2011/02/13

leave me the fuck alone

[Disclaimer: this is not a "pity party", but what should simply be a journal entry - but one that must escape into the wild.]

I took this picture about a half-hour after I reluctantly arose from my warm, comfy bed and a pleasant dream. Rocko's pitiful whimpering forced my hand and I had to get up. It was, after all, 8AM - time to start my daily regimen of chores and servitude. Never mind that it is Sunday; cats gotta eat, dogs gotta walk, Lisa and I need our morning meds and coffee. The the chores start and if I'm lucky I can squeeze in some relatively guilt-free private time.

While setting up the coffee maker, I observed our all-natural and wild back yard and thanked God for all the blessings that have been bestowed upon my unworthy existence. Then I prayed to Him to help me find my own inner strength to get through this difficult period (He gave me the strength long ago, I simply need help finding it sometimes).

The next time somebody tells me to "smile," I want to be able to show them this picture. "THIS is what I look like when I'm NOT smiling, but not yet completely angry. You DO NOT want to see me when I'm angry! Get the fuck over yourself and get the hell out of my way!"

Sometimes, shortly after my face takes on this configuration, it gets worse and objects begin to disintegrate by my hand. I do not recall having destroyed anything of great value (and never within the sight of others), but then last weekend Anna made a comment about their childhood lunchboxes, implying that I had destroyed them. I have no memory of anything like that. She blames it on the beer, but I know all too well that rage and evil - while keeping a very low profile - seethe just below my consciousness all day, every day, and sometimes they cause blackouts on their own. Alcohol actually helped to keep the hidden demons under control most of the time. Marijuana worked - and still works - much more effectively. Pot was my first antidepressant.

Fear not; I won't be drinking today, but there really was such freedom to being homeless. My few concerns were: 1) How long will it take me to find enough money to get beer, 2) Collect longish cigarette butts that can be smoked again, 3) Find leftover food in trash cans and dumpsters, 4) Make sure I have another book to start reading when I finish the current one, and 5) At the end of the day, find a relatively safe and comfortable place to get a little sleep at night. No pets or loved ones to care for. Hell, I barely took care of myself.

Life is so much better today - love, pets, a home, a car (!) and pretty darn good health for a 48-year-old man who spent 30 years doing his very best to commit slow suicide by drug and alcohol poisoning. The demons remain hidden but not dead.

But I need to consider the words of songwriter/philosopher Tom Waits:
"If I exorcise my devils / well my angels may leave too / When they leave they're so hard to find".
A balance needs to be found and usually holds, but this morning my mind snapped a bit. More like a minor seismic adjustment than a major quake.

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