Saturday, November 6, 2010

The noise woke me up with a startling jolt. I sat up in bed listening intently for the noise to reoccur, to pinpoint its location. It took almost a full 5 minutes to hear it, again. It seemed to be coming from the front bedroom. I looked over at my wife watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic motion. Deep sleep. I gently eased myself from the covers and sat up putting my feet on the cool floor, trying to decide if I were dreaming. No, I had heard the noise after I sat up in bed. I slowly started to head for the front room, the old house trying to give away my presence by creaking floors. Stopping in the kitchen I paused, listening for the unrecognizable noise. Nothing. I was sure it came from the front of the house, the living room or bedroom. As I crept into the living room I began to hear something. This was not the sound that had awaken me from a deep slumber. Totally different. A sound not unlike the rhythmic sounds my wife made earlier, except this was a sound made by someone that was on a respirator. A mechanical sound that was coming from behind the bedroom door.The beating of my heart almost drowned out the sound but it could faintly be heard. I was about to turn and go back to bed for fear had overcome me when I heard the distinct low, raspy voice of a man. I could not make out any words. I started to get extremely anxious, my pulse beating hard and fast in my head. Go back to bed. I wanted to do just that but I had to find out what was going on. I needed to know if the Demon had found a way to enter my world. The conscious mind. With all the strength I could use, I slowly opened the door. cont, theblogmeister

Nocturnal Demons

The room was bathed in a bright white light. After a few moments my pupils adjusted and I began to make out what was in the room. The empty bedroom of my own home. How could this be? How can trauma from my past enter into the real world of my presence? I was in room 225 of ward 2-east at the Eglin AFB hospital in Ft. Walton Beach, Fl. An empty bed with the head of the bed at a 45 degree angle. Beside the bed was an IVAC pump with a bag of Lactated Ringers hanging on the pole, the IV tubing running toward the middle of the upper part of the bed where an arm would lie but I could not see anyone in the bed. I could hear the rhythm of a heart monitor. A steady, slow rhythm. The TV was on with the sound turned down. Running water in the bathroom. I walked toward the bathroom to see if anyone was there. I felt a stabbing pain in my neck. It felt like I was stung by a wasp. The warmth came immediately. My breathing became labored. My brain pumping massive amounts of adrenaline into my body. My only thought was to run. Then a crushing pain in my chest like the weight of a truck sitting directly on me. I collapsed to the floor struggling for my last few breaths I had in me. I looked up and saw Him. Smiling. His eyes wrinkling at the corners. The smile turned into a snarl, then He began laughing. He is back. He has not crossed over in my light. He still owns the night. theblogmeister

I m Writing, Again

  I went on such a bender after the death of my brother most of my memories of 1990 were a blur. I had lost my best friend and had the Demon trying to break through the haze of drugs. At this point I had still not told anyone about killing the colonel. I had been to doctors but I was very selective of what I told them. I was abusing narcotics in massive amounts. It is hard to believe how much drugs can be ingested after someone has built up a tolerance as I. Most  of 1992 was spent in prison, as I told you before. Something had to happen, and fast. I was,once again, writing prescriptions to support an insatiable habit. There would be times I would have to stop writing them until things cooled off. That is when the Demon did not have to fight his way into my sub-conscious. The door was open. He walked right in.

Monday, November 1, 2010

The Demon: Revisited

  Sleep is trying to overtake me. I try to fight but the medications win every time. It doesn't take long before the Demon to pull me into the abyss of the sub-conscious. He is powerful, relentless, unforgiving.His only goal is to re-play the trauma of my past. He controls my mind in the night.His power is nocturnal, In formidable.The result of over 30 years of a bond He has created between my waking self and my sub-conscious.He hates the fact others know of Him.He is afraid.Afraid of being locked away where memory has no breath.He is afraid of losing His power over me.My nightmares are becoming desperate.He is becoming stronger than the chemicals I use to quiet Him.To tame Him the way it was before.It seems that His power is strengthening.My therapist tells me to give him no quarter.Take away His name.Take all of His power.I practice ways of stealing His power by not giving Him credit for my sleep problems.Self talk and self awareness.It seems the more I learn about PTSD, the stronger He becomes. It is not supposed to work that way.The coping skills are a way to deal with problems of the light.Nothing, it seems, works for the night.Colonel Renold L. DeBarge. Full Bird.In life a smart, witty, gentleman with a heart of gold.In death He lives on.Why don't you leave me alone?I ask God to take Him away.Erase Him from my memory.Give me peace. Rest. Freedom from fear of the night. He is creeping into my days, too. I isolate myself. I avoid crowds. He watches me but He has no courage to confront me in the conscious state.He knows His power is limited, if non-existent during the day. He patiently waits. He knows I can't stay awake, forever. The night is His stage.He knows I can not escape the night so he waits, and waits, and waits.Like a small child that waits on the tooth fairy but knows the tooth fairy will not come while he is awake.So, the child, with excitement, hurries to fall asleep. I envy that child.I envy his beautiful, bountiful, sleep.     theblogmeister

Life After Cornbread

  Have you ever lost someone that was real close to you? It affected me almost as much as it did when I killed my patient. I hardly remember the next 6 months. I stayed so stoned I barely could work. I did work, though. I had to do something to take my mind off my problems. I managed to stay out of jail for a while. The Demon was fucking with me hard. I would have nightmares about the colonel killing my brother. My partying brother was gone. I had two more brothers, one older and one younger. My oldest brother worked at Goodyear and was heavily involved in union stuff. My younger brother lived in Houston, Tx. so I hardly saw him. I was married at the time to a woman that I had nothing in common with. I got her pregnant and felt like I should marry her to help raise my child. That marriage did not last very long. If you did not do drugs and married that woman you would be a doper when you left her. I had too many problems to be in a relationship with anyone. I started going to see a psychiatrist at the VA about my nightmares. He put me on a bunch of shit that I did not need. Just made everything worse. My parents talked me in to going to a drug treatment facility. It was an inpatient program that lasted 6 months. I agreed to do it. I had some experience with drug treatment so I excelled in the program. I was appointed by the staff to be a senior resident. It was more like a police. I was supposed to write other residents a demerit which would prolong their stay. Hell, 6 months was long enough, so, I refused to write anyone up. I got fired. Fine by me. I was the first resident to make it through the whole 6 months without getting a demerit. Whoop-de-doo! I did learn a lot about treatment, though. I also got divorce papers while I was there. Another whoop-de-doo. I did not care, anyway. I did make it 6 months without getting high. You know what that meant. I had problems with sleeping. I had some residents that asked to be moved out of my dorm because they thought that I would do something to them at night. Scarety-cats.
  I graduated with honors and left the place, got into my truck, and went to an emergency room in Rome, Ga. They admitted me. The doctors said I had some fractured ribs with a possible punctured lung and they wanted to watch me to make sure the lung was okay. Fine by me. I laid up in that hospital room and got me a shot of Demerol 100mg every 4 hours. Free. I gave them a bogus name, ss#, and told them I owned my company, which was bogus, and told them to send the bill to my bogus address and I would file it under my bogus Workman's comp. I left after a couple days but not before I acquired me a prescription pad. It was on like a chicken bone, then. Have you ever noticed how many friends you have when you have a lot of dope? It's amazing. They should do a study on that one. Look, all I was trying to do was quiet that Demon I had in my head. The only way to shut him up was drugs. I'm not talking about weed it had to be scheduled 3and 4 drugs. I was in for a rude awakening.   theblogmeister