Round Two....!!!

Okay, I know that I threw a couple of extra blogs in between tales of recounting my time spent in the BHC. I was moved to put myself back in the facility after yet another attempt on my life. Had a few fleeting thoughts I felt I needed to get out there so hence this blog is a tad bit out of order but I am quite sure y'all will get past this. So, without any further adieu..... ROUND TWO.......


I knew almost the minute I walked out of the doors of the BHC the first time that I was going to try and take my life again. Somehow, someway, I was going to finish it. Not 5 full days out of my first ever visit to the unit, I tried just that. Unlike the previous attempt, this one was quite impromptu. The details of the day will be forthcoming in another blog. The purpose of this blog is to serve as a second chapter of "Fuck The Cuckoo's Nest, This is Real Life...." I realized how many wonderful and amusing people I left out that needed some true credit and mention. Not to mention I met a whole new slab o' crazies to talk about. Once again, I am not going for a boring recounting.. I want the truth to be known. I want to entertain and touch as I only know how through my writing. I will talk about my fellow "inmates" first and then deftly move onto the staff.

I would be both remiss and a terrible "boyfriend" if I did not start off talking about my on again off again "girlfriend" Brenda..... Ah Brenda..... My hot tamale. My little chimichanga. My little Mexican firecracker. She took to me like a moth to flame. We hit it off and started our first "relationship" in mere minutes after we first met.We, of course, proceeded to "break-up" approximately 3.5 minutes later. It was heart wrenching. I went through a mourning period that lasted all of 36 seconds. Fortunately, by the 37th second, we were back together. This time our "relationship" lasted 8.5 hours. It was bedtime. I snuck to my room before she could find a reason to break up. As soon as breakfast rolled around, we were done again. This pattern continued for the duration of my first stay. We just never could keep it together. It may have had something to do with the lack of any physical contact and almost no emotional connection but I tend to lean towards her dislike of dating gringos. Whatever the reason, at first it seemed destiny was our enemy. Until she showed up in the intake room with me on my return. Seemed she had a relapse with some booze so our love got it's crappy second chance. Another face from the first time around that I encountered in intake was Clif. Tears and hugs abound when we saw each other. You remember the crotchety old fart Clif from Round One who up and disappeared one day? Turns out when they hooked him up to ECT they stopped his heart cold. Damn near killed him. He was all but dead. He was shipped to another hospital and when his heart was better he found himself back in a world that he could not handle. This is not some meek old man. Former Marine. Veteran. Cop. Long-haul trucker. Broken. Destroyed. A shadow. I was sad that he and I would not be on the same ward again but I am sure he is getting the help he needs.That is all that matters. The last face I saw before I made it to the ward was John T. John was in and out of consciousness of often while on the ward, I found it hard to believe that he would survive on the outside. Depression was eating him alive. I am hapy to report that he looked better. Not great. Better. This time around on the ward, I found a fae..... "Good Morning, Beautiful" break.... excuse me.....MORE LATER>>>>>>

Oh Gee.... Up Again..... Gotta a question, though...

So I had one of those "moments" today. You know what I mean, right....? A Hollywoodish moment. Let me describe it and see if anyone can relate and then subsequently give me some advice. I am walking into a local Circle K along with several others and this woman picks me right out of the crowd and asks me if I am from the area. I have to preface this with 2 details. I was wearing sunglasses so none of that kind eyes shit. She was FAR from being unattractive. Okay, with those details in mind, I told her I was familiar with most of Mesa and could probably be of some assistance. Long story short, figured out where she was headed, got her in the right direction...... Good Morning, Beautiful just came on....tear break.......... okay, back now.... then she hugged me and said Thank You a thousand times and then she was on her way. Here is my question. Did I miss an opportunity? Keep in mind I was waiting at said Circle K for a ride that was taking me in the direction she was going..... To a church..... Did the higher power just fall out of the sky and land on my face and wiggle and I missed it? Help!!!!

P.S. Check out updated PlayList!!!!!

Quick note at 3am....

As God as my witness, I am trying.... These nights are hard. I know that when many people are hurt they are able to move through it quickly and find happiness in other ways. In other places. I, myself, cannot. This up and down crap is about enough to drive me to distraction. "Some days it don't come easy, and some days it don't come hard, and these are the days that never end..." Meatloaf. "I Would Do Anything For Love." I know I just a blog on music that I have yet to finish. This one is not about music. It's about doing anything for love. Everyone keeps telling me not to beat myself up. Stay strong. There was an amaZing man in that ample body years ago. The guy that could and would do anything for anyone. He just got lost somewhere along the way.... I am trying folks..... God, Buddha, Confucius, Mohammad, Shiva, and whoever other Holy Person as my witness. I am trying..... It's so damn hard. I know there are some of you who have been here. Either you told me before my story unfolded or many of you after so I know that there are many who feel my pain. To those of you who have expressed this, Thank You. Those of you who forgot/forget what it is/was like, I am so sorry. Continue to stand in judgement. I deserve it. I will always deserve it. Always and Forever. Poison. Period. Infinity. The End. On a positive note, got an invitation to Meatloaf concert next Saturday. I think I am gonna go.

"I Got The Music In Me..."

I am home. Well, sort of. I am out of the BHC and feeling safe. Feeling safer than I have in a very long time. Feeling better, too. I know I have made mistakes. I know there is a great deal of wreckage. I am prepared to fish or cut bait. "To err is human, to forgive is divine. " Beautifully said by Alexander Pope. Okay, so, anywho.... What am I writing about today? Well, lemme tell ya, at first, I was going to write Round Two of the Cuckoo's Nest. Had a lot more to add. More about fellow "inmates" and staff. Great stuff. Gonna hafta wait for a little bit. I also passed on an Open Letter I had written in the loony bin the first time. Good stuff. Breathtaking and heartfelt. One of my better direct letter's too someone and I was and am very proud of it. Soon Folks. Soon. While I was in activity/creativity therapy this last round, the song "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" and I was inspired to start a whole new music blog..... We had "the Peak" on in the room (my choice of course, LOVE YOU MONICA!!!) and it dawned on me how little I get to listen to music in there. Only a few select activity groups have music at all and one of them is relaxation group where they only play Ocean sounds which have been difficult for me to listen to since June. Knowing how how much music means to me y'all have to know the torture. It's so much a part of my everyday. Especially when I needed to think about a special someone. Some songs are just damn impossible to listen to. I listen anyway because I like knowing I can feel. No matter how hard the feelings are, at least they are true feelings. I spent so long lying and manipulating, I rarely knew what feeling was real and what was part of my imagination. Thing is, I could ALWAYS tell the emotions brought on by the music was real. True. A bit of reality in a sea of bullshit, for ya!! .... For instance.... "18th Floor Balcony" did so many things to me emotionionally you would think the overload of emotion would be intimidating. In fact, I am able to have a deep cleansing cry each time I hear this song. Helps me get rid of stuff I no longer need. A real tough one for me is "What a Good Boy." This song literally brings me to me knees. The words always made such clear sense to me and I was never able to identify woth a song more than that one. The lines, " I couldn't tell you I was wrong, ckickened out, took a pen and a paper, sat down and I wrote this song.... I couldn't tell you you were right, so instead I looked in the mirror, watched TV and laid awake all night..." reach me and touch me in ways that no other song has EVER been able to. This song is a tough one for me. A necessary one, but a tough one. The next song that draws emotion from deep inside is "Good Morning, Beautiful." Even though I no longer have someone to to say those words to everyday, I still find myself singing it everyday. No matter what. "Good morning, beautiful.... How was your night? Mine was wonderful with you by my side..." Such simple language. So hard to say. Billy Vera gets to me all of the time as well. "At This Moment" is one of those songs that is timeless and touching. He is saying that NO MATTER WHAT his woman has done, NO MATTER WHERE she is going, he could NEVER hate her. He loved her. His loved was real even if hers wasn't. A new twist on my music tastes. Since my recent suicide attempts, I have found myself gravitating towards music regarding that subject matter. Blink 182's "Adam's Song," with it's classic line... "Please tell Mom this is not her fault." Also Third Eye Blind. "Jumper." "Wish you would step back from that ledge my friend...." Great line. Great song. Hard, though. Added a rough song to my playlist. Pink Floyd's "One of my Turns." Kind of dark song. It helps to explain the dark place I go in my rough times. I isolate. I get terrible, dark, dangerous thoughts. Rather than allowing these dark thoughts to manifest, I have used lies and manipulationto quell the darkess. Probably always will. Always and forever. Poison. Period. Infinity. The End.

Back to the Drawing Board....

It is with heavy heart and tail tucked deep between my legs that I make the following announcement.... I am heading back to St. Luke's Behavioral Health Center tomorrow morning. Why? Well, suffice it to say I am not feeling safe out here in the real world. I have once again attempted, unsuccessfully, to end my life prematurely. This time with a buttload more ammunition and no walking. Still unsuccessful. Another failure to add to the list. The funny thing about this one is that it was relatively impromptu. One minute I was sitting on the phone with my Mom discussing my future as a writer and the next minute I was swallowing enough muscle relaxers and sleeping pills to fell a horse. It was, again, not enough. Makes me scared if I ever go back to drinking. My tolerance has grown exponentially in my years of sobriety. Another good reason to stay away from the bottle. Anywho, it was once again pointed out to me that I have a purpose on this planet. God, Jehovah, Yahweh, or whatever you choose to call him is not letting me take matters into my own hands. So, why am I going into BHC after the fact? I do not feel safe. Plain and simple. If I was allowed to roam around one day more, I am afraid I would just try again. I need serious help. The kind of help I can find in the safety of the BHC walls. You see, the problem is, I don't want to die.... but I don't want to live either.... Figure that one out. When you do, give a hint as to what the fuck it's about. I can partially explain it this way. I knew that I would find some forgiveness out of the wreckage I left behind. I knew those closest to me would forgive me. They did. It is this forgiveness that I cannot live with. I also knew that others very close to me would not readily forgive if at all. It is this forgiveness that I cannot live without. "Aye, there is the rub...." This is just a glimpse into the dark recesses of my distorted mind. A peek at the machinations of a bi-polar freak's brain. I am NOT asking for an outpouring of sympathy. I am NOT seeking undue attention. I am just informing anyone who cares for two reasons. Number one, so you can see that if you or anyone around you suffers in the darkness that is bi-polar/clinical depression that you need to make sure you/they are safe. Recognize the signs. Listen to the cries for help. Number two.... I need your prayers. If prayer is your thing. If not, send me some good thoughts telepathically. I need the thoughts and prayers, people. I am scared shitless. I am worried that there is no hope/cure for me. I am truly frightened. I know that for some of you that read this, prayer and good wishes are the farthest things from your mind when it comes to me. I have hurt you too deeply to deserve anything positive. You actually wish I would have been successful on one of the attempts. That is fine. Feel that way. Keep it to yourselves, though. It does neither of us any good if you send the hate my way. Okay, so thank you for listening. I shall be incommunicado for a little while. I hope I come out on the other side the better man I want to be. Thank you in advance for the prayers and thoughts. It means more than you will ever know!!!

A Day in the Life...

I realize that there are not too many "Day in the Life" stories that are all that interesting. Perhaps if it is about the President or a combat soldier or an Er doctor at a busy hospital it may grab a readers attention. I am merely a tired, miserable, Jack of all trades-Master of none, inebriate who has really done nothing remarkable with the possible exception of donating DNA to the cutest 7 year old you have ever seen. Nonetheless, if you will indulge me for a while, you may just read something that might save your life. I want to tell you the story of the day I attempted suicide. The names will be changed to protect the innocent if necessary but the places and events shall be exactly as they happened save perhaps a few minor embellishments for the sake of entertainment. An entertaining suicide attempt? C'mon folks, you know me well enough now. You had to know if I ever tried to go out, I would do it with style. I am honestly NOT trying to make light of the situation. I am merely dealing with it as best I know how. With humor. I hope that this narrative will shed some light on chemical dependency, bi-polar disorder, signs from God and talking to inanimate objects.







I cannot say the day started out like any other. In fact, it was one of the most bizarre mornings I ever experienced. Without going into great detail (as it would do you no good to explain how I got where I was) I found myself wandering around downtown Phoenix in the wee hours of that Friday morning. It was surreal. Watching a big city wake up like that. One minute you go from dark empty streets to streets filled with cars, people and activity. It was really something. It was really something incredible. I was amused and scared at the same time. It was quite a thrill. I wandered around the streets for a while. Looking for, I don't know what. Perhaps a place to sleep. Perhaps a place to help me get some of the thoughts of hopelessness and suicide out of my rattled and confused brain. I knew in my heart of hearts that suicide was inevitable. I knew how I was going to do it. I knew that it was this day. Bar none. No ifs, ands or buts. Just didn't know when. Initially I found myself at the Salvation Army chapel. Hoping the doors would be open so I could get some help. Instead of walking into open arms of safety and salvation, I found the place locked up and gated up tighter than Fort Knox. Scrap that idea. Fuck them! Their marquee out front said something to the effect of, " Give Satan an inch and he will become your ruler." I laughed under my breath at this. I suppose from a religious perspective that was exactly what I was doing. I was giving Satan those few inches so he could take over for me. Don't know why that tickled me so much. Anywho, I moved on. Walked to the YMCA. You know, "It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A!!!" Yeah, well, that is if you can figure out which door to go in. I walked in the wrong door and ended up walking into the lobby of their Gym, surrounded by workout junkies with their MP3 players, short shorts, and gym bags swirling around me at 100mph. Had to piss so I asked the girl at the front desk if I could use the restroom that was all of 7 feet from her. Nope. Not without a membership. So much for the friendly place glorified by the Village People. So, I sat in the quaint little coffee shop attached to the gym, listening to the Pink Floyd CD that the coffee shop employee was playing. Just sat there. Just was. Was is the past tense of be. I was not being. I was was-ing. After several minutes of achieving nothing, really needing to take a leak and charge up my phone I set out to find...Starbucks. The only place I could think of where I could plug in and hang out without anyone caring. During my respite, I was able to relieve myself, watch the morning hustle and bustle and send off a goodbye text to my mother. The response was not favorable and I was in no mood to be talked out of my plan by someone who actually cared. So, when the tears started to flow uncontrollably, I moved on to seek out friendlier skies. Not long after passing the B of A building and the Phoenix Convention Center, I found myself at St. Mary's Basilica. There I stood in front of this beautiful building. Full of hope, I stood at the bottom of the steps, wondering if beyond those doors my "sign" awaited. I walked in and was immediately was taken aback by the beauty I was beholding. Everything I thought it would be and more. I was humbled. I was hopeful. I sat in the last pew, pulled down the kneeling thingy, knelt down and started to bawl. Bawling is not even the word. More like blubbering. I was almost reduced to wailing when I decided to start talkin' to Jesus. The Christ figure hung above the pulpit so gloriously, I was certain he would fly down from his place and sit next to me. I could almost feel his loving arm around my shoulder, comforting me. No flying Jesus for me. So I turned my attention the Blessed Virgin Mary in hopes that a feminine touch was what I needed.... She ignored me as well. I started blubbering again. Louder this time. I continued this for several minutes when suddenly I heard the doors behind me open. I immediately stopped the severe crying and toned it down to a light whimper. I did not want to disturb some poor parishioner who was just looking for some peaceful, prayerful meditation before their bust day at work. I didn't know who it was so I maintained a level that was acceptable. I stiffened in my seat and waited for them to pass. After about 30 seconds, when no one passed, I sheepishly looked around. To my surprise it was a priest!!! I was sure this was my "sign!!!" A man of God here to save me. I started blubbering again to get his attention and waited for his hand on my shoulder and the obvious question of, "Are you alright, my son?" Not a chance, people. No such luck. He puttered around a bit, wandering the interior perimeter of the Basilica and just as effortlessly as he waltzed in, he was gone. My sign, gone. My hope, fading. My chance at not attempting suicide, off to do whatever it is priests do (no, people, I will not be throwing out an altar boy comment at this time). Blubbered out, I was just about to get up and leave when I heard the door open once again.... I just KNEW this was it!! My savior incarnate was about to walk through those doors and pull me from my Hell... heh heh.... not a fucking chance.... heh heh.... Instead it was many people, snapping pictures and babbling in some foreign language I guessed to be Russian. These folks meandered around being led by a tall, white-haired dude in shorts and a T-shirt. He brazenly walked right right up on the pulpit and started speaking to the group. I thought that was pretty ballsy for a tour guide until he stepped out a side door and returned moments later in full priest garb. The "tour guide" was a freakin' priest! Not wanting to be rude, I stayed as long as I could. Standing, sitting, kneeling and chanting in Russian (I guess). After about 10 minutes I felt as though this was NOT my sign so I slipped out the back door and went down the steps. It is at this point that I was able to abscond the pills that would be necessary for my attempt. Where and how I got them, for the purpose of this blog, shall remain a secret. Honestly, it's not that important. I got 'em. I had 'em. I planned to take 'em. It's it and that's that. Once I had them in my possession I made my way back to St. Mary's. Not sure why. I must have felt as though I was not ready to do the deed without giving the God thing one more try. A "last hoorah" you might say. After my dismal and disappointing attempt at finding a sign INSIDE the church, I turned my attention to the OUTSIDE. Nestled comfortably between the Basilica and the Diocese is a grassy/fountain/statue park. Several shade trees dot the nice little area making it perfect to sit and relax. If you can ignore the ants. Which I did. I picked out a nice tree directly across from a bronze statue of St. Francis of Assisi. He was posed kneeling in front of some birds on the ground, apparently feeding them. I sat and stared into his blank eyes for a few moments. Then I spoke to him. Out loud. For anyone to hear. I said, "So Frankie, I need a sign. Gimme somethin'. Wiggle a finger. Blink an eye. Say something profound. Make one of these birds fly..." Give you one guess as to what happened next..... If you guessed nothing, you would be incorrect. Something DID happen. No, the statue did not move. No bronze birdies taking flight. Instead, a homeless woman (she was a textbook example of a bag lady, btw) began shouting, "Father, Father!!" I figured it was not her actual Daddy so I turned around. Lo and behold.... Another priest!!!! Put on your game face, Big Man!!!! This is it!!!! Blubber a bit. Talk to Frankie some more. He is bound to come over after the bag lady is done bending his ear. Especially if you look distressed! I heard the priest say a few "god Bless You's" to the lady and I was CERTAIN this was it!!!! I waited for the comforting hand of the priest to rest on my shoulder. I knew he was going to be my saving grace.... After about 30 seconds of nothing, I turned around..... Gone.... Disappeared.... Nowhere to be seen..... Vanished into thin air..... I was sure that this last snub was God giving me the finger. "Fuck you, Fat Boy!!!!! Go ahead and kill yerself!!!!! Look at the wreckage you have left behind you!!!!! I, GOD, command you to do it!!!!!" Well, that was what I was hearing in my head, not what he was really saying..... You know me..... But how could it be anything else? "Oh God!!!!! Why hast thou forsaken me?" Famous words from a famous book..... I was feelin' it. Totally. Forsaken. Ignored. Left to die. Left with no other choice. Truth be known? I was ready. As I mentioned earlier, I was convinced that this was the ONLY solution. There was NO other way. So, when I looked around and saw there was no one watching, I put the stolen pills, all 10 of them, in my mouth and washed them down with my Dr. Pepper. I sat under that tree, across from St. Frank for about 20 minutes. Nothing was happening. Nada. Zilch. Zip. What the fuck????? I took 1 of these pills at half the strength and I was on my ass. How come they weren't working that quickly now????? Goddammit!!!!! Can't even get this right!!! Frustrated, I stood up and lit a cigarette. I walked over to the water jugs provided by the Catholic Church for the homeless so as to get some water to combat the cotton mouth. As I approached the water, a man wearing a Deacon name badge walked up to me and said "You know those things will kill you, right?" No shit. Word for word. Verbatim. Obviously I was a tad taken aback. What the fuck was this man talking about? Had he seen what I had done? Did he know my terrible secret? Was he going to save me? Was he going to stop me from dying????? No dammit!!!!! I didn't want that!!!! Then it dawned on me. He was just pontificating to me on the dangers of smoking. I had to laugh under my breath. I could not help but think, "They won't kill me quicker than the pills I just swallowed, ASSHOLE!!!" Alas, I refrained from saying this and opted for some polite comment about needing to quit someday soon. I started to walk away when he gently grabbed my arm, and with outstretched hand said, "Here you go." In his hand was an assortment of coins. Pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters. At first, I was confused. What was this man doing? Then it dawned on me. He thought I was homeless. He measured me up to be a bum. A beggar. A street person. Granted, I had not showered that morning but I was quite sure I didn't stink. I was not dressed in rags. Had a nice polo and my beige cargo shorts on, neither of which was stained. What had I projected that caused this man to think me homeless? Was it the desperation in my eyes? No way! I had sunglasses on. He could not have seen redness or swelling around my eyes that would indicate drunkenness. Did I reek of death as some homeless are apt to do? Must have been the death smell thing. Whatever it was, it kinda made me sad. Is this what I had been reduced to? Is this how the world saw me? Was this how I was to go out? Either way, I politely turned down his offer knowing I would not need his change where I was going.... Where was that exactly? Heaven? Hell? Wherever I was headed I just wished I would get there quickly. Now, this is where the story gets funky. Some have called the events that follow "my sign." Some have said it was my "will to live" that is inherent in all humans. Whatever it was, it is why I am writing this today. Okay. Here it goes... After the Deacon walked away, my first instinct was to walk my ass back to St. Frank and the shade tree. Sit down and tell ol' Francis to kiss my rosy red ass!!! Then I would just fall asleep under the tree. A deeeep sleep, as it were. No one would be the wiser. I was just a bum sleeping in the park. That was my first instinct. Not the instinct I followed though. No siree. I followed my second instinct which was, get this, to walk. That's right, walk. Where? Dunno. Why? Dunno. Just know I started walking. Eastbound on Van Buren. I got to 7th street and made it across just fine. Where was I going? What was I hoping to accomplish? I was not 100% sure but in the back of my now very cloudy mind it ran that there were hospitals this way. That must have been it. Hospitals. They would help me, right? Wait, I didn't want help..... I wanted to die..... Then..... Black...... Everything went black...... No white light. No tunnels. No family members waiting with open arms to help me cross over..... Just black.....

I have no idea how much time had passed before the blackness was interrupted. It could have been a matter of minutes. It could have been hours. It really didn't matter how long it was. What mattered was that the blackness was disturbed. This meant one thing. I was not dead. I had failed in my attempt. The blackness was replaced by a face.A paramedic or fire fighter's face. Didn't make no never mind to me. I didn't care what branch of the life-saving brigade this guy was from, he represented failure to me. My failure. My inability to complete yet another task. Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!!!!!!!! I know I should have been grateful with this development. However, gratitude was the farthest thing from my mind. Fortunately the blackness returned quickly. Very quickly. Almost as suddenly as it had appeared the first time. Perhaps it was permanent this time.... Not!!! Again, some unknown amount of time passed as I was in the blackness. Next thing I knew, I was staring at a pony-tailed man. I assumed him to be an Er doctor. What worried me was that damn pony-tail. I was sure it was going to flop in my mouth. I shall never know if it did because the blackness returned once again. Many minutes, possibly hours, once again had passed. The next thing I knew, there was a young woman with black hair and an unidentifiable accent fussing over me. It was evident to me that I was in a hospital bed. What hospital though? What time was it? Man, I was hungry, too!!!!! Once I gathered my thoughts, I formed the previous questions and concerns into words. I was in St. Luke's Hospital Intensive Care Unit, it was 3 am on Friday night, Saturday morning, and food was on it's way. Wow, that was a lot to swallow. Instead of trying to process it all, I went numb. "Dinner" came rather unceremoniously. I finished it quickly and decided to, once and for all, put an end to this "Day in the Life." I decided to create my own blackness. I went to sleep.

There it is. Love it or leave it. Stupid choice. No other way to say it. Selfish, self-absorbed and cowardly. I realize I was going to shed light on Chemical Dependency in this blog so I guess I could do that right now.... Put your sunglasses on.... Here it goes..... I have both!!!! Never knew it. I knew I had problems with alcohol and some drugs but I never imagined it was a Chemical Dependency. Nor was I aware that I was severely Bi-Polar and that folks with this affliction tend to gravitate towards chemicals as an escape from the nightmare they live. They are also REALLY good liars. That is not to say I have lied during the production of this blog. I have not. Most honest I have been in a long ass time. Just ask Dr. Agudo. She thinks the meds are working just fine.... heh heh.... Okay, Doc..... heh heh....