ericboy's Diaryland
Diary
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\"I don't know / I rearrange the furniture as you sleep\" - Death Cab for Cutie
So I haven't been here in awhile and I suppose that's because this is where I deposit my more morbid and severe moments. And I had one today, so I'm back.
I was sitting on my bed shortly after noon, looking over the last few completed pages of the book I'm writing. I brought myself up to speed, then put the pen to the paper and started writing. I was retelling the story of the year that our family of four lived in a small shack in Midway, Texas and Christmastime was upon us. Unfortunately, we were particularly poor that year and couldn't afford the extravagant gifts that my brother and I felt that we just couldn't live without. We wanted the latest toys with flashing lights and actions sounds and zoom-zoom power, but that just wasn't in the budget. So my mom bought some red yarn and cotton and crocheted two 8" bears with button eyes and our initials stitched in the chest. She presented these to us in the hopes that we would appreciate them and realize that this woman loved us very much and would give us the world if only she could. These bears were a token of her devotion and a symbol of her love. She gave them to us and we loved them. We thought they were the raddest bears ever. I still do. I'm sure for that moment that my mom knew it was going to be okay and that our family could survive whatever life threw our way: poverty, tragedy, inner demons. You name it; we were ready.
But that shit is not the truth. The family did not survive. And the injustice of that hit me and I started crying... hard. I was howling. My roommate was on the computer across the room, and when the first whimper came out, I jumped and ran into the bathroom and let it out. I came out composed, mostly, after fifteen minutes or so. She asked me what was wrong, was there anything she could do, and I lost it again. For me, it's not the sad things in the world that move me to tears; it's the good things. Love, compassion, friendship, heroism. These things touch me and move me to weep. My mother is the greatest person on this planet and deserved more than what she got. She deserves happiness, and she is happy in the life that she has now. She has a husband who she loves and who loves her very much, a fulfilling job, relatives who nurture and support her, and the love of her surviving son, always and forever. But what about the life before that? Are we to just move on and dismiss it as a failed experiment?
She married my dad at the age of nineteen and raised two boys in thirteen years of marriage before divorcing, losing one son to suicide, and watching the other son literally drive himself crazy. It is so unfair that this should happen to her. I couldn't stop crying for compassion for her.
Another thing that perpetuated the tears was the knowledge that I am very clearly not okay. This past week has been horrible; I have been so depressed and I don't know why. Things are great outside. Work is running splendidly, my band is achieving accolades and wowing audiences left and right, I'm slated to direct two scripts that I've written at the Faultline at the end of the month and tomorrow I'm trying my hand at stand-up comedy again. I am succeeding in all that I've put my hand at. And the more that I succeed, the more intense my neuroses become. My mind is at war with me, fluttering horrific images and defeatest thoughts and I can't take it anymore. I think that I really need to get help. I am not okay. I am falling apart. I am going crazy. There have even been physical manifestations of inner sickness. Bouts of weakness in my limbs, my eyes hurt, as if they're bulging from the sockets, gastral intenstinal disturbance. I am concerned.
So there's a little healthy depravity for you. Glad to be of service.
1:43 p.m. - 2005-06-11
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