The pyramids he built had magical powers, sharpening his used razor blades while happy-sad Jesus watched from a frame on the wall.
Then he dismantled the family car, replicating a Chilton’s Manual diagram on the driveway.
He often argued with a gun barrel. It had the last word eventually, silencing the voices.
A word about this week’s 52 Words in 52 Weeks Story. The prompt was “pyramids”.
When most people think of “pyramids” they think of the ancient wonders in Egypt. When I hear the word “pyramid” it triggers memories of my dad and one of his many obsessions.
No one noticed the signs, or if they did they didn’t say, because we didn’t talk about mental illness back then. People suffered in silence, or self medicated with alcohol like my dad. He may very well have been a genius, but he was also bat-shit crazy. I loved him dearly; he terrified me. He was the “monster” of my childhood nightmares.
So I’m stepping up on my soapbox for a moment. Mental illness is not a weakness or embarrassment. We need to talk about it. For heaven’s sake, if you or someone you love is suffering, get help. There is help to be found. There is no one like you. Really. No one like you.
And if writing about this can help save just one person from my dad’s fate, it will have been worth pouring my heart out on this page….