An enemy is a person that makes you think you are your own enemy.

My parents came into my room. I hardly noticed them. I was lost in thought, in myself. In the thoughts of my loves, my hates and what to do about each. They called my name many times, and I only responded when my father struck me. That's how out of it I was. I was angry when I came around, especially when I saw who it was. I wondered what it would be THIS time as I sighed and looked at them without much interest. My mother spoke first. I still feel feuding bouts of anger and hilarity when I think about what she said. . .

"Johnny, are you okay? I mean how have you been recently? Have you been okay?" Then she stopped and looked at me like a dog does at a buzzing insect, cocked head and all. My response was careful, for I didn't know exactly what was going on. Slowly I said,
"uh, I'm decent." She nodded slowly, still with the dog look upon her face, and it was easy with her features. She was thinking of what to say when my father suddenly interjected;
"Are you doing drugs?" and put his hand on my shoulder. I gave a look that said they were insane. I shrugged that look from me and just looked at the hand on my shoulder. Calmly I said,
"No," as this was a regular question. "They might interfere with the crap you make the doctor give me" I finished with a big smile that screamed ‘get that hand the fuck off my shoulder'. It worked. He took it away and put it on his knee.
"Are you telling the truth?" Oh, what a question. "Would you take a test?"
At this I just about had it, and it had only been about 3 minutes. Not a new record by a longshot, but still impressive.
"If I get to study." I said with no humour. I am not on drugs, but suspect it about them. Of course, it's okay for my mother to whack out on sleeping pills and low grade Valium, and my father to reek of alcohol and pot at three in the morning while stumbling in, rousing us all from sleep. I thought of the reality of alcohol and prescription drug addictions and thought of voicing my thoughts on their little vices and experiments in narcotics. But then my mother said;
"We want what's best for you." I wanted to laugh. I wanted to puke. You want what's best for me get me off these anti's and leave me alone to rot here in my room. Or get me a girlfriend. Whichever.
"Yuh huh..." I said, looking confused no doubt, since I was.
"We've looked into a place for you." Alright, game over, don't walk, hold the phone, stop the world I want to get off. Sunnyvale prison for the Happiness Re-Adjustment. Heavier drugs than I'm already forced into, big frigging orderly's with clubs, people rolling around in their own filth in their padded cells? No thanks, but I'll visit you there. . . If I had a pitchfork then, oh man!
"Oh yeah? What kind of place exactly? What's it called?" I said, sounding very very serious, but not being serious at all. They couldn't tell.
"Well, would you be interested?" My mother asked, pleading with her eyes to make this easy. No such luck mummy. I'm going out in a blaze of glory or not at all, sailor.
"Where?"
"It's very nice, has a pond and forest . . ."
"Where?"
"You get your own room, lots of attention . . ."
"Where is it?"
"You wouldn't have to stay very long . . ." I just gave up. YEAH RIGHT! "Psycho ward, huh? Big ugly orderlies doing whatever they want to me while I'm stuck in a nice warm straight-jacket colouring with my feet?" They were speechless, until my father said,
"Now you respect your mother." Why should I you don't, I thought.
"Respect? That's even funnier than the ‘we have your best interests' crap. What would you know about either?" I said and looked away to the wall. "Garbage."
"Now look, you might as well try it out, we've signed you up for a month this summer, starting next week."

This is where I sort of lost track of things. I had been tried and judged, and was waiting execution while sitting there speechless. Anger flared throughout my body, but that was what they expected. They talked some more, while I was in an uncomprehending daze. Or so I made it appear. When they left, much too much later. I smiled. I smiled so broad it touched all four walls of my room. They must have expected something from me, but I doubt it was what they got out of me.

And all that brings me to where I am now. In a courtroom, at a table with a happy, happy lawyer. All the time spent in all their institutions, their schools, their homes, and of course their correctional facility and they could still think me insane. What a laugh. The last portion of my life in institutions made by them I was deep in thought, as usual. But I was not dreaming through visions of how to attain world peace, or even peace with myself. I thought of how to prove myself sane, by their standards. They do not think of peace or love or respect, thought they may plead otherwise. They think money, revenge, lust. I taught myself to think like them. I did my time in the final institution they could put me through, and got out. Immediately, I went to a lawyer, which again takes me to where I am. How could I prove I could be like if them if I chose? Play by their rules. What says rules more than a lawyer and a lust for money?

My lawyer is happy happy because he just got some more money. A lot more money. We sued my parents for defamation of character, amongst other less interesting abuse charges, and won. Won and won big, if I may say. Hee hee hee. Maybe it was the drugs that made me do it, but it doesn't really matter. Institutions, what a laugh. And I am not my enemy. Not by a longshot.

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