Arbitrary Incest - 1

Today, I'm standing before a glass paneled door, watching the sun come up. My son is sleeping on my bed; he had complained of being terrified of something he'd seen out the window, so I let him sleep in my room, but I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. He will be up probably in another hour, so before that, I better get this out quickly and in as much dignified way as possible...

I was sixteen when I lost my virginity. I did it in my boyfriend's garage. Ever since, I'd had this incredible delusion: of him being my brother in some way.

I was an adopted child; I should mention that, and my father wasn't around much when I grew up. In fact, I even didn't know what he looked like. He was a mysterious, looming figure that would show up to fuck my mother, unnoticed, sometimes at night, sometimes at day. I never had the courage to go and have a look, fearing that I might intervene something gross and sexual.

Anyways, after the first time with my boyfriend, I began to have sex with him on a regular basis. I averaged at least four times a week. Back then I thought that was great somehow. But, each time we did it, I would head home and walk up to my terrace and walk back and forth consumed by this ridiculous delusion that he could somehow be my brother.

I kept noticing things when we had sex; like the way his nose resembled my grandfather's exactly. Of course, I had never met my grandfather, but my mother had this one picture hidden in a closet drawer that I used to look at every time, since I was twelve. My boyfriend's nose, in fact, looked exactly like my grandfather's. Then, one night he had said something very similar to what my mom had said to me over the phone some morning. And it triggered something in me which furthered the delusion.

But that was not enough; I recognized that, and I would cringe every time I'd imagined him as my brother, but I kept picturing him in that way, helplessly.

We continued to have sex for a year; all the while I kept fueling this absurd thought.

But this one day really shook me up.

Like always, my father had showed up at my house one night. I had seen him from the terrace, parking his car a few yards away from my house, but as he walked into to the backyard I could only see the side of his face; still not knowing what he looked like, then I conjured enough courage to actually sneak behind him.

I ran down silently and went into the dark backyard garden and looked into the window. My mother took him to the bedroom. Then, I started to hear yelling; it was my mom's voice. My father had hit her I presumed, so I immediately panicked and went in the back door to confront them.

I pushed open the bedroom door and that's when I saw it! My father was exactly the same person as my grandfather. I'm not even joking or trying to be ambiguous or retarded. He was, in flesh, my grandfather from the picture I had always seen.

What followed was extremely delirious. I almost had a panic attack and collapsed that night. My mother had, after seventeen years, confessed, that she was actually not my mother. But, in fact my grandmother. And that, my biological mother had given me up to her and my apparent grandfather, and had committed suicide, unbeknownst, only to be eventually found rotting in her bedroom. She wouldn't tell me why. I insisted, but she wouldn't or maybe she didn't know.

Nevertheless, I had asked her why she had played me in such a way since my childhood, to which she, again, had no response. I think she even laughed awkwardly and tried to comfort me. I was extremely enraged and disgusted and I, in a frenzy, ran out of the house. At midnight, I reached my boyfriend's house and told him everything. He couldn't believe it either, but he comforted me and let me stay in his room for the night. I did.

But, as you can imagine, I couldn't sleep that night. I had forgotten about the delusion of my boyfriend, and began deliberating about the genealogical inconsistency of my life, involving my mother and her parents.

If, in fact, I was born and my grandparents had adopted me, that would make my biological mother my sister. And, if that were true, my grandparents were my parents and my uncles and aunts were my cousins? What the fuck was I getting into?

Well, I don't know...but it gets worse.

After deliberating for four hours, I had made peace with myself and had began to fall asleep, mostly because of tiredness. I slept badly, as you can imagine. The trauma was unbearable and bottomless. I kept waking up, having a weird fever dream over and over, playing out slightly differently. I'd hope'd it would all be a dream; no success, it wasn't.

At eight in the morning, my boyfriend woke me up. He'd given me some painkillers because I was having the most epic migraine of my life that morning. He then, said he'd fetch breakfast and went back and I stayed aimlessly staring at the ceiling, lying on the bed.

It was eight-thirty and I had to pee so badly. So, I got up, went to the kitchen, and saw my boyfriend making eggs; I asked him where the bathroom was and he'd pointed it out, but said his father was using it and I'd have to use the one in the master bedroom.

The master bedroom was on the first floor. I went up the stairs, got into the toilet, and peed myself, before I could get my pants off. I couldn't get out like that, so I came back into the master bedroom and started to look for some pants that I could change into. I found one in the cabinet near the bed. I put it on.

I started to leave, when my boyfriend's father came into the bedroom and on one look at his face I threw up on the bed. It was horrible and disgusting. Again, I mean again, it was my grandfather. My grandfather-father.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!

I could believe anything. What the fuck was happening? For real? 

Crazy!

Grandfather-father tried to calm me down, but I began to jerk insanely and throw a tantrum. I started yelling obscenities and hitting everything, knocking things off with a cushion. I couldn't control myself. My boyfriend came up, screaming, but he was helpless because he couldn't understand anything that was going on. He just stood there, confused, exchanging puzzled glances with his father, my grandfather-father.

That's when the absurdity hit me. It hit me so fucking hard. I questioned everything. Nothing seemed real anymore. It was cruel. A violence grew inside me and I started to cry out loud. And, I ran screaming. I didn't know where to go. I kept running without direction.

At nine, I came to the park and thought the best thing would be to kill myself by drowning in the lake in its east side. But, I was scared. The east side had too many high trees and it was always dark and there were always stray dogs there. After three hours of maddening contemplation, I decided against it. I had cried my eyes out and now, I was dizzy and tired. I went and sat on a park bench. That's all I remembered of that day. I had passed out and I never remember a thing that happened after that.

I woke up, you wouldn't believe, but here goes, in a mental hospital. A fucking mental institution, in the general ward, back where they were holding temporary beds, rows and rows of it.

Someone had seen me being frenzied and mad and had called them on me. They, without interrogation, had taken me in. No one had intervened either. Who could? Everyone and everything was a lie.

All right, I can't tell you more, maybe later. My son is waking up now. There see, he is up...

[to be continued]