Narrative Introduction

It’s amazing what details come up in family therapy sessions. How the facts that have long remained in a chemical fog come to light and paint a clearer picture. As disquieting as these times are they allow me to recount this story in more depth than I ever could on my own.

I remember it was an overcast day in late February. It must have been something past three because the school day was over and I was on the other side of town. The matriarchs of my family, Elizabeth and Dorothy, took me to Iceberg to get some food and a good shake, but when the order came, they left the cheesecake out of my beloved frozen raspberry-cheesecake dessert. Was this the last straw? I can’t remember. However, I do remember we made our way through the residential parts of Orem, seeing the newer homes and the ones as old as ours. I remember we came home in time for my second favorite show.

How long ago did I make the decision? I can’t recall. I toyed with the idea, the philosophical and metaphysical ramifications, and the emotional consequences. Why did I choose that weekday in February? This also eludes me, but the fact remains, that is when I made my choice.

King of the Hill came on at the stroke of five, as constant as the sunrise. I was on Wikipedia looking up a murderer as I watched, whose name escapes me, but he was brought up in one of the two sequential episodes as the man that Ladybird’s mother had tracked down. Even thought my attention was split between the internet and the television I made my move, I felt it was time. I told my mother that I loved her and I shuttled her upstairs. I was alone with my television and computer, the two facets of my life. I moved from the stairwell to my mother’s bedroom. Thus it began.

Nick B.