Whether it’s depression or just being in a slump, I honestly don’t know. But I promise I’m not aiming on offending or pushing anybody the wrong way or rehatching everything, anything, I am simply making an observation of myself and how I’ve been dealing with the new infusions and my own perception. That being stated I’m pretty sure it is depression, as I’ve only found myself being more irritable, more agitated, and more bothered by behaviors and decisions either voiced or simply acted out.
I had an opportunity to meet up with a brother that I hadn’t seen in over seven years, that’s a lot of time, a lot of Life happens in that amount and a lot of change depending on the person. At least that’s what I had assumed.
This wasn’t the case however, I should have seen the cues. I had asked if he’d like something from McDonald’s, stating we were about to leave the restaurant and to let me know if there was anything.
Now have you ever seen the movie Fear? The thing is we were raised being taught that the use of phrases such as ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and the idea that treating others in a way we’d appreciate ourselves to be courteous and decent. I agree with this sentiment blatantly, as an observer and human that appreciates cordialness I find it shows an appreciation and benefit of seeing the betterment in people. It’s also a good way of not only getting what’s being requested but showing a very Americanized system of honor as in honoring oneself the other and how we share that treatment with one another.
This wasn’t the case. Not one damn bit. I’m not a vindictive one, nor am I one to serve an offer with retribution if I had asked regardless of the outcome. The a** wanted two spicy chicken, and two doubles with cheese. I should’ve known with the lack of either phrases shared above. Atop that, there’s the specificity of the order. It could’ve been any other meal, a combo, any collection of sandwiches big or small, but what was ordered is a favorite I’ve seen ordered by the toxic and overly masculine characters that don’t show a clarity of values and tend to blur decency with audacity.
You may ask why, and I’ll tell you, it’s named the Mcgangbang. It’s an egregious and grotesque name that, just doesn’t sit well. Yet, assuming it was just a favorite he’d been known to order since being a teen, I ignored the moniker and messages as a brother verbiage and brought his meal. I had hoped it’d be more joyous, more elation as it’d been seven years and our kids had aged, my hair grayed and lengthened, his mid riff thicker and hair line retreated. I genuinely hoped there’d be a comfortable nature and familiar behavior as we’re adults now.
It was as if I had been sent back to my teen years walking into his home. The living room sat somewhat tidy, a myriad of THC canisters strewn on his coffee tables, pipes empty, some partially packed, and a faint, stuffy aire of reeking weed. The girls rooms were filthy, his master, worse than theirs, and paraphernalia strewn through almost each room. I look at my wife, my eyes hiding my horrors, but she sees through my shade and smiles softly helping our son to a couch and maintaining focus toward the little guy so as hot to have him get curious with the shite around the living room. my brother, he issues a hand toward the garage, stating it’s where well smoke and how he’s joyously learning how to roll blunts. I bite my tongue, though I wanted to rag on him for being so childish, for having a house like such with two little girls but can see a pain that’s familiar.
I share my being proud of him, I share my sentiments to keeping himself together after a tenuous splitting of his 11 year marriage. He scoffs and states some aggressive lines about wives, and the horrors they bring, issues a finger at my wife but holds his tongue, and complains of the chaos and being stoned incessantly. Brags about much of nothing and jostles a familiar machismo I’ve only seen in gyms and on the field for a sport I once played. His vernacular is agitated as he feels any comments not supporting the anguish are either a benefitted statement to make myself feel better, or issuing a call for pity. He talks about laying pipe, and tries to paint a tapestry of sexual gratifications brought to him while I waive off his flexing and shake my head.
Mind you, my wife is with me, my son right next to her, and I’m trying to be a good brother. I’m trying to be supportive and as gracious as I can before deciding I’m not going to put myself within this world he’s alluding to. I’ve gained so much and I’ve moved beyond this childish behavior and the dangerous antics he’s mentioning seem beyond dangerous. I think of Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, Zeno, and myself and who I am, how I brought my family, my loves to this home and what we were met with and made a conscious decision to remove myself and my family from the toxic machismo disorderly slowly unraveling in the garage.
For a moment I felt guilty, a second I felt shame, and realized this is life, this is what happens to the people we love and let live. We love our brothers, our sisters, our parents and those we consider family. But we’re also our own and it’s in us to make our own decisions and create our own fate. Though my heart sits somewhat heavy with who I saw today and how little he had grown in the seven years, but still to know he lives and breathes is more than I can say for another brother I didn’t have an option in seeing before he passed.
So…it…goes.
C’est la vie
Good afternoon and Good Morning. Good morning and good night.
Nosce Te Ipsum
Dream Dark Stories 