014-Light Under the Shade-Memoir


I don’t know how the hell much longer I’m going be up here in Colorado, and I dread going back home to the war zone of a mansion I destroyed during the break that got me here in the first place. The doctor back home, Dr. T—She believes my family is quite reasonable. And she has this whole power trip over me, because of my illness. At least that’s what I think. It sucks that I am not even comfortable with my own doctor.

My family has not been reasonable. It’s such a complicated ordeal. I can hardly begin to spill the details.

I worry about my wife dying. She is 24 years older than me and has excellent health. I worry about the tragic possibilities. And that if I lose her too soon, that I won’t have a clue about how to get what I need in life. I don’t know her contacts, even her family and friends. I won’t have the knowledge, or rather the ability to understand the scope of the issues with my family. All the negligence and illegal acts they’ve committed against me. I have no idea how to put any of it together in my head, but she does. There are so many e-mails and documents that Maureen hasn’t showed me, for good reason. They would stress me out too much if I knew about them.

The family has badmouthed me to my wife over the phone, and there are countless other acts of hatred and abuse and neglect which would be a difficult task to prove in court because both sides would argue… each side.

Probably what’s most messed up about all this, is that I cannot qualify for any public or government help, whether it be help with housing for people with mental illness or even a public lawyer, or social security because I am totally broke but at the same time I have millions in the trust fund. Someone’s not releasing any of the funds to me, so it appears that I have money (millions, which I do… it’s just controlled by the family) and at the same time I am completely broke.

Yesterday, it was like Spirit had knocked me on the shoulder, because all of a sudden, even though I have been refusing to communicate with the family and Maureen is refusing (with good reason) to write them, pretending that she is me, I wrote them a simple, cordial e-mail just asking Someone to release the requested funds so that I can move on with my life. We’ll see what happens with that, if anything at all. They sure as hell won’t communicate with Maureen. They claim she stole money from me prior to our getting divorced along with other insane accusations. Someone is trying to get me to fend for myself against the IRS because they committed fraud with my tax returns and they are trying to force me to sign them, so that I’d take the heat—a palatial dose of heat. A blazing forest fire.

-J. Harnisch

About Jonathan Harnisch

Author | Mental Health Advocate | Schizophrenia | Artist | Blogger | Podcast Host | Patent Holder | Hedge Fund Manager | Film & TV Producer | Musician
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