My first memories from my childhood are growing up with my dad, and those memories are relatively normal. The first sign that something was amiss came when my dad told my brother and I not to read out street signs as we passed them. We didn't know it at the time, but this was because he thought our car was bugged, and that by reading out the signs, we were letting the people surveilling us where we were. Things escalated from there. My dad announced that people could watch us through the TV set, and became fixated on the word "spook." One time I brought home a comic book that I had purchased with my own money, Casper the Friendly Ghost, and when my dad saw it, he erupted in rage and tore it in two. I'm guessing he thought the spooks were fucking with him. At some point, he up and left his job, left us with my mom, and went to Dallas to research the JFK assassination. At some point he returned, now in the depths of a very strong delusion and moved in with my grandma, where he lived on and off for a while. We began to visit him on weekends. My mom was not aware of how crazy he had become, and we as kids did not understand enough to make it clear to the adults. I guess some measure of blame should go to my grandma, who did understand how crazy he was, witnessing it on a day to day basis, but she had a habit of looking the other way and not acknowledging it. I love her dearly, and bear her no ill will. Eventually she did kick him out after he punched her in the face. But even then, with the passage of time, she softened her recollection of that incident. I cannot be angry with a mother's love for her son, and she always loved me fiercely, so I cannot even formulate an angry thought in her direction.
Our dad's delusions were intense and we were brainwashed through repeated exposure to believe them. I accepted at face value that all of the people in red shirts were part of a conspiracy to harass our family, that we were on TV and that all of my friends were watching me. My dad explained that nobody would admit to seeing us on TV because they were too scared. But he claimed my mom and stepfather could see us. One time my stepfather talked to him on the phone, and my dad was sure he had caught him in a lie when he admitted to knowing that our family dog had returned. My stepfather explained that he heard his collar clinking, but to my dad the only possibility was that he had seen it on TV. It was a rather dark place for me to live, with constant suspicion, believing I was being watched, and not even able to fully trust friends. At some point, when I was in high school, my dad started believing that we were being controlled through our watches, belts and shoes by the CIA. They had technology to control our thoughts and were actively manipulating us all the time. Being a problem solver, I tried to think of a way to solve this problem. With my help I'm afraid we decided that we could interfere with the signals that the CIA was sending by setting up some simple electric device that we would carry with us. My dad walked into a radio shack with my brother and I in tow, and proceeded to buy several nine volt batteries and a few little speakers. He then attached the speakers to the batteries (which basically just made a short circuit) and we were to carry these around with us in our pockets throughout the day. Occasionally the speakers would randomly start making noise, which occasioned some embarassment. My brother and I finally got some relief after my grandma kicked him out, and he became homeless. He traveled to California by hitchhiking and we got a much-needed reprieve.
At some point I got a call. He was back and he instructed me to give him a ride. I went and got him, filthy from being on the streets for weeks and months, and he was just as caught by his delusions as ever. He ended up living under a bridge, and I and my brother had to go and pick him up every weekend to spend time together. We got into a routine where we would stop at a convenience store, we would get coffee and rolls, and I had to buy him cigarettes, which he had taken up smoking again. We would then go hiking up in the mountains, where he would rail against all the harassment he was getting. I tell you, when I finally went to grad school 3000 miles away, and my mind began to flex itself a bit and breathe outwards without his oppressive influence, it was amazing. I could finally start to become my own person. It took a while. Even as a first year grad student, some of the brainwashing persisted. I still felt that I was being watched on TV. I recall clearly one incident where I was hiking and I just announced to the air (the CIA who was watching me) that I was going to return to my apartment via a certain route. Then I went back a different way. Ha ha! Got you suckers! But after a while his projected reality lifted and I life has been calmer, more peaceful, saner, more rational since then. It's a long and continuing journey.
Apparently I decided to cram tons of stuff into this post. I apologize to the reader if this seems self-indulgent. It's been helpful to me to help me get my thoughts straight, and it may have archival value. Hopefully also my honest sharing will resonate with others who have had similar experiences.
3 comments:
Takes sanity to recognize madness, takes normalcy to recognize fuckedup-ness. Fact you managed grad school despite your challenges says a lot about you, I think. And yes, it is amazing you aren't more fu**ed up - a testimony to your inherent sanity and strength. Appreciate your sharing.
PS - The detail you provide in this post fleshes out the story, brings it to life, allows me to understand something of your experience. You didn't cram too much here at all. Your detail was useful, not indulgent. Thanks for not holding back. (edited for typos)
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