This is the last one of these I will do for a while. I promise. From here on out I will go back to happy Sean, or at least happier Sean.
I’m moving. This will be the third move in a little less than a year. The third time boxes will be loaded, labeled and stored. This is the third time I will look at the stuff in my life and wonder – why do I own so much and what of it do I treasure? The reasons for this move are not nearly as practical as my last two.
A year ago, John got evicted from his place, and because I was renting a room from John – I left too. In December I was asked to leave Karma and Phil’s place because they felt I was disrespectful. I didn’t mow the lawn the direction they wanted. I didn’t clean the bathroom every day. I didn’t eat her food even though she was the, self proclaimed, best chef in the world. (I feel it is important to mention here that at Thanksgiving, three of her children approached me and were surprised I had lasted as long as I had.)
This move is different. The people I live with are happy to have me. They don’t care if I opted out of food and go to Carl’s Juniors. I have no responsibilities when it comes to gardening or mowing. I’ve been asked to clean the bathroom often with “often” being a relative term.
So why am I moving?
I was the youngest of two growing up. From age 14 on, I don’t remember my brother being around much, so for the last few years, I was an only child. I was at home to watch the depression cycles take their toll on my mom, and then on my dad and I. One aspect of the cycles were deep seated fights and arguments. Even when I had done nothing wrong, I had felt I had. The several day long screaming matches were followed by trips to the psych wards and to ICUs where restraints were used to prevent further damage. For better or worse, I was often at my mother’s bedside in these scary and terrifying places. From the various wards, I still have very distinct memories of some of my mother’s roommates – people who were there to stop the voices, the attempts, or the internal pain. As my comfort level around them grew – I began to imagine the day I would some day be in there with them.
It’s no secret that I’m a candleholder. For KNJ-P of old. For Melinda of old. For Nina of anytime.
Nina and I discuss. We don’t really yell at each other. KNJ-P hated confrontation and used to write me letters when she felt a conflict in our two year relationship. Melinda is on the quiet side any way, so arguing wasn’t really her thing at all.
The children I live with are constantly yelling and screaming at each other. The ten year-old on more than one occasion came in and asked for a different little brother because he is annoyed with the one he’s got. Little brother (7) will come into defend himself only to have a screaming match ensue. Or at 7 AM, the 13 year-old and the 10 year-old will go at it over who gets the milk first.
I know not if this is typical. I just know what it brings to mind. I doubt any of those three children will go and kill themselves over the statements of others, but I remember those times when they did lead to slit wrists. I remember this almost every time.
My landlady came in to day and asked why I was leaving. I told her it was because the kids were loud and that I couldn’t handle it any more. She tried to tell me that kids are loud and it is part of being in a family. She’s right. I know she is. But loud fights and loud screaming – it brings up a memory of a different family: One that keeps me up at nights.
She then asked me when I had decided it was time to go. Seaside, I responded. While that answer was adequate for her, I think it needs more. As I sat in my room or as Nina and I laid on the bed watching TV, there was one common thread. There was no yelling, no screaming, no lowering someone else below themselves in loud tones. And for a brief few days – I thought of being happy again. There were no thoughts of suicide only thoughts of breathing – now and for a really long time.
In about 5 months, Melinda comes home. She recently commented on how it is only 5 more months till we can be together.
More than not being temple worthy, or having doubts about my religion, I fear her arrival because I know her desires. She wants to start a family; Our family. She wants four children. And I just don’t think I can. Because what happens when they won’t stop yelling at each other?