George came over late last night bearing gifts of Papa John’s pizza. Amazingly, He wasn’t drunk and he promised me he wasn’t drinking when I had seen him earlier in the day driving. I guess I shouldn’t jump to conclusions about him like I did yesterday.
“Man, you be actin’ like my momma sometimes,” He told me as he laughed.
“Well, someone’s got to look out for you,” I replied.
George cued in on Carolyn. He saw a picture of her sitting atop my entertainment center in a frame. He was intrigued by our relationship.
“Does she be treatin’ you right?” George asked.
“She’s good to me,” I replied.
“I mean does she give you what you need in the sack?” George then asked bluntly reformatting his question.
“I don’t go asking you about your’s and Pookie’s sex life,” I replied. “I am not about to divulge I and Carolyn’s bedroom secrets just so you can go gossip about it.”
“Man, that first time just being out of jail with Pookie, I was about to bust a nut,” George replied coarsely.
I quickly held up my hand signifying for George to go no further.
“Spare me the details of you and Pookie’s bedroom antics,” I replied as I smiled amused, trying not to laugh.
Just the mere thought of George crawling atop Pookie and performing the old horizontal tango began to scar my brain.
I had finally grown terribly sleepy and was yawning continuously. I made subtle hints to George that it was my bedtime. We both ate the rest of the pizza and George bid me farewell.
“I ain’t goin’ to sleep until I get tired of life,” George told me as we walked out into my driveway. “I have missed months in jail and it is going to take me months to catch up.”
“Just don’t burn your candle at both ends,” I replied trying to imbue some common sense into George. It seems county jail has unleashed a wild man.
George drove off and then I went inside to brush my teeth, take a quick shower, and head for bed. I remember lying there trying to go to sleep with inescapable images of Pookie and George fucking each other’s brains out upon George’s release from jail. I was not a pretty thought. Pookie is not my idea of nubile attractiveness.
“I don’t even have to go to sleep to have nightmares these days,” I thought as I rolled over and finally drifted off into the land of much more comfortable and pleasant dreams.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Journaling from my Homeless Days…
I kept a notebook with various writings during my homeless days. Luckily, I have saved this notebook, but have never got around to publishing much of it upon the web. Here was an entry from December 27th, 2004.
______________________________________________________________
Describing the cold: It seeps into your bones. You start looking for excuses to exercise to stay warm. You dream of those easy days when you had a warm home to go to. A roaring fire can be the most wonderful thing ever discovered.
Those were my thoughts this morning as I lay in my warm sleeping bag dreading climbing out to start my day. It was brutally cold this morning with a low of 27 degrees according to the little clip on thermometer upon my backpack. I don’t know if I can take much more of this. I do take comfort in that you do somewhat get used to the cold although I doubt you will ever get used to subfreezing temperatures.
I always took having a home for granted. It was second nature to wake up in a warm bed after a cold winter’s night to turn on the heat and bask in its warmth. Comfort was just a mere walk across the room and a push of lever to adjust the thermostat. I will never take having a home again for granted if I ever gain another.
I finally crawled out of my sleeping bag this morning to a heavily frost covered landscape. The woods were so quiet in those cold early dawn hours. It seemed I was the only thing stirring. All the animals had enough sense to hunker down until the sun had risen enough to warm the winter air.
I built a small fire and the got my camp stove lit. I boiled some coffee and then boiled a pot of water. I know Ramen noodles aren’t exactly the most orthodox of breakfasts, but that hot broth is so comforting and soothing on a cold morning such as this.
I plan on riding into town upon the Bandit around lunch to get supplies. I need more beer and cigarettes and something to cook for supper. I think I will just buy a loaf of bread and some luncheon meat and forego cooking and dirtying up all my camp cooking gear.
I still have a terrible buzz from last night’s drinking. Before bed, I downed twelve beers in quick succession hoping it would knock me out. I wanted to do anything to escape my reality. The only time I ever feel good is when I am drunk these days and it helps you feel warm and comfortable. I know I shouldn’t drink so much, but when life gets this low things stop mattering. You live only for the day in front of you and not for tomorrow.
Well, let me make myself presentable and ride on into town. I have grown sober enough where I am starting to dread life once again. The only remedy for this malady is another twelve pack of very strong beers. Good day.
Describing the cold: It seeps into your bones. You start looking for excuses to exercise to stay warm. You dream of those easy days when you had a warm home to go to. A roaring fire can be the most wonderful thing ever discovered.
Those were my thoughts this morning as I lay in my warm sleeping bag dreading climbing out to start my day. It was brutally cold this morning with a low of 27 degrees according to the little clip on thermometer upon my backpack. I don’t know if I can take much more of this. I do take comfort in that you do somewhat get used to the cold although I doubt you will ever get used to subfreezing temperatures.
I always took having a home for granted. It was second nature to wake up in a warm bed after a cold winter’s night to turn on the heat and bask in its warmth. Comfort was just a mere walk across the room and a push of lever to adjust the thermostat. I will never take having a home again for granted if I ever gain another.
I finally crawled out of my sleeping bag this morning to a heavily frost covered landscape. The woods were so quiet in those cold early dawn hours. It seemed I was the only thing stirring. All the animals had enough sense to hunker down until the sun had risen enough to warm the winter air.
I built a small fire and the got my camp stove lit. I boiled some coffee and then boiled a pot of water. I know Ramen noodles aren’t exactly the most orthodox of breakfasts, but that hot broth is so comforting and soothing on a cold morning such as this.
I plan on riding into town upon the Bandit around lunch to get supplies. I need more beer and cigarettes and something to cook for supper. I think I will just buy a loaf of bread and some luncheon meat and forego cooking and dirtying up all my camp cooking gear.
I still have a terrible buzz from last night’s drinking. Before bed, I downed twelve beers in quick succession hoping it would knock me out. I wanted to do anything to escape my reality. The only time I ever feel good is when I am drunk these days and it helps you feel warm and comfortable. I know I shouldn’t drink so much, but when life gets this low things stop mattering. You live only for the day in front of you and not for tomorrow.
Well, let me make myself presentable and ride on into town. I have grown sober enough where I am starting to dread life once again. The only remedy for this malady is another twelve pack of very strong beers. Good day.
Friday, November 10, 2006
And the Day Winds Down…
It was just a gorgeous day today with temperatures in the low eighties. I opened all my windows and enjoyed one last gasp of summer weather. The leaves on the trees are just now at their peak of color. Soon, raking the yard and blowing my driveway clear of leaves will become an obsession and a pastime. I have learned to do a little bit every week so as not have one hellacious chore come December.
Helen cooked supper tonight. She fixed my requested meat loaf, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and substituted biscuits for the yeast rolls. She also made a side of fruit salad. I and mom sat at their kitchen table in the waning light of late afternoon as we ate.
“Can’t she cook so well?” Mom said as she brought her fork up to her mouth.
“Yes, she is a wonderful cook,” I replied with my mouth full of mashed potatoes and meat loaf. “You used to could cook just as good though.”
“Your father told me the other night that him and your brother and sister would put what I cooked down the garbage disposal when I wasn’t looking. You had already gone off to college.”
“That’s a bunch of bullshit and dad is just being mean,” I replied, my anger roused.
“Do you really think I was a good cook?”
“You could cook some of the best country southern style cooking I have ever eaten.”
“Your father will get so mad at me even if I just stand next to the stove now,” Mom replied with a wistful look upon her face thinking about her cooking days.
“Anytime you want to cook, call me, and we will do it together,” I said. “Dad won’t say a word if I am helping you and am over here.”
I and mom finished our meal and then I hung around for a bit to give her some company. We put up the leftovers in the fridge and then washed all the dishes from supper. Helen’s son had arrived to pick her up and she carried out the trash as she told us all goodbye. I made sure to brag heartily on the wonderful meal she had prepared. She beamed with pride.
I finally walked on home to the shining beam of my flashlight after dark fall. I had left my lights on in my den and Maggie was propped up on my window ledge looking out into the darkness. She sensed me walking through the yard and started to wiggle her butt and wag her tail furiously. One thing about a dog is they are always glad to see you come home. They are truly man’s best friend.
Helen cooked supper tonight. She fixed my requested meat loaf, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and substituted biscuits for the yeast rolls. She also made a side of fruit salad. I and mom sat at their kitchen table in the waning light of late afternoon as we ate.
“Can’t she cook so well?” Mom said as she brought her fork up to her mouth.
“Yes, she is a wonderful cook,” I replied with my mouth full of mashed potatoes and meat loaf. “You used to could cook just as good though.”
“Your father told me the other night that him and your brother and sister would put what I cooked down the garbage disposal when I wasn’t looking. You had already gone off to college.”
“That’s a bunch of bullshit and dad is just being mean,” I replied, my anger roused.
“Do you really think I was a good cook?”
“You could cook some of the best country southern style cooking I have ever eaten.”
“Your father will get so mad at me even if I just stand next to the stove now,” Mom replied with a wistful look upon her face thinking about her cooking days.
“Anytime you want to cook, call me, and we will do it together,” I said. “Dad won’t say a word if I am helping you and am over here.”
I and mom finished our meal and then I hung around for a bit to give her some company. We put up the leftovers in the fridge and then washed all the dishes from supper. Helen’s son had arrived to pick her up and she carried out the trash as she told us all goodbye. I made sure to brag heartily on the wonderful meal she had prepared. She beamed with pride.
I finally walked on home to the shining beam of my flashlight after dark fall. I had left my lights on in my den and Maggie was propped up on my window ledge looking out into the darkness. She sensed me walking through the yard and started to wiggle her butt and wag her tail furiously. One thing about a dog is they are always glad to see you come home. They are truly man’s best friend.
Drunken Driving Drama…
As I made my way on the last jaunt of my hike today, I saw George in his dilapidated 1981 Dodge Diplomat most likely driving drunk through downtown. Old habits die hard it seems and George is playing with fire. If he gets pulled over again he is looking at years in jail and not just a few months. They will not go so lightly upon him this time. I shook my head with worry and disgust as I saw him drive by and wave. He knew not to stop and talk to me as I would be very pissed off and angry with him.
It was a morning for seeing the gang as I also saw Droopy as well. He once again hit me up for some money, but this time I refused. He always says he is hungry, but he and I both know that is bullshit. He will buy himself a bottle of cheap wine and go nurse it up at the shopping center hanging out with the almost mute Cap w/ Tag Guy. I cannot afford to support someone else’s addictions let alone my own. I did tell Droopy about seeing George driving though. We all love to gossip about each other.
“That dumb son of a bitch sho be askin’ for it,” He replied.
“I know and I am mad as hell at him,” I told him. “He is going to get in trouble again.”
“Ole George doesn’t want to sit at home with dat elderly mother of his,” Droopy said. “He be a man of the town.”
“Well, he can fucking walk like the rest of us. He is just being lazy taking such chances. You can walk across the whole damn town in a matter of hours,” I replied as I scoffed. “Nothing is so important as to risk going back to jail for years.”
Droopy once again pleaded with me for a few dollars changing the subject.
“Man, you would be doin’ a brotha a big favor lettin’ him have just three dollars like the other day,” Droopy said.
I never carry much money in my wallet and keep most of it at home. The only thing in my wallet today was a $20 dollar bill. I pulled out my wallet, opened it, and showed what I had to Droopy.
“See?” I said tersely. “I only have a twenty dollar bill and I sure as shit know you don’t have change.”
Droopy looked dejected, settled for a spare cigarette, and walked off with a slump in his shoulders at a depressed gait. I wish I was rich and I and the gang would just stay perpetually drunk along with lots of cigarettes, cigars, and food. Everyday would be one hell of a party. Reality is that I sometimes have trouble paying my utilities let alone buying drinks and smokes for everyone.
It was a morning for seeing the gang as I also saw Droopy as well. He once again hit me up for some money, but this time I refused. He always says he is hungry, but he and I both know that is bullshit. He will buy himself a bottle of cheap wine and go nurse it up at the shopping center hanging out with the almost mute Cap w/ Tag Guy. I cannot afford to support someone else’s addictions let alone my own. I did tell Droopy about seeing George driving though. We all love to gossip about each other.
“That dumb son of a bitch sho be askin’ for it,” He replied.
“I know and I am mad as hell at him,” I told him. “He is going to get in trouble again.”
“Ole George doesn’t want to sit at home with dat elderly mother of his,” Droopy said. “He be a man of the town.”
“Well, he can fucking walk like the rest of us. He is just being lazy taking such chances. You can walk across the whole damn town in a matter of hours,” I replied as I scoffed. “Nothing is so important as to risk going back to jail for years.”
Droopy once again pleaded with me for a few dollars changing the subject.
“Man, you would be doin’ a brotha a big favor lettin’ him have just three dollars like the other day,” Droopy said.
I never carry much money in my wallet and keep most of it at home. The only thing in my wallet today was a $20 dollar bill. I pulled out my wallet, opened it, and showed what I had to Droopy.
“See?” I said tersely. “I only have a twenty dollar bill and I sure as shit know you don’t have change.”
Droopy looked dejected, settled for a spare cigarette, and walked off with a slump in his shoulders at a depressed gait. I wish I was rich and I and the gang would just stay perpetually drunk along with lots of cigarettes, cigars, and food. Everyday would be one hell of a party. Reality is that I sometimes have trouble paying my utilities let alone buying drinks and smokes for everyone.
Early Christmas Shopping...
Just doing some early shopping and dreaming. My father gives each of us siblings $500 dollars every year to spend for Christmas. I have decided on this Canon Powershot camera with 6X optical zoom. I do so miss having a digital camera. I also want this HDTV tuner card for my computer so I can get HDTV broadcasts.
I called and cancelled that therapy session scheduled for this afternoon. I just couldn’t deal with all that shit today. I am having a hard time getting myself together this morning let alone getting a shower and driving all that way just to talk to some lady for an hour about what ails me.
I am now off for my morning hike. Let’s hope I can make ten miles today. That is my goal. I think I will feel better after a very long walk on the tracks.
ATI 100-714127 PCI Interface HDTV Wonder Remote Control Edition Tuner - Retail $89.99
Canon PowerShot A710 IS Silver 7.1 MP Digital Camera 6X Optical Zoom - Retail $310.99
Transcend Ultra Speed 4GB Secure Digital (SD) Flash Card Model TS4GSD150 - Retail $84.99
I called and cancelled that therapy session scheduled for this afternoon. I just couldn’t deal with all that shit today. I am having a hard time getting myself together this morning let alone getting a shower and driving all that way just to talk to some lady for an hour about what ails me.
I am now off for my morning hike. Let’s hope I can make ten miles today. That is my goal. I think I will feel better after a very long walk on the tracks.
ATI 100-714127 PCI Interface HDTV Wonder Remote Control Edition Tuner - Retail $89.99
Canon PowerShot A710 IS Silver 7.1 MP Digital Camera 6X Optical Zoom - Retail $310.99
Transcend Ultra Speed 4GB Secure Digital (SD) Flash Card Model TS4GSD150 - Retail $84.99
Therapist, Here I Come…
Today is therapy day. I drive down to Opelika to spend an hour pontificating about my problems. I feel emotionally wasted and spent this morning and am not looking forward to more emotional out letting. I have been seriously mulling over the idea of just saying I am sick and not going. Talking to a therapist makes me so uncomfortable most days.
Mom called last night and wanted me to get Helen up something to cook. I decided on meat loaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and yeast rolls. The way Helen cooks, I am sure it will be delicious. Dinner will be served around 5 PM. I am going to pay Helen to come once a week to do laundry, clean house, and cook a meal when I move into my new home. We will see whether I can afford it or not. I think I can if I live frugally like I normally do. I am just not the most domesticated of creatures and need some help keeping house.
Well, let me go get some breakfast started and roust Carolyn out of the bed. She is going to be late for work if she doesn’t get on the ball. We both slept like logs last night. It was pure torture getting up this morning I was still so sleepy.
(If you are wondering why I took down last night’s post, I just felt I wrote too much yesterday and it could be overwhelming for a new reader to the journal. I can be obsessive compulsive in my habits sometimes and the same goes for writing. I guess if I have to have a compulsive habit then writing is not such a bad thing.)
Mom called last night and wanted me to get Helen up something to cook. I decided on meat loaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and yeast rolls. The way Helen cooks, I am sure it will be delicious. Dinner will be served around 5 PM. I am going to pay Helen to come once a week to do laundry, clean house, and cook a meal when I move into my new home. We will see whether I can afford it or not. I think I can if I live frugally like I normally do. I am just not the most domesticated of creatures and need some help keeping house.
Well, let me go get some breakfast started and roust Carolyn out of the bed. She is going to be late for work if she doesn’t get on the ball. We both slept like logs last night. It was pure torture getting up this morning I was still so sleepy.
(If you are wondering why I took down last night’s post, I just felt I wrote too much yesterday and it could be overwhelming for a new reader to the journal. I can be obsessive compulsive in my habits sometimes and the same goes for writing. I guess if I have to have a compulsive habit then writing is not such a bad thing.)
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Wrapped up in the arms of love…
Carolyn is now in my bed. We both had a few bowls of my soup and pieces of cornbread before she retired.
“You cook this?” She asked.
“Yeah, why? Does it taste bad?” I asked.
“It is scrumptious,” She replied spooning herself another bowl.
We sat at my kitchen table as we ate. I watched her intently taking in every moment I got to spend with her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked looking uncomfortable in the limelight as she sat at my table.
“I just never get to see you much these days. You are a sight for sore eyes,” I replied.
We both walked into my kitchen to wash out our bowls and to wash off our spoons after eating.
“I am going to stay with you tonight,” She said matter-of-factly.
I walked into my bedroom to pull back my comforter and the sheets I had just washed today. Carolyn took off her clothes down to her panties and donned one of my well worn cotton t-shirts.
“Don’t stay up much longer,” She said as she crawled into my bed pulling those soft covers over her.
I turned off my bedside lamp and the room grew abruptly dark.
“I’ve got one more thing to do and then I will join you,” I replied as I had one last thing to write about.
Well, I have smoked and written enough for a day, don’t you think? It is time to retire into the arms of someone I care deeply about. I will welcome the soft caress of a woman’s arms tonight as I go to sleep; such wanton bliss. I certainly didn’t want to be lonely tonight and my prayers have been answered.
“You cook this?” She asked.
“Yeah, why? Does it taste bad?” I asked.
“It is scrumptious,” She replied spooning herself another bowl.
We sat at my kitchen table as we ate. I watched her intently taking in every moment I got to spend with her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asked looking uncomfortable in the limelight as she sat at my table.
“I just never get to see you much these days. You are a sight for sore eyes,” I replied.
We both walked into my kitchen to wash out our bowls and to wash off our spoons after eating.
“I am going to stay with you tonight,” She said matter-of-factly.
I walked into my bedroom to pull back my comforter and the sheets I had just washed today. Carolyn took off her clothes down to her panties and donned one of my well worn cotton t-shirts.
“Don’t stay up much longer,” She said as she crawled into my bed pulling those soft covers over her.
I turned off my bedside lamp and the room grew abruptly dark.
“I’ve got one more thing to do and then I will join you,” I replied as I had one last thing to write about.
Well, I have smoked and written enough for a day, don’t you think? It is time to retire into the arms of someone I care deeply about. I will welcome the soft caress of a woman’s arms tonight as I go to sleep; such wanton bliss. I certainly didn’t want to be lonely tonight and my prayers have been answered.
Barbeque in Hand…
I only made 8 miles today and got tired of hiking. I have just got to build up my stamina. I need to be able to hike 20 miles a day to finish the Appalachian Trail in decent time.
I once again ran into five fingered discount dude. He was walking on the tracks as our paths crossed yet once again. He bummed another cigarette off of me.
“The police are out looking for you,” I told him.
He laughed nervously.
“Let’s hope I don’t run into them,” He replied, his eyes darting nervously about as he smoked one of my cigarettes.
At least, he had changed his clothes today and shaved. He looked much more presentable. He even had on a new baseball cap. I wonder if the cap was another five finger discount.
I ended my hike standing in front of the little mobile barbeque stand. It smelled so good and I just couldn’t resist a plate today despite having a whole pot of vegetable soup waiting upon the stove at home. I got the ribs today and they were so succulent and delicious. They were falling off the bone they were so tender. I walked on home with a full belly and I think I shall go turn on my fan, curl up in my cool covers on the bed, and take a nap.
I once again ran into five fingered discount dude. He was walking on the tracks as our paths crossed yet once again. He bummed another cigarette off of me.
“The police are out looking for you,” I told him.
He laughed nervously.
“Let’s hope I don’t run into them,” He replied, his eyes darting nervously about as he smoked one of my cigarettes.
At least, he had changed his clothes today and shaved. He looked much more presentable. He even had on a new baseball cap. I wonder if the cap was another five finger discount.
I ended my hike standing in front of the little mobile barbeque stand. It smelled so good and I just couldn’t resist a plate today despite having a whole pot of vegetable soup waiting upon the stove at home. I got the ribs today and they were so succulent and delicious. They were falling off the bone they were so tender. I walked on home with a full belly and I think I shall go turn on my fan, curl up in my cool covers on the bed, and take a nap.
Dan’s the Man…
I got to see my second favorite of the gang this morning. Dumpster Diving Dan was busy doing what Dan does early every morning looking for choice morsels in someone else’s trash bin.
“George is home,” I said as I leaned up against the dumpster with Dan inside. “I picked him up yesterday.”
“How is that crazy old codger doing?” Dan asked gleefully; genuinely glad to hear such good news.
“Oh, he has lost some weight, but looks pretty fit. The first thing he did when I got him out was to drink beer and smoke cigars,” I replied as I chuckled.
“That drinking is going to be the death of him yet,” Dan said with a worried look on his face.
“I know,” I replied sadly.
“You still going to A.A.?” Dan then asked.
“No, not lately. The whole religious aspects of it turned me off,” I replied.
“You have to find a god of your understanding and not someone else’s god,” Dan told me.
“I know,” I replied. “The problem is that I just don’t believe in any gods whatsoever.”
“Enough of this serious talk about serious stuff. Let’s go feed the seagulls. I know my feathered friends must be mighty hungry this morning,” Dan said.
I got in Dan’s truck and we drove across the Chattahoochee next to Big John’s liquor store. We talked of my big hike this summer and Dan urged me to follow my dreams. He said if he was twenty years younger then he would hike it with me to give me some support.
I and Dan fed his feathered friends as he likes to call them. This great teeming mass of seagulls formed around us squawking nosily.
“I didn’t mean to start preaching to you earlier,” Dan told me.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” I replied as I put my hand on Dan’s bony shoulder and squeezed it. “I knew you only meant well. I would rather you speak what is on your mind than to tip toe around me like my family does.”
Dan then drove me on home and I watched as he drove down the road back to do what Dan does all day. I realized how much I look up to that man. Dan has a wealth of wisdom that only experience in the ways of the world and the many years living upon it can bring.
“George is home,” I said as I leaned up against the dumpster with Dan inside. “I picked him up yesterday.”
“How is that crazy old codger doing?” Dan asked gleefully; genuinely glad to hear such good news.
“Oh, he has lost some weight, but looks pretty fit. The first thing he did when I got him out was to drink beer and smoke cigars,” I replied as I chuckled.
“That drinking is going to be the death of him yet,” Dan said with a worried look on his face.
“I know,” I replied sadly.
“You still going to A.A.?” Dan then asked.
“No, not lately. The whole religious aspects of it turned me off,” I replied.
“You have to find a god of your understanding and not someone else’s god,” Dan told me.
“I know,” I replied. “The problem is that I just don’t believe in any gods whatsoever.”
“Enough of this serious talk about serious stuff. Let’s go feed the seagulls. I know my feathered friends must be mighty hungry this morning,” Dan said.
I got in Dan’s truck and we drove across the Chattahoochee next to Big John’s liquor store. We talked of my big hike this summer and Dan urged me to follow my dreams. He said if he was twenty years younger then he would hike it with me to give me some support.
I and Dan fed his feathered friends as he likes to call them. This great teeming mass of seagulls formed around us squawking nosily.
“I didn’t mean to start preaching to you earlier,” Dan told me.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” I replied as I put my hand on Dan’s bony shoulder and squeezed it. “I knew you only meant well. I would rather you speak what is on your mind than to tip toe around me like my family does.”
Dan then drove me on home and I watched as he drove down the road back to do what Dan does all day. I realized how much I look up to that man. Dan has a wealth of wisdom that only experience in the ways of the world and the many years living upon it can bring.
Country Boulevards…
As usual, I am up at the crack of dawn. I just went for a long ride in the predawn cold out into the country. I saw my fair share of deer parading in front of my car across the road; their eyes shining like little bright orbs in the high beams of my Honda.
Last night was a night of phone conversations. I talked to my friend, Abbagirl, for a short time. She was checking up on me after my dire sounding audio blog post yesterday morning. Then I spent some time talking to George. He had many stories of jail to revel me in. He certainly had an interesting time to say the least. I then went to go buy groceries for the week and came home to a message from Carolyn. She told me to call her before going to bed. We ended up talking each other to sleep. I wanted her to come over and crawl into the bed with me, but she was tired and already had her pajamas on.
The first thing I did this morning was to start my coffee and then I got a big pot of vegetable beef soup simmering on the stove. The wonderful aroma of that bubbling soup is wafting throughout my home and smells delicious. It should be ready just in time for lunch and I will freeze the rest.
Well, let me go pour another cup of coffee and then go put on my hiking clothes. I didn’t hike yesterday and feel guilty about it. I hope to make nine miles today. I swear. One of these days I am going to break the ten mile a day mark. I am going to have to to hike the trail this summer. Good day.
Last night was a night of phone conversations. I talked to my friend, Abbagirl, for a short time. She was checking up on me after my dire sounding audio blog post yesterday morning. Then I spent some time talking to George. He had many stories of jail to revel me in. He certainly had an interesting time to say the least. I then went to go buy groceries for the week and came home to a message from Carolyn. She told me to call her before going to bed. We ended up talking each other to sleep. I wanted her to come over and crawl into the bed with me, but she was tired and already had her pajamas on.
The first thing I did this morning was to start my coffee and then I got a big pot of vegetable beef soup simmering on the stove. The wonderful aroma of that bubbling soup is wafting throughout my home and smells delicious. It should be ready just in time for lunch and I will freeze the rest.
Well, let me go pour another cup of coffee and then go put on my hiking clothes. I didn’t hike yesterday and feel guilty about it. I hope to make nine miles today. I swear. One of these days I am going to break the ten mile a day mark. I am going to have to to hike the trail this summer. Good day.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Homecoming…
I went and picked George up this morning from county jail. One of the deputies knew my father and let me in the back where they process prisoners. They brought George out in his bright orange jumpsuit and made him change into his street clothes in a room to the side. George came out grinning furiously as I signed a form giving him back all his personal affects.
George’s first request as we drove out of Lafayette was to buy him a six pack of ice beer and some cigarillos. I swung into the convenience store handing him ten dollars. George came walking back out with a six pack of Milwaukee’s Best Ice Beer and a pack of cherry hinted cigarillos with the biggest, goofiest grin on his face. He was so glad to be out of jail.
I then took George home to his mother. Mrs. Jones was overjoyed to see him. She gave him the biggest hug and welcomed him back into her home. I don’t know what George is going to do for money. His license is revoked and his taxi service is dead in the water. His mother doesn’t have a lot of disposable income as well being on social security. George always has a way of finding a way to make ends meet though. Now is the time to do so if ever there was any.
George’s first request as we drove out of Lafayette was to buy him a six pack of ice beer and some cigarillos. I swung into the convenience store handing him ten dollars. George came walking back out with a six pack of Milwaukee’s Best Ice Beer and a pack of cherry hinted cigarillos with the biggest, goofiest grin on his face. He was so glad to be out of jail.
I then took George home to his mother. Mrs. Jones was overjoyed to see him. She gave him the biggest hug and welcomed him back into her home. I don’t know what George is going to do for money. His license is revoked and his taxi service is dead in the water. His mother doesn’t have a lot of disposable income as well being on social security. George always has a way of finding a way to make ends meet though. Now is the time to do so if ever there was any.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
The Voter Express…
I ended up picking up both my mother and her mother to go vote. They wouldn’t have voted otherwise.
“Who do I vote for again?” My mother asked as we walked to the polls.
“George W. Bush,” My grandmother said interrupting.
I laughed.
“Memaw, this is not the presidential race.”
“Well, I am voting Republican anyway,” She replied crankily.
My grandmother sits in her house all day watching Fox News and their bullshit propaganda 24/7. She thinks G. W. hung the moon. It drives one of my liberal uncles crazy and they often argue over politics. I never divulge my political leanings to her as she can be so abrupt and abrasive about it.
We all showed our IDs and got our paper ballots to go sit down at a table to vote.
“I don’t know any of these damn people,” Mom said pushing her ballot towards me across the table. “You fill it out for me.”
There were several amendments to the state constitution and they worded them upon the ballot so confusingly, you really didn’t know what you were voting for. One was for a new ad velorum tax to give more funding for schools for which I voted yes. I would rather our tax money go to our children than the swills in our state house and Washington for pork barrel politics. We finished and then slid our ballots into the ballot boxes and we were done.
I then drove us on over to Sarah Jay’s for lunch and a few burgers.
“It’s my treat,” I said as we walked into the restaurant.
I and mom both ordered burgers and fries and Memaw ordered a vegetable plate. Our food was delicious and cheap. It took my grandmother thirty minutes to eat her three vegetables and cornbread though. She eats so amazingly slow. By the time she finished, my mother was blowing loudly and rolling her eyes. I wish mom had more patience with her mother. Memaw was just glad to get out of the house and was savoring every minute of it. She talked nonstop the whole time. She gets so lonely.
I then took them both to their homes in a driving rain and walked them both to their backdoors under the protection of my umbrella. We exchanged hugs and goodbyes and I made my way on home as well. I got three votes for the price of one today even though my grandmother voted a straight Republican Party ticket. I wish she would have been a little more choosey with her choices and taken time to pick individual candidates. It is odd for an elderly woman to be so staunchly Republican.
“Who do I vote for again?” My mother asked as we walked to the polls.
“George W. Bush,” My grandmother said interrupting.
I laughed.
“Memaw, this is not the presidential race.”
“Well, I am voting Republican anyway,” She replied crankily.
My grandmother sits in her house all day watching Fox News and their bullshit propaganda 24/7. She thinks G. W. hung the moon. It drives one of my liberal uncles crazy and they often argue over politics. I never divulge my political leanings to her as she can be so abrupt and abrasive about it.
We all showed our IDs and got our paper ballots to go sit down at a table to vote.
“I don’t know any of these damn people,” Mom said pushing her ballot towards me across the table. “You fill it out for me.”
There were several amendments to the state constitution and they worded them upon the ballot so confusingly, you really didn’t know what you were voting for. One was for a new ad velorum tax to give more funding for schools for which I voted yes. I would rather our tax money go to our children than the swills in our state house and Washington for pork barrel politics. We finished and then slid our ballots into the ballot boxes and we were done.
I then drove us on over to Sarah Jay’s for lunch and a few burgers.
“It’s my treat,” I said as we walked into the restaurant.
I and mom both ordered burgers and fries and Memaw ordered a vegetable plate. Our food was delicious and cheap. It took my grandmother thirty minutes to eat her three vegetables and cornbread though. She eats so amazingly slow. By the time she finished, my mother was blowing loudly and rolling her eyes. I wish mom had more patience with her mother. Memaw was just glad to get out of the house and was savoring every minute of it. She talked nonstop the whole time. She gets so lonely.
I then took them both to their homes in a driving rain and walked them both to their backdoors under the protection of my umbrella. We exchanged hugs and goodbyes and I made my way on home as well. I got three votes for the price of one today even though my grandmother voted a straight Republican Party ticket. I wish she would have been a little more choosey with her choices and taken time to pick individual candidates. It is odd for an elderly woman to be so staunchly Republican.
Wonderful Rainy Night…
I once again slept in my tent last night. I couldn’t sleep though at first. A friend had recommended the book Robinson Crusoe via email the other day. I found a paperback copy in my parent’s garage (the library) and stayed up way late last night reading it. It was much easier reading than War and Peace.
It started raining after midnight and I finally grew sleepy. I curled up in my summer weight sleeping bag listening to the crickets chirp and the rain drops fall. Those sounds were so comforting. I awoke around 5 AM this morning and the rain had stopped. The air was damp and cool with another fog rolling in off the Chattahoochee. I lit my candle lantern and stumbled to the edge of my yard near the woods to relieve myself.
This morning I wanted a camp breakfast so I boiled some water on my camp stove and prepared a freeze dried packet of hash brown casserole. I also made a big cup of Tang. I shouldn’t cook inside my tent like that as it is dangerous and could catch fire from the heat, but I was avoiding the damp cold by staying wrapped up in my sleeping bag while I prepared breakfast. That cheesy casserole was delicious and so filling and warm.
It started raining after midnight and I finally grew sleepy. I curled up in my summer weight sleeping bag listening to the crickets chirp and the rain drops fall. Those sounds were so comforting. I awoke around 5 AM this morning and the rain had stopped. The air was damp and cool with another fog rolling in off the Chattahoochee. I lit my candle lantern and stumbled to the edge of my yard near the woods to relieve myself.
This morning I wanted a camp breakfast so I boiled some water on my camp stove and prepared a freeze dried packet of hash brown casserole. I also made a big cup of Tang. I shouldn’t cook inside my tent like that as it is dangerous and could catch fire from the heat, but I was avoiding the damp cold by staying wrapped up in my sleeping bag while I prepared breakfast. That cheesy casserole was delicious and so filling and warm.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Among the Rails…
I managed to hike about 7 more miles today upon the rails. I took a shortcut through the loading docks by the old cotton mill and walked past the abandoned guard house. A police officer saw me about to start down the sidewalk and pulled in from the highway.
“Can I see the contents of your backpack, sir?” He asked me as he stepped out of his car with his hand upon his can of pepper spray.
I opened my backpack to reveal my water bottle, energy bars, an emergency poncho, several packs of cigarettes, and my little Sony radio.
“We’ve had reports of someone shoplifting the shops up the road and then escaping behind the mill down the tracks. Have you seen anyone?” He then asked me.
“I keep seeing this strange guy walking the tracks some days,” I replied.
“Can you describe him?”
“Old green national guard overcoat, faded jeans, dirty baseball cap, tall and lanky, long grey hair around his shoulders,” I replied.
“That’s our man,” The police officer said. “Give us a call next time you see him and we will come and pick him up. Sorry to have bothered you.”
I nodded yes as the police officer climbed back into his car and drove off at a brisk pace. I knew that guy was up to something by the way he was acting the other day. The clanging backpack full of stuff was a clue as well. The tracks would make a convenient escape route as there is little access from the roads to them behind that mile long old abandoned cotton mill.
I finally walked back into downtown on up to the shopping center. Cap w/ Tag Guy was leaning against the wall between the dollar store and the grocery store. He shook my hand as I walked by. There were no other signs of the gang though. I hope that when George gets home Wednesday that things will pick up with them. I miss writing about their conversations and adventures. I need some spice in my life other than nosey police officers looking for vagrant shoplifting vagabonds.
“Can I see the contents of your backpack, sir?” He asked me as he stepped out of his car with his hand upon his can of pepper spray.
I opened my backpack to reveal my water bottle, energy bars, an emergency poncho, several packs of cigarettes, and my little Sony radio.
“We’ve had reports of someone shoplifting the shops up the road and then escaping behind the mill down the tracks. Have you seen anyone?” He then asked me.
“I keep seeing this strange guy walking the tracks some days,” I replied.
“Can you describe him?”
“Old green national guard overcoat, faded jeans, dirty baseball cap, tall and lanky, long grey hair around his shoulders,” I replied.
“That’s our man,” The police officer said. “Give us a call next time you see him and we will come and pick him up. Sorry to have bothered you.”
I nodded yes as the police officer climbed back into his car and drove off at a brisk pace. I knew that guy was up to something by the way he was acting the other day. The clanging backpack full of stuff was a clue as well. The tracks would make a convenient escape route as there is little access from the roads to them behind that mile long old abandoned cotton mill.
I finally walked back into downtown on up to the shopping center. Cap w/ Tag Guy was leaning against the wall between the dollar store and the grocery store. He shook my hand as I walked by. There were no other signs of the gang though. I hope that when George gets home Wednesday that things will pick up with them. I miss writing about their conversations and adventures. I need some spice in my life other than nosey police officers looking for vagrant shoplifting vagabonds.
Predawn Dan…
I got to see Dumpster Diving Dan early this morning on my wakeup walk down to the shopping center for a can of soda. He was out and about starting his usual rounds as he is every morning. He says he must get to the dumpsters early while it is cool so the food will not have spoiled. Overripe fruit was the dumpster food du jour of the day. Dan was going to make preserves and jellies out of it.
“Go look in my truck,” Dan told me.
I walked over to Dan’s Toyota Tacoma pickup to look inside his driver’s side window. There was a very little short haired dog about the size of a Chihuahua sitting on the seat.
“He’s tiny,” I replied. “And so cute.”
“It’s a she and I have named her Half Pint,” He replied. “I found her abandoned in the dumpster behind the dollar store the other day.”
I opened Dan’s door, picked up the small dog, and cradled it in my arms. It was shivering fiercely. I tried to warm her.
“She’s freezing cold Dan,” I said worried.
“Yeah, I know. I won’t be long then we will warm up as I drive over to feed the seagulls at daybreak,” He replied.
“Look at this!!!” Dan then hollered out excitedly from within the dumpster illuminated by the harsh glow of the street light overhead. “A whole pallet of molded strawberries!”
“How appetizing,” I thought to myself amused, but didn’t say it so as not to hurt Dan’s feelings.
“I will take out all the moldy ones and this will make wonderful preserves for the winter; enough to spread on my biscuits for months,” Dan said.
I then told Dan to drive by my house this afternoon to pick up this week’s bag of Chef Boyardee canned pasta and he said he would be by after his nap. My mother still buys it for me every Monday and I always just give it to him as I can’t eat that unhealthy and unappetizing stuff any longer. Dan loves it and is so appreciative to get it.
I left Dan to finish his diving and walked on around to the front of the shopping center. I bought my 30 cent can of soda and sat upon Big S’s old bench as I drank it shivering myself. Hot coffee would have been a better beverage choice and I headed on home to start a pot and begin another wonderful day of living my charmed life as it is these days. I really have been happy and felt well, for me, these past weeks. I keep worrying it is the calm before the proverbial mental health storm and the shit is going to hit the fan any day. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.
“Go look in my truck,” Dan told me.
I walked over to Dan’s Toyota Tacoma pickup to look inside his driver’s side window. There was a very little short haired dog about the size of a Chihuahua sitting on the seat.
“He’s tiny,” I replied. “And so cute.”
“It’s a she and I have named her Half Pint,” He replied. “I found her abandoned in the dumpster behind the dollar store the other day.”
I opened Dan’s door, picked up the small dog, and cradled it in my arms. It was shivering fiercely. I tried to warm her.
“She’s freezing cold Dan,” I said worried.
“Yeah, I know. I won’t be long then we will warm up as I drive over to feed the seagulls at daybreak,” He replied.
“Look at this!!!” Dan then hollered out excitedly from within the dumpster illuminated by the harsh glow of the street light overhead. “A whole pallet of molded strawberries!”
“How appetizing,” I thought to myself amused, but didn’t say it so as not to hurt Dan’s feelings.
“I will take out all the moldy ones and this will make wonderful preserves for the winter; enough to spread on my biscuits for months,” Dan said.
I then told Dan to drive by my house this afternoon to pick up this week’s bag of Chef Boyardee canned pasta and he said he would be by after his nap. My mother still buys it for me every Monday and I always just give it to him as I can’t eat that unhealthy and unappetizing stuff any longer. Dan loves it and is so appreciative to get it.
I left Dan to finish his diving and walked on around to the front of the shopping center. I bought my 30 cent can of soda and sat upon Big S’s old bench as I drank it shivering myself. Hot coffee would have been a better beverage choice and I headed on home to start a pot and begin another wonderful day of living my charmed life as it is these days. I really have been happy and felt well, for me, these past weeks. I keep worrying it is the calm before the proverbial mental health storm and the shit is going to hit the fan any day. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.
Blog Error...
Sorry about the "trip" post today. I am rebuilding my archives by each and every post from the past and forgot to change the date on that old post from 7/06/2004 when I published it. There is not a trip planned for the immediate future.
I already have posts republished going back to my homeless days in January 2004. Hopefully, I will get several hundred more published today after my daily hike. I am working on it slowly. Sorry about the SNAFU.
Andrew
I already have posts republished going back to my homeless days in January 2004. Hopefully, I will get several hundred more published today after my daily hike. I am working on it slowly. Sorry about the SNAFU.
Andrew
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Good Night Ponderings and a Comment from Liz Worth Reading...
Liz wrote a great comment way down on the blog and I thought I would bring it to the top to close my writings for the day. This time change is kicking my ass and I am so sleepy I can barely stay awake (which is a good thing). Comments like this and all the others I received today make blogging such a joy and worthwhile. It is nice to get feedback on your thoughts and ponderings whether positive or negative I feel. It makes you think and is healthy and stimulating mentally. I have just received some interesting emails though regarding some of my writings this weekend that kind of made me cringe. At least, they weren’t shot-in-the-dark anonymous comments upon the blog. I could actually respond on a personal level via a reply that I knew would be read.
I want you all to think of Annabel as she travels with a bunch of her students for a speech tournament today. I know she will be tired come Tuesday when she arrives home and I will have sorely missed reading about her life on her blog; Godspeed, gentle friend. Out of all the many blogs I read, hers is a favorite of mine and no one works harder than that young lady.
Good night and here is Liz’s comment:
I want you all to think of Annabel as she travels with a bunch of her students for a speech tournament today. I know she will be tired come Tuesday when she arrives home and I will have sorely missed reading about her life on her blog; Godspeed, gentle friend. Out of all the many blogs I read, hers is a favorite of mine and no one works harder than that young lady.
Good night and here is Liz’s comment:
Well, if this were a real life conversation with someone, I would have a lot to say, share, add, etc, because I have so much real life experience with so many illnesses, including my own.
However, I would just like to say the following. A person of ANY AGE needs PROPER treatment UNIQUE to that person's symptoms. Treatment consists of many things, from medications, therapy, counseling etc. What works for one person may not work for others. Some only need medication. Some only need therapy.
Sometimes it takes YEARS to find the right treatment (just as was stated that it took Andrew so many to find the med that works for him). Sadly, the longer it takes to find an effective treatment combo, symptoms usually get worse and the person suffers.
If left untreated, the person will only get worse. And by treated I mean any one or more of the above listed. I personally did not get EFFECTIVE treatment until my early twenties (needless to say my teen years were miserable) and my treatment evolved over the years into one medication, counseling and therapy. I reached a point where I no longer needed the therapy and now only take the med. But I am concious of my illness and have no problems going back for therapy if need be one day. I know for a FACT that I cannot live a normal life without taking my med everyday.
And I also know for a fact that if it were not for finally finding a good psychologist and being on this specific med, I would not have the life I have now, because who knows how long it would have been before I got the right treatment that worked FOR ME.
I do think changing your thinking helps, but for me only to a certain degree. I think changing ones thought processes can add to the success of other treatment regiments. Some people simply CANNOT change their thought processes due to their specific illness. While others could try all day and night to change their thought processes but still be overwhelmed with symptoms that impedes on their living any semblence of a 'normal' life.
Finally, I'd like to say. I don't have a vision of 'normal'. My life has been an interesting one from birth until this very minute. 'Normal' for me is VERY different from normal to everyone else. And I have no problem with the fact that my normal involves taking a pill everyday, nor do I have a problem with taking it everyday for the rest of my life, if need be. I am happy. I have problems, drama and issues, but when I step back I can say I am happy. And I owe that happiness to finding a medicine that works, getting therapy, and educating myself on what mental illnesses are. I read, and still read, everything I come across pertaining to illnesses, just just my own specific one.
And Andrew, Kudos to you for having a blog that makes people think. Even when people disagree, inspiring others to contemplate the lives of others as well as their own is a wonderful thing. Blessings to you.
Liz
Over the River and Through the Woods…
My curiosity was piqued about Big S and whether or not he was still panhandling over at Givorn’s grocery across the river today. I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not that he is my favorite of the gang, by the way. I just wanted to see how he was doing and was curious.
I walked across the river bridge beyond downtown West Point with my big Kelty backpack on. A young African American male passer by rolled down his car windows to hurl racial obscenities my way as I walked over the bridge.
“Get off the fucking highway you white mother fucking cracka!” He exclaimed from his car as it whizzed by.
When I hike with my big backpack, I realize I look homeless; an easy target for simple minded souls. I let the disparaging words easily go out of my mind like water under a bridge.
“Stupid fool,” I muttered as I walked on. “Racist idiot.”
I found Big S sitting out in front of Fox and Hound’s Pizza Parlor next to Givorn’s. He was wearing a heavy sweatshirt partially covered by an old faded pair of blue jean overalls. He also had on a very old and heavy pair of steel toe work boots. He looked rather comical in this attire to be a 400 pound man.
“Hey bud,” I said as I walked up to him offering him a cigarette.
“Hey man,” He said with a grin taking one from my pack. “I ain’t seen you in forever. You still doing all that camping shit?”
“I haven’t done a lot of camping lately except for the backyard, but I hike a lot of miles everyday.”
“I heard George is getting out of jail,” He said changing the subject.
“I pick him up Wednesday morning from the county jail,” I replied.
“Be sure to bring him over here to see me,” Big S told me.
“Excuse me for a second,” Big S said as a young white family was entering the pizza restaurant for a late lunch. I heard Big S ask them for spare change and saw the handsome looking young father reach into his wallet to give Big S two dollars. Big S is still using that same old line that he is hungry and wants something to eat. It is obvious by his great girth that he is not missing any meals. I couldn’t help but smile at the little exchange. My pride and conscience could never take making a living in such a way.
I finally told Big S goodbye, gave him another cigarette, and walked behind the shopping center through the woods to the old train trestle crossing the Chattahoochee. I would once again try my luck upon this bridge to cross the river. Both signals down the tracks shone green and I carefully made my way across and then back on up through downtown to home. Today’s hike made for six miles. I could have gone for three more, but had grown bored with walking and wanted to waste time reading and writing upon this computer.
I walked across the river bridge beyond downtown West Point with my big Kelty backpack on. A young African American male passer by rolled down his car windows to hurl racial obscenities my way as I walked over the bridge.
“Get off the fucking highway you white mother fucking cracka!” He exclaimed from his car as it whizzed by.
When I hike with my big backpack, I realize I look homeless; an easy target for simple minded souls. I let the disparaging words easily go out of my mind like water under a bridge.
“Stupid fool,” I muttered as I walked on. “Racist idiot.”
I found Big S sitting out in front of Fox and Hound’s Pizza Parlor next to Givorn’s. He was wearing a heavy sweatshirt partially covered by an old faded pair of blue jean overalls. He also had on a very old and heavy pair of steel toe work boots. He looked rather comical in this attire to be a 400 pound man.
“Hey bud,” I said as I walked up to him offering him a cigarette.
“Hey man,” He said with a grin taking one from my pack. “I ain’t seen you in forever. You still doing all that camping shit?”
“I haven’t done a lot of camping lately except for the backyard, but I hike a lot of miles everyday.”
“I heard George is getting out of jail,” He said changing the subject.
“I pick him up Wednesday morning from the county jail,” I replied.
“Be sure to bring him over here to see me,” Big S told me.
“Excuse me for a second,” Big S said as a young white family was entering the pizza restaurant for a late lunch. I heard Big S ask them for spare change and saw the handsome looking young father reach into his wallet to give Big S two dollars. Big S is still using that same old line that he is hungry and wants something to eat. It is obvious by his great girth that he is not missing any meals. I couldn’t help but smile at the little exchange. My pride and conscience could never take making a living in such a way.
I finally told Big S goodbye, gave him another cigarette, and walked behind the shopping center through the woods to the old train trestle crossing the Chattahoochee. I would once again try my luck upon this bridge to cross the river. Both signals down the tracks shone green and I carefully made my way across and then back on up through downtown to home. Today’s hike made for six miles. I could have gone for three more, but had grown bored with walking and wanted to waste time reading and writing upon this computer.
Am I writing too much…?
Am I writing to much these days for a blog? I just want your opinion as my readers on this matter. I have just been in a writing mood for over the past week and can’t wait to get home to capture in words something that has happened to me.
Someone had emailed me kind of disparagingly saying I must spend most of my time blogging. In reality, it only takes me around 5 to 10 minutes to write a post and publish it. I never have to edit my writings other than for spelling mistakes. The words just flow out into my word processor from my hands upon the keyboard and then I copy, paste, and publish them. I just type very, very fast and error free. If I am writing too many posts per day then I will cut down the number.
Someone had emailed me kind of disparagingly saying I must spend most of my time blogging. In reality, it only takes me around 5 to 10 minutes to write a post and publish it. I never have to edit my writings other than for spelling mistakes. The words just flow out into my word processor from my hands upon the keyboard and then I copy, paste, and publish them. I just type very, very fast and error free. If I am writing too many posts per day then I will cut down the number.
Scottish Procession…
I and my father were just driving down to Fat Albert’s. I needed some smokes and cokes and he wanted to ride with me so we could talk football for awhile. As I passed the Presbyterian church down the road from my home, a large of procession of bag pipers and Scottish drums all dressed in kilts came parading out of the front entrance of the church signifying services were over.
“Stop the car and pull over,” My father said excitedly.
I pulled my Honda over to the side of the highway and rolled down my windows. The wonderful Scottish music wafting through my windows was beautiful. The things you get to see in this small town these days never cease to amaze me.
“Stop the car and pull over,” My father said excitedly.
I pulled my Honda over to the side of the highway and rolled down my windows. The wonderful Scottish music wafting through my windows was beautiful. The things you get to see in this small town these days never cease to amaze me.
Elucidation…
I just got an interesting email from someone who wrote in regards to my previous post. And I thought I was the only one up this time of the morning. They wrote…
My elucidation is that, yes, many medications are over prescribed and it has become a big business in the United States and all across the globe. I, too, am appalled at how many children are being medicated for perfectly normal behavior. I thought school, as a child and a young adult, was the biggest bunch of bullshit I had ever experienced in all my life. I learned far more life important skills spending the summers on my grandmother’s farm for those few short months that I was there than I ever did spending most of my childhood in public schools. I learned about life and not arithmetic tables.
I would sit in school bored out of my mind most days and luckily, never had to study to get decent grades and could get by as long as I avoided math. I see now that school and higher education is just a conditioning process to mold young people to accept and become affluent participates in a protestant work ethic influenced environment. Very little true altruistic life skills (if any) are taught in schools such as money management, nutrition and dietary considerations, emotional coping skills, building healthy relationships and friendships; all things that would have benefited me to no end if they were taught as I wasn’t being taught them in my home by my parents as a child. Instead, I was taught to employ rote memorization to pass silly, often overly hard, exams and to sit diligently and quietly for hours everyday and to listen to some authoritarian person tell me what should be important; all skills that would only be important for me to fit in a work environment of the profession of my choice. I can pretty confidently say I have never benefited from these skills in my non working life and I no longer work so they are moot.
The above brings me to the point that many people are often medicated as “mentally ill” when they break the laws and norms of society or don’t go with the flow so to speak. Oddity or eccentricity is often seen as a character flaw by the mundane, vast majority of society. We are taught that conformity, group think, social compliance, work ethic, etc, are far more important values than individuality and eccentric brilliance in my opinion. Individuals that walk to the beat of their own drum can often get lost in our mental health care system as ill and sick with a strong need to be medicated to force compliance. I have been a victim of this mindset many times myself during my short life by my father. Person’s who conform and “play to win” excel in modern American society as our extreme work ethic and competitiveness extols such values. The rest are left on the wayside or medicated in an attempt to bring them up to society’s standards for living.
Anyways, I will quit rambling. Thanks for the thoughtful email. I enjoy exploring, writing, and thinking about these subjects. Although, I think I will probably have pissed a few friends off with my ramblings though.
Andrew,
Don’t you think that most psychiatric medications are over prescribed? I am appalled at how often Ritalin and other mind altering drugs are prescribed by doctors to control children and their actions. I know that I thought I was depressed from time to time [which is a normal feeling by the way] and sought out treatment for it until I realized that I was being overmedicated for something that was perfectly normal. It is okay to feel down and it is a normal feeling to have. It is also normal for children to be active and restless and not want to sit still for hours on end learning stuff they are not interested in. What child wants to sit in a desk all day for eight hours when he could be outside exploring the world and discovering nature and their backyards filled with wonders? Anyways, I was interested in your thoughts.
~AM~
My elucidation is that, yes, many medications are over prescribed and it has become a big business in the United States and all across the globe. I, too, am appalled at how many children are being medicated for perfectly normal behavior. I thought school, as a child and a young adult, was the biggest bunch of bullshit I had ever experienced in all my life. I learned far more life important skills spending the summers on my grandmother’s farm for those few short months that I was there than I ever did spending most of my childhood in public schools. I learned about life and not arithmetic tables.
I would sit in school bored out of my mind most days and luckily, never had to study to get decent grades and could get by as long as I avoided math. I see now that school and higher education is just a conditioning process to mold young people to accept and become affluent participates in a protestant work ethic influenced environment. Very little true altruistic life skills (if any) are taught in schools such as money management, nutrition and dietary considerations, emotional coping skills, building healthy relationships and friendships; all things that would have benefited me to no end if they were taught as I wasn’t being taught them in my home by my parents as a child. Instead, I was taught to employ rote memorization to pass silly, often overly hard, exams and to sit diligently and quietly for hours everyday and to listen to some authoritarian person tell me what should be important; all skills that would only be important for me to fit in a work environment of the profession of my choice. I can pretty confidently say I have never benefited from these skills in my non working life and I no longer work so they are moot.
The above brings me to the point that many people are often medicated as “mentally ill” when they break the laws and norms of society or don’t go with the flow so to speak. Oddity or eccentricity is often seen as a character flaw by the mundane, vast majority of society. We are taught that conformity, group think, social compliance, work ethic, etc, are far more important values than individuality and eccentric brilliance in my opinion. Individuals that walk to the beat of their own drum can often get lost in our mental health care system as ill and sick with a strong need to be medicated to force compliance. I have been a victim of this mindset many times myself during my short life by my father. Person’s who conform and “play to win” excel in modern American society as our extreme work ethic and competitiveness extols such values. The rest are left on the wayside or medicated in an attempt to bring them up to society’s standards for living.
Anyways, I will quit rambling. Thanks for the thoughtful email. I enjoy exploring, writing, and thinking about these subjects. Although, I think I will probably have pissed a few friends off with my ramblings though.
Fact and Fantasies…
Fact: My life gets progressively much more “interesting” without my medications.
Fantasy: I could will schizophrenia away just by changing my thinking and thought patterns. I could turn to some new age, metaphysical bullshit to cure myself. It is all in my head. I’ve got some ocean front property in Arizona I want to sell you as well.
I’ve tried a lot of medications over the years. Zyprexa made me sleep all the time so I quit taking it. I would rather deal with the crazy symptoms of schizophrenia and actually be awake for once, long enough to experience life even if it was hell. Haldol made me feel even crazier. It was as if I was going to jump out of my skin and I would sit in my yard in my swing reading all day afraid to go inside. I also hated having to deal with the constant blood tests with Clozaril.
“I have something I want you to try,” My doctor finally said one day after we had tried countless combinations of medications. “Risperdal.”
I will never forget that moment in time. My life changed in one short day. Within days I felt better and my life became more organized. There were no side effects that I had grown accustomed to with most of the other psychiatric medications. I started to get out of the house and was not so paranoid. My father remarked that I was almost gregarious (for me) and that truly was remarkable. I thought I had been cured so I quit taking the medications (which is common in patients with schiz). My life once again devolved into chaos. It is a vicious cycle and one that a damaged mind has a hard time grasping the finer points of. It wasn’t until I started taking Risperdal in a long lasting injection that I started to have a more normal and maintained lifestyle. I no longer had to worry about taking that life sustaining pill every morning.
My mother was just bat shiat crazy when I was growing up. She would get up at 3 AM in the morning and clean the house from stem to stern on a school night keeping all of us awake. My father would plead with her to come back to bed which usually resulted in World War III as far as their relationship was concerned. My mother was also constantly reading books on how to clean better. She was neurotic, paranoid, and uncontrollable. It is amazing my father stayed with her and saw about her all those years.
I also remember being very afraid of my mother as a child. One moment she was hugging me and the next she was screaming at me for something that really didn’t matter such as a toy left on the floor of my room. Life was constantly chaotic growing up. I wrote the other day that I had a pretty normal childhood and realize now that it wasn’t. This was normal for me so I guess I wasn’t lying.
My mother started taking Zyprexa and she was a different person. Yes, she slept all the time, but you could actually live with her. Her finances got straightened out. She no longer went one hundred miles an hour all day and night. The constant cycle of love, then anger and screaming stopped. It was like getting to know a different person. I think that little life changing pill is the only reason her and my father are still married. I also think it is the only reason I and her are able to have a true mother and son relationship these days.
The history of mental illness is clear to see on my mother’s side of the family. That whole family is screwed up mentally and emotionally with weird notions of what should be considered normal and rational behavior. My grandmother spent most of her mothering years slamming kitchen cabinets and doors in the house constantly angry and resentful of her children and husband for the duty she had to bear. Her mother was detached from everything and didn’t express emotion normally. My great grandmother’s home in her later years was filled with bullet holes as she constantly shot with a pistol at her hallucinations she saw and the voices in her head.
I strongly believe a very abnormal chemical imbalance of the brain is passed down from that side of the family hereditarily that can only be helped through medications and effective therapy. I have been getting vibes from some of my readers that it can be cured by “reprogramming” or “changing your thinking.” I disagree. I also don’t see most people running forward to help take care of my mother, her family, and I un-medicated. Believe me. You don’t want to go there unless you like to live in a fucked up mess. I’ve been there. I have lived it for most of my life.
I have been seeing my same psychiatrist for over a decade. We have worked hard to find a combination of medications that gives me a comfortable life and a way to live it. It took over ten years to find. The proof is in the pudding I like to say.
Fact: I live a somewhat normal life on medications.
Fantasy: I can quit taking the often demonized psychiatric medications and spend the rest of my days running through fields of flowers laughing and playing and enjoying life. It is all in my head.
Reality: Change the above fantasy with death and suicide as my reality would be the polar opposite without my meds. I would rather die than go back to the hell I lived in before finding Risperdal and regaining much of my life back. This is a life or death situation that shouldn't be toyed with lightly trying to cure it with some new age bullshit or thinking. You don't just tell a cancer patient to just pray and to forget the chemo therapy. You shouldn't do the same with people with mental illness.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
A Walk through God’s Country…
“David is here,” Carolyn told me as I picked up the phone. “He just showed up unexpectedly. He’s hungry and brought a shit load of laundry for me to do.”
“Oh,” I said. “Then you be with him. You are a mother first.”
“You sure?” She asked me hesitatingly from the other end of the phone. “I know you have to be disappointed about today. You wanted so much to go to that train shop.”
“I am sure there is something I can find to do today,” I replied. “You be with your son.”
I’ve never dated someone with kids so this was a delicate situation. My ex-wife couldn’t have children. I will never come between Carolyn and her son’s relationship. I do feel awkward sometimes with me and David being so close in age though. Carolyn has told me before that he thinks our relationship is “odd” and that I’m even “odder” as I don’t know how to act around him.
My father then called me not long after I hung up the phone with Carolyn. My phone number has been popular lately for a guy with phobias surrounding the phone and talking on it.
“War Eagle!” He said as he greeted me.
“War damn Eagle,” I replied.
“Can you do me a favor today?” He asked.
“Sure.”
“Ride over to God’s country and check on the pond and the land. I haven’t been able to get over there in weeks and we need to start keeping an eye on it during hunting season.”
“I’m headed that way,” I said as I hung up the phone, grabbed my hiking boots and coat, and left the house.
We own about 144 acres of prime piney woods upon which a very large pond sits near Waverly, Alabama. I grew up exploring all that acreage as a child and the landscape is like a familiar friend to me. I should get over there more often. The legend is that one of my great, great uncles would eat potato peels for his meals so he could save money from not buying too many groceries to buy more land. It has been passed down in the family and never sold and selling it is taboo. “They don’t make more land,” Dad often said in my youth about it.
It was a beautiful day out in God’s country. The leaves are just now getting their full fall color this far south and the slightest breezes causes them to cascade down upon the ground in a beautiful version of nature’s kaleidoscope.
As I walked back onto the farthest reaches of our property, I noted all the many millions of spiders that had spun thousands of silken webs amidst the pines trees that glistened in the low afternoon winter sun. I had to hold out a large stick in front of me to not get a face full of spider web and spider every few steps. This happens every fall about this time. I also noted the age of the trees and that they need to be cut and replanted soon. It looks like my father will be buying a new car again soon funded by the sale of pulpwood and lumber.
I then sat on the dock upon the pond for the longest time watching as the fish would float by doing what fish normally do as I smoked cigarettes and thought. This inescapable feeling of loneliness overcame me while I sat. I looked at my reflection in the water and didn’t see me. I saw a scared little boy who didn’t know what to do with the rest of his life and who never grew up. I sighed, stood up, slung my day pack over my shoulder, and then drove on home listening to football games as the sun set a brilliant orange.
“Oh,” I said. “Then you be with him. You are a mother first.”
“You sure?” She asked me hesitatingly from the other end of the phone. “I know you have to be disappointed about today. You wanted so much to go to that train shop.”
“I am sure there is something I can find to do today,” I replied. “You be with your son.”
I’ve never dated someone with kids so this was a delicate situation. My ex-wife couldn’t have children. I will never come between Carolyn and her son’s relationship. I do feel awkward sometimes with me and David being so close in age though. Carolyn has told me before that he thinks our relationship is “odd” and that I’m even “odder” as I don’t know how to act around him.
My father then called me not long after I hung up the phone with Carolyn. My phone number has been popular lately for a guy with phobias surrounding the phone and talking on it.
“War Eagle!” He said as he greeted me.
“War damn Eagle,” I replied.
“Can you do me a favor today?” He asked.
“Sure.”
“Ride over to God’s country and check on the pond and the land. I haven’t been able to get over there in weeks and we need to start keeping an eye on it during hunting season.”
“I’m headed that way,” I said as I hung up the phone, grabbed my hiking boots and coat, and left the house.
We own about 144 acres of prime piney woods upon which a very large pond sits near Waverly, Alabama. I grew up exploring all that acreage as a child and the landscape is like a familiar friend to me. I should get over there more often. The legend is that one of my great, great uncles would eat potato peels for his meals so he could save money from not buying too many groceries to buy more land. It has been passed down in the family and never sold and selling it is taboo. “They don’t make more land,” Dad often said in my youth about it.
It was a beautiful day out in God’s country. The leaves are just now getting their full fall color this far south and the slightest breezes causes them to cascade down upon the ground in a beautiful version of nature’s kaleidoscope.
As I walked back onto the farthest reaches of our property, I noted all the many millions of spiders that had spun thousands of silken webs amidst the pines trees that glistened in the low afternoon winter sun. I had to hold out a large stick in front of me to not get a face full of spider web and spider every few steps. This happens every fall about this time. I also noted the age of the trees and that they need to be cut and replanted soon. It looks like my father will be buying a new car again soon funded by the sale of pulpwood and lumber.
I then sat on the dock upon the pond for the longest time watching as the fish would float by doing what fish normally do as I smoked cigarettes and thought. This inescapable feeling of loneliness overcame me while I sat. I looked at my reflection in the water and didn’t see me. I saw a scared little boy who didn’t know what to do with the rest of his life and who never grew up. I sighed, stood up, slung my day pack over my shoulder, and then drove on home listening to football games as the sun set a brilliant orange.
Shopping for the Mentally Ill…
Pam Wagner of Wagblog fame at schizophrenia.com wrote a post the other day. In it, she talked about her shopping experiences and dealing with some of the paranoia of having schizophrenia during such mundane daily happenings. I thought she was talking about me it was so uncannily written and it mirrored my own experiences while shopping. I have decided I am going to start journaling my experiences with my mental illness on a daily basis with a post a day. It will probably kill this blog though as no one wants to read that kind of depressing shit.
Pam’s post about shopping with schizophrenia. (Opens in a new window.)
One of the hardest aspects of buying groceries every Tuesday night for me is checkout time. I get so paranoid that everybody is critiquing what I am buying. Thoughts such as…
Of course, no one in that store knows I am on disability, but it will not escape my mind, such thoughts.
The other day when I was sitting here at home, I kept hearing people walking upstairs and pulling up into my driveway shutting their car doors loudly. It was all a figment of my imagination and diseased brain. That was when I walked down to that bench behind the bank and just sat quietly smoking cigarettes and watching trains until I was disturbed by that vagabond accosting me for a spare cigarette. I wanted to go where I felt safe and it wasn’t my home. I actually felt safer around that grungy looking stranger than in my own locked home. I knew behind the bank nobody could find me and I was truly in solitude I thought until he showed up.
Oh well, I shouldn’t write about this stuff. Now, everybody thinks I am some kind of fucking freak.
Pam’s post about shopping with schizophrenia. (Opens in a new window.)
One of the hardest aspects of buying groceries every Tuesday night for me is checkout time. I get so paranoid that everybody is critiquing what I am buying. Thoughts such as…
“Why is he buying a roast when he is on disability? He should be eating ham hocks and chicken livers.”
“I can’t believe this guy eats so unhealthily.”
“10 bottles of soda on disability? You should be drinking water which is cheap. Soda is a luxury.”
“Look mommy! That guy is talking to himself! Is he crazy?”
“Can you believe this guy bought expensive fruit juice on SSDI? He should buy concentrated orange juice!”
Of course, no one in that store knows I am on disability, but it will not escape my mind, such thoughts.
The other day when I was sitting here at home, I kept hearing people walking upstairs and pulling up into my driveway shutting their car doors loudly. It was all a figment of my imagination and diseased brain. That was when I walked down to that bench behind the bank and just sat quietly smoking cigarettes and watching trains until I was disturbed by that vagabond accosting me for a spare cigarette. I wanted to go where I felt safe and it wasn’t my home. I actually felt safer around that grungy looking stranger than in my own locked home. I knew behind the bank nobody could find me and I was truly in solitude I thought until he showed up.
Oh well, I shouldn’t write about this stuff. Now, everybody thinks I am some kind of fucking freak.
A Cold Morning Dawns…
I got a call from George last night. He gets out of jail next Wednesday. I told him I would be up there early that morning to pick him up and bring him home. He sounded so excited. I was excited for him. I have only been in jail once in my whole life while I was in college. I drove from my dorm room to the frat house across the street and got pulled over by the University police for a DUI. It was the most miserable night of my life in that barren cell. I will never forget the hangover the next morning as I opened my eyes to those grey walls and bars, and that solemn call to my parent’s home to get the money for bail. Needless to say, my parents were none to happy with me. I always learned my lessons the hard way.
Last night, I once again pitched my tent in the backyard. An almost full moon was rising upon the eastern horizon as I smoked my last cigarette before climbing into my sleeping bag. We had freeze warnings out so I knew I was in for an interesting night. I slept in my “big and tall” goose down winter sleeping bag and stayed toasty warm until I climbed out this morning to run to the house. It was freezing cold. My little weather station read 31 degrees at 6 AM. Brrrr! Last night reminded me of my homeless days sleeping in the woods for months.
I saw my ex-girlfriend, Alaine, yesterday. I had gone to Rodger’s barbeque to pick me and mom up a fried catfish plate for dinner and she was eating with some friends. I and Alaine dated after my divorce. We were very cordial with each other and treated each other nicely. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she rushed over to talk to me. Alaine was just a little too intense for my tastes which reminded me of my ex-wife and I cut off our relationship.
“You and Paige still playing Mexican train dominoes every Wednesday night with the church group?” I asked her.
“Paige passed away earlier this year,” She replied with a look of deep sadness on her face. "She had compications with her diabetes."
Paige was her best friend. I gave her a hug and told her I was sorry.
“Call me any time you need someone to talk to,” I told her sincerely.
She hugged me again and told me she would call soon and then went back to her friends and her meal.
I and Carolyn are most likely driving to Atlanta today. Carolyn wants to do some more shopping and I promised I would get her out of town. I want to go by the model railroad hobby shop myself and pick up some new rolling stock kits to paint, air brush, and assemble. I also want to head by The Varsity and get a couple of fried peach pies as well as a treat. I and Carolyn should have a grand day.
Last night, I once again pitched my tent in the backyard. An almost full moon was rising upon the eastern horizon as I smoked my last cigarette before climbing into my sleeping bag. We had freeze warnings out so I knew I was in for an interesting night. I slept in my “big and tall” goose down winter sleeping bag and stayed toasty warm until I climbed out this morning to run to the house. It was freezing cold. My little weather station read 31 degrees at 6 AM. Brrrr! Last night reminded me of my homeless days sleeping in the woods for months.
I saw my ex-girlfriend, Alaine, yesterday. I had gone to Rodger’s barbeque to pick me and mom up a fried catfish plate for dinner and she was eating with some friends. I and Alaine dated after my divorce. We were very cordial with each other and treated each other nicely. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she rushed over to talk to me. Alaine was just a little too intense for my tastes which reminded me of my ex-wife and I cut off our relationship.
“You and Paige still playing Mexican train dominoes every Wednesday night with the church group?” I asked her.
“Paige passed away earlier this year,” She replied with a look of deep sadness on her face. "She had compications with her diabetes."
Paige was her best friend. I gave her a hug and told her I was sorry.
“Call me any time you need someone to talk to,” I told her sincerely.
She hugged me again and told me she would call soon and then went back to her friends and her meal.
I and Carolyn are most likely driving to Atlanta today. Carolyn wants to do some more shopping and I promised I would get her out of town. I want to go by the model railroad hobby shop myself and pick up some new rolling stock kits to paint, air brush, and assemble. I also want to head by The Varsity and get a couple of fried peach pies as well as a treat. I and Carolyn should have a grand day.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Setting out for the Day…
I saw Droopy walking through downtown, but managed to avoid him today. I am sure he would have asked me for more money. Droopy is perpetually broke and always trying to bum a dollar.
I managed to hike six miles today. It took a good mile before my legs limbered up though. That first mile was uncomfortable.
It was a windy, brisk, and cold day as I once again walked the tracks bundled up in a heavy coat. I finally left those familiar rails and set off through the woods to visit the grand Chattahoochee. The river was still very high from all the recent rains we have been having and the color of the water was a murky turbulent muddy brown. I need to go fishing down here in the next few days and see what I can catch.
I then left the river, walked back across the tracks, and then across the four lane highway to Sarah Jay’s eatery to get a hamburger and some fries. The restaurant was abnormally busy with patrons today and was bustling with activity. I sat down at an empty table for two as the waitress walked up to greet me.
“What can I get you honey?” She asked as she smacked on a piece of gum and held her little order pad and a pen.
“Get me the hamburger plate and large milk,” I replied.
I sat as I drank my milk and read today’s Atlanta Journal Constitution. I realized no news is good news as I read. Soon, the waitress brought out my meal. The burger was delicious. Burgers are Sarah Jay’s specialty.
After leaving Sarah Jay’s, I walked on down to the dollar store and bought a pack of printer paper and stuffed it into my backpack. I then hiked the last mile on home to find four messages on my answering machine. All of them were those damn aggravating political ads. There should be a law against those damn things. I made a mental note of who called and vowed not to vote for them. I dislike politicians calling me at home with their pandering bullshit.
I managed to hike six miles today. It took a good mile before my legs limbered up though. That first mile was uncomfortable.
It was a windy, brisk, and cold day as I once again walked the tracks bundled up in a heavy coat. I finally left those familiar rails and set off through the woods to visit the grand Chattahoochee. The river was still very high from all the recent rains we have been having and the color of the water was a murky turbulent muddy brown. I need to go fishing down here in the next few days and see what I can catch.
I then left the river, walked back across the tracks, and then across the four lane highway to Sarah Jay’s eatery to get a hamburger and some fries. The restaurant was abnormally busy with patrons today and was bustling with activity. I sat down at an empty table for two as the waitress walked up to greet me.
“What can I get you honey?” She asked as she smacked on a piece of gum and held her little order pad and a pen.
“Get me the hamburger plate and large milk,” I replied.
I sat as I drank my milk and read today’s Atlanta Journal Constitution. I realized no news is good news as I read. Soon, the waitress brought out my meal. The burger was delicious. Burgers are Sarah Jay’s specialty.
After leaving Sarah Jay’s, I walked on down to the dollar store and bought a pack of printer paper and stuffed it into my backpack. I then hiked the last mile on home to find four messages on my answering machine. All of them were those damn aggravating political ads. There should be a law against those damn things. I made a mental note of who called and vowed not to vote for them. I dislike politicians calling me at home with their pandering bullshit.
After a Dinner Date…
My lasagna last night turned out great and was delicious. I make it from my mother’s recipe by memory. I fiddled around on the computer for awhile after dinner while Carolyn watched TV. Carolyn did buy a silk slip and looked oh so gorgeous in it last night when we went to bed. She was so tired so we ended up just going to bed and we talked for a while over the soft glow of candle light as we held each other. I was pretty bushed as well. No hanky panky occurred. We are getting old.
I awoke early this morning to the light of dawn to find Carolyn getting dressed. She looked over at me and smiled gently.
“Hun, I’ve got to go to work, but I have the whole weekend off,” She told me quietly in the muted light of first daylight in my bedroom. “I want to spend it with you.”
I watched as she walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead.
“I love you doll,” She said looking at me. “You are a special man.”
“I love you too,” I replied as I reached out for her hand. “You are a wonderful woman and mean the world to me.”
I heard my back door shut and Carolyn crank up her car and drive off. I lay in the bed for the longest time thinking of her and me longingly. I wish she didn’t have to work and we could spend all our time together. I have often toyed with the idea lately of getting her to move in with me when I move into my new home. I want all my mornings to be like this one.
I awoke early this morning to the light of dawn to find Carolyn getting dressed. She looked over at me and smiled gently.
“Hun, I’ve got to go to work, but I have the whole weekend off,” She told me quietly in the muted light of first daylight in my bedroom. “I want to spend it with you.”
I watched as she walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead.
“I love you doll,” She said looking at me. “You are a special man.”
“I love you too,” I replied as I reached out for her hand. “You are a wonderful woman and mean the world to me.”
I heard my back door shut and Carolyn crank up her car and drive off. I lay in the bed for the longest time thinking of her and me longingly. I wish she didn’t have to work and we could spend all our time together. I have often toyed with the idea lately of getting her to move in with me when I move into my new home. I want all my mornings to be like this one.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Thongs of Love…
Carolyn just called from work on her cell phone. I thought Summer would enjoy this little exchange so I rushed to the computer to write it after hanging up the phone while it was still fresh upon my mind.
________________________________
“Hey, I am headed down to Auburn to the mall when I get off to go get some clothes,” She told me. “I need some new bras.”
“Why don’t you just buy them at Wal-Mart where you work?” I asked.
“I don’t buy cheap bras,” She replied snidely. “They never fit right and are uncomfortable.”
Carolyn is, um, well endowed as far as the front of her upper torso is concerned.
“I am probably going to run by Victoria’s Secret and see if they have any sales. Is there anything you can think of for me to buy for this weekend when I am off?” She asked seductively and suggestively.
“Buy a sexy thong. I like thongs,” I replied.
You could almost hear Carolyn audibly choke on the other end.
“Listen, I have spent most of my adult life actively trying to find comfortable underwear that doesn’t ride up my butt. I am not spending $10 or $20 dollars on a thong I will only wear for one night,” She replied adamantly and fiercely with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I am way too old for those things. Besides, my butt is too big. It wouldn’t look sexy.”
“You’re butt is not big!” I said as I laughed.
Why do all women think their butts look too big? Most men like big butts. I know I do. I would like Carolyn’s to be a little bigger.
I then replied, “Well, the only other thing that really turns me on is a silk slip. I find those oh so sexy on a vivacious woman.”
“If I spend all that money on a silk slip are you going to make it worth my while?”
“I will show you the night of your life.”
“Is there anything you need while I am down there?” She then asked.
“Will you pick me up a couple of packs of size 36 underwear as well? Make sure it is 100% cotton,” I asked and replied timidly not sure how she would take that.
“Does this mean we are getting married?” She asked me facetiously.
“What?” I asked confused and befuddled as I swallowed hard and audibly.
“Hey, I am just kidding silly! It is just the last time I bought underwear for a man I was married to that idiot that is my ex.”
I laughed again nervously.
“I have to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” She said.
“I will have some supper ready. How does Lasagna sound?”
“Oh, now I am really rating,” Carolyn replied. “You are going to cook me lasagna?”
“I will have it ready around eight”
“See you tonight.”
We hung up the phone.
Now, I have to rush to Kroger and get all the stuff for Lasagna, salad, and breadsticks. I think I might just run by the dollar store as well and buy some scented candles. Maybe I can entice Carolyn into spending the night and modeling that new silk slip this evening. I don’t think I can wait until the weekend.
“Hey, I am headed down to Auburn to the mall when I get off to go get some clothes,” She told me. “I need some new bras.”
“Why don’t you just buy them at Wal-Mart where you work?” I asked.
“I don’t buy cheap bras,” She replied snidely. “They never fit right and are uncomfortable.”
Carolyn is, um, well endowed as far as the front of her upper torso is concerned.
“I am probably going to run by Victoria’s Secret and see if they have any sales. Is there anything you can think of for me to buy for this weekend when I am off?” She asked seductively and suggestively.
“Buy a sexy thong. I like thongs,” I replied.
You could almost hear Carolyn audibly choke on the other end.
“Listen, I have spent most of my adult life actively trying to find comfortable underwear that doesn’t ride up my butt. I am not spending $10 or $20 dollars on a thong I will only wear for one night,” She replied adamantly and fiercely with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I am way too old for those things. Besides, my butt is too big. It wouldn’t look sexy.”
“You’re butt is not big!” I said as I laughed.
Why do all women think their butts look too big? Most men like big butts. I know I do. I would like Carolyn’s to be a little bigger.
I then replied, “Well, the only other thing that really turns me on is a silk slip. I find those oh so sexy on a vivacious woman.”
“If I spend all that money on a silk slip are you going to make it worth my while?”
“I will show you the night of your life.”
“Is there anything you need while I am down there?” She then asked.
“Will you pick me up a couple of packs of size 36 underwear as well? Make sure it is 100% cotton,” I asked and replied timidly not sure how she would take that.
“Does this mean we are getting married?” She asked me facetiously.
“What?” I asked confused and befuddled as I swallowed hard and audibly.
“Hey, I am just kidding silly! It is just the last time I bought underwear for a man I was married to that idiot that is my ex.”
I laughed again nervously.
“I have to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?” She said.
“I will have some supper ready. How does Lasagna sound?”
“Oh, now I am really rating,” Carolyn replied. “You are going to cook me lasagna?”
“I will have it ready around eight”
“See you tonight.”
We hung up the phone.
Now, I have to rush to Kroger and get all the stuff for Lasagna, salad, and breadsticks. I think I might just run by the dollar store as well and buy some scented candles. Maybe I can entice Carolyn into spending the night and modeling that new silk slip this evening. I don’t think I can wait until the weekend.
Patter goes the Rain…
I pitched my tent in the backyard before dark fall yesterday. A large swath of rain was set to move in yesterday evening and I wanted to experience its full glory. Around 9:30 PM, I grew very sleepy and walked down to the back of the yard to crawl into my sleeping bag and read as the radar said the rain would be here any moment. I lit my candle lantern and pulled out Tolstoy’s large tome of War and Peace. I am trying to slog my way through this novel, but find it very hard to concentrate to read these days and it is aggravating. I also picked a very weighty novel as well so it is no surprise. If I quit taking my medications for a few days other than the Risperdal, I can read better, but my symptoms also start to skyrocket like anxiety, paranoia, and panic attacks. I have tried that dangerous little experiment before and the benefits just didn’t outweigh the gains.
I had fallen asleep while reading and my almost spent candle lantern had burned down and snuffed itself out during the night. I awoke around 1 AM again to pattering rain upon the fabric of my tent and it was so comforting. I fumbled in my backpack for another candle, lit it, unzipped my tent door, and sat crossed legged at the threshold smoking cigarettes while sheets of rain were illuminated by the eerie, muted glow of my lantern beyond the door of my tent. Times like these are so comforting and soothing to my soul. I could imagine myself upon the trail on a cold and rainy night in the Appalachians waiting for the bad weather to pass to start another day of hiking.
I could no longer sleep so I ran to the house amidst a heavy rain to start some coffee. A cold front had blown through overnight and it had grown very, very chilly. I had walked out to sleep in only my boxer shorts and a t-shirt greeted by a very warm evening. The temperature had changed drastically in only a few short hours. I lit my gas heater inside and stood in front of it for the longest time trying to warm myself in front of its wonderful orange incandescent glow.I then plopped myself down in front of this computer and read about menopause for the longest time for Carolyn. I am worried about her.
“It seems I have a lot of the symptoms of menopause myself like night sweats,” I chuckled to myself as I read, “And I am not even a woman.”Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine being a young man and dating a woman dealing with such issues. She does exhibit all the classical symptoms. I was ignorant of the change of life for a woman until lately.
Carolyn finally made it back into work, but her supervisor was much outdone with her for being out so long. We were talking on the phone last night about it. She was worried.
“She told me I almost lost my job,” Carolyn said sadly.
“Your health is more important than some stupid job down at Wal-Mart,” I replied. “I wish you would quit and go back to work at Fat Albert’s.”
“That extra $270 dollars a month helps so much though,” Carolyn replied. “That pays all my utilities.”
“How do you feel tonight? You have worried the shit out of me,” I told her.
“I still feel blah,” She replied. “And I still haven’t gotten my period and it is way overdue.”
We talked for quite awhile longer until she became too tired to continue on. Carolyn was ready for bed and had to be into work early this morning. We told each other we loved each other and said goodnight. I guess I am just blessed to have a caring female soul that loves me and is willing to put up with my mental illness and aggravating (for a woman) eccentricities. Most attractive women would not even entertain dating a mentally ill guy with “issues” and who didn’t have a steady job. She is a dear soul to put up with me and love me so much.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Seedy Side of Town…
I hiked four miles this morning in a little over an hour. I was exhausted by the time I walked up my driveway to home. I hiked 18 miles the previous two days and it had worn me down. Undaunted, I set out again after lunch at a more leisurely gait without my heavy Kelty pack upon my back. I needed to tone things down today and rest. I didn’t make it very far though. I was just bushed today. I maybe hiked an additional mile.
There is a secluded bench beyond a high brick wall behind Charter Bank on the back part of town next to the train tracks. I made my way down there and sat upon it and lit up a cigarette and just thought for a long time as trains clamored by. It was another beautiful spring like day with highs in the high seventies. The weather service had predicted severe thunderstorms for the afternoon, but none materialized. I was sorely disappointed. I was hoping for one last gasp of southern summer weather before winter.
As I sat upon the bench, a haggard looking fellow came walking down the tracks with a small backpack whose contents were clanging nosily inside. It sounded like cooking gear. That would have driven me crazy as I hiked, but apparently he was not fazed. He saw me smoking and walked my way. I watched him warily as he came closer and made a beeline straight towards me. As he came closer, I got a better look at him. He had on an old chicken shit green National Guard overcoat and a pair of heavily stained and faded blue jeans. He was about three days past a shave and had long, greasy grey hair that wrapped around his shoulders capped with an old, dirty baseball cap. It would have been easy to mistake him for a bad Willie Nelson impersonator. I knew he was after a smoke. The look of the fellow just bespoke, “I’m a smoker without cigarettes.” Like a great psychic, my premonition came to fruition.
“Buddy,” He said. “I sure could use an extra cigarette if you’ve got one.”
“I knew it!” I thought bemused at his words when he asked for a cigarette.
I begrudgingly reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out my pack, and knocked it on my other arm to push out a cigarette and held the pack out towards him. He reached for the revealed cigarette and put it in his mouth.
“Where are you headed if you don’t mind me asking,” I said as he lit the cigarette with a book of matches he pulled out of his coat pocket.
“Oh, I live around here,” He said. “I’ve just been across the river to pick up some stuff from my sister.”
I have spent a lot of time downtown around the tracks and have never, ever seen this guy around. I didn’t believe his story at all. He didn’t stay long and continued his walk on down the tracks. I can’t say I wasn’t kind of relieved to be bereft of his presence. I have learned a certain “street sense” dealing with the gang over the years and something about this guy just didn’t sit right with me. He was just acting too nervous, jittery, and evasive like he had something to hide. I guess these encounters are par for the course for hanging out on the seedy, backside of town.
There is a secluded bench beyond a high brick wall behind Charter Bank on the back part of town next to the train tracks. I made my way down there and sat upon it and lit up a cigarette and just thought for a long time as trains clamored by. It was another beautiful spring like day with highs in the high seventies. The weather service had predicted severe thunderstorms for the afternoon, but none materialized. I was sorely disappointed. I was hoping for one last gasp of southern summer weather before winter.
As I sat upon the bench, a haggard looking fellow came walking down the tracks with a small backpack whose contents were clanging nosily inside. It sounded like cooking gear. That would have driven me crazy as I hiked, but apparently he was not fazed. He saw me smoking and walked my way. I watched him warily as he came closer and made a beeline straight towards me. As he came closer, I got a better look at him. He had on an old chicken shit green National Guard overcoat and a pair of heavily stained and faded blue jeans. He was about three days past a shave and had long, greasy grey hair that wrapped around his shoulders capped with an old, dirty baseball cap. It would have been easy to mistake him for a bad Willie Nelson impersonator. I knew he was after a smoke. The look of the fellow just bespoke, “I’m a smoker without cigarettes.” Like a great psychic, my premonition came to fruition.
“Buddy,” He said. “I sure could use an extra cigarette if you’ve got one.”
“I knew it!” I thought bemused at his words when he asked for a cigarette.
I begrudgingly reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out my pack, and knocked it on my other arm to push out a cigarette and held the pack out towards him. He reached for the revealed cigarette and put it in his mouth.
“Where are you headed if you don’t mind me asking,” I said as he lit the cigarette with a book of matches he pulled out of his coat pocket.
“Oh, I live around here,” He said. “I’ve just been across the river to pick up some stuff from my sister.”
I have spent a lot of time downtown around the tracks and have never, ever seen this guy around. I didn’t believe his story at all. He didn’t stay long and continued his walk on down the tracks. I can’t say I wasn’t kind of relieved to be bereft of his presence. I have learned a certain “street sense” dealing with the gang over the years and something about this guy just didn’t sit right with me. He was just acting too nervous, jittery, and evasive like he had something to hide. I guess these encounters are par for the course for hanging out on the seedy, backside of town.
To Hike or not to Hike? That is the Question…
`“Your father is not going to let you hike that long trail this summer,” My mother told me on the phone last night. “What trail is it again and for how long?”
“The Appalachian Trail, mom, and it is 2159 miles long,” I replied.
“I told him about us talking about it the other day and he said we wouldn’t be able to manage your medications,” Mom told me. “He said you wouldn’t take your Risperdal like you should. He said it was just some weird pipe dream you were having and that it would pass.”
I sighed. It seems my father is one of the biggest obstacles for me living life sometimes. He means well, but can be so controlling and overbearing. He is so overprotective of me and my mother and our illnesses. He is afraid that the calm status quo that is our lives these days will be interrupted.
“Well, I am 34 years old and can make those decisions for myself,” I replied.
“Don’t you let him hear you say that!” Mom exclaimed. “That would just make him so angry. He would be outdone with you for weeks.”
“What do you think about it?” I asked her.
“I would like to see you be able to do something like that,” She said. “I know how much it means to you and you got so excited when we talked about it the other day. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time. I will just mail you your medications every month.”
“Well, at least I have one parent on my side,” I replied. “I love you mom, you know that?”
“I love you too son and just want you to be happy. It wouldn’t hurt to try and if you have problems with your illness we can come and pick you up. Your father drove across the country to San Diego for you brother. Surely, he can drive up the east coast for you if you need him.”
We told each other good night and that we loved each other again and hung up the phone.
I laid in the bed for a long time last night trying to go to sleep fretting over this conundrum. How am I doing to convince my father that this is a worthy goal and that I will take my Risperdal in pill form while I am on the trail? I have a long winter ahead to convince him I finally concluded and drifted off to sleep. I definitely have something to talk to my therapist about next Thursday.
“The Appalachian Trail, mom, and it is 2159 miles long,” I replied.
“I told him about us talking about it the other day and he said we wouldn’t be able to manage your medications,” Mom told me. “He said you wouldn’t take your Risperdal like you should. He said it was just some weird pipe dream you were having and that it would pass.”
I sighed. It seems my father is one of the biggest obstacles for me living life sometimes. He means well, but can be so controlling and overbearing. He is so overprotective of me and my mother and our illnesses. He is afraid that the calm status quo that is our lives these days will be interrupted.
“Well, I am 34 years old and can make those decisions for myself,” I replied.
“Don’t you let him hear you say that!” Mom exclaimed. “That would just make him so angry. He would be outdone with you for weeks.”
“What do you think about it?” I asked her.
“I would like to see you be able to do something like that,” She said. “I know how much it means to you and you got so excited when we talked about it the other day. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time. I will just mail you your medications every month.”
“Well, at least I have one parent on my side,” I replied. “I love you mom, you know that?”
“I love you too son and just want you to be happy. It wouldn’t hurt to try and if you have problems with your illness we can come and pick you up. Your father drove across the country to San Diego for you brother. Surely, he can drive up the east coast for you if you need him.”
We told each other good night and that we loved each other again and hung up the phone.
I laid in the bed for a long time last night trying to go to sleep fretting over this conundrum. How am I doing to convince my father that this is a worthy goal and that I will take my Risperdal in pill form while I am on the trail? I have a long winter ahead to convince him I finally concluded and drifted off to sleep. I definitely have something to talk to my therapist about next Thursday.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Aromas on the Air and Catchers in the Rye…
As I hiked down the sidewalk by the four lane highway adjacent to the old abandoned cotton mill at noon today, the aroma of smoked barbeque was wafting upon the cool, fall air. My stomach grumbled at that tempting smell. I have noticed on my hikes these days a little mobile roadside barbeque stand and it stays quite busy. It certainly smells wonderful as you walk by. I pulled out and surveyed the contents of my wallet trying to decide if a cold Gatorade and an energy bar from the convenience store or a smoked barbeque chicken plate would be a better purchase. I splurged and decided upon the chicken. I walked on over to try my luck and buy a box lunch. All these people buying couldn’t be wrong and they weren’t. It was delicious and well worth the money spent.
Inside the $6.50 barbeque plate was a half of a smoked chicken with two slices of loaf bread, a heaping serving of creamy slaw, a miniscule bag of potato chips, and a small mound of dill pickle slices. I sat in the little park adorned with almost forgotten monuments to men long dead across from the old abandoned cotton mill and ate my plate. The sky was a beautiful pastel blue adorned by wispy cirrus clouds flowing across the fall sky like spilt milk. Four pigeons darted around at my feet cooing softly awaiting a few scraps of bread from me which I threw and they greedily tussled over and consumed.
By the time I had eaten all of that chicken and the plate, I was feeling quite laden and full. It was a long two mile hike home as I had grown terribly sleepy. It was tempting to just take off my Kelty pack, lie down in the grass beside the sidewalk, and take a nap. I am sure I would have been mistaken for dead by passing motorists though and not the sleeping beauty (sarcasm) I was.
As I passed over the creek that runs by Dollar General and the title pawn place, I saw Droopy walking towards me in the distance. I rarely see much of the gang these days. At first, it was good to see him until he opened his mouth that is.
“Man, you ain’t be havin’ five bucks I could borrow to get something to eat?” He asked bypassing all pleasantries in his staccato and stuttering voice.
One thing about the gang is they are all always perpetually broke and need to borrow your money. I am known as an easy mark within this circle of friends. I sighed as I reached into my wallet and handed him three dollars in compromise.
“That will get you two chili burgers or two chili dogs down the road at Sarah Jay’s and a coke,” I replied.
Droopy smiled, thanked me, and patted me on the shoulder.
“Did you hear George is getting out of jail?” He then asked. “He wrote Pookie and told her.”
“Yeah, he wrote me as well. I think I am going to have to be the one that has to go pick him up in Lafayette at the county jail,” I replied. “He is supposed to call me back or write the details.”
“It sure will be good to have that son of a bitch back in town again,” Droopy told me as he grinned furiously.
I agreed with Droopy and politely said good bye to make my way on home. My comfy lazy boy recliner and a nap were calling me earnestly. To my surprise, an animal control police officer’s vehicle was sitting in my driveway and the officer was knocking upon my side door as I walked up my driveway. I hollered out to greet him as he turned to look my way. He walked over to shake my hand.
“Do you have a little wire haired terrier mix?” He asked.
“Yes sir,” I replied. “Her name is Maggie.”
“We’ve had several complaints about it running free though the neighborhood by the old lady down the street with all the cats,” He told me.
“Damn busybody old hag,” I thought to myself angrily. She is a sour puss of an old lady and is always bitching and calling the city and police about her neighbors for various reasons. Her cats roam the neighborhood freely devastating the local fauna daily like little assassins. There is no city ordinance against cats roaming free.
“I will make sure she stays in the fence from now on,” I told him.
“I hated to bother you with something so trivial, but when someone calls in a complaint we have to act on it,” He replied.
“I know,” I replied. “I understand. Thank you for being so nice about it and just giving me a warning and not a ticket.”
We do have a leash law, but it is rarely enforced being a small town. It stemmed from a local elderly lady getting killed by a pit-bull as she walked through her neighborhood a couple of years ago here. Mrs. Pilkington was her name.
The officer shook my hand once again, got in his patrol car, and drove off. I was going to take a nap, but now I am pissed off mad and sleep has left me. Damn old busybody! Maggie is going to go stir crazy in that fence all day and I hate to keep her locked up inside as well only going out for bathroom breaks.
Inside the $6.50 barbeque plate was a half of a smoked chicken with two slices of loaf bread, a heaping serving of creamy slaw, a miniscule bag of potato chips, and a small mound of dill pickle slices. I sat in the little park adorned with almost forgotten monuments to men long dead across from the old abandoned cotton mill and ate my plate. The sky was a beautiful pastel blue adorned by wispy cirrus clouds flowing across the fall sky like spilt milk. Four pigeons darted around at my feet cooing softly awaiting a few scraps of bread from me which I threw and they greedily tussled over and consumed.
By the time I had eaten all of that chicken and the plate, I was feeling quite laden and full. It was a long two mile hike home as I had grown terribly sleepy. It was tempting to just take off my Kelty pack, lie down in the grass beside the sidewalk, and take a nap. I am sure I would have been mistaken for dead by passing motorists though and not the sleeping beauty (sarcasm) I was.
As I passed over the creek that runs by Dollar General and the title pawn place, I saw Droopy walking towards me in the distance. I rarely see much of the gang these days. At first, it was good to see him until he opened his mouth that is.
“Man, you ain’t be havin’ five bucks I could borrow to get something to eat?” He asked bypassing all pleasantries in his staccato and stuttering voice.
One thing about the gang is they are all always perpetually broke and need to borrow your money. I am known as an easy mark within this circle of friends. I sighed as I reached into my wallet and handed him three dollars in compromise.
“That will get you two chili burgers or two chili dogs down the road at Sarah Jay’s and a coke,” I replied.
Droopy smiled, thanked me, and patted me on the shoulder.
“Did you hear George is getting out of jail?” He then asked. “He wrote Pookie and told her.”
“Yeah, he wrote me as well. I think I am going to have to be the one that has to go pick him up in Lafayette at the county jail,” I replied. “He is supposed to call me back or write the details.”
“It sure will be good to have that son of a bitch back in town again,” Droopy told me as he grinned furiously.
I agreed with Droopy and politely said good bye to make my way on home. My comfy lazy boy recliner and a nap were calling me earnestly. To my surprise, an animal control police officer’s vehicle was sitting in my driveway and the officer was knocking upon my side door as I walked up my driveway. I hollered out to greet him as he turned to look my way. He walked over to shake my hand.
“Do you have a little wire haired terrier mix?” He asked.
“Yes sir,” I replied. “Her name is Maggie.”
“We’ve had several complaints about it running free though the neighborhood by the old lady down the street with all the cats,” He told me.
“Damn busybody old hag,” I thought to myself angrily. She is a sour puss of an old lady and is always bitching and calling the city and police about her neighbors for various reasons. Her cats roam the neighborhood freely devastating the local fauna daily like little assassins. There is no city ordinance against cats roaming free.
“I will make sure she stays in the fence from now on,” I told him.
“I hated to bother you with something so trivial, but when someone calls in a complaint we have to act on it,” He replied.
“I know,” I replied. “I understand. Thank you for being so nice about it and just giving me a warning and not a ticket.”
We do have a leash law, but it is rarely enforced being a small town. It stemmed from a local elderly lady getting killed by a pit-bull as she walked through her neighborhood a couple of years ago here. Mrs. Pilkington was her name.
The officer shook my hand once again, got in his patrol car, and drove off. I was going to take a nap, but now I am pissed off mad and sleep has left me. Damn old busybody! Maggie is going to go stir crazy in that fence all day and I hate to keep her locked up inside as well only going out for bathroom breaks.
Finding Equilibrium…
I know I never talk about my mental illness. Like I wrote in my profile to the right, I try not to let it define me. I’ve read a lot of blogs and online journals by people with schizophrenia and mental illness and they got to where they depressed me and I quit reading them all. It is one thing to deal with mental illness on a daily basis and quite another to have to read about it constantly as well. I just have enough symptoms of my own without constantly reading about others trials with these diseases of the brain and a lot of it was incessant whining. And it is a disease no less debilitating than lets say cancer. It robs you of your life, yet you live on an empty, broken shell if you can’t find medications that help. And some never do; forever caged in the tormenting prisons that are their minds living the rest of their lives homeless and destitute or in care homes and institutions shunned by their families. Death is not a viable respite unless you take such matters into your own hands unlike those with more “chronic” life ending diseases that can be seen on blood tests, CAT scans, MRIs, and X-Rays.
I still struggle daily, but just don’t share it. I have learned that when people hear or read you have schizophrenia then that automatically conjures images of killers and violent individuals in their minds. You are immediately distrusted and treated as suspect. I think we all have seen the episodes of Law and Order or CSI were the killer is a delusional schizophrenic who takes the life of a loved one because his voices were telling him to do so. Schizophrenics are such convenient plot devices for crime dramas as it makes a compelling story and interesting court room battle as the defendant tries to plea insanity along with the moral and ethical questions that arise. I would argue that most schizophrenics are more apt to hurt themselves than others. This disease will predisposition you for self destruction and/or suicide. There are always exceptions to the rule though, but the same goes for mentally healthy society as well. There are far more mentally capable killers and crime committers than there ever will be mentally ill of the same ilk.
I hope for some of you that have read me for a long time will see that schizophrenics can be kind, caring, and loving people with the proper treatment. I have fears, wants, desires, and lusts just like you. I also have a vibrant soul and mind yearning to express themselves. I love and care about a great deal of people in my online and offline life and want only what is best for them. I would never want to harm those that I care about deeply.
One of my most persistent symptoms lately is paranoia of ridicule in public. I am scared of strangers and unfamiliar people. I feel they are watching me intently and laughing at me behind my back and to my face. Often on these daily hikes lately, I leave the house and cross the Georgia state line just yards down from my home. Soon, I am in downtown West Point, Georgia; a bustling old southern downtown with many walking pedestrians, cars whizzing by, and century old storefronts. As I walk through town to reach the tracks beyond, I have to fight the thoughts that all these many eyes are prying and watching me. A simple smile and hello as a stranger passes on the sidewalk can mean to me that they are mocking me and laughing at me. It is so pervasive it can be all encompassing to me at that moment. It is a battle to push those thoughts out of my mind and to rationalize “normal” thinking about such matters. Without the help of my medications, I would not be able to grasp that last step in these encounters.
I still struggle daily, but just don’t share it. I have learned that when people hear or read you have schizophrenia then that automatically conjures images of killers and violent individuals in their minds. You are immediately distrusted and treated as suspect. I think we all have seen the episodes of Law and Order or CSI were the killer is a delusional schizophrenic who takes the life of a loved one because his voices were telling him to do so. Schizophrenics are such convenient plot devices for crime dramas as it makes a compelling story and interesting court room battle as the defendant tries to plea insanity along with the moral and ethical questions that arise. I would argue that most schizophrenics are more apt to hurt themselves than others. This disease will predisposition you for self destruction and/or suicide. There are always exceptions to the rule though, but the same goes for mentally healthy society as well. There are far more mentally capable killers and crime committers than there ever will be mentally ill of the same ilk.
I hope for some of you that have read me for a long time will see that schizophrenics can be kind, caring, and loving people with the proper treatment. I have fears, wants, desires, and lusts just like you. I also have a vibrant soul and mind yearning to express themselves. I love and care about a great deal of people in my online and offline life and want only what is best for them. I would never want to harm those that I care about deeply.
One of my most persistent symptoms lately is paranoia of ridicule in public. I am scared of strangers and unfamiliar people. I feel they are watching me intently and laughing at me behind my back and to my face. Often on these daily hikes lately, I leave the house and cross the Georgia state line just yards down from my home. Soon, I am in downtown West Point, Georgia; a bustling old southern downtown with many walking pedestrians, cars whizzing by, and century old storefronts. As I walk through town to reach the tracks beyond, I have to fight the thoughts that all these many eyes are prying and watching me. A simple smile and hello as a stranger passes on the sidewalk can mean to me that they are mocking me and laughing at me. It is so pervasive it can be all encompassing to me at that moment. It is a battle to push those thoughts out of my mind and to rationalize “normal” thinking about such matters. Without the help of my medications, I would not be able to grasp that last step in these encounters.
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