SoC: Memory and Why I Write.

My memory has been cloudy lately. It's hard to make sense of when things occurred, how I felt, what happened, etc. I'm scared of not knowing what's real, both in a physical and emotional sense.

I come in. Lay down on the couch. Silence. I don't remember. I don't know what to tell her.

"How was your week?"

"I'm... not sure. Ok, I guess?"

Silence.

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I don't know what it is. Is it the season or lack of sleep? My diet? A combination of neglect? Is it my sickness getting a firmer grasp? No, that's just an excuse. I just don't care. Maybe? I don't know. I don't make sense any more.

What happened this past week? I sort of remember a convention, for games. Then a nice party. Somewhere in there I met up with friends for dinner. Talked to someone about a job. I was at work for most of it. Well.. at least I can remember fragments, and honestly, isn't that what memory is?

So how did you feel during those times? I'm sure you were pretty happy to be with friends. I'm... not sure. I don't know. In my memory, I don't think I was quite there. But... maybe I was? I don't know. Focus on the moment right? Pay attention. But looking back at it. I don't know how I felt. It just seems, empty.

What's so wrong about forgetting or being a bit forgetful? It's scary. Not knowing if something happened. Not knowing if you're making things up in your own head. Fabricating not only events, but emotions. To an extent, is this very moment just a fabrication? No, that's just silly. This moment is this moment. Bring it back to the now. What is this now? Who am I in this now? Am I different from the past now? Will I change in the future now? Am I growing, developing? Is there a change? Will things ever get better? I don't know.

Step back for a second. How do you feel now? I feel like giving up. Purposeless. Hungry. Tired. Lacking motivation. Same old same old.

Do you feel sad? I'm... not sure. Empty? It's not exactly sad. What's sad? I don't know how to really describe this? Heh... just depression I guess? It feels like I'm making an excuse. Using it as a scapegoat. Have I done that before? I don't know. Maybe? Have I? Have I?

You're blaming yourself again. Who else is there to blame? Are you suggesting there's no one to blame? If that's so, then maybe this is just me. This is who I am, and this is how I should feel. Do you really think that? Yes. Maybe. I don't know.

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"What's your earliest memory?" She broke the silence.

"I was drowning at a pool. My floatie flipped over. I remember feet and stuff."

"How do you feel about that?"

"It happened? I don't really have a feeling attached to it."

"Are you mad or angry that no one was around."

"Not really. Actually, I don't know if it happened any more. It was so long ago. But no... it did... I think?"

"Are there any other things you remember?"

"I stuck a car key in the electric socket. That one really isn't a memory though, just something constructed from stories I've heard."

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Just something constructed. Maybe it was real? How often do I do this? Was I ever happy with her? Maybe that was just another thing I made up. Again... with her. It's been... years. Literally years. Just stop. I know.

You just don't know what you want any more. Bingo. I don't even know if I ever knew. If I did, when did that change? Did I just give up? You do that a lot, don't you?

Stop being self deprecating.

How about this. We get out of bed. Stop thinking about what happened with the therapist, because you're not going to remember exactly what happened. Just remember that something did happen. Maybe you weren't all there because you were tired, hungry, depressed, whatever. Just be here now. Be happy now.

I've tried that. It all just defaults to this bullshit and those memories just become fragments. I then doubt if that was happiness. I'm stubborn about this. Was that your attempt at being optimistic and boosting us up?

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"I'll tell you this story during our next session."

"What's it about?"

"A couple of days ago, I was in the lab and was analyzing some wires. This guy starts telling me a story. I vaguely remember the beginning. He was eating dinner with someone. The other person looked up, stared blankly, 'Who are you?' 'Mom, it's me,' he replied. I felt silent. This wasn't the usual joke that this guy told. Dementia. He just started to vent about how hard it is to deal with someone like that, but how they can't just let them go because they obviously love them."

"How does that make you feel?"

"Scared. I feel like I'm going to be a burden to someone one day."

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So you distance yourself? Isn't that a normal reaction? You don't want to hurt those around you, so why not distance yourself from them?

You think you're being altruistic about this? Doing some self-sacrificing bullshit?

It doesn't matter. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be in their life.

So why the hell are you writing this? It's for pity isn't it? Oh poor us.

Maybe? It's an outlet. Kind of. Maybe someone out there feels the same way about this?

Keep telling yourself that.

But it's true. Part of it. This is how it is inside my head. These are the conversations I have with myself and to the construct of my therapist. Part of it is to let others know what it's like by just having a stream of consciousness schizo-writing. Another part... just to tie this whole thing together... is so I remember. So I know how I felt this moment, and I'll know that maybe, I didn't make it up. And that this was what was going on in my head.

So meta -_-. Get up and go eat something.

"Suicide is selfish"

"Excuse me?"

"Suicide is selfish. People that kill themselves are doing it without regards of others. It's a very selfish act."

I looked to the corner. To my feet. Back to her. I could just let this slide. I know where she's coming from. Just let it slide.

"No. In the mind of a suicidal person, it's a selfless act. They're feeling so much pain and constantly seeking help from friends that they feel like they're a burden on others."

"A burden on others? Like the suicidal person is such a burden on a person? That's narcissism. Thinking that you have that much power over someone. If the suicidal person feels like they're such a burden, they could just go to the other room. There's no need to kill themselves."

"I don't think you understand. A suicidal person believes that the world would be a better place without them. They literally are doing it because they hurt so much that they don't want to spread their hurt to others. No one likes a constant downer, and they know that. In the illogical logic of depression the burden they put on others outweighs the sadness they'll cause, because they think the world will be better off. In their head, they're making a self-sacrifice."

"Times up. Sorry. We'll start it up again here next session."

Stand up. Open door. Polite wave. Leave.

-----

Selfish...

Is that what I was being? Was I just thinking about me and how much I just wanted the confusion and pain to stop? Not entirely.

While opening my window, unlatching the screen, letting it fall with a quiet *clank*, I thought: Their life would be so much better without me. They wouldn't have to deal with this fucked up little burden. They don't even seem to care so it wouldn't really make much difference. My parents wouldn't have had to stay together because of me and probably lived a better life.

While walking down the road, staring at passing headlights, I thought: What's the point of relationships? They just break down. People split up. Spouses get divorced. Friends forget. Everything passes, and eventually no one will miss me. I'm sure of it. My friends will be better off. They don't need me whining about my break up or my parents divorce. I'm a burden to them.

While staring at the bottle full of medication on my desk, I thought: You whine to people too much. You're also an unproductive member of society now. Is there really a point to keep going? You're not only a burden to your friends who listen to you bitch, but also to your family who you still leech. You're not getting this job, or that one. Just give up. The world will be a better place.

I snapped out of it.

"I love you, son"

"Let's go play Frisbee"

"Go volunteer and enjoy the little things in life"

No. These people will miss me. I can't do this to them. I may be a burden right now, but that's only temporary. I chose to stay.

A suicidal person is not selfish. They're weighing their options. They are lied to by depression. It tells them that they're a burden and that they'll forever be a burden. It tells them that no one will miss them, so might as well do it. It tells them that they'll never amount to anything or affect anyone in a positive way. They don't want others to hurt. They don't want others to be brought down by them. They're so out of touch with themselves that they can only think about how they're a bother to other people. They want to just disappear along with their pain.

Many don't snap out of it.

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A passer by only sees one side of the balance, and not the weight provided by depression. Calling a suicidal person selfish only feeds depression. "Of course, I know I'm selfish. I'm a horrible person. That's why I don't want to be here any more." Memories of broken logic...

I sighed as I got into my car. This therapy isn't helping that much. The next session will probably be my last.

They'll have each other (SoL)

"Make sure to visit your dad from time to time. I don't like him being alone."

"I know, Oba. Have a good flight back. It was really great seeing you again."

I hugged my grandmother, my uncle, and dad. The aforementioned two would be leaving back home soon, leaving dad alone again. Sure, he gets to see the kids every other weekend. But. Just. Work. Home. Work. Home. I don't want to think about it. I need to stay away from their mess for a little while longer.

As I got in my car I let out a heavy sigh. Pulled out my phone. Contact list. "Mama."

"Hey mom, I'm in the area. Are you home? Can I come visit my brothers? Awesome. See you in a bit."

Maybe it'll be better now. Maybe she's taking better care of them. Maybe. She's raising them.

10 minute drive.

I pulled up to my old home. Let out another sigh. Preparation. Do it for them.

Time was frozen in this place. Same old lawn. Except tattered and unmaintained. Same old trampoline. Except now rusted, dismantled and cast aside. Same old unfinished patio construction. Except crumbling after 2 years of neglect. No. Time had not really stopped.

"Hi, mom." Systematically, I hugged her. Kissed her cheek. Smiled.

"Hi! Oh, did you gain a bit of weight? You look fatter. And you're still short. Why aren't you getting taller?"

Familiar knives stabbed my gut. I was already used to the pain. Brushed it off. Ignored it. No. I'm not letting this affect me any more.

"I'm here to see my brothers."

"They're in the other room."

I looked around the house as I headed to the computer room. Same place I lived in for four maybe five years. Except, different. A bit. Rundown. The power of time was ever present.

Heavy sigh. Open door. "Hey, guys!"

"FRANCO! We missed you! Do you like Halo? We've been playing watching videos online. It's great. There are big explosions. And you know Master Chief? Oh and the Arbiter..."

I'm so glad. They don't look much different than the last time I visited.

"No no. I want to know how you guys have been. How's your summer been?"

"Great. We went to a waterslide. And we've been playing video games.  And dad took us to Niagara Falls with grandma and Gusi. And my tooth fell out! And..."

Heh... I'm glad. Still kids. I laid on the ground. Hugged them both. It's been a while.

"Oh oh! Come watch this. Look it's recon armor!" They led me to an old computer. My heart sunk. Their caretaker. I guess it's an upgrade from mine.

On the screen, a Let's Play. Heavy swearing. I sighed. X'ed.

"Let's go to your room."

We walked through the tattered house. Missing ceiling panels. Dim lights. Broken bathroom. What the hell is she doing with the child support money...

We talked for a little bit more. About how Nico liked having his own room, but Diego still liked to sneak in and be with his brother. How Nico still had a couple more teeth that needed to fall out. How Diego liked to speak English more than Spanish. How cool Recon armor was. A small, nice catch up.

"I got to go now guys. It's getting late and I gotta drive back."

"Ok, bye Franco!" Big hug, and back to their caretaker.

"See yah, mom" Hug. Kiss. Smile.

"Let me walk you out."

"No no, that's fine. My car is just in the driveway."

Opened the door. She follows me.

"I just wanted to talk for a little bit."

Sigh. I guess. It really isn't all that bad, and she's my mother after all.

"When are you gonna get taller? Haha. You're also getting a little bigger."

My brow furrowed. My eyes squinted. My pace hastened. "Goodbye, mom."

"...*something*..."

"Goodbye, mom"

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As I got onto the highway, angry tears formed in my eyes. Let the wall hit you. It's ok. "Thinking is happening."

Those kids. Did she not learn anything raising me? Glued to a screen. Decrepit and eroding home. Constant "encouraging" shots at their self-esteem. Disgusting black water literally poured out the sink last time I visited. I don't even know if that was fixed. The ceiling? Why the fuck is the hole still there? I guess it'll be another winter where my brothers will have to be wearing coats in the house. Why are they still on youtube completely unsupervised? What are they being exposed to at such a young age? Is she still feeding them fattening crap. The same catalyst for the subsequent ridicule? How many times have I told her to stop saying that to them? How it will fucking wreck them in the future. Maybe they'd be much better off if they went with dad. Who the hell am I kidding? It'd just be a similar scenario. He would spoil them rotten. Give them everything they want to the point they won't be able to appreciate what they do have. They'd be playing games til dawn, and watching whatever the hell they want on their tablets...

But. I digress. They're not my kids. They're my brothers. I don't know how hard my parents have to work. I don't know where her finances are going. I don't know how much attention he's giving them. I'm simply projecting my experiences onto them. I may think that they'll turn out like me, but they won't. After all, they'll have me if things get ugly. But. More importantly. They'll have each other.

With that, I realized I was heading south, when I should have been going north for the past 10 minutes. I laughed at my mistake. Shook off the tears. I guess I'll give her another chance to talk next time. They'll be fine. They have each other. I should go for a bike ride before work tomorrow.

Ue O Muite Arukou

He took a long drag of the cigarette, filling his lungs with sweet smoke. The same kind that filled him since he was nine. Just a small rest and indulgence of the familiar. Cigarette in one hand, and his other scratching his already greying hair. Another day at the shop.

The latest shipment from Japan was a week late. Import taxes had already hit pretty hard. Sales of the foreign knick knacks and decorations were steadily going down. Hiro wondered how he'd manage to keep the shop going. One last drag. Inhale. Release.

"Come on, son. It's time to close up shop. Close your books, let's go home."

The small child packed up his books in a tattered backpack, while staring at his father's cigarette.

"Remember, these are terrible for you. I don't ever want to fucking see you smoke these."

Nod. "I know."

"That's a good boy." A gentle pat. "Let's go. Stick close."

Light off. Door shut. Metal bars down. Padlock secured.

Just like every night, Hiro looked back at the shop, crossed himself, and prayed.

You're dead to me

"You're dead to me and you'll be missed," I grinned. "This is where we part ways. We all sail on the ship of Theseus, and the next time we meet, who knows who we'll be. A new mast, sail, or deck? The voyage ahead will shape us in many different ways. It is somewhat unfortunate, but the you that I know dies when we part. So... You're dead to me ^_^."

"You're weird, Franco -_-."

A girl with a kite

Happenstance. I saw her standing there with the tight brown shirt and white skirt. One hand a kite; the other a dark silhouette. Staring up pleasantly and smiling at the day. That same smile she wore when mesmerized by nature and the beauty of the world itself.

It's been a while. Years. I'm glad she's happy. It's certainly been a long time. Too much for a normal person, but I'm glad I can say that without malice. My best friend. How could I have ever wished anything other than happiness?

It'd been a while. Years. I knew I had healed, and it was time to repair whatever bridges were burned. Small chatter. Like the kind you make when standing next to an acquaintance during a long elevator ride. How's life? Distant. That's fine, I had been much too distant myself. Oh. Are you sure? I'm sorry, I don't understand. Well, when you change your mind, I'll be here, ready to listen to your stories.

It'll be a while. Years. I hope when that time comes we'll both still be here. It certainly won't be the same, but we'll enjoy the conversation. Art. Life. Family. The magnificence of humanity. I'll hug your new love and say thank you. Thank you so much for making her so happy. We'll part ways and live our lives, but for that one moment, I'll know that I never lost a friend.

Not today. I knew there was still not much to say. Eye contact. Slight wave. Smile. Turn away.

You're a good writer

"You're a good writer," she said to me.

I stared. Incredulous.

My gaze quickly switched to a corner. No I'm not. That was just a simple outline of my life. It was just random crap that I threw on the page, because you told me you wanted to know a little bit more about me. It's nothing. I'm not a great writer. Hell, during school, I was such a slow, lazy writer. I'm not creative.

"Thanks." I mumbled, staring at my hands.

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"I'm not sure. That's just a small outline of my life. I mean, does anything interest you in there?" It's not that interesting. "Do you have any questions that I should answer?"

"Why are you here?"

"My friends. They suggested I should look for a new therapist. I... want to get better?"