Head On Down To The Jesus Camp

Someone told me that they became angry after watching the documentary of religious extremists entitled "Jesus Camp." Hoping to find someone else's issue to ride (instead of my own) I finally was able to watch it. Unfortunately, I cannot say it distracted me much from my own brooding.

Having been raised in a community of Pentecosts and extreme Baptists, there was nothing new for me in this movie. I was not shocked and I was not appalled.

While not supportive of teaching such extremist views to children, I do believe that we have to teach our children something. Though I do not know exactly what that should be, I fear that the tactics used in Jesus Camp remind me of tactics used by Algeria, Angola, Bangladesh, Bhurma, Cambodia, Colombia, Congo-Brazzaville, Pakistan, Peru, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, Uganda, etc. At least there were no guns at the Jesus Camp.

Children need guidance and ideals to follow but in the end we all need to decide what we truly believe versus what we were taught to believe. After all, that is the essence of the Jesus story -- to let your old beliefs die to what you truly believe and are but... the path to such self-truth is indeed narrow while the path to craziness seems to widen...

Support UNICEF

i wish you would hurry...

...i miss you so much...and i wish you would talk to me.

The Fate of Inspector Javert

" It was my right to die as well

Instead I live... but live in hell."*

In the dark of night he flew to the edge of the bridge with what might his legs would carry him. He had discovered that his dedicated quest was in bitter and scouring vain. Despite his faith in what he believed and fought for, he had failed. The treacherous monster whom he had fought so hard to slay had given him mercy and, thus, also gave him doubt for everything he had held fast to:

"...And must I now begin to doubt,
Who never doubted all these years?
My heart is stone and still it trembles
The world I have known is lost in shadow."

The journey was suddenly meaningless. It might have been better if he'd never have taken it because it only led him to the devastation from which he was already running from and from which he had so dearly hoped to be redeemed.

In my naivete, I used to view Javert as a man to be respected. After all, whether or not his literal goal was worthy of his efforts did not matter because he was a man of integrity who sought truth and justice.

Now...I am no longer sure of my view of Javert. For example, until recently I used to medicate my fish in the hope that they would get better from whatever illness but I realized that I was prolonging their suffering and that it is actually more merciful to make them as comfortable as possible and allow them meet their fate sooner rather than later. Some goals are just not possible and not fair to put others or yourself through.

"I am reaching, but I fall
And the stars are black and cold
As I stare into the void
Of a world that cannot hold...
There is nowhere I can turn
There is no way to go on...."*

*"Inspector Javert", Les Miserables, Victor Hugo / Cameron Mackintosh.

Broken

I am afraid that my brain is broken. To do a simple task at work I have to make a detailed plan and then take notes throughout the day to keep myself on track. Abilities that I once had are gone. Over the weekend I found myself staring blankly at the wall on multiple occasions.

I cannot sleep. When I do eventually fall asleep I have nightmares that wake me up. I can feel the insomnia affecting my health and my fibro pain has been high. Nothing else is known that I can try. I've done traditional and non-traditional therapies and I am broken throughout.

Many times, I have experienced the rest of the world as through a tunnel. Other people speak to me and their voices are muted and far away. I now crave simple things like touch and personal conversation. There is really nothing I can say. I used to watch people, including myself, from above and could not get down to their level, nor did I want to.

Now I just want to function well, sleep, and be healthy. I want health with rosy cheeks and a calm stomach. Not a pale face with darkened eyes and a stomach and back that prevents me from standing up straight at times. I do not know how to fix this which has been broken.

Step Five: Rebuilding

"Danger past. The feeling that something was gone. Something that was part of you. Something that you needed. It protected you. The violence that you wore like a cloak of honor. The feeling that you could protect your world with fists has gone. It's not leaking out of you, it's pouring away, fast fast, faster. You're of no use to it any more. Maybe...maybe now you can fly with the gods."*

Warm and steamed with soap, I sat in a hot tub tonight in attempt to allow the recent stress to melt away and go spinning down the drain. After three nights of unrest the cats have quieted down and I got a little sleep.

Though I have no clue what lies ahead, I try to savor what little calm I can. I've eaten some food, brushed my hair, and slathered my skin with lotion -- things I have not been able to do for a while.

In the movie 16 Years Of Alcohol, Frankie managed to get a touch of peace. By slowing down his frantic running, he was able to take a look at what he was running from and stare the beast in the eye.

It is unclear what exactly happened to Frankie after his past literally caught up to him and beat him to a bloody pulp as he lay still on the concrete. We do not know if he got back up from the attack but it is clear that he had recognized the recurrent destructive patterns of his life and had given them up. Even if it meant the death of him, he would not participate in the violence of his life:

"If everything that you'd ever ruined fell from the sky at this moment...then the world would be covered in darkness. Is this what you really wanted -- is this the dream? Do you have it now? ...The shape of your journey -- at last you can see it. Maybe it's time to start the clocks ticking again. Look time in the face and forget about the past. Stop the past leaking into your heart. "*

Though the Gillian Welch folksy-love-song playing at the end of the movie implies the love relationship between Frankie and his girlfriend I can't help but to wonder if it is really a love song about Frankie finding his way back to his own true self:

"Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come molest my soul
I dream a highway back to you.

Step into the light, poor Lazarus
Don't lie alone behind the window shade
Let me see the mark death made
I dream a highway back to you.

What will sustain us through the winter?
Where did last years lessons go?
Walk me out into the rain and snow
I dream a highway back to you.

Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come and bless my soul
I dream a highway back to you"

The first step was HOPE. The second step was BETRAYAL. The third step was THE WAR. The fourth step was THE DECISION. The fifth step will be REBUILDING. I HOPE the sixth step will be a peaceful prologue.

*"Frankie Mac", 16 Years of Alcohol.

The Third Attempt

Yep, this weekend marks the third attempt to dwell in the apartment. I had been exhausted, crazed, and had some sort of jaw-joint pain problem -- I assume from nightly jaw clenching -- so I took last week and stayed home. Until tonight.

I can't sleep due to strange noises in this old place: creaks, pecking, popping.

I did finally get Milo the cat over here and that was very helpful. Later, to my surprise, my husband brought over my other cat. I know it was a big effort on his part to do that because he loves our cats as much as I. Shamefully, I am immensely relieved to have them here. Though still not enough to put me to sleep for very long, his benevolent act and the presence of the cats have calmed me significantly.

They are adapting much better that I had thought they would. Their curiosities have moved them to explore all the new nooks and smells.

With the aluminum windows, it is drafty here so I am open to suggestions as to how to get rid of the draft. I can't imagine what the heating bill will be but the chill is not helpful to my myriad of fibro issues.

The Second Attempt

Why do I follow through with things that I do not want to do? What ever gets into my head to begin with? Time is so short yet I am spending it alone and exactly without those with whom I want to be with.

Milo the cat is home in bed waiting for me. I know because I just left him there. The other cats don't know yet but Milo knows...he's a smart one.

My husband was standing at the door when I left so I didn't look back. The howling began at the back of my throat and escaped again so that I did not know if I would make the drive.

This is supposed to be our second chance...a time to regroup and start fresh...but it may kill me in the process and that doesn't seem right to me. I have no idea what I am doing, I do not know why I am doing it, and it doesn't feel right.

"Tell me when I can open my eyes
I don’t want to walk out that door
There’s no easy way to get through goodbye
I’d probably try and talk myself into staying once more

Or I’d lie and say it’s all for the best
Wish you luck and say I have no regrets
But I’m not up to being strong
So I’ll wait until I'm gone
Is it over yet...

My car's waiting in the driveway for me
I'd call your name, I guess I'm ready to leave
I could use help with a suitcase or two
But I’m afraid I’m gonna wind up down on my knees

I should tell you that I want to go
I really need to spend some time on my own
Smile and say goodbye
So you don’t see me dying inside...
Is it over yet..."*

*Wynonna, "Is It Over Yet," Tell Me Why.

The Attempt

In a far away voice I hear "Hey, hey..."

Half awake I see my spouse standing at the top of the staircase.

"I'm going to a basketball game tonight and will be home late," he says.

Trying to focus, I do not understand. Surely, I am not hearing correctly. This is supposed to be my last night at home before our allegedly temporary separation when I move from the comforts of my home into the crummy apartment without carpeting. I thought we would have dinner and watch the movie I rented just for him so, in my genius, I just respond "What?" Surely I am hearing incorrectly...

"I'm going to work a basketball game tonight and will be home late," he says again. Then he is off and I am left alone.

Hearing the door shut I begin to cry hysterically. Another failed communication. All the scabs are gone again and I am bleeding profusely. Not sure exactly what has happened, the howling of everything lost begins to escape from my throat and I continue to cry like a 2-year-old.

Maybe I should just leave now. If I can pull myself together, I should just gather the last of my belongings together and go. It might be easier than dealing with the miserable anticipation.

Not quite an hour later, I begin to think that I must have misunderstood so I phone him. "Are you going to be home for dinner?"

"No, I will be home late. " he responds and I cry harder.

I try to tell him that I am going to go ahead and leave but the sobs interfere and he cannot understand me so I just leave it at that and hang up.

I begin to throw my stuff together and pitch it into the car. Entertained and curious, the cats watch my latest activity and I try not to look at them very much knowing that I will die if I do. Milo the cat and I had some good cuddles today during my nap and...oh well...

At the apartment, I try to make myself eat something. I brought one fork, one spoon, and a knife as utensils so I guess I'll be doing dishes. Thirsty, I try to open a bottle of vitamin water but do not have the muscle for it so I focus on putting away my things for a while before I sit.

I know he is going to expect me to be there when he gets home tonight and the thought of him finding the feeble note I left eats at me. I know I am not thinking clearly but I do not want him to come home to an empty house with a note when he is not expecting it so I hook up my laptop, watch some Napoleon, pace, and cry.

I begin to phone him at home every five minutes but he does not answer. I worry. I wonder what the cats are doing and think how they have no idea what is happening. Milo is probably waiting in bed for me as usual. Unsuccessfully, I phone again.

Then the idea hits me: it is possible for me to hurry back home, remove the note, he will not have to face the empty house for tonight, and I will have another night in my bed with the cats.

Praying, I drive like a crazed bat and arrive at home to find everything as I had left it. I rip the note off the tv and check the answering machine to hear that he will is going out with some friends and will be home even later. I sigh relief and crawl into bed where Milo is waiting.

Senior Citizens & Breakfast At McDonalds

Man 1: "World's goin' to hell in a hand-basket..."

My Thought: "I think it went a long time ago."

Man 1: "...I've got so many red spots on me that I can't count that high."

Man 2: "Yep."

My Thought: "Must be talking about liver spots. I had tons of red splotches on me after that hot shower last night. Skin is dry from the winter...itchy itchy..."

Man2: "Tell you what...those damn kids today are killin' themselves in those tanning beds. Talk about spots...Good Lord..."

My Thought: "I was just thinking that last week! Carcinoma city!"

Man 1: "Kids...all got to have one of those 4x4's too.

Man 2: "Yep and they probably ain't been in the woods once. Don't know why they need those huge things...killin' us all...takin' the gas..."

My Thought: "I was just thinking about that a few days ago! People killing the environment with SUVs...why do people need an SUV in the city?"

Man 1: "Look at that old car..." (pointing to an elderly woman pulling in lot with a large car)

Man 2: "Yep, why she need such a large car...to go to the grocery store once a week?"

My Thought: "I was just thinking the same thought about a lady yesterday! Are they safer in those cars? How can they even see in those boats? I have enough trouble parking my sports car..."

Man 2: "I tell you another thing, I'm so sick of reading bumper stickers. I want a bumper sticker with NOTHING on it."

My Thought: "I hate bumper stickers too...I get tired of reading about other people's religions, politics, dumb puns... GEEZ -- HOW OLD AM I?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?"

Man 2: "Yep...world sure is going to hell in a hand-basket..."

My Thought: "...so must I..."

Media Struggles

Hell

I knew the ugly was going to get uglier. When they found the kidnapped boys in the small apartment I knew and I was right. It may be that the public needs to hear about it, but as the horrific details began to emerge I am stifled to even breathe. A little boy's trauma plastered in the news...

They can paint it with their "half-full" phraseology of a "Missouri Miracle", and no doubt it was, but I was raised by two Michael Devlins and I know. The entrapment...the helplessness...the identifying...the shame...the terror...the instinct to survive even though you don't want to...then the worst -- the war to get back something you may have never even had to begin with more less get again.

Neighbors say "he always seemed like an average guy" but now they call him "a monster." They properly coin him as a freak but do not realize that there is likely a similar one already in their neighbor's house down the street. Nevertheless, my vengeful wish is that he live long and suffer. I'm not proud of it but it is true.

I hope they do not let him die -- that they do not let him live his life in a jail cell where his health needs are taken care of -- that they strip him of his clothes, throw him into an isolation cell, let the diabetes eat off the rest of his body, and let him suffer long until he rots dead.

I Run From The Ball

Do dreams make no sound
As they die...the worst thing is knowing that I'll survive...*

That's right, I run from the ball. Picture this: pee-wee volleyball - skinny kid with spindly arms - ball larger than head - trying to pop the ball over a 50-foot net from behind a line that is a mile away. A couple of coaches were vaguely amused and tried tediously to help me get the ball over the net but it would not happen for years to come.

Though I did improve, I hated that sport. Yelling "GOT IT!" and attacking the ball was not my thing and usually ended up with me crashing into someone and both of us sent to the floor. Also, when the ball hit -- it hit hard. Hard enough that I just knew I would be again crashing to that concrete-hard, shiny wooden floor with half-an-inch of wax and that my head would gush with blood and I would be disemboweled that very moment. ...okay, a little extreme but that's what it felt like.

So I run from the ball. I've always ran...long and hard. Some say that running is sometimes actually standing up to something...saying "I won't do that or I won't live like that." The trick to the game is probably knowing the difference.

And I watched as you turned away
You don't remember, but I do
You never even tried

Don't fall away and leave me to myself
Don't fall away and leave love bleeding in my hands, in my hands again **

*Fuel,Hemorrhage(In My Hands), Something Like Human
**Fuel, Die Like This, Natural Selection

The White Van That Stole My Teeth

Still with nothing good or hopeful to blog about, I'm actually NOT going to blog the hopeless and not-good things I have to say. So I'm going to tell another twisted childhood story that others seem to be so fascinated about -- the story of teeth and the white van.

So, it was another sunny day in my tiny first-grade classroom when the voice of the principal's secretary came over the intercom and started calling out student's names. One by one, students were led out of the classroom and when they came back they were in shock and missing teeth!

Sadly I, in my own la-la-land, was able to just write it off and not pay attention; that is, until MY name was called out.

Dressed in her white uniform, the school nurse led me out to the parking lot where there was a white van waiting for me. I crawled up into the van and a large man swept me up into a large chair. Something about the smell did not seem right to me but before I knew what had happened the man had removed my two front teeth, placed them in a towelette, and told me to take them home to my mother.

I had went to school that day, minding my own business with all my teeth, and the next thing I knew was that I had two bloody holes in my mouth! Though I now assume my mother gave consent to the whole ordeal, she had never spoken a word about it and was surprised to find me without teeth that evening. I do not recall having ANY decay in my front teeth and hadn't been to a dentist before that would confirm such.

Looking back, I guess that it was some government-funded dental project for poor and rural areas but it still remains a mystery to me and my classmates. Also, for the next year a rumor ran rampant that there was a mysterious white van kidnapping children so none of us went near the edge of the playground during recess out of fear.

My teeth grew back but they are surreal to me.

Nocturnal Chatterings #6

- I'm really not having chatterings, just can't sleep again. Eating away at my empty stomach, the ruthless stress has teeth.
-I can't seem to eat much, especially in the evenings when I have to come home. Much of the stress is here. Maybe if I could eat more then I could sleep better.
-I don't want to find a new place to live. I don't want to disrupt 40 gallons of fish, three cats, myself, and a spouse.
-I know that I need a lifestyle change. Working so much is not good, no exercise is not good, not eating is not good.
-I wish I could give more hope to others reading this blog.

I Must Find That Which Was Lost

"I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
With vassels and serfs at my side,
And of all who assembled within those walls
That I was the hope and the pride.
I had riches all too great to count
And a high ancestral name.
But I also dreamt which pleased me most
That you loved me still the same"*

Major life decisions are usually hard and complicated. They tend to sweep me under like a huge salty wave. Often, they involve causing hurt to others and this is very painful to me. Avoiding any harm, I put off major decisions as long as possible. Not until the point of losing more of my soul is upon me that I give in and make painful decisions.

I lost my soul a very long time ago. Thought stolen and/or dead, I believed I would never get it back. Often, I have not even wanted to try because if I ever were to get it back then the grief reminder from the loss would be to great for me to even breathe.

Tonight, I looked at my favorite cat and said to myself, "I love him so much. He is an embodiment of part of my very soul and I love him dearly. I do not know how I would live without him." Then it struck me what I had essentially said: that I loved my own soul. The thought of loving my soul...my essence..my very self... This causes feelings of shame to overwhelm me and that is sad.

"Only night will ever know
Why the heavens never show
All the dreams there are to know"*

I do not know what to say about this. It is too personal yet too foreign. I'll just cite a song that give me hope that I will find my whole soul again:

"Fallen Embers"

"Once, as my heart remembers,
All the stars were fallen embers.
Once, when night seemed forever
I was with you.

Once, in the care of morning
In the air was all belonging.
Once, when that day was dawning.
I was with you.

How far we are from morning.
How far are we
And the stars shining through the darkness,
Falling in the air.

Once, as the night was leaving
Into us our dreams were worth keeping.
Once, all dreams were worth keeping.
I was with you.

Once, when our hearts were singing,
I was with you."*

*Enya, "A Day Without Rain" & "Paint the Sky With Stars"

4AM Cat's Tongue or Rubbed Raw

There's nothing like being woken up to someone sand-papering your face -- especially if you already have insomnia and, thus, can't get back to sleep. I am reminded of a story.

Somewhere between first and third grade I had a classmate with whom I would frequently visit. Our mothers knew each other so they would sometimes visit as well. Apparently, this girl's mother did not want her to be wearing make-up and it was a BIG "NO-NO." Being a tom-boy, I did not see the issue this presented to my friend but whatever...she was obsessed with it. That was when she decided to try some cosmetics on me and the horror began.

At first it wasn't so bad but then she heard her mother in the other room and became extremely paranoid so she decided to wash it off me. The problem began when she determined that she couldn't get enough of it off me and that her deceitfulness was going to be discovered. There was something red about my left cheek so she rubbed...and she rubbed...and she rubbed...etc.

My cheek was very sore and I'm sure her mother noticed because the next day I woke up the left side of my face was all gooey, raw, and pink. A day later the wound began to turn into a nice brownish 3 x 3 inch scab and the interrogations at school and home began.

I tried to explain to the teachers, and everyone, that a girl had, matter-of-factly, simply rubbed the hyde off my face. Apparently, this caused allot of confusion, commotion, and I tired of it quickly so I began to lie to them. When one kid's mother asked me what had happened, I told her that "I got into a fight and you should see the other guy. Grrrrrrrrr!!!!" That was my reason and from then on, somewhere between my under-developed frame and the growling, and no more questions ensued.

The big question here is why did I let the hyde be rubbed off my cheek in the first place? I suppose I felt the fear of her mother's wrath and sympathized with the girl and also had too much of the victim mentality by then. In any event, it makes for a good party story.

Prologue: I did try to go back to sleep by using some techniques taught to me by a therapist but the wetness of cat #2's nose bamming me in the face made such impossible. So this time, I'm waiting for a Klonopin to kick in and then I am going to completely cover myself with blankets.

The Horror Of Darkness

Kurtz: I've seen horrors... horrors that you've seen.... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face.*

2:44am

with a thin t-shirt, I stuff into my mouth to bite down the screams of terror screeching up from the bottom of my acidic stomach, i crawl under a warm blanket to escape the chill which won't go away. what to do when the hauntings wrench your gut with such an agony that you can hardly breathe, even more want to. it follows you, the trauma follows you, and effects every moment of your life whether asleep or awake. those with whom you've had chances with are lost. you've been robbed. the list of possessions is too long to recoup and there is no insurance for such.

you walk through the day with your brain in a different mode from others. you've seen things, heard things, smelled things, felt things that should not have been consumed by any senses. it makes you different. you are a freak now. it builds a wall around you so that when you manage to break through no one knows quite what to do with you. people expect things of you but you can't figure out what, their voices blurring together like drugged fogs. you are supposed to be one thing but you are really another but no one knows or cares to know. it's too hard to know.

they find out what is important to you and they take it away. senseless acts of evil sneaking into a simple human body. threats keep you quiet and in your place. to the clueless, you look normal if you are able to walk around by day instead of holed up in a blanket.

Willard: Someday this war's gonna end. That'd be just fine with the boys on the boat. They weren't looking for anything more than a way home. Trouble is, I'd been back there, and I knew that it just didn't exist anymore. *

[quoting Kurtz]
Willard: In a war there are many moments for compassion and tender action. There are many moments for ruthless action - what is often called ruthless - what may in many circumstances be only clarity, seeing clearly what there is to be done and doing it, directly, quickly, awake, looking at it. *

*Apocalypse Now, 1979

Finding That Which Was Lost

"...And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbours together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.”"

Awake at 3am is not a good sign.

The entire St. Louis region has been glued to the TV astounded by the discovery of two missing boys. That fact that one was found was amazing but that two were found is beyond belief -- yet it happened. I remember clearly the picture of the bicycle from which the older boy had seemingly vanished into thin air over four years ago. Almost an evil blessing that it took one lost child to find another.

It has to take threats to get a child into a car and keep him for any length of time. Threats can be hard to recover from. The longer you live with them the more they change you. Like toxins, they poison your world and shape it into something unrecognizable and seemingly unbearable.

The trauma is haunting but there is no exorcism for it. I've had trauma and have searched every known avenue seeking resolution. Lately, the disillusionment that I would free myself has become too clear and the darkness of it is blinding.

Vividly, I recall living trapped in a house of torture where there was no escape. Threats of terror if I were to leave or tell burdened me heavily. I did not want anyone to get hurt.

Strange that even though the threat of violence is gone I still feel trapped in a house burdened by the misery of others and myself. If I could pack up and leave the sense of hopelessness and doom behind then I surely would but since I've done that once already I know that it would not work. My brooding haunted self will follow.

I hope that the boys get past the shock, the senseless self-blame and shame that replace the utter helplessness, the rage that surely should follow, and find peace. I hope we all do. Finding something lost is a good thing.

Missing Child

newslink

Amber Alert Issued for Ben Ownby
Last Seen: Monday, January 8, 2007 around 3:30 p.m.
Beaufort, MO (Franklin County)

Name: William " Ben" Ownby (male)
Age: 13
Height: 4 foot 10
Weight: 100 lbs.
Other: brown hair, blue eyes, last seen wearing a St. Louis Rams windbreaker and blue jeans. He was also wearing glasses.

Disappearance synopsis:
Officials say William "Ben" Ownby was last seen after he exited his school bus near his home on Burth Lane and Highway 50 in Franklin County, Mo.
Investigators believe Ben may have been abducted by someone driving a truck described as a white, possibly Nissan pickup truck with a camper shell and large rust spots. A witness said he saw a truck speed from the area after he and Ben split up.

Contact Information: If you have any information, please call:

Franklin County Sheriff's Department: 636-583-2567
911

Funds, Family Assistance

Ben Ownby Benefit Fund
A benefit fund has been established for the family of Ben Ownby to assist them while they search for Ben.
Donations can be made payable to:
Union Area Chamber of Commerce: Ownby Family Benefit
103 South Oak Street/P.O. Box 168
Union, MO 63084
Phone: 636-583-2555
www.unionmochamber.org
Donations can be made in person.

Find Ben Reward Fund
A reward fund has been established to raise money to offer as a reward for information leading to the safe return of Ben Ownby.
Dontations can be made payable to:
Union Bank Of Missouri
103 South Oak Street/P.O. Box 168
Union, MO 63084
Phone: 636-583-2555

Step Four: The Decision

"the world is silent, the clocks have stopped again.

i can see the ship that sailed has sunk to the bottom of the sea. I burn. My heart beats the tune that this is no fantasy, this is real. This is when you become dizzy with hate."*

I can't describe the mysterious world I seek as it seems I have not yet arrived. I can only search vehemently and learn from others. Only can I HOPE for Frankie's enlightenment:

::Sweating nervously in an AA meeting::

"My name is Frankie. And I am a violent man. I woke up one morning. It was winter. I could see an oak tree standing right next to me. It was cold. At first I couldn't feel anything and then I realized that my face was frozen to the ground. I couldn't lift it. It was stuck. I don't know how long I'd been there but it was long enough to freeze me. Something bad had happened. Something violent. My hands were free and I could see that they were blood red. But my thoughts were clear: They told me that I was a dead person. Dead, no longer living. Lifeless.

I remembered everything. Everything from the past. The past was there in front of me. As the sun came up my face was released but for a while I didn't want to get up. I just lay there listening to my thoughts about the past. This is where the world spins in the wrong direction, where it ends. The realization that everything that you ever wanted will never happen. Gone. Gone forever. 16 fucking years and gone. Think of all the love you gave people who never understood that what you were doing was for them and all you ever wanted back was something small. Hope. Not charity. You wanted them to make hope beautiful again.

After a while I got up and for the first time I understood something that had real meaning. You can't escape from what you are. You can only try and make you a better person. Anyway, I'm trying, and that's all I'm doing...trying to be better, trying not to give up. I guess what I'm trying to say is that things may not have worked out like you might have hoped and it's up to you to get on with it. ....Even though you feel that hope is tired and suddenly it isn't available any more... " *

The first step was HOPE. The second step was BETRAYAL. The third step was THE WAR. The fourth step was THE DECISION. The fifth step will be REBUILDING.

*"Frankie Mac", 16 Years of Alcohol.

The Bottom Line

"Faith is an island in the setting sun, But proof is the bottom line for everyone.” Paul Simon

I've always wanted to be stronger. I want to be the person with never-ending patience, understanding, and compassion but I always seem to fail.

In the business world, it is good to be understanding of an employee going through difficult times knowing that the troubles will pass and keeping the employee is worth the wait. Problems occur when the troubles never seem to pass and the BOTTOM LINE is reached. If the employer does not have a bottom line then there is a threat to the existence of the whole company. Should the company go under for one person? I don't know. Risking his flock, there was supposedly a shepherd who went in search of just one sheep.

I've come to the bottom line too many times with people. I do not know if it is because I've had extremes in "troubled" people or ... I am just not strong enough. I ALWAYS blame myself because there is ALWAYS a bottom line -- the point where my emotional and/or physical well-being come crashing down into a pile of rubble which I cannot seem to rebuild very easily.

For example, how long should a person suffer for an addict to obtain some sort of self-intuition and act on it? How long should a person hope to be seen, heard, and loved for who he/she is when the other person does not even seem capable of that for their own self? How long does a spouse wait for an abusive spouse to stop the beating or how long does a child endure parental abuse?

The answer always lies is the stinky and rancid BOTTOM LINE -- the point where either survival of self overcomes kindness to others or death occurs.

I've prayed to be stronger. I thought I had done all the right things to be so: dealing with my own demons, making healthy decisions....but obviously, something has gone wrong. Again.