Lighter
Okay, I'll try to lighten up. The former story was in fact a Father's day tribute to my dad. I showed it to a woman at work and she said she liked it but couldn't I write something that was happy? Happy? I don't know. It seems as if when I breaking up, heart shreaded, blah, blah, blah, is the only time my writing juices start flowing. I lead the river of slime out of my body, through my head, down my arm and through my hand...
Dad...RIP
If only his last words were, “It’s okay, son. I’m okay, you’re a good boy…” I might not be so consumed with those modern TV, “this is real life” moments. Isn’t that how it always ended? With some witty last words? Something to comfort the living, something to wrap up the grieving like a down comforter on those bone chilling, New England winter mornings? It wasn’t like that though when my Dad passed away.
A blistering snowstorm outside blanketed that morning with an early evening cottony and puffy haze. My dad and I were the only two people on the planet that day. We were sharing the same hospital bed that we had just slid into the evening before. I had my dad’s head cradled in my lap from behind and was softly stroking his hair. I whispered urgently how much he was loved and that he was going to a better place. He would soon be with his beloved mother that he so desperately missed his past 50 years. I was brave but my voice cracked relentlessly many times. My breaths came deeply, numbly but I kept whispering. Total lapses of movement, a slight gasp and then another round of shallow breaths punctuated several attempts of my dad’s breathing. My verbal epitaphs took on a despairing urgency. I had to let him know through his drug-induced coma that it was okay to leave us. Then the expected, dreaded and ultimately feared cessation happened. The moment he passed it was as if a motor was dying. The belief pounded down ferociously, tenderly, painfully as the seconds kept their relentless count and his chest wouldn’t move.
“Dad?” No, not yet! I wasn’t done! It’s not fair! He didn’t have a chance to say his famous last words! “Dad?”
I hugged him harder, squeezed his head closer to my quivering lips, “Dad? No Dad, no, no…I’m not really ready for you to go”. I might have been but I couldn’t recognize myself on that path of our world’s most natural cycle. At least not without that claustrophobic darkening awareness closing in. My hands moved from his shoulders to his chest and back, trying to fight off the coolness that was slowly claiming my Dad’s body.
“Dad?” It’s oddly queer the kind of thoughts that try to lease space in your head at a moment like this. I could hear the New England Patriots on the TV in the next room winning their playoff game. “Ah Dad, you’ve waited so long for the Pat’s to win, you couldn’t have waited another couple of hours?” The Norman Rockwell moment of Father and Son sharing a bowl of pretzels and watching the playoffs slowly took form mentally. A roaring fire in the background, squirrels on the windowpane with chestnuts in their jowls, Mom in the kitchen pulling a pan of cornbread muffins out of the oven with that otherworldly smile on her face. Or like in the movies with Mom and Dad laughing, Bro and Sis sharing
. a conspiratorial look with half a smile. We’d roar when the ball sailed through the uprights! Go Patriots! Whooohooo! The popcorn bowl accidentally spilling causing more laughter. Hell, even on TV they’d all be sharing the couch in the same room, laughing, hooting, and hollering for their team. TV, TV, TV. The land of TV families. My family was a TV family
, somewhere between Fear Factor and ER, Life in the Emergency Room. My dad would be dead as he is now and my mom would be a nuclear bomb, just like she is now. It was polarity, it was gas and water or fire depending on the moment, it was unclear, unfocused and very asphyxiating, We didn’t grow up, we survived.
TV families were the breeze ruffling aspen leaves on a crisp, spring morning in the woods. The crunch of pine needles, the smell of eucalyptus, the deep blue of alpine lakes, the rustling of a startled deer. I adored and believed in such fantasy. I hugged my Dad harder, brought him closer to my head, hoping that those fantasies would flow into him. “I know Son, that was what we all wanted. But don’t worry, you were always a good boy! I always loved you and always will, just from a different place now.” My mental Dad speaking to me.
I’ve agonized over the fates that put me in that room that morning. I was physically exhausted from staying up all night, holding him, massaging his hands, his hair. I was repeating myself to him all night about departing peacefully and gracefully. I don’t know where all that came from. Yes I do, it was my love from that super secret protected place. You know the place that you couldn’t even get there with that drilling truck they used to journey to the center of the earth. Sometimes under extreme stress, you could scratch the surface and I’d say things that were romantically challenged or dramatically wounding. But under normal conditions (what the hell is normal!) it would remain dormant and I would just react to life. React to life, which is what I was doing now. “DAD!! Not now Dad!”
I had gone out into the hallway barefoot looking for a nurse. My hair was ratcheted, my eyes were ringed with artery popping bloodstains, I was scratching my butt and mumbling about my dad passing away, could someone please help me? I went back into his room and threw myself over his chest and wailed. He was really gone and no, no last words. At that moment a low, deep moan escaped his chest. It was the last air being released from his lungs after being jarred by my body. It was definitely my dad’s voice, I could tell from the timbre, the range, the familiar tone of Dad. It wasn’t much in the way of “I love you son” but I wasn’t complaining. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” That was it. My dad truly gave me a gift that unforgettable morning. Many gifts actually. I could translate that moan in as many ways, many last words as my little mind would let me do. To have that knowledge physically of his last warmth passing through my hands, my face, my lips was so powerful. No TV show could ever record such a moment. Nothing has transcended my dad’s love for his family than those final hours we shared together. Time to change the channel or rather, turn the TV off.
RIP...January 27, 2002
Here is the ticket for the show that night...
The Thursday Post
Okay, so I'm not as fluent on here as I would like to be. I have things to do but I can always find ways to circumvent them. I'm listening to a recording of a
Grateful Dead concert from Oakland Coliseum on Feb. 23, 1992. I've been hoping I could find this because it was an intense show for me at the time. I was restless, irritable and wholly discontent with my life. I hated Sacramento and wanted to MOVE AWAY, far far away. I had no idea how I would do this. My half sister lived in New Hampshire and my parents lived in Bellingham, WA. There was no way I would go up to be that close to my parents. Puuhleaseee! I think 975 miles is the minimun distance for that relationship to barely survive. NH would be out of the question as I couldn't take my son that far from his mommy. He was 5 at the time. I was 7 years sober and just not willing to deal with my reality. I had fun, don't get me wrong, but it was the 4am in the morning wake up horrors that would get to me. I had to be a strong father for my son, my boy, my little squirrel. But what the fuck do I know about contentment? Spaz at heart, Don Quixote in spirit, stumbler in reality. Oh god how I could have used a drink! That was my heart of heart thinking. I needed a woman! Oh how I needed a relationship to help me stop thinking of this shit. I regress.
So here I am inside the Coliseum listening to this band and actually connecting in a meditative kind of way. I've never been a "dead-head" but I liked their atmosphere at shows. Could only sing the chorus, would never or could never quite hear what they or anyone for that matter, was singing about in their songs...but it was the element for me. I was literally blown out of my head for a delicious couple of hours. They went off on a Terrapin Station and I was tripping. I felt so completely content. I didn't even know where I was. Just flirting with the power of music as release. I didn't know what I was in for. Literally I was ascending. Now, no drugs, alcohol, nothing, just playing with the universe that was presented to me that evening. It's always been the actual music of songs for me, not the lyrics. Just me...so that is what took hold of me that gentle, mental cradling evening. The transcendent blending, building up, then down, stepfully, hynoptically calming all the cells in my brain...all of them...all the doubts, all the insecurities...all the anxieties about futures...the slight peel of the guitar tickling the boundaries of my oneliness...I am part of all of this...there is so much going on audibly but it is so soothing, so soft, so full, exciting parts of my sore mind beyond any standard reality. I can stay here I feel. Can I? It's not real but it sure is tempting. It's not a feeling that I could ever find in drugs or drink. Mickey Hart then brought out these Tibeten Monks to assist in a long drum solo. Very deep, primeval touching there. That rhythm that is so linked in the unconscious memory of our early souls. Inside our cells. We can meet each other there, the self, the real self, the today self. The feeling was pure, it was a moment that was so serene. If there is hope in my world, I thought, I felt it truly that night. That dazzling night under the same stars that I travel with every evening.
Graduation
Last night my son graduated from high school. Whew. We did it. Well, it was actually his mom who did most of the work. I just provided a place for his video gaming. So the graduation was @ Arco Arena and a wonderfully rainy night. But it was great for me to see my son get his diploma. His mom gave him a card with pictures going back to the day he was born. Really classic gift. My little
squirrel is a young man now!
The event itself was pretty elaborate and the principal was so pleased with hearing his voice! He must of felt like he was delivering the solution to world peace...oh my god! If I hear the "first graduating class of Franklin High of 2005" again I will SCREAM....he was yelling into the mike, excuse me, that is why it is a
MICROPHONE! Creeerist I had to plug my ears after about 29 minutes of his top of the
mountain pontification!The highlight of the night, other than seeing Ry get his diploma was my
sister and my ex-wife (Ry's mom) just cut the place up. They're incendiary when they're together...well, not bad incendiary, but just rip-roaring
hilarious! It was much needed relief for the endless pomp.
I was moved though at the energy some of these students had for their tenure in high school. Motivated, excited, energentic and happy. I'm not going to go into my
attitude when I graduated! Not the academic attitude that I wished for my son. Okay, that's it for the links. Too much!
Hypo...
Jesus...I read a few guides on hypomania and I start falling into the "yeah I'm really bipolar" crowd! "they tend to overestimate their capabilities and fail to see the obvious risks involved in their ventures....Other forms of less inhibited behavior include reckless driving, gambling, spending sprees and sexual adventures. They may also have lots of new ideas but do not follow them through. They are often very jolly to be with but can become impatient if they cannot do what they want."
Enter siteDid I mention spending sprees? Oh god, I can't control my spending habits. I'm an expert at justifying buying a Plasma TV on a Walkman budget. Substance abuse...well I'm in recovery and have been this time for 10 years. Thank god I don't have that nightmare to deal with.
I just don't know how to finally feel about all of this. I'm sure it's not life threatening (if I stay on the meds). I don't like the medication intake, not at all. I'd like one more test with nothing chemical in my head and see what happens. This is what my psychiatrist is afraid of. BTW...have you ever been to a psychiatrist? Where's the love? Where's the comfort?
"How are you?"
"How are doing with the medication?"
"Are you still being compliant?"
"Okay, let's increase your Welbutrin 150 mg and that will increase your energy."
"Have a nice week! Come back in a month!"
Here's another little article from this
site"...various mood states in manic-depressive illness are often thought of as a spectrum of continuous range. At one end is severe depression (yes), which flows into moderate depression (yes). Next come mild, brief mood disturbances that many people call "the blues" then a normal mood (yes). As the pendulum of mood swings the other way, the person experiences mild mania (hypomania) and then full BLOWN mania. (Still in denial about this even though I was in the psych ward twice in a 5 week period) However, the transitions from one stage or phase of mood state to the next are not always smooth, complete, and/or identifiable. (No shit)
Okay, given all that, why not have fun with this crap?! I think I'm on the upward swing so I am curious to see what happens in the next few days or weeks.
Pie Bowling...
What dictates bipolar illness? I've read as much as my attention span will let me and I refuse to be open minded (no pun) about this. I have a deeply clutched stigma about this. I'm just not impressed with the psychiatric system. It could be my rationalization and the pop commercialization of bipolar today. I am in recovery and through my association with people in there, it seems as if everybody is bipolar!
One of the symptoms is hypermania. Spending, flying high, king like power, creative, unsinkable. Now I have probably felt like that a few times, even once thinking I could be the next messiah but I just didn't know it, that's how the plan was supposed to be. You know, God in his awesome, universally wisdomed power didn't want me to know until the day before all the Wal-Marts and cell-phones are destroyed and life on this planet would come to a screaming halt. Just a phantasy? Yeah, just a phantasy. But seriously, I don't know and don't believe that I could have hit those highs that have been described so definitively in my readings. Now, to cover their bases (the psychiatric world) , symptoms also include hypomania. The polar opposite of hyper. I like the use of polar here...much less malignant. I'll describe the symptoms of hypo tomorrow...
1960...when pennies were shiny
Pie Bowler
I have had a lot of interesting events occur since my 1st blog. First, I left my marriage, what a whollop that was. Next, with increasing intensity I felt the need to terminate my time on this planet. I knew it was serious this time because the thought of leaving my only son behind didn't stop the flow. I had to do something. I hadn't had any substances for 9+ years and it was either get loaded or load my head with lead. Fortunately I was staying with a understanding and wonderfully caring couple during my transition of leaving my wife and they convinced me to voluntarily check in to the local psychiatric facility. Wow. No shoe laces, no belts, no cell phone, no sleep, fucking little mental classes all day long. You can't wait to get outside just to breathe sane air. Not that all the people I was holed up with were crazy, just a little off kilter. No boundaries as far as VOLUME, privacy, subject matter that far away look in their eyes. It didn't matter though, as bad as I thought they might be, I was in there with them all the way. It's interesting to think that now you're in the system. I was diagnosed with bi-polar illness. Fuck. What did I do to earn this? I had this diagnosis earlier from a different psychiatrist prior to this visit and I politely and frankly denied his diagnosis and refused to take the medication that he so freely gave me. Nice gesture though!
All this shit started a year before I left the "honeymoon year" of our marriage. We had been having some serious communication issues and despite pleading with Belle to see a therapist she refused on the grounds that we shouldn't need an outside party to help us communicate. Hello! We're not communicating now. I went and during the first session the therapist was convinced I was ADHD. No such thing I told her.
Apparantly I was wrong. About two weeks before this I swore to myself that I wouldn't take any medication for anything, sleepness nights, mild allergies, etc. Now here I was, faced with this clincal disappointment (to me) and possible meds for the rest of my life (only when I was awake). The psychiatrist confirmed it. I was partially in the system now.
Now this other psychiatrist I went in to see so I could possibly change my medication because I thought it wasn't making any changes. He kind of led me with questions and determined without a doubt that I was bipolar. So when I told him no and asked for different ADHD medication he said okay and gave me...uh...something with a lot of speed in it! Yahoooo. A recovering addict on speed and crashing into the end of a marriage. Life is bold, life is so daring! Needless to say, combined with depression, denial about my actions, illness, huge self esteem issues I crashed. Hard.
