Written on 11 January 2019
I have a strange relationship with madness.
My mother used to walk around the supermarket like a navy seal, being as covert as possible, so not to be spotted by “them”, whilst completely forgetting to put anything in the trolley (that was my job) Of course, this just drew attention to her, and she would often be questioned by a security guard.
But I enjoyed it. I really did. When I was young, it was a game. When I got older, it was funny. Is she mad? Apparently she is, clinically. That doesn't mean she needs to be institutionalised. She can cook, she can wash, she can look after herself. She just doesn't trust people other than Ben and I.
Ben was the issue, though. Ben is difficult. And his father is an asshole. Is Ben mad? Apparently not, though I wish someone would tell him that. Then maybe he wouldn't have hospitalised our landlord.
Since he wasn't mad, though, the majority of these faceless drones put his temper down to bad parenting. My mother’s condition. I tried, pleaded, to keep us together. I even offered to become the legal guardian for Ben, but his Dad was persistent, and he knows people. So, now my Mum is in the loony bin, Ben has been shipped off to military school to “build his character and learn some discipline”, and I'm left alone. I'm attempting to go back to school, but honestly I need the money. Of course, Ben's dad has cut off his supply as he no longer has a product of his loins living in the house.
So, what now? Who knows. If I could channel a bit of my brother and a bit of my mother to covertly murder Ben's father, who evidently thinks what “builds character” is breaking up a loving home, then maybe I should. Considering the sheer volumes of PTSD related episodes he's had you would think he'd want to keep his only son away from the military. But, hey. Madness breeds madness breeds madness.