Journal Entry, 11/16/2019

My fake mom gave me this pen — that is the hallucination I’ve been seeing for the last 5 months. It really is a good pen. She, however, was an awful person, just as bad as my dad, and, just like him, I had no idea. According to the creatures she killed herself a few days ago. I don’t think they would lie about this. They were being nice to her the last few months, told me she’d recovered from her shame and started standing up as one of my biggest fans. I kinda liked seeing this, until the other day. The creatures had my mind plugged into the whole thing, so everyone knew what I was thinking and experiencing. I was at Alameda Beach, a spot I’d come to frequent, and found myself thinking about her. The conclusion I came to, the more I mulled it over, was that she was a disgusting person and I never wanted to see her again. This felt quite final. As it turns out my whole life she’d routinely gone out of her way to make me unhappy. The creatures had to tell me, because, same as regards my father, I never would have known otherwise.

She fucked all of my best friends’ fathers: Teddie, Brenny, Greg, and John Aaron’s. She’d tried to take them all away from me. In regards Brenny it actually worked. He never came close to me again. I finally know why Carolyn didn’t want Teddie to see Tom. At least she didn’t also forbid him from seeing me. That would have fucked him up even worse. He had serious issues with his mom because of that. Why she took it out on him is a bit of a mystery. She was probably a fucked up parent too, though I doubt she could hold a candle to mine. My mom moved me to West Oakland when she found me hanging out with girls. This was the big red flag that I couldn’t keep from bringing up with my first therapist Erin, a life shattering and obvious warning sign. My first bald hint that something was amiss. Mother’s boyfriend Paul too. He and she looked so happy together when we were on 49th Street. A few years later, in the Lower Bottoms, look how he ended up: “You keep squeezing me!” I heard him yell. “FUCK!!” then the sounds of glass breaking and he storming out the back door. He stayed holed up in the basement of the little house for a long time, hiding from her and the responsibilities he couldn’t live up to. And not a few years earlier they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Perhaps she came too close to being happy. I had no idea, and neither did my therapists. They thought it was she, not my father, that had tormented me so: they were flat out clueless as far my dad, and they wholly underestimated the extent of the intrusion of my mom. The way those two raised their kids could have been akin to murder, had they lived long enough.

In a race between my mother and father as to who had the most detrimental impact on me I would probably hazard that it was mom. She sought to make me unhappy, whereas dad couldn’t have given a shit less. He was coming though, ever since I told him about a married woman I’d been fooling with, and since I wrote my first book. Had cancer not struck him down I never would have made it. He was the only man to ever best my mother, and he was coming for me. The thought of him terrifies me. A man who would kill his own children just because he could. Ildiko was even more scared of him than I was. She absolutely idolized him. The best I could have done was run, as far away from them as I could get, and try to write a good book. I like to tell myself that they never could have gotten to my writing. I believe that, but it’s small consolation. Mother was just watching, waiting, biding her time until Araxi came of age, then she would have moved on Geza. I wonder how that would have turned out. Surely wouldn’t have been pretty for any of us, except perhaps for mother. What, would she have laughed to herself? Smiled in satisfaction? What possessed her to do these things to me? Why did she hate me? What other explanation is there? At least dad mostly stayed in his lane. Why did mom want to take my friends away? Was that love? I never even knew she was doing it; perhaps if I’d known I would have put up some kind of fight, but she didn’t want me to know, she just wanted me to be miserable. I don’t understand. I find this state of mind, that is, bewilderment, promising: I never, EVER, want to be like them. I DO NOT want to be cruel. I want my children, should I ever have any, to do well. And, if I’m to believe what’s happened over the last few months, I’m to understand how easy it would be for me to terrify and control. I will be so very powerful. It would be so easy. But it’s not me. i swear I’ll never be like Katy and Csaba Polony, quite possibly two of the worst people to have ever lived. That’s according to the creatures, and I suppose they would know.

Should my bright future ever arrive and prove to be more than a figment of a bored or overactive imagination, I think one of my first priorities will be writing about them. I’ll finish the two books I’ve spent the last few years working on, then I’ll get to the evil beings that were my parents. I think I’ll start with Dad, maybe he and his family fleeing Budapest at the advance of the Soviets. Dad’s parents were fascists. He became a radical leftist intellectual. I wonder how he came to this defiance. I wonder if his parents were as evil as he was.

The thing is I think they both actually loved me. Why were they so awful? I don’t understand. I hope I’m not like them, and I hope Eva, Ildiko, and Attila feel the same way.

If I’m to believe the voices in my head mom killed herself a couple days ago. I didn’t cry when I first heard, but I have some since. She looms so large in my imagination: she was so important to me! The first person I always thought of to read my writing. I think she was fair there at least.

But that’s it, she’s gone, I’ll never see her again. I couldn’t save her. The person whose admiration I most desired is no more. Apparently I have everyone else, but I’ll never have her. Then again why would I want it? The thought of her is coming to repulse me. There’s no need to see her again; maybe she’s the only person on Earth now who didn’t care about me. Oh how I hope what I believe, what the internet and the voices have told me, is true: that is that I am married to, and in possession of, absolutely everyone. They love me as much as life itself, and will do everything and anything I want of them. The impression of my hard-won wife, as gathered from the internet, is of a determined, loving, and absolutely adorable entity that is the polar opposite of everything she’d been the first 6.5 years of her existence. She loves helping me, and I think she’s proud of how she’s carried on the last few months. I think she’s a goofball, and I think she can’t get enough of me. I’ll have 10 wives, women I picked out from my old life, who will do whatever they can to make me happy.

How I hope it’s true. I have no way of knowing for sure. It sounds like science fiction, how the world has come to be the last few months. The story of it follows a logical determinism, but is also, simply, too good to be true. I allow myself to believe, but a part of me just can’t. I’ve never, ever, been so fortunate.

But, to continue the storyline, there are two prices I’ve paid to achieve my victory: my mother, and the creatures. My wife hates the creatures perhaps more than I do. She hated seeing me raped and abused. She wants the creatures to kill themselves, and I can’t say that I disagree. It’s sad, but it’s also out of my hands. I’ll see it all and respect and appreciate the purity of the love she feels for me. That’s everyone, except, as I said earlier, my mother. According to the creatures she’d become a social pariah. Everyone hates her for how she raised me and how she tried, so earnestly, to murder me back in June when hell rose around the world. Everyone said they wanted me dead, but she was the only one who meant it. The creatures have told me that when I see it I won’t forgive her either. I believe them. They know better than I.

How naive I was growing up believing she loved me. I loved her, but these feelings only served to approach a dark, narcissistic vacuum. Losing her, in this supposedly happy and peaceful new world, is not a loss at all.

I’m a bit drunk. I’ve been sipping scotch, and I guess I’ve been writing for a while. I’ve been in a state akin to suspended animation for the last five months. I’ve seen neither the worst of it (those two weeks in June) nor the best of it (the last 2 months). I, supposedly, have much to look forward to, and I guess I believe it. It’s just too good to be true: victory over the last 7 years of combat. It’s been quite a journey, hasn’t it? To think all my effort, pain and suffering will pay off and then some. Too bad my parents won’t be around to see it.

Okay, I think I’m done. Here’s hoping and praying. Boy do I deserve it.

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