pilgrim's quest

i must confess
to suffer still
dwelling here in
this cluttered hut
just as if i'm
passing through
on some endless
search for that place
i might know peace

if home is where
the heart is
then this seeker
must move on
tis time again
to pack yon
roadworn bag
and continue on
this solitary quest

there's nothing like
the open road to
test one's living faith
there has never
been a time
the gypsy gods
weren't there
to offer comfort
care and guidance
while i trudged along
the pilgrim's trail

it was not like
here and now
trapped behind these
cold bare walls
within this sterile
man-made box
where the gods
seem sometimes
somewhere near
but surely never here

i am like the
life long sailor
who's been beached
upon dry land
longing for those
carefree days at sea

the seaman needs
no god to bow to
for tis wind and tide
the sun and stars
that in the end decide
the mariner's fate

dark and stormy night

tis a dark and stormy night

i'm huddled yet again
within this cluttered hut
troubled by the
chilling sense that
the 'witches 3'
are lurking near

halloween is the
perfect time for
creatures of the
mirror-world to
skulk and prowl about

the 'witches 3'
are calling me
i can hear
their haunting echo
drifting through
the misty shadows
just beyond the gate

that eerie forlorn
hollow sound 
seems from some
unknown other world
where neither dead
nor living dwell

yes, the 'witches 3'
linger just outside
the double bolted door
i can feel it in the
marrow of my bones

it's clear to me
what they have in mind
i have always known
they would not ever rest
til they've captured and
returned me through
that cursed rabbit-hole
to their topsy-turvy
backward land
where here is there
and then is when
with no such
place as here
nor time as now

the mirror's lens
cannot allow for things
to show as true
for at that mystic
meeting place
that line tween
here and there
things are only
ever as they seem
and never never
as they truly are
 
the 'witches 3'
must feel certain
that it won't be long
til their quarry's won
for on this
special eve of magic
their collective
power is strong

i must not venture
out this night as it's
a fool's errand at best
but the 'witches 3'
are quite aware
that common sense
has not always been
something i possess

i dwelt there in that
mirror-world for
quite some time, you see
long enough that
front looked much
like back to me

it wasn't til
fate beckoned
i escaped through
the looking-glass
that i would
come to realize
hope for lasting peace
lay right here in
this time and place
where there and then
meet where and when
in the everlasting
here and now

these words i speak
do serve as comfort
it's good to know
that you are here
this helps to ease
the dreadful fright
as their hypnotic chant
might yet lure
me out again
into this dark
and stormy night

where were you ?

dear sweet mum 
where were you then
while the beast
was on the loose ?
it seemed when help
was needed most
you were never
there for me
you were there
yes....you were
there of course
but you really weren't
there, were you ?
as you didn't ever
offer aid or solace
for the bitter pain
of living at the mercy
of that cruel and
heartless one

he was not the same
while you were gone
he seemed to slip
his human bonds
to run rampant
with a feral vengeance
to ensure that those
about him dearly pay
for his endless days
in ancient shackles

it could be seen
behind his eyes
like some famished
creature on the prowl
seeking out it's prey
his focus somehow
oddly distant
set many miles away

he couldn't know
that which he did
while freed of
his constraints
for he was not
the master then
only just the
beast run wild

if he could have known
the terror struck
within the breast
of this helpless child
i choose to think he
would have turned
back towards his
familiar chains

i'm sure he would have
if he only could have
his heart though must
have been so stony
hard and bitter icy cold

it must have been
that way for him
while he was
but a guileless boy
i wonder if he
ever felt at home
at ease and safe

i cannot say what
his truth was then
only that today
i truly pray
for the soul
of such a sick
and troubled one
so that he may
rest in blessed peace

mum, you're not
around to answer
to these solemn words
i can't begin to dream
where you may be
but it seems
to me that still
you are not here

where were you, mum ?
were you ever
really there ?
where are you, mum ?
can you be here now ?
wherever it is
you are, mum
may your soul
rest in blessed peace

amen

pandora's box

there is a fearsome beast within
huddled tense and waiting
in the cold dark furthest corner
of this battered broken heart

it lies alert to any signal
that might offer hope
of bursting through
it's ancient chains to
prowl freely once again

it's steely sinews quiver
as it crouches in it's haunt
those feral eyes
are burning bright
with a hellish crimson glare

there never was a time
when this infernal cur
wasn't lurking in
that icy darkness
awaiting still and silent
upon that perfect moment
for it's chance to pounce

it was the forgeman
who did commit
the awful creature 
to it's eternal lair
as only he could see
the need for such a
ruthless guardian there

an open letter

this is an open letter
one which i suspect
will bounce right off
the other's noggin
to fall clattering
upon the cellar floor

why choose to write ?
why then speak at all ?
i cannot answer this
it seems the lesser of the sins
at least to bear my soul
if i don't reveal
this profound concern
how may i serve at all ?
i hear your plea for help
hidden neath those words
whenever you express yourself
it's like a mournful cry
though others may not hear
and likely cannot see
these eyes and ears 
are finely tuned
to one such as thee
it's not what it is you say
but how the words are spoken
that pains this lover's heart

i must be still
and let you be
however you might suffer
i pray for thee
that in your time
you may cease to rage
there is no victory to gain
from that war
you choose to wage
there is no way
to embrace the light
while sword and shield
are still in hand

the enemy is
at the gate
it has always
been this way
no matter how dark
appears the night
tis ever followed
by light of day

now what now ?

okay
this is a new now
it's a whole bunch
of new nows
all strung together
now after now after now
etcetera ad infinitum
what now ?
okay now....

what now ?

i was in such
a blessed hurry
to gain patience
why'd it take so long ?

that other now
which we call then
and some future now
which we call when
and all the other nows
don't seem to mind
how they're strung along

then when we
get to when
it then won't
be when then
as when will
then be now

it will certainly
be then when
we reach that
future when
and this now
shall be then but
it won't be then
as when would
then be now

it won't be then
when we reach the end
of all the nows
we've strung together

we'll be then at
yet another now
in that then
we know as when

it shall still be
now of course
when when
and then begin

there is no end
to the beginning
of the string of nows
as at the time
when then meets when
it shall then be now

it's now we
must consider how
to be here now
not then or when
as at the end
of the beginning
it's the beginning
of the end

then then when
when meets then again
there's nothing then 
but to be here now
and now
and now
and now
not then or when

only then is when
to be here now

now....
what now ?
now what now ?

what now ?

what now ?

not what if
not what then
but only just

what now ?

if someone were to
view a work of art
that did provoke....

what now ?

what is there
to say to that ?
the mystery
would sure abide
behind the viewer's eye

the artist might be lying
in a drunken stupor
under some sleazy
bar-room table
at that moment
in space and time

or long deceased....

or worse yet
trapped within
a living death
dependent on
the fickle favour
of some other

if you cut me
i will bleed
i am not the
words i utter
i shall not
always be here

so pass the
bread and butter
this could
very well be
the time of
our last supper

i am not some
cardboard character
performing in your
convenient cartoon-land

i am that one
who's the least of us
i am that long
forgotten friend
i have died along
the concrete highway
again and again and again

what now ?

there's no secret hidden
behind these words
it's all up front to see

if i'm not living
here and now
when shall i ever be ?

if this is true for me
it's likely so for thee

there is no answer
to this riddle
only just to be

the answer is
to be the question
tis all that's left for me

what now ?

i am a thief

it started early....
the first memories of stealing are at age 7....heading downtown with my older brother to shoplift at 'eatons' department store
i think it was more for the thrill of succeeding than anything else....as i don't remember swiping anything of actual importance to a 7 year old.
our family moved to another neighbourhood at my age 8
there were several shops within walking distance that sold candy, soda pop, chocolate bars, chips, comic books and such.
now we were into serious business....everything available to meet our needs
by this time i was old enough to begin part-time as a work animal for my father
delivering magazines, flyers and newspapers, cutting lawns, shoveling snow
the rule was simple for my brothers and myself
all of the proceeds went into my father's hand
from which he would allot us a meager allowance
certainly not nearly enough to keep us in daily snacks and such
by nine years old i was smoking cigarettes along with my running mates
we discovered a convenient source
our neighbour behind us was in the habit of leaving a box filled with cartons of cigarettes in the back of his station wagon
pilfering these got us started and of course we were soon addicted to nicotine and had to get our daily supply somehow
we then began almost a decade long routine of cruising for milk bottle money....as in those days on weekends it was customary for folks to leave empty milk-bottles on their front porch with cash inside for the milkman to collect and fill their orders.
we also discovered a clever method of "milking" globe and mail newspaper boxes for cash
it was several years before the boxes were upgraded to theft-proof designs
this provided basic cigarette money from my age 9 til about 15
i couldn't count how much i stole from my mother's waitressing tip money
whenever the opportunity seemed to present itself i stole
there was always a need for more cash
i was a working man by age 11
by this time i was attending school regularly as well as working 5 or 6 nights weekly at a local bowling alley as a pinboy
all of my peers smoked cigarettes, most were around my age or a little older
weekend days were filled with caddying at local golf courses or in colder weather delivering groceries by bicycle
during the summer it was caddying everyday as long as school was out
all of those earnings (which averaged $30 to $35  weekly for each of us five boys) went into my father's pocket with the exception of an "allowance" of $1 or $2 weekly
by 12 years of age our felonious sights were aimed somewhat higher
we began to perform "break and enter" jobs, hitting restaurants, gas stations, local business offices,
and even the bowling alley that employed us.
i don't think a week went by without us having stolen something to feed our lifestyles.
of course to be a successful thief it soon became obvious i needed to be a skilled liar
it didn't take a rocket-scientist to understand that getting caught would incur our father's considerable wrath.
3 different occasions we were able to make off with large sacks full of cigarettes from back counters at local stores we had "hit"
we were never nabbed for these capers....but on one occasion my father discovered our hiding place and confiscated them for his personal use.
what stands out upon looking back is this....nothing seemed wrong with this picture
it was a somewhat common story for many kids living on the edge of little italy in hamilton ontario
some of my running mates were named angelo, nino, pasquale
i was later to discover they were the actual sons of local mafioso
the culture was simple....there was no crime in stealing....only in getting caught
my dad knew i smoked from age 11, his rule was simple, go ahead and smoke, but don't let him catch me.
i never did....i will always remember my parent's birthday gift to me at 14 years of age....a carton of cigarettes and a lighter.
i was now legal in my father's eyes....i could smoke in the house....this was a big day for me !
somehow it represented a rite of passage....into what i'm still not sure
i was still a work animal and stealing was a necessity to sustain my habits.
something important happened at around age 13, i began to grow, and with years of physical labor behind me, i was becoming quite strong and fit, as well as a skilled fighter.
what this meant was that my father seemed less inclined to hit me, i was beginning to represent the possibility of physical retaliation in his eyes.
like the perfect bully and coward he was, he just moved down the line and continued picking on the younger smaller ones.

as described in "for bruce" entry....the stealing stopped at around age 16
the possibility of jail scared this thief straight

more true confessions from later life regarding stealing to come.....

i am a liar

i am a liar
so sayeth the truth-teller !

sometimes i lie about my late father
i want the world to understand what kind of a monster he was at times
sometimes i exaggerate details to make him seem more demonic and myself more the innocent victim
although most of what i've reported occurred before i was of legal responsible age
i was in fact an innocent, helpless, hostage and victim
these were the formative years
it's no surprise i would be hard-wired this way

what was the lie ?

he did not actually kick my front teeth out at age 12
a combination of poor oral hygeine, several hard blows to my face by him, the fact that our tap water was not fluoridated....and sugar sugar sugar.....combined to contribute to the dentist deciding my 4 front adult teeth had to be removed at age 12

the rest written here is the truth as i know it today

of course he was a human being
he wasn't all bad
perhaps now since publicly revealing the sins and crimes he committed behind closed doors
i might be able to objectively acknowledge the positive influences he was responsible for

this i pray for

even speaking of him causes me to shudder and cringe
that culture of terrorism, minimizing and denial
and especially the taboo regarding speaking at all
still seems second-nature within me

i cannot exaggerate the depth of terror i lived with as a child
i cannot imagine a more fearsome being than how my father appeared to me
he is an example of the ultimate bully !
whatever his intentions, he was responsible for soul-rape upon me
he consistently demonstrated utter disregard for my humanity
and profound indifference as to my life's hopes and aspirations
i was in fact considered less than human by him
i was a work animal
i was useful as long as i was able to continue working
and providing him with his necessary pocket money
this is not an exaggeration....it is the stone cold truth

i doubt that much of what occurred was personal
it was what he knew....
in my objective opinion, he was criminally insane
he didn't ever seem to think there was anything askew with his world view
i heard him say " i'm sorry " once....shortly before he died
i did not believe him then....i don't know what to believe now

i imagine i've experienced whatever human shortcomings that he likely suffered with
fortunately certain people i physically harmed didn't die...or myself at other times
the cycle of violence did play out for me well into my late 30's
fortunately, i've received so much help
i've always known i needed help
although it took some time to seek it out
i imagine he could never accept that he needed help
i remember as a child thinking....if only my father would get some help
i heard my mother say that many times
of course he never did seek help

i see people around me daily that remind me of him
people in "recovery" who have found a way to stop drinking alcohol
but seem to have no interest in risking letting go of their negative, resentful and vindictive ways
my father carried those beliefs and attitudes to his grave

it's been quite a journey through life seeking to find some redeeming qualities about my father
yet being absolutely blinded by the visceral horror of his sins and crimes visited upon me and my family

the worst criminal i've ever encountered was he.
the most domineering, vile and toxic human being i've ever encountered was he
the most manipulative merciless mind-raper i've ever encountered was he
i've been around and had a look
what i say is true

his soul has long ago been in the hands of the powers that be

if he were to appear today, i wonder if i could face him eye to eye

this man who saw no problem with rubbing my face in dog-shit and pissy sheets
this man who struck me hundreds of times about the face and head
without the ability to defend myself or tell anyone
this man who murdered me twice....only i didn't die
this man who murdered my 2 older brothers....only they didn't die
this man who forced me (us) to watch as he viciously beat one or more of my siblings
this man who had a habit of beating our dogs mercilessly....so many nights i cried myself to sleep having to listen to the mournful whelps and yowls coming from downstairs
this man who made a career out of degradation, invalidation and visiting me (us) with bitter contempt
seeming to take perverse pleasure from this
this man who tortured and mind-raped me as a distraction from his boredom
this man who systematically stole my childhood and any hopes for a functional life
this man who robbed me of any hope of fathering children

i had become such a dangerous violent person, i instinctively knew i must not have kids
i knew i would hurt them
i knew i could not control the explosive temper i had developed during early days at his hands

how could i ever dream of forgiving this human being ???
how ???

i don't know....i i imagine i might never know....

so many days, months, years, decades of carrying this sorrow, grief, hurt, indignation and rage....
the rage at being left S.O.L. and absolutely on my own by everyone and anyone who might have helped back in those hurtful days
the rage at being exiled by the only living survivors (my sibs) of what happened
seemingly to protect their preferred collective version of where they come from

please god relieve me of this burden
i cannot go on like this
forgive him as he knew not what he did
god rest his soul...and mine as well

amen

what's love got to do with it ?

what's love got to do with anything ?

everything !

looking back over
life gone by
it seems so clear to me
i've had to
medicate myself
in order just to bear
the unexpected visitations
of those daunting
ghosts and demons....
horror, terror
hopelessness and despair

in so doing
i lost the will to feel
unconditional heartfelt love
for anyone or anything
i could think love's thoughts
and dream love's dreams
i could imagine
being that one in love
but the sorry truth
was i could not
ever be that love
as i'd forgotten
how to feel

by some tender mercy
i now do hear
love's subtle song
softly played upon 
my own heart's strings
this is the grace
of these living days

i live alone
i eat alone
i sleep alone
yet, within my being
i know a love for
all within creation

if i were to depart today,
i'd miss you one and all
and what's curious to me
is that i'd miss that
very farthest star
perhaps the most of all

it seems there's
neither good nor evil
that human thinking
doesn't make it so....

words borrowed
from the bard

there's nought that's
not divinely cast
i've always had these eyes
and through a
simple leap of faith
i now have come to see

just as you are
to the least of us
so are you
to thee and me....

as spoken by
the man called "jesus"

the powers that be
have granted me
blessed peace of mind....
and consequently....
a truly grateful
open and willing heart

no way home

i think it's time
to share the truth
of how i came about

the mirror-land
through that rabbit's hole
is where i started out

i know first-hand
the elephant and
the naked king
and everyone through
that looking-glass
is familiar with
the 'witches 3'

i grew up just
around the bend
from where they
gained their infamy

i've moved away
of conscious choice
as here is where
my home shall be

but neither elephant,
nor naked king
and least of all
the 'witches 3'
have any choice
of where to be

for they are
ever stranded in
exile for their deeds
they can never
go back there
yes it's here they're
doomed to be

they long for their
topsy-turvy world
where back is front
and here is there

if only they could
scheme a way
to trick the guardian
at the rabbit's hole

they don't know how
to be at peace
when the opposite
of what they think
proves always to be so

the same old tale

hiding in my hut again
afraid to venture out
a week's gone by
since the 'witches 3'
had cast their spell about

they will recognize me
from that other realm
with just one glance
i would be found out

i must not break
their unspoken rule
nor speak the truth of
what they're all about

they know behind
their prideful blindness
that i can really see
where it is they're at and
what they wish for me

it's the same old tale
and the same old trap
that they have set for me

the elephant, the naked king
and the sly old 'witches 3'

they cannot e'er be
seen as they truly are
only for what they seem

they have no use
for one like me as i'd
only blow their scheme

the elephant, the naked king,
and the 'witches 3'
can't really be to blame

they cannot help
where they came from
it's all they knew you see

the mirror world
down that rabbit's hole
was always front to back

i must be hidden away
from their probing gaze
of this there is no doubt

they cannot dare risk
someone like me exposing
what they're all about

there can be no rest
for these exiled ones
never shall there be

for they're ever stranded
in this limbo world and
home they'll never see

open mind - open heart

an open heart
how shall this come about ?

first i must have an open mind
how shall that come about ?

i cannot relieve myself
of the problem of
close-mindedness
if i could have done so
i would have done by now

what does an open mind
look like through these eyes ?
a clear and unencumbered
state of awareness...
peace of mind

personal experience has shown
that once i had been triggered
into some distraction
regarding people, places, things
my mind snapped shut
while those grinding gears
were set again in motion
no more open mind
therefore, no hope
of an open heart

it was the process of resenting
someone or another
that was the distraction itself

regardless of the details
the individual or group involved
my mind was in an altered state
that which was not free or open

resentment is the killer
it is always waiting
waiting just to take me
for another hellish ride

i must choose to pray
to be relieved
of this obsession
no longer can i run
or fight or hide

and who or what
shall be the one
to offer this relief ?

a higher power
of my understanding

the very 'higher power'
that i prayed to
while at the very
bottom of the pit

PLEASE HELP ME, GOD !

yes, that 'higher power'
who subtly whispered in my ear

STOP DIGGING !

that 'higher power'

yes, that one !

i had to pray
to be relieved
of the stubborn will
to keep on fighting

then freely choose to
offer up that will  
to the care and protection
of my 'higher power'
and because of this
and this alone
i am living still

there is a prayer
that i know of
heaven sent
i have no doubt

this is a sick one
that i deal with
i am sick as well
how may i be
of service?
please save me
from anger
and resentment
thy will be done
not mine

it's the only
thing that works
and it works every time

this simple prayer

sometimes it is
the only thing
that saves me from
a journey into hell

this simple prayer

when sincerely uttered
can bring those
grinding wheels
to a halt

only then can this mind
be open and at peace
bringing renewed hope
for a free and open heart

cross to bear

i have had to
close these eyes
for relief from
the blindness
that's been
visited upon me

your silence cries
an urgent warning
you know not 
what it is you do
or who it is you see

i did not choose
this bloody cross
that has been
prepared for me
to save you from
your sightless state
so that you might
claim to see

i must not opt 
to leave it now
the wheel of life
has turned again
our drama must
continue til it's
prophetic end
only then might you
come to know
what it is you do
and who it is you see

it was never me that
you were looking at
twas only ever thee
yes, only thee
your blindness
was complete
it was impossible
for you to see

if you could have
closed those eyes
you might have
come to see
it was not me
you placed upon
this bloody cross
twas only ever thee
yes, only thee

what's for dinner ?

it was the scrawniest
of the 'witches 3'
who sputtered with
a raspy wheeze
i shall brew the tea

and i will stoke the fire
spat the plump and warty one
with a cackling snort

the tall imperious crone
looked down her haughty nose
while chortling to herself
i must keep a lookout
for our guest when he's about

the hatter, hare and dormouse,
were restless in their seats
they'd been waiting far too long now
to discover what's to eat

a little bit of this
with just a pinch of that
and 2 large gobs of
something scraped from
within the hatter's hat

that's what we'll add
while our supper simmers
our special guest
ought soon arrive....yum !

he's never late
to the dinner-plate
of this we can be certain

so say the 'witches 3'

more from the witches 3

i'm here to fill
some role in a
script i cannot see
there is someone
to direct the scenes
what i know is
that it isn't me

i suspect we all
are rehearsing lines
til the moment
we shall meet

the 'witches 3' have
been behind the scenes
until it's time for tea
their brick oven is awaiting
the kettle's whistling with glee

the hatter, hare and dormouse,
are settling in for tea
what's for dinner ?
cry the threesome
as we'll be hungry after tea

our old lost friend
will soon be here as
we've invited him for tea
yes, we shall surely see
what's for dinner after tea

so say the 'witches 3'

so say the 'witches 3'

so say the witches 3

what's certain ?
nothing !

there are no words to explain
what's been transpiring here
the answers lay between the lines
if one were just to see
first though it seems
one must choose to look

it's been impossible
to gauge what's true
while peering through
such troubled eyes

what i held as gospel yesterday
proves wholely false today
just another bread-crumb
along some winding path
while stumbling through
this tangled earthly forest

to the abode of the 'witches 3'

the 'witches 3', the 'witches 3',
they think they're hiding
but i can see

the elephant, the naked king,
and the witches 3
yes, i can see

how can that be ?

i've been to the land
where they hail from
i know what they're all about
it's mirror business
down that rabbit's hole
of this there is no doubt

i've been invited for a visit
they're having me for tea
the hatter, hare and dormouse,
will all be there, you see.

they're not pleased
that i've made my
way out through
the looking-glass
they miss me and
they want me back
to take my place for tea

the 'witches 3', the 'witches 3'
they shall not rest til
they've welcomed me
back through the mirror's lens

yes, i must return for tea

so say the 'witches 3'

so say the 'witches 3'


















nothing i perceive
can be trusted as truly so.

this too shall pass

what a night....a full-fledged PTSD episode....completely taken over by traumatic emotions.
it's always been the case that while under PTSD's influence, my belief was "it's always been this way, and always will be this way !"

so-o-o....tomorrow has come....the episode has passed....thanks to the powers that be !

there was a time when these "attacks" would occur 3 or 4 times weekly, for months on end.
i believed there was no help....that i was "cursed" somehow.
any hope for a better life lay in studying each episode while engrossed in the traumatic feelings....to see what could be learned so i might "nip it in the bud" next time around.
i did experience some success, learning to identify the early signals, and do what was possible not to fuel the "panic attack" with more raging fear.
of 60-plus PTSD episodes over the last decade, more than half have resulted in some degree of temporary physical paralysis.
these would usually occur while in a group of people, or within the context of an intimate love relationship....suddenly finding myself mysteriously triggered into extreme panic.
i most often lost my balance, falling to the ground or to a nearby chair, barely able to move, hyperventilating, with intense tingling sensations, as well as paralysis throughout my extremities
after 3 or 4 of these experiences it became clear i wouldn't die....the average duration of the episodes being 3 to 4 hours until feeling strong enough to walk, and sometimes days before feeling "normal" again
the triggers have almost always been social and utterly mysterious in nature.
i had been able to reduce the chances of a PTSD episode occurring by simply avoiding group encounters....and sadly, intimate relations of any kind.

last evening was a classic example of a PTSD attack....except the paralysis didn't occur, for that i am truly thankful.
the sense of extreme terror and confusion was as strong as ever.
fortunately, i knew to leave the current situation, and make my way "home".
it's not so long ago, i had no safe "home" to retreat to.
the PTSD was so out of control, the best i could manage was a camper van and life on the run.
that lifestyle...along with this dude....had gotten old along the way....as spoken about in earlier entries.

for the longest time, marijuana seemed the perfect medicine,
having never experienced a PTSD episode while under the influence of pot.

of course, there eventually came a time when mary-jane turned completely against me, instead of being that trusted soothing medicine, she became like a vile poison....making me physically ill.

and here i am....learning how to face these demons....clean and sober....one day at a time.
thanks to the powers that be, the AA program and community, and a stubborn will to be free of the "curse" of PTSD.

this too shall pass....






"

the trickster

the fabled glass that's
half-empty or half-full lay
smashed upon the floor
and instinct warned me
i might just die of thirst.

the elephant was winning
the elephant has won
who was i to think that
i could be the one to
break the code of silence

how does one speak to
another who has assumed
the role of "trickster"
and lures one into some
hidden web of madness ?

they seem to have no inkling
anything could be amiss
with their perceptions
or their modus operandi

they are the ones who
carry the banner declaring
as honestly as they can

come and be with us
ye lost and trembling souls
ye shall be safe within
this sheltered harbour

but i did not feel safe there
in fact i was struck dumb
there was something
soul-devouring there
just behind the veneer
of middle-class propriety

i know this is true
it's always been true
there was never once
that it wasn't true.
i see the enemy
and the enemy is....us ???

my best of intentions
have always led me only
straight to the gates of hell.

why would your's or
their's do any differently ?

i've chosen to retire from
being with those others
this isn't what i want
but it is that which i need.

their best of intentions
would not allow for me
to speak, or any like me.

the "trickster" is a sly one
donning clever masks while
mesmerizing those about
to think that all is well
and "normal" as could be.

there was no-one there to
reach out with compassion
the hypnosis was complete

where were you when
i was most in need ?

my voice was lost,
with vision blurred,
my heart was aching
praying only to be heard.

where were you when
i was most in need ?

self-fulfilling phrophesy

i've been wondering lately if or when the rush of intense confusing convoluted emotions would surface.
well, here we are....choking back tears....confused....so confused.

i had committed to go somewhere i really didn't want to be this evening.
i felt as frightened and vulnerable as a 3 year old when it came time to leave.
i did take myself there, and sure enough within 20 minutes of arriving, i felt compelled to leave.

i returned to a weekly social gathering spoken of in the recent entry "elephant in the room".
i am so upset just now, it's been quite a while since feeling so emotionally disturbed.
this is exactly the type of experience i've spoken of often.
fear, confusion, despair, anger, frustration, helplessness....and....voiceless.....as if i'm no longer here.

somehow i knew that my voice would not be respected this evening.
i've known the personalities involved for some time....
it seems to be a case of "personalities before principles" going on....in my eyes at least.
my best guess is that none of these people have any idea this might be so.

the "elephant in the room" prevails again....
it was quite remarkable how it played out, and so damned predictable.
when the time for me to speak about certain concerns came about, the format suddenly shifted and i was bypassed.
who knows if it was deliberate or not, but it did happen.

i had already suspected it would be a hopeless task to attempt to speak to what i've seen.
the people involved have never seemed (to me) interested in open-mindedness or change.
"smug complacency" is the phrase that comes to mind.....and control, at all costs, control.
more to the point, the people involved have never seemed the least bit interested in what i might have to offer.

this so mirrors the theme of recent entries....feeling voiceless, discounted, as if i don't even exist.
and it's some of the women in the group that seem to mirror this.

mysterious !

what i know is that for the time being, i will not go there....one of those situations that offers "sanctity"....but for vulnerable souls like myself, it amounts to " lip-service ".

the fact is i have not felt safe there for a while, and it's the women running the show that scare me off.

the usual "best of intentions" leading straight to a livng hell !....AGAIN !!!

and as i said while leaving...."i don't see the point in speaking !"

what a ride....a self-fulfilling prophesy fulfilling itself....there seemed nothing i could say or do to alter it's course.

mysterious !

what's normal ?

been reviewing most of the entries....
still challenging emotionally to revisit much of what happened.
have had to adopt a "reporter" mentality to make it through speaking some of it at all.
often my throat would sieze up while writing....with the physically hard-wired conditioning of....

"DON'T SAY ANYTHING !!!"

have often experienced unspecified anxiety during this process....still fearful of some mysterious potential fallout from speaking the "unspeakable" !

even thinking the "unthinkable" frightens me at times.

in early life, i was severely punished for showing fear, so-o-o....something in me determined the best solution to that problem was not to feel fear at all....or call it something else.....like...."NORMAL" !
of course i was constantly terrified, but the power of "denial" has been profound.
it was well into my late 30's before identifying my chronic state of being as....FEAR....in it's myriad forms.

in the world of my upbringing, almost everyone was angry, almost everyone shouted abusively, almost everyone was hitting someone or other, almost everyone drank excessively and became physically violent..
why would i think there was anything wrong with that picture?

as a surviving child-hostage, the most difficult challenge has been to learn how to trust my thoughts, feelings, beliefs and perceptions.
it seemed my father had an agenda....to utterly confuse me....to have me believing that anything i thought, felt, wished for, needed, or perceived, was by definition wrong or bad.
this phenomenon i've come to label...."mind-rape !"
for this survivor, that has proved the cruelest form of rape....having been violated to the point of insanity.

as life has gone on, i've learned that this tactic is common in wartime, to break the enemy's will.

for one such as he, who was obviously trapped in a state of war with the world, why wouldn't he perceive all about him as the enemy ?

the truth is that it was never personal....it could have been anyone suffering the brunt of his frustration and rage....it just happened to be me....and my beloved family.

i am learning a new definition of "normal"....

it is "normal" for me to wish to live in truth....rather than a convenient preferred version of how life is or was.

forbidden scream

i don't wish to overlook the earliest experience of "trauma" in memory.

it must have been around 3 years old, because i remember having to sit in the old-style wooden box-seats on the swings at the local park.
my father had taken us kids there for an afternoon outing.
i do remember my mother not being present.
dad deposited me in the swing and began pushing me, higher and higher, i can still remember how much fun it was, laughing and squealing with delight until....

SUDDENLY....

i was going too high, i became terrified, my father continued to push me higher.
i naturally screamed in terror, as any 3 year old would.

he violently stopped the swing, ripped me out of the seat, spanking me hard while angrily dragging me to the vehicle.
he opened the car door and flung me into the back seat, insisting that i remain locked in there while the other kids continued to play.
i remember his furious words as if it were yesterday...."don't you ever scream like that again !"

my heart was broken, there i was, crying and watching helplessly through the rear window as my siblings were playing in the park.

it seemed forever til they returned to the car, not one of them seeming to care how i might feel.

it was as if i wasn't even there.

already, at 3 years of age, it seemed clear, i was S.O.L. and absolutely on my own regarding emotional support.
that fact never changed while living at the family home.

i was guilty of an unpardonable crime....that of crying the forbidden scream.
some 6 decades later, i am still aware of more than a few forbidden scream's buried deep within my being.

the sins of the fathers....

this i can do

have shared the circumstances surrounding my mother's death in 1986. ( having returned from travels to discover she was dead and in the ground ).
this was such a disturbing heart-piercing experience, i vowed that this sort of thing would not repeat itself concerning my father.
anyone who's followed these entries to date might easily wonder, why would anyone, especially a tortured hostage child, wish to continue associating with such a cruel, indifferent and unremorseful man.
for me it was simple, even while he still lived, his monstrous ghost haunted my dreams.
the theme of these nightmares was consistent.
while dreaming, my father would always appear as a huge, merciless, all-powerful beast seeking me out to visit contempt and punishment upon me, while my role inevitably was as a puny, frightened, helpless creature of prey....always running, always terrified, helpless and unable to fight back.

i believe that only one who has experienced the seemingly unending horror and terror of a hostage-child's torture and abuse, can actually comprehend what i speak of.
not a soul alive would have taken issue had i chosen to abandon him to his eventual grave.

except for me....

there was always this tiny but unwavering flame of conscience....something within me was aware of unconditional love towards this man.
as much as i despised and was disgusted by him....ultimately i seemed to know he was very sick and could not help himself.
in retrospect, i likely could not have put that into words then.

mostly though, i was driven by a deep instinct which directed me.
if i could continue to summon courage to meet with him, especially in his later days, that i might be freed from the frightening nightmares, and he would eventually appear "right-sized" to me....especially in dreams.
this did in fact happen.
i'm grateful for the circumstances surrounding my mother's passing, determining then that i must have said all that needed saying to my father, before any chance of that happening was past.
this did in fact happen as well.
in his last years, he had become much smaller and quite frail, and of course, myself larger and stronger.
he was unable to walk for the last year and a half of his life.

i once traveled 3,000 miles, driven to achieve completion with him, having heard through family that he'd almost died from heart issues.
i didn't want to go through a replay of what had occured with mum.
upon finally arriving, i saw that he was recovering and out of danger.
still though, i came armed with a litany of "crimes" to present him with....of course for my sake.
any illusions that he would have an interest in hearing me out soon dissipated, as predictably, his only reaction was irritation about missing some of the baseball game on TV.

BUT.....

i had done what was possible to help myself to heal.
it was obvious that these efforts were wasted upon him.

he died some months later in 1992, after i had returned home to work and life in western canada.

even as i speak, what i feel is a sad indifference.

what was his legacy to me ?

not much to speak of, except the scars....and a clear example of how not to be !
and perhaps that sad indifference just referred to.

the sins of the fathers....

at this age and point of life, it seems important to leave some sort of positive legacy.
it's certainly not likely to be money or property.
offering these words, these stories shared with honest, willing open-mindedness....

this i can do !

just for today

i am in recovery !
this is a common phrase within the circles i travel in these days.
from what ?....good question !
life !
strip away the labels, dual diagnoses, limited beliefs and distorted perceptions....the answer is simple....
life !
the only social contact i enjoy lately is within the "recovery" circles spoken about.
i live alone !
within the last year and a half or so, life's mission has become clear.
in order to continue living, i must learn how to be at peace with myself, others, and with life on life's terms.
why do i choose to live alone ?
that's a no-brainer for a few reasons....
1 ) after repeated failures at seeking happiness and fulfillment through partnerships with women, i now accept that this is not the way to go.
2 ) until the recent turnaround, i had completely given up on myself, others, and life on life's terms, consequently going to seed....60 pounds overweight, barely caring about hygeine or grooming, playing out the string in a state of hopeless misery.
3 ) i came to accept that minor confrontations, altercations, or uncomfortable reactions could often trigger mysterious extreme emotional upset....consequently i became realistically afraid of living with others at all.
4 ) my whole life's philosophy has been based in false beliefs, distorted perceptions, and confusing triggers into human-animal defensive modes ( fight / flight / run / freeze instincts.)
it's obvious i must re-learn how to trust in basic intuition and instincts again, before feeling fit to engage with another in honest, open-minded relations.
5 ) having placed my fate in the hands of the powers that be, i trust that if living in community or with a significant other is in the cards, it will happen....or not !
it's not my call !
6) ) have chosen a few times to live within conscious intentional communities....spiritual in focus.
this life-style ultimately proved lacking.
as long as i behaved like a good little automaton, life was peachy.
nothing like the "cult"-ure shock of life as a cult member to confuse one's social sensibilities.
i could never foresee how i might gain autonomy, self-assuredness and individuation through existence as just another institutionalized drone in the hive.
for all the perks, and there were many, the price was ultimately too high.

after writing above, found myself somewhat overwhelmed with feelings of grief and sorrow, not so much for the past, but for the reality of the present.
was led to prayer fairly quickly, being rightly concerned that depression could be looming.
the prayer was specific, "god, i'm feeling lonely and trapped in a cycle of chronic isolation, please help me !"
that was it....and soon drifted into a restless sleep.

i awoke today feeling restless, irritable and somewhat discontent, and forced myself to attend a noon AA meeting, believing from recent experience that i would feel better being around like minded souls.
as if in answer to that prayer, a trusted friend showed up at the meeting and invited me for a coffee and chat afterwards....great talk, was able to get a few things off my chest and receive some useful feedback regarding certain issues.
upon arriving home there was a voice-message asking if i'd like to join another trusted AA friend for thanksgiving dinner....of course i said yes.
it was quite an enjoyable time with a laughing child and young puppy frolicking about, as well as kind, friendly hospitable folks.
still the day wasn't done, as i was then invited to a newly starting men's AA meeting, where i was able to share some more with other recovering alcoholics.
all in all a great day, looking back none of it was contrived, it surely seemed as though those sincere prayers were answered....

just for today !

post #50

post # 50....since sep 13/11

been a busy overgrown beaver....type-type-typing away !
was somewhat vague regarding intentions before embarking upon this blogging experience.

what's been accomplished to date ?
well, there's a few stories i had previously passed along here and there, the kind where folks said...."you know, you should write that shit down !"
"yeah, you're right !", i'd usually mutter, never imagining accomplishing that would actually come about.

i've explained somewhat how the time came naturally (after about 8 months of personal daily video journalling) to move away from private diary entries into what seemed like the next obvious step, a public forum.

i have been driven by the realization that many of the "horror" stories from early life needed to see the light of day, for several obvious reasons.
1)  to clean the crap out of the deep dark nether regions of my soul....hoping to be free of having to carry that baggage around any more.
2)  to bring to public awareness the attempted murders and other criminal acts committed by my father ( name not used in this context )....believing that if it wasn't me of the remaining survivors (7 siblings) to bear witness, that likely none of them ever would.
that man ought to be seen for what he was....and what he did...before society and the world !
3)  to bring to public awareness what the social conditions were like during the era of my youth, when the popular mantra was "DON'T SAY ANYTHING !!!"....or else !
4 )  to further awaken this voice, to face long-standing personal fears of speaking about those times and events.....at all....under any circumstances.
5 )  to speak for my beloved siblings, who for reasons i likely will never know, seem to collectively prefer to maintain the code of silence.
6 ) to speak perhaps for my late mother, who must have felt just like one of us, a helpless hopeless hostage, unable to do anything to change what happened behind closed doors in our family home....or at least speak about it.
7 ) someone down the line might make use of what 's been spoken here.

it's been almost 2 months since my next younger brother suffered a near fatal massive stroke.
i've previously stated that upon hearing this sad news, i soon realized, "enough procrastinatin'....time to sit down and write !"

the current news is that he's recovering well, re-learning how to walk and talk.
he's in very loving caring hands.
i send prayers and blessings in his direction....as well as thanks.
he might never know this, but i could see immediately....that could have been me....he's 2 years my junior.
there would be no more putting off relating the stories that have needed telling.

so....here we are....entry #50 !!!

thanks, bob !





 

fork in the road

it was the summer of 86, my then wife and i had made a snap decision to vacation in arizona and california.
we had originally planned to drive east from vancouver to visit with my mother in southern ontario.
i hadn't seen her for 2 and 1/4 years.....although we had stayed in touch by phone, having spoken a month earlier.

my mom was just 61, having already survived 2 triple-bypass heart surgeries, while then awaiting a third.

this was yet another instance of making a crucial life-altering decision at the exact moment of meeting the....

FORK IN THE ROAD !

when we hit the interchange demanding the choice of turning south for the american border, or to continue east, it seemed the car naturally pulled to the right.
so-o-o....off we went in our refurbished '65 "three on the tree" chev biscayne.
i had picked "her" up for a song at $400....from one of my drawing students at the tech school i was employed at.
it was a welcome break from our busy and stressful lives, neither of us had been to the american southwest before and were naturally excited about the trip.
as i recall, it was an enjoyable rejuvenating adventure which eventually led us back to our lives and obligations in vancouver 3 weeks later.

almost immediately upon arriving, i phoned my good friend who had agreed to act as an emergency contact while we were away.

i'll never forget his words at the other end of the line...."you haven't heard, i'm so sorry, your mother has passed away !"

the funeral had been 10 days previous.
my family had tried everything to reach me, missing us by an hour at the contact number we had left in arizona.

my beloved mum was dead and in her grave !
that was it, no chance for final words or goodbye....or to lay eyes upon her one last time.

needless to say, ever since then, i've questioned my impulsive decision at that particular....

FORK IN THE ROAD !

elephant in the room

i am someone who has struggled mightily attempting to comprehend the myriad signals and cues that occur in almost any social situation.
this evening i consciously avoided going to a CODA ( co-dependents anonymous ) meeting that i've faithfully attended for months.
there's an adage i've picked up over a few years of attending AA meetings...."if you scratch an alcoholic, you get a co-dependent !"
my personal experience suggests that this is so.
what's a co-dependent ?....here's this layman's explanation.
someone who is addicted to an "other", often a substance abuser.
whereas AA's first step declares "i am powerless over alcohol, and my life has become unmanageable", in CODA, replace the word alcohol with "others"....virtually the same 12 steps and 12 traditions as AA....the same program and principles of recovery !
a co-dependent would be one who enables an addict/alcoholic to continue their substance use and abuse, for whatever their personal reasons....compulsively !
just as the addict seems incapable of quitting substance use on their own, the co-dependent feels unable to stop supporting and perpetuating the "sick" relationship.
i do mean "sick" rather than wrong, bad or immoral.

recently a man had begun attending these CODA meetings, and almost immediately i sensed he might have ulterior motives.
in the AA circles, a character like this would be labeled a " 13th-stepper ".
i've encountered more than a few during the past 5 years or so.
the underlying agenda for this person to attend meetings being to meet and hook up with vulnerable recovering women, with the intention of "scoring" !
a few private conversations with this fellow have virtually confirmed my suspicions.
according to his own words, he's a sex and love addict, someone compelled to seek out liaisons and/or partnerships to satisfy his addiction.
it wasn't long before observing (what seemed to me) familiar signs that he had hooked up with one of the women in our group, this guy not seeming concerned about the obvious cues advertising what seems to be his latest conquest....or perhaps he's unable to conceal these signals....who knows?
of course, i've known this woman for several months, and find myself feeling concerned and somewhat protective as a fellow member.

of course, i could be wrong, but i don't think so, trusting my instincts in this case.

so, for the last 2 sessions, i found myself sitting in yet another room with an "elephant" planted squarely across from me !
why is an "elephant in the room" so challenging....for me ?
because it is hiding in plain sight !
everyone with half a mind can see the obvious....and of course, no one seems to dare speak to it !
especially myself, what is there to say ?
what right do i have to bring it up for discussion within the context of the group ?
we are adults, making choices.
i'm still not sure exactly why this affects me so strongly..

we're in a CODA group, having openly admitted to being subject to unreasonable and/or unrealistic motives when it comes to relationships with others.
we're also consciously gathering together with the stated intention to support each other to overcome the "addiction" to hooking up with less than ideal partners.
yet, here we all were, with a large, smelly elephant dead centre of our room, and sure enough not one of us would choose to speak !!!

after 2 sessions of enduring this confusing and frustrating dynamic, i felt left with one choice to honour my own sense of sanctity, choosing to stay home and not subject myself to what seems to be group condoned "insanity".

there's an elephant in our CODA group, and i feel powerless to say or do anything about it.

what does the program suggest ?

LET GO AND LET GOD !  

LIVE AND LET LIVE !

i'm certain the elephant would prefer that we remain silent....or at least me !

SSSHHHHH !!!!

p.s.

one of the perks of this process is getting to review entries some time later.
in this case, in doing so, i see what i was missing then.

the frustration i had been feeling was almost word for word as described in step #1 of  CODA's 12 steps.

I AM POWERLESS OVER OTHERS AND MY LIFE HAD BECOME UNMANAGEABLE !

i felt powerless over the "13th stepper" situation, therefore life seemed unmanageable, and i decided to stay away from meetings !

nothing now but to laugh....and thank the powers that be for this awareness.

i think it will be okay now to return to "our" group.

safe and distant

attended an AA meeting recently wherein i heard a fellow member use the phrase "safe and distant" during his sharing.
i immediately experienced a rush of pain, grief and sorrow, enough to bring me close to tears, clearly identifying with what he had revealed about himself.
i too have existed for years with a profound fear of intimacy....withdrawing from human society for fear of ever again suffering the intense heartache i'd experienced since my most recent love relationship had ground to a traumatic and agonizing end in 2005.
there seemed no relief then, as if an iron fist was permanently clenched around my heart....unending....for days, weeks, months....there was no relief.
except, of course, eventually there was mary-jane !
some speak of drowning their sorrows in booze....for this dude, it amounted to numbing the suffering with marijuana.
i am a typical addict/alcoholic, once having taken that first toke from that first joint, i would immediately kick into life as a chronic user.
meaning....smoking all day, every day, from waking til bedtime, attempting to maintain just the right dose so as to "feel no pain" and be free of symptoms of depression or acute PTSD episodes.
all the while i believed, maintaining "functionality".

i guess those stretches of pot-smoking as a life-style could be called "binges".
the pattern being that upon eventually becoming physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted from extended use and abuse, i would be able to stop smoking, and sometimes go for weeks or months clean and sober before the next inevitable binge.
,
safe and distant....life on the fringes....the weed seemed to make it much easier to associate with others, "greasing the social wheels" i've heard it said....providing the illusion of intimate contact with others....as long as i was under the influence, of course.
the recent entry entitled "a love letter" speaks to the profound dependence i experienced with marijuana, on any and all levels.

thanks to the powers that be, i've been shown a workable methodology towards mental/emotional/spiritual health.
this being embodied within the philosophy and teachings of the living program of recovery known as Alcoholics Anonymous, it's 12 steps and 12 traditions, as well as the recovering alcoholics/addicts within the meeting rooms.

i have been relieved of the obsessive compulsion to smoke marijuana !
this i could never achieve on my own....having tried....and tried.....and tried !

safe and distant ?....these days, much safer and far less distant than ever.
intimacy still sometimes seems quite a daunting prospect, but there's no doubt that by continuing to do as suggested, and sticking to this life-saving program of recovery, intimate relations will happen as a matter of natural course.
in fact, they are, during everyday life and in daily communications and relations with fellow addicts and alcoholics within the recovery circles.

i have no interest at this time in pursuing a "significant other" type of relationship.
this fact being so obviously a good thing....since i'm finally beginning to know and like....

ME,  MYSELF  AND  I !!!

it will happen in my higher power's time....or not....and i am quite okay with that !

i now experience a definite sense of purpose, already feeling more ready, willing and especially ABLE to make myself useful within the AA community....and society at large.....

after so many years of making myself  utterly USELESS !!!

this is not an overnight process, but progress obviously achieved, as well as a level of predictable serenity that a short time ago seemed unimaginable, is more than enough concrete evidence to spur me on.

thanks to the powers that be !

what happened ?

not so many months ago, i would'nt have been ABLE to risk this process, and most certainly would not have progressed this far in relating the truth of what has occured.
i had come to believe that "addiction" and "PTSD" recovery concerns were two forever separate therapeutic issues.
it was easy to presume this as fact....as experience required me to seek help for the problems related to addiction through AA, or drug and alcohol counseling facilities.
whereas for the "mental/emotional" health difficulties, i was led to psychiatrists, psychologists, trauma support groups, etc.

what happened those few months back ?

"ghosts and demons !"....are what i've chosen to label those mysterious internal forces that had kept me on the run for so very long.
another way of describing this would be....those fearful secrets locked up within this dude's version of "pandora's box" !

i was literally that proverbial character high-tailing it down the highway with the hounds of hell nipping at his heels !

the prospect of jumping into the good ol' "escape-mobile" is no longer an option.
i have wisely sold the camper van to ensure i wouldn't find myself awakening in some other town, province, state, country or continent...after yet another "geographical cure".

and......mary-jane had finally turned against me....she was now like poison to my body, mind and soul.

what now ???

learning how to live indoors again has been the most challenging experience i've ever had to face.
these new tricks have shown to be especially difficult for this old dog.
no explanation needed why the "stuff" i was facing down daily would be labelled "ghosts and demons".

what a battle....everyday, day after day after day !....seemingly never to end.
the triggers were almost always unexpected and mysterious.
each and every PTSD episode, i had to ask myself this question....what happened this time ?
it seemed as if i was being attacked by some invisible mysterious exterior source.
how did i go instantly from calm easiness to extremely anxious, fearful and profoundly confused ?

imagine the daily challenge of knowing that i could barely cope emotionally within proximity of a group of others, compared with the equally painful prospect of having to contend with myself alone.

without mary-jane to console and comfort me !

as far as the human race was concerned...."i couldn't live with you, and couldn't live without you !"

to maintain "status" in the government sponsored "half-way" apartment i lived at, i was required to attend five 1 & 1/2 hour daily educational/support sessions offered by the local drug/alcohol services.

i had also returned through the doorways of AA, to give those folks another chance to be true to their promise...."they would love me til i learned to love myself !"

each of these "social" situations has proven to present me with every damn reason ever of why i didn't like or trust people in the first place !!!

talk about a slow excruciating process....suffering intense frustration and discomfort "having" to put up with other human's and their foibles....knowing that if i didn't, things would never improve, and i might just as well check off the planet and get it over with !

considering how shaky and miserable i felt during early recovery, as well as how unpredictable the emotional landscape proved to be daily, these meetings and sessions proved ultimately welcome, although extremely challenging, "social" events.

i coldn't help but notice that other's in the rooms of AA had something i wanted...."emotional sobriety".
having been through so much to come this far, i wasn't going to give up now, for any reason !

the "required" sessions, well, i determined to make the best of them, looking back, i can say this is true.

there always seemed to be something lacking there, as compared with AA.
there's likely another entry to come going into detail why i believe that was so.

still the battle raged within....in the seemingly endless campaign to face down and defeat those "ghosts and demons" of the past.

i had been running for so very long !

it was late one may evening of this year, while feeling particularly discouraged and emotionally and mentally exhausted....
that i found myself lying in bed wishing for merciful sleep, believing that i had worked so damn hard, for so damn long, and had gotten exactly nowhere.
like that proverbial greek dude who was doomed to push that damned rock up that damned hill....until the inevitable moment of almost achieving the goal, when the damned rock would slip, and off it would go down the damned hill again....this cursed drama playing out for eternity.

i had had enough, i remember thinking, i just could'nt carry on like it was, saying these exact words to myself....

"I GIVE UP....PLEASE GOD HELP ME...I DON'T KNOW HOW TO STOP RE-TRAUMATIZING MYSELF....PLEASE HELP ME !!!"

until then, i had become profoundly convinced that in giving up the fight with those damned PTSD ghosts and demons....

"I WOULD SURELY DIE !"

feeling so completely defeated, i remember also thinking that i didn't care if i died, as life as it was seemed no longer worth living.

it wasn't long before drifting into a deep "prescribed-meds" sleep....to awaken the next morning with the powerful awareness that i was still alive....not actually having died after surrendering the heroic battle.

"I WAS STILL ALIVE !!!"

the war was over....i had finally raised the white flag, realizing i would and could never win against those powerful beasts.
there would be a never-ending supply of ghosts and demons for....well, eternity !

i had been relieved, by a power far greater than me, of what had seemed an eternal curse....which i'll describe as PTSD !

since that day, i no longer live in mortal dread that the next moment, indeed the next breath, would be that one that would take me out....perhaps for the last time !

this process i had lived through, upon reflection, describes what had long been advised by other alcoholics/addicts in recovery....as well as the AA teachings....

how many times had i read, heard and completely agreed with those simple words....

LET GO AND LET GOD !"....one of AA's common inspirational slogans.

darned if it didn't work for this old fool !

it seemed that the long-standing belief that i suffered with unrelated "dual" disorders proved not to be so !

for bruce

have spoken of early life petty-crime career, before and after being offered a miraculous 4th strike by a juvenile court justice, at age 12.
i had come to clearly see how sloppiness, arrogance and/or misplaced trust had led to being caught those 3 previous times.
my mind-set during that era was much like most of my running-mates, the crime wasn't in what one did....IT WAS IN GETTING CAUGHT !!!

so-o-o....life's mission became just that....DON'T GET CAUGHT !!!
and how was that to play out ?
plan, plan, plan some more....and trust no-one !

throughout all of the other challenges from age 12 to 16, my petty-crime career continued, without ever being apprehended.
of course, i became full of myself, thinking i was quite the "master-thief " in the making.....how romantic !

it wasn't really about how large the score was, it was about how often.
in fact, it seemed reasonable that if the crimes remained "petty", the likelihood of being pinched was less.

my lifestyle demanded certain things, which therefore required....cash flow.
i was addicted to cigarettes, and needed to support my soda pop, chips and candy habits.....like any kid.
at least, any kid from my neighbourhood.
my father, of course, was taking any and all earnings from my hard labours.
it's not hard to do that math !

my next elder brother, who for some time had been my main partner in crime, had started to run with a slightly older crowd by the time i'd reached 16 yrs of age.
one of his buddies was this muscle bound black guy named "bruce lewis", who at that time, was about 19 years old.
he was somewhat of a legend in our end of town, considered by far the toughest fighter around.
nobody messed with brucey !

during my personal adventures with petty crime, i had become increasingly more fearful of being nabbed,
having reached the magical age of 16, which of course meant that the consequences of being caught would surely be jail.

at some point i had noticed that bruce hadn't been around for a few weeks, so i asked my brother what was up.
he replied, "you haven't heard....brucey's dead....they found him hanging in his cell down at the barton street jail....an apparent suicide !"

"no way !", i thought, not bruce....even at 16 yrs of age, i did not buy that story at all.

i also knew this older guy from the neighbourhood who worked as a jailhouse guard, and i'd heard a few stories about how the guards would gang up on a prisoner and provoke the unfortunate one into fighting.

no doubt in our minds....brucey was a fearsome fighter....and not one of us could fathom that he would actually commit suicide.
who knows what the truth was ?
but we were convinced....he had surely been goaded into fighting with a pack of guards, which therefore sealed his fate.

i will always remember bruce lewis as having most likely saved my life.

there was absolutely no doubt within me that i would not have survived jail or prison.
i was just too volatile and vulnerable to male human animal aggression.
fortunately i knew this....and from that point on, the petty-crime career stopped.

thank you, bruce !
for this dude, you did not die in vain !

















my father was keeping any and all earnings from my hard labours.
not hard to do that math !

mission from god

enroute home from a noon AA meeting today, encountered 2 young fellows while in my favorite sandwich shop.
they were dressed in the familiar seedy suits and scuffed shoes of "christians" on a mission from god, with nametags declaring they were of the "latter day saints" variety.
one of them invited me to join them for lunch, and much to my surprise, i responded in the affirmative.

i do confess to a long-standing prejudice regarding "christians" on a mission from god.

the little from history books i had actually absorbed while trapped within schoolhouse walls, had taught me that a whole HELL of a lot of suffering had been wrought in the world throughout the centuries by "christians" on a mission from god !

during our extended conversation, of course it was me doing most of the talking, i was reminded of a profound life experience that forever altered my perspective on the "god / man" i was taught to call "lord jesus christ".

at age 7, one friday afternoon, i found myself approaching the minister at the local church where i attended sunday school.
he had previously offered to facilitate a ritual for any of us children who wished to "take the lord jesus christ into our hearts as our personal saviour".
with life being a living hell at home, i was willing to try anything that might offer hope of salvation from the horror and terror of existence under my father's iron rule.
the minister was kindly supportive in guiding me through a simple ceremony inviting the "lord jesus christ" into my heart.
i remember feeling quite optimistic on the short journey home, perhaps this would be the hoped-for magical cure for life's perpetual suffering, as well as my father's unpredictable, cruel and abusive temperament.

it was not to be, of course, but with the resiliency of a 7 year old, i soon determined to return that next friday afternoon, knowing the minister would be there at this time.

i remember that moment as if it was this morning, as i hurriedly entered his office, bluntly exclaiming, "can we try that thing again, it didn't work !"

with a subtle smile, the minister graciously led me through the ritual one more time.

still the same result....no change in my father's attitude or behaviour.

IT DIDN'T WORK !!!

that was all i needed to be convinced that this "lord jesus christ" was a phony, and that "christianity" was nothing but a sham.
from this 7 year old's point of view, any hope of rescue from the purgatory of my home, certainly did not lie within the confines of christianity, church, or anything to do with this character known as "lord jesus christ" !

at the time of this writing, i maintain a neutral view regarding dogma of any kind.

explosion to implosion

sometime in my late thirties, a psychic shift occured, til this day i'm still unsure of exactly what happened.
i had come to realize that those uncontrollable explosions into physical violence had to stop.
there had been easily more than 40 "physical altercations" throughout life til then.

the compulsive isolation, paranoia, seemingly endless deep depressions, and life without intimacy had become too excruciating to endure.

i had met a woman at this time who was willing to be with me, warts and all.
this was after several years of painful self-imposed isolation and loneliness.
it seemed crucial that i make another attempt at assimilating into worldly affairs, if this partnership was going to work out.

my best guess is that these factors were the catalyst that brought about a mysterious inner transformation....from the obviously troublesome violent eruptions i had come to dread.....to what i call "emotional implosions"....or instantly internalizing whatever the upset was.

at the time i was grateful for this personality transformation, and found myself soon able to commit to finding and keeping work, as well as eventually setting up house with this woman.
i was certainly willing to live with these "implosions" as an improvement over the unpredictable violent outbreaks of the past.

more to come....

PTSD #2

PTSD !!!

was 56 when finally diagnosed with PTSD ( concurrent disorders - PTSD/addiction )....until then, lived with the belief i was terminally damned.....living in fear of the next mysterious, unexpected intense emotional "implosion".

daily life presented as a landscape filled with hidden land-mines....it's been like wandering throughout one of those neglected still-active mine-fields left over from some long forgotten war.

i knew i had a long-standing problem with marijuana....exhibiting all of the classic earmarks of an addict.

life began to slowly, but surely turn around as a result of finally having an accurate clinical diagnosis....something about now being able to name those twin beasts !

at 12 years of age, i first struck someone in the face to win a fight.....what a rush !!!
by this time i had absorbed countless blows to the head and face at the hands of my father, without ever being able to fight back or utter a sound.
there was no way anyone else would ever hit me in the face without paying dearly.
if there was even a hint or possibility of this happening, i seemed to be hard-wired to strike first, in the face....lightning fast, hard and often.

this began a 2 and 1/2 decade long career of unplanned, unexpected violent emotional "explosions" !
i became like a walking land-mine....suddenly erupting with extreme violence whenever the "perceived" threat of physical confrontation seemed unavoidable.

of course, with few exceptions, i experienced acute remorse, guilt, shame and self-loathing when the energy of each violent explosion finally subsided.

this uncontrollable violent streak has cost me countless jobs, sabotaged many opportunities, and alienated almost every loved one i've ever known.

with women, it was the intense hurtfulness of the words, never blows, that brought about the eventual demise of ralationships.

have almost been killed twice in fights, have hospitalized 3 different opponents, and been arrested on assault charges twice.

by the grace of the powers that be, no-one was killed or seriously injured.

more often than not, it was alcohol that fueled the fires of rage and indignation.

it seemed that other male humans could smell the fear on me, like pack-animals will do, and would soon be directing their natural aggressive instincts towards me.

as long as alcohol was in the picture, i was like a magnet inviting physical confrontations, not being conscious of looking for trouble, but rarely shying away when it occured.

over time and with each intensely traumatizing violent experience, i began to choose isolation as a defense mechanism, removing myself from daily involvement within worldly affairs.
this seemed the most realistic solution, stay away from people if possible....especially men....and more specifically men drinking alcohol.
it seemed as though i could handle incidental social encounters, store-clerks, etc., but intimate relations requiring trust were out of the realm of possibility.

BUT....then there was always...."MARY-JANE"....my saving grace !

at a certain point, it became crystal clear that smoking cannibis seemed the perfect solution.
alcohol always seemed to fan the flames of violence.
although i loved to drink and "feel no pain"....it seemed that booze and fighting ultimately came hand in hand.

while under the influence of pot, those dreaded sudden triggers into blinding rage did not occur.
i became mister congeniality, laid back and good-humoured....miraculously relieved of any tendency towards violent emotional explosions

soon after being introduced to marijuana, i was struck with a miraculous revelation....

"POT-HEADS DON'T FIGHT !"....especially this pothead !

i had finally found my hoped-for safe zone....hippie-dom became my calling....

"PROBLEM SOLVED !"

of course, the truth has proven to be anything but !

more to come....

ghosts and demons

response to message from my niece....who, since a recent family tragedy, suffers with PTSD.

PTSD....hmmmm....story of my life !

will be 64 soon, and only within the last 15 months have i felt "able" to be with the unexpected, mysterious, convoluted implosion of emotions and sensations called a PTSD episode, without running away, freaking out, self-medicating, or some other quick fix to soothe the suddenly awakened beast within.

fortunately, have landed on my feet here in duncan, and been blessed with the opportunity of residing in a safe "home" sponsored by the local mental health and addiction services, until ultimately feeling able to move to an independent residence.

finally, i was to experience the stability, guidance and support needed to eventually face down the terrifying ghosts and demons of this man's version of PTSD.

it has never been easy.....honestly i had stopped believing there would ever be relief from the frighteningly intense PTSD  episodes that had plagued me throughout living memory.

about 9 months ago, i received a blogger camera as a gift, and almost immediately began using it for daily therapeutic journal entries.....often raging, ranting and cursing like a banshee, either during a PTSD episode, or through some other difficult emotional upset, as an outlet or release.
( fortunately my nearest neighbour is hard of hearing, and the landlord is a familiar acquaintance ).
anything to help the energy pass through my system....rather than perpetuate the chronic habit of stuffing and burying it all, out of fear that an emotional "explosion" might cause havoc with those around me.

this blogging process was also a crucial aid in processing the daily challenges of learning how to live without self-medicating....one day at a time.

when the "energy" of a particular episode had subsided, i would hook the video camera up to the TV monitor, (sometimes 2, 3 or 4 entries daily), sit back, and observe this guy....me !
it was so helpful to witness that i wasn't the freaked out, terminally unique, alien monster i had imagined....actually was almost always pleasantly shocked and surprised to see that this character continually appeared quite "normal" on screen.

it has also been crucial to have worked hard at creating a supportive network, including an excellent mental health/addictions counselor, membership in two 12-step groups with plenty of unconditional support whenever i found myself struggling, and while residing at the "safe" apartment, 24/7 support staff was available for those extremely challenging stretches during early days in recovery.

I am convinced that only someone who has experienced  PTSD  first hand is capable of empathizing, and completely understanding this devastating, mysterious, frustrating, deeply disturbing syndrome.

even a professional can't speak to the personal horror and terror of PTSD, if they have not experienced it themselves.

others can think what they wish, if they haven't been through it, how can they know?

there have rarely been words to describe what a  PTSD  episode has been like for me while it was happening....the closest i can imagine would be a gut-wrenching scream.
unfortunately, that was virtually impossible for me, as almost always my throat would suddenly constrict and seize up so that sound could barely escape....as well as finding myself struggling just to breathe.

more to come....