[Redbook1:168-169][19700721:2400]{Madness
in the home}[21st-22nd July 1970]
Tuesday 21st-22nd
July 1970.
12 midnight
I must get
this down.
My father
is going mad, or is mad already. How do
I know? I don't, but the effects are the
same, and they are what matter: sudden bursts of motiveless anger over minor
points, reducing members of the family to tears or to mutinous silence; or
longer periods of irritability which leave us tense and taut, wondering which
way to jump. The effect is plain on M
and S; B is growing up behind for his age -- not in work especially -- though
he is -- but in living: he bursts into tears, etc.. L also cries much more now. There must be a connection.
As for me,
I am tied to this house. Even if I could
leave the others with a clear conscience, I am financially dependent for the
next five years at least. Thanks largely
to his eccentric and antisocial behaviour I have virtually no friends of my age
who could compensate for the impending collapse of my family, nor am I easily
capable of 'making' them. The few
contacts I have kept from school seem to drift further and further away, and I
hesitate to disturb them again. By the
same token I have no 'sex-life'. All my
efforts seem doomed to failure. Even my
writing, an inadequate sublimation, seems juvenile and shallow and accomplishes
nothing.
I begin to
realise, just for example, how much I missed by his refusal to meet people in Sussex
-- where I spend most of my holidays -- so much so that, at a critical stage I
unconsciously followed his example -- how else can I explain it? -- and could not cope with new faces,
refusing to meet them. In London all his
old friends had younger families, of little use to me.
I feel that
I am wasting away, wasted in a vacuum. I
cannot live without communication, therefore I wither.
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