March 3rd, 1989 My Worst Day

 In the late 80's I was doing a pretty good job of fending off the Demon. I had some bad nights and some unconscious ones. I had preferred the later. I still could not believe that the colonel was still giving me so much hell. I will go back and bring up some of my really bad dreams and re-post them to give you an idea of how things were going. I mentioned my brother, Cornbread, before, but let me introduce him to you  all. He was a great guy. We always had each other's back. You know the saying that dynamite comes in small packages, well. that is Bread. His real name is Charles Herbert Riley, II. And do not call him junior. Chaz, Bubba, Bubba Chaz, but he will always be Cornbread, to me. We were as close as any brother could be. We have even shared the same woman. At the same time. He was a 70's rocker, long hair, guitar picking, pot smoking , coke snorting rascal. He was a hell of a friend. Through the years he was constantly totaling cars and raising hell. I was always right  there beside him. While he was in OKC he was cruising on a KZ1000 when a pick-up truck pulled out in front of him. He broadsided the truck and he landed about 75 feet past the collision. My friend from the Air Force, Henry Steele, was working at the hospital where he was transported. My parents flew out there and Henry took good care of them. Cornbread had split his skull in several places, staying in a coma for 11 days. He did wake up and was brought back to Bama when he was able. He had to start taking Dilantin, a seizure medication, and he hated it. Made him feel useless.. Bread recovered from that mishap and we went back to doing what we knew best, partying. We were the baddest Foosball team around. Everyone tried to beat us. We were unbelievable. I played back and he played front. He had a lightning fast pull shot that nobody could block. A hell of a mean toe shot, too. He got a few dollars from the wreck in OKC and bought him a GMC Sierra Classic. One beautiful truck. On the night of his birthday, the day Elvis died, in 1988, he dropped me off at my house and he was supposed to head to his place. Instead, he ended up in the ER with a broke neck. No paralysis, thank God. He did have to wear a halo for 12 weeks. It did not slow him down, though. We built cabinets with the both of us eating Tylox and he still wearing his halo. We were something to behold. 'Dain Bramage' became his new nickname. I'm sure he was battling demons of his own but I never asked. I never told him about killing the colonel, either. Life was good as long as we were stoned. Which was the majority of the time. Then I received a call from the Baptist Memorial Hospital's ER department. Chaz had been involved in an automobile accident. I told my Mom, "Let's go check on Bubba, he's had another wreck." She was eerily quiet. Hell, this was routine for him. No big deal. Mom did not say a word on the way to the hospital. Just before we turned in the parking lot Mom looked at me and said "This does not feel right." I tried to reassure her but she sat down in the chair in the ER waiting room and did not move or say a word. I could look straight down the hall and see the cubicle he was in. I saw an awful lot of feet. When someone would come out I could see that they had him in MAST trousers. I do not think they use them anymore but what they would do is like a pair of pants that you pumped air into to keep the blood in the upper extremities. Military Anti-Shock Trousers. When I saw those I thought, oh shit. This is bad. My two brothers and my sister had arrived and we were waiting on Dad. He was at work about 25 miles away. They worked on him for about 45 minutes before the doctor and a couple nurses came out and said that they did all they could do. How sorry they were for our loss. My Mom sat back down and did not move. She was in shock. My sister started crying. The doctor started to walk off and I said, "Hang on a sec, Are you telling me that my brother is dead? I never heard what was said for the next half hour. I went berserk. I busted all the glass out of every door and window in that place with my bare hands. I was pulling up chairs that were bolted down to the floor and slinging them through the coke machines. I went ape shit. The last thing I remember of that day was being surrounded by uniformed officers and holding me down to give me an injection. It was over. Cornbread, Bubba, Chaz, Charles, was never to be seen, again.   theblogmeister

Locked-Up

  It was not long after the episode with the tennis shoes that I was transferred. I was sent to Ventress Correctional Facility. The prison system just had started substance abuse programs (SAP) and I was in the pilot program. The program lasted 8 weeks and involved a lot of 12-step based models.I excelled in the program so much that I was asked by my counselor to give a speech at graduation. I did not know it at the time that Gov. Guy Hunt would be present at the ceremony. The governor of the great state of Alabama! I prepared my speech and on graduation day gave it with much enthusiasm. The governor even came up to me and told me what a good job I had done and he hoped I would continue my plan after my release from prison.
  After graduation, I wrote the parole board requesting a parole reduction. Remember, I was sentenced to 8 years and the normal parole was 26 months. A few weeks later I received a hearing date for 13 months. They had cut my parole in half. Cool! I stayed at Ventress a couple more months then I was transferred to Montgomery Work Release. It is a program where you get a job, a real job, and the camp gets 25% of your money. By the time I made it to MWR I had only 30 days left before my parole hearing. The camp would not let me work in the free world . so, I became the camp's maintenance man. I got in real good with the Captain and when my hearing was a couple days away the Capt. asked if I was going to my hearing. I told him that I did not know it was allowed. He told me to call my parents and tell them to come get me on the day of my hearing and he would give me an 8 hour pass to attend my parole hearing. Sounds good to me. The day finally arrived, my parents picked me up, and off to downtown Montgomery we went. I walked in the parole hearing waiting room with my parents in tow. There were several people already there, I guess they were family members of other parolee hopefuls. It is very uncommon for an inmate to attend his own hearing and you could tell by the reaction I received from the clerk. She asked my name, I told her, she asked how was I related to David, I told her that I was David. Her eyes got big as quarters, she then hustled us out a door and asked us to wait in the hall at the back of the hearing room. I looked at Mom and Dad and we just shrugged our shoulders. "I assume that this does not happen very often." my Dad said. I guess not. About an hour later we were called in before a five panel hearing board. They asked me a bunch of questions, then spoke to my parents, then asked me to step forward.
  "You understand that we cannot tell you whether are not that you made parole." the chairman told me. "But, I think you will be pleased." Two weeks later I am back at Glencoe trying to find a legal way to quiet my Demon. This is important to remember. My first trip to prison only lasted a few months at the county jail. My second trip was reduced and I only served half of what I was supposed to serve. Have you ever heard of the Habitual Offender Act? Well, the next time I am not so lucky. I get hammered. You will not believe what happens next.   theblogmeister

I Need Some Help

  I am waiting to receive my service-connected disability. I am presently drawing 20% which is only 243.00/month. My 20% is because of my back. U.S.C. 38 4.16(b) clearly states that if a veteran is receiving service-connected disability and is unable to sustain gainful employment because of a service-connected disability then that veteran is deemed totally disabled. I am drawing $391.00 social security disability because of my back. I have had 4 back surgeries since 2006 and am unable to do much of anything. On top of my spinal fusion I am suffering with PTSD. That is what I am writing about in my blog. It is an amazing story that is incredible to believe. It is all the truth. I have not embellished any part of my story. My wife has been diagnosed with fibromyalgia and she is, too, currently unable to work. I have $634.00 coming in to this household every month. I need some help. It is getting harder and harder to pay my bills. I am not asking for a handout but if you want to donate and help me keep my internet so I can finish my story it will come back to you in some way. I might even make a little money if you buy from amazon clicking on my site. I do not know how much longer this appeal will last but once it is over we will be okay. So, please tell your friends and neighbors to come to my site, click on amazon and buy what you need so I can keep on writing. I am going to turn this story into a book, someday, and let whoever wants to buy it they will not be disappointed. If you want to donate:  David Riley  802 Taylor Rd. Glencoe,Al. 35905.  You would be a hero. Please help and please keep reading. theblogmeister

The Big House

  No more county jails, for me. This was my second felony and off I went to Kilby Correctional Facility. It is where everyone first goes to get classified. Psychological profiles, aids testing, and a general physical. I was pretty healthy at the time but I had hurt my wrist in a scuffle at the county before being shipped to Kilby. I was put in the thunder dorm. It got that name because there were about 500 inmates in a metal building in the middle of summer. Air conditioning? Not a chance. It was a crazy place. I saw this white dude sitting on his rack (bed) when a huge black man came up to him and picked up his new tennis shoes and started to walk away with them in his hand saying, "Thanks, white boy." I thought , oh shit, surely he is not gonna let him get away with it. The white dude said nothing. About an hour later I heard a commotion going on in the latrine and the guards were blowing their whistle, which usually means there is a fight. I made my way back there and could not get through because of the crowd. Then the white dude that got his tennis shoes stolen came by me being escorted by a guard, handcuffed. I asked around and found out the white dude waited until he caught the black dude taking a piss at the latrine. The white boy took a mop wringer and hit that black dude in the back of the head, knocking him out. He then picked him up and laid him in the latrine, took his shoes, and walked off. He got ratted on and spent a few days in administrative segregation. When the white boy got out of admin seg, nobody, I mean NOBODY, would steal dust off his bed. That was prison life. If you showed any weakness they would pounce on you.
  While I was locked-up I got a reputation for being a crazy man. I had no drugs, not for a lack of supply, and had incredibly horrifying dreams, screaming out about demons and killings. No body would mess with me. It had been 7 years since I killed the colonel and it would only get worse. A lot worse. I was sitting on my rack and the hospital runner came to me and said I needed to be at the clinic. I went to the clinic and there was 2 guys sitting there. The door opened and a name was called and this black dude to my right went in. He came out about 15 minutes later and something was obviously wrong. He looked pretty shaken. I said, "Damn, dude, are you okay?"
  "Man, I ain't never fucked with them sissies. I don't do drugs."
  I said, "What did they yell you in there?"
  "Man, I tested positive for HIV." he said
   I was shocked. I did not know what to tell him. It wasn't but a couple more minutes and the police was taking him to the aids dorm. A few minutes later the door opened and they called the black guy that was sitting to my left into the clinic. After several minutes later, the other guy came out the clinic. I knew this dude was a sissy, I was in E-dorm with him/her when we first got to Kilby. "Well, I guess I'm going to Limestone."
  "Why is that?" I asked.
  "Cause I got the ninja, but I already knew it." Here comes the police to take him/her to the aids dorm.
  Okay, I am beginning to freak out. How the hell did I get that shit? My mind  was going a hundred miles an hour. How am I gonna tell my family" What am I gonna do? What seemed like an eternity the clinic door finally opened. I walked in, with my head in my hands asking the doc what I was gonna do. He said, "What do you mean? I just want to get an x-ray of your wrist."
  "WHAT? You mean I ain't got the aids?" He paused a minute, then started laughing.
  "No, no, no, you do not have HIV." I almost hugged him. I told him that he just scared the hell out of me, I was dying of aids for a few minutes. That was a nightmare of the waking kind. But, it is only just the beginning. Hell awaits.   theblogmeister

A Criminal's Life

  The Lortabs were just not getting it. I was having more and more problems with the Demon. He was keeping me up and terrorizing my mind. His world had become the night. I had to do something, fast. I went to jail for writing scripts once but if I am careful I could get away with it for a while. It was worth it to me. The Demon had become a formidable foe. I found a doctor that would write me Lortab-10, one hundred and twenty each month, but my tolerance was so high it was like taking aspirins. Time for the script writer. I went to a doctor in Anniston and found a pad lying around and scooped it up. A family practitioner will have the numbers already printed on the pad as an ER doctor will have to write the number in himself. Here we go, again.
  Everything was going great for a while. I was able to get a couple more pads so I had several to choose from. I would usually write for Mepergan Fortis, no more than 40, and would not stop until we got 3 scripts filled a day. That's between 90 to 120 pills a day. If you do not know what meps are they contain Meperidine( Demerol ) and Phenergan . They were very easy to shoot IV. That's what me and my buddy would do. I would pass out and have the best sleep and no memory of the Demon. That is why I loved them so much. The down side to doing those thing was that you would start dreaming while wide awake and talk to people that was not even there. It was like a light switch being turned off. One minute you are okay and the next thing you know you are dealing a hand of cards and telling the next player to hurry up. Then you were back at the table with the empty capsules everywhere. You had to have someone to baby sit you so you would not leave the house. Do you understand what I must have been going through dealing with the Demon by using drugs with such hellish side effects. Anyway, I got busted, again, for the same thing. This time, because I had went through a drug treatment center, they only gave me 8 years. I had to go to  the real prison. Let me tell you, it is nothing like the county jail. You would not believe what I have seen in the Alabama prison system. I'll tell you about it, later.   theblogmeister

Busted

  I plead with the man holding the shotgun on me to let me go. He told me to sit down and shut up. No problem. A few minutes later the St. Clair County Sheriff's deputy was putting me in hand cuffs. It took about 20 minutes before we reached the jail. I was booked in and placed in the bullpen with about 20 other thugs and this would be my home until I could find someone to post my bond. It did not take long. I was bonded out the next day. My mom put up the $250 dollars, 10%, and I was home the next day. I could not understand why the druggist called the law. It was common knowledge that he would trade pills for weed so I was surprised that he had me arrested. It would be another year before my court date would come because of the backlog of criminal cases in the state of Alabama. The Alabama Department of Corrections, the prison system, was very overcrowded causing the log jam at the county level. I mean, when you are giving 15 years for possessing one joint to first time offenders you will have a backlog.
  It had been over 5 years since I had killed the colonel and the nightmares were not going away. If anything, they were getting worse. As long as I was self-medicated, I was okay. Street drugs were too expensive for  my taste. I did not like alcohol so it had to be narcotics. I kept on building houses and buying tabs when I could find them. It makes it especially hard when I look back at what I had and see what I have become.
  I was sentenced to two years in prison for the attempting to obtaining narcotics by forgery. I was lucky and got to do my time at St. Clair County jail. The prisons were still over-crowded and they welcomed the idea. I spent 10 months in the county jail as a trusty. I was in the kitchen getting lunch ready for the guys upstairs when Terry came back and said,"Guess who we just brought in ?" I said, "Who?" Doc Wilson. Well, Doc Wilson was the dude thar made me sit down and shut up with a shotgun pointed to my face. "No shit?" He asked if I wanted to strip search him before he went upstairs. They had busted Doc for trading 100 Talwin for a quarter pound of weed. "Hell yes, I want to strip search him!" We walked down the hall and I was standing just outside the office door when Terry told Doc to go with this man to be stripped and searched. He looked up in the direction of where Terry was pointing and saw me and I watched all the color drain from his face. I told him to come with me. Terry was having a hard time controlling his laughter and so was I . Poor guy. He thought I was about to do some unspeakable things to him. He followed me back to the kitchen and apologized for holding the gun on me and calling the police. He said that he thought I was the police trying to bust him. I felt sorry for the guy and told him not to worry about it  and he did not have to take his clothes off. I also told him to tell Johnny, the trustee upstairs, I said to look out for him. Jails are not for the weak. That was my first time to go to jail. There would be many more and many stories with them. Through it all, the colonel never left me.    theblogmeister

Back To Bama

  The oil bust in the early eighties affected all of OKC's economy so we had to move back to Bama. I continued my fractured rib scam and even had a hospital admit me to ICU. I have done that scam over fifty times and have never had a doctor tell me there was nothing wrong. I was telling a friend of mine about it and he could not believe it. He said there was no way I could go to an emergency room with nothing wrong and get narcotics. I told him what he needed to do and I let him pick the hospital I told him that he would have to talk to the business office lady and what to say to her. He asked why I could not tell her. I told him that I would be busy with my acting, not being able to breathe normally, can't talk, etc. etc. In a couple hours I was wheeled out of there into my friends car having had several shots of morphine IV with a prescription for 40 Lortab-10 with 3 refills. He could not believe what he had just seen. I should have been an actor, he said. He was amazed. I told him it was simple. Having worked in the medical field and around doctors I got to know their personalities. If a patient is presented with obvious breathing difficulties and is in tremendous pain, having had diagnostic tests done, a doctor will not come out and say that he does not know what is wrong.. It is an ego thing. Doctors, for the most part have a God complex. They will not admit being seen as inept. I was such a good actor faking my symptoms the doctors had no choice. They had to find what was causing my symptoms. I gave them the symptoms of fractured ribs, remember that the first two inches of the rib at the attachment of the sternum are cartilage and do not show up on x-ray, they diagnosed me with fractured ribs. It really is amazing.. I did not think of it then but imagine how much my chest has been exposed to radiation due to all those x-rays. It is a little scary, now. It was not long before I had to stop with the rib scam and had to resort back to writing scripts. Then I was at a drug store with a script I wrote and the pharmacist picked up the phone to call and have it checked. I reached over and hung the phone up and said, "Don't do that." The next thing I know I am staring down a double barrel shotgun. This is not good.     theblogmeister

Change of Scenery

  I moved to Oklahoma City, OK. in the early 80's. It was too hot for me in Bama. I went with my brother, Cornbread, and we found good jobs making good money. The only problem with me going to another place, guess who would follow? The Demon. I swear I could not shake Him. I went to doctor after doctor and they wanted to put me on psychotrophic drugs. Turn me into a Zombie. There was not much work for zombies in OKC so I would not take the zombie drugs. I figured out a new scam. I would get my brother to take me to an emergency room and I would act like I had a broke rib, could not breath well, stabbing pain just to the left of the sternum (breastbone). My brother would give them bogus info about how he owned a construction company and I fell off a scaffold. They are thinking workman's comp so I get the A-1 treatment. Did not have to wait. They would hook me up to an IV and give me narcotics IV, take x- rays and c-scan. They would come back and tell me I had fractured ribs and the only thing they could do for me was make me comfortable, ala, narcotics. You see, the first couple inches where the rib attaches to the sternum is cartilage, does not show up on x-ray. They would hold the films to the light and point out my 'rib fractures.' Then give me a bunch of dope to take home. In and out in 2 hours with a lot of drugs. We did that scam All over OKC for a long time. All the while the Demon was at bay. But soon, he would be in control for a long time.   theblogmeister

Monsters Inside Me

  There is definitely something wrong with me. I know this. I am being punished for what I did back in 1978. Am I punishing myself? I am no dumb ass, by no means. I am not the smartest person, either. I understand how the mind can hurt or heal. All I know for a fact is that I am being inundated by these nightmares that are debilitating. I can't give in. I have to make a living. The only way I am able to do that, right now, is to take narcotics to quiet my Demon. Otherwise, I would be a walking basket case because I could not get any sleep at night. I am in a catch-22. Thanks to the colonel I am living on the edge. I had my brother right there beside me. He had his own demons, I guess, because he would do as much, if not more, dope than I. The dope kept coming as long as I was writing. I got to the point when I had five or six prescription pads with their DEA number. I knew not to write any scheduled three drug with a refill. It is against the law. Schedule IV, like lortab, refills are possible. Percodan or Tylox, 5mg of oxycodone, thirty max. I knew enough about medicine to not slip up. But, I did. I let too many people in on what I was doing. I showed my face at way too many drug stores, so, I would get other people to get them filled and I would give them half. It worked out for the both of us. Until I let the wrong one in on my scam. He got busted and told the cops where he got the scripts and guess who paid me a visit? That was my first felony; probation. The nightmares got a lot worse as I became used to the drugs. Tolerance. I had to do something drastic. If I can live through it.   theblogmeister

It Was Time To Go

  It had taken Major C. a little longer than I had hoped to get me a discharge. He called me down to his office in February 1980 and gave me my discharge. I said goodbye to all my buddies and the drugs then I headed north to home. My home is in Glencoe, Al. about 60 miles north of Birmingham. It was good to be back home but I had left something behind that I much needed; drugs. Without the drugs is when my Demon first appeared in my dreams. I would wake up in the middle of the night drenched and panting. I was definitely running from Him. It was not an occasional dream, it was every night. The only thing that would quiet Him was the drugs. I had thrown away a potentially great medical career because I allowed my feelings for a dying man cloud my judgement. What was I to do, now. I had to work to care for myself in a new career. My brother was a carpenter, so, that is what I chose. I attempted to see the VA doctors but PTSD was not a recognized disease back in 1980. I was sent to a psychiatrist and was placed on anti-depressants, which did not work. Then the nightmares started becoming a huge problem that would interfere with my sleep, therefore, interfere with my waking hours. It is hard to be afraid to sleep and stay up half the night then try to do manual labor during the day. It does not work. I was building houses and working and walking walls sometimes 30 feet off the ground. I needed those pain pills. So, I started writing prescriptions from pads that I would steal from the doctors office or ER and taking them to a pharmacy and get them filled. This was too easy but it worked. For the next couple years I built houses and wrote prescriptions. Life was good. But, once again, life would bite me on the ass.    theblogmeister

A Doctor That Treats Himself Has A Fool For A Patient

As I settled in to my new job, if you could call it that, more like a baby sitter, I could not get the colonel out of my mind. What was I thinking? Well, I can't go back and change it. I wish that I could. I would have done things differently. I could have demanded my removal as his caregiver. I could have said no. I have a lot of time to think about what I had done. I still have not talked with Bunny. I have not visited her or tried to get in touch with her in any way. I found out from Henry that she had called the unit on several occasions trying to talk to me. I still wondered if she knew about what had happened. I still have told no one at all. Murder is murder, it does not matter the circumstances. If I had told anyone I am sure I would be facing criminal charges. Silence was my plan. The only other person that knew, as far as I knew, was dead. I planned on keeping it that way.   The drug use was becoming my way to deal with the memories, the pain, and the shame. I was still getting those 500 Valiums every two weeks. I would trade them for Quaalude, placidyls, Seconal, nembutals. I was becoming a walking pharmacy. I was working late one night and I walked down to the lab and talked my buddy into going up to the OR and stealing some drugs. He was game. We checked to make sure there was not any doctors in the hospital and we made our way up to the OR. We went in the same way I went in the last time and quietly we got all the liquid Valium out of the crash carts. We made our way towards the anesthesiologists office and raided the narcotics cabinet and walked out with a huge amount of controlled drugs. Three bottles of liquid cocaine, a case of injectable morphine and Demerol, and more vials of liquid Valium. We also got some vials of a drug we knew little about called ketamine. It turned out to be the largest theft in that hospitals history. There was no sign of forced entry so the investigators was sure it was an inside job. I would be sitting with some of my buddies that worked in the OR and they were bitching about the questions, drug tests and the attention they were getting from the investigators and they would be saying how much they hoped whoever did it would get caught. I did not care. I did not care about anything. That would come to be my undoing. It would not be long and what I would be going through would be hell on earth.      theblogmeister

Time To Move On

  It had been a few months since I killed the colonel and it was time to move on, farther. I went to my squadron commander, Major C, and asked for one more favor. I wanted out of the Air Force, honorably.He said to give him some time. While I was working on the MCU I had just about everybody that worked on the unit I used to work come by and see me. They could not believe I was throwing away so much talent. Several tried to talk me out of staying on the MCU and returning to the unit. They would tell me of times they had lost a patient and that I would get over it. We can't save them all, they would tell me. I have to say, I worked with a lot of great people on 2-east. They really cared about what I was going through. If they knew the truth I wonder what they would think of me, then. I really missed being a part of them, too. I could not go back near that room where I finished off the life of a human being. Hell, I didn't even hunt. I hated the thought of killing an animal. Now look at what I have become. The colonel was not an animal. He was a gentle, smart, witty, loving human being. I ended all that for him. Will I get a thank you if I ever see him in another world? No. I'll tell you what he will give me. A life of fear and self-loathing that only increased my appetite for the drugs. A life that almost killed me and one that made me question the existence of God. A life, for all practical purposes was not worth living.

A Changed Me

  The memorial for the colonel had come and gone. So had the reading of the will. Also, my week to think about whether or not I wanted a transfer. I still wanted that transfer. I met with Major Cornelius and he agreed to give me the transfer. I moved from an exciting orthopaedic surgery unit to a minimal care unit. My patients were waiting to be discharged and had very minimal care involved. Thus, the name. I was the only tech on the unit and had to give meds, chart, then get my charting initialed by an RN. I noticed that when a patient was discharged, the left over narcotics were charted; returned to pharmacy. I also noticed that the RN's that were signing off on my charts were not checking with the pharmacy whether all the meds were, in fact, returned to the pharmacy. So, I began keeping the meds that I was ' returming to the pharmacy.' It started with a few percodan. I realized that the one thing that would help me deal with what I had done to colonel DeBarge was the pain pills. I felt great when I took them. May cause drowsiness my ass. Those things motivated me. I loved them. I then met a patient that was a pharmacy tech in the hospital and he loved to smoke weed and I had some friends that smoked it. We made a deal. Every payday, on the first and the fifteenth, I would get him an ounce of some good bud and he would give me a 500 lot bottle of 10mg valium. Back then, they did not count valium like they do today. So, I figured out a way to deal with the pain of killing the colonel by getting stoned. With 500 blue valiums(roache) I was the most popular person in the bar. I sold them, traded them, ate a lot of them, lost them. Hell, I was so scatterbrained from eating so much valium I would walk into work and the guy or gal, would ask me what I was doing there. I work here! Not today. I would look at the schedule and say,"See, Monday." he or she would then tell me that today was not Monday. Those valiums sure make you forget, don't they? My favorite bar was the Cracker Box palace in Ft. Walton Bch. and The Hogs Breath Saloon, just before the bridge. Hey, this was fun. Colonel who? I was having the time of my life. The more drugs I did the farther away the Colonel went. I had it going on. So I thought.....  theblogmeister

The Spiral Begins

  It was Sunday, my phone was off the hook. I did not want to talk to anyone. The colonel's memorial is out of the question. I was not planning on going to the attorney's office tomorrow, either. I hope Bunny understands why I can't be there. In a way, I hoped the colonel had told her of the plan for me to kill him. Let's just call it even. That's what I say. I spent the day reflecting on all that had happened. I often ask myself what it would be like if I never even met the DeBarges. Everyone of my fellow workers at the hospital has called to check on me. All except Col. Potter, that is. I hope she feels partly responsible if anything should happen to me. Partly hell! She could have averted the whole thing. All it would have taken would be one word to the colonel's question; no.
  I do not go back to work until Tuesday at 3pm. It is Monday morning and I have decided not to attend the reading of the will. Bunny does not know where I live or how to get in touch with me other than the hospital. I left strict instructions not to give out my number to anyone, including Bunny. Later that night I received a visit from Nancy. She was worried about me. I convinced her that I was just greiving about the loss of the colonel. She completely understood, she missed him, too. After a little small talk she left and said she would see me tomorrow at work. We said goodnight at the door.
  I had been up since 3am this Tuesday morning. I could not get the thought of what I had done out of my head. I had little sleep on my 4 days off and I decided to be at the hospital at 7am, when my squadron commander came to his office. I was waiting on him in his lobby when he walked up and asked me what I was doing there. When I first came to Eglin I met him on my first day at the hospital. He found out that I was from Glencoe, Al. and we hit it off, immediately. We were both Crimson Tide fans and he was from Gadsden, Al. Glencoe is a small town just outside of Gadsden. I had told him of what happened with the death of colonel DeBarge,(Not what REALLY happened)and that I wanted a transfer to another unit. Preferably a clinic job. It would have less interaction with patients. He asked me to think about it for one week, then if I still wanted a transfer, he would give me one. If he only knew the truth the only transfer I would get would be to Leavenworth, Ks.     theblogmeister

How Do You Spell Relief?

  You can imagine the feeling I had when I woke up this morning around 3am. Looking around and not being able to see anything but hearing the comforting sounds of my wife's breathing. I snuggled up to her and was thankful that God had chosen to put us together. It was, once again, a feeling I have come to know, quite well. She is always the one that brings me back to reality after every nightmare, whether she knows it or not. Most of the times she is awake and pulls me from the abyss of my sub-conscious.
  I sat in my apartment thinking about the colonel's last few minutes. What was he thinking just before I injected the morphine. Did he think about the afterlife? Did he think about Bunny? My guess is that his last thought was of his one true love, Bunny. I am pretty sure he did not think about what would happen to me. As I look back some 32 years later, I am convinced he was not thinking of me at the time I pushed the plunger, nor, prior to the end while he was convincing me to go through with it. He did not consider what killing him might do to me. He was selfish and a coward. I have grown to hate everything about him for taking away what I wanted most in this world, to become a doctor. His request was purely selfish. He knew that if he committed suicide that Bunny would lose all the perks of being a retired full bird colonel's widow. His retirement. His social security. Above all, his dignity. So, He got me to do the dirty work. And what did I get? You will know exactly what I got in the coming months. It will take me that long to tell my story of what happened after Col. Renold L. DeBarge.
  As I was reflecting the phone rang, it was Bunny. She told me of the colonel's arrangements and his memorial. She also told me that he left me something that he wanted me to have. They had no children, so, he decided to put me in his will. It was a Saturday morning, he was to be cremated on Sunday, and the will would be read at their attorney's office on Monday. Bunny gave me her address, the attorney's address, and said that she loved me and would see me at the memorial on the next day. All of this is my fault. If I would have been true to my beliefs none of this would happen. I do not deserve anything but disgust. A lot of that was on the way like a tsunami.   theblogmeister

A Nightmare on Taylor Road

 I was sleeping like a baby. It almost felt as if I were sleeping out in the hot sun. I could feel the warm rays on my face. I could hear the sound of the ocean's waves lapping at the pure white sands of Alabama's beautiful beaches. The smell of salt was almost pungent. The light started to get much brighter and a little too hot on my face. I did not want to wake up with a bad sunburn on my face that would cause people to think I had a bad drinking problem, high blood pressure, or both.
  When I opened my eyes the light was more brilliant than I thought. I had to squint, only letting a small amount of light in for fear I may injure my eye. I could no longer hear the soothing sound of the waves they were replaced by a steady beep, beep, beep. Where the hell was I? Still with my eyes mostly closed I tried to raise up. Something was holding me down. Now, I was starting to get a little freaked out. Straps were around my wrist, pinning my wrist to the bed. My legs were faring no better. I felt a sting on the inner side of my arm, just below my elbow. I was having a hard time figuring this one out. I was still having trouble seeing. "Will somebody cut that damn light off!" I got no response. I felt a burning sensation going up my arm followed by a sense of euphoria. Wow! This feels good. I slightly turned my head sideways to see who was responsible for the feeling I was having. I wanted their cell number. I tried to talk but my mouth would not move. Hell, I didn't care. I have never felt this good in my life! Through the haze I saw a curtain being opened and a few people standing on the other side of a glass window. While I was trying to figure out who they were, one looked very familiar, I heard someone from inside the room asked if I had any thing to say before sentence was carried out. As I was trying to process that bit of information I heard the same voice say,"commence." Looking out the window I figured out who the lady was. It was Bunny and wondered why was she here and where was..... theblogmeister

Reliving The Past

  I thought long and hard about going back to the beginning to tell my story. I thought it may be important to other non-combat veterans who have been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder to let them know they are not alone. The decision to go back that far was not made in haste. I am already beginning to suffer from those decisions. I am reliving those days, some of the most painful of my life by writing them down. To make a record of what went into the decision making is the same, to me, as reliving those moments. It has brought to the forefront of my cognitive reasoning  those acts and reasons of why I did those things. It has also brought along the pain, the fear, the self-doubt, the psychological turmoil just as real today as it was in 1978. I can still smell the odor of death when I last saw the colonel, the smell of Bunny's perfume as we hugged and cried, together. I can still fear the emptiness I felt on that day. It was November 13, 1978. I can still feel the shame I felt when Bunny told me that the colonel loved me like a son, remembering I was the cause of his death. I can still feel the confusion when Bunny told me how proud she and the colonel was for the courage and respect I had shown to them on that last day. My mind is being flooded with memories that started my spiral downfall in emotional abyss. The pain seems as real now as it did  then. I ask myself should I carry on with this journal of the life of a young, impressionist, that went out of control and almost lost his mind. I am going to carry on with this journal because I believe that if I stop, the nightmares will just keep getting worse until it will overtake my conscious mind to the point that I will end it all. Please, pray for me as I relive this journey with you. Thank you and God Bless   theblogmeister

The Aftermath

  The phone was ringing when I walked into my apartment. It was the hospital asking if I would come back to the hospital. They would not tell me why, I already knew. I am sure the staff was worried about me , that is the reason that there was no mention of the colonel's death. I got into my car, sat there for a few minutes trying to figure out if I could go back there without tipping anyone off. I did not want to bring suspicion upon myself. I drove slowly back to the hospital going over the last couple hours in my mind. I began doubting that I had done the right thing. How could I let a terminal cancer patient talk me into killing him. I don't care how you spin it, it still boils down to one simple fact; I had committed murder. All of my dreams since childhood had been thrown out the window. For what? Boy, I really fucked up, this time.
  As soon as I stepped off the elevator I could feel it. Death was all around. I started walking toward the colonel's room, not even stopping at the nurses station. I could feel their gaze upon me. I could hear the soft sounds of several crying. I looked up and saw Bunny and she almost ran into my arms. We both cried and held each other. To know the reason of her pain was my fault and it was almost too much to bear. She broke our embrace and looked me straight in the eyes and said, "He loved you like a son and so do I." I could not speak. My knees buckled and some staff were there to catch me. All I could do was cry. It was the most I have cried until the death of my mother in 2008. I was helped to a chair and Bunny was sitting right there beside me. The next statement caught me completely off guard. "I just want to say thanks. Thanks for all you have done. There is no one else that would have the courage that you have shown." That blew me away. Did the colonel tell Bunny of my plan? I was so confused I did not respond. Bunny opened my hand and placed an envelope in it, kissed me on the chick, and said that she would see me, soon.
  I do not remember how long I sat in that chair. I was in a total daze. Nancy had came back to the hospital, too. I heard her voice from what seemed a long way off. She was asking me if I wanted to go to her place. She did not think I should be left alone. Any other time I would have jumped at the offer. This time was different. I told her that I would be alright. I had the next 4 days off and I was going home. She made sure I was alright and then left. The staff came by, one by one, and hugged my neck and said how sorry they were about what had happened. Time would heal the pain. Little did they know that time would almost kill me. The only person that did not speak to me was Col. Potter, the very one that refused to reassign me to another patient. I often wondered why she avoided me but I already knew the answer.   theblogmeister

A Request For Help

  I am going to continue to write about my history of PTSD and what it has done to me and is continually doing to me. You cannot imagine how hard it is reliving the past. I have gone against my doctors advice. What I am  asking of you is to help me provide for my family. I am not asking for hand-outs or donations. All I am asking is that you get all your friends together and order your Christmas through  my blog using Amazon.com. You can click on the ad just above my blog and it will take you to the complete astore. You can find everything and by using my blog to purchase your items it would help me while I go through the long process of veteran service-connected disability.. Please. I need your help. I hope you will continue the journey with me of my life as a PTSD patient. You can help my wife and I stay in our home and make it through these difficult times. Thanks,  theblogmeister

It Was Time

  I had finished my pre-op work on my patients that were having surgery that day. I had the medication that I needed to put the colonel out of his misery and out of this life. I will tell you how I had gotten the meds that I needed. My floor was located on the same floor as the operating rooms. I had a good knowledge of the layout of the OR because of my many visits to see a variety of surgeries. The night before I told Nancy that I was going down to the dining hall to grab a bite to eat. Instead, I went through the locker rooms where surgeons change into scrubs. The locker room was locked from the inside by a small outside of the door bolt. Wearing gloves, I grabbed the handle and gave it a quick pull and the bolt came right off. I reattached the bolt and made me way into the OR. I had to be especially quiet because the ICU was right next to the OR. I made my way to the crash carts that contained some of the meds I needed. The morphine, however, was a little harder to obtain. I found a metal box hanging in the anesthesia's office. I had a pen light light in my mouth so I could see what I was doing. I noticed a clipboard hanging below the bow and found it to be a narcotic sign out sheet. I took my screwdriver and wedged it in between the crack of the metal door and gave it a quick pop. There before me was another metal door and I knew, without a doubt, that narcotics were behind the second door. I opened it and found a drug addicts dream, although I was not a drug addict but it had what I needed. I got a 30cc vial of morphine and had already gotten the sodium chloride from the crash cart. I made my way back out the locker room and replaced the bolt to the door. There was no sign of forced entry, so, I felt I would not be caught for stealing the drugs from the OR. When the news broke, I could not replace the two metal doors that I had ripped open, all hell broke loose. More about that, later.
  The time was here. At 7am, while first shift was getting report from night shift. I entered the colonel's room. H was awake and looking at me trying to read my body actions or anything else that would tell him if I was to carry out his plan. With an aching heart I slowly administered a massive amount of morphine sulphate. He watched me until his eyes closed. Shaking, I inserted the large syringe that contained the sodium chloride. I immediately walked out of his room. Before I left, I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead and told him that I loved him As soon as I left his room I immediately took a left into the stairwell and walked down two flights and out to my car. I had done it. I had went against everything I believed in my morals and medicine. The totality hit me like a freight train. What have I done. God will surely punish me for taking the life of another man. Nothing could prepare me for what lay ahead. The unspeakable horrors that awaited me were never considered and my life would never be the same, again.   theblogmeister