Story of a Failed Mind Control Subject

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Chapter 20

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Chapter 20
The Great Reconciliation

I struggled along after losing Austin. Another angel in my life, a woman who was volunteering to mentor homeless people (a neat program for those who can afford it) was matched up with me. She got me a job at the local Golf Club, and that went very well for me. It was menial work, but surprisingly calming. I managed it fairly well for a while. Then I got the bright idea to go ‘home’ and be reconciled with my grandparents. I was still trying to be a Christian at this point, and while I was awash in doubts, I felt the Bible had told me to be reconciled to them.

I did eventually start dating someone. This was my first encounter with paranoid schizophrenia. We did fine for a while, but then he began to behave strangely. He started asking me who sent me. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he said that it was clear that they’d sent me because they’d known exactly what kind of woman he’d be attracted to. What were my plans? What were theirs? He began to be aggressive in his attempts to get the information from me, and I finally told him never to call or speak to me again. A short time later, he called me and confessed to me that he was a paranoid schizophrenic, and that he had gone off his meds, thinking he was cured. He was back on them again, and wanted another chance. I declined, fearful that he’d go off of his meds again, and I would suffer the same experience again.

The short truth of it was that I was in too emotionally delicate of a condition to have either the strength or the courage to cope with it. I wasn’t even sure I should be dating again at all– if ever. Stupidly, I both missed Alex and Austin. I still fancied myself in love with Alex, not yet understanding that I’d played “pin the personality” on him and given him a bunch of imaginary qualities that he didn’t possess.

So I cried off, and didn’t see him again. I also more strongly appreciated the dynamics of schizophrenia. I must also say that, while it sounds like I condemn all drugs, I do not. It’s very clear that he was better off with the drugs than without them. There is good in medicine, and that’s one of them. There’s a lot that isn’t good… but helping schizophrenics find relief is good.

However, labeling any and all visions as schizophrenia, is not.

On to the point, though, after that depressing incident, I decided to go back and be reconciled to my grandparents. So I found myself in Lincoln, NE, where they were living at the time. They’d finally quit driving truck and were retired. George was very sick, he had diabetes and he’d had three heart bypasses, the first one a six-way. He was dying and I thought I should make peace with him and with my grandmother.

When I arrived, I soon realized that Edna still hated me, and George didn’t know me. To him, I was my mother. To Edna, I was me, alright, and just as hateful as I was as a kid. When I told her that she treated me differently than the other kids, she spitefully informed that it was my fault, because I had treated her differently than the other kids had.

I also reminded her that I’d told her about seeing my mother. She had called me a liar. And now, I finally found out why. Because someone else also saw Bill carrying my mother, only over his shoulder instead of in his arms. Apparently, it never occurred to her that he could have shifted his hold. So for all those years, I’d accepted that I was a liar, over.. that. I’d told her the rest, too, and she’d told me that it was simply a movie that I’d seen somewhere.

Strangely enough, in spite of the conversation I had with her about her calling me a liar, I still tried hard to believe it wasn’t true. Despite recognizing the implications of what she’d just admitted, I still tried to deny everything, every memory.

If anything, things seemed to get worse between us, not better. Two incidents happened during this time that really drew the line between us, and drove me to once more attempt to commit suicide.

The first of these was the Christian incident. Christian St- was a guy I met and began to date. He was big, blonde, and may I say, incredibly handsome. He was sweet, generous, and we got on amazingly well. I can’t say enough good about Christian. Not that he was perfect- he wasn’t. But he was a very good person.

Christian and I got on great, but his father was a bit dubious towards me. He had a bunch of computers, and I was a bit disdainful towards him about it.

Then, a few months after we’d been dating, Christian began to change. It was sudden, but subtle at first. He told me that someone was sneaking into his room at night. Then he told me that he’d put a ‘special formula’ of paint and ammonia and various other chemicals in a bucket under the windowsill. When they came in next time, Christian assured me, he would have proof.

Then he went on to explain that he was working with some gunpowder and was going to protect himself and his father by booby-trapping the lawn. Alarm bells started going off in my mind, and I went to his father and beseeched him to get Christian some help. He refused, saying that Christian was fine.

After this, things deteriorated rapidly. Christian and his father both were angry with me. Christian broke up with me, claiming me to be “one of them,” and told me never to contact him again.

A couple of weeks later, I went there anyway. I almost didn’t stop, because his Camaro wasn’t in the drive, but changed my mind. I knocked, and his father answered. He talked to me, and told me that Christian had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. They’d wanted to hospitalize him, but he was over 18, so they couldn’t hold him against his will. I actively and adamantly encouraged him to Baker Act Christian, telling him that it was just these cases for which it was meant.

He refused. He didn’t want a Baker Act on Christian’s permanent record. He claimed that, despite his paranoid schizophrenia, Christian trusted him, and he was giving him his meds. He didn’t need to be monitored. Everything was going to be fine. I was far from sure. Everything in me cried out that he was wrong.

One day, not long after that, I was “trolling the drag” of Main Street Lincoln with some young friends. I wasn’t much into drinking, so I was the designated driver. I had a little old Olds Omega (god, I loved that car), and so I was the one who had the dubious pleasure of “cruising” for the younger members of our little tribe. It wasn’t much, okay, but it was our little misfit group, and we enjoyed it.

I suddenly got a powerful, overwhelming urge to drive to a certain parking lot and “park” there and watch the passing cars. I even started driving that way. It took some serious work for my friends to over-write this powerful desire, but I finally turned around and went back to town. But I was distressed and soon dropped everyone off. I went to that parking lot. It was dark and still. One of the Others was sitting across the street, on the concrete at the top of an embankment. He actually acknowledged me with a raised hand.

Two days later, I found out that Christian had shot himself in the head. In that very parking lot.

His father agreed to sell me his Camaro for $500. But my grandparents, who willingly and freely gave money like water to the rest of the kids, refused to help me buy it. This put a major rift in our relationship. What followed was far more minor than this experience, but it was somehow the thing that drove me beyond the point.

Yes, by the way, if you’re wondering. I’m certain that it was a premonition. I’m certain that if I had gone to that parking lot that day, I could have saved him. It is just another burden with which I must live. And yet I cannot condemn him. He decided that his life wasn’t worth living. He thought that everyone was against him. That no one loved him, and they were all out to get him. What kind of life is that?

It didn’t have to be like that for him. It wasn’t his reality. He did have family, family that supported him and cared and loved him. How tragic a life that must die in the midst of love. How strange that one surrounded by love should die, and one having known so little can go on.

This is one of the things that bothers me about the dire “warnings” going around right now about how, if your child doesn’t experience perfect love, and get all their learning from infancy, it’ll be too late by age 3. Either teach your child everything and have them in a perfect environment, or they’re ruined for life.

That young man grew up loved. He had a good life, though his mother died. Isn’t having a good life, and being loved, and being taught early on supposed to make life perfect? And aren’t I supposed to be ruined and stupid since my early life was so horrific?

Yes, let’s all listen to what “they” say. “They,” these Authorities, these wizened teachers and researchers… tell us that those of us who have had difficulties early in life are ruined, broken, basically useless. Thanks for nothing, but no thanks.

Tragedy, misery, loneliness… suffering. All are totally equal opportunity. They visit the weak, the poor, the sturdy, the wealthy. None are spared the opportunity to suffer. Yet so often those of one “group” will believe that another “group” has (or should) escaped it all. That the wealthy never experience it. The true spiritual masters never lose loved ones.

Pain is part of life. It knows no bounds or limitations. It can lead the loved to death, not only the unloved and unwanted.

It really is true that the beautiful are afflicted in their own way. The wealthy cannot prolong the lives of their families to perpetuity. Loss finds us all.

Perhaps because it’s so normal to inflict mockery and judgment upon one another, and so unusual to express heartfelt and sincere love for another. Look on the internet. Someone cries out for help, and people flock to ridicule. After all, no one wants to mistakenly give sympathy and compassion. Better to hurt the hurting and be wrong, than love the liar. God forbid. No one wants to look the fool and help another who MIGHT be lying.

Christian’s death was so pointless. I stood at his grave, and then I knelt. And I cried and I cried and I cried. Then it seemed to me that Christian’s spirit visited me. I suddenly knew and understood that I was forgiven for missing the hint, for not driving to that parking lot and saving him. The touch of his spirit that day was like a benediction. It brought me peace for a time, despite the ravages of the past.

Real or imagined, I felt him there. He came to me and touched me and forgave me. He gave me a gift of peace for a time.

Written by sandit4glp

July 30, 2010 at 1:23 pm

Posted in Chapter 20

3 Responses

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  1. No child without a mother has a perfect life, no matter how much love and support he is smothered with. Although your childhood is far more horrible than Christian’s, based on your writings, you know this. Although my childhood was extremely troubled (very long to tell in a comment)I know this, my mother died when I was 2 years 8 months old, and my grandmother raised me. And even in her crazy ways, she was loving and caring and gave me, not material things, but a great education and the best she could afford, she’s taken food out of her mouth to feed me..and trust me that did not stop me from wanting to die since I was 4, it did not stop me from attempting suicide 32 times since I was 12 until I was 20, it did not stop me from being hospitalized and then in suicide watch for almost succeeding. Life without your mother is hell, as you describe many a time, including when you speak of adoptees while telling your tribulations regarding the Austin situation. I am almost 25 years old and it is only these past couple years I have been truly happy with my husband, with our little family of 3 (our son is…a cat, that we actually adopted when he was 5 years old).
    This is my little explanation as to why I think you are wrong in your statement, NOT IN YOUR EMOTIONS, of life being perfect for Christian “even though his mother died”.

    Iara

    January 13, 2011 at 12:23 pm

  2. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I think you need to re-read what I said.

    I in fact pointed out the opposite… that just because a person is loved, doesn’t mean their life is perfect… despite “expert” statements to the contrary.

    And just because someone grew up unloved and unwanted doesn’t mean they’ll end up being an abominable monster, either.

    Again, I appreciate your words, and I agree with you.

    Either I really failed to communicate, or another re-reading of that section will help you realize I’m saying that “being loved” is no guarantee that a child’s life will be perfect.

    He needed the love of a mother, not just ‘love’.

    sandit4glp

    January 13, 2011 at 12:31 pm

    • Okay I misread =/
      Thanks for pointing out my mistake, and thank you for sharing. I like how not only you understand pain, but can, unlike many, turn it into love.

      Iara

      January 13, 2011 at 1:48 pm


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