Friday, December 31, 2010

Was It Real?

 The following is an excerpt from the book, 'Spirits From The Afterlife' written by Sylvia Brown and Lyndsey Harrison.
Thousands of people, many of them currently on earth, contributed to this book. There are the spirits and ghosts around the world who've been kind enough to show up and tell me their stories for the last half a century or so. There are the 2,014 visitors to my Web site who had the courage and generosity to e-mail their experiences to me, some of which you'll find in the pages that follow-and let me make it clear right now, I read every single one of those e-mails.
Those 2,014 brave people were on the receiving end of some fascinating appearances by spirits and ghosts, some of them deeply comforting and some of them terrifying. There's a victim of an unsolved murder who told me the name of her killer, and there's a Spirit Guide who left her voice on an audiotape, repeating a single word that gave a woman the key to her husband's criminal life. There's a woman who was given strength by a visit with an ex-boyfriend on The Other Side who she didn't know had passed away, and a man who would never have found out he had a stillborn baby sister if her spirit hadn't come to introduce herself when he was four years old.
To the thousands of us collaborators on this particular book, and the many millions who don't question any more than we do that of course there's an afterlife, there are those who will always be ready with a list of handy explanations for what we "think" we're seeing, hearing, and feeling. "Grief hysteria," "oxygen deprivation," and variations on terms for both "mental illness" and "scam" are among the most popular. What these skeptics and "experts" are usually insisting on, though, is the same cynical demand, over and over and over again, which boils down to:
"Prove that there's life after death."
I'm sixty-six years old, and I've never spent one instant doubting that there's life after death. The thousands of us who contributed to this book, on earth and beyond it, don't doubt it. The millions we represent don't doubt it. God certainly doesn't doubt it, since He's the One who told us it's true in the first place, and we take His word for everything. We're not the ones who are having a problem with this. You are. So why do we keep knocking ourselves out trying to prove something we already know with absolute certainty?
Here's my suggestion to the skeptics and "experts," for a refreshing change of pace. We're done proving that there's life after death. We've proven it well past our own satisfaction. From now on, let's do it this way: You prove that there's not. Written by Sylvia Brown and Lyndsey Harrison
  The visit I had last night affected me more than any dream I have had since this post traumatic stress began. What I witnessed was real. As real as I am sitting here typing. I cannot definitely say what happened last night  was a visit, a dream, an hallucination, or a lie. Then only thing that I am absolutely sure of is that it was not a lie. I believe the colonel visited me the way he did for a reason. He was trying to tell me something that would benefit my mental health. He asked me a simple question that I was unable to answer. Why I was not able to answer his question has been bothering me since. I felt immediate anger toward him. I believe that he sensed the anger and went away. He did not look anything like the gaunt, sickly, shell of a man as I last remembered. He had a thick, snow white head of hair but he looked great. He repeated his question and waited. Before I could get a word out he faded from view. He sensed anger. A man cannot think clearly or concentrate when he is angry. Anger is an emotion that will sometimes put an end to my dreams. I thought he was a coward, instead, I believe he knows I cannot communicate with anger in my heart.This revelation has occurred to me after thinking back to my dreams of the past.This is not to say that anger stops or manipulates my dreams. I have experienced anger from him and myself. Was it really his anger? I believe he is trying to teach me of the events that started my post traumatic stress and they are no fault of my own. He seems to want to reach me with compassion but I turn it into fear or revenge. It makes sense to me, now. Why else did he leave when I became angry? The problem of hating him is not his fault. It is a question I am debating with myself. Is he the reason of my hate and my terror-filled nightmares or is it I. It is a question I am having trouble answering and I do not know if I will ever find the answer.    theblogmeister

Thursday, December 30, 2010

A Conversation With The Dead

  I know I am supposed to be writing my life story but what happened last night cannot wait. I woke up in the middle of the night, as usual, and found myself being drawn to the living room. I cannot explain it. A force was pulling me to that room. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. My eyes were transfixed to a spot on the wall. I do not know how long I stood there staring at the wall when a small light appeared. I was confused not knowing the source of the light when it started growing in diameter. Slowly it grew. first it was the size of a quarter, then it grew to the size of a baseball. The light was the whitest light I had ever seen. I looked around the room to see if I could find the source, with no luck. It was not like a flashlight or a beam that would cause the circle on the wall. I did not know where the hell it was coming from. Suddenly the light started to pulsate as it grew larger. The larger the hole grew the more white light emitted from it. There were no sound, what so ever. None. My eyes were transfixed by the illuminated hole. I could not move. After some time, I do not know how long, the hole grew to about 4 foot in diameter. In the center of the hole was a shape. It was too small for me to see what it was. Slowly, the figure grew and after a time it became clear to me that it was the shape of a human head. Finally, I recognized who it was. It was the colonel. It was not the gaunt, shallow, sickly colonel that I last remembered but it was a beautiful, healthy, bust of colonel DeBarge. His eyes were bright and full of life. He did not look at all like the man I first met. He looked younger. He still had his white hair but seemed younger than someone with that color hair. We stared at each other for the longest when he spoke.
  "Why do you fear me?" he did not sound the same. I could not take my eyes off him. I tried to find the words to speak but I could not. "Why do you fear me?" he asked, again. The more I thought about his question the madder I got. I wanted to ask him why he ruined my life but I could not speak a word. His gaze was mesmerizing. Almost hypnotic. I stood there shaking with fear and he could sense it. Suddenly the light completely disappeared along with the colonel. What the hell is wrong with me? I was like a little girl afraid of the dark. I grew some balls after he left. "Come back, here. Do not leave me like this. I want some answers." I fell to the ground and began to weep.   theblogmeister

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Darkside

    I have on many occasions told you where my fears lie and why. I lose control the minute I fall asleep and enter a parallel universe. I am alive, breathing, but my mind does not sleep. My body is getting to the point that I cannot continue these excursions into a reality that does not belong to me. My body is racked with chronic pain that consumes my waking hours. After 4 back surgeries and countless epidurals they are becoming a problem almost as taxing as my mental health. Good mental health requires me to have a healthy body, which I do not have. I have been taking morphine for the past 5 or 6 years to the point of achieving tolerance. After a rough day dealing with the pain I need a good nights sleep which is beyond my reach. I have tried numerous sleep aids with no good results. When I was using something to help me sleep it would only give my sub-conscious mind over to a reality, whether real or not, that would confuse a mind trying to rest. Rest does not exist for me. I am battling a real foe during the day and I am in a constant state of terror at night. I cannot remember the last good dream that I had. It has been that long. My dreams are dominated by the colonel. In some form or fashion he is a part of my dreams. I do not understand how my sub-conscious mind can be taken over to the point of complete dream domination. I do not have good dreams, they may start out that way, invariably ending with some warped or twisted end. This shit gets old, too. I am trying to write a story about my life and cannot keep what I want to do a possibility. That bastard, whom at one time I really loved, will not let me live my life without interference from him. All I really want to know, is it him or is it me? I do not like living like this. Afraid to sleep in my own bed or anywhere, for that matter. If I am doing this to myself then why? Can anyone answer that? Am I punishing myself for what happened over 30 years ago? That seems absolutely crazy, to me. Some people have the ability to communicate across the divide of reason. I know that when I was putting in a bathroom in the master bedroom of my Mom and Dad's house to get it ready to sell I kept hearing loud noises, bangs and crashes and never found the reason for the noises. My Mom died in that house 2 years ago and while I was alone in that house I kept hearing noises that I could not explain. I would walk through the house yelling my mom's name and she would not answer. I wanted her to answer me so much. To this day we still did not find the reason for the noises. Was my Mom trying to communicate with me? Hell, I do not know. I call myself crazy for the things that go through my mind. Am I , really? It could be possible for spirits to communicate with the living. Maybe we all have the potential to do this, we just do not know how. I have had some unexplained things happen to me over the years. I have some dreams that would push a sane person over the edge. Why am I not a slobbering, bumbling fool? Post traumatic stress disorder is what the medical professionals call it. It is more like the twilight zone, to me. Here I go rambling on about the realities of another dimension. All I know for a fact is that I am being visited, whether real or in my head, by someone who has been dead a long time. It is not every now and then, rather, on a consistent basis. I do not have answers that I want. I do not know how to find those answers. I will not shy away from the demon of my dreams until he tells me why I am being terrorized. Someday I am going to make sense of all of this. When I do, I hope it is for the right reasons. Because right  now, nothing makes any sense.  theblogmeister

Monday, December 27, 2010

Dreams I'll Never See

  The title of an old Allman Brothers song that was re-recorded by a band from LaGrange, Ga. called Molley Hatchet. One of the great southern rock bands of the 70's. Now, why am I titling this post after that song? Simple, I am not sure if I am dreaming or experiencing reality. Take yesterday, for example. It was not a dream, at least portion of the reality may have been a dream. That is why I get so confused. I do not know if what is happening to me is real or a dream. So much has happened in the past few years concerning the Col. that my dreams and realities lines have become blurred. Is there a medical diagnosis for this? I have heard voices and loud noises in this house every since I moved here in 2007. The house was built in the thirties, made of block, and looked like it could have been condemned when my Dad bought it in the mid 90's. He bought the land the house was on and had plans to tear it down. My Mom, with a knack for seeing good from bad, talked my Dad into leaving the house to re-do. Several years later, my son and I started the painstaking process of cleaning the house. The front porch, which went the length of the house, had fallen in, the side carport was caved in, the house itself was full of beer cartons stacked wall to ceiling in every room. The house was full of spiders(I hate spiders) and the brush was grown up to where you could hardly see the damn thing to begin with. We had our work cut out for us.
  The house had to wait. The noises we kept hearing were not your every day abandoned house noises. My son informed me that he remembered he had a lot to do, elsewhere. This was my first contact with the unearthly squatters. I remembered I, also, had some other things to do that did not involve working at that house. It sat vacant for a few more years.
  The big question for me is to distinguish reality from this world and reality from another world. Look, of all the dots in the sky, we cannot be the only intelligent life form out there. I know it. I have seen the Col. after he was dead. I have seen him on many different occasions. What I need to know is the catalyst for his appearances. He has to be here for a reason. I do not think God will let anyone scamper across the celestial bodies for the hell of it. Is the Col. here to reward me for carrying out his wishes? I doubt that. Is the Col. visiting me because he changed his mind and forgot to tell me? That is what it sounds like, to me. It sounds as if he is pissed at what I did on His behalf. Could it be God is pissed at the Col. and me allowing Him to fuck with me in the here and now? I do not know what the reason is that I keep having these problems with the Col. Is all this in my head? Those are answers I do not have and I have no way of knowing or if I will ever know. That is what bothers me so much about the whole deal. You all know how much I sacrificed to make an old man happy. He should be giving me the numbers to the power ball, instead of haunting me. I ask myself how much more has He got in store for me? I wish there was some way I could do something to scare the dead shit out of Him to get Him to leave me alone. Is He that bored where ever He is? I wish I knew.
  In the mean time I will keep on doing what I can to survive. I am waiting on the weather to warm up so I can start cleaning off my lot and work on the home place. I have agreed to buy this house and about 4 acres to fix up this summer. My wife and I are going to build a house and push this old scary block house down. Maybe that will get rid of the spirits that roam around here. I do not think they are involved with the Col. in any way. They were here before I got here. Ya'll probably think I am full of shit and have a few screws loose. Well, that may be, but I know that I am not the only one occupying this old house. These spirits are not as blatant as the Col. They do not cross into my sub-conscious and mess with me. They are of the kind that does not like publicity. Heard and not seen. They are not shy about making noises, either. It compounds the problem. I have to decide the origin of the spirit. Is it the Col. or the ones that were here from the thirties? It should be interesting to find out. I really would like to get them on film. I have not tried, yet. I have plenty of time and I will keep you posted.   theblogmeister

Sunday, December 26, 2010

The Ghost of Christmas Present

  The bed was so very warm. I have a heating blanket that I put under my bottom sheet and turn my heating blanket on before I crawl into bed and the heat, besides feeling great, it helps the circulation in my back. I lay there for a while. I really do not want to get up. What for? We have no children in our house to run to see what Santa brought them as soon as they wake up. So, I just lie there. I try to remember how it used to be when I was a child. I had 4 brothers and we were all one grade in school, apart. You can understand the excitement on that one day of the year that we all celebrated. I sometimes wish I had a time machine to go back to those days. I would enjoy them even more and not wish my life away.Here it is, some 40 plus years, later. Things have changed more than I would have wished.
  I did not smell the coffee and could not feel my wife lying next to me. She had probably left to see her grand kids open their gifts. She knew not to wake me up to go with her. I just do not like kids. I would not hurt them or mistreat them in any way, I just like my peace and with small kids around you will not find peace and quiet. I feel myself trying to drift off, what the hell.
  The noise woke me up sometime, later. It was a low, drumming, monotonous noise. It sounded like a cabin of an aircraft, sorta. I sat up in bed to try to pinpoint the origin of the noise. It was everywhere. I walked into the kitchen and the noise was exactly the same as it was in my bedroom. It was almost loud enough to vibrate my windows. What the fuck is going on? I started to get concerned when my phone rang. I have an LG Ally Android and spent the last week figuring out how to work the thing. When I touched the green phone picture I lost the connection. My screen was black. I hit the button to turn it on and the screen came on, flashed, and went off, again. Something strange was going on. I have a poodle that is about 15 years old and usually barks at anything because he is blind. As I was looking at my phone I saw my dog walking towards the front of the house rather quickly. That doesn't happen. Since he lost his vision he does not go anywhere except from our bedroom to the bathroom where he can lay in front of the heater. Where in the hell could that damn dog be going and why is he not raising hell about all this humming noise? I walked towards the front of the house and the dog was standing at the front door acting like he wanted out. Well, that is something else that is strange. He never uses that door. He always goes out the side door. There is something that has got his attention at the front of the house. The noise does not seem to be bothering him. Hell, he usually barks when the ice maker dumps ice in the fridge. I had not noticed it before but it was hot as hell in this house. We have only 2 heaters, one in the bath and one in the living room. They are those gas radiant heaters and it never gets hot in the house. I starting to get a little wigged out by what was happening when the dog started to claw at the door wanting out. Hell, he was probably getting hot. I was. I started walking toward the front door when I heard the humming becoming louder. Almost deafening. I had not noticed, before, but there was a brilliant light emanating from outside. It was like my house was being bathed in flood lights. There were no lights on in the house and you could see your way around inside the house without problems. Am I about to be bum rushed by the cops? It has happened, before. This was different, though. This was something very, very, strange. I walked over to the window, opened one of the slits on the blind, and was met with a blinding light. I could not tell what was out there. Hell, I could not see a damn thing. I walked to the other side of the house to see if I could find out the reason for the light. Same thing, as soon as I separated the blind the same white light hit me like a laser. My phone started buzzing. Maybe that is my wife, calling to let me know that ET had her and wanted to trade. Keep her. Just kidding, Mr, T. I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my housecoat. Still no picture. I do not have a clue as to what is going on. The damn dog is still scratching the door, wanting out. I opened the door to let him out when a hot wind ripped the door handle out of my hand and the door crashed against the wall. The dog did not move. What the hell is happening? I am starting to get wigged out for real, now. My dog just stood there, staring out into the bright light. I grabbed the door and closed it, locked it, then bent over to pick up my dog. He was stiff as a board. It is like he is a stuffed animal. I am standing there looking at my dog wondering what the fuck was happening. I have to be dreaming. I will wake up and all of this will be a bad dream. I hear a loud bang on my door that is on the side of the house. I run towards the computer room where the door is located that was responsible for the bang. I slowly walk to the door. I noticed the door is unlocked. It starts to move. I can actually see the door knob move. I put the dog down and grab the door handle. Someone is fucking with me and I am about to turn the tables on them. I count to three. All of a sudden I snatch open the door screaming at the top of my lungs. I heard a scream almost as loud as mine. It was my wife, returning from her daughters house with her mother running back to the car, screaming. Merry Christmas.  theblogmeister

Friday, December 24, 2010

Reality Breeds Dreams Breeding Reality

  I had not slept this well in a long, long time. I cannot explain why. I have learned not to question things that may or may not be real. When I wake up in the mornings I am at a disadvantage. I have to wait and try to verify what ever happened the night before to find out if what happened was real or a dream. As I am lying in bed I start to figure out a way to confirm the reality of the night before. I say reality, singular, this time because sometimes my dreams are reality. Can you imagine starting your day that way. You cannot just get out of bed, make coffee, then plan your day. If you even have to do that. You may be what I call a robotic human. You know the kind. They have a job that consists of repetitive actions until the lunch bell, continue on until time to clock out. Things are probably done on a schedule without deviating very much from the set internal program. I am not saying that this is bad, just predictable. Some people like that style of life. I am happy for them. I even envy them, at times. The days blissfully roll on. Working hard and bring home the bacon. That what makes America great. We have millions of people that live this way. Then we have those people that are risk takers, maybe a wall street banker, or a professional athlete. They are hardwired, differently. That is what They have to have. It is in their DNA. Thank you for being like you are. Others, like myself, enjoy watching you at work. You bring a lot of people satisfaction. Then there are those that have that previously described DNA but lacking the skill to accomplish a way to make a living at whatever exciting thing that you love to do so you settle for a job that allows you to do this on a part time basis. Good for you. Then there are those that do not have a genuine grip on what is happening around you. You try to fulfill a desire to be a part of something and have no way to know how to do it. You try to have a sense of belonging, which I believe we all strive for. Yet, you fall short. It depends on how you handle it whether are not you are accepted or shunned. Then there are those that just do not give a shit. They have been studied more than any other human being. A sociopath. The worst of the worst. For whatever reason they turned out that way. I am not even gonna try and guess why they are that way. Psychiatrists that study them can only give an opinion as to why they are that way so I know I do not know. There are so many personalities that differ it makes everything exciting. It would be boring as hell if we all were alike. I have been  rambling, I know, but my point is I do not have a clear grasp on who or what I am. I mean the reason I exist. I believe I was supposed to be a doctor but someone threw a wrench in that plan. All I want to know is why was my plan thwarted. More than that, I want to know why I am being constantly punished. I am not looking for your sympathy, trust me, I do not care if someone else believes that. I have had my life transformed for a reason. To write about it? To freak my wife out, sometimes, about it. To forget about it? To overcome it? Hell if I know. I wake up and I wonder if I am awake. That is how thin the line of reality, and the line of perception, is in my mind. All I can say is hang on, I think we are about to go on a ride.     theblogmeister

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Blast From The Past

  While I was in active duty of the Air Force I was extremely lucky to be stationed at the largest base in the States. Eglin A.F.B., located in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, was the perfect home to hone my skills as a Medical Service Specialist. A medium size hospital afforded me the opportunity to work with some highly skilled medical professionals. My duties involved taking care of patients with orthopedic issues, post operative care, and the care of an occasional isolation patient, only because the unit I worked had one isolation room. I was trained in the art of orthopedic traction, believe me, it is an art. My duties also included starting IV's, insertion of naso-gastric tubes, foley catheters, and total patient care. A friend of mine that worked in the hospital's laboratory gave me the chance to learn how to start IV's. I spent 2 weeks working in the drawing room, where the tech draws blood for testing, and drew blood for 8 hours a day. Needless to say, I was very good at starting IV's. When a nurse had trouble with an IV I was called to complete the task. I became very popular among the nurses on my unit and the other unit on the second floor. A nurse hates to call a doctor at home, late in the evening to say that she could not get an ordered IV in a patient, so I was called, instead. I soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Life was good. The future looked so bright I had to wear shades. I stole that saying. While I was having so much fun I blew out a disc in my lumbar region of my spine. I was young enough to handle it without the need for the services of one of my friends in the orthopedic department. That was then, this is now.
  After I revealed my situation with the Col. and received in-patient treatment for my PTSD I made it to the point of being able to get back into the workforce. With back problems, aggravated by years of framing houses, my opportunities to work were limited. I came home one day and asked my girlfriend, who is now my wife, what she thought about seeing the country by means of an 18-wheeler. The money was very good and we could go to places that otherwise would be impossible. We started driver training in August, 2003, graduating in mid October. We signed on with a company out of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, CRST,Van Expedited. Can you imagine living with your significant other for 24/7? We did every thing together. A team operation. We loved it. It is hard to believe that we seldom argued and had a great time all while getting paid for doing it. We got paid on Tuesday and Thursday and brought home about $1400 each, twice a week. I chose truck driving because there was no heavy lifting, manual labor, and climate controlled. I did not know that I chose the worse possible occupation for someone with a bad lower back. Almost three years of driving took a great toll on my health. I had ruined my back.
  The lumbar region of the back consist of 5 lumbar vertebrae that is used more than any part of your body. My disc, the area between each vertebrae, were mush in between 4 of my 5 lumbar vertebrae. The result was that my sciatic nerve, the large nerve branching off the spinal cord to each leg, was pinched causing excruciating pain and ultimately no feeling in my left leg. My primary care physician sent me to a chiropractor who, after 12 treatments, told my doctor that I had to have surgery to repair my mush before my leg is permanently useless. Introducing a Neurosurgeon to be my new and best friend, I had it surgically repaired by removing 3 disc and using bone grafts, rods and screws to fuse 4 vertebrae together. The master surgeon completed his task and I was to recover for the next year.Then it happened.
  I was wearing a hard brace that went from my neck down to just below my waist. This suit of armor had to be worn constantly with the exception of sleep. I was 4 months post op and I bent over to pick something up and felt a stabbing pain in my lower back. This was not good. With my past medical knowledge of medicine I knew I had to see the doctor pronto. My wife and I were in the process of moving into another home when this happened. What had happened? A titanium surgical screw that was mounting the base of a titanium rod to my sacrum broke. "Hold up, a minute." I told the doctor. "How can a screw, made of a metal stronger than steel, just break?" He had no explanation. His idea about how to fix it was disconcerting. He removed 2 rods and 7 and a half screws. The screw that broke he could not get it out. He gave me another back brace and instructed me to wear it and not to work. Four months was not long enough for the bone grafts to take. I lost my job, along with my insurance, and was forced into filing for my disability. I tried to see the surgeon in his office but could not afford the office visit. I talked with several attorneys about trying to recover damages and was told that the manufacture of the screw was the largest medical supply company in the United States. I requested a copy of my surgical notes because the label of any surgical implant is affixed to the device and peeled off to put on the notes. The label tells what company made the screw, when and where the screw was made, the lot number of the screw, and the batch of screws that were made that day. I researched the screw and found out that there were no recalls pertaining to that specific screw. Hell, if I am sitting on a jury hearing a case as this, those fuckers that made the screw are about to pay, big. The only problem was no attorney had the money that it would cost to try that case. The corporation that made the screw had dozens of lawyers on retainer just for this reason. I asked my lawyer how much money would it cost to try this case. He ask me if I had $50,000 dollars to spare, with no guarantee of winning. So, I suffer on. I did, after getting my disability and medicare, get my spinal fusion done, again. I am telling you this because I have been telling these true stories of my mental problems and you were getting half the story. This half is not much better. When you think you have it rough, I promise you will find someone that has got you beat. I feel the same. I complain about the pains in my back and left leg and I see someone that has no legs. I am a fighter. I will never stop fighting, either. If there is anyone out there who may benefit from something I may know or experienced I will gladly help them out. You would do it for me.     theblogmeister

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Pain Goes On.

  I have asked myself too many times why He picked me. I still do not have an answer. I have wanted to believe that He really cared about my well being and that he would not put me in harms way for selfish reasons. I thought of Him as a good man, an honorable man, an honest man. During His life I believe he was all of those. The few months I was a part of his life he acted as such. When it came time for His decision to stop the pain He did not care who He hurt. He wanted two things, a) to end His suffering, and b) to make sure that Bunny would be taken care of after He was gone. He could not do this on His own and chose me to help Him achieve His goals. I ask God why I am being tortured for the sins of another. I know what I did was wrong and I also know that if the Col. had not talked me into doing what I did that my life would be no where near the life that I live, today. I gave up medicine because I could not trust myself to be responsible for someone else's life. I have a problem that was created by my own mind. I do blame the Col. for creating this Monster inside me. I have grown to hate this Demon. I still fear what He can do from the other side. I believe, as I said before, that this is of my own creation but I sometimes wonder if the Col. somehow can haunt me from where He is today. I watch shows about ghosts and how they can enter our realm. Maybe the Col. has that ability. I do not think my sub-conscious mind is that powerful. I have met the Col. in the middle of the night, staring Him down, smelling the rotting breath of a corpse and is my mind creating this? My mind should not choose sides. Do you think living is a primal instinct. Our bodies can do amazing things to stay alive. Then why would the mind ruin its host? There has to be more forces at work. If you bumped into me at the mall you would not sat there goes a crazy man. How can someone change so abruptly? There has to be something outside of myself at war with my self. I am not fighting me. I am fighting with an entity that I can't explain. He knows my weaknesses and exploits them. He is relentless and will not give up. I believe He is out to destroy me. He has already gotten me to fight with myself. This war is continuing every night. I cannot give in. I have a wonderful woman that wants to keep me around. She is worth fighting for, I believe. So, My journey continues. I will not talk any more of the good that was the Col. He has transformed into my enemy. He will not win this war. I am sure I will not see the last of the Col.                  theblogmeister

Monday, December 20, 2010

Reality, Once Again

  I am back to the reality of my relationship with the Col. It can't honestly be thought of as a relationship. I cannot have a relationship with a corpse. Yet, he has affected me as if he were alive. A Demon. I understand that my mind has created this monster inside me. I told a story of Col. DeBarge the way that I wished was his motivation for asking me to do what I did. I have wanted to believe that his intentions were good and honorable but I find that hard to believe. How can you ask a kid that respected you more than you will ever know. Put yourself in his shoes the way I just did. If you could tell his story and explain how it must feel to manipulate someone into taking your life and justify why. I was a kid. I thought the world of Him. I loved Him. Do you think that he believed that I would suffer no mental or legal problems? If I believed that I would not be writing about Him. Waking up in the middle of the night because of terror. I can only conclude that either a, He did not think that I would suffer any problems, or b, he just did not care. That is why I am now, and always have been, of the thinking that he did not care what happened to me. I have had this legally taken care of. When I was admitted into the Tuscaloosa VA Medical Center for treatment of post traumatic stress My therapist was the head of the program. When I started telling him my story he stopped me and asked if I was ready to take this where ever it goes, I said yes. He told me that he was legally bound to report crimes. This PTSD had ruined me. Do you think I am scared of what somebody else may or may not do? He stopped me right there. He said that he would have to get with the Hospital Attorneys, the Chief of Psychiatry, the Head of Administrations, and the Head of the Veterans Administrations. That's a lot of head. It was a little over a week and my therapist gave me the green light to tell my story. I have not stopped, yet. I held this in my mind for 29 years. Making excuses for my psychotic behavior. Taking baby steps. I know what this has done to me and I have reached out to find a way to make it stop. Hell, at least slow down. Only since 2003, I have been able to share my life with a loving woman that knows the truth and is there for me when she finds me in the closet, screaming at the top of my lungs at 2am. I am still telling my story and I communicate with many of my readers through email. If I stop talking, He wins.      theblogmeister

The Angel Of Death Has Arrived

  It took me a little over a month to get airman Riley to agree to my plan. It happens, today. He did give me a few days notice so I could say good-bye to Bunny. He does not know how much I am grateful for this decision. I do not know what I would have done had Riley turn me down. It has really affected his mood and demeanor around me. He is not the same guy, joking around and trying to bring a smile to me. His mood is somber. I think he will go through with it, too. He is a special young man and I hope what I am asking of him, in no way, changes his life. He really believes in the sanctity of life and understands that sometimes a life is not worth living. He gives value to the quality of life. I am sure he wishes there was another way to do this and he thought long and hard to find that alternate route. When he told me that he had decided to help me I began to weep. He wept with me. He has been a Godsend and I believe that God put us, together. I pray that God will take care of him after it is over. I had instructed Bunny to bring my lawyer to amend my will with her blessings and the will was changed, yesterday. Bunny and I have no children and I have made some good investments and we want to make Riley's life easier to become a physician, that is why we decided to leave him $250 thousand dollars. I also wanted him to have my golf clubs, so, when he hits one fat, he will think of me. I will miss my beautiful wife and my buddy Big Riley and will never forget the act of courage that airman Riley has shown.
  My door opens and it is Riley. We do not speak to each other. There is nothing left to say. He takes a large syringe filled with something and puts it in my IV. My vision immediately becomes blurry and can barely see when he took the other syringe and put it in. The last thing that I saw was a tear flowing down the cheek of Riley. My pain is over. I see a brilliant white light. It beckons me to come. I am home.    theblogmeister

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Working on Going Home

   The pain is all consuming. I try to watch T.V. to get my mind off the pain but it doesn't work. I've got so much narcotics flowing through my veins I should not be able to feel a thing. When I drift to the days of the war when Riley and me spent over three years as prisoners to the japs my mind will take over and it feels like I am back there. After we dropped our load and Riley came up to tell me I made a b-line north, to get as far away from Japan as I could get. We ran out of gas and had to ditch in the ocean and was picked up by the Japs. They took us, a little banged up, to a prison camp. There were about 6 others from our squadron already there. We were told that the Japs had killed three of our pilots after charging them with crimes against the Emperor. Fuck the Emperor.
  I was awaken by Airman Riley just as I was getting ready to jump one of them guards and slit his throat. "What's up, Col. D? How was your night, is the pain still pretty bad?" He really cares. He is not making small talk, he means it. He would do almost anything to help. I still haven't gotten him to agree to my plan. I just need to work him a little more. "Have you thought anymore about my plan?" I quizzed.
  "Yea, Col. D, That is all I have been thinking about. I understand the pain and not wanting it to continue but to die because of it? Let me refrain that last statement, enough for me to take a chance and kill you?" He was torn between wanting to do it and being afraid to do it. If I can get him to believe that he can do it and not get caught, I think he will do it.
  "Listen, you are no dummy, I know that you can get the medicines to put me to sleep, permanently. You will not be able to tell anyone and I sure as hell can't!"
  "But Col., you are asking me to go against everything that I believe in and love about medicine. I do not know if I can. I can't sleep at night thinking about this, I think about it all day." I think I may be getting to him. "Look, Riley, you can do this, I am begging you to do this. I can't take it much longer. Please, help me, please." Our relationship seemed to change at that moment I looked into his eyes. He seemed resigned that it must be fate that we were brought together. He was not his normal chipper self. It was like he was carrying the burden of the world on his shoulders. It would be less than a week and I think he will give me the greatest gift of all: death.   theblogmeister

Friday, December 17, 2010

Planting The Seed

  I have survived another night, beeps and all. I have wasted away, almost. The cancer has ravaged my body to the point I cannot stand alone. My skin has become so thin the doctors put a catheter into my subclavian vein because my IV's kept infiltrating. I no longer have to take shots for the pain, instead, I am receiving Dilaudid IV through my new catheter. I have spoken with Bunny and told her of my plan to ask airman Riley if he would end this suffering for me. He will come to my room, as he does every day, to say good night and I have decided to ask him today. Bunny took it harder than I expected. She hates to see me like this but she is not ready to lose me. We have had a good life, together, but it is time for it to end. She was so upset that she had to leave the hospital around noon and I talked her into staying at home to get some rest. It has been really hard on her. Our two best friends, Tom and Joan Riley, were leaving this afternoon to go back to Kansas and I wanted Bunny to be with them when they left.
  Tom has been a great friend over the years. We went through hell, together,in the Tokyo raid of April, 1942. He was my bombardier on that flight with the other 'Doolittle Raiders' as we had become known. I remember Tom checking his bomb sites over and over on that three and a half our flight after we left the USS Hornet. There were 16 B-25's in that raid, a total of 80 men. We did not have the gas to make it to China because of having to take off early. We flew low and in single file and when we reached the Japan coast we went to our pre-planned route to drop our bombs then try to make it to China. We were flying so low the Japanese thought we were their planes and would wave at us. Tom yelled that the load had been dropped and I made a bee-line north knowing we would not make it. Tom touched me on the shoulder and said not to worry that we would make it out alive and back to the great United States of America. I looked back to him and smiled.
  After Tom and Joan left the hospital I knew that I would never see them, again. Tom, by the look in his eyes, knew it too. We said our goodbyes and started to weep. That was the first time I had ever seen him cry. Even through those years as a POW. He never cried. I will miss him, dearly. Now I have to convince airman Riley to end this for me. It was about time for him to come in through the door. I did not have to wait long.
  "Alright Col. D. It is my time to go. Sleep well and no dreaming of those geisha, we don't want you to have a wet dream." Then he laughed. I sure will miss this kid more than I ever  thought. I spoke up. "Sit down a minute, Riley, I want to ask you for a favor." The colonel spoke softly. "I would not ask you this but I need you to do something very important for me." Riley said just to name it and it would be mine. "I need you to put me out of my misery." He looked funny then told me not to even joke about that. "I am serious, I need you to put an end to all this. I can't take it, anymore. Bunny can't take it, anymore. Please." He looked like someone just punched him in the stomach. "I will see you, tomorrow." He looked down and slowly walked out of the room. The seed had been planted.

Facing The Truth

   After Airman Riley finished my a.m. care the doctors came to visit. You know when 3 or more docs visit you at once, it is not a good sign. I was right. They told me the cancer had metastasized and I had a few months, at best. I wonder how Bunny is going to take this.? Not good. I can't stand the pain for a few more months. Think how it feels to smash your finger with a hammer, triple that, and that is how I feel. I have some good days, though. Riley helps me get my mind off my pain. He told me yesterday that Col. Potter was to reassign him. I will have a talk with her. Riley is the only thing, next to Bunny, that I look forward to. My days are filled with tremendous lows followed by some good times with Riley. He is just a kid from Alabama that does not realize how much he means to me. When I was his age, 19, I was learning to fly B-25's. He is doing his part. I have talked it over with Bunny and made it clear that I did not want to live like this. The pain meds are beginning to have no effect on this cancer that is eating my body away. I have to find a way to end this. I just can't take it, anymore. I know Bunny will not do what needs to be done and I am not sure that I can convince Riley into helping me. I can't do it because Bunny will lose my pension and will not get my life insurance. I have to find a way to convince airman Riley to go along with this. First, I will have a talk with Col. Potter to make damn sure that Riley is my care taker. I do not want to develop, nor do I have the time, a relationship with another tech. Riley has been with me from the start. I just hope I will be able to convince him that this is the best way for Bunny and me. I often wonder what would happen, if he agrees to help me, with his future. Will he be able to handle it, mentally? Will he even agree to do it at all? We will just have to wait and see. The door opens and it is Riley.
  "Hey, Col. D. I have some food that I had flown in from Paris. I think you will enjoy it." This kid is amazing. I am really going to miss him.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Through Green Eyes

   That damn beeping. I go to bed with it and I wake up with it. That only proves that I am alive. Did you know that all hospitals smell the same? Like shit, to me. I had one hell-of-a dream last night. We were on the USS Hornet. My buddy's name was Riley, ironically. That may be why I like the kid so much. Anyway, Riley and me were in a briefing Col. Doolittle was giving. We had practiced this back at Eglin Field. We had to take out our belly gunner and replace it with gas tanks. Instead of a rear gunner, we had two broom sticks painted black sticking out the rear of our B-25's. We had extra tanks everywhere we could put them. It was 1942 and we were on our way for some paybacks. There were 16 B-25's lashed on the deck of the Hornet. At the briefing Col. Doolittle asked for anyone that changed his mind. There were no takers. It would be a one way trip. We had the fuel to take off from the deck and fly to our target, release our bombs, then fly to China to an airfield with a beacon to hone us in for a landing and fuel. This briefing was called hastily. I looked at Riley and he had that same look of excitement in his eyes as so many of us did. We are fixing to kill some Jap bastards!
   The Colonel called us all to attention. There were 80 of us and we were ready to go.
  "I have some news that is very critical." he almost yelled. ""We were spotted by a fishing vessel and we believe that he reported our position to their Headquarters. We are 600 miles from Japan and, as you all are well aware, was supposed to take-off within 425 miles." There was a lot of guys taking deep breaths. They new that there was not enough gas to make it to China if we took off now. "I am giving one more chance if anyone wants out." There was still no takers.
  I hear Riley's voice breaking through my dream.
  "Good morning Col. I hope you slept well, last night."  "Hey, there's my little buddy. Slept well, airman Riley, slept well.        This story and the next 4 posts are fiction. I had no way to know what the Colonel's motivations and feelings were. This is my interpretation of 'His Story'.     theblogmeister

Better Late Than Never

  I apologize to my readers that have informed me of their enjoyment in reading my posts. I have to be honest with you and say that I have avoided writing because of the results the writings brings me. I have a fear or phobia, whatever you want to call it, of sleep. I do not have to tell you why that is a fear for me. I have sleeping meds that do not work, so, I have tried something I heard about from some friends. You may have heard of it, it is the incense you buy at any smoke shop. They will tell you it is not for human consumption, but we all know what it is for. I bought some called cloud 10 and the only reason I tried it is because it does not show up in a drug test. Because of my prior criminal activities I am on parole, for the last 8 years, and do not want to go back to prison. That is a story I will tell at another time. I smoked this shit and it got me stoned as good as some skunk buds I used to grow years ago. It is legal, although, the man is trying to make it illegal. I must admit that the shit worked and I got some sleep without fighting off the Col. My luck is it will be banned. I will not take anything illegal for fear of losing my freedom. I have been out of prison after doing 6 years and that is enough. I do not know how long this cloud 10 will work, I will keep you posted. As for my bio, I do not know where the hell I am, at this point. I will have to go back and figure out where to pick up and continue on. There is still a lot to tell of my life that you will, indeed, want to hear. It is a miracle that I am alive, today. I do not know why. It has not been an easy life. My dreams were shattered when I took the life of the Col. I have been winging it ever since. I do not make plans for the future, I do not make any promises, I do not worry about tomorrow. I tried to control my life and all I did was end up in prison most of my younger years. I take what comes and try to deal with it. This Demon has almost broke me many times. I cannot count how many times I almost pulled the trigger. It is scary as hell, now. The one thing that has helped is getting feedback from you. Especially the 15 year old, I will not say who you are because you already know. I appreciate the comments, it makes all this, somehow, worth it. I will return writing on a regular basis when I run out of that cloud 10. I tried writing while i was under the influence but it did not work. I spent a long time staring at the keyboard wondering how to operate it. I am almost out and I think I'll take my chances with the Col. after that. Keep reading and your input is invaluable.   theblogmeister

Friday, December 10, 2010

A Pseudopersonality

  After reading my latest post I felt that I needed to clear some things up, a little. I confused myself trying to explain the part of my life that is so difficult and demanding. There was a point in my life that I liked the way things were going for me. I had a great job, lots of good friends, a life of no regrets. With the act of doing something I thought was the right thing to do, at the time, resulted in turning my life upside down. I made the decision to euthanize a patient that had no real life. The quality of life was, and still is, very precious to me. I was led to believe that an act of love and loyalty would reap rewards beyond comprehension. Instead, I was given an emotional time bomb. I had no knowledge on how to diffuse that bomb. The ticking has not stopped after over 30 years. The definition of the word reality; is the state of things as they actually exist whether or not it is observable or comprehensible. Rather interesting, don't you think? My reality before the creation of the monster inside me was that of a sterile, clean, and vibrant existence. The state I existed in at that time. After the traumatic event that altered my existence, my reality, is one of fear, horror, emotional pain, and apprehension. That is the state of my existence, now. Remember, it does not have to be observable or comprehensible to make it reality. I believe since the trauma, I have created a parallel reality. You cannot see it and sometimes I do not understand it but they are still realities according to the definition. The reality I created is my defense mechanism at work. The brain is a remarkable 6 lbs. of grey matter. When you see a person faint what is the first thing people do? They sit them up in a chair and give them a cold rag. That is not what the body is trying to do. The reason one faints is because of a lack of oxygen in the brain. The brain tells the body to fall down, thereby, making it easier for the heart to pump blood to the brain. It does not have to pump against gravity. So, if you ever witness someone fainting, lie them down and elevate their feet. You may impress the chicks.
  Back to reality. Which one? Well, it is in the daytime so my reality is writing about my alternate reality. I know the title of this post is 'false reality' but we have learned there is no such thing. Remember, whether or not it is observable or comprehensible? That is reality. Tonight, I will have a completely different reality. We will see how it turns out.    theblogmeister


  What you just read was considered by me to be a slow night. There were no terror filled moments of panic or fear. It was mainly confusing. As I sip my morning coffee I replay the memories of last night, much like a football coach dissecting a game film looking for weaknesses, habits, patterns and strengths. This is my life. Reliving the night before to figure out ways to prepare for the night to come. I never know how my dream state may be. If it will be scary as hell or some kind of prophecy to be analyzed and recorded for future reference. The sub-conscious mind is in constant battle with the real me. I do not call them dreams, anymore, because they are so real. It is more like a parallel reality. These realities are divided into two dimensions; light and dark. When the sun comes up my primary reality is the one that defines me and is shown to the world. It is who I am, has friends, hopes and fears as most people have. It is the reality that molds who I am as a person. When there is a traumatic event that my primary reality cannot cope with the alternate reality is created to deal with the pain and the fear that the primary reality could not handle. In a matter of speaking, you could say that I have a split reality; not a split personality. Personalizing something gives it credibility, a life of its own, a stamp of approval. My alternate reality has none of those attributes. The question then becomes; is it real? For it to be a reality it has to be real. That is why personalizing it makes it real. It is, indeed, real. It is not, however, alive. That is where some people cannot grasp the differences between the two. When that happens another 'person'ality is born. The one that cannot distinguish the two, their differences, become entrenched in a life that mixes the two realities, creating what psychologist call multiple personality disorder. I do not give breath and life to but one of my realities but it is just as real, fearful, painful and harder to discern.  theblogmeister

Thursday, December 9, 2010

A New Friend

  I do not know what woke me up. Whatever it was it is foreign to me. I almost never sleep through the night but I do sleep a couple hours before my mind awakes the rest of me. It was not a noise, rather, a feeling that caused me to rise up. I looked at the bedside table and the digital clock read 11:46 pm. I watched the nightly news and went to bed immediately after. The news was over at 10:30 and I found this highly unusual that I had slept for only an hour. I usually sleep for three hours, at least, before a noise or a sound outside of my mind wakes me up. This was something internal that resulted in my sleep disturbance. Have you ever had the feeling that you were being watched? It is a feeling you get inside yourself. There is no external symptoms it is just a 'feeling'. I sit up in my bed and could not see at all. The room was that dark. My other senses kick in. My hearing becomes acute. All that I hear is the respiration's of my wife. I could tell she was asleep because her breathing was slow. I wish I could cuddle up with her mind and sleep as well as she. She is very warm to the touch. Tomorrow is a big day, so, I lie back down and think about our trip in the morning. The Colonel had a son that read my blog and contacted me. It was a complete shock. I had no idea that the colonel had any relatives much less a son. He lives in Mobile, Al. which is about a five hour drive. We made arrangements to meet in Montgomery, which is about half way. I talked to him for at least an hour trying to gauge his feelings toward my writings. He gave nothing away. He was polite and very pleasant to talk with. I almost came out and asked him what he wanted to know, I may be able to save him a three hour drive. It was imperative that we sit down and talk. I did ask if it was about the colonel? He said that it was and he was reading my blog and that was it. I will have to wait.
  The phone started ringing before my alarm clock started singing. As I was reaching for the phone my eyes went to the glow of the digital clock. It was 4:12am. Who in hell is calling me at this hour? I was just about ready to start raising hell when I heard his unmistakable voice. It was the colonel's son, Jimmy. He apologized for the early call and proceeded to tell me that he was in town, having drove all night. His demeanor had changed and demanded to know how to get to my place. I asked him why the change in plans? He began to tell me of his relationship with the colonel and why he had not seen nor spoken with his Dad and Bunny, his step-mother. He drove all the way up here to tell me that? I don't think so. Reluctantly, I gave Jimmy directions to get to my house. It should take him no more than 20 minutes to make it here. I was in the bathroom when I heard the crackling of 2-way radios outside. I opened the edge of the curtain to look and try to find the reason of the radio noise. What I did see was several flashlights darting back and forth. What the hell is going on? My wife stepped into the bathroom and scared the daylights out of me. "There is some one outside, she whispered. Sheeba is barking like crazy." Our dog was attached to a 6ft. leash that was hooked on a cable that I had tied between two trees. If she barks it usually means that some one is pulling into our driveway. I told her about the flashlights I could still see. When I turned, Lorri was not standing there. That's odd. I softly walked into our bedroom and Lorri was fast asleep still in the same position she was the first time I awoke. I must be tripping. I walked to the other side of the house and Sheeba was, indeed, barking. Some one was on both sides of my house and it was not even daylight, yet. I wonder who is behind this prank when I heard a very loud boom and felt it to the core rendering my senses  useless. It had to be a concussion grenade. No sooner had I thought about it there were about a dozen police entering my house yelling for every one to lie down. I did not move fast enough for the kind officer and he hit me with his billy-club on the side of my knee and I fell like a rock. I guess that was fast enough because he did not hit me, again. "Mr. Riley, we have a search warrant to search your house and arrest you for the murder of Renold L. DeBarge Col. USAF (ret.) I started to scream at the top of my lungs. My wife's shaking brought me back to the reality of light. The realities I experience almost every night can be pretty convincing, sometimes. I hope I do not confuse you with those realities.      theblogmeister


 If there is such a thing as semicoma I experienced it last night. This was great for me. I, with great trepidation, fell into a deep sleep last night with no repercussions. He did not visit and did not make Himself known. I do not know why or how this occurred. I tried to remember what I had done that was different from what I do on other nights. I felt the anxiety before it was time to go to bed just as I do every night. I took the exact same amount of medicines. I can't find what was different. That frustrates me. I am trying too hard and putting pressure on myself to find the answer. I spent most of my day going over the night before with no success. Nights, on rare occasions, are peaceful. They are few and far between. Maybe I try to hard to have a Demonless night only to conjure up the fear that is always in the back of my mind. I am about to embark on my sub-conscious life. I know that the mind is very different from the brain. It is the mind that houses my Demon and the mind that unlocks the door to consciousness. My brain is not the cause of my problems. I do not think it is, anyway. It is possible that there could be something physically wrong with my brain. I still have that gnawing suspicion that the defects of my mind has resulted in physical problems with my body. I do not get enough sleep, for one thing. The almost nightly struggles with my Demon has affected how I view others. Maybe it is paranoia. Hell, I may be schizophrenic. If you met me on the street you would not know of my struggles with something I can't touch. I am affected even when the Col. does not visit me at night. I am talking about it now, that is a good indicator of how consumed I am with this three decade old battle. I need to find a way to end this. I am not as strong as I used to be. The medications do not work. Image therapy does not work. Emotive therapy does not work. Keeping a journal does not work. I get one night of peace and am pissed that He will not give me more. He has made His point. What is the use in continuing this mental torture? I will try, tonight, to repeat what I did last night and see if I get peace tonight. I will let you know tomorrow.   theblogmeister

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Sleeping With The Enemy

  My eyes lids are becoming heavy, very heavy.  I can feel the warmth spreading throughout my body. I close my eyes what seems for a couple minutes and I can feel Him near. He is like a small child when he first believes in Santa. The night before Christmas eagerly awaiting sleep to overtake me so he will have a pathway into my soul. He has become a master at finding ways to take control of my parasympathetic nervous system. I think He believes He has the power to control physiological systems inside me. If He wanted me to go into cardiac arrest He can manipulate my aortic valve causing arrhythmias or interrupt the gas exchange in my lungs putting me in respiratory failure. To do this would be like a child running over glass to purposely flatten a tire on his new bicycle. He wants my body to function properly less He would lose His stage. He loves the winters with the long nights. He has more time to create stresses that affect my body so that I will need more rest. Rest for me is power for Him. He has become a master at this. For over 30 years He has reeked havoc on my sub-conscious mind. It is His playground, His laboratory, and His test tube. He knows there is nothing I can do about it. He understands my body better than I. He gets excited when the doctors prescribe me medicines that help me sleep. The night does not last long enough for Him. He is filled with greed. He does not want me to die, for if I die, He dies, also. He strokes me at night seemingly to comfort me. He has massaged my shoulder and I turn to tell my wife thank you but she is in a deep slumber. I once took too many 60mg Morphine at once and just before I feel into a permanent sleep He struck me hard between the shoulder blades waking me and the fear increased my respiration, saving my life. This time, I was alone in bed. He protects me to have a vehicle into this parallel universe. He has no other way to cross over. That is why He keeps me alive. To become proficient in His craft, psychological terror. He makes sure that I do not step off into insanity because His power would be limited. He needs me. He is punishing me without bodily harm. How long can I take this? If I admit that He is more powerful than I will He leave me? Sometimes He gets carried away and pushes me a little too close to the edge. I really do not believe He would let me fall. I have to find a way to defeat Him. If I could rob Him of His power I do not think there is enough left to pick up the peices. I call Him Darkness.   theblogmeister


   After reading my last post I wondered who it was written by. You guessed it, Me. Hell, I wrote it and have read it three more times and I have confused myself. If you have noticed the title to this post has a hyphen. I spent almost 10 years in prison for drugs, thus, con. I started taking drugs as a way to deal with my post traumatic stress. I have read, recently, that a lot of our soldiers are dealing with the horror they experienced overseas the same way. It makes me sad to hear that the military has not addressed the problem in a much quicker and proficient way. My PTSD occurred when they did not even have a name for it. Also, my PTSD did not result from combat duty. It is still the same. Some have worse cases than others. It seems, as I have read, that the best way to alleviate the symptoms is to use drugs, whether prescribed or illegal. It was so easy for me to get narcotics because of my medical background. I was consuming  massive amounts of narcotics until I was discharged from the Air Force. Upon leaving the Air Force the drugs were harder to get, as you can imagine. That is why I spent so many years of my life locked away in prison. I would go to any lengths to get the drugs that would quiet the Monster inside me. My prison life started in the early 80's after I returned home from Okay City. I write it like that because I really enjoyed living in that town. My brother and I decided it was time for me to go back to Alabama so he gave me $75 dollars for a bus ticket. After he left for work I walked down to my buddy's apartment and bought a gram of some meth. He had a few spare  needles and I used one immediately and started walking to the truck stop, grinding my teeth all the way. It did not take me long to catch a ride with a trucker. He carried me all the way to Memphis, Tn. via I-40 East. I crawled in his sleeper to do me a shot before I started walking. I must have walked 10 miles when a Tenn. State Trooper stopped. I told him that I thought this was the volunteer state. He kindly replied that it was. I asked why no one would volunteer to give me a ride? He took me all the way to the border of Mississippi, which wasn't but another 10 miles. I had not walked 30 minutes when I got another ride to Corinth, Ms. It was late at night, raining and I was at the last red light in town. If I did not stay there and try to get a ride it would tough to get one on that curvy 2-lane road plus it was 25 miles to the next town in Alabama. I made me a sign and stood at the last stop light when the Corinth's finest pulled up and informed me that I was loitering and I had to move on. Well, I tried to explain how difficult it would be to get a ride if I started walking. He kindly told me that was my problem and I had to go. Damn! I asked if I could use the restroom before I depart on my journey and he agreed. I Went into the bathroom of the last store in Corinth and done me a big ole shot of that meth and came out to tell him I appreciate the hospitality and off I walk. I was right about no one picking me up. I walked all the way to the first town in Alabama and came upon a gas station that had a Volkswagon seat sitting out front. The owner asked me where I was headed, I told him, then asked if I could sit in that chair for just a few minutes. Sure. I was asleep before my ass hit the seat. It was about 4 hours later when the owner woke me up and asked, again, where I was headed. I told him and he introduced me to a fellow that was headed to the same place. How lucky is that. I asked the gas station man if I could use his restroom and, you guessed it, I did me a shot. It was about 4 hours later the man took me to my house. I expressed my gratitude very much. Later I found out the Bus took 24 hours to go from OKC to Gadsden, Al. and it took me 27 hours. The bus only beat me by 3 hours.   theblogmeister

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Chronological Disorder

  The title says it all. I have no earthly idea where I am in reference to the story of my life. It is because my life has been lived as if I were an escaped mental patient from an institution filled with mental patients. When I get on some kind of even keel I am sideswiped by the wake of a ghost ship. I watch those ghostly encounters shows on TV and wonder how those people cope with living with an entity of unknown origin. I know where my Demon came from, I know his name, what he looks like, and what he wants. He seems as if he can cross realities with ease. I can smell Him, I can see Him. I can hear Him. The one thing that has eluded me is being able to touch Him. Shit, he probably knows that if I could get my hands on Him I would rip his ass apart. Every night it is the same. I take my meds and then I wait for them to take affect wondering if I will meet up with Him later. He lives in my mind but I think He is able to somehow morph into the physical, hiding behind the psychological part of my mind. What I mean by that is He is able to make me do things while I am asleep. I believe that sleep is when the brain is changed physialogically. I do not mean that anatomically the brain changes but dreaming gives the brain access to the physical. I am not a psychic, a soothsayer, a hypnotist, a palm reader, or any of that crap that people use to manipulate others into doing things they normally would not do. I do know this; there is a force inside me that is at war with normalcy. This force has power to invade my thoughts only, I repeat, only when I am psychologically vulnerable. Asleep. To be physically vulnerable is to have a blindfold on trying to walk across a busy intersection. Psychological vulnerability happens while the brain is at its weakest. When it is not responsible for constant decision making. While one sleeps the body rests but the brain does not. It is incapable of complete rest. Well, it is but dangerous. It is called comatose. In this state the brain is responsible for just a few actions. Making sure the heart is beating and the lungs are exchanging gases. This is when it is the most at risk. Psychologically speaking. So, when my body is at rest my mind is trying to figure out ways to make sure I never forget the actions of November, 1978. Do I invite these actions? When I lay down at night I ask God to take away any evil that may be lurking. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it does not work. Will I ever give Up? As long as there is a breath in my body and blood flowing through my veins I will fight this Demon and will never, ever, give up.   theblogmeister

Saturday, December 4, 2010


  I have been on duty for the past 30 hours with no sleep surviving on adrenaline and caffeine. The holiday weekends are always busy at our level-one trauma center partly because of distracted drivers and mostly because of driving under the influence of a favorite holiday concoction, whether it be eggnog or cheap wine. The gloomy housing market coupled with the stress of not having a job to buy Christmas for their kids compounds the problems even more. With all these factors considered; trauma one is a busy place to work. It is also the most exhilarating and the best job in the world. I do not think about the fact that I have not slept for a day and a half for the simple reason I do not have the time to think about anything else. Motor vehicle accidents, overdoses, gunshot wounds, stabbings, and the usual drunk who happens to think that he is wearing a red cape with a big letter S on his chest keeps my mind and my hands occupied. I just came out of surgical intensive care to check on a patient that I worked on last night. He is stable at this moment, although, that could change at any time. He was the driver of an SUV who had crossed the center line and collided with a family of four in a head on collision. There were no survivors of the family that was on their way home for the holidays and no need to bring them to the trauma center because their vehicle burst into flames trapping them inside. The lone survivor and driver of the car that crossed the line may not make it, as well. It would probably be best that he did not survive. How could someone live with themselves after that? That is for someone else to worry about. My job is to make sure he survives. Life and death is about winning and losing and I hate to lose. When he came wheeling in he had multiple facial fractures and severe chest trauma and he was talking to me telling me that he was having a hard time breathing. The lacerations on his face were not the reason of his apnea so it had to be internal. His vitals were stable but I was concerned with his low blood pressure. The loss of blood was not enough for hypovolemic shock. As I was pressing on his abdomen it did not feel hard ruling out a severe abdominal bleed. His pressure continued to drop slowly and I became concerned that he was bleeding somewhere. He could not take a large enough breath for me to hear any breath sounds on either side. It had to be a hemothorax. I did not want to put him under and put in an ET tube for fear of a TBI. His blood pressure had stopped dropping which gave me time to get him to CT. While he was taken for a cat scan another patient came in with severe bleeding from being stabbed three times by her ex-husband. I did not have the luxury of time on this one, I had to crack her chest to see what damage the knife blade had done. The wound was near her heart so time was of the essence. I found the problem once I got enough sponges in so I could see that the aorta was nicked. I clamped off both sides and told the nurse to call OR that we were on our way with a trail of blood following us all the way.
  Finally, I had some time to catch my breath. The young lady that suffered at the hands of her ex-husband was stable after repairing her torn aorta and stitching some fascia on her other wounds. I was able to relay the good news to her family. As for the driver who was responsible for the loss of so many in one family his injuries were just too massive to give him a chance at a life that, in my opinion, he did not deserve. I say that because the test results showed that the 57 year old man had twice the legal limit of alcohol in his blood for operating a motor vehicle. I still hated to lose. The justice system would have punished him had I been able to save him. You win some and you lose some and I am a poor loser.
  My shift, finally, has come to an end. I retrieve some papers and my laptop from my office and start to head home. As I was walking through the trauma center I looked up and saw someone out of the corner of my eye move hastily out of my sight. I turned around and looked down the corridor I had seen the man retreat. I caught a glimpse of him as he turned left down the hall towards the pathology department. It was well after clinic hours and the path department was closed, so, I was curious as to why he was here. He did not have a hospital uniform or a set of scrubs on and I picked up my pace to try and catch him. I spotted him ducking through a door. When I reached the door that I saw the stranger enter I paused. Should I call security, I was asking myself? I decided to go in and find out what, exactly, this man needed. I walked in the door and closed it behind me. I was in room 225 of Eglin Regional Hospital and there lay Col. Renold L. DeBarge. What the hell was happening? I was wearing whites and as I scanned myself I noticed the insignia of an airman 1st class on my collar. I had stepped through a time warp. I was back in the Air Force and it must have been early 1979 because the Col. did not look as bad as he did just before I killed him the first time. God has given me a chance to do the right thing, this time. This is incredible! The Col. then spoke to me. "And you are?" in a deep voice. I remember this. It was the first time I had met him. I was in shock. I bowed my head and closed my eyes and then heard a knock on the door. "Baby?" it was my wife. When I opened my eyes I was standing in my bathroom. "Baby, are you okay?" I was home.   theblogmeister

Friday, December 3, 2010

Winter Blues

  I am well aware that winter is not yet upon us. Unfortunately, the blues are with me. I have an extremely hard time coping when the weather starts to get cold. I have trouble doing many things, including writing, as you may have noticed. It has been a couple weeks since I have posted on my site. I do not have the energy, emotionally speaking, to do much writing. I think a lot of the problem is because it was in the month of November when I created this monster inside me. This time of the year is when I have the most trouble dealing with my Demon. The days are shorter, the nights are longer, and that is a bad combination with me. As you know, I have some power during the daylight. The night, however, is a completely different story. The medication that I have been prescribed for controlling my nightmares has begun to become ineffective. The body, over a period of time, developes what is called tolerance. It works the same with my pain meds. After an accident while in the military I developed spinal stenosis. Having had 4 back surgeries over the past 4 years I have ingested a hell of a lot of narcotic pain meds. After a while the meds do not work as they did when I first started taking them. Tolerance. Why can't my nightmares have similar results? After having them for several years they should not affect me as bad. I wish. The more I learn and understand them the more I am affected by them.
  I am grateful for something I do not talk much about. My wife. I had known her my whole life but only married her in 2004. I tried to tell her the truth about my post traumatic stress before we got married but was afraid she would not want any part of me. It did not take long for her to figure it out. Scaring the hell out of her during the night while I was battling my Demon was a dead give-away. Reluctantly, I explained to her what I could leaving out the most crucial part. I soon decided that it was selfish of me not to trust in her and I sat her down and told her the rest of the story. I was surprised to find that after she knew about what I had done and what pain I had been living through we became closer than we were before. Countless nights she has pulled me out of the abyss and held me while I cried like a baby. She is, by far, the most wonderful human being I have ever met. With all of my psychological problems she is the one thing that is real in my life and without her I would not be here, today. She does not judge me on what I did in the past and she is the glue that holds me together. I just wanted to take this time to say what she has done for me and continues to do everyday. I am lucky to have her at my side. If it is God that is the reason I don't know. I am convinced that I would be dead if she had not entered my life. Thank you, Lorri, for saving my life and helping me battle with the Demon that is trying to kill me. You are my hope and I love you for being there.   theblogmeister

Monday, November 22, 2010

Free Bird

  As you can see I have replaced the dark universe with some free birds. Just think how nice it would be if we could do that with our lives. I live in the light. The light is my power. My Demon rules the dark. Always has, always will. All of my fears are manifest through my sub-conscious while the night has taken control. I do not have any fears while I am awake, in the daylight. My fears, emotionally and psychologically, happen at night. I can feel the uneasiness as the sun starts to set. Historically, demons have powers at night. Count Dracula is based on a real person. The Count ruled the night. Vampires cannot handle the sunlight. The Vampire bat is a real animal that sleeps during the day and comes alive at night. My Demon is no different than those demons of lore. The Colonel is my Demon. His power comes alive at night. He is not afraid of the dark. Sound familiar? I understand that we are products of our environment. I believe that. I have been 'programmed' during my psychological development to believe that there are two forces at work in this world. Good and evil. Black and white. Hot or cold. Short or tall. Fat or skinny. See what I mean? For every action there is a reaction. Two forces at work. You have positive; good, clean, sweet. Then you have negative; bad, dirty, sour. In my case, post traumatic stress, I attribute all that is bad with evil. Demonic, darkness. Before I made the decision to take another mans life those same two forces were at work. I guess it could be innate. No, I do not believe that man has instincts. What I do believe is those two forces have been very busy with me over the past three decades. It got so bad at one point that I considered taking my own life. What stopped me? Those same two forces were at work. The ultimate stand-off. God vs. Satan. I realized that all my life I had believed in only two forces and was introduced to a third. Mediocrity. Not hot, nor cold, warm. I settled with the middle. Now, sadly I seem to be stuck there. Can I use it to my advantage? I think it is possible. A drug addict chooses abuse over use. Hell, moderation is the key. That is what my favorite author says. I'm gonna try to keep it between the lines today.  theblogmeister

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Lost In Time

  I have no idea where, chronologically, I am in this story of my life. I wanted to try and tell what it was like, pre Colonel D, what happened, and what my life is like, now. I am an editors nightmare. Why should I have all the fun having these nightmares? I would like to spread it around.
  There has been a lot of outside interference, lately. I am having a hard time keeping things organized and trying to let my reader know how crazy my life has been. That is one thing that I have successfully pulled off. If there is one thing you know about me it is that I am one screwed-up SOB. I will be the first one to admit to it, at least. I know some people that are crazy and they do not have a clue just how crazy they are. Those are the ones that worry me. I guess that is why these reality shows have such appeal. We are being let in on some things that should remain private. As in my case, I had some things happen that I chose to let no other human being know about. Reasons? There are several, one would be fear. Fear of being charged with a crime. Although by now that is irrelevant. Fear of what others would think of me. Now, I just don't give a shit. My biggest reason is anger. The fear has gave way to being mad as hell at the SOB that manipulated me at such a young age and caused me to throw away what I loved more than anything else on earth. Medicine. I would have been an excellent doctor. Just as my friend, Herb. I gave up on all my boyhood dreams to make an old man happy. In retrospect, all of this was done because the colonel was a coward and I allowed that coward to take control of my life. Even in death he has caused me great pain and sacrifice. Does that not make me what he was? Am I a coward? Webster defines the word coward in two ways. As a noun, the definition is; a person who lacks courage in facing danger, difficulty, opposition, or pain. As an adjective; very fearful or timid. According to what Mr. Webster says, I am the coward. All these years I have called the colonel a coward and have been speaking of myself. If I am the coward, what does that make Him? Cunning? To have an accurate description of what He was we have to know what He did. It is simple. To make sure the one woman that he cared about the most did not suffer and would be well taken care of He had to make sure his death would not be classified, by the pathology department, as a suicide. He had to find a way to end his life by "natural causes." He could not take the pain of living any longer. Does that sound familiar? He lacked courage in facing difficulty and pain. A Coward. He was a very smart coward. Can you really be both a coward and smart. Shit, I am confusing myself. Well, I was fearful and timid, the term used as an adjective. All I know for sure is that he accomplished what he planned to do. He did not take into consideration how that plan of his would affect me. All he cared about was Bunny. He cared enough about me to leave me something in his will. Hell, he could have left me a small fortune for all I know. I did not go to the reading or ever try to speak to Bunny, again. I have kept something from that relationship with the colonel. And, I have lost something. I have kept the memory of watching the colonel, a frail shell of a man, become the most evil, terrifying Demon that any movie has created. It has been over 30 years of trying to defeat that frail shell of a man that I had grown to love and I chose to end his life. Who am I really fighting?   theblogmeister

Friday, November 19, 2010

Alive In Okay City

  I was living on North Council and Herb had a house on the South side. I waited about an hour when I heard a car horn. He was sitting in his car grinning like a possum. When he saw me he got out of the car and met me on the sidewalk and gave me a bear hug." It is great to see you!" I told him as we let go of each other.
  "Hop in. " he told me. We are going for a ride." 
  I did not care where we were going, it was just a fantastic feeling being with him, again. We were the two best techs in Eglin Hospital and this was the first time I had talked to him since I was discharged from the Air Force. That was three years ago. We made our way to the south side of OKC in a nice suburb. Herb was renting a nice house with another guy that worked in the medical field. His room mate was a pharmacist.
  We immediately started to flash back to our days of teacher and student. Herb was entering his final year in medical school. He had continued his pre-med when we were attending Oakaloosa-Walton. That was only a two year school but it was good enough for what we needed at the time. I had dropped out when I got my discharge and spoke to Herb very little after I killed the colonel and asked to be transferred off my unit. I was waiting on the questions form Herb about that decision to move. It was not long before I got them. I was doing so well in my college classes, I loved working with orthopaedics, I was loved by my colleagues, things were going great, on the outside. Why did I give up? The truth is that I did not give up on keeping secret something I felt that no one on this earth should know. The choices I made back then had to be kept secret. I could not even tell my best friend. I would have been court martialed by the military and charged with murder by the state of Florida. There is no statute of limitations for murder, so, why am I telling the story, now? In 2008 I was an inpatient at the Tuscaloosa VA Medical Center and when I told my story for the first time my therapist stopped me and made sure I was ready to take this where ever it would lead. I had finally told someone else what only I had known for over 30 years. My therapist met with the hospital admin,and chief of psychiatry, and the hospital lawyers, and then came to me and said there would be no legal ramifications, giving me permission to tell my story. Where I was at the time with Herb was years before I got the green light to talk. I wanted to tell Herb so bad it was hard to not tell him. I trusted Herb, completely. Obviously, not completely, enough. It was still great to be with him. I stayed in OKC for about a year and it was time for me to go. I was being chased and I could not stay still, for very long. Once again, I left my friend with unanswered questions. He would ask but I refused to speak about what happened to make me just up and quit. He was no dummy. He knew it had to be something big. He probably thought it was something about drugs. He was close. It was the drugs that allowed me to keep a foot down on the Demon. I was headed back to Bama. Just the two of us. The Demon and myself.   theblogmeister

Sunday, November 14, 2010


  I could not have had a better tech to show me the ropes than Herb. He was 25 years old at that time and I was a young buck of 19. I had joined the Air Force right out of high school, went to boot camp in San Antonio, Tx., then did my medical training in Wichita Falls, Tx. After 12 weeks of med training I filled out what was called a 'dream sheet' which was a list of bases that you would like to go to for you permanent party base. That's what they called it, no shit. It definitely turned out to be a permanent party. Then about 2 weeks before you graduate you find out where you will end up. I had 8 choices and the first choice was Eglin A.F.B, Ft. Walton Beach, Florida. I had chosen all coastal bases because I love the sun and Jimmy Buffett. I was lucky because another airman had chosen almost the exact dream sheet as I. His PP base ended up being Minot, N.Dakota. Go figure.
  I made it down to the sunshine state a couple days early to get my dorm room assigned and get settled in before I started work. My job was a good job working on an orthopaedic surgery unit and Herb knew his shit. Anything about how traction equipment should go, Herb knew it. Setting up traction is an art and Herb was a master. He was great with patients and he was a very good teacher. I was paired up with Herb for my first six weeks on the job. That is where I learned most of my medical training,  on the job. I would volunteer down at the lab, Herb's idea, in the drawing room on my days off. It was not a bad idea, either. It was not long before I became proficient in starting IV's. I took any and all of Herb's advice and it usually benefited the patient. Herb was a great tech and as I am telling him where in OKC I was living a smile came across my face. I was talking to Herb. When I hung up the phone a tear came to my eye and I wished I would have confided in Herb all those years, ago. I want to tell him about colonel DeBarge, that I was responsible for his death, but I knew that as soon as I saw him I would forget the Demon. For a little while, at least.  theblogmeister

Okay City

  Herb and I hit it off from the moment we first met. My first day on the job I did not do that much work. I was lead around the unit like a thoroughbred that was being put up for sale at the horse auction. I walked around the unit being introduced to all the staff members. I could feel the stares from the nurses and could almost read their minds. You know how it goes on the first day. The cool thing about my job was that most of the staff were females. There were about five guys but not all of them were there on my first day. The guy that was holding the reigns was a Staff Sargent named Howard. Henry was the last one to meet me before morning meeting. "Wuz up? I'm Erb. I thank you'll like this place aight." Before I could speak the Charge Nurse, the Boss, walked in and everyone got quiet. I gave Herb a quick nod. We listened on a small cassette recorder about each patient. If anything that went on the night before that was important enough for the day shift to hear. Scheduled tests, expected additions and possible discharges. Since most doctors would make rounds in the evening before they went home that is when doctors orders would be written in the patients chart. I looked up and everyone was taking notes, except Herb. The meeting would last about 30 minutes and then the Boss would give out verbal orders. Just before we were dismissed the Charge Nurse turned to me and said,"I'm Colonel Potter, airman Riley(that's me) I want you to try and keep up with Herb, today, so everyone welcome airman Riley to our family. Dismissed." After a couple intros I missed I followed Herb into a room marked, Clean Utility. Herb put out is hand and said,"I'm damn glad they sent us a southern boy. You like Skynyrd?" I knew from that moment we would become fast freinds. It was the beginning of a long relationship.   theblogmeister

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Sometimes I Feel

  My life reminds me of an Allman Brothers song. Whipping Post is the name of the song. That is why I titled my post that way. Sometimes I feel that I have been tied to an emotional whipping post. I have some good days, still. While I was self-medicating I have to admit I had a hell of a lot of fun. One of my best friends while I was in the Air Force, before the colonel came into my life, was from South Carolina. I will not use his real name, I will just call him Herb. He completed his part of our pact and has become a medical doctor. A great guy with a funny southern drawl. You know it has to be funny because I am a southerner, too. I have that slow twang that comes from Alabama but Herb had a real twang. I met up with Herb in Oklahoma City, Ok. after being released from the military. I had not seen or talked with Herb in a few years and I recalled Herb telling me that he was going to move to OKC and live with another military buddy that was from OKC. I was sitting on my ass at home and started flipping through the phone book and came across Herb's name. I thought,"No way it is the same Herb." My curiosity outweighed my boredom, so, I called the number. I did not expect for anyone to answer. Hell, it was in the middle of the day when most people are at work. Except for the medical people because when the phone was answered I recognized his voice, immediately. "Herb!" I was excited to hear his voice. It had been over two years. Of course, he knew me, as well. "Spotdog! What the hell are you doing? Where are you?" He was excited as I was. Maybe a little more.
  "I'm in OKC, where the hell did you think I was?" I am excited, now. Herb was my best friend while we worked together on 2-east, at the Eglin Regional Hospital. We had a lot of good times down there. He knew everything about me. He knew my family, back home in Bama. I had taken him home with me when we had a couple days off, at the same time. I introduced him to my family and we spent the weekend camping with my home boys at the Horse Pens 40 bluegrass festival, atop beautiful Chandler Mountain. Great times!
  "What part of town are you in?" He said. We had a lot of catching up to do. He also said that I had some explaining to do. He knew something damn serious happened to me when, out of the blue, I asked to be transferred off 2-east and dropped out of pre-med. I was not lying about keeping this buried inside me for so long. I did not even give any explanation as to why I did what I did. He did not know about me killing the colonel. He knew the colonel, too. It was going to be great to see him but at the same time I dreaded it, too.    theblogmeister  

This morning I awoke to the sounds of birds chirping outside my window. The mirtazapine, a new drug for PTSD sufferers, seemed to do its job. I felt relatively relaxed and felt that I enjoyed a good nights sleep. It was still dark outside so I figured it to be before 6am. That's good. I fell asleep around 10pm. I stretched my legs apart to join up with Lorri's legs with no luck in finding them. She must be up, already. I did not smell the coffee, though. It is a rule at our house that the first one up makes the coffee. It is usually me because of my sleeping habits. A couple hours here, a couple there. No set pattern. Since I have been on this mirtazapine I have actually slept all night. It's amazing, really. I have not had that luxury in many years. The colonel saw to that. I eased out of bed and walked out on our back porch. No Lorri. I made a quick check of the house. No Lorri. Her car was outside so I knew she didn't go anywhere. It is possible she could have walked over to my Dad's but not without telling me. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Lorri's number. I was in the front room but I could faintly hear Lorri's phone ringing in the bedroom. It was just getting daylight and there was a faint light illuminating the inside of the house. I followed the sound of the phone. It was coming from the bedroom. When I reached the bedroom door I saw her lying under the covers. I was relieved and at the same time perplexed. I slowly walked up and pulled the covers back, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. The sound was that scream you would find in a bad horror movie. At first I thought it was Lorri screaming but it was me. When I pulled the covers back I didn't find my wife. What I saw was pure evil. It was the colonel with his pale complexion and breath that smelled of death. I knew it was too good to be true. He was letting me know that he was back. And he was here to stay.I really believe that I am possessed by a man that I killed over 30 years ago. Whatever I do He haunts me to this day. He is USAF Full Bird Col. Ret. Renold L Debarge.I have taken medication, group therapy, and individual therapy to try and cope with this Demon that lives in my head. No matter what I try I cannot get Him out of my sub-conscious. I have tried religion, self-hypnosis, self-awareness, all to no avail. I am convinced He will be the end of me. I am not positive that I will ever be completely away from Him. The reason is that He and I are the same. I am responsible for the years of pain, the years of incarceration, the years of self-medication, the years of fear, the years of creating an alternate self that has taken a life of its own. That is a lot of physical and emotional pain. It would have been better for me to kill Him. Killing Him would mean killing the part of my psyche that created the evil twin, for lack of better words. Believe it or not, there is some good that has survived as long as He.I have to find a way to be stronger than the other side. theblogmeister

Thursday, November 11, 2010

See What I Mean?

  The last thing I was telling you was that I did not have $50,000 dollars lying around to get me out of jail. Then, I get a visit from the Col. this morning that shook me to the core. He has no respect bringing my mother into this. That is how evil He is.
 Back to my story. Do you remember me saying that I would not get my shoes back but something better? I will now explain why. I sat in jail for several months waiting on a court date. The D.A. knew that I would not elect to go to trial because of the habitual offender act. The 3 strikes and you are out law. I was facing 15 to life. When Jim, the D.A., finally got to me he offered me 20 years in state prison. Why so much time for a receiving stolen property charge, you ask? Well, they had not forgotten about that non-drug store that was connected to the drug store. Twice? Yes, they wanted me, bad. I knew they had me, so, I accepted the generous offer of working for the state for the next 20 years. I had no violent crimes in my past so I figured I would do 6 or 7 years and make parole. I was sent south( jailhouse lingo) in August and it was hot. I had to work out in that heat all day then come back to the camp and sit in the dorm, which, by the way, was hotter than the ambient temperature outside. The only place in that camp, with a population of about 1200, that had air conditioning was the law library. The only problem was that you had to be working on a case, pro se, meaning acting as your own attorney. I was not about to appeal my 20 years. That would just piss the judge off and the D.A. and I would get more time. Then I remembered about my shoes and how the police officer roughed me up, a little. So, I filed a 1983 form citing constitutional violations of my 4th and 8th amendments. I had me a case! I did not know how long it would last but I was enjoying the cool until it was dismissed. The funny thing was, I found cases similar to mine that was ruled on by the Federal Courts. I started doing a lot of reading and studying prior cases to cite with my briefs, pleadings or motions. All the time asking for the court to appoint counsel to represent me. It rolled on for the next three years. I had a ticket to every air-conditioned law library in the state. Then, one night at midnight, I was awakened and told to pack my bags that I was going to court. They asked if I had a federal case against me because the U.S. Marshalls service were coming to get me. I said no, I have one against the police. I was taken from Montgomery, Al. to Birmingham, Al. for court. I was met by a gentleman who introduced himself as my attorney. "Are I ready for trial?" he asked. Today? Anyway, the trial lasted two days and the jury ruled in my favor and granted me $10,000 dollars punitive damages. All because I wanted to stay cool.  theblogmeister