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