Letters From the Eastside

The following notes are all true yet, none of this is real or fact. Instead, the next chapters are written in letter form and will be cases of real fiction which have been taken from real life events and true accounts of life on life’s terms. None of the names are real. However, the emotions and feelings embodied in the upcoming letters are as real as they come.
This is not a test or a cry for help or a worried narrative from a young neurotic man who is lost and unable to find his way. Instead, this is a compilation of ideas, stories and concepts in which real life occurs.

We open our story here with a first letter to the great Mother Directional who is the matriarch and loving guide and spiritual provider for an otherwise normal, everyday, dysfunctional family. She is older and wiser and her heart is true. Therefore, Mother Directional. This one’s for you!

Dear Mother Directional,

I am writing this first page as an explanation of what’s about to come in the upcoming months. The letters I will send are taken from a journal which will be held in your care. These letters will include notes from me to you as well as notes from me to Father Correctional and letters to Brother Exceptional, Sister Serenity, Uncle Achiever and Auntie Believer.
These notes are to be archived and saved in your trust, where they can be kept with no specific order in mind. But more importantly, these letters are to act as a roadmap to both my history and future. This will be a case of our good and our bad, the light and the darkness, and the influences of our destinies.

Mother, I find myself here at the crease before the fold. I am at an impasse. Or maybe this is only a crossroads; in which case, this is only part of the journey.
I find myself thinking too much. What I mean is one thought becomes two and two thoughts become four.
I find that my thoughts can whisper louder than any scream and that if I am not careful, I can lose to this the same way that water loses to a drain. This is why I have chosen to send you these letters.

My hopes are to either alleviate the stress or if nothing else, find out if I’m crazy or not. And who knows? Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I’m off to the races and out of control. Who knows?
Besides, we live in a world where we can’t talk about these things. We can’t say what we think or talk about what we feel.
It’s like Father Correctional used to tell us. “Don’t tell anyone!”
“Keep your cards close to the vest.”
“Never let anyone see what you’re holding.”
“Don’t trust anyone!”
And, “If you need to cry, don’t let anyone see. Otherwise, they’ll know you’re weak and they’ll take advantage whenever they can.”

I have to say that it has been a long time since I have seen Brother Exceptional. Then again, Brother is Brother. So, I assume my comparison to him would be useless because no one can reach up to his level. Not me. Not Sister Serenity.
Not even Uncle Achiever and Auntie Believer could compare to my dear Brother’s life. I find myself here at a place where I am a few steps short from where I need to be. I am slow. I am slow to learn and slow to understand. I’m slower than most. Or at least, so it seems, which is why I find myself frustrated and angry.

As for now, I am waiting for my life to begin. I am waiting and feeling in a way that reminds me of when I was a child, home alone and wishing the phone would ring. Come to think of it, I remember checking the phone to make sure it was on the hook. I remember the family’s answering machine and the white face with the red numbers which told us how many messages were waiting for us. I used to hate to see the zero flashing at me like some cruel or sick joke.

Mother, I am moving closer to something. I’m just not sure what this means. I don’t know whether this is good or if this is bad. But just in case, I will be sending you these letters to let you know where I am.

I have spoken with Cousin Contagious and heard more about his disputes with Cousin Courageous. I swear the battle between these two have been lifelong and they seem to be unending – almost like the disputes we have while looking in the mirror.
This is where it’s I against I and me against me. The hardest part about this is someone has to lose. That’s what happens in fights.
There’s the loser and the one who didn’t lose as much. But there are no winners. Not when it comes to a fight. Especially when the fight is with one’s self.
I know this for sure, Mother.

I have the scars to prove it.

Love always,
Your Son

Bewildered

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