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This is the hardest blog I’ll ever write, but only because it deals with something I don’t like to think about.

When I was around 10 I watched my mom go insane. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, her youngest sister had been a paranoid schizophrenic from the age of 12. I don’t remember how many nights were spent into the early am mornings listening to my grandmother begging her to stop doing whatever she was doing. We would hear the yelling from downstairs and somehow find our way to the Family room, where’d she’d be on the phone crying. Even today, when I walk into a hospital, I freeze up, the smell is always the same as Western State (Western Washington Mental Institution). I remember the layout of the floor my aunt was on, and the almost every group home. Once Kathy set the frig on fire cause she saw Jesus in it. Another time, I watched her smash my grandmother’s arm into a door.

When we weren’t doing that, we were listening to my mother’s brother beat down his girlfriend’s door, because he was an addict.  One night he even got into it with my mother because he was high, and I called the police. The police arrested them both for domestic disturbance. I will never forget begging the police not to take my mother because she hadn’t done anything. My uncle was high, and was yelling he was going to get  a gun. I did the right thing, and yet I can’t forgive myself for my mom going to jail.

It was only after that, that my mom told me, her brilliant father, the amazing Supreme Court case winning judge was a manic depressant. He had gone in and out of mental hospitals for years, shock treatment, self medication with whiskey, affairs, you name it he did it. And somewhere between Kathy, Jon, and the police, I watched for 4 hours as my mother ripped her room apart, screaming like a banshee, while my grandmother  begged her to stop and my sister and I cried. I will never forget that day, cause it was the day I vowed to keep it together at all costs.

And now I find myself on the brink of a major crisis, totally depending on someone who could careless either way, and I could lose custody of my boys. My only sin, I was better to everybody else than myself.

I want to lose it, I want to tear the room apart. I want to throw the books off the shelf  like my mother did. I want to scream into the early hours. I want to go over the edge to that place where it doesn’t matter what happens cause you can’t understand what is happening anyway. But I can’t. Instead I’m stuck with dealing with reality. Some how reality doesn’t seem as easy as insanity.

I would love to go lie down in front of a train, and let what happens happen. Hell I’m worth 5 times as much dead as alive, but then I can’t be here for my ninjas. And I need to know the cycle is broken. I need to watch my boys grow up and know that the bad genes have worked themselves out of the gene pool .

So here’s what I tell myself. I’m in the middle of the darkness, and I’m feeling the walls to find my way out. I know that there has to be a point where I’ll see the light. There has to be a point where I’ll stop screaming. I just have to get there.

So I’m going to put one foot in front of the other. Then I’m going to walk against the wall, and feel myself into the light. Because I know where there’s light there’s hope. And one step at a time I can get there.

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