Monthly Archives: December 2012

My Mental Health

First, I want to say I’m not posting this for notoriety or to become famous. I’m posting this because some are saying that those with mental illness can’t do things that can harm others. I say this is bullshit. If you know me, you know what I’ve gone through. I have dealt with mental illness for a few years in the matter of finding what medication works best for me. However, I have had thoughts of suicide and of killing others before. Many don’t know when I was younger I was depressed a lot and slept a lot and didn’t hang out with the few friends I had because I didn’t feel up to it. I at times wanted to commit suicide because I felt I was worthless and that my life just sucked balls. I say this because my father wasn’t there and then when my parents got a divorce things went south for a time. I must say without my mom and those few friends I had, I would not be here today. I do now have a wife and a bigger family, but without them and their work with me on going to a psychologist and getting on medication, I would be in jail or dead. Even with the dreams I have I would still think life is not worth living, and at times today I still have my moments of feeling life is worthless.
I want to let others know with mental illness it is a disease and it isn’t funded and thought of as much as I would hope. But that’s the government for you, they even said with my ADHD, Bipolar and OCD that I was fine, and I didn’t need to be on disability while I got my meds worked out. BULLSHIT!
I needed help with money and time to get my head on right because no money was coming in, and we couldn’t live off of nothing. I couldn’t work I just took disability, and they fired me. Now this might not help me to get a job next year, but I have to tell my story.
We see with tragedy that people come together, but it only lasts a time. It doesn’t last year’s maybe days to months. We need the support 24/7 for us mental cases. Without it there would be way more killings and suicide. I know that my family has gone through a patch were someone did almost commit suicide, and if it wasn’t for an Angel watching over them; they would have surely died. I can’t fathom what it would be like if God wasn’t in my life or at a bit of faith. If I didn’t have a religion or some sort of upbringing with God in it, I would flip off the sky and say, “You don’t exist and you suck big nuts.” Nevertheless, I can say that things suck balls and life goes on, but without support of family, friends, doctor’s, and medication, we would all be feeling sad because we would either be the one killing or being killed.

I lost so many jobs saying that I wanted to kill this person or that person. I lost my last job due to my disability (my mind was not right. I wasn’t on pills, then later I wasn’t on the right ones). If it wasn’t for me going to school at the time (using my financial aid to live off for three years now I have to get a job because haha the money is gone), I would have committed suicide again but with school, it kept my mind on my dreams and aspiration.

When it comes down to the medication, I had no job and no insurance to pay for the pills, so I had to try all the generic, and they didn’t last long on helping me. I had to go with pills that were hundreds of dollars. With that came St. Vincent de Paul without their free medication program, I wouldn’t be here typing this. I know that for a matter of fact.

Right now, I am without a couple of my pills and it has been for a couple of weeks due to incorrectly filled out papers on St Vincent and the drug companies. I’ve felt the change back, not all the way back, but enough to know the difference and my mind feels like it will explode without the pills, so I do hope they come soon most likely after Christmas, but I know they will come, and I can get back to normal. 
In the end, we need to think of mental illness as an illness, there are chemicals in our brains that don’t work right or aren’t flipping on and off right. With this, it is due to all the process foods and other things in our lives, but we poor people find cheap as a good thing. If we had fewer stressful jobs and medical bills and bills in general, we would have a fuller and happier life. But I’ve been without money and had to work my ASS off  to get everything my little heart desires, and I say it’s time to feel free and less stressed and less depressed I will allow my pills to work for me and not against me even when there is such a negative thought about medication and mental illness.


Tasks verson 2


Tasks
11/3/12
Tasked to write.
Tasked to read.
Tasked to bleed from my soul.
Tasked to see beyond the norm.
Tasked to be unique.
I, for one, have an issue with all this.
With being tasked to do anything.
Yes, you say I’m a writer, but
How can I write something I’m not ready for?
What is meant by this is that I have word issues.
I cannot be clear and crisp like some.
I can’t be intriguing and captivating like some.
I am just me being me.
And I for one know that I can be creative.
I just need to learn how to flow to be more positive.
I just need to learn how not to be like you.
How to be me is what I seek,
And to use the creative juices that gush from within me.

Hero in the End

He entered the church with his hands to his side. He wasn’t tall, but he was slender. He stood five feet eight and was a solid 150lbs. He had brown hair and blue eyes. They were clear blue as the cleanest and clearest of the sea. He walked toward the front of the church walking down the aisle that led him through rows of pews. He sat in a pew that was in front of the others and behind the pulpit. There was no service today, but the church was always opened to those who wanted to confess their sins and to come and pray. He sat with his head held up to look at the cross that was on the wall in front of the pulpit. “Where are you God?” With anger and fire burning inside he reached for it. It was black and  was about three pounds. It had a short stock not as long as his service weapon, but it would do the job. He took it out looking at it intensely. He raised it to his head, and his finger was on the trigger. He pointed it to his right temple. He cocked the gun and then.

How he got to this point is a story in itself, and I’m here to tell it. It all started one month ago when Lieutenant John Tucker was on patrol in Afghanistan. He took to the streets to make sure no one was on the road. It was as dark as the depth of a hole dug for a well. No stars could be seen he walked a mile from base. He didn’t want to stray from his post that took up a football field in length. An hour of his watch he heard a commotion. He walked about 50 yards from the end of his post to find a man raping a girl. This was a normal occurrence, but what he saw next is what would change his life. She lay on the ground, and the man’s pants were around his ankles and his hands where on her wrist to hold her down. But there was another there, it was a teen boy. He was strapping a vest of explosives to her. As the man, maybe his father was raping the girl. She only looked to be eleven or twelve. He didn’t know he tried not to look at young girls to guess their age.

“What in the hell are you doing?” John yells.

The boy and the man look up the man having to turn his head. In their native tongue. “None of your damn business American.” The man said.

“Well hell it ain’t get off of her.” John says as he brings his rifle up. “I’ll shoot you if you don’t get off of her.”

A few more seconds pass, “I’m done anyway.” The man said.

“You’re a sick bastard.” With his finger now on the trigger. He withholds all his thoughts and his emotions. I so want to blow this guy’s brains out right then and there.

“No, I’m not.” The man gets up off the girl, and he pulls his pants up as the girl lay on the ground crying blood coming from her vagina and a puddle of blood below her. The boy finished with what he was doing. The boy got up off the ground and started to walk toward the back room.

“You are just a sick piece of shit you know that, right?”

“Whatever she is my daughter I can do as I please.”

“You just raped your daughter. You’re really a sick son of a bitch.” John walked closer to the girl the father moves back. He starts to move back to the back room. “Why did you strap this bomb to her?”
“For you American bastards.”

“Why do you have such ill will against us.”

“Because you have come to our country and have tried to save that which can’t be saved.” The man says, as he still moves slowly toward the back room. “When she gets done crying she is going to go to your base, and then her bomb will go off taking you Americans with her.”

“Not if I can help it.” John walks over and pulls the girls’ underwear up and puts down her dress like clothes. He then bends over the girl as he grabs her hands to help her off the ground. He wants to save the girl and dis arm the bomb so badly that he forgets that the man and the boy are still around, and before he knows it John got hit from behind. Darkness over took him.

John awoke 30 minutes later to find that all three were gone. He ran out of the little home back toward his base it was still night he got about 100 yards from base when it explodes. John was thrown back from the blast only to hit a building, and he heard some cracking noises. He moves slowly to get up. The pain felt as if someone took a hammer to his ribs. Even so, the pain was blocked by the scorching flames that over took his base. He ran back into the flames to find if there were any survivors. He only saw bodies charred by the fire and ash all around the barracks.

“FUCK GOD… I was I was supposed to stay at my post at my ready for this. Fuck what have I done. I have I not done. Why did this happen.?” He had no words that came to him that didn’t have the F word several times coming out of his mouth. He thought it was his fault that this occurred when it was not. “Why didn’t I kill that sick Fuck the moment, I saw the girl? God Jesus Mary and Joseph, what…what have I done.”

He was honored for saving the very few that had survived most losing a limb most becoming inflicted with PTSD. He never thought that he should live, and somehow he survived without a scratch.

“Why,” he wondered.

I came in as he pulled the hammer back, with a click click, “Stop. What are you doing? You don’t want to do that son.”

“Why, not I don’t deserve to be alive with what I saw and what I didn’t do.”

“God has his reasons.”

“God Fuck God. I don’t even know how I got here.”

“The Lord led you here my son.”

“You’re not my father don’t call me son.”

“Sorry, but you shouldn’t be sorry for what you didn’t do or saw. You must have been in the war?”
“Yeah, duh, I have a gun to my head, and I’m wearing my camouflage.”

“Yes, I see.”

We talked for a few minutes only for him to put the gun down for the few minutes, or maybe it was an hour or longer. We talked until the tears dried from his eyes. That night he didn’t take his life.
I did have to speak at his vigil one week later. They say that he tried to save, well he did save a girl from a fire, but a falling beam impaled him. God, saved him to save the girl from the fire so that he could feel redeemed, and then then it was his time to go home.

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