12/16/02 - 12:39 a.m.

Hi.

Unlocked and ready to write again. I think my lurkers have left. I hope. Looking for new things to dissect with their silent inquiries. Good, let�s keep them out. My space now, no need for spies to silently pry me open.

First item of significance. My mother is insane. I know, it�s a typical and quite daughterly expression, but it�s not a joke or something to smirk at. She really has lost her mind. The psychosis is compulsive and almost intricate. Her emails are to the point where I am fraught to feign ignorance towards her insanity. She makes demands, I pretend not to see them. The old �I didn�t hear you� trick. It doesn�t seem to be working.

I tried being forward. I politely suggested that she not read any works of mine that she might find offensive. I said I would rather not discuss the rather vulgar details of my internet lifestyle. Some promises where made on her side, those that were soon forgotten. Now she is persistent in her insistence. Ladies do not use such filthy language.

Ladies. Lady. Lady? Ha.

Her relationship with Dear Old Dad seems to have gotten worse. I do not know if it is her lunacy that has fabricated the infractions or actual occurrences. Dear Old Dad is indeed an asshole, but the disease seemed to be in slight remission for years. Perhaps it has had a second coming. After all, the first one did have a good long run of about twenty years.

Does she not hear what I have to say because she chooses not to listen or does she just forget what I have asked? I am worried about her because conceivably, truthfully, and realistically, we are treading on the last years of Mum�s life. I know it. I think she knows it.

Brother said he has made piece with her death. Of course, he is within a closer torturing distance so his tolerance was broken years ago. He knows this mom is not the same person that knew as children. Or is it? Maybe as kids we couldn�t recognize the signs of mental illness. Maybe we choose not to.

Our family never did seem right, but between Asshole Dear Old Dad and Fatally Ill Mum what do you expect? Amongst the terror and worry we were supposed to notice that Mum wasn�t quite right in the head? I suppose you also expect two well-rounded kiddies with happy little lives? Sweet parents who patted cute kiddies on their backs and handed them their paper bagged lunches as they set out for the day? It�s amazing we survived.

But then again, maybe we didn�t. Not yet anyway. This present, those futures, all the effects of that past. Can�t claim survival just because something pulled you out of the childhood into the real world. Can�t claim it until you die of natural causes, instead of unnatural gunshots to the head, or slits down the wrists.

Suppose I can only say Survival So Far. Survival So Far: 23 years, 3 months and 9 days.