YO, YO, YO

I haven’t posted in awhile. I guess it because I am still pretty regulated – on the up side anyways. I will admit that I have been manic though. This last month my mind doesn’t stray far from the poker table. I now have a friend at work that plays online like do and I don’t know how healthy that is for me. You see, now we talk poker hand histories and strategy all the time. He is a new player to the game that I know so well, or think I do anyways. So he is basically my protégé and I am coaching him how to win money as I do. Plus, I have another one who is just starting out online and is depositing this week. They are being lured in by my success at our live games and my online winnings. They see it as a means to make money and ask tons of questions. All this has done is open the Pandora’s box to my love of poker and tilted me towards my manic self. My schoolwork is also suffering from this current enthrallment. I just need to complete 2 essays and I will be done with my current course. I actually competed one yesterday on childhood gender stereotyping, but I have been procrastinating all and all on getting these done. Even though I am manic I’m not too irritable, although loud voices and the children’s roughhousing rakes my nerves. I guess I do get a little agitated at the moment over simple shit, but I am containing my inner rage fairly well. I haven't had any anxiety attacks lately and that makes Ash a happy boy.

I hope everyone had a great holiday season. And don’t get too drunk tonight!!!

Later, Ash out…

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 11

My dad finished school and they decided to go to Michigan for the summer and do some missionary work at a church. So accentually I became homeless at that point. That scared me so I sobered up and got a hold of Jason and his mom let me move in. My sister stayed with being a nanny to my uncle’s family so she had a place to stay. Jason and I sat around getting high every afternoon and partying out every night and then sleeping all day again and repeated that cycle, while his mom supported us and kept giving him the funds to keep us tweaked. She finally got fed-up and started coming down on us pretty hard about getting jobs and to stop bumming our lives away. One of our party friends got us laborer jobs with a small-time construction crew. This turned out to be worse than not having jobs. You see, the owner was a big-time drug dealer and the whole crew was like us - most worse. We all smoked pot on every break and lunch break. It got so bad that he would front us our weed one week and we would be working off that debt by working the next week. I was depressed that whole summer. My life was going nowhere. My parents called for the only time at the end of that summer and told me that they had taken a pastor job in a very small town in Michigan. They said that they were coming home to get all their belongings and U-hailing it all up north and my sister was going and I needed to decide what I wanted to do. My life was going nowhere and Jason’s mom was at her wit’s-end with us. It was only a matter of time before I ended up in jail or dead with the horrible things that we were doing. I decided to make a new start and said that I would go. I registered for school and went to school the first day. The freshmen all met-up in the gym that first morning for orientation and to meet the teachers. I was 3 years older than those kids and they were running around and playing like the kids that they were. Kids were abhorred seeing me smoking in the boy’s room and I told them all to fuck-off and grow-up. I was surrounded by immature freshmen that whole first day and quit right then and there. My parents were disappointed, but what did I care. My sister found out that there was a community school for dropouts. I signed up and started going there. And of course these were just the kind of kids that I didn’t need to be around. I got right back into the drug and party scene and became a town thug. I met my future wife the first time while going to score some dope from her sister’s boyfriend, which lived at her parents’ house. I talked to her a while my friend was hanging with my future brother-in-law. I thought she was pretty hot but she was only 15 at the time and I was 17 and I didn’t think I’d likely she her again anyways. A few months later I saw her again. 2 guys and I were cursing Main Street and picked up her and her 2 friends. I immediately had my eye on her. It was Devil’s Night, which is the night before Halloween, where local kids would toilet paper and egg peoples’ houses. I had never heard of it, but hey, it was a new state. When they got in they asked what was up with the rifle in the back seat. For some reason my dad had left it the car; I told them to just sit on it. No telling what they were thinking about at that point. I didn’t even get a chance to talk to her because soon after picking them up I was pulled over by the cops. The girls worried about the guy and so was I although I said to just keep sitting on it so the cop wouldn’t see it. I know he pulled me over because we were young and I had out of state plates and it was Devil’s Night. The cop lied and said that he pulled me over because I forgot my blinker at the turn. He was a real dick and made us all get out. He asked if I had any eggs in my car or anything else to hide. I kind’a lied and said no; well I didn’t have any eggs anyways. He quickly saw it and told me he was arresting me. Me, ever the comic for my adoring crowd; I screamed Rodney King over and over as he bent me over the car and cuffed me. He slammed my head off the roof while putting me in the back seat and I shut the hell up. I had been working the last few weeks along with my friends doing phone polls about the upcoming elections. My dad got my money I had saved and bailed me out.

I GOT PISSED

Some guys from other crews were talking about a resent child custody battle of another employee in the press control where I was standing and was half-ass part of the conversation. We were all happy that the guy got his kid. BUT, during the discussion they were talking about why he got the kid. One guy says that he didn’t understand why it took years to come to a resolution. He said that the judge had an easy decision because she was Bipolar. The other guy says no, she was schizophrenic, but they are basically the same thing. They didn’t take her kid from her because of that; they took her away because she was a bad mother, a drug addict, didn’t comply with the court resolutions over and over, and had already lost her 2 other kids for neglect. But I didn’t mention this because I was fuming at their ignorance. I told the mental illness ignorant bastards that there are huge differences. One guy said that I was the psych major so I should clear it all up for them. They probably were wondering why I was aggravated. I explained it all for them the best I could. What really pisses me off is that the major majority of this wonderful country is totally uninformed and ill informed about our illness. We are portrayed in the media and TV shows as total psychos that will snap at any moment and kill everyone in sight. I’m really getting sick of this shit. Every time someone kills someone or more than one person the “experts” start guessing that they are bipolar before anything is even known about the situation. It irks the shit out of me. The stigma that surrounds us at the mere mention of our illness is totally irrational and negative, degrading, demoralizing, and ultimately discriminating. We are stereotyped horribly in the media. One thing positive that I have noticed lately is a few bipolar meds are being advertised on TV. (Although I don’t agree with med advertisements because they take away form Drs diagnoses and horribly increase health care costs.) Maybe that will open the communication lines to the ignorant. OK, rant over.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 10

I moved back home and was allowed to go to that high school again because the expulsion was only for the prior year. I got right back in with my little gang of punks. One guy was a senor and had so many credits that he only had to go to school for 2 morning classes. That quickly became the daily norm to skip the rest of the day after 2nd period. I would always piss off the teachers by showing up in classes on Fridays and Ace the tests that the kids had been studying for all week. The teachers would always say, look who showed up for class again while calling roll, and the kids would laugh at my dumbass. We all had licenses and drank and got high every day. I would show back up at home at all hours of the night, eat, shower, and go listen to tunes in my room until I fell asleep. I can’t even begin to tell you all the dumb shit that I did that year, mostly because it would be incriminating evidence and if you haven’t already left my blog for good, you would. I once again got expelled even though I had basically quit anyways. They just pulled me into the office one day and said that I was a detriment to all the hardworking students and that I just wasn’t allowed on campus any longer. I agreed with them and left, quiting school in the 9th grade. I got a job at the local Burger King and was embarrassed daily as the juniors and seniors came in for lunch every day. So to feel better about myself I chewed on their pickles and spat on their hamburgers daily and ordered them up with a sly knowing smile. Man, was I a piece of shit. I truly don’t know what made me grow the fuck up and turn around my demented, sick, self-destructive, ways – well yes, actually I do – a good woman and needing to be a good father to two wonderful children. But I’ll get to that real soon. I soon got with a very nice looking senior, which was my friend’s girlfriend’s sister that was totally straight-laced, was still a virgin, barely drank, was an A-student, and was deciding which college she wanted to attend. She got with me because she finally decided, I guess, that she wanted to lose he virginity and figured I was the guy for the job. She dumped her current clueless boyfriend and started dating me because I always made her laugh while we were over visiting her sis. I obliged her and stayed with her for a while until I got in real heavy into the party scene. I ended up not visiting her often anymore as I virtually started living at a flophouse in a housing projects. I am truly lucky to be alive with all the violence and shit going on around me. These people were truly the scum of the earth and my 17 year’s old ass was nuts-deep in the lifestyle. I saw everything you could imagine while being there off and on. I had been there for over a week straight on one long bender and my best friend, which I had even isolated myself from because of the drugs, brought her there to talk to me. I was trashed and went out and kind’a sobered up a little so I could have a serious chat. She started crying seeing me that way and told me that she couldn’t stand to see me destroying my life anymore. She gave me an ultimatum, basically asking me to give that shit up and come back to her or stay and continue killing myself. Summer was basically almost there and she would be leaving for college anyways so I told her that she was way to good for me and that I was only holding her back. That she had a whole life of success ahead of her with college and all and that I was going nowhere. She gave me a long hug and wished me the best, she got in her car and left, and I went back in and commenced to get fucked-up for another few days.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 9

I went back and lived at home for the summer, fully intent on going back to live with my uncle when school started back up. I met a new kid that was also living on campus and he talked me into going to his youth group. I made fast friends with the kids there and they didn’t need me to corrupt them; they were already there. I got into a small group with 2 others there and one of their friends that was already 21 and the debauchery ensued. We thought we were a gang and did some extremely horrendous things together. Put it this way, I stole my father’s gun and ended up having to throwing it in a river. And no, I didn’t kill anyone. They tried to talk me into staying with my parents and attending school there, but I declined. I was going to get into some bad trouble hanging with them and I knew that it was time for me to get away from them before I ended up in prison. I made some phone calls at the end of summer and decided to live with my best friend Cliff, his older sister, and their single mom instead of my drunken uncle at the beginning of 9th grade. I was going to be good I had decided. We had to commute an hour one-way to get to school, which was a different school that consolidated a lot of smaller middle schools from a few small districts into one large high school. I should have already had my license, because I was already 16, but they didn’t have that program in middle school, obviously because kids aren’t supposed to fail twice. It was kind’a cool, because the driving instructor would pick us up, along with 2 other local kids, in the morning a few days a week, and we would take turns driving to school and back. Cliff got his learner’s permit and I got my real license. His sister was out of school and going-out with a college student and we would spend weekends with them at his apartment instead of me going home on the weekends. They would let us get drunk. It was new for Cliff (other than at the previous summer’s church camp,) but not for me of course. His mom left for work before we left for school and got back late in the afternoon so we began skipping school and drinking liquor that her boyfriend would buy us with money that his mom supplied us for school and odds and ends. We started slow, but got to be 3 or more days a week. Things got bad from there and my friend and I had a falling out, for no other real reason than we were with each other 24/7. Oh yea, plus his mom started getting calls from school. I was only there for the first marking period. I left for home that day. During those few months I had gotten pretty close with his uncle Frank that lived next door and visited him on most days. I had always dropped by and said hi while visiting Cliff the year prior. He had a hair-lip and it was hard to understand him and even worse when drinking. He was a bad drunk and was always very depressed and was always happy to see me and have someone to talk to. The only other people that talked to him were a couple that lived across the street. They were shit and only were nice to him because he would give them money that they would never payback, but he kept giving to them because he thought they were truly his friends. One night he called them at 3am and told them that he left a note in the mailbox. They said whatever and that they were trying to sleep and didn’t find it odd, they told us later. Frank then went out to his shed and hung himself. It had a low ceiling and he actually had to hold his feet up to die or the jump off the chair broke his neck; I’m not positive which way he killed himself. I had bummed 2 cigs off of him the day before, until I got to go to the store and get my own. In the morning while waiting for the driving instructor to show-up, I started towards his house to repay him his 2 smokes and almost made it to his driveway, where I would have walked right by the opened shed and saw him hanging. The student driver car pulled into Cliff’s drive, so I had to turn around and get in the car. We got picked up from school later that morning and were told the bad news. Cliff’s father had just killed himself the Thanksgiving prior. He had recently been diagnosed with MS and took losing his strength and muscle control very hard and had become very depressed and distant with his family. He left the Thanksgiving table and went into the garage, put a 12-gauge in his mouth, and blew his head off. Cliff got anything he wanted because he was traumatized. After Frank died his mom was really worried because she thought the men in his bloodline had a faulty gene, because the last 3 men of his lineage had all committed suicide. First was the grandfather year prior and then both of his only sons. (Cliff’s dad and uncle.) His death bothered me because I had gotten so close to the depressed man. It was the first funeral that I attended. The wake was open-casket. He looked like a hollow husk of a human, like the long dead carapace of an insect. The make-up made him appear an imitation of man, resembling a wax mannequin. I stood staring at his body and found myself compelled to repay my debt to this man. I took out my pack of cigarettes placed 2 of them if his front suit pocket and said goodbye.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 8

I had made up with my alcoholic uncle by this time via phone and he was willing to take me back again so I could attend school. I had to meet with the Principle again and she said that if I promised to be a good kid, she would rescind her previous threat and let me back in. She stated that other than that one major incident I wasn’t too bad the last year. I had gotten caught fingering a cheerleader on the school bus on an away baseball game at the end of the year. She still was extremely pissed about that and told me that she wouldn’t even tolerate seeing me kissing on campus, but let me stay, because she said that I was an A-student and that all the kids missed me. I was really worried that she wouldn’t forgive that transgression, but for some reason she did. I was once again back with teens that legitimately cared for me. It was really worth the squalor in which I lived, to be with that group of friends. There was never anything in the fridge but condiments and only sugar, flour, and sometime crackers in the cabinets. Roaches everywhere, and when you turned on the lights at night myriad roaches would flee the scene. I wonder how many I swallowed in my sleep? He lived day-to-day. He bought just enough 40-ounce bottles of cheap beer, generic smokes, gas, and food to make it until the very next day. You see, he didn’t want to mess up and accidentally spend too much on food and gas by buying more than a day’s worth, because when it got towards the end of the week he might not have enough money before his check for smokes and his almighty beer, because it could be sitting in his tank or fridge. That was a no-no. One thing I can say is that he always made it to work; I guess you would call him a functioning alcoholic. Every morning I would hear him in the bathroom puking up the last of his bile and then loudly brushing his teeth. I had to wash every day with dish soap. We almost always ate chicken because it was cheap. Thank God for school lunches - and there aren’t too many kids that would say that. They were the happiest times of growing years though. Everyone liked me and I was the most popular kid in our small school. It was a great place. There were only two classes in that small rural school. It was about 50/50 white and black, but for some odd reason there was absolutely no racial division and everyone hung out with everyone. Well, there was this one Goth kid, back when they just called them headbangers, but he got the shit kicked out of him about once a week, and for some reason still couldn’t stop saying hateful, racist things. After a few months of that, I got tired of seeing my friends get suspended for fighting and seeing him always by himself, so I finally called a meeting in the schoolyard, and talked everyone into a truce. Eventually he even became a semi-welcome part of our large clique, although he was always considered weird because he liked to cut himself. I loved it there. I was the worst kid in school and I was actually on my best behavior. I never got suspended the rest of that year. All the teachers knew that I smoked and turned a blind-eye because I was the unnamed leader of the kids and I never encouraged the other kids to smoke or do the things that I was known for, to all the faculty that read my ever-thickening file. I actually used to get out of class in one period to get coffee for that teacher in the janitor’s room and would sit for 10 mins or so and smoke with the janitor and lunch ladies. I also was an A-student again and the one teacher that I used to give shit the year before was a youth group leader at the church right beside our roach-infested trailer park. We became to understand each other and she let me get away with a lot that other teachers wouldn’t have after I started. The kids talked me into going and although I corrupted them somewhat, I purposely never tried to get them to do anything I was known for, other than having sex with a few of them. I never drank or did drugs that year. I actually went to bible camp for the first two weeks after school got out for the summer. I wasn’t real good there I will admit. I had reunited with my childhood friend whom stole the cigarettes, because my uncle lived close to my original NC hometown. I talked Jason into going to my youth group towards the end of the year and we both went to camp together. We smuggled in a lot of booze and had a party with all my normally good-mannered friends. We didn’t get caught, but I always did feel bad about pushing them towards their repressed inherent experimental teenaged nature.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 7

When school started back up I got right back into the bad clique. Then mid-way on during that 2nd 7th grade year came my last times in that house and town. I occasionally came home on the weekends to visit my parents after that. It was a Friday and I was going to stay at a friend’s house that weekend. My parents were going to be out of town all week-end on some church function so they dropped me off a carton of cigs at school. The office personnel confiscated them and the Vice Principle told me that I couldn’t have them back and put them in his desk. My friend, whom I was staying with that weekend, and a pseudo-friend, and I, all concocted a plan to get them back. Oh it was a great idea, I tell yea. We decided to skip the next class and pull the fire alarm and while everyone was outside we would infiltrate to front office and collect the goods. And I was supposed to have a high IQ; ha! Anyways we wait until everyone went into class and the 2nd bell rang and then we went into a stairwell and fought over who was going to do it. I was smart enough to know that I wasn’t pulling the damned thing. I don’t even remember much about this kid other than his name was Richard and that I had partied with him on occasion. I really don’t even know why this kid wanted to be a part of it other than he was always in trouble; he was known in our clique for calling in a few bomb threats to get out of school for the day, yet was never caught. He no more than pulled down the red handle and a myriad kids come storming down the stairwell. We immediately lost our nerve and filed right in with the closest class. When they called the all clear, we knew we couldn’t go back to a class mid-way. So we cheesed it and skipped the rest of the day. Bright and early Monday morning in 1st period we were all summoned via the P.A. to come to the front office. I knew the jig was up, but wasn’t going to cooperate. We 3 all sat staring at each other in the office with dread on our faces as we were called one by one before the Principle. Richard went first. When he came out he smiled at me proudly and strutted to his seat, presumably waiting for his parents to come pick him up. I soon found out why he was so flamboyant when he came out. I went in and was told that they knew we did it. And that we were the only kids in the entire school, which were in class before the incident, but not on the roll for the next class. Plus, he said that the fire alarm that was pulled was in the stair well right beside our hall. I didn’t crack; I played dumb. He then tells me that Richard had already told them the whole contrivance and then commenced to tell me the whole scenario. I was shocked at the kid’s stupidity. He even confessed to pulling the alarm. They knew, but couldn’t have proved it. He said that pulling it was a federal offense or some shit. He then told me to go outside and take a seat. Marty and I were expelled from school and Richard, who also had a bag of weed on him, was arrested and set away to a juvenile detention center. I never saw either one again. I had to walk the miles home and break in a window to get into the house and stayed there by myself for the weekend, because my parents were long gone. I was then sent the next week to live with my alcoholic uncle so I could go to school the remainder of the year. I had to sit with the Principle and get a speech that she didn’t have to let me in her school and that I had to prove to her that I was deserving. He loved me and usually treated me with respect, but life there was horrible. Him and his wife constantly fought over his alcohol abuse, while I comforted my little cousin daily. They left multiple times during my 5 months there. I always felt sorry for them and I was glad when she finally found the strength to leave for good to a better life that her and my little cousin deserved. It was a small school and I was very popular there as soon as I started. I was always popular at schools; kids envy funny delinquents for some dumb reason or another. I finally ended up getting suspended for the last week of school and my uncle and I had a falling out. He punched me, when in defense of his remarks about my parents, which were actually true, I called him a worthless drunk that had run his family off and ruined his own life. I moved back home, which was now in another city, where my parents were living in campus housing, due to my father having taken the call and was going to seminary to become a preacher. They had given my Lab back to the college kid when they moved because dogs weren’t allowed. My sister lived off and on with us, preferring for the most part to live with some of my more loving relatives in exchange for being an in-house nanny to there billion-and-one children. She was better off there anyways, at least she always felt loved with them, as her and my father never got over the fact that she was a stepchild, even though he had raised her from infancy. She had lived off and on with them throughout her whole upbringing. I never knew that she was my half-sister until I was 13 and her dad came to visit her for the only time in her life. I do remember corrupting a group of resident churchy kids on campus whom where sadly weak enough to try to follow my great example that summer. I met them all at the on-campus recreation center. Some of these kids didn’t even have TV’s in their homes, due to their parents’ overzealous religious dogmas, so you know they weren’t mentally ready to cope and withstand my rebellious influence. I quickly got a bad reputation on campus and most weren’t allowed even near me. My parents were real impressed. I also got banned from the Rec Center that summer. I started 8th grade in that city’s middle school. I instantly turned to the darkside, which turned into another period of debauchery continuing with the drugs, drinking, sex, skipping, suspensions, and within a mere 3 months, another expulsion from yet another school district. Shit I don’t even remember why I got thrown out for good; it wasn’t from just one incident I know that much. I remember skipping school once and doing acid and guzzling a 5th of Crown Royal and somehow ending up back at home that afternoon with my favorite pair of shoplifted, designer, baggy jeans ripped all the way down one leg. I never did acid again, it did too well messing with my then unknown bipolar mental wiring. Actually no drugs did well, but I continued to do the others, but mostly stayed with just pot after that. If I got real messed-up I usually ended up being that guy at the party that everyone wondered who had brought that crazy motherfucker there. Sickly, I soon learned to regulate my drug usage just enough to not hit that point. Man, are kids resilient!

Weight Update

I am pretty happy at the moment with my diet. Though I will never get back to my weight that I was for my last and last fight. (155lbs.) Honestly I don’t want to ever be that light again anyways. I still have a slight belly, but I’m happy. I do have some red stretch marks that I am self-conscious of, because I gained that 61lbs in about 9 months, swelling quicker than my skin could acclimate. It was like I was pregnant without the kicking, fluttering, morning sickness, and cravings for pickles and ice cream. The guys never threw me a shower either. Inconsiderate bastards! Hell, I don’t think most women gain that much during pregnancy? Courtesy of Depakote and Seroquel. Anyway, I currently weigh-in at 182lbs. That’s 34lbs. And still no exercise. LOL.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 6

Back at school I got kicked out often and lived in in-school suspension when I was actually at school, so even while at school I wasn’t normally in my regular classes. This is when my father found God and became a Christian. He tried to change at this time and become a nicer person, but by this time I was hardly ever home anyways, and was already set on the bad path that I had steered down. I always thought seeing him at church was weird; it just felt wrong. He would and still does, cry and get wobbly-voiced when preaching on some subjects or telling his testimony. I always felt like he was faking it. He never showed a tear when he was treating us badly as kids, not even coming in and apologizing after the fact. They made me go to church and join a youth group. I was a very bad influence on those weak-welled impressionable young teens. They were only good when around other Christian kids and throwing me in there definitely wasn’t spiritually healthy for them. I brought out the worst in the weak ones. I always fought to not go and finally my parents realized that forcing me wasn’t going to get me into the Kingdom, so they gave in and let me stop going. I was still made to go on Sundays and occasionally on Wednesdays. During spring break Rick and I lived at the mall. We ended up stealing a car and getting caught. We never even made it out of the parking lot, because like dumbasses we just kept driving around the lot. The guy didn’t want to press charges and we were released to his mom and one of my uncles, who was going out with Rick’s mom at the time. He was my youngest uncle and still in his twenties at the time so he was pretty cool about it. He gave us a 3 hr lecture that night while steadily getting drunker, thus repeating his self over and over. He never told my parents. Rick moved away and I started hanging around with high-schoolers more, who had cars and I got drunk and high for the first time. My first time, most of us did the ole “everyone is spending the night at everyone else’s’ house trick” and stayed out and got wasted. I was supposed to stay with this one kid because mom didn’t have a curfew for him. I threw-up all over myself and the front-seat of his truck. They made me get in the back of the truck, during winter, for the ½ hr ride and dropped me off drunk at my house, saying that he wasn’t letting me get him in trouble with his mom. I remember slipping in and out of consciousness and mumbling how cold I was, drunkenly over and over between chattering teeth, with frozen snot and vomit on my newly-sprouted, extremely thin mustache. I still recall them dropping me off in the road in front of my home that night at 2:30 am and beating on the door. Nice true friends there. I didn’t care about getting in trouble at that point; I was cold and I was mad. I staggered past my mom when she opened the door, yelling, “fuck them motherfuckers,” and b-lined into my room and slammed the door behind me. I didn’t cuss in front of them before that. Not those words anyways. My dad always cussed profusely before the whole reborn thing, but I can still probably count on one hand how many times I heard my mom cuss – and even then I never heard the F-word. I do remember, even though I was 4, my mom cussing tons and screaming the night she found out my dad cheated – but hey, I’ll be magnanimous and give her that day free. A few seconds later my dad swung open the door and turned on the light. He yelled, “what is it dope, blow, hash, smack, reefer,” and a plethora of other common drug terms that he knew so well. I told him to leave me the fuck alone and we would discuss my punishment in the morning and to turn the fucking light off. He must have been in total shock because I figured that he was going to beat the shit out of my near-comatose body, because before that I had never dared cuss at him. But instead he quietly shut my door. I was never home after that and my dad later on in life told me that he knew everything that I was doing, but he felt like a hypocrite and just let me spiral down because he felt helpless to stop it. I failed again that year because I was never at school from either skipping or suspension. A black family moved in a few houses down and they had like 7 kids. Robert was my age and Duck, was 2 years older and we because fast friends. We all smoked. They smoked Newports and I smoked Marlboros. God, did I hate when I ran out and had to bum one of the strong menthols. I stayed around the house that summer and hung with my new friends, especially Robert, which kept me out of trouble during those 3 months. It was a great summer. The Play Station had come out that last Christmas and we played Super Mario Bros. and Double Dribble for countless hrs. They also taught me to play cutthroat “21” on my old basketball goal with no net that hung on a tree in my side yard; we played a lot of hoop that summer. I think Duck maybe won 90% of the time. Duck also taught Robert and I how to play cards. He played some weird versions: Hearts, Spades, and different poker games, usually with wilds cards, In-between, and a game called Tonk. I don’t even remember the rules to that last one. That’s when I found my love of cards, other than loving to watch my grown-up relatives play poker at get-togethers. Sometimes they would let me sit on their laps and put the money in the pot when I was younger. I guess I can give him props for my poker hobby. No one in their whole family knew how to swim, but Robert always wanted to go get in the water. There was a pond on Rick’s old property and they had dumped a ton of sand on one shore making a beach with a sandy bottom in that part of the pond. Perfect place to swim in the hot, hot NC summer sun. Duck never went, but Robert and his slightly younger brother always did. It was so funny; they would get in about 3 feet of water and splash around. I ended up teaching them both to swim that summer. My dog, a black lab, would always go with us. It was already trained when I got it after frisky died. My dad got it from a guy whose kid went off to college and couldn’t take care of it. I saved James’ life that summer in that same pond. You would think if you couldn’t swim you wouldn’t walk out up to your neck on a sandy bottomed pond. I didn’t have to do CPR or anything. I just had to swim out and bring him back in. He almost drowned me by thrashing around while I was pulling him in to the shallows. He did swallow a lot of water though.

My Current 2 Favorite Songs

Timbaland - Apologize (feat. One Republic)



Kanye West - Stronger

Current Mood Music - Tired Twisted Gray-Matter

Metallica - SANITARIUM



Pappy Roach - Last Resort



Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody

Afraid and Alone

OK, I’m totally fucking frazzled. I am currently stressed right the fuck out. For the last 6 months or so I have not been stressed at my job. I confronted my boss back then in front of his/our boss and told how I was treated, how my job was threatened, and how he would cuss and scream in my face. I told them that they say that I am the best sup that they have, so why would he feel the need to treat me that way. I told them that I demanded to be treated with respect. After that meeting my boss didn’t mess with and bully me any longer. Our relationship changed for the better; he just asked me to do something nicely and I would do it. No unneeded tension and I would continue to do a good job, but with less undue stress and to my job and life. I explained that with my disorder I just could deal with the treatment. And through consoling I gained some tools to keep me from ruminating about issues. That was the key to controlling my anger, because I wouldn’t have already thought about minor issues incessantly and get livid over them and soon as the confrontation or meeting would occur I wouldn’t already have endorphins ready to fuel my rage. Well, mister rumination has reared his ugly head again in the last 2 days. I am in full-blown bipolar mania mode. Paranoia and conspiracy theories have dominated my every thought. Now it is time for some background info and the incidents and why I am so worried.

I get a call on my days off from my boss and I’m told that during my last night at work that there was some bad product (board) made and my guys blatantly just didn’t pull (downgrade) those boards and just packaged them up to send out to consumers of our product. He continues to tell me that the next 2 shifts’ personnel (which were 2 different crews) also just said fuck-it and didn’t pull the bad boards either. He told me that they couldn’t get a hold of my guys and that he needed me to keep calling and let them know that they needed to come in the next day on their day off and go back through all that board and pull the bad product. He said that there was a huge meeting to discuss the meeting at 9 am my first day back with everyone directly and indirectly involved in the incident. He said it doesn’t look good and Kurt (Plant Manager) was on the edge. The stress started and ensued for the remainder of my days off.

Here is the underlying issue. In the last 2 months 4 separate major quality issues have happened. A lot of downgrade has been incurred. All of these problems have occurred on the other 2 crews. (A and C Crew) But Kurt has had to answer for all of these to cooperate. With the housing market in the shitter and us being down for production curtailment at least 2 weeks out of every 2 months this year, that we need to produce efficiently when we are up and running. Dave and I (B and D Crew respectively) haven’t had a Quality issue in a year and a half to 2 years. A and C have had tons. After a 2 hr meeting with the hourly workers they left. We 3 Sups, a Relief Sup, the Technical Director (QC Superintendent), the Quality Control Leadman, the Finish End Superintendent, the Plant Superintendent, and the Plant Manager all stayed around to discuss the meeting and the disciplinary measures that in to happen. This management meeting lasted 2 more hours. We talked for a while and then my boss asked me what I thought the discipline should be for these people and then he was going to go around the table and ask everyone else’s opinion. I said that I felt that the meeting that we just had would be good enough and that we as Sups should go back and sit with each individual on our respective crews and reiterate everything that we discussed in the meeting and what we expected of them from then on. He wanted everyone written-up and the disciplinary report go into his or her permanent files. If you get too much negative documentation in your file your employment is terminated. Believe me I know. I said that if it was only one person, that that person made a conscious decision to not do their work or if it was one person that they all got together and decided to not do their jobs. But with it being 15 people over 3 different crews that there has to be some underlying issue at work. I said that they are obviously guilty for not caring but that we needed to look at the big picture here. That the current moral in the mill is very negative with all the hourly workers being laid off every month or so. That everyone is worried about their job security and that we had already lost a handful of people looking for different jobs. I stated that in my opinion that if you wrote-up that many people would perpetuate that moral issue and that we might lose more workers. He didn’t like my opinion and commenced to direct a long rant at me, looking at just me. I told him that I didn’t start this conversation; that I was asked my opinion; and that it wasn’t my fault that he didn’t agree with it. That kind’a pissed him off a bit. The two other Sups wanted write-ups of some sort but didn’t want the negative repercussions that would come from it. One guy would lose a worker because he was on his last leg, but at the same time he didn’t want to keep dealing with his ineptitude. Amazingly my boss agreed with my idea. When it was Kurt’s turn he said that he couldn’t just keep explaining these things to corporate. I understand his concern. He kind’a rolled everyone’s ideas into one and added to it. He said that we should write-up a performance agreement with all involved with some generic statement about what occurred and what we expect of them. He then stated that us Sups should also get one to improve moral. He said that if our guys knew that we got reprimanded for their actions, they would rally to us and do a better job to keep us out of trouble. I said hell no and that was crap. Everyone backed me on that issue. I stated what him and the rest already knew, that I was working on an issue all night and that none of my guys informed me of the bad product, so how could I be held accountable for that. After a long discussion we all decided that my boss and my idea would be best for the big picture. When he got up to leave the meeting he stopped at the door and stated talking about how to explain to corporate that no one was disciple for this blatant act. The QC Leadman and I both said that this meeting and the sit-down with the employees was discipline. He said no what we are going to is write-up a performance agreement with those employees. He didn’t mention writing us up. He left. I said to everyone at the meeting that if he was going to micro manage and do what he wanted anyways why did he waste 2 hrs of our life and take the time to ask us our opinions. All agreed with my statement and said talked about him always treating us like that. Our boss told us to start writing up these agreements. My boss comes by my office later and says that he had talked to Kurt later that morning and he made it sound like he changed his mind again and would likely make us forget about the performance agreement and go ahead and write the all up.

The next morning he came in and said that Kurt had pulled him into his office when he got there and said that they would get written up and that we would also. I was instantly pissed. I told JD (my boss) that it was unfair. That I didn’t know shit about the problem. I then stated A and C had tons of quality issues over the last 2 years and this was Dave and my first problem and how could we get written-up for our first issue when the other 2 Sups had never gotten wrote-up over any of their issues over the 2 years. He said that he agreed but his hands were tied. I told him, which he already was aware of, that I was on my last leg also and with this documentation I possibly could lose my job. He said that he understands and that he was thinking the same thing, but didn’t think that would happen. I fumed all day, totally stressed, until I got a call by JD to come to his office. The Finish End Sup and he were sitting in there when I got there. They informed me that I had possibly been making bad board since 9:30 that morning and that it was out of specs and that the QC Leadman was currently going through them to see how my were bad before they told Kurt the bad news. We waited for his call as we discussed the fact that Kurt was going to snap since he had just had the meeting the day prior and that my QC Tech was pretty much fucked and would likely lose his job. It turned out to be 28 units between that time-span the first one was thick as was the last when it was caught. These units luckily are salvageable with some rework due to the lap being thick. We can run them back through the lap saw and shave them down to the right thickness. While on the FE looking into the issue I dropped by the Lab to talk to the Leadman. I told him what I was told by JD about us getting wrote-up and why I felt is was BS. He told me that he was starting to really worry about his job because it just kept happening. He told me that being the Leadman that he had all the Quality data and would compile all the data about A and C Crew’s quality issues and put it in my in box so I would have hard facts when Dave and I fought our write-ups when our HR manager gets back in town. Soon I got a call to go up front to the conference room. I walked in and my boss, the FE Sup, QC Director and Leadman, and Kurt were waiting for me. We started going over the issue and discussed that it was possibly sabotage. A and C Crew are very disgruntled at the moment because they have been getting written-up for some of these other problems. My Tech caught one of their fuck-ups and in the ensuing meeting they said that they thought B and D Techs were conspiring against them and trying to get them in trouble and also sabotaging them. Well C Crew’s tech was the one that messed up the 4 out of the last 5 times among others, but he was the root cause of the out-of-spec product. He stepped-down to a low-rung day laborer. He has been quite vocal around the mill that he was pressured out of his position and unfairly treated. He is a very vindictive person, has spent time in prison, and has done some bad things in the past at work, and has the mentality to sabotage if he can get away with it. I hope it isn’t the case, but he knows how to change the specs. And he and the A crew tech were both working that day going through the previous bad units. Plus, here’s the clincher; they were the ones that found the problem. Well, it was Friday and all of management was going to be off for the weekend. So Monday they will go through 5 consecutive units at the time he said that he did his checks. If they find any good board at that time he could have checked one of those boards and likely shouldn’t get in too much trouble. If they find some good units and then they get bad we have a whole new set of problems, because there might be some sabotage going on in the mill. I hope for my Tech’s sake that they find at least some good board. Now here is where I might have pissed my boss off. He says to me that he doesn’t know if he can trust my tech at this time because we currently don’t know if it was him that messed-up, so he wants me to “shadow” him over the weekend. I said hold-on a minute and what exactly are they asking of me. Do they want me to make sure that he is doing his checks at the right times or do they want the to put a tape measure and micrometer in my hands and actually double-check all of his measurements. The 2 QC people stepped-up and said that yes that would make them feel better while they are gone for the weekend. I said that I didn’t mind doing my job and give him some extra supervision over the weekend so we all know he is doing his checks, but I wouldn’t check his numbers because that isn’t my job. Kurt asks me what exactly am I trying to say. I said that my job is to supervise not do people’s work for them. I said what if the numbers over the weekend end up out-of-specs, who is going to be held accountable for that? I am, that’s who, I said. I told them that I didn’t need anymore stress in my job or responsibility or accountability. I said that I should have the exact same responsibilities as all 3 other Sup’s. I said that my Tech has done his job for 5 years now and that he is certified to do his job, but I would keep a close eye on him for the weekend. I said, but come next week, anything that you expect out of me, that the other Sup’s better have the same responsibilities because we all have the same job descriptions or otherwise it is discrimination. The meeting pretty much ended right there or real so after. The QC lead and I were told that we could leave. Craig told me that he was sorry for suggesting it outside.

OK, here are the issues that are swimming through my head and stressing me the fuck out. I am on my last leg. My Boss and Kurt repeatedly tell me that I am the best Sup that we have and I meet all my goals every year and no one has ever been hurt in my 5 years running my crew. But, I always have one negative comment every year though. Ash has a problem with professional communication, especially with management. And I admit that I did. I used to just snap in meetings and get red-faced and yell and argue and overall just be a dumbass. Kurt would say that I usually was right or at least had valid points; it was just the way that I expressed those points. I couldn’t help myself sometimes. I now know it was when I was having an episode. Once I was put back on days as a relief Sup for 8 months or so after one of my outbursts, because they said that I was likely stressed due to production concerns, because most of my outbursts were due to downtime issues that I felt I shouldn’t have incurred for whatever reason. Almost losing my job due to my then unknown mental illness and the anger and extreme paranoia is why I originally went to my Dr and asked for happy pills. He gave me anti-depressants, which we later found out was making me more depressed likely. He told me that he wanted me to see a psychiatrist and I said hell no, I’m not crazy dude; I just have an anger problem. Later on I did it again because I couldn’t help myself and almost lost my job again. They told me that they already had enough documentation to but they wanted to work with because I am good at what I do and that my people highly value and respect me. When they put me back on days most of the crew went up front together and said that they didn’t want to lose me as their Sup. Sadly, they said that I did get upset sometimes, but knew when I was in a bad mood and stayed away. Sadly, because people had to walk on egg-shells around me at times, not because they said it. They said that they couldn’t continue to let me act the way that I did and they were going to give me one more chance. I then realized that my meds just weren’t doing it for me so swallowed my pride to support my family, and I called my Dr and asked him to set me up with a shrink. He immediately diagnosed me and started my meds. It has been a long road with my meds. I had to take sick leave twice in the last 2 years for a week or so each time because my meds just weren’t stabilizing me. So basically I have to watch everything that I say now, because I am under a microscope and constant scrutiny. If my comments pissed him off he might try to take my job. I wasn’t argumentative and never raised my voice; I just stated my opinions on what I felt was unfair and biased responsibilities being added to my job. I honestly can’t take the added stress and if all other sups don’t share in my added accountabilities it is in my opinion, unfair and discrimination. C-crew had the same exact thick lap issue a month ago and his Sup was never asked to mic his boards. Because I was once a QC Tech doesn’t give them the right to add it to my job title. I haven’t worked in the lab in 7 years now; I am no longer certified to do those tasks. Anyway I am very worried that he didn’t like me making demands and probably not in front of others. Maybe he will take it as a slight to his authority, because he is like that. It is all about his image.

Here’s some of my conspiracy theories that have been plaguing my thoughts. I was recently offered a job by Kurt. It is like a project manager who uses Lean Six Sigma theory to perform cost saving projects by reducing bottle necks in systems and processes. It is a temporary position lasting 2 to 3 years. It is a gateway job which opens the door to getting high paying corporate positions. He said that who he replaced his current Black Belt with reflects totally on him. He said that only a very few people in the mill had the requirements to perform the tasks of this job. He said that I was likely the smartest person at the mill and had the necessary intellect and skill to perform this job. I talked with him about the position. I would have to travel a lot for training and seminars and giving presentations before small and large groups, and ultimately have to move after 2 or 3 years to Nashville at Corp Headquarters or some other place. I told him that I really appreciated his comments and his faith in my skills and that they were very uplifting and humbling. But I was honest with him and told him that my kids were already established in school here and my wife’s mother was ill and that I couldn’t see her leaving her, so I doubt that I would take the position and uproot my family. I told him that maybe I would take it the next time it opened up in a few years. He told that he had a very short list of other potentials to look at and for me not to make any steadfast decisions yet and just think about it, talk it over with my family, talk it over with Joe (current Black Belt), and get back him at a later date. My life and I decided not to take the offer so I never talked to Joe. I started also to see through the lines here and figured that Joe wanted to stay in town and if a salary job opened up he would have to relocate. Joe is also related in some fashion to Kurt. A week later while checking my mail in the front office he saw me and called me into his office. He tells me that he had decided that I was the one for the job and had I given it any more thought. I once again told him that I didn’t think it was in my current life plan. He said that he was afraid that he had alluded to the fact that I could just patiently wait around to take the job next time. He goes into how our business is doing poorly and that there is no guaranty how long our mill would be around. He goes on to say that the more skills that I have the more options I would have available to me. He tells me that he knew that I hadn’t talked with Joe yet and both of them thought I was a perfect fit for the job. I bet he did! He told me to talk with Joe and my family again and rethink it. Joe came to my office the next day or so and hung-out until everyone left and we talked about it. I didn’t even ask him what he does because I already had a pretty good idea, so instead I told him why I didn’t want the job. He told me that he was feeling the same way. That he was single when he took the job, but now he had a wife and a baby and that he didn’t want to leave the area. He left and I haven’t talked to Kurt about it in the month since.

These are the tumultuous thoughts that are currently scrambling my brain. I have a little paranoid conspiracy theorist gremlin living in my head and he won’t leave me alone. I hope that I don’t have to post that I lost my job in the next few days. We will see.

Later, spazzing Ash out…

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 5

Then came 7th grade. 7th and 8th were in the same school with the high school. Sadly for me we were integrated back into regular classes. Back with the regular kids and many different classes. I became 13 year’s old, hit puberty, and I started getting in trouble and quickly was welcomed by the bad crowd. I began smoking and my parents started buying them for me. I started skipping school regularly, doing drugs, drinking, and sleeping around. Because of course where are you going to find girls that age to sleep with but the bad crowd? The first time I had sex was with a 14 year old girl that had a reputation for sleeping around with everyone in her neighborhood. I will tell this small story as cleanly and nicely as possible. She had always liked me and asked me out often and went as far as befriending my sister in hopes of being around me frequently and making me cave at some point. She wasn’t the kind of girl that my friends would have approved, even though many had also slept with her. Plus, I really just didn’t like her that way. My best friend at the time James was a little older and had a girlfriend. She was a friend to his girlfriend and we went over to her uncle’s house because no one was home. I knew what was going to happen. We were watching a porno with John Holmes in it and smoked some pot. They went upstairs to have sex and that left her and I alone. We started fooling around and got undressed. I got to touch and see a naked girl and touch her all over for the second time. The first time was a few months prior during the previous summer when one of my sister’s friends stayed over. I told her that I couldn’t have sex with her because I didn’t have a condom and she told me that her mom had put her on birth control pills and that it would be OK to not use one. I wasn’t only worried about pregnancy. I had already taken Sex-ED and was sickened by the pictures of STD’s that they showed us. I had always promised myself while watching those films that I would always wear one, and I still had the one they gave me in class. I had just forgotten the wrinkled-up, well-worn, small square package that day. I was very afraid and was shaking badly. I tried to back out because I was so afraid of the act and pregnancy and diseases, but she kept prodding me, that we were already naked and I was standing at attention anyways she said with a sly smile. I knew that if I didn’t, I would end up getting ridiculed by my peers and I had a reputation to uphold. I had always said that I was a virgin with a joking air, when asked in my co-ed group of slightly older kids that stood across the street from campus in the mornings before school and lunch breaks and smoked cigarettes. No one believed the truth because they weren’t I guess. Anyways I fought away my fears and got on top of her and she put me inside her. I hadn’t expected it to feel so much different from my hand that I was already quite used to and I went inside her very soon after. I couldn’t find the power to move my body afterwards and pretend that I hadn’t went. She finally said that she was going to put some music on to give me a rhythm. I was totally embarrassed at my ineptitude and when she got up I went to the bathroom and washed myself up. I just knew that she knew and that she would tell everyone. I came out and grabbed my clothes and told her that I finished myself off in the bathroom and lied and said I was already late getting home and that I was going to get in trouble. She asked if it was something that she did wrong and I said no. I finished dressing and left. One of my friends Brian was riding his bike by the house as I walked out on the porch. I got on my bike, while he stopped and waited for me. He stated that I slept with her, to which I lied and said that I was going but that she stunk so bad when she took her pants off that I just left. This was totally a horrible thing to do to anyone, especially to this troubled low self-esteem girl. But at that moment my 13 year old mind was looking for damage control and that was the first thing that popped into my head to say that would counteract all the things that I was worrying about at that second. It was a preemptive strike in case she started rumors about sleeping with me and my premature ejaculation. It was wrong, but I was scared and I was a bad kid inside and I was 13. He seemed surprised and revealed to me right there that he had slept with her the last time a week prior and that she didn’t stink then or any other time. I asked him if he used a condom. He said hell no, that he would never use one, that he had slept with her for a long time and she had never gotten pregnant because she was on the pill. I was relieved to hear that she didn’t lie about the pill and figured if nothing else he would think it was his kid. She didn’t get pregnant. But I was worried that maybe she had given me an STD because she was so promiscuous, although I never had any signs. I worried about that for two whole years before I finally came to terms that I didn’t get anything from her and because of that fear I always wore a condom until after I got with my wife and we started trying to have kids. I then started riding the miles home when my mom, who was coming home from work, stopped on the side of the road and tried to pick me up so I didn’t have to ride all the way home. I was ignorantly worried that I smelled of sex and she would catch me so I told her I just wanted to ride my bike. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I put my bike in the trunk of the car. I huddled against the passenger door window the whole ride home as far away from her as possible trying to keep the smell of sex to my side of the car and thought about how badly that had went and the fucked up luck it would be to become a father the very first time I ever had sex. She did try bragging at school that she had slept with me not even mentioning my poor performance, but the guys all believed my story, which Brian’s big mouth told the very next day. The girls believed her and said as much, and gave me shit for sleeping with her; they knew how guys would deny sleeping with someone. I always denied it. She stopped me a few weeks later while I was riding home. She told me that she had liked me for a long time and that the rumors had really hurt her. She seemed most hurt that I denied our encounter. She asked if she really stunk and I told her no and lied that Brian had made that whole thing up himself. She asked if there was anyway we could be together. I told her no and we parted ways and she never came over to see my sister again. I was happy to not have to face her anymore. Brian soon got me into huffing. The majority of the time it was gas, but I sniffed everything from paint thinner to Scotchgard waterproofing. We started skipping and would get in and old VW Bug in his backyard and take turns with the gas can. The big kick was the hallucinatory dreams that the fumes would deliver. As you would come back from the dreamworld to the waking world both would meld together as sounds slipped in. Your face and body would begin to tingle as you sniffed; it was probably brain cells dying. I always got a terrible headache afterwards and would often cough until I threw-up. I think I only did it for a month or 2, before I quit. It was quite addicting and I found myself missing more and more school. I was also sniffing butane in my room at home that I tricked my mom into buying for me for a refillable lighter. I quit cold turkey one day when I skipped and when leaving another skipping kids house, I snuck into his shed outside and started sniffing gas. I woke-up hours later and walked outside. It was already dark and I could see his family in the window eating. I don’t know if the small shed filled-up with fumes or what, but I figured that I was lucky that I didn’t die that day. I got on my bike and rode home in the dark and never did it again. One other thing happened around this time that also drove me to lose my faith in God. I had a dog named frisky; he was a mutt and was a small black dog with a white blaze on his chest. I loved that dog; he slept with me every night and was a comfort to me. He was the one thing in that house that kept me happy and whole. We had actually picked him and his brother up as we were driving our stuff to our new house when I was in the forth grade. We drove by a house with a free puppy sign out in the front yard and my sister and I talked my dad into getting them for us because we were moving to the country. He turned the U-haul around and we each picked out a pup. Not long after we got them, they went under the house and tore-up the heating and air ductwork. My dad was so pissed that he drove a few miles down the rode and dropped them off at the dump. I got home from school and was devastated. 3 days later my pup Frisky showed back up and my dad said that I could keep him because he must have really wanted to be with us. I had him for a few years and during that time he almost died twice. Once a car ran over him but the wheels didn’t hit him and he just rolled under the car because he was so short. The second time one of Rick’s horses kicked him in the forehead. It cut him open and his eyes turned blue for a week before they turned back brown-black. He always had a scar on his forehead after that. One day my dumb sister, who had a boyfriend in town decided to walk all those miles to go see him. She let my dog follow her. When she left that night she forgot about him and got a ride home. I got my mom to drive back to his house and we drove around the blocks but couldn’t find him anywhere. There was a bad thunderstorm that night and he was deathly afraid of thunder and lightening. I drove my bike into town every day for 2 weeks and went door to door but couldn’t find him. I was very depressed and distraught. On Wednesdays at church people would get up and tell their testimonies. I went with my parents that night. I got up and told the congregation about losing my dog. I cried as I told my story. As we were leaving a guy called to me. He came up to me and told me that while praying for me, that God had come to him and said that he would deliver my dog back to me. He said that he saw my dog running towards my house as he prayed and that when I got home my dog would be there. I wanted so much to believe him. On the way home I hoped and prayed the whole way while I cried my loneliness to God. And obviously I wasn’t greeted with my wagging dog when we drove into the yard. One last hope was that my sister had already let him in the house, but no, Frisky was gone from me forever. That hurt me badly. I still don’t understand why that asshole did that to a 13-year-old boy wanting so much to see his best friend again. I truly hope he pays dearly for getting my hopes up just to break my heart once more. At the time I hated him and I just couldn’t understand why God had taken my dog and didn’t let me have him back after what that zealot did to me. It just didn’t seem fair.

What am I?

I wrote this when I was first diagnosed. I already posted it back when I first started this blog. I have added a poem list in my sidebar. This poem was at the bottom of a long post so I am reposting it so it goes right to the poem when the link is clicked.

What am I?

Through the years my tears swelling,
mind-raping, my madness escaping.
Insane, inhumane. Sane, humane.
Hi. Low. Where to go.
I’m here today, what a boon.
Duality, Introspection,
Hyde’s erection, in my life. Strife.
What am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
I feel creative. Free-ranging thought flowing.
Thoughts spinning, mind’s winning.
No sleep. Not one peep.
Bad judgment, money lost,
shopping spree, at what cost?
Needless, worthless, mirthless,
heedless, sleepless, reap less.
I can’t get up today.
Dark outside. Dread, drear, dead.
Thoughts keep running. Halt, stop.
I need the sun. Warmth, light.
Fog is thick, never knew I was sick.
Knew something was wrong, amiss.
Had to say sorry a lot.
Chemical embrace.
Where’s my ace? What is this place?
Insanity, let me free.
Journal now, to remember who I am, was.
I’m changing, mind’s rearranging.
Thought expanding, demanding.
Am I babbling yet? Just turn me off. Click.
What am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Paranoid. Dreaded void. Only grows deeper.
Are they out to get me? Ha. Right?
Never thought I was crazy, figured I was just lazy.
Procrastination was a way of life. Rife.
Friends wane. Time fades.
It always rains, (Autumn,) then comes Winter.
Cabin fever, snow blind. Can’t hide.
Get me off this ride. Sliding down, losing grip.
Who am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Letters backwards now. Ha.
Never knew I was crazy,
thought I was just lazy. Who cares! Right?
Anger rolls. Relationships halt.
Is everyone so incompetent? Yes? Yes!
Or is it just me? Or is it I?
Irritation, aggravation, agitation,
Can’t you see, what they’re doing to me?
The train’s jumped the tracks, how to get back?
Never realized my mind’s eye was blind.
I’m lost in myself, the corners’ so dark and different.
My eyes can’t open anymore. I’m tore.
I’m babbling? Idea dabbling, rambling,
brain’s scrambling. See?
What am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Manic Monday. That’s how it went? Right?
Anger’s back and he’s livid.
Always just thought I was just moody.
Maybe I am anyway. Today, or for life? Rife.
Everyone thinks I’m arrogant, ignoring them.
I’m not. merely losing focus.
Thoughts spinning, internal commotion.
Hocus-pocus I lost focus.
What was I discussing? Please stop fussing,
it seems so loud. It’s getting crowded in there.
It’s tragic, yet magic. Ha. Right?
I haven’t slept for days.
Brain’s swelling, mind’s rebelling.
Fog’s thinning, manic’s winning.
Sleep wanes, invention gains.
Darkness falls again. I can’t win.
Sadness ensues. I lose.
What a ruse. Madness, rues.
Thought these pills were supposed to work.
It’s just a quirk, Chemical Imbalance, if you like?
Have to get you regulated. Sedated.
So you don’t get aggravated.
Treat my family right.
There’s the light.
Spring’s here. Isn’t it queer,
that, that’s enough to make me happy?
Snow’s melting, thoughts pelting.
Looney, Lunacy, so lonely. Ha. Right?
Where’s my head at? Did I forget that?
Alienation, starvation, indignation,
I need a summation, of my illness.
See if a pattern develops,
before darkness envelopes, my life. Strife.
Mental swell-ups, flare-ups, relapse. Collapse.
Back on Earth, the followers are happy, laughy.
Why, oh why, ain’t I? Normalcy please.
I need release. Thoughts never cease.
Thoughts are strange. In need of change.
The gallows’ wire, Hangman’s ire,
no, I’m not there yet. Ha. Right?
There’s the light!
Summer’s here. Ain’t it queer,
that I’m so happy to see the sun.
Feel the warmth on my cheek.
I can see the motes in the rays,
hear them calling better days.
Fog’s lifting, thinning, I’m winning.
Time to get out this bed, clear my head.
The thoughts are coming so fast.
What was I talking about?
Switchback. Brain-ache. Numb pain.
Zombie, lethargy, chronic fatigue,
thinking in mud, I’m a dud.
That’s how it feels today.
Insomnia calls, knothole walls,
descrying shapes, faces, all the flaws.
Counting sheep sucks.
Closing my eyes opens my mind.
Please keep it down in there.
It’s ugly in here. In need of repair. Ha. Right?
Scenario after Scenario,
pours forth from my pillow.
Make it stop, sleeping pills pop.
Sweat pours forth from my pores,
as my mind soars.
Who am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Thoughts come so fast I can’t keep up.
The babbling brook overflows.
That’s how it goes. Ha. Right?
Do I really need to get up today? Can I?
Info slows and so do I.
Humiliation, insubordination, contagion,
pestilence of my mind, bane of my brain.
Switching quicker now, I realize to my dismay.
Who am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Try to trick my mind, to no avail,
mood music and TV wail.
Still can’t sleep. Dark shrouded lids,
portray my defiance of the sandman.
The epic nightly struggle for supremacy.
He must win in the end. Hopefully soon.
The raving raven raves and smiles.
Smiles that defiant smile. Did I forget to smile?
I’m now close to the grand defile. I won’t let go!
Pride and resolve must be absolved,
before I fall. Sleep or death, my last breath.
Who am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Neurotransmitters, exacting in their discontent.
Never knew what they were, this week’s a blur.
Bipolar. What a wondrous euphemism.
Disorder, chaotic, Catatonic. Ha. Right?
What am I? Tears well, swell. Fell.
Bipolar.
What am I?
What am I?

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 4

We then moved to another town during the middle of my 4th grade year. It was a whole new experience for me. I went from living in a city to a poorer school district. Plus, now I lived outside of town in the country. I was never well off no matter where I lived, (we were always lower middle class,) it was just that the school system was better; not that I utilized it or realized it until I left. I was the only white kid on my bus. My sister stopped riding early on because of our mistreatment by the black kids. The high school rode on the same bus as the elementary students. I would get thumped in the head, picked on, intimidated, and called racial slurs. I stuck it out and soon gained the respect of my bus mates with my humor. Sometimes it’s good to be funny. After that no one ever messed with me at school because all of my black friends stood by me even when I wasn’t around. Not that I was ever violent; I always had a way of using humor to quell any antagonism. But even when that didn’t work no one wants a piece of you when it is about to get out of hand and from nowhere half a busload of kids of all ages pops up and asks if anyone has any beef with me. It’s weird how circumstances change: one minute they hate; the next they are my brothers and sisters. Yes, sisters, there were actually a few chicks on my bus that even the guys didn’t mess with. I guess I can say one thing positive that I did get from my father – or than his genes, OK, maybe not the BP one – was his respect for all races. He had many black friends while I was growing up, as did I from that year on. If you said the N-word in my house, it probably would have been the last word you ever said. The evil bastard for some reason had ethics in that department. Anyone and everyone was accepted in my house. I am thankful of that at least. Back to the story. I started afresh, but I brought along my evil ways. I was right back in trouble because of my mouth, disruptiveness, and class antics. In the 6th grade I continued getting into trouble as usual. This time when I sat with a newly hired principle, she said that she had never heard a kid my age speak so articulately and give such rational excuses for misbehavior. She said that she thought she knew what was going on. She thought that I was bored with my curriculum. She had people come in a give me an IQ test. I tested so highly that she immediately removed me from my regular classes and put me in a small class of academically gifted students. I’m sure those teachers were glad to see me go. My dad seemed proud of me for a change. Can you image the rebel, who was against all authority, being put into a class of rich, white, preppie, nerds? I still remember them asking what my dumbass was doing there right in front of me. I was the epitome of wrongness in their eyes and opposite of what they considered themselves to be. Hell, I was the kind’a kid that picked on them for God’s sake. They were truly flabbergasted, appalled, and threatened by my mere presence. The teacher told them that I had scored higher than most of them to get into her class. It was an oddly structured class with the highest quality curriculum. I learned so much that second half of the year. I still don’t find it fair that those few privileged students had access to a better education than everyone else. I actually became friends with those kids and with their acceptance I didn’t get in trouble again at school that year. But as luck would have it, I met a kid named Rick across the street from my house that year. He was a year older than I and he got me into some bad things. I didn’t see him a lot because he was rich and he went to a top-tier private school in Raleigh and had to commute daily. His mom had her own business in Raleigh and they didn’t get home until like 9 pm every night. But every day that we weren’t in school, we were together. I lived with them from Friday night until I went home on Sunday evening. We started going into work with his mom on Saturdays and hanging out in the mall that was across the highway from her workplace. He taught me how to shoplift and not get caught. We began shoplifting all kinds of things, but mostly clothes. I actually had the nicest school clothes ever starting that next fall.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 3

Once I hit NC I became a total piece of shit. Yes, at 5 year’s old. I now know that it was me acting out to the abusive home environment; my way of coping. Shit, if I was going to get beat at home for nothing, why not be bad at school. I got attention from kids because I was disruptive and the class-clown. I got suspended from school at least once every year from kindergarten until I quit in 9th grade – most years I was not allowed at school for weeks or months. I got expelled from 3 schools – that is where you are never allowed to go there again, at least not that year. I had to live with relatives and friends so I could go to a different school district. My records always went with me, and anything that happened, it was always blamed on me, rightly so in most cases I will admit. I now feel sorry for all those teachers. Shit, once a teacher hit me in the head with a teacher’s addition math book, which made a pencil that I was holding point-up, impel me deep into my upper-lip, and cause stitches. Hell, I was only a 2nd year 2nd grader at that time. I failed 2nd grade the first time due to not being able to read on a third grade level, due to my incompetent parents that wouldn’t read with me. OK, that and for bad grades due to getting in so much trouble. You see, when you’re suspended you aren’t usually allowed to make up that work and you get 0’s on all of that work. And there is no bringing up grades with tons of 0’s let me tell ya. If I have a 100% on one paper and a 0% on the next, that is only a 50% average, and that damn sure ain’t passing. Could you imagine me not having the ability to read proficiently? I can’t. Sheer neglect. I felt ashamed because everyone that I knew was in a grade higher than me. I don’t think that I ever truly recovered from that.

By the 4th grade even my dad gave up on me and told me as much. He told me that there was no reason to waste his time trying to discipline me anymore and that I was a waste of space. I received my last spanking when I broke into or Elementary School that summer, which was closed down for restoration. I was hanging with an 8th grader. I obviously got caught. The police threatened to send me away, but come on, where do you send a 9 year old! They put in cuffs and took me down town in the back of the cop car. I roamed the streets with any free time to not have to go home and my parents didn’t care as long as I got home 15 min. after the streetlights came on. I smoked my 1st cigarette at 5, which my best friend Jason and I stole from his mom.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part 2

While living in Ohio, where his parents lived, when I was 3 or 4, we once went to visit his mother, my Grandmother. It was summer and I was dressed in long pants and a full-sleeve shirt. She knew something was amiss. She made me undress right in front of them and I was black and blue over my whole body. She berated my father and told my mother that she would pay to send her back to NC to her family if she would leave him. She didn’t. She said that it was the first time he had ever gotten out of hand and beaten me, but I really don’t know for sure. I never remember getting abused to that extent after that. In fact I don’t remember that incident, but my grandma told me about it and my mom verified it to me. I kind’a hate my mom, other than the unconditional live that I can’t help, for being so weak and allowing my father to mistreat her, but especially for not thinking of us first. I have never witnessed him hit her to this day, but my mom’s family thinks he has; mental abuse is bad enough. They knew him back when they first got together and when I was too young to remember; before he moved her to Ohio to isolate he from them. She has always stuck up for him no matter what he does. My sister took care of me most of the time while we lived in Ohio and she was only 7 year’s old when we left. My parents were always gone all hrs of the night bowling or drinking with their friends. Sometimes earlier on we did have baby-sitters. My sister and I were always terrified of the house because a man had died in the basement, which is why they got a good deal on it in the first place. We were all right alone until it got dark. Then we stayed away from the kitchen because that was where the basement door was. We peeked in the kitchen a lot just to make sure it was still shut. One afternoon when I was 4 or 5, I was helping my sister put the chain back on her bike in the kitchen. Like the kid that she was, she started peddling as soon as the chain was on, which just happened to be before my fingers were clear. My pinky went around through the sprocket. It was split wide open with the meat and skin hanging. It was black with grease. She had to call the bowling alley and get my parents to come home from their drinking, or him at least his. I never have seen mom drink, but I think she did back then. I remember screaming and crying and my sister actually being motherly for a change as we waited for them to get home. I had to get stitches that night and a nurse gave me a soft Snoopy doll with a zippered compartment in the back. I slept with that dog for years until it fell apart. I required stitches again that same year. At a neighbor kid’s birthday party, his older brother and a friend put me on their house’s roof because I was apparently pestering them. They wouldn’t let me down. I cried but they just laughed, so I jumped. I didn’t break anything but I fell into a pile of boards and a nail cut the top of my scalp wide open. They suddenly showed some concern and took me into the house where the parents were all partying. I still remember all those women’s faces. My parents didn’t have a lot of money and my dad tried to take care of it himself for a few hours before he realized that it just wasn’t going to stop bleeding and I wasn’t ever going to stop crying. I got shots and stitches that day. Shortly before I moved when I was 5, I almost got kidnapped walking alone to school with my same-age friend Danny. A van pulled up behind us in a parking lot right beside school and started calling to us to come there. We said no and started to run. We were taught that at school. The side door opened and a man jumped out and chased us before we had even made it a few steps. He chose and grabbed one of us and luckily it was Danny. I never stopped running or looked back and was inside the school within seconds as I remember it. I told the teacher what had just happened and that it was a van and its color, which I don’t now recall. I kind’a remember talking to the cops too, but I’m not sure if that was a real memory or not. They were caught sometime that same day and Danny was recovered, I think it was within 2 hrs or so. I don’t know If they did anything to him. Oh yea, almost forgot, I was molested by a 13-year-old neighbor girl when I was 5. (The same great family of kids that put me on the roof.) Thanks for leaving me with only my sister to watch out for me; I really appreciate that mom and dad. I still remember feeling the strong urge to pee while she fondled and made me rub myself against her genitals. I don’t really think it affected me mentally, but hey what does a 5 year old know. Maybe it was why I was so sexually active as a teen. I don’t know how many times she did it, I only remember her dad catching us and how mad he was. Hey one solace; at least it wasn’t a guy. My 5th year was pretty eventful and traumatic for a little kid. Luckily I lived through it. We moved to NC in the middle of my 5th year.

How I Lost God – Which Turned Into a Long-Condensed Story of My Dysfunctional Life: Part One

As I read your blogs I find that most of you have God in your lives to help you through the bad times. I wish I had God. I used to know God when I was young. It would be nice to have someone stronger than you, that through faith in Him, you could lay your problems before and He would help support your weight and carry you until you could once again hold your own. I wish I had that. You see, God and I don’t have a good relationship anymore. We have lost each other somewhere. Hell, I don’t know if I even believe in Him at all anymore. I really feel that He isn’t out there any longer; at least not for me anyways. Put it this way, I want God in my life. Man I wish he were here when I needed Him, but He’s not in my grasp any longer. I truly wish I had my wife’s infallible faith, yet not by the means in which her and her family received theirs. When she was a kid her older sister had a rare type of cancer in mid-childhood. After a long struggle they were told that the chemo didn’t work and ultimately were told that she wouldn’t make it threw the night. Everyone, I think, gave up hope except her mom and her strong faith in God. The next morning she was totally healthy and she no longer had cancer. Still to this day she doesn’t. They all learned that He was real that day. But my life didn’t guide me towards an undeniable miracle to solidify my Childhood faith. I lost mine. I think my father’s relationship with God has destroyed my faith. I’m not one of those people that place blame on others for my flaws, but in this case I guess maybe I am. Let me explain. My father is actually a preacher. He wasn’t always, but he is now. The thing is, my father has always been a mean, evil person inside, or at least he used to be. You know, I think that in my subconscious as a teen, my mind decided if God could love him and let him represent Himself to the flock, which we all are, that God himself mustn’t truly exist. I am currently still on the fence with this one. I don’t know if I actually believe that he is out there or if I’m an unwilling atheist. What a horrible word. My elderly grandmother would jerk me up by the ear if see read this and likely move up here the 1000 miles and pray at the foot of my bed nightly until my soul was cleansed and I changed my views. I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t want to see the tears that I would cause her.

I was raised in church you see. My mom has always been deeply religious, as were her parents, my grandparents. We were a close family. A lot like a stereotypical southern black family, which are very spiritual, keep all their kin close, and would support and do anything for their family. I miss that. I think our family’s deep spirituality and tight family structure stems from both my grandparents being children of immigrants and their parents’ strong beliefs that they brought with them to this country. My grandma’s parents where Turkish and my Grandpa’s father was from Spain and I’m not totally positive but I think his mother was French. My dad’s heritage is Scottish, Irish, English, and German. So as you can see I am a very multi-racially faceted person. Imagine all that rolled-up into a dark complexioned causation, with brown hair and blue eyes. Weird, but it’s me. My wife’s parents actually thought I was half Black or Mexican when they met me, especially after they saw my mother for the first time.

Anyways, I digress. More than 30 of us would show-up at my grandparents’ house and head to the Baptist church together. My dad never went to church and actually talked shit about it in front of us every chance he got. We all would then met back up along with a ton of other relatives after church and eat and visit one another. We were really close. It was like a family reunion every week. Growing up, my parents weren’t there for us, my mom’s family always was, but my parents acted as though my half-sister and I were holding them back from the things they wanted to really do. He is my real dad and my sister’s step-dad. They left us alone often when we were young. My sister was 2 ½ years older than me and took care of me most times, although she was very hateful and treated me like shit most of the time. She once purposely handed me a pan of hot grease and told me to put it in the sink and turn the water on, when I was every young, and laughed as I screamed when I was burned. I still carry a few small, discolored scars on my side, because like most small kids I hated to wear shirts. At least she fed me anyways. My mom was nice to us, but she just was very neglectful. Here’s a small example of how much they really cared about me. They only have 4 pictures total of me growing up: The 1st pic I am 2 or 3, standing by a merry-go-round; the 2nd I am also very young posing on my grandma’s porch with my sis and 2 cousins, all of us dressed in our Sunday church clothes; the 3rd is a middle school pic that actually has proof stamped on it. They didn’t even buy my school pictures. It was the one they send home so your parents can see what they will look like if they actually bought them; and the 4th is a charcoal portrait of my early teen visage done at a flee-market. The rest of my family own lots of pictures of me. It never really hurt me or bothered me until my wife and I first got together, back before we were married, and she asked my mom to show her my baby pictures. I had never really thought much about it until we left that night and my wife told me that it wasn’t normal.

Quick Facts: I was born in Charleston SC. At the Naval Base Hospital. My father was based there and it was where they met. Somewhere and somehow around that area anyways. He got out and moved us to his home state of Ohio when I was 1 year old. Most of my Mom’s family all relocated to NC while we lived in a small town there in Ohio. I spent most of my prepubescent summers living with different relatives to get away from my home life after we moved to NC. After growing up and talking will these different relatives, a few revealed that they had thought long and hard about trying to adopt me and raising me as their own, but in the end I always ended back up at home at the end of those loving summers. I spent most of my life when I was home and in the house, in my room, where I drew and read fantasy novels and lived in the fantasy world that I created in my mind. I have always been very artistic like most bipolar people seem to inherently be. My children both have my drawing ability, although my daughter really excels with her talent.

My dad was a very abusive man. I was beat daily for arbitrary minor things with slaps, punches, and belts. My dad once picked me up by my hair right off the ground and punt-kicked me in the ass into the house (hell, maybe it was football Sunday and he wanted a try-out with the Bears,) because I passed the hedge that constituted the boundary to our yard, because he told me not to leave the yard. I was one foot passed it standing on the sidewalk talking with my best friend at the time Jason. I didn’t men to leave the yard. I think I was 7 or so at that time. We both talked about it many times while growing up. I don’t even remember the beating that day, but the kick stays with me always, probably because it was done in front of my friend and humiliated me. We joked that it was why I had a cowlick in the back. He was even more mentally and verbally abusive. When I was growing up my dad was a biker and a drug dealer. He never had anything nice to say to any of us, my mom included. I really don’t know why she stayed, other than I can now see that she had a very low self-esteem. If we brought home a C on our report-cards we were spanked and grounded. Who cares about bringing home good grades, right? He was going to find a reason to slap me around that day anyways. I’m not looking for empathy here; I’m just trying to explain why my adolescent mind decided to hate God for loving this man. He is a big man – 6’4’’ – and has always used bullying tactics and intimidation to get his way even after becoming a preacher. He actually lost a few churches due to his abrasive demeanor and hate of anyone disagreeing with him. I think he is PB honestly. He has just recently finally went to a therapist and is on some sort of meds. How could you make it to 53 year’s old before you realize that you need help? The only person that had the balls to ever stand-up to this man other than me later in life, was my wife. He treated my kids and her like shit a few times too many and she washed her hands of him. I still visit and take the kids over to see him, but he isn’t allowed in my house any longer. My mom comes over to visit and often he is with her, yet must remain out in the car in the street. She said that through God she forgave him recently to get the hate that was weighing heavily on her heart, but she will never forget or give him another chance to mistreat her again. Therefore he still isn’t allowed over and I support her on this. As you already know, we split-up when a big argument over this issue escalated and I threw a can at her. You don’t fuck with my wife and especially not her kids.

He cheated on my mom at least once that I know of, back when I was a child and they split-up for a few days as I remember. I remember my mom pulling up on them with my sister and I in the car and trying to run him over. I recollect her screaming in rage and us screaming in fear. I recall that time slightly even though I was only 4 or 5 at the time. At that young age you can usually only recollect traumatic or very strong events, and for that powerful experience or emotion, it makes it into your long-term memory. My mom and sister along with her friend and her kids went to an Amusement Park and I was made to go with my father to his mistress’ house during this small and only split-up. I still remember this lady talking to me in a coddling voice and playing Rubber Ducky on the record player for me because I was so distraught over knowing that my sister was riding a roller coaster at the time. I still have never ridden a roller coaster. We had planned to go to Disney World last year before my wife’s unfortunate work injury. Anyways, we then moved from Ohio to NC, where my mom’s family lived – I’m guessing so they could make a new start after the adultery. This was probably a blessing in disguise, because it brought me for the first time to an extended family that loved me and always showed and meant it, and took me away from my isolated world of neglect and hate.

Prelude to My Life

I will start posting a very long and in-depth piece today. It is way too long to put into one post. I will divvy it up in many small posts. I said at the start of this blog that at some point I would discuss my growing years. Well, that time is here. You will likely lose respect for me by reading this, but hey, did I really have anyone’s respect anyways? I will say that I left a lot as innuendo, just alluding to many facts because some things are so intense or foul that I didn’t want to repeat them in-depth. But you will get the gist early on that I was a very depressed and self-destructive person growing up. That I was a kid that you would dread seeing hanging-out with your child. You will see that even though I was shit most often, I did still have good heart occasionally. And the positive is how I got away from my early troubled existence to where I am currently at in my life and how well my family is doing despite how I was raised. If you ever have any questions because I failed to elaborate enough on any topic, do feel free to ask. No question will hurt me. I actually have found during the writing of my upbringing that it has proved therapeutic; some things, I really didn’t know had lived in the dark corners of my mind all these years. This post started out with me trying to understand how I had lost God in my life, but as I began to write, I came to realize it was much deeper than I had originally thought. It turned into telling my whole life story.

Tid Bits

Growing up I always was afraid of the dark. I’m guessing it was because I had such a vivid imagination. My mind was skilled and morbidly demented enough to envision all the worst things that could be lurking in the dark I guess. I would get out of bed and turn the light back on every time I awoke. I also sleep with me eyes partially open so dreams seem to fade into my immediate surroundings allowing the creatures of my mind to stalk me. Throughout my life I have always had shades or hooded entities torment my dreamworld, chasing me but never quite catching me. When these dreams became frequent I often didn’t sleep until the dawn’s first rays came through my bedroom window. But I haven’t had these dreams in months now. The dark doesn’t really affect me anymore, except the occasional eerie twinge that spontaneously creeps up at times. I just push it away and remember that nothing bad has ever happened in the darkness in my 32 years and all seems right in the world again.

For those that have read all my posts, you know that I live in my own fantasy world. I need escape from the mundane world. I always have an obsession that occupies my thoughts. I don’t find that to be unhealthy, except when I become totally enthralled and become excessively introverted, thus neglecting my family and waking life. My mind is always turning. I am always thinking. My life isn’t bad but I always need more in it. I am never sated with just living. I need something that is always right out of my grasp. I never feel whole. So a book, RPG game, poker, internal fantasy realm, art, crafts, and so on, helps to feed that void that can never truly be filled. I honestly think it is a symptom of our disorder. Our minds are wired differently and I think that we require those escapes to cope with our internal struggles against the dark-side of our illness that wants to depress and harm us. Yet we must remember to compromise and balance our time as to not negligent the ones we love, all the while navigating that inner crevasse that threatens to consume us.