Chapter 13: Home with Mom

My author is out of it and his writing is outside the normal. He actually believes he is saved and yet has use for me whom he created to suit himself. Once he was insane and thought the world insane. Then he was in Prairie St. John's hospital in Fargo, North Dakota without any lingering psychotic symptoms in the ward where people came who were assigned to be there when they went to the hospital, for his symptoms cleared up after his attempted suicide but he was committed for seventy-two hours already.  And so legally they had to hold him in the facility for three days. And the hospital was nearly if not completely filled with people that had a mental illness of some sort. And in the ward where he was they were acting out because most of them were in the throes of a psychotic episode. At that time he was the only one there who was as normal as you are, should you be normal in he staff's estimation. And he conceived of me, a sane character in a book where every one else herein may well be insane.

I hate God. I cannot stand the Light. It drives me insane. And I am delusional the same as everyone else herein and in the world my author is yet in until such time he is changed. But I cannot be changed for I am only a fictional character. But those not written herein can be should they agree to die and be changed into a new creature that will not go insane in the Light and even learn to Love God in the same way my author believes Jesus Christ came in the flesh, died, rose from the dead on the third day, worked many miracles and is coming back. But if you are like me, you do not believe all that any more than I can.

If we have a prophet his name is probably Stephen Hawking, a real man who is alive but hardly well at the time of this writing. Surely you are familiar with some of his writings. I am not and don't plan on reading them either. One delusion is as good as another as far as I am concerned. I only mention it to enlighten you that I am not a prophet nor do I believe my author is. He is someone other than I can know.  Even though I am pretty real I am only fiction and have a mental illness. But I will leave it to you to decide whether either one of us is in a psychotic episode my author nor me.

You are evil the way I understand it. I am not. I am only evil in the sense all fictional characters are lies and therefore evil. And being evil you are familiar with many of my type perhaps. It was difficult for any of you to understand where I was or to make much sense at all of what was going on in my past, the few short chapters above.

I am not a prophet but I did prophesy when I was brought to the Light. That is where I learned I hate God like the rest of you. And I can't stand the Light either. There is no Love in us. And if it was not for the love that is in all animals there would be nothing even resembling love in us either. But do not fear for we have suspected as much with all the problems we have, or have had in our relationships. We are all far from perfect. No one herein hates you. I do not. My author is out of it. And there is no need to argue whether we all have something to hold against God.

I am ashamed of my prophecy when I was in the light. It was confusing, it was overly dramatic and difficult but it stirred my emotions.

"Did it stir yours?" I asked my mom.

“It sure did,” my mother said, “I thought you were really either in another episode or going back into one. But it will be okay, Frankie. You will soon be home. There is nothing wrong with you. And you cannot stay here forever, you know? I mean, I know you feel safe here, but you have no way to pay for it and I certainly don't. That's reality, Frankie. Are you ready to accept that yet?”

“Yes,” I said, “As soon as they release me I will go home. Will you be there for me for a few days? I still feel like I know too much and it causes me some anxiety. I need your support for a while?”

“Sure, Frankie,” she said, “But you can't go home. You tried it on your own and look how it came out. Besides I didn't have the money to pay your rent. You will have to come home with me for the time being and go to Human Services and get on Welfare at least until you can get on your feet again. But don't worry about all that. I've even filled out the papers. All there is left is for you to be available to answer any questions they might have. That nice social worker you like so much? She told me she will make sure your transition goes smoothly. She really knows her stuff, Frankie. Cooperate with us this time. Okay, Frankie?”

“Sure, Ma,” I said confident I would, but who knows what the author has in mind for me. I certainly don't. Do you?

“Now tell me about those nasty old delusions of yours that have you so scared,” she said lovingly.

“That's just it, Ma,” I said, “I'm not-? I'm not so sure they are just delusions.”

“What are they about?” she asked, “How can I help you if you don't tell me things? You can tell me anything, Frankie. You know I can't reject you, ever. I'm your mother.”

I realized that was just the way it was with her.

“They are about God, and the Light, and Love, and the Door and all that, Ma?” I said worried she would think I really needed to stay a while longer for even thinking about that stuff.

“Is that all!” she said and I could see she was relieved, “That's normal, Frankie. It may be new to you but that will all clear up when you get some time in you own bed. And if it doesn't, Frankie, I'll even go to church with you. I don't hate those places as much as you think. If you need to go I hope you won't be ashamed to take your old ma with you. That's what they do best there. Family things and all. They've had a lot of experience at that sort of thing. It might be different for us both for a while, but we can get through it. And I want to have my funeral in a church someday anyway instead of burning in some funeral home anyway. But we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Just don't go right away. Them places are a bit intense, you know, Frankie?”

“I know,” I said, knowing mental wards are too, but having no intention of choosing church's delusions for what good can a church of the damned be, not understanding that some of them will be changed one day. But I suddenly remembered how stressful it was to have my mom fussing over me too and said, “Okay, Ma. But I won't be a burden on you. I'll check out getting into a group home as soon as we get home. I need-?” Then I fell silent for what I needed was a break from my mom. I mean, I love her and all, but she drives me nuts. “I need more structure right now than I would get living at home. You know how I get when I live with you?”

She made a face and then let her hands fall to her side, sighing to let me know she didn't want to go against my wishes.

“It's just that I get so-?” she said, “Well, I wouldn't call it lonesome, but you know? I mean, since your father died I-? I miss taking care of him? Is that okay?”

“Sure, Ma!” I said, “Don't ever give up his memory. It just means you loved him, maybe more than I do, but even I think of him sometimes even yet, Mom. But is that what you want, to take care of someone hand and foot for the rest of your life?”

She looked dejected and sighed again looking at me as if she wanted to cry, but wouldn't allow herself to do it just to spare me all that.

“I'm your entire world now, ain't I, Ma?” I said compassionately.

“I am really into you, Frankie,” she said.

“I'm not pathetic, Ma!” I snapped.

“I know,” she said defensively, “But Frankie you are still-?”

“Yes, Ma,” I said unable to hide my disgust, “But I'm sane now. Them pills help a lot. Really! It'll be okay. And it's not like I'm dead or something. We can talk!” Then she looked at me like I was a sick puppy or something. “Don't do that to me, Ma! That's stigma, Mom. I'm not a wounded puppy. I've got a mental disorder. It's not the end of the world. If I had diabetes you wouldn't act that way?”

“You don't have diabetes?” she yelled  with the same look except a little more tragedy in there somewhere as the doctor finally came in .

“No, Anda,” she said, “And he won't get it from his new medication either. I promise! It looks like you're planning on leaving us, Frank Li. I'll just leave then and get right on the paperwork. But I'm afraid it won't be for a half-hour or so.”

Then she shook my hand and said, “It was great meeting you, Frank. And it'll be okay. You can do it. And bye.”

But I was thinking about my mom's delusions not knowing which is harder? Watching them lose their reason for living, or them losing it a little at a time. Knowing they were wrong all along and that we are not any better than they are. Then I sighed thinking that she was the one that needed a counselor more than I did at the time believing my own mad prophecy that she was dead just like I was, and it made me want to reach her knowing all along I couldn't change it much. So I just hugged her.

“I still love you, Mom,” I said unable to hide my sadness as she patted my shoulder like she always does and said nothing in words, but I knew she wanted to feel love too at that moment and that didn't seem enough one more time.

You know?