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

My Story Was Interrupted Last Night

The call came at 4:56 a.m. It was a painful groan coming from my father." I can't wake her up!" I hurriedly woke my wife and told her to get her clothes on. She could see the fear and pain in my face. No more words were needed. This was the call we had been dreading, yet expecting. My dad lives less than a mile from us and we were there in minutes. I ran to the back door, rushing through, and saw my dad leaning over my mom, who appeared to be sleeping on the couch. He was on his knees cradling my mom's head, pulling it against his chest. He heard me coming in the door and slowly stood. When he was standing he turned.The yell came from someone else, it seemed. I jerked up in my bed, soaking wet with sweat. My heart beating in rapid progression against my chest. My fist clenched. I began to sob. Painfully. I was experiencing another symptom of my illness, PTSD. Nightmares. The reality had actually occurred on march, 30 2007. My mother passed away. This time when my dad turned to face me what I saw was the Colonel. A syringe in his right hand and wearing an evil grin that grew into a snarl. That is when I awoke. The colonel has become my demon, once again. When I awake from these nightmares my body reacts as if the events in my dream are real. In my sub-conscious mind they are as real as the keys on this keyboard. I have no control when I sleep. I have begun to fear sleep. Avoid sleep. Pray. With all of man's medicines, machines and treatment protocols. It seems that with all I am offered there is nothing that can rid my mind of that day in 1978. One decision that has altered the course of my life, forever.

I go to sleep at night and wonder if he will return. He has been haunting me for over 30 years. I call him a demon. A demon of my own making, yet I have no control over Him. He waits until my conscious mind is at rest. He is a coward. Powerful. He owns my sub-conscious. He has yet to show himself while I am awake. I wonder how I am able to tame Him while I am awake. The doctors say I am suffering from PTSD but they cannot tame Him, either. All the group therapy and medicine they give me only seems to increase His power. I am the demon. Only when I sleep. You would not recognize that I have a Demon inside my head. I am amiable, easy going, fun. What lurks in the dark corners of my sub-conscious is anything but. It has to be evil. I cannot conceive it being good. Has the power it contains eternal? I cannot answer that question. Sometimes I feel the power growing. Other times meek. It is always there, waiting for sleep to overcome me. PTSD is His name. Will I ever have restful sleep? I will not give up. theblogmeister


Wednesday, November 10, 2010

My Journal

  I can not accurately tell you how much narcotics I had obtained. I can say this; a hell-of-a-lot. With that much drugs one becomes very popular. I had friends that I did not know that I had. We had so much fun the next several weeks that I decided to repeat the process. I entered the non-drug store the same way as before and just so happened to have another large garbage bag hanging out my back pocket. Lucky me. I can not accurately tell you how much, as before, a hell-of-a-lot. This time I had gained a few friends that did not know you were not supposed to talk to the police about a drug store burglary. That must be why I got a visit from the local Chief of Police, who, by the way, asked me to come to the station to have a chat. He was kind enough to give me a ride. When we got to the station there were several other law enforcement officers present. I recognized them from previous visits. One, in particular, lost his temper because he did not like the answers to his questions that I was giving him. He was so mad at me that he punched me several times in the head and abdomen. There were four officers to one. Me. So, I did not punch back. They did not have any evidence and hoped that I would confess my sins. I did not see a preacher, so, I told them I knew of no such burglary. I had to leave my tennis shoes with the officers to aid in their investigation. I walked home barefooted. About 6 months later I was sitting in my recliner having just ingested several somas, experiencing jerking motions, when there was a loud knock on my door. I was still shaking a little bit, so, I yelled for them to come on in. Was I surprised when about a dozen narcotic task force officers came charging in, throwing me to my floor to hand cuff me. "We have a search warrant," an officer said." Do I need to be cuffed to let you look through all my stuff?" I asked. I was told to go outside and sit on the porch while they tore my house apart. Then they brought in a mean looking dog to sniff around. They found some items that were purchased illegally and took me to jail. I had a $50,000 dollar cash bond. It was the same officers I had left my shoes with months ago. I never got those shoes back but you will not believe what I did get.   theblogmeister

What Is Real?

  I have, once again, started having the nightmares that have plagued me for so long. This was a risk I took, knowing the consequences. I keep asking myself why I have so much trouble with something so old, very old. It happened in September of 1978. I decided to go back to that time and put what happened to me on paper. What I have lost. What I have gained. The only way for me to know if I had any positive results from my experiences is to weigh the good versus the bad. I have to relive what has happened to find out. I wish it was easy enough just to sit and say, I gained something or lost. The past year has been extra tough, for me. Is it because of my writings? I write because of the craziness in my head. The nightmares have been more frequent this year than years past. I do not know why that is. Writing has not slowed them, so, I will keep on writing. I have mentioned my battles. With myself and with the law. There is one battle that I am proud of and I will tell you why in due time. The years after the death of my brother and best friend were the most challenging. I did not cope well with his death. I used the coping mechanism that has worked best. Getting stoned. I do not mean getting a buzz on some weed, I am talking about really stoned. Narcotics. They worked to rid the Demon, for the most part, and worked well with the loss of someone I loved. I was married during the first year after my brothers death and while I was in a 6 month in-patient drug treatment center I was granted a divorce, I did not know anything about. Hell, I would have divorced me, too. It was probably caused by the diet I was on. Pharmaceuticals. While we are on the subject of Rx's I did something pretty damn crazy. There was a drug store in a little strip mall that had another store next to it, divided by a large door between the two stores. You could go in one store and walk through to the drug store or visa verse. I happened to notice that the non-drug store did not have any alarms on the door or windows. One night, after I grew some balls with the help of a handful of xanax, I broke the glass door to the non-drug store. It so happened that I had a large garbage bag hanging out my back pocket, which came in handy as I shopped at the drug store. It was 2am and there was not a soul in sight. I will tell you much more, later. I have to go.     theblogmeister