Cherry’s father is in the garage by the workbench when she gets home. She’s made it a habit of at least saying hello to him after school.
Cherry’s dad suffers from depression. A cockroach infestation makes it worse. He can’t take it anymore.
Her father pulls the trigger, sprays insecticide.
Piles of mail and past due bills scattered all about
Empty boxes, notebooks, and bottles of pills all sprawled throughout
All part of her identity to claim and control
The constant source of structure she will never let go.
Worn and torn, it represents both her burdens and her strengths.
Despite his disintegrating mind, Frank knew the doctors were peddling a form of quicksand.
Earlier, he found a hidden note from his dear uncle; hastily scribbled whilst succumbing to similar sedation.
Frankie – you’ll see when they’re through,
They’ll make a monkey out of you.
He smiled wryly for the psychiatrist.
My mother leans into my father and points at the elderly man at the far end of the nursing home dining room. My father sports a baseball cap; the old man wears a fedora.
Over the clatter, and behind the shield of her other hand, mother asks, “Is that you?”
He was a handsome young man. In the counseling session he spoke of politics, love, plans for college.
I marveled at his many strengths.
Tentatively, he then announced that he’d written the Beatles’ songs.
He wept in painful awareness of the impossibility of false memories, the cruelty of his illness.
The dude called me away from the roof’s edge.
“Come back to life,” he said. “Journey back.”
Through eyes with tears, I said, “I didn’t ask to be born crazy.”
“To hell with bipolar disorder, Jonah,” the dude said. “We’re going to kill this damned whale together!”
I stepped back.
I watched from the doorway as she tossed around in our bed.
Her hair was tousled, and cheeks stained with tears.
I learned long ago that when she lost herself, I inevitably would lose her, too. But I wasn’t prepared for this losing battle with the demons inside her head.
An animated Lion raises one eyebrow while staring through him.
Does he run? Does he glare back?
Reality is always contorted for his abused, fragile mind. Even the Lion is dubious of his capacity.
Against the odds, he makes a dash to safety.
Maybe soon he will open his eyes.
Of course it was not a sensible thing to do. To switch or not to switch, that was the question.
Horatio’s successful twin brother suffered from dementia. Heartlessly watching his brother’s decay, Horatio wished he could be pampered, fed, lullabied and tucked in bed.
Just for a day. Or two.
Read more of Melanie Taylor’s writing at melanietaylorherrera.wordpress.com.
Voices in my head and lies in my mind, my body cannot move. Soon the pills stop working, like they always do, and the voices celebrate. I tell the people who say they aren’t real, but they tell me I am crazy.
And the white rabbit is simply discarded again.
Lottie Nancarrow is a horrible Rubik’s-cube-solver and an almost 15 yrs old hermit. She wants you to come to the dark side. You bring the tea, she’ll bring the bacon.