The daily fights with biting, scratching, and kicking took its toll. Then when my sister ripped up a drawing I valued, never seeing her face seemed reasonable to a seven-year- old. After two blocks on the lam, however, I found myself turning back.
But here I am, much older, and thinking of running away again. The Caymen Islands are a possibility, along with the U.S. Virgin Islands since the latter requires no passport. I guess I don’t really care where I go as long as it’s far, far beyond the blue horizon. Perhaps, I’ll just turn off my mind and escape to a different dimension, requiring no actual physical travel. An extra Klonopin may do it or leaving the TV on all day.
I’m at the point where the thought of abandoning my ill son seems as irresistible as my favorite ice cream flavor Cherry Garcia. I’ve been at this breaking point before, but someone or something stepped in and relieved the pressure. I know I can’t do anything, at least until my younger son finishes law school next spring, and then I may grow wings and fly. He’ll be here this weekend, and I plan on spilling the fine points of the challenge I’ve been facing, but with his becoming a lawyer, he’ll have a heads-up; at least, I hope so.
My husband, too, seems to be on my wavelength though we avoid the topic lately. He’s lucky. He has a way of compartmentalizing, so he can shun issues that trouble him. I wish I could do that, but it seems my brain’s wiring is diffuse.
As for Sam, my son with schizo-affective disorder, he doesn’t want to see me so the loss for him will be minimal. He is still angry because I testified at his committal hearing last year. Although I believe I had no choice (it was that or jail), the fallout remains. I’ve seen him on-and-off throughout the year and he tells me he loves me, but he also says we are no longer close. I suppose he’s right about that, so I’ll have to fly far and high in search of my celestial castle. And as for my sister, we’re now the best of friends.