want my brother back.

The first picture here was taken three Halloweens ago, when Max was in sub acute the first time. We had all hoped it would be the last.
Yet here we are, again.

I know I should be studying but I am overwhelmed with grief.
I have been waiting so long for our family to be whole. It has been years, for many reasons.
It has been too long.

I don't feel like this is what I wanted to say or how I wanted to say it. Oh well.

My dearest Max,

You are so funny, resilient and loving. You have been my brother since the day you were born, before I had even met you. You are a choice I make everyday.

Love,

Your Deedster

7/10

It's week seven out of ten in the term, I need to keep my shit together. Now is not the time to fucking lose it. I have to remind myself that however bad I've felt over the last couple of weeks is nothing compared to previous terms. I'm currently taking more credits than I ever imagined I would and even though it hasn't been perfect I've still managed to do better than I have before.
Last weekend I dipped, it happened quick and without any warning. Friday I woke up late and leisurely, not too concerned with getting all of my studying done because I had the whole weekend. Friday's have become the day where I do anything but school. Mostly I lounge around at home, alone, without responsibility or structure. I should have recognized that this specific Friday felt different, however slightly. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
But you know how I knew? What tipped me off that this was the beginning of a plummet into nothingness?

I didn't shower.
I was eating without restraint.
I was watching Netflix and playing a game on my phone. (This is when my brain has gotten to the point where watching something isn't enough to numb myself and detach from reality, I need another layer of protection)
I didn't get off the couch and go to sleep until after 4:30am.

You know what happened then?
I did it all the next day.

Katie came over Saturday night after work to keep me company and maybe help motivate me to study. I didn't study but her presence definitely kept me somewhat present.
We watched an episode of a show we've been trying to watch together since the beginning of the summer. Our schedules don't allow for much time together.
I didn't want to watch it. I said it would be too heavy for me. I wanted to stick to cartoons and humor.
I was right.
I should have listened to my instinct and refused to watch. I didn't want to disappoint her and I felt bad for not being able to watch it with her for so long. And honestly, there is no way that either of us could have predicted exactly what was going to happen. But I knew enough of the plot and I should have stood my ground. That she is not responsible for.
I don't know if I was nice about the way I communicated my regret after we had finished the episode. I had been triggered and felt panic and grief rise up in me all at once. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get it out of my mind, I couldn't unsee it.
Every night since, I think about it before I go to sleep. I'm thinking about it now.
I'm hoping it will pass. I've been affected like this by things I've watched many times before, time usually heals.

Sunday was no different.

This week I've had moments but even people that don't know me well have noticed. This feeds the lie my beast tells me, the one where everyone has noticed.

Now I've had more absences in classes than I would like. I had to ask for an extension on an assignment. I hope my accommodations through the Disability Resource Center will help me in my self-advocacy, but they've been of little use before. I guess we'll see.

This is still good though, right? This is better? I'm in week seven out of ten. Usually this would have happened in the first few weeks of the term, once the novelty had worn off. I haven't missed as many classes as I have before. I've only asked for one extension.
This is good. Tell me this is good.

I need to fucking keep my shit together. Fuck.

If I can just hold on a little longer. When winter break comes I can release my crazy. But not yet, not now.

My assignment was to "speak my truth" and write on the theme of "possibility". This is what I came up with.

Red, White and Blue in the Face

Dream the impossible dream

he said

The possibilities are endless

he said

The world is your oyster

he said

These are the lies my country told me

while that oyster drowned me in a sea of abandonment and degradation

it tried to swallow me whole

If only I could “pick myself up by my boot straps”

and work hard for the money

so hard for it, honey

A dream is a wish your heart makes

beating with possibility

HOO-RAH

Ripped from my mother’s womb

The founding fathers are dead

but

I have some serious daddy issues

Arm yourselves

because love is a battlefield

Dream on, sweetheart

Talk to the hand

that’s cracked from hard labor

Should I give up, or should I “just keep chasing pavement”?

Don’t step on the cracks

or it’ll break the backs of those who built this country

Sure I have a dream

you lying, cheating, son of a bitch.

----------------------------------------------------------

I'm kind of angry, I guess.

I ran out of my meds this week.
Withdrawal blind-sighted me.
I missed class.
I am lacking motivation to study.

Nonononononono, no, NO.

I got all of my studying done the for the next week--the whole week. This shit just doesn't happen to me.

It feels really good. The difficult piece is that every small victory like this one reminds me of all of my past failures. Every time I've been so paralyzed that I was unable to study anything at all. Every time I've watched the clock, knowing that with every moment that passes I'm closer to missing a due date, a class or a shift at work. Every time that I've convinced myself that I can sleep forever.

It's undeniable that successes like this can be taken away at any time. Today has been remarkable but it's unlikely to become part of a pattern. I have yet to figure out what the magic number is but I'm sure that after so many of these small victories a devastating loss is guaranteed.

It's fucking bullshit that an accomplishment should bring with it so much fear.

Retourner

So many times in the past few months I have started writing. There are pages and pages in assorted notebooks that are evidence of my efforts. Oftentimes I have trouble articulating the emotions I'm experiencing, which might be difficult for some people to believe, I know. 

I feel my beast's presence, the way you might feel a slight breeze through an open window. He can be so elusive, just outside of my grasp and then what am I left with? I'm left with a feeling, a detection of something that is waiting just around the corner. Because that's a very real possibility, isn't it? Any day I might wake up and he will be waiting for me. Any day he may arrive and huff and puff and blow my fucking house down. And that could be the end. The punch line of a long, drawn out joke. That's the way it feels sometimes anyway, like some sick, cruel joke; a prank that's gone way too far and gotten out of hand. 

It's not as though I live in a constant state of paranoia, sometimes days or weeks pass where I forget entirely about this shadow, this blemish or scar on the innermost layers of my life. But so much time has been spent waiting, bracing myself for the storm my beast carries with him. The destruction he leaves in his wake. The mess I'm left to clean up, the pieces left for me to reassemble, sometimes ruined forever.

When he's biding his time, when I can feel him waiting for me, what is there to write about? What can I say that doesn't sound like irrational suspicion? And then there are bound to be people who will tell me not to dwell, or invite it into my life. Negative thinking leads to negative experiences and all of that bullshit. Whether I remain conscious of my beast at all times or deny his existence entirely, he will come. He will come for me and I will be powerless against him. 

There aren't any answers here, so don't come looking for them. I guess this is my return.

First Guest Author!

This is the first, of what I hope to be many times a friend has asked to share a piece of their writing here on my blog. It is entitled, "I have had..."

I have had 23 short years in this life, and have seen many futures for myself, but have not had the aptitude to reach out and align my trajectory with a possible fate that I deem desirable. I feel my life is a game of Russian Roulette, and I’m not the one holding the pistol but rather watching from the corner of the room, dreading the final outcome with every spin, preparing for the worst, but doing nothing to prevent or alter this fate, the fate that is so hastily being woven in front of my eyes. It is a nightmarish illusion that I deem a reality. 

Fate is not a predestination of a final ending place for oneself, nor is it the predetermination of an amalgamation of steps pointing to a specific destination, but rather, A reflection of a summation of both conscious and unconscious, willing and unwilling decisions made by oneself constantly leading to the end of a journey... To a location not known by the traveller, until they have arrived. 

I have had 23 short years in this body, and have seen many futures for myself, but time does not change for me as I see it accelerate. I actively observe the time passing like water leaking from my cupped hands. Despite my desperate misguided efforts to build, shape, and form, the water is merely water, it does not form anything more than the simple liquid it is once it passes through my fingers. Idle hands are the devils plaything but what happens if no-thing is done at all as time passes? As we accelerate to 0, what will I have to show for myself besides some wet hands and a life of regret and fear?

Time is not a constant when perceived by a living creature or beast, but rather it is a paradox, constantly shifting speeds in the eyes of those curious or wary enough to behold it. Like a falling body in a frictionless atmosphere, time accelerates until the body is obliterated at the point of impact, a certain eternal silencing guided by merely by a simple quadratic. Each passing year is a faster than any before it as the time for importance and meaning slips through the fingers like grains of sand in an hour glass. In all instances the final answer is zero.

Written by: Andrew Wallner