cornelius

i can't fucking believe i'm 27 today. in just one more year i will have replaced every cell in my body 4 times over.

i spent last night writing a letter for my father... he finally decided after years of abusive behavior that just maybe he has something wrong with him mentally, so he's sought out the help of the veteran's hospital. so yeah, he's crazy. whoop whoop whoop whoop whoop... but not crazy enough.

what he needs is a good ol' fashioned head shrinking. a lot of vietnam veterans have a sort of post traumatic stress disorder in varying degrees, usually worse if they've been in-country. my dad has nightmares, he screams in his sleep as his dreams play repeats of mutiliation. he pushes everyone away when all we want is to help. i can't understand what it is he went through, though i know about a lot of the things he was subject to. war is hell, after all. i get the feeling he is deeply ashamed for what he had to do in his country's name, the guilt is devouring him inside out, and is the root of his strange behavior.

so, the night before my birthday i had to sit down and write a letter from my mom's point of view (it has to come from her). i talked about his random violence, his unfocused rage, his ill temper, his pessimistic outlook, his alcoholism. it was one of the hardest things i've ever had to do... it was so draining, but i spoke the truth, combining mine and my mother's views into a testimonial fit for permanent record.

he asked me to write it, so i did, but i don't want him to read it. i don't want to have to talk to him afterward about how i feel. it's a huge step forward for him, realizing he needs help, and i wanna give it, i want him to get better, but at the same time i think he's only in it for the money.

my mom ran into someone with similar symptoms who was told that yes, he's going mental, but that there was nothing to be done about it... the government said "sorry, we appreciate all you did for us, but the situation we put you through fucked you up beyond repair... here's $5000 a month for the rest of your life... you know, for the trouble."

my dad is exactly the type of person to go for a deal like this. he's the one yelling whiplash at a fender bender. he's the guy who cheats on his taxes. if he found a wallet on the street, he'd return it after taking all the cash inside.

the letter has been written, and while i was at it i altered his tattoo design a bit, adding another horn for more depth. i do what he requests of me because it's one of the few ways he will let me help him. i give of myself because it's all i have.

since it is my birthday, my mom went out of her way to get me a new camera... the first words out of my dad's mouth were "what does he need that for? why don't we just keep it for ourselves?" my mom said "why? to keep records of all our happy memories?" he hasn't taken a picture in years, but since i'm getting a shiny camera, the spoiled little brat inside of him wants one too.

the camera arrived at their house yesterday, and my mom told me he ripped the whole package apart, box within box within selfish box, robbing me of the pleasure of liberating my new electronic regalia (he knows how i love to open boxes). what i am saying is that now instead of a brand new camera i'm going to get one stripped of it's virginity, sans box, covered in my dad's beer stained fingerparints, missing the instructions, batteries no longer included, eternally pissing me off.

thanks again dad... happy fuckin' birthday to me.

-bobby