keep your hat on and your sunshine in
So Francis pointed out something to me. today. That was itterated to me by mark. but was never really too evident. obvious. until today. Schizophrenia. Schizoid tendencies. So abundant. Fresh like open wounds to the point that he’s weeping, and somewhere in the back corners of my mind I am weeping, too. Afraid of. Not understanding. I wish. He’s an artist. And I have always considered myself so on point with psychology. Issues. Like if I just talked to him enough. Convinced him he wasn’t sick. Just poked holes in his conspiracy theories. Pointed him in obvious directions. Giggled with him. Francis has made me a little afraid. When he looks at me sometimes I see something. A glimmer of the boy I used to know. Someone who has me built up in his eyes so high there is nothing for me to do but fall. I love his energy. Maybe I love him for what he represents. Artistically and socially. He’s 8. He seems like a little boy who has no control over how big he is. Like an overgrown giant. So overpowered by his weakness, an illness. Told me today that after shaving his head yesterday he needed to keep a hat on. To keep the sunshine in. Called me this morning, asking me “are you positive today? Get ready to be positive”. I told him I am always positive. Which is true to these extremes. Perhaps too much so. He fights his fear, inner demons, spits out visions to me of blood violence. gore. He pictures fighting off his attackers and destroying them much as his mind has been blown.
He wants to do kid art. Francis says she can deal with him because he’s a kid. I just see this man. boy. I wish I could kiss it and make it better. Instead, tomorrow we will go to an office on park avenue assisting those with mental illness. Then we can ensure he is properly medicated, and on his road, less paranoid. Less afraid.
Fear of being alone. Fear of being seen. Even through all of my bullshit I have somehow maintained a grip on reality that has prevented me from falling victim to an unbalanced mind. This disease is not conditioned, though. It happens. For some fucked up reason it happens to 1% of the population. How small a chance. Yet how big the punishment.
On a lighter note, he has inspired me in ways I cannot quite synthesize right now. Art. Writing. A creation of ones own understanding of how the world works around them. Not based in delusion, but of truth, purity. Spoke with the comic book artist Mark Beachum today, who has a better grip on the state of affairs from a sociological perspective as well as a political perspective than 98% of the supposed free world of the United States.
I dyed my hair ice cream. Here it is.
