“It wasn’t on purpose.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“I couldn’t help it.”
“It was a mistake.”
Young children cannot comprehend
(and many adults care not to)
that no matter how sincere or honest
or heartfelt those expressions might be
they do not, can not and will not
in and of themselves
put Humpty together again.
None of them are apologies.
They’re not even acknowledgments of any wrong-doing.
If nothing else, one still needs to
– at the very least –
attempt to pick up the pieces,
unquestionably a more effective effort when it is a joint effort.
J. K. R. Nash IV
Originally posted 04/23/14
I’ve changed it a bit.
Different meds too.
to have issues: v. generally found in colloquial usage when referring to someone
having either thought patterns or behaviors somewhat outside of sociological norms or standards,
usually of a disturbing or disruptive nature; may sometimes be of a destructive nature,
but far more frequently mildly unsettling
Those who are said to “have issues” are often experiencing moods or thoughts that others cannot
understand at the moment without having insight into said person, but can sense the feelings
the person in question is having through the things they say, the behaviors they are exhibiting or
even just their facial expressions.
At times, these individuals can have those feelings strongly enough to affect the group dynamic,
either in interpersonal relationships or even within a gathering of a social circle.
It is widely felt that those who do “have issues” are in need of psychiatric or psycho-therapeutic
evaluation which can involve individual counseling (see also: shrink, quack, charlatan, Dr. Phil-of-it, their bartender, Bella the Fo’chun Tella, Facebook friends), medication (see also: Zoloft, Effexor, Klonopin, Lib-b-b-bweeyum-m-m-m, “my little friends“, stash, vitamins (including the potential for self-medication (see also: weed, kush, bud, Bud Light, “Jack“, Mr. Beam, “this delightful little Zin”) ), or possible periods of hospitalization (see also: put away, locked up, booby hatch, nut hut, “Club Meds”, carted off, men in the white coats …
(or, in California only, 5150 ).
Declension of the verb phrase
“to have issues“:
“Well… I‘ve been having some isssss-yews.”
“You got some pretty damned serious problems, bro’.”
“That goofy asshole over there is
out of their fuckin’ mind!”
Sometimes a diagnosis can be
substantially and substantively
nothing more than a
for which you were charged
a significant co-pay.
Dreams can often be the memories you want to fix,
the most daunting challenge being …
the farther that dream goes back
the harder it is to find the right parts.
And you can’t just grab whatever’s handy and “make it fit”.
Sometimes, you just have to trade them in on a new one.
But when it’s truly worth the effort, the investment …
the results can be superb.
J. K. R. Nash IV
One of the most important things I’ve learned.
A few days ago my wife was having one of her episodes. She saw it coming, sensed it getting closer, and casually in tone (yet somehow intensely in feeling) announced it.
Gave me time to grab our folding computer table, grab my laptop and retreat to the den, close the door, and watch a Cassavetes film. Not entirely uplifting material, but certainly let me know I wasn’t alone in my own feelings. Good company.
I heard Liz go into our bedroom after a while, and when I went in for a moment to grab something out of our bathroom, I saw her huddled up under the sheets with even the bedspread wrapped around her head.
Considering the icy silence I had felt from all the way down the hall before she retreated to safety of our bed, I was even apprehensive about walking in to get my Johnson’s Lavender Baby Shampoo out of the shower.
I walked on those eggshells. Tip-toed. Held my breath.
Just as I put my hand on the doorknob to leave the room as safely as I had thankfully been able to enter, I barely but powerfully heard the child’s voice from under the three layers of covers:
“Would you hold me?”
We laid there for an hour without speaking.
We got out of bed, went back into the living room and watched “Happy Feet” again, one hand wrapped around each other’s hand, and with our other hand cramming popcorn down our smiling faces between the giggles.
Liz’s back prevents her from dancing along.
I can’t dance. I’m just that white.
But I sang along to Stevie Wonder.