Audacity

This morning, I wrote a letter to the director of the Mississippi Museum of Natural Science, congratulating her on a successful Sci-Fi Trivia night. I forgot to mention that I knew the man who coined the phrase “sci-fi” very well. I used to visit him every summer.

I’m aware of the audacity involved in saying, “You don’t know me, but I’m a big deal. I was away, but now I’m back. I’m here to serve.” I’ve done it quite a lot the last two years.

The Little Bird has been a key element to my recovery. Seeing her photo on Facebook, I said: “ya know, she looks like somebody…”

Boy, did she.

I’ve told her that her mother, my first friend, the stars in my night’s sky since I was a little boy, is the litmus test of Boyd. If she can believe I’m restored. If she can believe it’s me again, maybe even stronger than before, whatever anyone else says—if she can see it, then I’ll believe it.

The thing that destroyed me was not living my life honestly. I was trying to live my father’s life and ignoring the unique gifts God gave me that he didn’t give to Daddy.

Little Bird is so much like her mother. She laughs like her. She averts her eyes when she’s embarrassed, like her. She even moves her hands when she talks like her mother, but she is not her mother; she is unique. She has talents and skills that are similar to those of her mother, but unique to her.

Little Bird’s grandmother made it possible for me to read and write. That’s not an exaggeration. I had mutant-level learning disabilities. Mrs. McIntyre, as my third-grade teacher, was aware of some new ideas, and she knew a doctor in town who might do something about something.

Little Bird and her Mom are both far better writers than I am. They’re unique to each other, though. Little Bird’s writer’s voice is like a jazz piano. Her mother’s is like a cello or a harp. My writer’s voice is an old man on an old porch, telling old stories, but telling the truth.

The truth is kind of the key to restoring me.

Hi, I’m Boyd Campbell. My father and my uncle were a big deal, but I’m not.

I have mutant-level ADHD, Dyslexia, and Dyscalculia. I also have persistent, chronic depression. My brother had either Schizophrenia or very severe bipolar disorder. His diagnosis kept changing. He tried to kill me, but he loved me. The voices said he should.

While some psychiatrists wouldn’t agree, I’m convinced these three conditions are on a spectrum, much like how we describe autism now. It attacks the language centers of the mind and makes us believe things that aren’t true.

All three of these diseases come with a severe threat of suicide. My first girlfriend, whom I call Katie, which isn’t her real name, hung herself from her swingset when she was thirteen, and I had just turned fourteen. Happy birthday, Boyd.

Because I remember how I felt when they told me that my “little friend” was dead, specifically, suicide is something I specifically would never do, although, since I’m being honest, there were so many ways that I tried to kill myself with poor life choices. If you drink yourself to death, nobody will say you committed suicide.

What keeps me sane now, what keeps me not depressed, what keeps me moving and working and trying and believing is honesty. Though I had made a vow to her family, I missed Little Bird’s entire life. Opening our first dialogue, one of the first things I told her was, “There are things I have to be honest with you about.” That led to an explanation of why I was so devoted to her, and why I had failed her and failed my vow.

Hi.

I’m Boyd Campbell, the Second.

I was broken

I was not ever honest

I am restored

This is my honesty.

I’m ugly, but I’m strong

I’m covered in scars,

But I’m restored.

This is my sword

I offer it for your defense

This is my heart

I offer it in your service.