From a Addled Writer's Mind...

I was writing to a friend tonight via quick email about blogging. I wrote...

I put myself out there everyday and write about some pretty embarrassing stuff. Somehow I cannot draw a line between what is appropriate and not appropriate to share. I can't believe I divulge all that in this moment of lucidity I am having now. I don't understand why I let my readership know how helpless I am and how dependent upon my family I am. They will only know what I write. It's disturbing to me. It invites derision. I've thought about quitting blogging, pondering over it intensely. A long time friend quit online journaling tonight and it made me ponder... "Can I live without journaling?" "Do I live for comments?" "Should a simple pen and paper journal suffice?" "Why do I feel the need to share such intimate details of my life with total strangers?"

I get so much advice from well meaning people (and it is appreciated for the most part). The same drum is beaten over and over though. Take your meds. Take your meds. Take your meds. They don't understand my reality. I take nine pills a night. My head is swimming in mind altering chemicals to where I don't know who the real Andrew is. I've lost me. When I was un-medicated at least I knew what to expect. Paranoia. Delusions. Hallucinations. But it was real and not some chemically induced candyland for what ails me. I long to be alive, sexual, emotionally vibrant. As it stands now, I am flat -- a cardboard cutout of a human being. It is sad and disparaging. I don't know what to do, but it is my life. Life is precious and you only get one chance. I don't believe in reincarnation and I don't want mine to pass me by. I would rather have a thousand schizophrenic nights than a single night of drugged complacency as if I am constantly in a stupor. The drugs destroy my creativity and my personality. They have taken away my sexuality and my manhood. My mental illness has also severed the bonds to the people who read my blog and I am pitied. It is so frustrating!

My friend emailed me back and suggested I take a break from blogging to gather myself so I won't post such personal stuff throughout this time of coming off my medications. I live to write though. My days are spent writing and editing what I write. I do believe that online journaling was one of the best things I have ever found despite all its warts: The incessant well meaning advice -- the negative anonymous yahoos who spill their bile all over my blog. There are good things, too! Emails from people who get it about mental illness -- people who are not on the outside looking in. Wonderful people I've met and to whom I've aspired to emulate. The vibrant online communities that sprout up around blogs and their readers like a garden of growth.

It still amazes me people want to read what I write. I am in awe and humbled and thankful. It makes me want to write forever and onwards like some addiction -- like some adulterous joy. Maybe that's why I blog. The friendship. The camaraderie. The adulation for my writing and artistic endeavors. Friendships don't come easy for me and I have found a safe place to harbor them -- a detached kind of friendship where I can be anyone and anything. An everyman. To bad I blather on about my problems. Think of what this blog could be if I didn't write about alcoholism, or mental illness! If I portray to the world a healthy, happy writer who shared his simple tales, I would have been published by now. I harbor deep regrets for the callousness with which I've handled this online journal -- always airing dirty laundry like some gossiping spinster. Embarrassing myself and my family.

My good and very cherished friend, Pipe Tobacco, harps about moderation being the key for me. But I have to ask, "Would a moderate me really be me?" I wouldn't display or have that same intense passion and zeal I have for things, writing, and life if I were middle-of-the-road. This blog would be just another milquetoast rendition of daily life of which there are millions to read. I would be swimming and writing in a sea of banality and blandness. It is something to ponder over. Good night as I go burn my candle at both ends.

The Last of the Sweetheart Roses...

Winter is upon us.

Detritus from a Sleepless Night...

I normally take Luvox for my obsessive compulsiveness. It has been two days without it. The signs are telling. I stayed up all night writing, drinking sodas, and smoking little cigars. I am a man possessed when I get like this. It is also invigorating and intoxicating. Like some demure and coy mistress you are trying to court, the next cigarette and drink of coke spurs you on. I have often said that schizophrenia can be terrifying. It can also be so intoxicating as you get caught up in the little world unfolding in your mind. Nights blink by in a blur. Morning arrives and sleep evades you. Thoughts march through my head at a brisk pace like Hitler's army to the Polish front.

Compromise...

"I should realize you are sick and to not scream at you like I did last night," my father told me. "I am sorry. I just had a terrible day in that drug store. I work so hard. I get so damned tired of working all the time."

"It's okay, dad. I love you and just want us to be okay," I replied.

"Will you at least take your anti-psychotic? Please take the Risperdal," my father pleaded with me.

I took the little white pill and you could see a wave of relief come over my father. I was just so paranoid all those medications were causing my panic attacks. I have felt so much better without them. I compromised and will take that one pill -- the one pill I know that helps with my schizophrenia. I have never had side effects from my Risperdal.

"I brought you some cokes," he then said with a smile much to my joy. "I know how much you love them. I am going to get you some groceries, too."

"Joyce brought me groceries," I replied. "Although it is an eclectic mix of things. I have enough mac and cheese to feed an army."

We talked for a long time about my neighbor, Joyce. My father is very worried about her. They went to high school together and have known each other for 30 or more years. Joyce struggles so and it reminds me of myself.

"You be her friend," he told me. "You be there for her. She doesn't have anybody. It is unique you two live next to each other. Fate had a hand in that."

I promised my father I would. He left me to curl up on the couch to watch The Weather Channel. I could soon feel the medication start to take effect and the paranoia I had been dealing with all day started to melt away. Compromise. Simple, yet so hard to do.

Manna from Heaven

"Oh, It was terrible!" my neighbor, Joyce, exclaimed. "They wouldn't allow me to smoke and they withheld the patch."

"Oh, I would have died!" I replied, giving her a hug of support.

My neighbor, Joyce, just spent a week in the psychiatric ward of a hospital in Birmingham, Alabama. She awoke last Friday night screaming at the top of her lungs and the police were called. Neighbors paraded out to the street to see what was happening. I somehow slept through all the excitement.

"I've missed you so much," Joyce said as she hugged Maggie, rubbing her back vigorously. "I feel you are my dog, too!"

"Well, tell me what happened Joyce?" I then asked.

"I had one of my manic attacks and paranoia," she replied. "I've been dealing with this for 25 years."

"I am so glad you are home. I was worried sick about you."

"I knew you would understand," she said. "That is why I came to see you. I need a favor."

"What's that?" I asked, an eyebrow raised.

Joyce's hands were trembling violently. She couldn't sit still. She was supposed to stay in the hospital for two weeks, but her insurance wouldn't pay any longer. Our health care system is beholden to the almighty dollar to the detriment of its patients.

"I want to tell my story and sell it to Reader's Digest," Joyce continued. "Will you write it for me? Your father told me you were a writer."

"Oh Joyce," I replied. "I am flattered, but I doubt I would do your story justice. Why don't you write it?"

"Well, if I write it on paper will you type it out and burn it to DVD so I can mail it in?"

"I would be overjoyed to do that for you," I replied.

Joyce left and moments later returned. Out in my yard were bags and bags of groceries awaiting to be carried in.

"My church bought me enough groceries to feed me for months since I am going to be out of work," she said. "I want you to have these."

I thanked her profusely. God works in mysterious ways as I was down to a loaf of bread and a brick of ham to eat. Mysterious ways, indeed! I'm just glad Joyce is okay although she is still very, very manic. I hate to see her driving and she has drove by my house countless times today. I know I can't drive when mentally ill. I am an accident waiting to happen. C'est la vie!

Souvenirs from Iraq

My brother spent 7 months in Iraq last year as a doctor assigned to a group of Marines. He sent me this flag and plaque as a Christmas gift last year. My great aunt had them mounted for me and here they are hanging on the wall of my bedroom. I love the way the flag was mounted. Every time I look up laying in the bed I think of my brother and his service to our country. He said it was terribly hard being over there with the highlight of his day being the wonderful food they served the servicemen in Iraq.

Drama I Shied Away from Writing About...

"You're going to end up in the hospital," my father hollered at me last night. "You are just crazy as hell."

I had refused to take the plethora of medications he hands me every night. I am tired of being drugged up. Feeling flat and blah. Sex-less. I've come to the conclusion that I would rather be crazy than to feel such a way any longer.

"I'm cutting off your internet," he then hollered as he stood in my face holding that handful of medications. "What are you going to do then? Sit in this house all day with nothing to do? You don't have any money."

Thanks to my father I don't have any money. It will be the 31st of December before my first ad checks come pouring in.

"Fine. Cut it off," I said. "I will find a way of getting it cut back on."

I was calm, cool, and collected. I didn't argue with him. He finally went storming out of my house slamming the door so loudly that a picture I had hanging above my piano fell off the wall. His last words were... "We're not having anything to do with you un-medicated."

The most striking thing to me about last night was that I weathered this storm without a panic attack. I have felt so much better coming off all those medications. My only symptoms are extreme compulsiveness and a twinge of paranoia. I drank over 24 regular Coca-Colas yesterday proving my Luvox did work when I took it. I am drinking coffee today having run out of Cokes and my family will not buy me anymore. Imagine that. Imagine not even being able to run to the store to buy a simple Coke. I spent the last of my money on a cup of coffee as I talked to my clerk friend this morning. I think I have 75 cents in my car for coffee tomorrow.

Ads Be Gone

I've had a lot of complaints about the JohnQ risque ads appearing to the right. I've gotten several emails as well. It was not very conducive to reading blogs at work with women's behinds being splayed upon my blog. I had no real control of when that ad popped up so I took down banner ads and replaced them with text ads. Sorry about the inconvenience. The problem is solved. I didn't particularly relish looking at the ads either. I just don't have any other way of making extra income at the moment.

Meandering Morning

My favorite clerk was in fine form this morning. Eagerly, he rang up each customer. The beep of the cash register could be heard with every transaction. People paraded into line to buy coffee, gas, candy, and cigarettes. I was in awe at how masterfully he handled the masses. It is a thankless job he handles so well. I was envious.

"Quiet night," he told me. "Not one peep out of the usual rabble rousers."

"That's a good thing, right?" I asked.

"It makes for a slow night. 3 'o' clock passed and I thought morning would never get here."

I stood drinking my decaf so glad to be out of the house. It was another very cold morning and the warmth of the convenience store was inviting. I also got an application for employment even though they are not hiring. It couldn't hurt to try. At least it will be on file.

I left the convenience store and walked to the park. The great orb of the sun was just hanging over the cotton mill. Its light blinding me as I sat beneath the boughs of those great oaks. It was going to be a fine day. One to relish.

I feel so well this morning. I haven't felt this well in months. There is much going on behind the scenes of this blog that I am shy about writing. Maybe I can get up the courage to reveal what's going on. I don't want to whine and portray too much drama though. I worry about burdening you all with my problems. Maybe its best to just write of pleasant morning walks and conversations with friends. Yes, that would be best.

Ghost Lights and Auras

Dusk Through a Window...

The words "peaceful indigo" come to mind looking at this picture. I feel so peaceful as well mentally. The sun is setting and another day is gone -- a day in my life forever behind me. A day without a panic attack and that is peaceful, indeed.

Injection No-Go

"Dammit!" my father said behind the counter of his pharmacy this morning. "We're out of your shot."

He had scrambled looking all through the fridge in the back for it. It is not often my father screws up.

"I didn't want to take it anyway," I said under my breath.

"What did you say?" my father asked, normally hard of hearing.

"I said I will take it later," I replied, lying.

Last night I started to feel well -- the first time I have felt well in over a week. I am starting to believe Pipe Tobacco in that it is all the countless medications I am on and their interactions that are causing my attacks. I have been told it was alcohol withdrawal. Dehydration. And caffeine overdose. My head is swimming with advice about this matter and I don't know what to believe.

"I'll call you in the morning," my father said. "You need that shot badly."

"I am actually feeling well," I replied. "I feel better today than I have in weeks."

"Grrrrr," I could hear my father grumble under his breath. He hates when I disparage my medications.

I left the drug store and drove home determined I wasn't going to take that shot tomorrow. I feel cured. I don't want to be schizophrenic any longer. I don't want to be force fed mounds of medications and to feel stupid, slow, and asexual all the time. It will be a major battle in the morning with my father coming over and forcing me to go down to the doctor's office to get that shot. I hope I can hold off an attack. Wish me luck!

First Frost

My front yard greeted me this morning in beautiful crystallized white. We had our first heavy frost of the season with a low of 27 degrees. It is going to be a chilly day and a day spent mostly inside writing and working on my memoirs. I got off of working on them and need to get focused again. I thank you all for stopping by. I appreciate it. If I get up the will, I will revel you in the fiasco that was my every-two-week injection for my schizophrenia this morning. It was FUBAR!

One more before bed....

I always thought it was a lady singing this song heard commonly on Coast to Coast AM as bumper music. Imagine my surprise!

The Day is Done...

It is time to go envelope myself in my warm covers. I've turned the heat down to 65. Maggie is performing her last rights outside. One more cigarette and a caffeine free soda and I will jump in. I will awake an hour later to eat as is my custom as I can't sleep well without a full stomach. Tonight's menu is leftover Tombstone supreme pizza from lunch. Good night blog world! Sleep tight!

Ole Bessie

I didn't have much chance to take pictures today. I just couldn't find something suitable to shoot. Here are some pictures of a cow in a pasture near my home. I was standing in the road hundreds of yards away. This camera has a fantastic zoom lens.

Ummm, I think I am leaving this party!

Would taste better with some parmesan and some salt and pepper.

Closeup of our object of desire.

Let's try some of this salad!

Lazing About this Morning...

Maggie insists on laying on the back of the couch like a cat.

Okay, this is boring. Lets do something more exciting like chase cats or sniff behinds.

Ever vigilant, my best friend makes sure the yard is not being invaded by errant humans and snooping animals.

Day Two -- Relief!

It is day two without an anxiety/panic attack. I am so relieved -- so, so relieved. Maybe I will feel well enough to travel to LaGrange for a meeting today. Everyone tells me it was withdrawal from alcohol. I have read on the web were withdrawal causes anxiety and a common cause of anxiety attacks is withdrawal from alcohol. I hope it is that simple. I never want to drink again and have a few beers in the fridge that have gone neglected. I need to pour them out lest I repeat this last week of hell.

Went for my morning walk again. Brrrrr! It was so cold this morning. Winter's icy grasp firmly in place over the South. I walked down to that park and sat as the sun rose over the cotton mill. It was a beautiful if chilly sight. I was disappointed we didn't get a bigger frost though. I was hoping it would kill my grass that needs cutting! lol I moved my lawn mower under the house for the winter and need to drain the gas from it.

Look for some pictures this afternoon. I am going to take a trek -- a photo trek and look for nice subjects today. It is going to be cold so I will have to bundle up. I really don't have that much to write about today with the night being very quiet and with me getting a full night's sleep. Hopefully, the day will find me with more to write about. Take care!

Town Hero

"Hey Ken, check this out," I say to my favorite convenience store clerk early this morning. 

I hold up yesterday's paper and there is a mention of him calling the police the other night in that D.U.I. with the kids in the car.

"No shit?" he says as he smiles incredulously and grabs the paper from me.

"You're a hero, dude," I say as I drink my decaf and watch patrons parade to the counter with the coffee.

"I'm gonna have this framed," he says, beaming.

"It is just a mention," I reply.

"Still," he says. "I am in the newspaper."

Our small town paper isn't much.  They love crime drama and if you get a D.U.I. you get a mention. When I had my drunken accident on my motorcycle above the cotton mill on the road they wrote a paragraph about me.  It embarrassed my family to death.

"What are you doing when you get off?" I then ask my favorite clerk.

"Sleep," he says. "I should have been off an hour ago.  This time change is kicking my ass."

I laughed and agreed.  It has been kicking my ass as well.  I left the store with my mug filled with coffee and my backpack upon my back.  I was just about to leave the parking lot when someone came walking out of the convenience store and hollered at me.  It was Ken.

"Sorry about the beer thing the other night," He says loudly. "I didn't think you were really an alcoholic."

"Shush," I reply loudly as I put my finger to my lips. "Don't tell the whole world."

We both laughed and I walked on home.  I don't know why I am so shy about strangers in my real life knowing that when I blather about it upon this blog so openly and readily.  Just another strange variance of life it seems.

Photo Tuesday

A unknown flower in my neighbor Joyce's yard.

Fall leaves in my back yard just ready to fall for me to gather up.

Last summer's hydrangea which the first frost tomorrow night will get.

Ghost Leaves

I so long to write with more creativity.  Beautiful words.  Words and phrases that leap off these blog pages and touch my readers.  It is so hard writing a daily blog and to keep up the consistency.  I read other blogs for inspiration and it helps.  Other blogs that seem filled with beautiful prose.  Blogs that make it look and read so easy. 

Another sleepless night greeted me this evening.  I went to bed at 7 PM and woke again at midnight. Walked down to my favorite park and noticed the falling leaves on the pavement.  Beautiful leaves of fall hues lay scattered about -- the trees just giving up their summer bounty for fall.  Ghost leaves in the pale light of the nearby street lamps.  I normally fall melancholy this time of the year due to the time change and the change of seasons, but feel mentally well these days.  The numerous anti-depressants I am on no doubt helping in this regard.

It was a much warmer night tonight relatively compared to the past few mornings.  I noticed in Nashville the night before a horrendous line of thunderstorms pushed through.  I wonder if we will get the same tonight.  The breeze tonight foretold a cold front on the way.  And the smell of rain was on the air.  Warm gulf breezes were pouring in off the Gulf of Mexico headed our way adding fuel to the proverbial fire as far as storms go. I long for a stormy night curled up on the couch as the lightning strikes and the thunder rumbles.  The sound of rain pounding on the roof as I sit by candlelight with everything unplugged. I would then go to bed as the thunder faded in the distance and the rain settled to a steady drone on my roof.

Sat for the longest time thinking in that park.  Of life.  Of love. Of friends that go blog.  One cigarette after another was smoked as I mused over these things.  I realized we create tangled intricacies in our lives and relationships.  I've seen many people comment, come, and go over the course of this blog.  I miss all that have gone and there are a few I am glad sought out greener pastures to haunt.  Those are few though.  I realize I don't have the time to visit everyone that comments and that worries me.  I wish I had the time in the day to visit everyone and leave words of support.  Nor do I have the time to reply to every comment without being trite.  I must pick and choose my battles of the blog wisely.

Well, let me settle down and try to get more sleep.  Maggie is in the bed curled up and snoring.  I know she wonders what has happened to me these days. The slightest change in routine such as the time change can send me into schedule helter skelter. 

Photo Monday

A ride out Spring Road today to see the fall color. It is just starting to show.

Where I go to my A.A. meetings. The Chattahoochee Valley Clubhouse.


The monument to men long dead in the park.

The park where my nightly walks usually end up at. I drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, and watch the cars on the highway.

That long abandoned cotton mill by the park. It goes on for a mile.

Clothes and More Clothes...

It is hard to believe that such a cold night could turn out a day such as today.  The temps are almost eighty and I have every window open in my house.  A wonderful, soothing, calming breeze is blowing through.  Having the porch door open also means bliss for Maggie.  She can run outside to check on the yard without running to the back of the house to go outside.

This morning was spent helping my mother gather up all my grandmother's summer clothes.  We took them to her house and then gathered the winter clothes she needed.  Anything involving my grandmother can grow overly complicated though.  We struggled to find all her favorite clothes she listed.  Black sweaters.  Brown pants.  Pink pantsuits.  It all seemed to muddle together in one big clothing maelstrom.  We then drove the long drive to another town to take them to her at the nursing home.   

Went for another walk after lunch.  I am feeling much, much better today.  I almost had an attack gathering all those clothes, but it passed once we got in the car and my mother started driving. It was a beautiful fall day for a walk and I am going to get some pictures up for Summer.  Let me go get busy!

A Pot of Liquid Gold

The time change has gotten my sleeping habits all screwed up. I went to bed at 7 and woke again at midnight unable to sleep. What do I do when I can't sleep? I walk. I am becoming the walkin' man these days. I walk in my house. I walk outside. I would walk to the moon if I could. Maybe that trek around the South on foot that I have been planning is coming to fruition. My legs are getting in fine shape.

My mother gave me some more money last night.

"DO NOT tell your father," she said.

"Oh, I won't," I replied, carefully guarding this family secret.

"I just can't bare to see you without a dollar for A.A."

I used part of the money tonight down at the convenience store to buy a bear claw and a cup of decaf. My favorite clerk was very animated in the tales he reveled me in of the previous night's work.

"Crazy son of a bitch," he told me. "I had this guy come in who couldn't stand up. He was trying to buy candy for his kids in the car. I called the police. They pulled him over as he was pulling out of the parking lot. I couldn't stand seeing those kids hurt due to drinking and driving."

I realized my friend has become desensitized to alcoholic antics. He sees them so often thus his little faux pas with trying to buy me beer. I seem so normal most of the time that he didn't believe I was an alcoholic. Thought I was just playing a game as it is become fashionable between celebrities to banter the alcoholic label. Take Glenn Beck for example.

Left the convenience store and walked on down to the train tracks drinking my coffee. It was damn cold tonight. Almost to the point of being uncomfortable. I don't see how they handle it in the far north. We will most likely see another winter without snow and I am already complaining. Took a seat on the bench by the railroad museum and finished my coffee. It was delicious -- my favorite clerk having made a fresh pot just for me. Milky and sweet, it hit the spot on this cold night.

I then stood and watched a train pass. It was a big CSX mixed freight with freight cars heading all over the country. The first stop? Atlanta on the way. There the cars would be separated and put in other trains for other destinations. I longed to hop aboard and head out for destinations unknown -- my wanderlust peaking to a climax as I stood there. It was traveling just slow enough to take a run and to jump onto a hopper car to be shielded from the cold wind.

The train had passed so I walked on home to turn on the heat and revel in its warmth. I have gotten to be such a pussy about the cold. It is now 2:30 AM and I have a long night ahead of me of listening to the radio and trying to find anything of interest on the web. Do any of you get in ruts about the web? I don't find anything interesting, but blogs these days. I would rather read about real lives than some regurgitated propaganda on CNN.com. Such is life...

The Night's Recap

Set out for my early morning walk with my headphones on and the Walkman tuned to Coast to Coast AM. It was our coldest morning yet with temps in the upper thirties. I was bundled in my heavy green fleece pullover and a pair of gray fleece lined sweat pants. I passed through the neighborhood that never sleeps as there is always a party going on. The police had arrived at one house with a woman fighting and screaming on the front porch. I shuddered to think that my life used to be like that when I was married. "I am going to kick your mother f--cking ass," she kept screaming drunkenly at what I presumed was her husband or boyfriend. I quickly put that neighborhood behind me and walked down into the mill village.

I often worry about walking at night that I could be seen as suspicious. Here I am. A white guy walking through a predominately black neighborhood way after midnight. I usually just shrug it off though and keep walking. I am harmless. Most people are asleep at 3 AM in the morning. The police usually ignore me.

I walked on down to my favorite park and took a seat. The skyline over the old abandoned cotton mill shone orange in the overcast from the lights of our city. The big oak's leaves soon beginning to show fall color stood stalwartly over me. The lone monument to industrial men long dead stood beside me like some blackened monolith. Breaks in the clouds showed stars and I thought wistfully of the many more lives out there undiscovered. We are not alone, I mused. I then lit a cigarette and thought of last night.

Last night I had another anxiety attack. They seem to be getting better -- not being as severe. My mother came over to give me my medications and crawled into the bed with me. I refused to take them fearing they are the cause for my attacks. "You sure you don't want to take them?" she said of my medications countless times almost pleadingly. "I feel they are causing me to get sick," I replied. Mom held my hand as we lay there and Maggie was in between us. Maggie kept trying to goose my mother in the face and it made me smile despite feeling terrible. It served to help me feel better. Finally, mom left taking those medications with her asking me one more time if I would take them fearing my father's wrath. I said, "No, mom. You're are going to cause me to have another attack."

Later, my father showed up to give them to me once again -- ever determined those damned medications are the key to my good being. It was almost midnight and I had gotten some sleep. I was feeling better and begrudgingly agreed to take them. He tuned the television to football which completely got on my nerves as my father has grown hard of hearing and plays the volume very loud.

"Your just having withdrawals from alcohol," my father told me over the loud din of the T.V. "Trust me. I am your pharmacist and the medications aren't causing your attacks."

"I would rather speak to my doctor about it, though," I said.

"You don't trust me???" he asked with an astonished and incredulous look on his face.

"I just think my doctor knows better," I replied. "I don't want to be on so many meds."

I gave in and took them causing me to feel so anxious I was going to have another attack. I never did and went to sleep it being well after midnight waking up around 2 AM. My father giving me a long hug and telling me he was bringing me a meal tomorrow.

I finally left that park forgetting about the time change. I had gained one hour tonight and I was going to use it to get some more sleep. I had also grown very cold. I trudged on home, through the mill village, and up through my home's neighborhood like some lost soul wandering through the night. Some dark, silent sentinel watching over the world as it sleeps. Onwards, ever, to Bethlehem, or should I say home?

A Journey Daunted...

Walked back down to the convenience store a moment ago. I was so desperate and had 2 dollars and 75 cents to my name. It would have bought me a forty once of malt liquor. A cheap drunk. Daunted, I left thinking of my anxiety attacks and walked down to the shopping center. I missed Clara. I missed Rosa. It made me think of young Derrick in our A.A. meetings when he said he drank because of pain.

"I got a gun and was going to rob the convenience store," I remember him saying one meeting. "Anything to escape the pain of my life and my alcoholism. I was hoping a cop would shoot me and put me out of my misery."

He started going to A.A. and became a different man. So sure of himself and caring of others. His brother stopped him on that cold and dark night -- a night that turned around his life -- a night that almost ended in disaster.

I walked by Clara's old homeless sleeping spot behind the dollar store and the Korean restaurant. Crumpled old empty packs of cigarettes and a healthy collection of beer bottles greeted me. I need to drive down to see her -- to know she is okay.

I came home and called my father. He was at the Auburn game and was about to walk into the stadium.

"I love you and War Eagle," I told him.

"War Eagle!!!" he replied with a resounding air to his voice. "I love you too."

We talked mainly of football and it was good to hear his voice. I wanted him to tell me how proud he was of me subverting yet another drunk. He didn't. I didn't tell him. I didn't want to burden him with yet another problem. I come and burden you all.

My neighbor, Joyce, is mentally ill. She is having a terrible time this weekend. I need to go over and see about her, but I am afraid of what I may find. She acted extremely strange yesterday when I talked to her. I wonder if people feel the same with me? Eggshells is the word that comes to mind. I am so afraid of bothering her when she is feeling ill. My father alluded to her illness over the phone, but couldn't tell me the specifics by law and being her pharmacist.

Morning's First Light

The morning's fog quickly burned off and revealed a landscape of dew and moisture.  I grabbed my trusty Canon and headed out the door this morning to capture a few shots.  Everything was so wet! I did some minor editing in photoshop to bring out color and contrast.  My old Canon camera had a "vivid" setting I loved for bringing out color, but, alas, this one does not. 

 

Red berries in the Morning Light.

Dew on the leaves.

A spider's web in the dew.    

Temptation Blue...

It was a foggy morning as I set out for my early morning walk. The fog rolling in off the Chattahoochee river. It was almost surreal walking through that mist as it beaded on my jacket and rolled off. I had been down to see my favorite convenience store clerk and it wasn't a kind meeting. He was trying to entice me into having a beer to feel better. He just didn't understand alcoholism which is common for many.

"Maybe a couple of drinks will make you feel better," he told me as we stepped back to the beer cooler.

He pulled out a six-pack of Heineken knowing it was my favorite.

"Go ahead," he said. "It's on me. A couple of drinks won't hurt."

I thanked him for his kindness as that is what he meant and put the beer back up.

"I have to abstain," I said, not believing I passed up free beer without a dime to my name. "I think it will cause the anxiety attacks to become worse and I become a different person when drunk."

"I'm just trying to help," he said as he smiled.

"I understand," I replied, biting my tongue that he was about to destroy weeks of sobriety.

I quickly left the convenience store wondering if I would ever return. This was such a surprising turn of events. My friend meant well, but was misguided. He thought the beer would calm me and help assuage what has been ailing me.

"I thought alcoholics drank," he quipped as I walked out of the store.

Choose your friends wisely...I thought.

I walked on down to the railroad tracks and sat on the bench in front of the train museum smoking cigarettes. I realized I just can't take a lot going on becoming dizzy with thoughts and desires. Those old urges to drink were in full force and I debated on walking back up to the store to get that beer before my friend got off of work and the chance was lost. Amazingly, I resisted the urge and left the museum to walk on home. Broken glass shimmering like little jewels on the sidewalk as I walked in the lights of the many fog encircled street lamps. I arrived home and ate an apple danish and a glass of milk for breakfast.

Started a new ad campaign this morning. I get to pick and choose which ads I display. Let me know what would interest you. I would appreciate it. I had to talk to a representative on the phone about getting enrolled and setting everything up which was an interesting twist for an ad company. It certainly is overly complicated to put ads up having so many to choose from.

Photo Phriday

Last of the Summer Flowers.

Maggie on the Porch.

It's a Small World...

I saw an old childhood friend at the noon LaGrange A.A. meeting. He was shocked when he saw me. We haven't see each other since attending school together as children.

"You go to these meetings?" he asked, astonished.

"Yeah, I do," I replied as I shook his hand, embarrassed.

"I always thought you would be a doctor by now. Not some drunk attending A.A. meetings," he told me as he chuckled.

I laughed nervously back. He was here because he was court ordered having gotten a D.U.I.

"I screwed up," he said. "I got drunk and drove to try and see my ex-wife. We had been fighting. These court costs are costing me a fortune!"

I went on inside and sat down ready for a meeting. My friend followed me in and sat beside me holding his court papers to be signed. The meeting started.

"Please bring your court papers up to the front to be signed," the chairperson said at the start of the meeting. My friend sheepishly walked up there to get his papers autographed.

"Humiliating," he said, whispering as he sat down beside me again.

I patted him on the shoulder and told him no one was thinking badly of him. We see it all the time. So many court ordered people come and go. Most of us had been there at one point or another in our lives.

Today's meeting was about gratitude -- gratitude for sobriety and gratitude for all the good things you have in your life. It was a meeting much needed as I have a tendency to be depressed and morose -- thinking only of the negatives. A side effect of my schizophrenia.

"I have serious gratitude for being sober today," I said as I shared. "It truly is a miracle and God is working wonders in my life."

The meeting ended and I bid my friend farewell knowing I would never see him again unless he had more court ordered meetings to attend.

"Don't be a stranger," he said as he climbed into his car after giving me his cell phone number.

"I'll try not to," I said as I then drove the thirty minutes home.

I've been there before having gotten a D.U.I. to similar circumstances. Mine ended in a broken arm and shoulder though. You would have thought I would have learned my lesson then and quit drinking. I always was hardheaded and incorrigible.

Admitted We Were Powerless...

I started Pipe Tobacco's water drinking campaign this morning. I hate water and usually only drink sodas. I also took three Tylenol and two aspirin. Hoping the aspirin would calm me somewhat and the Tylenol would take away this feverish feeling I am having.

A.A. last night was wonderful. The hour passed by in a blink. I left the house at about twenty till to walk over there. Just after my mother had left for the night. We talked of step one once again. Admitting we were powerless over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable. It is hard admitting you are powerless over something for most, but comes easy to me. I know I am powerless and need help.

"Step one is the step to a new life," Sandy said. "You do have to work the steps, but step one is the beginning and sometimes the hardest step to believe in."

I agreed. Other than my anxiety attacks, my life has grown so much more serene lately. Full of solace. I was talking to my mother about it last night.

"Your father says it is your medications he has been giving you and not A.A. for the reason you are feeling better," she said.

"I disagree," I replied, careful not to cast aspersions on my medications. "A.A. has helped me tremendously."

The meeting ended with passing the donation basket and saying The Lord's Prayer. We all held hands and stood in a circle -- the circle of sobriety. I felt that if I continue to go to these meetings and work the steps earnestly that I was going to be okay. There is hope for this old drunk yet.

Of Emergencies and A.A.

Sat down at the emergency room for two hours and walked out. I just couldn't wait any longer -- the panic growing with every minute. I waited until a nurse opened the big doors to freedom. I just panicked so badly and wanted to be at home. My life continues to take interesting twists. I wonder if they will call me? I was admitted, after all. They may not even miss me they were so busy. I felt much better after leaving feeling they would think I was only there for medications to get high on. I just wanted to feel better. I was also afraid they would admit me back on the mental ward. I had told the admitting nurse that I was having terrible paranoia and hallucinations during my worst spells. I couldn't bear going without my little cigars for another week.

Really looking forward to A.A. tonight. Can't wait to see the regulars like Sandy, Tiffany, Mary, and Billie. I want to hear some words of support -- that I will not die drunk and alone. Any words will be fine and I will happily sit and listen. I feel much better tonight almost growing on normal. It is so awesome not to feel my heart pounding in my chest. Maybe just going to the emergency room brought solace to this addled soul with sitting there quietly for two hours being my catharsis.

Daily Video Check-In

Some Blogs I've Noticed Lately

Kelly Jene -- Kelly has been a regular commenter for a while now and I've noticed her visiting my friend's blogs as well. Visit her and give her a shout out. I need to comment more on blogs as well being set in my ways.

Anonymous Boxer -- Boxer is a close friend and has a fabulously interesting writing style. I am learning the art of dialogue by reading. Thank you for your comments, Boxer. Shadow Boxing with my Sanity Since 2003.

Chandira's Diary of a Hope Fiend -- I so enjoy the charming simplicity of Chandira's blog. I also admire her for her kind ways and religion of choice. We would all have a kinder, more interesting world with Chandira's in them. I found her on Blogexplosion.

Josie's Picking up Pieces -- Josie, a good friend of mine, writes about her life with a refreshing honesty. Warts and all, she reminds me of me in the way we share with the world. We tend to tell you everything. Give her a visit and check out the way in which she shares with her blogging community. You will not be disappointed.

There are so many more blogs I would like to recognize. Maybe more will come to me tomorrow. I hope you all enjoy these blogs as much as I do.

All Hallows' Eve

It was a wonderful night of trick or treating. I passed out Reese's peanut butter cups I got my mother to buy for me. I ate my fair share as well. I got a lot of poor kids from the housing projects nearby. They seemed to appreciate the candy all the more. I was just glad to participate.

My father handed over all responsibility of me to my mother as "punishment." She now has to help me buy my groceries and come over every night to give me my medications.

"I don't mind doing it," she told me last night. "I love you."

I scoffed at the word punishment my father used. My mother is a grown woman and he needs to treat her as such.

"Your father gave me your check book saying it was my responsibility as well," she furthered.

I am actually glad my mother now has control of all that. She is a far kinder soul about such matters. I feel much more comfortable with her doing it. My father coming over seemed to exacerbate my anxiety attacks -- so worried he was going to attack me viciously about bullshit.

This morning I once again went for my walk. I know you all will grow tired of hearing about them. My life is pretty routine. I walked down to that favored park and sat as the sun came up. Beautiful oranges and yellows graced the horizon as the sun rose higher in the sky. The weather has been gorgeous lately if rather chilly. I then went by to see my favorite clerk at the convenience store, but he had already gotten off for the day.

I had the most wonderful dream of falling in love last night. It ended in tragedy though when I told the young woman I was an alcoholic and she spurned me. I spent the rest of the dream trying to woo her back to little success. I still woke up feeling well just having the attention of a woman for a few short hours. Another little joy to add to my list.

The anxiety attacks continue to plague me. I feel as if I am on the verge of another one every moment. I pray today is far kinder to me. I haven't been able to drive for fear of one and am ready to get out of this house. I miss my A.A. meetings and the camaraderie they instill. I miss Mrs. Mary and her rambling diatribes. I miss Sandy and her blunt manner. I even miss Billie who has to stand up every ten minutes interrupting the meetings.

My neighbor, Joyce, just came by knocking on my door. She brought me some cream cheese cake. Maggie went crazy as usual -- so excited to have company. She loves Joyce. I was so glad to see her and welcomed her inside. She could only stay for a minute having to go down to my father's pharmacy to get a prescription filled. Another little joy to add to my list.