There’s this anger
Boiling inside me
And I can’t seem
To figure out why
But all I know is
I can’t afford to be
I can’t keep destroying
The ones I love.
I sent you another postcard not so long ago. That one was from Manning, a tiny little area in North Dakota. Can you believe its population is only 74 people! That’s so fascinating! If I had a chance to ever live there, I’d love to become friends with every single one of these 74 guys. So I would always have someone to talk to. And share an apple pie with.
Doctor said that writing you a letter would somehow increase the results of the treatment. So I should probably tell you the prehistory of … simply everything. At least as much as I can.
I left you, my only daughter, in 1959, when you were a little seven year old girl. Right after I found out about the disease, I had to leave you. Otherwise bad things could have happened. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia and probably would never have found it out if I hadn’t forgotten and mistaken so many simple things. I once forgot how to use an oven. I simply forgot how to turn it on. And I always felt like someone was watching me. I still do. I made my decision as soon as I left the hospital. Doctor insisted on my staying there, to receive advanced help, but I realized I could not explain what was happening, to you, my baby. Yet I don’t remember how I felt that day. I simply forgot.
“Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by disorganization of thought, behavior, and mental state.” The individual, at a certain period, is incapable of controlling the “split”, thus starts acting inappropriate, moreover, dangerous. At least that’s what my doctor says every time I forget about my illness. Yes, it happens occasionally. I can wake up not realizing where I am, and why I have so many scars on my body. Simons (that’s the doctor’s name, or surname, I always get confused with it) then explains everything, slowly, like to a curious child. When it happens, the only way to stop the seizure is to write you another postcard. I send them to you because I am your only mother. I have never been in any of those places, the postcards are a gift from Simons the doctor, for good behaviour.
The last 11 years I have spent in Tranquille Sanatorium in Canada (they call it a sanatorium, but I know it’s an asylum. I know because I’ve spent 11 years here). My mind is very poor. I take many pills but they don’t help a lot. The staff is friendly, unless you refuse to take pills or if you pee your pants. They don’t yell, but give you the look filled with hatred and disgust. And they clench your hand so hard, you have bruises the next morning. But they are nice, I always make them friendship bracelets.
Simons the doctor says I get distracted easily. He says schizophrenia was developed after number of stresses. Maybe because your father flouted me? Like I was unwanted. I don’t know. I try not to think about him a lot. It brings panic back. And pain. And fear. I don’t like being fearful.
I have days of enlightenment from time to time. That’s when I remember my old life with you. And I always start crying. I don’t know why. I guess because I miss you. Or because I blame myself for being sick. Maybe today is my enlightenment day, because I remember you, Eurus. I love you, Eurus. Do you?
The poem above is reflecting the way I feel and have felt all these years. I’ve read it in one of those books, with smelly, faded pages. I like this author, if I did not know her, I’d think I was the one to write them.
I had to leave you, baby Eurus, I had to protect you, because I’m your only mother. The doctor said I don’t have to send this letter. I wouldn’t anyway. Otherwise you’d find out what a loser your only mother is. And how scared I am to tell the truth to you. I am your mother, Eurus. And my only job was to show you what you need to be happy and teach you how to be happy. But I failed. And I’m sorry. Oh, sweety, I am so so so sorry for being who I am. Sorry.
My little treasure, after I die, I’ll be looking after you, protecting and guiding you throughout your life. I’m not proud of many things I’ve done. But I am proud of being a mother. Your only mother. And you have no idea, Eurus, no idea of how grateful I am that regardless of distance and time you are still and will always be my only daughter.
We don’t deserve the live we have, and if I had a chance I’d spend each moment with you. Watching you grow up, attend school, graduate, marry, have kids. Do you have kids, my little treasure? Do they know they have a grandmother? Do they miss me like I miss them? Like I miss you?
Eurus, my little miss sunshine, even if you’ll ever get this letter, remember, no matter how crazy I may be, I will always be your mother.
Love you, infinity times,
Your only Mother.