My Journey Pt. 2 Into Rehab I Go.

Freshly showered, sprawled in my bed with Maggie snoozin' beside me I am content. Hell I'm more than content, I guess you could say I'm happier than a pig in shit and it all has to do with the weekend I had. It started off with a long night of work that never seemed to end; however when the sun began to lighten the sky my heart rose because I knew that in just a few short hours I would get to see my love. When I got home, I raced around, showered and urged Maggie to shit as I took her for a short morning walk. With all that done, I hopped into a cab and caught a train to Brampton where Ashton met me and we took off to Orillia for the weekend. It was a weekend full of games, PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon) and fireside adventures. I ate so much food that my ass filled with a gas that smelt of sewage and had people gagging.

June 23, 2010, I was about half way through Jurassic Park when a man walked in dressed in blue jeans, a black polo shirt and a navy blue turban. He had a big black beard that bordered a sweet smile and kind, understanding eyes. He was a doctor; he sat across from me and asked me the same questions that I had answered at least ten times before. So I fired off the answers verbatim, my story didn't change, I still wanted out, I still didn't think I was fit enough for this world. He asked me what I thought about admitting myself into Homewood on a volunteer basis. My heart jumped into my throat and for a second I couldn't breathe. Homewood, the building has a nasty stigma attached to it. "It's for crazies; you only go there if you're insane." He must have saw my hesitation and explained that Homewood was filled with a different variety of people, and where I would be going, the people would be going through the same things that I was.

I was sceptical, I was terrified, and I wanted to cry. What would my friends think? What would my family think? What would I think? I let everyone down, including myself and I think that is what hurt the most. He could see me struggling with the decision, and said, "How about this, how about you go in, check it out, and if you don't think it's for you, you can leave." I let the suggestion hang on the air for a few moments before I answered and he didn't seem to mind, those kind eyes assured me that this was the best thing that I could do right now, and I thought that since I had come this far I may as well go the whole way, so I agreed to admit myself. I didn't know it then but it was the smartest decision I had ever made in my life.

Even though it was only a couple of blocks to the institution we had to cab there. I walked in, I thought that everyone was looking at me; my heart was a jackhammer. The walls were green a woman with greying hair and glasses gave me a tour of the ward, showed me my room and told me that dinner would be served in a few minutes. I was in a room by myself; I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my bearded cheeks. I had never felt so alone in my life, the woman came back to let me know that dinner was served, I walked into the lounge where a bunch of people gathered around a table. I sat at the only chair left, introduced myself to everyone and ate in silence while the movie: The Colour Purple played on the television set to my left. With dinner finished I went back to my room to write. Poetry flowed through my pen.

TEARING APART MY INSIDES

It's no surprise these tears are in my eyes,

grey clouds envelop the skies,

my soul is being pulled from all

different sides.

 

It's tearing apart my insides

 

No matter how hard I try,

can't help but cry, my heart

washes away with the ocean's tide

all I want to do is die.

 

Its tearing apart my insides.

 

The wind howls low and morose,

steals away all my hopes

I'm left clinging to thread-

bare ropes, trying desperately to float.

 

Its tearing apart my insides.

 

I slept in that room alone, when I woke the sun was trying to break through the blinds. My mind was sore from a fitful sleep and I lay in bed wondering what to do next. Well the answer came when the door opened, a small woman announced that breakfast was waiting for me and my stomach cheered. I quickly got dressed and hauled ass to the lounge.

I just loaded my stomach with pork chops, mashed potatoes and cauliflower. I'm listening to the new As I Lay Dying album and enjoying the memories of the weekend. Eggs' exploding everywhere, water balloons cannoning through the skies and bellowing swears at bocce balls didn't quite do what they were commanded to. Memories I will cherish always and that will keep me going through hard times. All through the weekend I grew to know Ashton's family and am so happy and glad that they welcomed me with open arms. I look forward to the next one! As for now, this bear hears a couch calling and the current book I'm reading. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Take care to whomever reads this and love yourself, I'll be back next weekend, I'm sure of it.

My Journey.

I'm sitting in Ashton's Toronto apartment as the traffic whiffs by on the Don Valley Parkway feeling rather reflective right now, and want to write about my two month stint in rehab and my battle with drug abuse and mental illness. Right now I am stoned, my throat is on fire, and my ears are throbbing little waves of heat. Do I feel good? Well yeah, but I know that in a few hours the euphoria will have vanished like a fall morning mist. My heart is racing with the onset of a panic attack. I say to myself that this is the last time that I smoke weed! It's the third time that the same thing has happened while smoking, and albeit it was less as intense it still fucking sucked. Asthon's friend said something tonight that really resonated with me, "Third time's a pattern." And you know what? She's exactly right, so I'm going to let that soak in to my very marrow. I'm done with weed; I know, I know! I've made the claim before. The temptation was too strong; my heart yearns for this shit. Well I'm going to work very hard at learning how to ignore that silver tongued Devil's voice; I think meetings are in order, because I have to be honest to myself. Somewhere along the line this wonder weed; has become vile.

Let's go back, June 21, 2010 to be exact; I was lying in my bed, just finished a greasy breakfast of eggs and bacon, my mind full of wretched voices. They suggested that I hurt myself; they had been sweet talking me for some months by then.

"Take a knife,"

"Go to the pond,"

"You know the one,"

"The one with the ducks."

"Slit your wrists."

An acrid smoke clogged the air; it dragged my soul down into the blackest depths of despair imagined. An image so vivid stole into my mind; it was of me on a cold slab, draped in a white sheet and my mother stood next to it. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen from crying and as the coroner pulled the white fabric back she crumpled, there I was, dead and as cold as can be. I sat up in bed, bewildered, furious and devastated. I didn't know where to turn; I didn't know who to call, most of my friends I had alienated in my depression. I pulled my lap top close to me, checked my email for what had to be the twentieth time in as many minutes. When there were no messages in my inbox, something inside of me just snapped and I hammered my fist into my laptop screen. There was a crunch, and then I picked the thing up and threw it across the room. For all intense purposes, the laptop was kaput. I stormed out of my room, kicked the dog crate and it cart-wheeled into the sky, thankfully Maggie was already in the living room by then.

I called for my mother, I told her that she needed to take me to the hospital because I was going to kill myself; her face was full of fear. Somewhere along the line I had punched a hole in the wall. I walked defeated, back into my room, sat on the floor in front of my bed and cried until my mom came in and told me she would take me to the hospital. We rode over in a miserable silence my mind was full of one thing and one thing only, that image of me on that cold slab that could be tucked away into that giant refrigerator.

I think the worst part about that day was sitting in Emergency and talking with the nurse who filled out a suicide form. I had to lay it all out on the table in front of my mom, who stood with her arms cupped in her hands and tears in her eyes. I told about the nurse my plan, I told about how long I had been feeling this way and I couldn't look my mother in the eye. They took us to a small room with purple couches where I fell into a fitful slumber until a doctor came in and fired of pages of questions at me. When he felt like I was no longer a danger to myself he sent me home and hooked me up with something called transitional care. I went and met with the nurse there set up meetings and signed up for groups and then went home.

That night at work was the most worthless I had ever felt, I couldn't keep up with the flow, I couldn't talk to my friends and I treated my big brother as if he was dog shit on the souls of my rubber boots. When I got off in the morning those malicious voices started to croon once more. That evening I was back in the hospital, sleeping in green pants, my shoes, belt and any other sharp object had been taken from me and placed in a white plastic bag. Around one in the morning I was awoken, and taken, sleepily, to a room. I called it the fishbowl, for there was only a bed and a chair, giant windows lined the wall and a video camera was set up in the top left corner. Those days were desolate, I had to piss and shit in a steel toilet, I had to ask to shower and I had to ask for the use of my belongings. I read, played solitaire and listened to someone wail from down the hall every time a visitor came to see her. Was I glad that I was there? Not on your life, but I was glad that I wasn't dead.

With the rising sun I have been pulled out of my stupor, I'm no longer stoned, and I feel in a good place. There is a sense of shame in myself right now that I couldn't be stronger, but I can fight that off with a stick. Every once and awhile I need to remind myself that I am a rock, part of a mountain, therefore I am a mountain. Meaning I'm much stronger than I give myself credit for. I finished this blog first thing in the morning with clear thoughts and the sun beating on my back. I should wake up and get my ass out of bed for I miss my Love's company. They said in treatment to fully recover you need to share your story, so, that is what I'm doing here, I will be back next weekend with more of my journey, until then, love yourself, because you are worth it.

 

My Spirit Soars

I'm sitting here on my bed, my steaming coffee is now just lukewarm, my dog is snoring away and I'm listening to the legend Johnny Cash live in San Quentin. I'm loving life right now, this summer has been hell, and I don't know if I'm ready to put it here, on my blog perhaps one day. I've been doing a lot of reading lately, over ten books in two months, and while reading these fantastic stories I kept thinking to myself that I can do that, I have the creativity to do that. And so I started planning a novel, I outlined it, treated myself to a laptop and began writing it two weeks ago. I am now ten chapters in and I love creating this world and tearing it down any way that I can.

But that's not why I'm here, I'm here to tell you all about a dream I had a few nights back. In the dream my girlfriend, Ashton and I were in this old rickety elevator, it was made of steel mesh and carried us down into this deep darkness. When it finally stopped, we were in this huge cavern, jagged daggers of stalactites hung down from the ceiling. A massive red roped bridge reached out before us over a yawning expanse of a bottomless pit. My fear of heights kicked in, my heart raced; immediately I thought that the bridge wasn't quite up to snuff. There was no way I was getting on that thing, however on the other side, there was an opening where I could see the sun, and if I wanted to get out of the darkness I needed to traverse this wretched bridge. I took a trembling step onto the first plank of wood, the rope creaked and my heart gave way to fear, it pumped the terror throughout my veins. I wanted to be back, however when I turned around there was Ashton, her arms crossed and a look of determination etched onto her beautiful face. She didn't have to say a thing, I knew that she wouldn't let me off of the bridge, so I closed my eyes, turned around, took a deep breath and walked, there we were, suspended over a never ending height, my heart raced and every time that I wanted to stop she encouraged me with a soothing hand on my back. I plodded on determinedly, tears leaked out of my eyes, I was scared shitless. And then, we were across, we were out in the beautiful sunshine, with rolling fields of green and bubbling ribbons of cerulean blue rivers.

I woke up, turned and looked at my sleeping girlfriend, she had stayed with me when the fear was at its apex, and it took the dream as meaning that she would stay with me until I was old and grey. And I in turn will stay with her, and help her over her bottomless pit when she needs me. I fell into a deeper love this weekend, a love that I have never felt before and I never want to end. I will hold her until the sun burns out; she is everything to me and has told me that she feels the same way. My spirit is soaring and hers is right there with me.