Insanity: A Love Story

before

My aunt comes. She puts up sayings, post-it notes, slogans, bumper stickers, with excerpts from the Bible all over my parents' house. This is one of her attempts to "cure" me-to sanitize me. I lost my mind weeks-months?-before. My parents have been caring for me and don't know what else to do. In a phone call with my aunt, she asks me if I want her to come She is the aunt who always corrected my Texan accent with her Virginian drawl-- "Awwwwnt" not "Aaaant." She is the aunt everyone says I look like, who had her own share of traumas and illnesses as the unfortunate mother of two grown-up children with Fragile X, a genetic disorder having a similar appearance to mental retardation, and an estranged adult daughter who refused her overtures Maybe I represented another opportunity to mother, to have some familial connection with someone who needed her, who wanted her to rescue me. In response to her question, I say "yes."

My aunt flies down to Houston from Virginia, despite my parents' fear my aunts' dramatic presence will do more harm. But maybe they also figured it couldn't hurt. My parents can no longer handle me alone.

I am becoming too bizarre.

I am unhinged.

This wasn't always my normal state. I had always been unpredictable, two divided parts of highs and lows always looming in the background. But, I was also a college graduate after leaving high school at age 17. I was a talented writer and artist who excelled in the humanities, having majored in philosophy at one of the last remaining women's colleges. On the surface, I seemed functional and able to deal with the everyday demands of life. My friends at the time would have been surprised to know about my disintegration, having never been away of my constant every-present internal struggle. I wore a mask of confidence and rarely showed outward signs of depression; my hypo-manic tendencies allowed me to be entertaining, if not a bit unusual. I hid my downs like an alcoholic, drinking my misery alone.
Now my aunt is here and I am afraid to open the refrigerator because "Trust in GOD" is stuck on its door. On all the mirrors are other proclamations of faith. Everywhere I turn is another biblical reference.

My aunt means well. But, I can't help but think--if I weren't already going crazy--the omnipresent sticker shock of God-sayings would make anyone go insane.

Despite the craziness I am exhibiting, I complain to my parents about these slogans. My mother sighs and says, "I know they're weird, but we just have to humor her." Behind my aunt's back, my parents and sister complain about how crazy my aunt is, but now she is here and there is nothing they can do. Of course, my aunt complains, as well, calling my parents crazy. Everyone identifies each other as insane, but I take the cake. My insanity is dysfunctional, while theirs is only quirks.

My aunt is convinced she can help me, and her cure for my insanity is Christianity. She is a devout Baptist, and believes, with God's help, anything is possible. One psychiatrist we consult says my delusions will only increase if we mix in religion, but this did not faze my aunt. At her urging, I sit watching televangelists, who tell me to repent because the kingdom is at hand. My father talks to the psychiatrist on the phone. My father hands me the phone and the psychiatrist tries to talk to me, but I am too busy crying about the people getting "saved" on TV.

My aunt gives me Christian self-help books, which I try to read. They say nothing at all about delusions and the only way to improve mentally, according to the books, is to pray. I don't know what to pray about. There is nothing in the books about praying away delusions. It is as elusive as praying about dreams. I can't help but think a belief in the power of prayer, or other Christian claims in these books, is substituting one delusion for another. Insanity is caused by the devil, according to these Christian self-help books, and as long I am crazy, I must be possessed. I don't understand how these beliefs could be the mark of sanity.