A lot of words have been said in the decades of my illness due to a continuing pattern of misdiagnosis. Psych workers always support each other and dismiss evidence in order to do so.
A lot of nasty words have been said in my family.
But I believe that it is near the end for me and certain things need to be cleared up.
I will be brief.
First of all, my mother (living or dead?) suffered from congenital deficiency, as did her much younger brother, who threw himself in the River Thames near London at age 21. There were numerous symptoms which I won’t belabor out of respect. She tried so very hard.
What this means is that my brother, sister and myself suffered from it, although in a lesser degree. And my son and nephew also; although in their case it was just spice; so many people have a little of something like that in America with people coming together not knowing about each other. It gets ruled out by other things.
But my poor father was surrounded by deficient family members. What helped me and my siblings was his hardy working class English stock from the City of Hull, England, in Yorkshire, the Industrial North and a major port I believe. I have a secondary disability, the organic personality disorder which I have already talked about so much, the lesion by the side of my mole which was removed and I am started to forget it was even there and my personality has pretty much readjusted. The blow to the crotch as a little girl and subjsequent psychological harm I have worked on all my life and realized that sex is NOT everything. That is for my ex-husband. When I said to him that it was I was thinking of Freud, “Civilization and its Discontents,” about sublimating the sex drive; NOT about having sex with him. But that time or in another such situation I DID have sex with him and I don’t know why he didn’t run a mile. Well, in these painful last few weeks of thinking things out I realized that he did, he tried to and I just didn’t get it. Which was typical of me even until recently. I am starting to “get it.”
It was the wart mole! It made me dumb as heck. I was in pain and distress all the time trying to pretend I was normal.
Anyway, this is for my father.
You poor dear man! I know that you loved Judith with all your heart but I surmised a long time ago that you must have been afraid of her! I have often her that a man sometimes is.
And you were surrounded by kids who were all fd up.
A little family lost in America.
You were not a bad person.
I said I would make this short.
As I am looking at myself differently as the end of life slowly approaches, I am also looking at you differently.
I know that I disrespected you a lot in this lifetime but as I have told you I finally picked up on the (4th?) Commandment: “Honor thy mother and father.” And it may have added some years to my life. Certainly, it is helping me to see things more clearly.
I will end with the words of my favorite song from Godspell, another Jesus Christ rock opera.
Day by day
Day by Day
These thing I pray
To see thee more clearly
Love thee more dearly
Follow thee more nearly
Day by day.
I hate how the animals are slaughtered.
Un.Bon.Mot 