Sunday night

Last night I was thinking about my sister as I fell asleep.  And I remembered a night many years ago, maybe 1975?  She had been gone again; sometimes she just left, hit the road, with no luggage or money, and we wouldn't see her for months.  But this night I woke up, it was late.  She was pounding on the front door of my Mom's house, where I was staying at the time, going to school.  I opened the door, and there she was: thinner, wild eyes.  I could tell by looking at her that she was off her meds; her eyes always told that story.  And when she was off her meds, her manner of speech was always a bit abbreviated.  No "hello, good to see you", etc.  Just "could you give me ten dollars?"  So I said, yeah, I had ten dollars.  And she said "I caught a ride with some guys who took me out in the desert and raped me and left me there, and then these guys came along and offered me a ride and I told them I'd give them gas money if they could bring me home."  No emotion; like reading off a grocery list.  I know my own eyes must have shown the shock that her story caused in me.  But I said nothing, just went upstairs and got the money, and came down and gave it to her.  She went back out to the driveway to give it to them. When she came back in, I think I asked her if she was ok, if she needed anything.  I hope I did; I honestly can't remember any more of that night.  But we never spoke of it again.

It haunts me.  Did I try to take her to a doctor?  Did she refuse?  Did I wake up my Mom?  Why can't I remember these things?

Nobody writes much about the heartbreak of having a mentally ill family member.  Maybe if I start writing, someone else will have stories, too.

Beginnings

I've always wanted to write. There's so much I want to say, but it gets blocked. By fear, I guess. It's a giant, nameless, faceless fear; but even as I write that, I know it's a pretend fear. As opposed to a danger; it only exists in my head. So maybe it's time to disregard it.

Some things I want to write about:

My sister, Linda
Her mental illness
Our relationship

My family

Depression

Work

Friendship

Love

Values

Stuff

Not driving

Spiritual connection

Play

Art/Photography



If I can find time to work on a virtual farm every day, I can surely write every day.

Right?