Friday, January 28, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 3

The past couple of weeks haven’t been the best for me, I’m not sure if I’m in depression, recovering from the Rockies still, or if it’s just my BMD wrecking havoc on my life again. I try to stay optimistic and have a positive outlook into the future during these bleak times, but it can be the most difficult thing to do at those times (well that and trying not to get caught staring at the slamming body trainer at the gym, oh yea she knows I’m looking). In any case I try to remind myself of everything I do have when my mind gets trapped on what I don’t. That I have it pretty good and there are a lot of people out there struggling more than me.

I wasn’t quite sure if I’d ever share this story before a couple days ago, that’s mainly because it’s not entirely my story to tell. There’s a girl (when isn’t there, right?), well not any girl but my prom date (and maybe a little bit of a crush) from my junior year. This girl I remember was smart, shockingly funny, of course a knock out, that always smiled (even at my stupid poems, how do you think I asked her to prom), and the confidence to match yours truly. Years passed after school and we went our separate ways until I went manic the first time.

I caught her show one night and the girl on TV was far from the one I could remember from high school. She was in the fight of her life, she was in hell…

Feb. 24th, 2008


Some of you know me, but I imagine the majority of you do knot…it makes really no difference as I am of no significance for the purpose of this letter aside from the hope that it may prove to provide some help some way some day…I am sitting in the San Jose’s AIR awaiting my flite back to Denver, CO and decided to jot some ideas down, as I await the arrival of our plane…While I live in Denver I am originally from a small town in rural Ohio by the name of South Charleston (yes I do mean OH and not SC, WV or any other of the multiple “Charlestons” throughout)…I am riting now as it has become clear to me how fortunate I, as well as many of us, are…yet it seems as fortunate as we are we miss out on the important things in life…what those are to you, the gentleman beside me or the cowgirl? (tough to differentiate from afar) sitting across the way are I don’t know…but I know I am missing…Live downtown Denver in a pretty nice apt, recently purchased a BMW X5, amazing friends, and a great family…please know I am not writing this to impress anyone, but rather to hopefully inspire someone…

Inspiration is a word that I believe many of us struggle with…I have had the ultimate opp. 2 travel around the globe for work, play, and study…however even with my experiences I still lacked something…what that is I could not say till now…not cuz I did not want to, but rather b/c I did not know…the past few days have been pretty damn exciting for me…I am moving from Denver 2 CA for a new job opp. I have been working 3 yrs to achieve and now! get to finally live w/in an hour of a beach…while this may seem modest to some pls realize that central OH is not the ideal place for h2o sports…

Looking back on the times and trials that have brought me to this place I could BORE many for hours over my experiences, but what’s the point? Who has not felt pain, joy, fear, pleasure, disappointment, jealously, rage, excitement, enthusiasm, ect…I have yet to meet anyone along my way that has not…but what I have found is that my fondest memories are the ones in Kindergarten (my 2nd time, they redshirted me my 1st yr)…the values and colors I experienced came rushing back to me…now reflecting back I wish it didin’t take 2X for me to get thru kindergarten, I wish I was still there…

Well we all know that’s impossible (unless you’re a kindergarten cop or teach)…while I’ve contemplated both these options, they just didn’t fit me…so I’ve decided to try and change..

I had the pleasure of escorting this young lady to her Sr. Prom (my Jr yr, member redshirt Kindergarten)…I started to remember what a great time we all had at the Prom (Prom promise that) and seeing how Em and her fam are now hurts and I want to help…but how? idea right now, but maybe, just maybe, showing that we care is a start…

I didn’t sign this letter but instead started doodling .e4 logos and missions statements (oh d01roK you crazy guy you). Less than a week after writing this letter in my gournal I was in the Porter Hospital’s Psych Ward. I’ve been able to catch up with Em and actually got to spend Halloween hanging out (seems a fitting Holiday for us two to share). I haven’t talked to her in awhile and I hope she’s doing alright; she’s about the only one I know that can relate to me. I hope she knows I still see the same girl I crushed on in high school.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, January 21, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 2

I’d try to run my hands under the water but they burned so immensely I had to pull them back. The backside of my hands felt raw, dry, cracked, and sensitive to the touch. At night I would have to sleep with my hands above my head because the slightest brush against the pillow or blanket would jolt me awake from the pain. At the time I believed the red blotches on my hands were marks of stigmata, a sign that I was chosen (I’m not sure if all this was in my head or what, que-evs).

This is one of the few good memories I have from my last few months in Denver (doesn’t really sound that good outloud). Poncho and Tater (I wish I was making those nicknames up) had come out to visit in early 2008 and we spent the weekend in the mountains (snowmobiling, jager bombs, and boots with da fur). Other than being manic everything in my life was going pretty well (aside from the love life, but when has that been good) and I was happy with taking essentially a promotion, moving to California (definitely living in a bungalow by the beach), looking at Master programs, and after nearly 3 years I was finally feeling comfortable at the tizzle. The trip into the mountains was a celebration of sorts filled with booze, sarcasm, and 3 white country boys from Ohio giving that big booty a smack!

The next few months kind of went in the opposite direction with the whole manic episode ordeal. Since that mountain “adventure” I’m not sure I can say I’ve been truly happy (and yes I tried Happy Meals but they didn’t help, Stubby still makes me share straws when we order) and when I landed in Denver a few weeks back a little part of me hoped that I’d find happiness while I was there. I was hoping I would see the snow capped mountains glistening in the sun and I’d know that I was suppose to be there. In my mind maybe I dreamed that I’d land and drive to Denver and know this was the place I was meant to start over. What better place to rebuild my life than the very place I lost everything?

It wasn’t like that at all, on my flight in and viewing the mountains all I could think about was that one year ago to the day I was being admitted to the psych ward (Southside!) in the Nasty. When I drove the streets of Denver I didn’t feel connected or a sense of new beginnings. I remembered walking/jogging/skipping/climbing trees/running about in the city. That I couldn’t stay in the light for more than a few seconds without my shoes melting/sticking to the pavement. I was part demonic, a hybrid crusader, with uncanny heightened senses but yet fearful of the sun like a nocturnal beast.

The memories of Washington Park with the Witt kids (plus Tronby, he’s basically alumni), shows, late nights, mini bowling, Tuesday night bowling, dance-offs downtown, drinking spit at a Rockies game, watching Tronby get blasted by a homerun at the Rockies game on TV, cookouts, kegs in the apartment pool, parties on the roof, deep frying, dueling pianos, and the list could go on and on never really came flying back like I hoped.

The only moment that I felt nothing, the time when all my worries disappeared, when I was truly at peace happened when I was driving to the tizzle to meet some old friends for lunch. I had stopped at my old apartment to view the garage I tried to drive the big body beamer off (still standing after that impact, impressive). I remembered the back way to the office with no troubles and about half way there I got caught up in the drive. I stopped worrying about my mania and started living. My mind cleared and I was finally at peace after 3 years of hell. This feeling only lasted a few seconds, a moment, but I had forgot how nice it felt to be free.

Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,

Friday, January 14, 2011

Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 1


I snap down and grab the 2 foot long white stick with black horizontal stripes and toss it towards Cuzin Art. The mountain striped stick snake hits Cuzin Art’s upper leg and he reacts like a veteran hiker. Screaming (just a little, man I hate snakes too cuz), jumping/running in place, and trying with all his might to escape the snake but not lose his footing as we were a good ways up the mountain. Still clutching the tree for support he looks down and realizes what’s been going on.

“Man, I haven’t been scared like that in awhile. I thought that snake was going for my sack man.”

At this point in our hike I had to sit down and gain my composure as I was laughing so hard at Cuzin Art I think I got a little light headed (hey we were like 8500 ft above sea level, plus I’m really out of shape). The old inanimate object throwing at your friend and screaming something scary trick, I can’t believe it still works.
If we were good (and when weren’t my brothers and I angels?) we would spend about a week every year on vacation with Stubby on the east coast somewhere. Being the mature and well adjusted family we are this meant a new territory for us brothers to torment each other. The hand-full-of-sand-crab trick was a family favorite and the inspiration for the mountain striped stick snake described above. Wading out in the water with my brothers the object was to bend down nonchalantly and grab a handful of wet sand, slowly bring it to the water’s surface, scream CRAB!!, and throw it against your brother's back and enjoy the screaming, hissy fit show. Watching one of your family members scared out of their minds on your account is just funny (unless of course you’re the victim, then everyone else is a dick).

I’ve spent the last two weeks on vacation (I know I’m on a sabbatical from life but still getting away is nice) up in the mountains, Denver…gorgeous. This was the first time I had visitied the mile high city since my first episode forced my move back home. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I landed there but I believed I’d find something there, maybe closure, maybe a new beginning, maybe peace with it all, maybe some answers.

My first stop was the toughest; it was the house I climbed when I was manic. My stomach fluttered as I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant next to the house. I forgot just how tall it was and how steep its roof was. I walked around looking up and trying to remember how I climbed to the top (stairs were not an option, anyone can take the stairs). The support beam that I swung from that saved, if not my life at least some severe injuries, was still there and I still can’t believe how I didn’t fall off that roof sliding down it (somebody must like me up there).


Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!

Coming Correct,