The plague that I hide from shows itself periodically, as chronic instability. My brother, the one who was supposed to be the leader, gets too drunk to think and feels sorry for himself, lashing out like a child. It is so pathetic, and at the same time I can see the same feelings in myself.
The first time it was profound, I took it seriously, and I was affected by it. Now, I know that this will all be forgotten shortly thereafter, and I will still be affected by it. It bolsters my own instability by separating me from without.
It is a fracture in our pasts, in our upbringing that becomes such a virulent corpse, rotting slowly in the mind. I have generally found a way past it; at least, temporarily.
But every time I see this... it crushes me again. I'm ripped out all over, to be pulled back into feelings that gave me every idiosyncratic twitch, every neurosis. And I do not know what to do about it.
How empty would I be to just escape? Even if there is no salvation for this kind of life, this kind of reality, would I be able to live with my deeper self if I threw it all away and left? This is where I came from, whether I like it or not.
My roots, and the lack thereof.
I will probably always be stricken with the reiterating sickness of being born in my family.
It makes me so angry that I am shattered by childishness and irresponsibility. I gave an ultimatum, and it was forgotten in the way that a gambler goes back to the den of thieves, to be corrupted all over again.
I self-medicate for reasons like these... so I'm no better, in a way.
I think of all of the things I'm going to say tomorrow, the disappointment and the anger, but none of that really matters. Now is the only important time frame.
I see how much the world is driven by its chemistry. I see people being pulled and ripped apart because of their selves. I see myself falling in the same way, and I don't know what to do about it.