Eclairissement is a mental journey, one that sometimes takes a long, long time, as has been the case with me.
A few years ago, when he was being very well-behaved, under the circumstances prevailing, I threw hot coffee at my son, accidentally hitting him in the EYES–the coffee was just off the boil, I called it “cowboy coffee,” boiled on the stove and then poured through a filter into an individual cup. The coffee was deliberately intended as a weapon. There was a party going on downstairs. I was off my meds because I couldn’t afford them. I became terrified of Al Quaida, a habit of mine at that time, and thought that my son and husband were going to mercifully kill me to protect me from a death through Al Quaida. My imagination was going wild. I was deeply paranoid, as was also my habit. Then I began to focus on the new girlfriend, who was down there with all the young men, with whom I had a serious dispute. I caught my son in bed under my roof, only 17, with her and another young woman.
So I started to think about rape and pictured her watching as all the young men did that to me, awful to think but my husband had me scared of gang rape. So I went downstairs and made the coffee, and then moved toward the family room. My son tried to stop me calling 9-1-1 on the party and I threw the coffee–at his middle, I thought–to literally get him off my back as he was trying to wrestle the phone from my hamds.
I wound up getting tasered and taken to a psych ward with a severe concussions, where I was treated for psychosis. I just tried to explain to my son, who is still hung up on this incident, that I figured out why this aberrant behavior happened. It went back to the psych ward I went to after the suicide attempt, where I defied the doctor. She wanted to give me an older anti-psychotic medication specifically in use for bug phobia, which was what led to the overdose. It was a dangerous med with a tendency to cause intense “walkies,” (agitation and restlessness), which had themselves caused the suicide attempt when I was 21 which led to my lifetime incarceration, on and off. As I related all this to my son via text, I realized that it went back further to the hospitalization at Johns Hopkins when my son was 10 months old, at which time my father successfully “engineered” the diagnosis with the specific intent of avoiding a confrontation about the sexual abuse incident when I was seventeen. The whole hospitalization, which was supposed to be a major deal for ME I thought (sorry, kid), went awry and I got another bad diagnosis which is still on record and the prick Canadian lady doctor who was the SECOND attending physician, is probably still in practice there.
Which brings it all back to the sexual abuse incident when I was 17.
They lied, defamed me, intimidated me, and worked through their lives and mine, with reckless and feckless disregard to keep that incident covered up, so that I couldn’t even THINK it without getting problems from them in my head. When I cracked up when back in their home when I was 21, and took the overdose because of the medication, it was all about the sexual abuse.
Recently I informed my father, as things were becoming clearer as I have been physically near them again, but not too close, and things came up more clearly about them in my mind; that I could still sue him for sexual abuse in the State of New Jersey, where the incident happened. As I look back on all of this, and on my son’s life, I am enraged. A negative eclairissement, to be sure, but still an eclairissement and a mental journey, one which leaves me nowhere. The two of the three things which composed the “good things happen in threes” thing I had going–have dropped away. The book is obsolete. I can’t depend on THEM for my material well-being, they were supposed to be getting me a mobile home to move into OUT of this apartment where the neighbors complain about me all day and all night long. Only the new neuropsychologist remains. That’s all I have to hang onto. Maybe she will help me make sense of all this.
My whole life has changed around on me.