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

Aftermath

  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

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

Semicoma

 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

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

Con-fused

   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

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

Subtrauma

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

Winter Blues

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

Free Bird

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

Lost In Time

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

Alive In Okay City

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

O.J.T.

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

Okay City

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

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

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




 
.

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