the blog

Turn Around and Go Back

“It’s the head injury,” you say again, the fifth time today that you’ve used the excuse. “I get scared and I just freak out. I don’t want to be this way. It’s like I know what I’m doing, but only after the fact.”

Yesterday we looked up the symptoms of right temporal lobe damage. Paranoia, lack of speech inhibition, increased sex drive, aggression, difficulty recognizing spoken words, faces, and facial expressions. It’s that last one especially that makes you behave like a narcissist. You can’t understand the impact of your behavior if you can’t read the cues that tell you how I feel. Paired with the paranoia that keeps you dependent on me, the aggression, and the inability to shut up, it makes you super emotionally abusive.

So what? It actually IS the head injury.

You must realize the difficulty of my situation now. Yes, the brain is plastic. You’ve come such a long way since we started and I’m genuinely proud of you, but I can’t sign on for years more of this shit.. You don’t listen to me when I tell you what needs to change, you get defensive, shut me down, deny or play the victim. You’re tired or you’re done with this shit, with me and the conversation, and my words almost never get through. When they do, you quickly forget, as damage to the right temporal lobe is also associated with nonverbal learning impairments.

I love you, but I don’t love you enough for this shit. You’re not the one, I’m not done being a full, unattached human being and I’m certainly not ready to nurse you through a terminal illness. I can’t financially support you and I am not willing to keep sacrificing the amount of energy that you consume. Defending myself against baseless accusations, pushing back the boundary lines that you perpetually violate, the endless, endless arguing over nothing… I can’t do it anymore.

You can change, but I can’t help you do it.

You need to go home, Brian. When I’m finally caught up on this mountain of bills, I will buy you a ticket. You can’t keep subjecting me to this, I do not consent. Go home to your real mother.