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By Root 1043 0

of rage, anger, extreme pain. They mix together into what I call the Fury. I have known the Fury for as long as I can remember. It is the one thing that has been with me throughout my entire life. I am starting to learn how to deal with it, but until recently, the only way I knew was through drinking and drugs. I took something, whatever it was, and if I took enough of it, the Fury would subside. The problem was that it would always come back, usually stronger, and that would require more and stronger substances to kill it, and that was always the goal, to kill it. From the first time I drank, I knew drinking would kill it. From the first time I took drugs, I knew drugs would kill it. I took them willingly, not because of some genetic link or some function of some disease, but because I knew they would kill the goddamn Fury. Even though I knew I was killing myself, killing the Fury was more important.

I look at my Parents.

I don’t know why, and I don’t know if it matters, but whenever you are near me, the Fury gets worse. Whenever you have tried to control me or baby me or take care of me or stop me, the Fury has gotten worse. Whenever we talk on the phone or I hear your voices, the Fury gets worse. I’m not saying you’re to blame for it, because I don’t think you are to blame. I know you did the best you could with me and I know I’m lucky to have you, and I can’t think of anything in my background that would have caused it. Maybe the Fury is genetic, but I highly fucking doubt it, and I won’t accept disease and genetics as the cause of it anyway. It makes it too easy to deflect the responsibility for what I have done and what I have done knowing full well I was doing it. Each and every time, I knew full fucking well, whether it was take a drink or snort a line or take a hit from a pipe or get arrested, and I made the decision to do it anyway. Most of the time it was to kill the Fury, some of the time it was to kill myself, and eventually I didn’t know the difference. All I knew was that I was killing and that at some point it would end, which would probably be best for everyone involved. For whatever it is worth, I feel it now, sitting here with you, and I will feel it tomorrow morning when I see you again. I will feel it the next time we speak, and the time after that and the time after that, and if there is an explanation for why I am the way I am or for who I am, it is that there is a Fury within me that is uncontrollable without drinking or drugs. How do I get better? I take responsibility for myself and I learn to deal with myself and I learn to control the Fury. It might take a while, but if I hold on long enough and I don’t accept excuses for failure or deflect what is essentially a problem I have caused, I can do it.

My Mother and My Father stare at me. My Mother looks as if she’s going to cry, my Father looks pale, as if he has just seen a terrible wreck. My Mother starts to speak, stops, wipes her eyes. My Father just stares. Joanne speaks.

Not discounting other factors, I would say there may be some validity to your theory, but I am curious where you think this Fury comes from.

I don’t know.

She looks at my Parents. There are tears on my Mother’s face, my Father still stares. My Mother looks at me, speaks.

Why didn’t you tell us this before?

What was I supposed to say?

Do you hate us?

I shake my head.

What did we do?

You didn’t do anything, Mom. This isn’t your fault.

She wipes her face. My Father stares.

I’m sorry, James.

Don’t be sorry, Mom. I’m the one who should be sorry.

There is a long silence. My Father looks at Joanne, speaks.

Could this feeling, or set of feelings, have been brought on by a Medical Condition?

Did James have a Medical Condition as an Infant?

He had ear problems.

Were they properly diagnosed and treated?

My Mother speaks.

We didn’t know.

How did you not know?

My Mother looks at my Father and she takes his hand. She speaks.

We didn’t have much money when the Boys were first born. Bob was a Lawyer, but most of his salary went to paying off his school loans. Bob Junior