"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....

Fuck the Cuckoo's Nest, This is Real Life...

I have spent almost 2 weeks in the Psych Ward. The official name of the unit is Adult Services Unit III/CD. The CD standing for Chemical Dependency.I did not enter this unit due to a necessary detox. In fact I am certain there were no legal or illegal substances in my body that would warrant the "CD" label. I am guessing/hypothesizing that I am on this unit due to my past experiences with chemical dependency. Basically, these are my people. I, of course, am here in the first place for attempting suicide. They were going to keep me somewhere no matter what. It just so happened this ward had an open bed when the ICU needed to kick me out. I was just going to be held here until space opened up on another unit. I fit in so well here they kept me. I am certainly glad they did! I have seen so many things I have never seen before. I have met so many people, the likes of which I never knew existed. I have experienced so many emotions that I am finding exhaustion at the end of the day. I don't want this blog to turn into a run of the mill recounting of the personalities that have crossed my path so if it does, tell me. I want an accurate, touching, funny, heartfelt and REAL tribute to the men and women living and working on this unit.



I will begin at the beginning. I was brought to intake by my ICU nurse and, for some reason, a security guard. I was kind of amused by this because I actually felt more like a VIP than a suicide threat. While I was intake, I was treated well and even given some cookies and soda while I waited. Then it was down to the unit. Here I met Lee. Lee is a Psych Tech on the unit and one of my favorite people that I met. He was smiling and accommodating the entire time I was there. I was surprised to learn later in my stay that he was in his fifties. I would have guessed him my age or younger. One of my favorite fellow "inmates," Laurie, informed me that, "Black men age well." This seemed rather unfair. They already have a well known advantage in the anatomical department and now I learn they have cornered the "aging well" market. Just not right. The next few days proved to be the scariest but most amusing days for me as I got to know the other "inmates..." There was Clif. The "senior" member of the yard both in years and in time on the ward. Clif was the epitome of cantankerous. Racist, bigot and crotchety old fart would be words that well describe this man. Underneath all of that was a scared, depressed, lonely man who had spent a lifetime being confused and misused by those closest to him. I ignored the racist comments. I let the bigotry slide. I paid very close attention to the many tears and soft-spoken cries for help. This man called it as he saw it. Right, wrong or indifferent. There is NEVER anything wrong with that. Maybe his views were skewed. Who am I to judge? Clif disappeared one day. He left for his Electro-Convulsive Therapy (shock treatments) one day and never returned. I miss him. Truly. Warts and all. Next we had Jeffre. Just a kid. Just a baby.At the tender age of 24, Jeffre had been in and out of jail, hospitals, Er's, and doctor's offices in the last 2 years more than most people have been in a lifetime. You see, Jeffre was a mixed-martial arts fighter with quite an attitude problem. He drew a fight on 5 days training and was mismatched with a fighter he had never seen tape on. Needless to say, tragedy struck. The other fighter managed to place several knee shots to Jeffre's face. His facial bones were shattered. Many surgeries later, he found himself in constant pain. This was due to nerve damage he suffered as a result of the bones fusing together. The nerve damage caused him to twitch and shake like a Parkinson's patient 4 times his age.When he was able to keep his eyes open, which was very rarely, I found him to be sweet, pleasant, scared and extremely depressed. I could not help but to feel for him. Doctors pumped him full of pain meds to the point that they all but stopped working. Typical of people in his position, he turned to other ways to control the pain. Namely heroin. This poor kid didn't stand a chance. It broke my heart every time I laid eyes on him. I am quite sure he would never want my pity. I never showed him any. I just nodded knowingly and tried very hard to just be a friend. Jeffre related well to another "junkie," as he called himself, Max. Another hard case heroin addict. This kid was never comfortable while he was here. In and out of jail and hooked on that evil drug, he stood little chance of seeing his 30th birthday. All he talked about during his stay was drugs. What he used to do. What he wanted to be doing. What he was going to do when he got out. There is no other way to feel for this kid but sad. Nice family. World at his feet. Beautiful fiancee'... and all he could think about was that poison. Not to mention the system deemed him cured of his needs after just 3 days. LONG before, in my unprofessional opinion, he should have been. I have it on good authority that Max scored some "H" within hours of his release. Now we have to talk about the most colorful "inmate," Jack. Or as I called him, Jack-Jack.... Jack-Jack stood 6 feet 7 inches. He was all but skin and bones. His hair was long, stringy and poorly dyed black. His mouth was filled with sparse and rotting teeth. His eyes were a constant red and his skin was the very picture of sallow. He was, for all intents and purposes, a complete wreck. Jack-Jack was in here to detox from alcohol. I have never, in my 35 years on this planet, ever seen a man or woman in his condition. The way he looked, the way he acted, the babbling incoherently, the inability to maneuver his lanky frame all said to me that he was a strung out meth, crack and heroin junkie. Not the case at all. Jack-Jack loved beer. That was it. Beer. In AA we are taught that alcohol is "cunning, baffling and powerful." Jack-Jack was living proof. He was the poster child for the evils of alcohol. It took him 3 whole days to be able to walk on his own, talk coherently, and function as a human being. Even at that, he was just barely. During his "drying out" period there was only 1 time I saw a glimmer in his eye. It was when I asked if he was a musician. Something about him made me suspect it was so and he lit up like a Christmas Tree when I broached the subject. Being as how this was his incoherent period, the conversation was garbled and short. This notwithstanding, I still managed to touch a nerve that did his poor soul some good. Even after his detox was "over," it was still abundantly clear that Jack-Jack had done a tremendous amount of damage to his brain. One fellow "inmate," Tim, remarked, "His brain is definitely damp, if not wet all the way." So sad to see. On his release date, Jack-Jack's son came along with his wife to pick him up. Such a cute little 3 year old boy. Bright eyed and bushy tailed. Loves his Daddy. That much was obvious. I hope, with all of my heart, that Jack-Jack makes it in the cruel world. I suppose I should talk about Tim being as how I just quoted him. I need to really share the story of this amazing gentleman. At first glance, with his trademark yellow shirt and red sweats, you might guess Tim to be a college professor on his day off. He stands well over six feet tall and spots an impressive shock of silver hair that fits him like a glove. Then he opens his mouth and you would swear he was "Ivy League Professor Man." The witticisms and and quips he spews forth would make you swear he just walked off of Harvard's campus. Nothing could be further from the truth. He is a retired, journeyman electrician with a high school education. At least, that's what he was before substance abuse and severe clinical depression got their terrible claws into him. He was forced to go in and out of so many hospitals and treatment centers that he actually uses the "express lane." This is neither an exaggeration nor a slam on Tim. I say this to emphasize the scope of these diseases and conditions. No one is immune. Young, old, black, white. People of all walks. People from all different places. They need help... We need help... I need help... Living inside these walls has afforded me the privilege of seeing all of these types of people on a day to day basis. I have seen the group of 24 change over completely 4 different times. In these turnovers, I have found several people who don't really need to be here. They are just here for 3 hots and a cot. Literally, these men and women have nothing wrong with them except the inability to take care of themselves. They stroll into an emergency room and threaten suicide. From there, regardless, they are whisked off to the deluxe accommodations of a mental health facility where they receive food, shelter and drugs. Most of the time, this is at our expense. "Our" being the taxpayer. These people come in and out of these places so often that they actually become addicted to the drugs they are administered. They detox off of the street drugs they are using then they need to detox off of the prescription drugs making the whole scene a vicious cycle that the average working stiff has to pick up the tab for! It is to the point that state funded health care won't help those who really need it. It just helps those who want free drugs and food. I won't name any of these leeches. I think putting their names in this blog would only serve to give them a chance to sue me. Believe me, if there was a way, these folks would find it. So, I will leave these denizens of the detox centers well alone. Back to the characters.... I'd like to spend a few moments discussing the staff. These amazing men and women have not only helped me feel better about myself but they have also maintained a level of professionalism unmatched in any field. The pre-dawn duo of Steven and Brian helped start every day off right. Always ready with a smile and truly interested in making things tolerable. Brian with his delivery service and Steven with his understanding of our needs. Katie, my night nurse (more often than not), should get a medal for keeping me sane among the insane. Her smile and pointed questions, combined with her genuine concern for my well-being, kept me alive and kicking during my 2+ weeks in the house. I really wish I could devote pages to all of the incredible people on this ward but I would write myself to death. Suffice it to say they all deserve an enthusiastic "Thumbs Up!" I would be remiss if I did not single out Vicki. She was one of the activity therapy specialists and possibly one of my favorite ladies here. We clicked almost instantly in a way that thrilled me. We had an adversarial but loving relationship. The kind of repartee I truly enjoy. I had a great deal of difficulty deciding whether or not to talk about this last staff member.... Sonya.... Beautiful, demure, sexy, sharp-tongued, intelligent, funny, assertive, sensitive, direct, efficient and just all around HHHHOOOOTTTTT Sonya!!!! I know what you are thinking. How can I possibly view a woman in such a light considering my suicide attempt had a great deal to do with the loss of the woman of my dreams? First of all, since I never heard from said dream girl the entire time I was on the ward, I figure it safe to say there is nothing left there. Secondly, my attraction to Sonya is, for the most part, quite surface. She is presently involved. We have, what amounts to, a clinical relationship. She the Psych Tech, me the patient. Not to mention the fact that I have sworn my heart to only one person should she ever want it and should I ever give it away for real. I bring up and speak about Sonya now because my attraction to her gives me hope that some day I may find someone, somewhere. I know now that due to my most recent mistake that only 100% honesty will work. Nothing short of absolute disclosure will do. Should I EVER (and it's doubtful) decide to enter into a relationship of some kind, I must practice full disclosure. No questions. It's imperative that I succumb to only honesty. That is all of the staff that I feel I can write about but I wish I could write about them all. Alas, I cannot. Needless to say, none of them will be forgotten. They are all unique and colorful and deserve my thanks. The last "inmate" I am going talk about is Wayne. We had similar stories that brought us to the unit but we came from VERY different backgrounds. I was raised in AZ in a nuclear, picture perfect family of 4. Wayne came from a large, disjointed and dysfunctional family that resided in Pennsylvania. Wayne moved to AZ less than a year ago and has 8 years of sobriety and clean time. He is a widower and single father.Wayne found himself on the ward due to severe suicidal thoughts. He felt as if his world was quickly crashing around him and rather than making a poor choice, he chose to get safe. He found safety in the halls of the ward. He quickly, and effortlessly, fell into a leadership role in almost every activity and aspect of daily life. A short man with NO Napoleonic complex and the heart of a lion. The kind of guy you'd love to have in your corner. He came across as a scrapper. That guy that would use a cheap shot if he needed to gain an advantage. All around, a great guy. A big support. A helping hand and a good ear. I hope I can stay in touch with Wayne on the outside. I know we could both use each other. Okay, so there it is. Some of the highlights.... If you can call them that.... I cannot say my time here was enjoyable. I also cannot say it was a complete waste of time. I truly feel as though I have grown. I am quite sure that I am healing. Was this place my salvation? Was it the beginning of the end? Only the higher power knows.....

I thought you meant Miranda Richardson.....Dammit!!!! Oh well.....

So, I spent yesterday doing something I never imagined I would do.... No, I did not spend all day at an S & M day camp learning all of the uses for a bondage mask and a cat-of-nine-tails..... I can truly imagine myself doing that......Hmmmmmmm.... Note to self, check on day camps for adults only. Anywho..... That is not what I was doing. At approximately 2:30pm, I found myself at the Best Buy store in Phoenix. Not just any part of Phoenix. Oh no. Had to be Deer Valley. 35 miles from my humble abode. Vivian and Grandma in tow. Now, either I really wanted a big screen that only that particular Best Buy had or I carted my ample ass all that way to ensure my sweet daughter's chance to meet Miranda Cosgrove in person. I know what you are asking. "Who the HELL is Miranda Cosgrove?" First of all, shame on you if you have kids and don't know who she is. SHAME, SHAME, SHAME!!!!! Second of all, does it matter? Really? I mean, seriously, if your child wanted to meet someone and get an autograph from them at a Best Buy, would it matter what their battery of work included? It just so happens that I do know Miranda Cosgrove and her battery of work because I watch TV with my kid. I find Vivian's shows a refreshing break from the A&E, Discovery Channel, and History Channel programs I tend to navigate towards. Miranda Cosgrove happens to be the star of "iCarly" on Nickelodeon. It's a cute show about a young girl who lives with her older brother and, along with her 2 best friends, produces her own Web show called iCarly. Vivian loves the show, and to be honest, I kinda like it too. Yesterday, as I was waiting for Vivian and her Grandma to return from a birthday party, I noticed in the Arts section of the paper that Miranda herself would be appearing at the aforementioned Best Buy signing copies of her new CD (she sings too!!!!). Well, I knew there would be a line. I anticipated that. I brought water bottles and Grandma. Water to hydrate, Grandma for smoke breaks. What I did not anticipate was the 1,497 other people that would be showing up to get an autograph as well. I also neglected to anticipate that only the first 500 would be guaranteed a chance to get anything. We were numbers 508, 509 and 510 in line. I could spend the better part of 6 or 7 hours typing all of the intricate, gory, exciting and terrifying details of the 5 hours we spent in the line but I will spare you. Believe me, I am sparing you. Suffice it to say, Vivian got to give Miranda the picture she drew for her and get her poster signed. I, myself, got her to sign 2 additional CD's and got a few pictures myself. I have a feeling I know what you people are thinking. You are wondering to yourselves why I am telling you this if I have no intention of bitching and moaning and including you in my private Hell. It's simple, really. IT IS NOT ABOUT ME!!!!!!!!! The amount of stress, struggle, anguish and annoyance I had to endure is inconsequential compared to the joy that Vivian got to experience. The fact that she gets to go to school in the Fall telling all that she met iCarly is more important than the bullshit Granny and I had to deal with. It is that simple. When you are a parent, there are times when you have to say, "FUCK IT!!!!!" Endure the pain. Suck it up. No matter what. It's your baby/babies. They may not appreciate it now. They may not appreciate it 10 years from now. They may never appreciate it. To Your Face. Inside those bodies of theirs though, they will know what you have done for them. Inside of those heads, they will always remember the sacrifices made, the things done, the lines waited in, the concerts/recitals/ball games gone to. If they don't or if they can't, there is nothing you can do about it but spend your life knowing you did all you could. Chances are, they will know. Hold out for it. The payoff is well worth it. At least, I hope it is.

C'mon.....Everyone is doing it.......Just try it..... What are you, a chicken?

"Do unto others as you would have done unto you." - The Golden Rule....




Well, it's a phrase we are all familiar with. What you folks may not know is that this simple phrase is a basic teaching that permeates every single major religion in our world. Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Baha'i Faith, Taoism, and Satanism (yes, Satanism, albeit their version states "Do unto others as they have done unto you" but hey, it's a start....). All of these religions have their own version of this rule but the general idea is the same. Treat people how you want to be treated. Be nice to people if you want people to be nice to you. Do good things for folks if you want folks to do good things for you. Seems pretty simple, eh? Yeah.... Sure it does.... So why is it so hard for people to live by this? Including myself? It seems like such a simple thing. Such an easy way to live through each day. Bullshit!!!! It's not easy. Wanna know why (don't make me say it......you are gonna make me say it aren't you...)? Too bad!!!! I am telling you anyway!!!!!
The reasons we find it so hard to live by this simple parable are as easy to understand as the parable itself. There are a few reasons and I will spell them out clearly as though I am expecting a solution. I am not, though. Expecting a solution. That is not what I am about. Solutions. I am all about causing the problems. Bringing them forward and letting y'all mull them over in your little worlds. Hoping with all of my heart that you will find a solution for me. Okay, here we go..... First problem is that the boundaries are not clearly defined, therefore they are left up to interpretation. Dammit!!!! I have a huge ass pimple behind my ear and now I have one on my chin that hurts like a mother fu.....Uhhhh nevermind...... Interpretation. That is where I left off, that is where I shall return now. If you look at the basic rule, there are no real parameters. Do unto OTHERS. What others? All others? Just family others? Just religious others? Just racial others? If you think about, I mean REALLY think about it, you will see that this is the very root of why this is seemingly so difficult to live by! So many people twist and use this rule to their own advantage and agenda. The Nation Of Islam is supposed to be a pure form of Islam where this parable is taught and yet they hate Jews and call white folk the "white devil." Christians preach this all of the time and yet look at the persecution of other religions throughout the centuries. Not real familiar with any hatred from the Taoists, Baha'i people, or the Buddhists but I bet if I search long and hard enough, I'd find some.....heh heh.... I said long and hard....heh heh..... Anywho..... With this lack of definitive borders, extremists have taken this phrase and turned it into a mantra for isolationism. It's okay not to follow this rule if the other guy ain't one of us! That really sucks. I think. Another reason why this is so hard to follow is basic human nature. I am going to quote one of my favorite movies again to explain this. In "The Untouchables," Robert DeNiro, playing Al Capone, says, "...if you steal from me, I'm gonna say you stole, not have you arrested for spittin' on da sidewalk...." Uhhhhhh what? How does this lead to The Golden Rule and human nature? Simple really. If somebody treats us like crap, we want to call them out. We want to return the favor, or lack thereof. So often it happens, we start our day off at Starbucks, McDonald's or some Quickie Mart and the person who takes care of us just puts us off. They were rude, they screwed up our order, they looked at us funny. Whatever the reason, we are now grumpy. As a result, we take this grumpiness with us to our next destination. Be it work, school, or whatever it is you people do during the day. Whatever it is, you now take your bad attitude and pass it along... Etc.... etc.... and so on.... ad infinitum. Even if you started the day with the best of intentions, one pimply-faced, snot-nosed, mean-spirited Barista from Hell has now caused you to pay the shittiness forward. That really sucks, too. There are , I am quite sure, many other colorful reasons why it is so hard for us to abide by the Golden Rule, and with the cynical mood I am in, I would love to bring them up, but I have to be honest with y'all..... This pimple on my chin is really pissin' me off and I don't want to be angry towards anyone tomorrow so I must end now. I am going to make the world a better place by popping my little problem right now!!!!!!

What draws my admiration? What is that which gives me joy?

"A man becomes preeminent, he's expected to have enthusiasms. Enthusiasms... What are mine? What draws my admiration? What is that which gives me joy? Baseball! A man stands alone at the plate. This is the time for what? For individual achievement. There he stands alone. But in the field, what? Part of a team. Teamwork.... Looks, throws, catches, hustles.Part of one big team. Bats himself the live-long day, Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and so on. If his team don't field... what is he? You follow me? No one. Sunny day, the stands are full of fans. What does he have to say? I'm goin' out there for myself. But... I get nowhere unless the team wins."


-Robert De Niro as Al Capone in "The Untouchables"





Okay, I will admit it. The above quote is a tad bit grim if you have ever seen the movie "The Untouchables." In the scene, Robert De Niro brilliantly plays Al Capone as he is addressing his top commanders in his organization. The above speech is given just before he takes a baseball bat to the back of the head of one of said commanders for screwing something up. It is a gruesome scene with a disgusting fade but the speech is GREAT!!!! I chose two of the lines from the speech for the title of this blog so that is why I felt it was almost mandatory to include the entire speech in deference to Mr. De Niro. Truth be told, the blog is actually going to be full of happiness and wonderful images of things that make me happy. I suppose since this blog will be about a few of my favorite things, I could have used a sweet and sappy quote from the Sound Of Music to lead things off..... Naaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!! Y'all know me better than that. It just wouldn't be like me. I may be a happier, stronger, and less cynical man than I was a year ago but I still have my rough edges. I can still be a bad ass and a rebel..... Well, kinda...... Anywho...... This blog is going to be about two things that make me smile. I mean ear to ear smiling. I mean smiling that just won't go away. Heart smile material. The first smile causer is the laughter of a child....Specifically my child..... The other smile causer is the love of a good woman... No specifics on this one because I said so.....
So most of you know I have a 7 year old daughter by the name of Vivian. If you are reading this on my blogspot website you have seen her picture when you first get here. She is the pretty little girl kissing me under the title "Me and My World." That is just what she is to me. My world. There are too many things about her that make her my world to go into detail on all of them. I can tell you this, though. Her smile and laughter are the 2 things that catapult her to the top of the very short list of favorite people in my life. To meet her is to know her smile is infectious. To play with her is to know her laughter can tame even the most ferocious heart. She is a sweet child. A passionate child. She is empathetic. Deeply spiritual. Loving. Caring. Smart and VERY observant. Things did not work out between her mother and I. She comprehends this and still maintains a level of adjustment that 2 teachers have commented on frequently. Her first 2 teachers in school have both made comments regarding her personality and how she is nothing like most of their students from "broken homes." She is amaZing. She blows me away. She makes me laugh. This is hard to do considering I am the funniest person I know. All of these attributes make her WHO she is but this blog is about WHAT she does to me. When she laughs, no matter what it is about, it puts a smile on my face that takes forever and a day to get rid of. Dammit, I just ended a sentence with a preposition..... Maybe no one noticed..... Keep going dummy.....You know what I am talking about, even if you don't have kids of your own!!! A child's laughter has incredible powers! It can cause a frown from even the grumpiest of Papa's to disappear in an instant. Vivian's laugh can do that to her Papa. It can make my worst day seem like a drop in a bucket. Maybe because I know all of the other good stuff about her. Maybe because it's a cute laugh. Maybe it's just 'cause I love her. Who really cares why. I just hope she never stops laughing.
The second thing that makes me perma-grin is the love of a woman. Hoo-ah!!!!! Love sweet love. A year and a half ago, I would have told you there is no such thing as love. If you pressed me hard enough to admit there was love in the world I would possibly relent to the idea of love but not that there was love out there for me. Not from a woman, at least. I would hope not from a man but definitely not from an evil, satanic, demonic, Hellish vixen who only wanted to, once again, suck the very life out of me and leave me for dead. No sir!!!! Did not want that. Not ever again. Guess what.....? I have changed my opinion of, not only women, but of love from women!!!!! I have discovered over the last year or so that it is possible to get love from a woman. I have discovered that said love is not too bad at all!!!! I have discovered that not all women are of the succubus species that most men have grown accustomed to. There are a few out there that really get it. They get men. They understand what we are and what we are about. They see past our crap and see through to the soft chewy centers and take it in all the way. They love us. This makes me smile. Every single day. It makes me smile ear to ear. It makes my heart smile. Wow, I did get pretty sappy there, didn't I? Glad I started off with De Palma. I would get labeled very unfairly, otherwise......