The Furious Spinner

I hope you have had a good weekend. I am getting ready for bed. Winding down. I've worked almost all weekend, library stuff, and I'm tired. Saturday I was so tired and dizzy after only working three hours that I came home weepy and discouraged. All these scenarios were running through my head about becoming a bag lady because I can't work, etc., etc. Sunday was better because I figured out how to exploit the working class so I could do the intellectual part of my job and leave the heavy lifting to someone else: Mario worked with me the whole day. At first even he was overwhelmed by the amount of work and the complexity of the job (I won't bore you with the details). But, if nothing else, I'm still a good manager and can figure out how to get a thing done. Whatever that thing is.

I have nothing profound to say tonight, as you can see. No world news to report. The funeral of the god is apparently over. I didn't see even a minute of it, I'm glad to say. I saw some of the coverage—only a bit—before I had to tune it all out. I haven't seen that much bullshit shoveled since the great Manure Pitchin' Contest of 1973, and I could not bear the stench. So I moved on.

Today we heard that a woman in the county west of us brought her two young girls into this county, went out into the woods, and killed them. Helicopters flew overhead here all day long. News cameras took shots of our courthouse—which is a block from our house—where the woman is now incarcerated. It is a family tragedy, and I hope it does not turn into a "media circus."

I don't know the details of this woman's life. She was obviously troubled. She called the police immediately afterward. I keep thinking of those women who have post partum psychosis who kill their babies. Maybe she had something like that. My mother had post partum depression, before the doctors really had a name for it beyond the "baby blues." She says she had it after the births of a least two of her babies. Although I was old enough to remember it all, I don't recall many details. I know my mother called my dad one time at his work and said he better come home before she hurt someone. She ended up cowering in a corner one day and my sister called my aunt who came over to take care of her. Eventually she checked herself into a hospital. The doctors called what she was experiencing a nervous breakdown back then. I remember my mother was different after she got out of the hospital. Not worse, not better. Just different. Never the same. Years later, when she still hadn't shaken the depression that kept descending upon her like some giant demented vulture looking for road kill, she wondered outloud if she should try electroshock therapy. My grandfather had had shock therapy. He killed himself a few months later.

I was determined I would be nothing like my dear mother. I made many decisions when I was younger based on my desire to avoid my mother's life. Yet when I turned 30, or thereabouts, a switch flipped somewhere in my body, and everything changed for me, too. The doctors had different words for what was wrong with me. It was called "anxiety." I had a year long anxiety attack. I told you about it, I believe in another post. Eventually I was diagnosed with environmental illness. I was never the same. Worse. Not better. Never as fearless as I had been. Funnier. A kind of gallows humor, I suppose. I was the Henny Youngman of the loony bin set. (Actually, I can't remember who Henny Youngman is...was?) Me and that vulture are old acquaintances. I understand that I am, on occasion, interesting road kill. I have never wondered outloud or to myself if I might try electroshock therapy. I understand that I have a glitch in my body which causes all sorts of symptoms, and some of those symptoms manifest as depression and anxiety, although less and less over the years, knock on wood.

My point in bringing this up is not to air family secrets. If you've read FS enough, you know I don't consider it a secret. Mental illness is no more shameful than having a migraine, getting diabetes, etc. In other words: there is no shame. It is caused by hormones, chemicals, and environmental stress. Unfortunately, because mental illness affects our brains and our brains control how we act, when some people have a mental illness it is possible they can cause harm to themselves or other people.

I don't know why this woman killed her babies. It's possible she is an evil psycho. My guess is that it's not as simple or as simplistic as that, although the local news is already saying the crime was premeditated, and our county sheriff has already said she's a bad woman who showed no remorse. (I saw her mug shot; she was crying.) We're all wondering when Ann Rule will show up. During one of the last horrendous murders we had here, she came to town and tried to get what was left of the family to talk to her. No deal.

This topic sickens me. I will let it go. May the little girls rest in peace.

Let's imagine a world where no one kills babies, theirs or someone else's, all grown up or still babies. Imagine a world where there are no glitches in anyone's brains. Imagine a world where peace prevails in our bodies, minds, and world.

Blessed be. 0 comments

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.