all of my conscious life i've been harboring a guilt i can never fathom. it sinks into my chest and pings and pangs around. sometimes it causes my brow to wrinkle, or my lips to purse, and often it will bring a sad eye. more often than not, the subject at hand makes me smile, but it's always one of those sad far away smiles. i'm just really realizing today it's made me what i am. it's the reason i don't progress. it's why i hold back. why i never get too close too often. for you see, when you enter my life, you also enter the life of my brother, dan. when dan was 3 and i was 6 we were playing in the backyard and woods, like kids living out in the boondocks do. there was a ground level window which led into my parents basement. under the window was a couch. now remember, under the window there was a couch. we used to jump into the window, and land perfectly on the couch in laughter. there was a couch under the window. so, when we were done playing outside we used to make our return into the home thusly, since there was a couch under the window. my parents never liked us doing that. but we did. dan went first this time. i didn't look down and keep him safe like a good older sister should. there was no longer a couch under the window. dan hit cement. flat. concussion. but he was always a "normal" kid.... dan spent a lot of time outside by himself as he grew up. always finding the perfect stick to create adventures with. he'd search the woods and neighbors yards for hours, until he could find the stick that would best resemble any number of star trek or star wars ships. he created in his mind a database of noises, and blips and assorted bangs to exclaim as he moved his sticks through the air, walking aimlessly through our yard. but it's "normal" to have that sort of imagination as a child... until dan came in one day explaining, emotionally, that the monsters in his head were going to kill him. this got worse. tests. tests. medications, more tests. never a specific diagnosis. dan went to a pre-school program for 2 years before entering kindergarten at age 6. oh, of course, school was not good. what public school has enough time... when he was 8 years old, doctors basically begged/forced my parents to have him institutionalized. they tried it, being told it was for his better. god, no. it lasted a couple months. what hell in that place, poor children given away to dorm rooms with padding. parents can't deal, and there isn't enough staff to keep them all entertained and pleased. and they mix the crowd. violent kids in with the soft-hearted. god, no. this, of course, had its effects. dan came home for a weekend visit and called my mom a "mother fucker" when she asked him to kindly hand her something. now, that was not my brother. medications have warded off his schizophrenia for over 10 years now. here's hoping that keeps up. they still call him, with good reasoning, autistic. autistic is to be set in the mind of a child. it comes in varying forms, as varied as each of our bodies are. i've known people labeled "autistic" that couldn't speak. i've known people labeled "autistic" that could add 4, 657 + 6, 945 quicker than you could lick yr lips. so, why did i tell the basement window story? because, no matter how often i am told that he doesn't have a brain injury, that he has genetic autism, i question it. i will always wonder.... dan is 25 now. he graduated public high school. on time. sure, he failed the subjects he wasn't interested in, but he excelled in the things he could know and understand. for him, it's all about interest. you or i could say "i have no interest in such and such so i don't bother learning....." his brain will just shut off to it if he has no interest. and immediately, trust me. he's never had a friend. never been kissed. was violently teased throughout his public education. it wasn't until his junior year of high school that we learned how bad the mental and emotional abuse he was taking from the other kids was. i still want to hurt so many of them. when i'd come home to visit, i'd go see dan during his lunch time. every damn time i went, i'd end up yelling at some little punk about the treatment they gave my brother. and i would always end up in the principals' office. i never had to go to that office during my entire school career. but i had some things to say! the glory of that whole mess is that the majority of the kids that gave my brother such a hard time didn't graduate. yet, he did. he finds comfort in that. so, this is why i live in the boonies. why i bought my house in a small town and settled in. 'cuz once my parents are gone, i am what dan has left. my other brother feels this burden as well, but not like i do. i know the he'd be "better off" with me. and so, that's how it shall be. i still think of moving away again, but never too far. my mom called me today with a heartbreaking story. dan can't understand why our other brother, nick, always comes to my house and such. he's jealous and misses me. how can i tell him.... that we smoke pot, that we stay up late and talk about music and watch movies. that we are naughty with our friends and do things i would never want to subject him to. and why do i feel so guilty? don't i deserve a little guilt-free fun and adventure? well, of course. but i can never find it without a price. so, when i get out of work soon, i'll be stopping by my parents house to see if dan is still awake (he's a nightowl like his sister) and visit wiff him for a bit. i've tried "getting him out" more. it's just so hard. he loves natalie merchant and sarah maclachlan and such... so i tried taking him to lillith fair. oh, god no. not good. i was devastated that i couldn't help him to atleast enjoy that. so, it's best to sit quietly and let him talk about star wars, fiddling his stick between his fingers while i just love him. " :) " i trust everyone's holidays went by without too many glitches. i always wish you all well...... i've been enjoying the folks at #sinister. i urge you all to come in and say hello. with that, i want to say a special public thank you to mr. danny farrell for being a good listening friend. thank you! ok, i suppose i'd better work, or something. or something, amy +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. 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