Life in the State of Mania

Just Talking

Hurt…

Life in the State of Mania

man

Something happened to me, it was unintentional and innocent, but even-though it was; it was one of those things that stop a person cold – hurt deep – a pain that only words could cause. I – am – no – angel, and I have thrown many word daggers in my life, and have without doubt caused pain to others, but this time – it was me, the recipient of a well place dagger, and still at this moment the pain is unbelievably great. I have thought of even going to the Emergency Room to see if there was anyway to stop the flow of emotions from my body.

My world has been rocked by this, and change is inevitable, and where I go from here I cannot say, but change has to – “I mean, Has to” – come from this. With that change I am sure the pain will be great, because nothing in life that shapes our psyche ever come without pain. “I am 57 years old,” – I keep saying; “I am 57 years old,” and using it as a “No I don’t think I can” statement, but for me to move on and find those things that are missing in my, “My” day to day life, that Mantra has to stop.

I need to live again, something that for years I have barely been doing – I have been;  just – getting – by. This will not be easy and for those who know me all I can say is; “Hang on if you can, and if you can’t, I understand”….

Find life – Fall in love – or Die trying….

A long couple of weeks

Life in the State of Mania

I don’t want to turn my blog into Facebook where I report upon the day in the life of me. But the last month has been just one thing after another, leaving me unable to focus on any writing, as if I am “So good” that people are missing out. But what I feel is that I have been missing out, by not doing any writing I loose the chance to improve, and all of the emotional help that writing here has brought to me.
Then to you people that actually made comments and critics “God bless you”

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I believe that quote, to be true. I need your honest opinion and input, on the writing, the content and your deferring opinions. Then it may be possible for all of us to get something more from this blog.

Thanks Dan

The End (a suicide story) Part 3

Life in the State of Mania

“Your father isn’t coming home any more  – he didn’t love us enough, so he killed himself” 

Last Part — In the Middle (a suicide story) Part 2 — http://wp.me/p1Pe22-ca

I had a support group that was watching, and listening for anything that just didn’t make sense come from me. But remember one more thing about my support group at that time, Doctor-housethey had been warned about my state of mind by those who was administering to me. (Doctors, Counsellor, etc.)
It wasn’t that I didn’t love my family, but that I was no longer in control mentally and I may as well have had a brain tumor — the death sentence was the same. Now I am so glad that I didn’t end my life that day, but the reality is that life — itself — is not easy — has not been easy, and probably will never be — at least for me.

Those people that show up at your door after the loss of your loved one due to suicide, don’t — know — anything, and never will, until they have walk down that dark hallway in route to their own suicide. These people, are people, who come to judge, not to help you find peace, they are the people that love nothing better reality TVthan to watch you fall on reality TV. No one — I mean —NO ONE— on this earth is in a place to judge a person in the case of a suicide, because no one can know what is going on in another person’s mind.

god handsOnly god knows, and god is the only one that can make judgement in the event of a suicide. (Yes that was a religious statement, and my belief.) But let’s think about it, if there wasn’t a God could a human know the events leading up to a person committing suicide? Again this is one death that is not easily understood within the confines of human ability.

We humans think that we are a lot of things, but mind readers we are not. Whenmind reader we as friends and family go and visit the survivors of death there needs to be compassion for the family; a good ear to hear them, and a good shoulder to bare them up during this time, not our opinions, and conclusions.

So with that, I am done with this soapbox… for now… Stay tuned…

In the Middle (a suicide story) Part 2

Life in the State of Mania

coffin in groudAnother day in America, another funeral, and the statistics again are counted, confirmed, and written down somewhere for everyone to see. But for the survivors of the suicide the tragedy, or should I say travesty has yet to begin. To the friends and family it now becomes their duty to fix the survivors  in the ways that they understand . So for the left wing righteous among us according to their  Religion 101 the act of suicide is one of the greatest sins against God, and going to 

hellhell is the judgement on those that commit suicide.  All that was eternal is now stripped away from that lost soul to suffer in anguish for all time.

CAN I GET an AMEN!!!AMEN

NO!!! No amen here, I cannot believe that God would be so unjust, but then again some of the stories in the bible are kind of scary. The God that I believe in knows that the majority of suicides are made by the clinically depressed, mentally unstable in a world that gives birth not to Gods but mere humans — 490000 human babies every day!

Now to step back to Part 1, and that path that I was on. In those last days before I was institutionalized I told you of a peace that came over me, and in my self-talk I had committed to the idea, and had formed a plan. A Psychiatrist once told me that; “There is nothing more dangerous, or incredible; than when a Bi-Polar has come to a decision” and I was there. It is all a blur to me leading up to that night, and it was time for me to act, me wife knew that something was up and confronted me, and all hell broke loose, I do remember some of this, and that every immediate family member came with my family doctor to the house breaking horsesthat night. They, my family and the doctor talked me down it was like saddle breaking a new horse, I was then taken to the mental hospital, yes I said it; “mental hospital”

The noises that came from the hallways as I tried to sleep that first night was everything you would come to expect from a good asylum horror movie, but I asylummade it. I awoke in the beginnings of a drug induced lobotomy and made my way to the sitting area, where a gathering of patience’s where sitting, staring, and worse.  As I sat there, all I could think was; “Oh — my — God, this is a mistake” I wanted to scream but who would notice and they would just shoot me up with more drugs. I remained calm and waited for a chance to call my wife.  That day she came and got me, then moved me to a closer hospital that could care for me, it was there I spent the next few weeks.

“Your father – he didn’t love us enough, so he killed himself, and isn’t coming home anymore”

I hear statements like that all the time from those that have never been, or refuse to admit being depressed. I shudder at their comments, and want nothing more than to slap those speaking silly. I know now, that I was very close to the ending my life one night a long time ago, but I was lucky, I have a family that believed differently than those people do, I was luckier than those that made the statistics list that day.

Stay with me only one more post to conclude this series. “The End” (a suicide story) Part 3   — Will be coming soon…

The Call — (random posting 1)

Life in the State of Mania

*Defining Random Posting #; To post a little something, between posts, not relevant to previous posts that are not completed.

calling-mobile-phoneLast week, I called a man, to tell him, that my Mother had told me — her son — that I was, his son.

There may have been some due pressure for me to do this, if only to find out some medical facts for my immediate family. For me I am 55 years old, and I had resolve to the fact that it just wasn’t needed, so why bother? But some unforeseen force made me call one morning last week while in the solitude of work.

The Call

Begin (screenplay)

He answered my call, and with extreme intrepidness I asked; “Do you know me?” (insert a name for me),

Calmly he replied; “No, I don’t think I do.”

Now in a shaky voice I stated: “Do you know (insert mother’s name here)?”

There was a slight pause, and then he said; “Oh,— yes I do know her.”

Still trying to catch my voice I said as calmly as I could; “Well she told me that you were my Father.”

Immediately he said; “No, I don’t believe that I am.”

After pointing out some relative facts, that he validated for me I asked; “Then how was it that you were made to pay support to my Mother?”

Very simply he said; “You were born with O positive blood, and I have O positive blood. That was all they needed to prove paternity at that time, every other person in America has O positive blood — now they would do better tests.” 

End (screenplay)

The call continued with me trying to use short sentences to gather more information. He spoke briefly about how my Mother and him were just “Hookups” and had only “Hooked up”  a couple of times, and at the end of every one of his paragraphs came the resounding reply that; “No, I don’t believe that I am your Father.”

I finally asked him the question that had forced me into the situation in the first place, and that was for some medical questions about the genetics of the family line, even though I wasn’t his son, so he says. He obliged; and the phone call ended.

giftTo be honest I feel OK about this, it (the call) is finally over we spoke, very congenially, what happens now who knows. I feel deep down the he is my blood Father, and that it is a “He said, She said, thing between my Mother and him. My age and state of mind currently is allowing this to happen, and to happen without incident. I now know some medical, and some genealogical history that I will keep with me like some kind of gift that I can now pass down to my boys.