Excerpt from After the Silence
By Kathryn Keats
 

The other night I was trying to go to sleep but couldn’t. For the first time in twenty years, a warm feeling of happiness settled on me like the rays of the sun. That feeling wouldn’t let go, and I lay awake for hours, basking in it. I am safe now. My husband and three children are safe. My family and friends are safe. But even so, my struggle with the past goes on. I capture these experiences within my music and lyrics and sing them, finally, as a free person.

When I was sixteen-years-old, my big brother, John, asked me to drive him to school on a rainy day so he wouldn’t have to ride his motorcycle. I refused, caught up in adolescent self-interest. A few hours later, I learned of his accident, and by evening, he was gone. A year later, I met a man who was much older than me. Ken was a musical director--an alluring genius who could compose 113 instruments from inside his head. He was warm and quiet and encouraging. He told me I had invincible talent as a singer and songwriter. Our relationship was amazing that first year. Together, we created music for his original shows. We toured and drank and lived the 80’s highlife as musical artists. But Ken also understood my loss, gently leading me toward the knowledge that I didn’t kill my brother. In fact, he reminded me of John: he didn’t judge me for being a rambunctious girl but tolerated my effervescent ways with quiet glee. I came home one day to find him pacing the cramped kitchen floor of our apartment. “Sit down,” he demanded. In a robotic voice, he continued, “You are Tina Martian. You are from France, and you are evil. You need to be dispossessed.”

I hadn’t seen it coming. Mental illness had sneaked up on us, creeping into our lives without announcement. It was violent and manipulative, and at times, I thought it would kill me. Still, I became determined to save my lover, my mentor, my friend. We tried to fight his illness, but we didn’t win. For fifty-four days, my lover held me captive, an ongoing scene that can only be described as a cut from The Deer Hinter, with continuous threats that the Zen Gods were instructing him to commit double Hari Kari by dismembering me and hanging my body from the trees. My sister rescued me. Ken was removed from our house in a straight-jacket and held on a 72-hour watch. As soon as he was released, we sent him home to the east coast, but he turned around and came back to kill me. The voices were instructing him and they would not let go. He was a slave to them, now.  He made it all the way to California, hidden by disguise, dressed in white linen with a white wig and beard, but when he got to Oakland, five police officers were waiting. The state of California, in a wrenching three and a half-week jury trial, sent Ken to a mental institution. I was on the stand for an unimaginable length of time, as I was the only one who could explain the danger that I was in. What had begun as my mission to save Ken had now turned into a mission to save myself and hopefully get him the help he needed in return. I was never angry with Ken. I was and I am angry at his illness. Six months later, he was released to a halfway house and then let out to wander the streets. In the 80’s, 180 days was a long commitment, with no evidence, and considered a great success. At least I had six months to live with out fear. I was advised to change my identity to assure my safety. With no other choice, I did as they asked. I lived for twenty years looking in every closet door, around every corner, keeping an eye out at all times in order to assure my husband and children’s safety. They never knew a thing.

Now, at last, I am living my life. Ken is not. He died, a genius who never regained his ability to function. . As for me, I am sadder and angrier and happier and less joyful these days. But I am here, having overcome unspoken torture and ritualistic abuse. My sister once said to me, “Kathryn, if all you do is recover from your experience, you’ve succeeded in your life.” That’s not enough. I may never fully recover, but I will succeed in telling my story through words and music to all who will listen. I will be of service. At last, I am able to do what God intended me to do. I am free to enjoy life, to sing, to make music, to give and to be whole.
 
Kathryn Keats life story has been written as a screenplay, written by Chrisanna Northrup. Her CD, After the Silence, will be released in Spring 2007 but you can get it, before its official release today, right here. She will send you an autographed copy if you celebrate her reclaimation and buy “After the Silence” today.

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