The Marine has landed...

The Marine being my brother, Norman. He and Dad just left. I had called Dad yesterday because I was at the end of my rope with nothing left to make another knot out of.
I was spilling everything into Dad's ear when he mentioned that Norman was home for a while too and that they'd come up today and they did. They got here this morning. We spent most of the time trying to figure out exactly where I took that sharp turn to 'left field'. Was it when I was nine and my mother dropped her 'divorce' bomb on me outta the blue? Was it when the first few of the what turned out to be over a hundred people that I knew or loved started dying on me? (This all happened during my four years of high school. After that, I quit counting.) Was it when I started smoking weed? Or did it happen more gradually than that...so gradually, by so many different events that I didn't really notice it til I was already there?

I wish I knew. I don't know if it really makes any difference or not, but I'd still like to know. Maybe if for no other reason than to see just how long I've been this way. I can remember the first time that idea presented itself as a solution to my life. I was 17. That Bruce guy had just started boffing my mother (I didn't know that then, tho) and he was acting very squirrelly toward me. The more he pulled away, or was pulled away, the worse I got, til one night...I tried it. It was laughable, really. I had been prescribed some kinda mild Xanax type thing while I was still in high school after I went completely ballistic one day when my guidance counselor wasn't there and no one would tell me why. Frankly, I was scared he had died, or something. Turns out he was in the hospital, but just for surgery. But, before I found that out, I went fuckin nuts. The principal sent me to the nurse, who sent me to my Doc who asked the $64.00 question..."Is there anything going on in your life that you need help with?" Pfffft. I wound up with that prescription for whatever it was for.
Then, as Bruce began dumping me and I started finding out WHY, I took all the pills I had, which probably amounted to about the dose load of extra strength Sominex or something. I drank a beer to make sure it'd work. (Siiigh...)
Then, I called for help. (Not that I really needed anybody to watch me sleep...) But, the fact that I did call made me realize that I didn't want to be dead as much as just not in so much pain, anymore.
I cruised along for a few more months after that incident as best I could, then one day I found myself sitting in Dad's bedroom with his .357 in my hand. All I could think about was a phrase I had read in some book about cops, about cops eating the gun after they reach their saturation point for the shit they have to deal with everyday. The author said that they 'blow away all the memories and guilt in one berserk flash..." It sounded so easy. It sounded so peaceful. What stopped me that day was the idea of it being Dad's gun. I didn't want to hurt anybody but myself...least of all him. And, it would have been bad enough me using his gun, but the idea of him having to clean what little brain matter I may possess offa the ceiling was just a bit much.
That gun saved my ass not too long after that. But, before that happened, I had that same gun on me the night I found out for sure about my mother and the boyfriend she eventually moved to Florida with. I chased his ass clear into the next county, to his Uncle's house and had that gun loaded, hammer pulled, aimed at the center of his chest. I shoulda shot him. Then her. But, I didn't.
I was so busy not losing his ass going there that I really had no idea where I even was, let alone how to get the hell outta there. So, my shitty sense of direction saved his skanky ass. It was enough for mom to know that I'd done that. She knew to leave me the fuck alone. And, she did.
That gun saved me the one time a boyfriend thought that he needed to put his hands on me. In an abusive manner, I mean. After screaming at me for a while and tearing off his light cotton, sleeveless shirt (which made me laugh), he carried me into my own house over his shoulder like a fireman, or something. Once inside, I got away and ran to Dad's room. I slammed the door and locked it, got the gun, shook the bullets out, hid them under a pillow, flipped the chamber closed and got on the phone to the State Police. I'm sitting there, with the phone on my shoulder, gun levelled in both hands toward the door that that asshole was flinging himself against to get in to get me. (He was flipping out so bad because I'd smoked a joint in my own backyard. My Dad knew I did this and if he was okay with it, Tim fuckin' Parks wasn't gonna tell me shit, ya know? Especially not in my own house.)
So, there I'm sitting, listening to the phone ring and him bouncing offa the door. I even remember the conversation I had with the cop who answered.
All those guys knew me because they were really good buddies with my neighbors 'adult child'. His name was Carty and I don't really know what it was that had happened to him, but his life revolved around his police scanner and all those guys at the Woodstown Barracks. I got to know them because of him and having them called on me for (not knowing better yet and) riding across crop fields on my pony. It was no big deal, or anything. They just needed to let me know how to do that kinda stuff without doing damage or pissin farmers off. Somehow, that turned into years of me alla time making these guys cookies. Mostly Tollhouse and Peanutbutter cookies. At any rate...they knew me.
So, when I called all I had to say was "Hey, it's Dawn (I spelled that wrong on purpose). I need you guys bad." "Whatcha need, Honey?" "Well, that depends on how quickly you get here. Right now, I only need an asshole removed from my house but if he gets into this bedroom before y'all get into this house, I'll need a bodybag." "Oh shit...."
The Woodstown Barracks was less than...5 or 6 miles from our house, depending on which way ya went. We hung up and I sat there, still hearing numbnuts banging off the door and just as I saw the cop cars overheads turn onto my road, he got in. I never moved. I just sat there, knowing the cops would be there in seconds, holding that gun aimed...at his crotch. He busted through the door and advanced toward me...then realized what he was seeing. He made this mewling noise, dropped both hands across his crotch and backed outta the room. Right into the hands of two Troopers. God, what a beautiful sight that was. I had him removed, showed the second Trooper that the gun wasn't actually loaded and Dad's permits and shit and it was over. So was Tim. Jerk.

I wish the endless desire to end the pain (as in my 'suicide ideation') would have stopped as easily. The only other overt thing I did along those lines was to 'come back to myself', as it were, one morning in my apartment, after my first marriage had ended (we're still friends to this day) and see that I had been 'picking', not slicing, at my arm with a regular razor blade. I even had some ice there to try to numb it. It didn't work. The pain from that is what 'woke me up'....I called Dad then, too. I can remember quoting some Springsteen lyrics to him.
"Every day ends in wasted motion, just crossed swords on the killing floor. To settle back is to settle without knowing the heartache that yer settlin' for...just waitin to see some sun, not knowing if that day'll ever come...." Jackson Cage.
(Fuckin A...I got goose bumpy just typing that...)
Dad was tuned in enough at that time to pick up on and fully understand the song "Pressure" by Queen on his own. I remember him talking to me about that. About the song and what it was saying and him being worried that that was how I felt, which I did. Still do. Always have.
Sometimes I'm amazed at just how much one person can fuckin go through and not just drop dead...other times I'm appalled at how much shit we have to bear.

The only other time I sorta scared myself was this one day when I was cooking something that required a deep layer of oil in a frying pan. I remember wondering if it would kill me if I just leaned forward and put my face into the hot grease. I didn't even start to do it, but the fact that it didn't scare me to consider that scared me.

Except for one other incident of waving an unloaded pistol around in a fit of pique, I've not tried it again.

But, yesterday....that was bad. Things have changed here a little and some of the pressure is off. We're not moving now and, for now, Crane'll just have to do without Eric. There couldn't be a worse time to do this anyway, than now. Later in the year, the closer to September, really...the better. But, for now...I can kinda breathe again.

I feel like I live inside of a fist. It is always clenched. It's usually a tight enough clench that I feel like I can't take a deep breath. I can deal with it, but it is wearing and highly uncomfortable, at best. Then there are the days the fist clenches much tighter...like a fist squeezed in anger. Those days are sooo hard. Those are the days when it seems futile to even try to breath, let alone get anywhere. That's when I firmly believe that dead has just gotta be an improvement. But, I really do know better. It would be sorta like killing flies with a shotgun. Because, ya see, for as heart and backbreaking as this load is, I have the sneaking suspicion that it's all just stupid bullshit. And, that's before reading other people's blogs and seeing what real problems can be. From this, I surmise that my real problem isn't the shit that constitutes being alive as much as it is my view of it, which I believe is skewed because of a real chemical imbalance inside my brain. I had asked what good it would do to take a pill when it wouldn't change any of the shit I've had to go through. Now I understand that, while it indeed won't change one iota of the shit I've had to eat, it could very well give me a different and more real perspective on it all.
Still, I have a slight problem right now with being able to get the help I need. I need at least my license back. I'm told there's a free clinic that'll help. Now...I have tried that before and those places say 'free', but then they start wanting to know about any possible sources of income that you have any access to at all. I don't play that shit. You say free, it better be that. Free. You want money? Go dig up my fuckin mom and go dun all my ex's. They are who 'helped' me get this way, let them be the ones to pay for it.
Eric has paid enough. Maybe not cash, but he's paid all the same. Much like I have. Just not for as long. Yet.
I'm not adverse to the idea of obtaining help or meds or whatever. But the first lie I see'll send me out the door at approximately 99 MPH. Mention money, I'm gone. Eric's checks are only $53.00 a week as it is because of the child support/alimoney payments. I'm supposed to suck up that last bit? I don't think so. Matter of fact...I know NOT.
Annnywayyyy...
I am still here. I am....okay. Someday, I hope I'm actually 'well', but 'okay' is fine for now.
We don't hafta move, Crane'll not get their hooks into Eric any time too soon, Dad and Kim want all of us, Geroge included, to come to their house for Christmas and Dad keeps saying that it would be so good if I did live in Jersey so I could go to his house 3 or 4 days a week and just hang with him and Norman. Wow. Just being told that helped more than I can say. I may not be able to do that because of my stupid license/job thing, but being told it would be okay, it would be nice, it would be allowed to happen....just hearing that helped a lot.
Ahhh...I could go on forever...like that's news. I do have more to say about a few things, but...frankly, I hear the 'library' pretty much screaming my name right now and...I wanna think this other stuff through a little more with my new, more relaxed brain. (Now, normally a 'relaxed' brain could be a not necessarily good thing. Figures in my case, it's just what I need.)

I shall return....
Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 09:27 PM

Comments

Posted by: Mr. Useless at December 17, 2003 04:38 AM (NpeTe)

Posted by: Stevie at December 17, 2003 08:23 AM (gYkCK)

Posted by: Sgt Hook at December 17, 2003 11:12 AM (9wALQ)

Posted by: Stevie at December 17, 2003 11:17 AM (gYkCK)

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