Thursday, February 26, 2009

Moving in with and old lady

I returned to my parent's home to find my room was no longer my room. The old furniture from the basement now sat where my bed once reigned for 20 plus years. How could they get rid of my bed like yesterday's leftovers? And what happened to my Bon Jovi posters I'd been collecting for 12 years? My parents were acting like a bunch of birds who were forcing their young out of the nest before they're ready to fly. You know what happens to birds who are pushed from the nest too soon? That's right! They become road pancakes or supper for the neighborhood cat. I'm too young to swim in the stomach juices of a vagrant cat.

"What the hell! Where is all my stuff?" I yelled at my father, who was enjoying his new spot on his lazy boy where my bed once belonged. He sipped his beer and looked at me.

"New plans, sweetheart. You're moving down the street," he said and calmly sipped his beer. He refocused on the television and I turned to my mother.

"What is going on here?" I yelled to my mother.

"You're moving in with Mrs. Haggart down the street."

"Old Mrs. Haggart? The woman who cuts the grass with that old rusty lawnmower? The one with the rotating blade? The one that feeds on old lady power instead of electricity?"

My mother rearranged the flowers in the vase on the table. She then moved the doily underneath to make sure it was perfectly centered beneath the vase. This was just like my mother to be making sure everything in her world was in perfect order. She brushed my fathers toe from the end table because it managed to slip from its spot on the chair's leg rest. everything in her life was perfect and moving her one fault from the house was her solution.

"Mrs. Haggart is senile! Does she even know I'm moving in or am I going to be some stranger she calls the police on every time I try to get a glass of water?"

"Lisa, You're being ridiculous. She's not senile. She's a little old, that's all. We've already moved all your stuff into her attic. She's knows you're coming. She said she'll enjoy the company."

"We're not even related to Mrs. Haggart. What kind of psychotic people would arrange for their daughter to move into a random stranger's attic. This is how horror movies begin, you know?"

"Lisa, it's for the best. All your stuff is already over there."

"You people suck."

I realized my life would never be the same.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Out of the Psych Ward

My breakdowns usually take place over the holidays and it was no surprise when the men with the meds showed up to haul me away. My mother said she'd had enough and setting a few of the Christmas presents ablaze apparently was enough to have her first born locked away for a month.

They didn't allow internet access at the hospital. Something about communicating with outside influences could have negative effects on my recovery. What are you supposed to do with all that free time if internet shopping and online dating are out of the question? Can you imagine - "What do you like to do for fun?" A potential online pursuer may ask. "Oh, nothing much. I like to spend my free time staring out hospital windows, wondering if the bird sitting on a rain soaked branch is enjoying life more than me. I also enjoy being filled with so many meds that constipation becomes as much a part of my life as free time.

They don't let you read books. They don't let you see your family much. Your days are spent staring and talking in therapy. I don't know how many times one person can be asked, "Lisa, what's wrong? What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking. I'm thinking. I want to go home, get off these meds, and get on with my life, and you're holding me back.