dysfunction

The first (or at most, second) connotation that comes to mind when one hears the word "dysfunctional", is family dynamics. Apparently there are some dysfunctional families out there.
That was "understatement". Virtually every single family is one form or another of dysfunctional. How else could they be, in a society deficient in the most basic understanding of what makes for a healthy, balanced human being?
I came face to face with some heavy family dysfunctionality recently. Not the nuclear kind, though. It was a demonstration by two members of my family of an individual dysfunctionality acquired long before they married into our clan.
I was visiting with Mom and her husband. They just retired to Florida, and i had brought their car to them. My favorite aunt and her irrepressible husband live nearby. Unc is manic depressive. His manic side manifests in an obsession he's been living for at least a decade, dealing with how fucked American society is (please don't let the fact that he's obsessed persuade you that he's wrong). He only listens to foreign news services, has a collection of 600 documentaries, and loses his sense of conversational appropriateness when he starts talking about politics...which occurs during most conversations. His ultimate windmill, his most cursed dragon? Neo-cons.
Auntie has been living with this for years, and has learned how to manage him with a good degree of success.
Mom has a horsband of an entirely different color. He has social phobias (please try not to jump to the conclusion that that's not a reasonable response to this world). He tries to be sociable when it's unavoidable, but avoids it when he can. This is most obvious come game time. He refuses to play (the one exception being trivia). There may also be some competitive issues driving this behavior.
These two men have styles of social interaction that are polar opposites. One confronts, the other hides. I've known these things for years, but had never come face to face with their most intense displays of dysfunctionality.
Then came the last night of my visit.
It started when i was with some friends. They have a child, Van, who thinks the world of me, and i'd gotten his hopes up about going on an adventure with me. I had already invited all my friends and family to dinner at Sweet Tomatoes on my final night, and thought it would be perfect to invite Van to play a game with me and Mom and Auntie afterward, a cherished board game from their youth called Gotta Go (it's about getting to the outhouse...no, really). I thought they would delight in it just as much as he. The day after i'd made the arrangements, Mom said that bringing a child into the presence of their husbands would never work. I'd assumed her husband would be fine by himself in the other room, and Unc had given indications that he might not even come. But she talked me out of my plan...which i thought seemed just so silly and sad.
It was sad - but not silly.
Van and his parents went their own way after dinner. My family had game night, just the five of us (or four, with Mom's better half in the other room). During the game, Mom's gaze fell on some stuffed mice in her cupboard, modeled after George Bush and John Kerry. In a brain fart of everestean proportions that i'll be busting her chops over for years, she became seized with the desire to show us that they both still talked, spouting their mousey political slogans of seven years ago. Within fifteen seconds, Unc was at a place i'd never seen him. He was so out of control with horror and rage, he'd lost the ability to speak. He sat there, wide-eyed and quivering with the strain. I knew what it was to look in the eyes of insanity.
All through the evening, Mom's hubby had been watching TV in the other room. Occasionally, we'd pull him into our conversations. When the party started breaking up...a moment when he knew the end was in sight and had every reason to start breathing easier...something in him snapped. Out of nowhere (but his damaged psyche), this most non-confrontational person you'll ever meet began angrily berating us to hasten the end of the evening.
I was amazed.
I wrote this article because there are probably very few of us who've never come face to face with dysfunctionality.
I'm not even getting into the dysfunctionality of monogamous nuclear families...for instance, why both my brothers shunned all family contact for years. Maybe someday when i understand that better, i'll write about it.
I write this because...this is who we are. These two human beings, this is who we are. It's not about chemical imbalances, or being an asshole. I'm not denying that my uncle has a chemical imbalance, i'm just reminding all of us that the difference between these two and someone "normal", is a difference so tiny as to be negligible. The only problem with an ever-more-refined psychotherapeutic classification system is that it encourages an "us/them" outlook, allowing us to turn a blind eye to the societal conditions that gave rise to these neuroses and pathologies. Look at the tapestry of your own life, and suddenly turn one cherished triumph into bitter rejection...or add someone who was never there, someone who acted out their own misery on you in the most horrible way imagineable...or imagine some accident taking away the dearest person you ever knew, or even your whole family...and the path of your life changes. Don't misunderstand...i'm not saying that misery or insanity hinge upon huge events. It's the subtle things woven into the very fabric of our society that predetermine the isolation and horror that we all live in.
But if you think that right now, as you read this, there's no way you could ever become the most wretched human alive...starving, alone...then you have no clue about how this life works.
You have good mental health?
You've never in your life met a human being with good mental health.
If you've been able to adapt to this life more successfully than the untold millions who are now "classifiable", i'm happy for you. But if you don't appreciate the lengths you've had to twist your spirit to be able to fit in, then i'm almost more sorry for you than i am for those people whose inner wounds long since got the best of them.
This is us.
And...
It'll get better.
Maybe i wrote this article to share a piece of information i learned today. New York is one of the three centers of the "cuddle party" movement in this country.
What's a cuddle party?
Exactly what it sounds like, knucklehead. If i describe it, you'll think my nonsensical imagination is in overdrive. So read this: http://www.cuddleparty.com/.
And smile.
The world is getting better.
Are you ready?