Detective Robert Goren

My LONG Summer

2006-08-03T07:02:00.000-04:00

Sometimes life really throws a big curve ball. My summer has been one big question mark. A path filled with decision making that has been mandatory but the choices just really are lousy. Back in May my mother had a Hemorrhagic Stroke caused by an Aneurysm. Brain surgery, a coma, assessing motor skills, prognosis- realistic prognosis, finding a convalescent home that offers decent rehab- all things that I have had no choice but to handle on my own. I only thought the decision making was hard before. Now the reality is that I have spent 3 months trying to make the best decisions for someone who is always mentally compromised but now her brain function is also working against her.

I only thought that she wasn't the same person last spring. Now I know it, see it almost daily.

Daily because she is & has been city based since May. Eventually, if well enough she might return upstate but for now she is very close to me & with her is where any & all of my free time has been spent. She needs help & it has become even more apparent that I really am all she has.

3 Months Is Long Enough

2006-08-02T12:16:00.000-04:00

for an unintended hiatus anyway. I say unintended because well, it was. Life sort of got in the way & situations demanded my attention. I am back now though & ready to write a bit more. I have checked email all along & I really am grateful for all of the continued interest & contact. You guys are honestly amazing!

Lots to discuss, lots to say, but first- tell me how your summer has been.

That Ache of Vulnerability Settles In

2006-05-19T19:15:00.000-04:00

I'm not real sure when it happened or even how. I was doing fairly well this week and then all of a sudden I realized, I'm standing back several feet from where I thought I was. I had to look over my shoulder to find where I'm really at. Was my pace slowing down & was the backslide gradual or did I just wake to find myself thrown back in time. Either way, a whole new wave of familiar emotions. Most of all I feel vulnerable. I don't trust myself, I don't trust my reactions to anything at all. I feel fragile in spite of being a solid, fully grown man. What it is exactly that has caused me to feel this way, I'm unsure. I just know that in this moment I'm trapped in an emotional limbo. Too afraid to reach out & grab a hand, too doomed to even conjure up a momentary belief that I can make it alone.

What do you say when you don't know what is really wrong? How do you convince someone that you need them when you can't bring yourself to appear needy? How do you hang on when slipping seems like a slow motion fall into bliss?

I'm Still Here

2006-05-16T10:26:00.000-04:00

I haven't run away. I've just been buried beneath work & a bit blindsighted by life. A real post hopefully later today.

thank you for all of the emails. I'm not going anywhere, no worries.

Go. Insane. Slowly.

2006-05-10T20:58:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been in the unfortunate position to watch as someone slips from your grasp mentally? Physical injuries- well, they're obvious. Trying to argue and reason, then eventually beg and plead only to realize that it's hopeless, there is nothing that can possibly make them understand, it's just devestating.

Beyond devestating.

Looking at someone that in one way or other you've loved, respected fall completely to pieces & realizing that some of those pieces seem to have rolled away, it's just an unbearable thing to endure. They have no idea what is going on. Their pain is so great that they've transcended it and believe life is perfect and you're the one with the problem. It's a mixed blessing to deal with someone completely committed to the reality of their psychosis. It's upsetting but it's impossible to be angry or channel any blame towards them. Sickness is just so apparent that the need to help far surpasses anything else you may feel.

My mother has been in a facility for the last ten years but before that it was like walking on eggshells. What episodes are really bad? What can't she pull herself out of? When do you pick up the phone & have someone committed? Admitting to yourself that it really is that bad is heart breaking. The guilt of making that kind of phone call is only ever so slightly relieved by the knowledge that the person is getting help. Providing safety & help is most important until that's been accomplished. After the fact, even though you know that you've done the safest thing, the right thing, the guilt is still crushing.

So often I've seen people fall apart in front of me during an interrogation. You see things start to slowly unravel & I just know exactly where they're going to end up. It could be a psychotic perp or it could be the psychotic perp's husband that had NO idea before then that a problem even existed. My heart sinks and I start choking back stomach acid while sitting with these people because I just know the pain ahead. Even the right decisions will eat away at the lining of your stomach.

Music...

2006-05-09T09:27:00.000-04:00

...I brought it back, obviously.

Ache

2006-05-07T08:42:00.000-04:00

I should have been on the road an hour ago. Instead I've spent an hour slumped on the floor ready to leave & yet, I cannot will myself out the door. Cement shoes & instead I wish to god I was made of marble or something else that just rarely breaks. If ever. 2 days ago my moms condition backslid a bit. In spite of her increased meds she had another mild break. How many times has she broken since November? I've lost count but she never returns to where she was, it has yet to happen. I haven't seen her in the last two days & I've been warned that she'll likely not know or even acknowledge me. I geuss my head start on the grieving of my mother wasn't such a horrible idea after all.

This morning I'm just broken. I can't get it together. My heart just aches and nothing begins to even remotely touch the pain. Nothing can.

My own lonliness might ultimately be a good thing. If I do end up where my mother is at least there won't be anyone coming to visit, needing to grieve the loss of what was shared. What used to be. What just disintegrated within a few eye blinks.

...

2006-05-03T23:23:00.000-04:00

"I Grieve"
Peter Gabriel

it was only one hour ago
it was all so different then
there's nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
it's just the way that you would tied in
now there's no-one home

i grieve for you
you leave me
'so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
they say life carries on
carries on and on and on and on

the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
and i can't handle this

i grieve for you
you leave me
let it out and move on
missing what's gone
they say life carries on
they say life carries on and on and on

life carries on
in the people i meet
in everyone that's out on the street
in all the dogs and cats
in the flies and rats
in the rot and the rust
in the ashes and the dust
life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on

it's just the car that we ride in
a home we reside in
the face that we hide in
the way we are tied in
and life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on

did I dream this belief?
or did i believe this dream?
now i can find relief
i grieve

The Disconnect Doesn't Always Happen

2006-05-02T07:35:00.000-04:00

We deal with so many broken people. Hardened criminals, people who snapped one day & committed a serious crime, then there are the families left to deal with what has happened. It's hard to stay detatched from everyone all the time. Sometimes you go out of your way to be more helpful or a bit more reassuring. Sometimes you give them your card because it's like handing a lifeline to someone whose life has just been demolished. When everything comes crashing down people will grab for any outstretched hand to help steady them at first. Some cops have taken a page from the old book & use their job as a dating service. I know real connections *have* been made but not usually. I think many of us are at times more involved than we need to be or sometimes more than we should be. Eames is a quiet yet dilligent supporter of womens' issues and you can bet that is we are dealing with any kind of survivor, they have her number to talk.

My being drawn to the kid that reminded me of my brother (& myself at times) was actually pretty mild. I've said before how overwhelming it is to connect so much with those who commit heinious acts of violence. Not just sort of understand the pathology, but find a thread running thru them that I connect with. Before John was killed in prison I visited him. I had to. He affected me so much. Looking at him, it made me realize just what lonliness, extreme lonliness can do to the wrong pathology. If you're already compromised then simple, ok overwhelming, emotions can just kill any sense of right & wrong. I understood his akwardness and I understood the soul-level need not to be alone. Basic needs. Someone to be there someone to lie next to you at night. Who doesn't want that at least sometimes?

Or the mother who focused every minute of every day on being a good mom and was unable to see that she really was one. Someone so beaten down by negativity, overwhelmed with responsibility and compromised by a chemical imbalance that homicide and suicide was her only percieved way out. What she did was horrific but no one realizes it more than she does. This case ate away at me because there was absolutely no reason for this tragedy. With help, meds and support she would have been fine and her boys would be alive.

Sometimes doing something or saying something is the only way to live with what I see.

A Younger Version of My Older Brother

2006-05-01T07:45:00.000-04:00

Ever look at a kid & see yourself or your sibling peering back at you? Sure you have. A recent case has connected me with a kid that reminds me so much of my brother. This kid is 20 & already a gambling addict. My brother was the same way although he was small scale because he had no big backers. He angled his way into local backroom games, lost & would go back the next week determined to win. 30 years later the only thing that has changed for him is the stakes. Always in the hole, always being hunted, can't settle in to a real life. The only time my mother or I hear from him is when he needs money & that doesn't fly at all. I don't return the calls & haven't in probably years. There comes a time when you have to back off & save yourself & that's what I did.

This kid though, the gambling thing reminded me of my brother but the overall confusion about everything, well that struck a cord with me. When my mother got sick a lot was left to our father in terms of raising us & teaching us how to be adults. To say that he fell down (drunk usually) on the job would be an understatement. By the time I was 18 or 19 I felt like I was swimming in quicksand. I was no longer a kid & supposed to be doing adult things, yet I had no clue how to make the transition. Simple things like going to the grocery store seemed overwhelming. Decisions, every one seemed like it was life or death. An awkward time made worse by lack of direction.

This kid was hard for me to handle because well, it was personal. Do your job, be gentle. Do your job, give him a bit of direction. Do your job, crush his belief in the one person that he sees as a mentor. Do your job, tell him he'll be ok. Walk away. Somehow, that just doesn't feel right to me.

Life Goes Grey

2006-04-28T08:03:00.000-04:00

Hey, have you fallen off the shelf?
Can I help you get yourself, back together?
I'm so tired, can I help you save yourself?
Have your friends all changed?
All the people that you thought would be around,
As your light goes grey,
Are you losing all the hope you thought you'd found,
I think we're numb

Hey, have you found somebody new?
Have you found yourself unglued, for the first time in your life?
Can I help you save yourself?

Have your friends all changed?
All the people that you thought would be around,
As your life goes grey,
Are you losing all the hope you thought we'd found,
I think we're numb

And tell me do you feel like dying?
Tell me does it hurt just waking?
Tell me have you lost the reasons you ever wanted to fight?
Has it left you lonely?
Tell me do you pray for morning?
Tell me does it hurt just waking?
Tell me have you lost the reasons you ever wanted to fight?
And you know it's all impossible.

Lend Me Your Might

2006-04-27T11:05:00.000-04:00

This all leaves me feeling like nothing is secure. I thought I had things at least somewhat figured out & marginally accepted. I'm single, functioning & stable. I take care of my ill mother. That's how it is end of story. She can't help her condition & I can't fail her in any way.

How I wish it was all so cut & dry. I have to oversee her care but part of me wishes I could just simply never go back. All of this grief & nothing is over. There's no "fixing" her so in some ways the grief is appropriate.

My stability- is a sham. I'm slowly seeing myself as more like her than I care to admit even to myself. People say that I know better or the writing would be on the wall by now if I was going to head down that crazy road. What they don't get is that part of my inner turmoil these last few months is because not only is the writing really there, but I've had a chance to really read it upclose.

It is there & once something, anything stops me in my high strung, functional tracks I'm a goner.

Anger Turned Inside Out

2006-04-26T09:18:00.000-04:00

The rage I've felt on & off, I finally get that as well. It's understandable although not exactly justifiable. It all cycles back to the schizophrenia. I know that my mother cannot help how she is or how she was even years ago. She has done her part to try, she really has. She has taken her meds like clockwork for decades, seen shrinks & psychologists weekly. She did everything that she could to try to be ok. I think that's why having her institutionalized was so painful. She wasn't just crazy, dangerous & clueless as to both of those things. Instead she just kept skidding & sliding in slow motion. I could only watch & wonder what comes next- until it was obvious.

There's this part of me that has been kept under wraps in one of the darkest, most far off corners of my heart & it just oozes venom. It's like a slow drip but it's always there. On bad days I feel the rage simmering & I'm afraid it'll come out on the wrong person at the most inappropriate time imaginable. On really bad days I just want to shake her & scream,

"Why can't you fight this? What the hell is the matter with you why can't you just snap out of it already?? Your life & the QUALITY of your life could be very good if only you WANTED it to be!"

I know that it would do not a momentary bit of good. I know it wouldn't. I know that she broke for reasons that she couldn't control & I know that the mental illness has overpowered her & more often than not completely changed her. I know these things in my heart & in the pit of my stomach.

Some days it just doesn't matter how educated I am, I simply feel what I feel.

Darkness In My Veins

2006-04-22T09:04:00.000-04:00

I have to drive up to Carmel Ridge this morning. A routine drive on a typical Sunday except that is suddenly feels so inexplicably different. Everything has changed & yet to an outsider it's all the same. Identical to last week yet for me it's entirely different. I've known many people who have cared for & dealt with a terminal parent & they grieve at least a bit in advance. They watch as the condition worsens or stasys in the same precarious place with no hope really in sight. This isn't the same. My mother's physical health is actually pretty good. Sure there's a few problems but I think that is to be expected when you're in your 70's.
I've been grieving someone that is physically ok & that could last another 10 years.

I've let go of people in the past that were just not good for me. People that bring out the worst in me or are too high maintanence in a really unhealthy way. That's always a clean break. I hate chaos.

This, again, it's different. Grieving someone that is still alive & physically healthy. Someone that I have to let go of but cannot make a clean break from. Where does this leave me? Am I heartless for trying to let go? Does that mean I'll be left to care for her in an empty almost clinical way? Everything just feels overwhelmingly wrong.

Room Is Spinning Out of Control

2006-04-21T05:38:00.000-04:00

I attempted to sleep somewhat early last night. Things just felt unsettled and I tossed and turned a lot. I felt- different but I wasn't sure why. This morning I get it. I feel as though I opened my eyes to wake and really woke up. All sorts of personal truths sit staring me dead in the face. Like as if someone took me by the hand and said, "Here Bobby, you've done____________ these last few months and this is why. You see it now don't you?"

I do see it as clear as anything else.

I've spent the last several months slowly, very slowly grieving my mother. She still lives, breathes and exists but not as anything like the woman I knew even a year ago. In November I was hopeful that she'd be ok but since then I've slid through so many different phases of grief. I think a few months ago I subconsciously accepted that I've really lost her in most every sense and that left me just devestated. I didn't see it then, I never realized how bad I was or even why until now. Right now. The person that I knew and needed- even though she wasn't as functional as most- still, I needed her, she is gone. Her doctor tried to gently communicate that to me and while I dropped the ball on the outside, he did get thru to my subconscious because I have grieved for months.

She exists and I've grieved as if shes gone. She breathes and I know that part of her stopped, months ago. She's still here and yet somehow I know I'll never really see or spend time with her ever again. My mother for all intents & purposes really is gone & somehow I've managed to see it while remaining outwardly oblivious. I've grieved a slow, lingering death, have come to terms with it and am now left to still care for the person. The parent.

I feel keenly aware of so much more than I did even 24 hours ago. The cloud hasn't lifted and I still feel like I'm laying face down in a mud puddle but I think there's a light to crawl towards.

Fallen.

2006-04-19T06:17:00.000-04:00

I feel like I'm laying face down in the dirt and I can't get myself back up. I don't know how to. Maybe I don't even want to.

I'm trapped in the black smog of depression and my emotions are too leveled out to even bother to react. How do I find a reaction? Is this it?

Is this it??

Immobilized by all things negative & I can't even manage to yell or care or even put a voice to how bad this is. Not a sound, not a solitary tear. Just nothing.

I'm not even a shell of a man. Even shell's can crack.

The Quest for The Truth Is Not for The Fainthearted

2006-04-16T22:26:00.000-04:00

I think many of us have an overwhelming, overpowering need to know who we really are. Especially if obvious pieces to the puzzle are missing. Then everything that you do learn, it just fuels the quest to find out more. I don't think that there's even necessarily a thought process to it, you just sort of do it without a moment's thought. I know that's how it has been for me in my life. I need to understand things about myself & after the fact, I realize I've taken odd steps to understand better.

It can be such a devestating, destructive road to travel though. Discovering who you really are and being able to face yourself & your own truths is terrifying. Realizing that you were an abused kid, that you've grown into an abuser yourself...maybe you saw a family member killed and forgot details until adulthood and then the only way to recover was to plow right thru the memories...or what if you reach a point where every single aspect of your adult life- every facet, just everything amounts to one great big lie...or maybe you woke up one day & realized that the mentally ill family member that seems so different from yourself isn't different at all, they're actually an older carbon copy of yourself and it has taken an adult lifetime to be able to stare that reality in the eye...

We need answers but nothing prepares us for the truth that follows.

Emotional Rehab

2006-04-15T11:39:00.000-04:00

I never thought of myself as hypersensitive before. I used to believe that I just lived in the moment & often reacted accordingly. I know not everyone does that but I never really thought much of that reality. I thought of it as being more animated- at least sometimes.

An occassionally animated loner.

The incredibly painful truth that I've slowly begun to face is that I am my mother, only in reverse. She retreats inward. I react outwardly. She gets quiet while I overreact. She needs to be brought up & out of basically suicidalness. I need to come down because if I don't I'll self destruct.

One & very much the same.

3 Women- 3 Different Constants- All 3 Shifted

2006-04-13T08:12:00.000-04:00

I realized something important recently. Something that I should have gotten a whole lot sooner but didn't. A lot of people are part of my life on a somewhat regular basis but few have been constants. People that I know what to expect from them. My mother is of course one. She is sick but with good days. This kind of situation is just normal to me. Visiting her & having her be pretty sharp if not sluggish, that became normal. On a bad day she might have momentary mental breaks where she'd say something that made little or no sense. The thing is- was that she'd always bounce back & reign herself in.

Eames has been another constant. I know that she's got my back & that no matter how unconventional I may be she has faith in me, in my abilities.

Nicole Wallace has become another constant the past few years. She's a reminder of how people can take a wrong turn & end up in a very bad, twisted place. One that sees little value in human life but places a huge importance on status, money and intellect.

These things, at the end of any day were no-brainers. They were. No matter how messed up "normal" may be, at least it's familiar & there's something to be said for that.

Now, well over the last few months, even the normal things have changed. My mother is rarely lucid now. At least not for long. She's in a constant state of medication roulette. The doses keep changing, the side effects are brutal & the clarity is still lacking.

Eames, it's a bit tough. I know that I'm not conventional and I can come across as someone that has flown by my pants too much to really trust or count on. I know this & agreed with how it must look. Somehow knowing she wrote a letter requesting a new partner, it still stings. I understand her reasons & fears. I also know that she needs to feel safe & like her partner has her back in order to do her job well. In that regard, she briefly wasn't feeling secure in that & so her request was the correct thing to do. But it stings. Even though we are working so well together. Even though the complimentary skills get better each year.

Nicole Wallace. Well, hell even she managed to do the right thing. It still stuns me. It reminds me that there is no blatant good/bad, right/wrong, angelic/evil. Just a ton of varying shades of gray.

Have You No Shame- Don't You See Me?

2006-04-12T10:19:00.000-04:00

Did you ever allow someone to get to know you, the real you, only to realize that it was a colassal mistake? Did you ever start to piece together a friendship built completely on trust and honesty only to discover that it was a sham from the get-go, unbeknownst to you? Have you ever trusted someone with absolutely everything only to find yourself betrayed to the core?

So here I sit, wondering how this has happened. How could I have let anyone get close enough to hurt me this much. Especially when I thought I've been more guarded than ever before. I've been fucked with so much in the last year that I was sure, I knew that my instincts could not, would not fail me now. Don't you see? I'm supposed to be smarter now. I've been through so much crap, so many mind games that I'm supposed to see a game 10,000 feet away. No one could screw with my brain now- or so I thought.

Instead my mind has been messed with for months. This is by someone that I grew to trust while dealing with everyday life. Someone who encouraged me to let my emotions go. They "needed to come out". Eventually I knew, absolutely knew it was safe. Anything, any emotion was safe. I could be real and it was ok. I didn't need to keep the typical walls up. I could answer the phone and breathe a sigh of relief when I heard a particular voice because I didn't need to fake my way thru another conversation. I could just be however I really was and it was ok. Not only was it ok, but I was always left feeling better, stronger and very fortunate to have such a good person listening. Such a kind, gracious person that I would have done absolutely anything for.

What a gullible asshole I am. I'm sick thinking about it.

Trust. Faith in anyone. Both of these are shot. I trust no one, nor do I care to. It has only led to my deep freeze of late. I used to put others first but obviously that has been a mistake. Just a week ago I told this person that I never questioned what they told me & that I always believed that they were honest with me. Always. "Trusted beyond compare" I think was my exact phrasing. Good God I'm better off alone. I've been in avoid people mode most of my life and it really is turning out to be better that way. Maybe superficiality is underrated. Maybe it does have its high points.

The worst thing is realizing, truly understanding just how unimportant and disposable I have been. Wouldn't you think after months of connecting and long conversations, don't you think that person would matter? Don't your friends matter to you? I know mine do. This particular person keeps lying, in order to save their own sorry ass. Poof. I no longer mattered in the least. The SUPPOSED emotional connection became invisible, as if it never existed. I spent months handing myself to someone that in one instant declared me nonexistent. Or worse yet, just a small detail, a wrinkle in their otherwise wonderful life. Certainly not the priority that I was made to feel I had become.

My eyes give everything, every emotion that I have away. It has always been that way. I don't need to speak really. My eyes tell all. So how can someone look into my eyes and bold face lie? Lie and see me in return looking back with full implicit trust. How does anyone do that to someone that they care about? I know we all hurt each other but why do it intentionally? Why say something dishonest, especially something that really matters.

I've always been a loner and so letting people closer, this was new to me. I've found comfort in the good feelings. Because in spite of all the garbage, I've still been able to see and appreciate the good. Now what? What do you do when you realize that a good chunk of the good was fake? A person that you saw as proof that good people still exist has turned out to be worse than you ever imagined possible.

What do you do when you have to accept that someone that you knew would never speak badly of you has done just that while playing hot potato with your heart and soul?

I don't let many people in. Not many get really close to me, the real me anyway. What I've learned this past week is that my protective walls need to be much higher because something really big got by me this time.

I Know, Really I Do

2006-04-10T08:18:00.000-04:00

I know that it's not a blame thing. I know that I cannot control the devious acts of others. If someone wants to do harm or if they are hell-bent on accomplishing something (even if it's negative) they'll likely do it. None of us can control the actions of others & no one has the advance hindsight to see things coming in order to make a pre-emptive strike.

I just wish.

Seeing my mother victimized just kind of damaged me. Neither of us has been the same since. I'm used to just kind of living in the moment, sort of just reacting to the things around me.

That's who I am. Or at least it's who I was.

Now, I'm just kind of here. A watered down, zoned out variation that I'm not liking so much. I know that I've needed some help before I really lost it. I feared one of those instant reactions being a little bit too big. I feared hurting someone because of all the pent up- rage that I've been carrying.

Now I'm here. Along for the ride without much to give or so it feels. The energy that propelled me & fueled my days has been replaced with a series of delayed reactions.

Maybe the mood swings & manic behavior was better than this. At least I was living in the moment & being unpredictable gave me an edge on the job.

Frozen

2006-04-09T22:50:00.000-04:00

I've noticed a definite change in myself since, oh, maybe November. I think back then I was reacting & at times over reacting to everything around me. When the excop got in to Carmel Ridge to see my mother- something just changed then. I hung up the phone after being alerted to the situation & I was not the same person. It was as if the ground shifted & I was left grasping for footing. Only the sudden movement was actually in my head. I've lost my cool at work before, I've gone to bat for the most heinious of perps because somewhere, somehow they struck a chord with me. I've rhumba'd my way around the interrogation room with a man nearly my size and I've crossed the line (table) on more than one occassion to sit beside someone that I'm supposedly nothing like. So many situations where I've just sort of seized the moment & trusted my instincts (or flew by my ass depending...).

Those instincts told me that as much as I hate having my mother locked in a safe place, it is indeed a safe place for her. The things on the outside that trigger her so much & make it impossible for her to actually live out here, they can't get to her. It was the trade off for having her there- the piece of mind that came from knowing that no one could intentionally set out to harm her. She was protected & shielded from that.

Except for that one lousy day when that lousy excuse for a human being walked into that hospital. He knew that speaking to her, asking questions of an old woman that is too fragile to live in the real world as we know it, he knew that it would harm her. Break her a little bit more. I never saw that happening. In spite of what I see everyday on the job I never really believed that someone would aim so low. Tormenting an unstable old woman, I guess I'd have thought that she would be off limits even to someone missing a portion of their conscience.

That day I lost something. Part of my own mind I think. Someone saw her as a target & it was simply to get back at me. My doing my job cost her one more tiny piece of herself. She slipped a bit further away then & to be honest she has yet to really come back to where she was. I've felt responsible for every step backwards, every break & every setback that she has suffered since. At first I was ballistic & that got me nowhere. Reacting didn't help or change anything. The mood swings weren't just wicked, they were dangerous. I had to force myself to keep in control until it became easier. Now I feel precious little, overachiever that I am.

I'm Not Gonna Crack

2006-04-08T13:35:00.000-04:00

I'm so happy 'cause today i found my friends
They're in my head
I'm so ugly
That's okay 'cause so are you
We've broken our mirrors
Sunday morning is everyday for all i care
And i'm not scared
Light my candles in a daze
'Cause i found God

Breakable Thread

2006-04-07T05:49:00.000-04:00

Yeah I have been a bit more melancholy. I've hit a rough patch of sorts I guess. My reactions to things just seem off, even to me. I'm working on it. No maybe I'm just riding it out. That seems more like it. I feel far more fragile than I look & I know that I'm much more durable than I feel.

I've clocked many hours at Carmel Ridge lately & that hasn't helped me. I have to do what I have to do there to ensure my mothers' care but... when I leave the building & drive off the grounds a chill just sets in. Somewhere in my mind I'm always dreading ending up there myself. I drive away fearing that someday I won't be as lucky.

Someday I'll be stuck on the inside peering out.

It's Hard

2006-04-05T06:02:00.000-04:00

To visit my mother one day & see that she is well only to get a phone call alerting me otherwise the next day.

To listen as someone that I have know forever begins to tell me a story full of certainty and conviction while I know the truth- it's built on delusions.

To see the speeding train of mental illness & not be able to slow it ever so slightly.

To watch as a person that you love breaks apart and it's harder yet to find patience as a treatment team tries to slowly put the pieces back into place.

To stay on this merry-go-round and still function.

To NOT let these worries, fears & thoughts consume me.

I Haven't Run- Yet Anyway

2006-04-04T00:36:00.000-04:00

Just busy with work & all sorts of other intrusions. Only wishing I was bored at this point. I keep dozing off only to wake a few minutes later mid-panic attack.

Not sure what that's all about.

Internal Rain

2006-04-01T12:05:00.000-05:00

Yeah, it has been a few days. I don't really know what to say or even how to say it. I have no formed thoughts & no idea why I even opened up the entry box & started to type.

The last few days have been somewhat unbearable. Nothing is obviously out of place. I still get up at the same time each morning, still grab my coffee from the same vendor while walking the last block to 1PP. I'm still working long hours & I still come home to the same apartment swearing that this will be the night that I actually clean it up. Routine. Familiar. Unremarkable. that should actually make for a fairly calm week.

Instead I feel like everything inside has just crashed. It's all familar & yet nothing feels comfortable. Something is different in spite of appearances.

Just Wow.

2006-04-01T07:44:00.000-05:00

Yes I did need a laugh & thanks to the anono-emailer that sent me this. So unbelievably bad but with such stoned conviction, you have to listen. Download HERE.

Cleaning Out Your Closet- In Public

2006-03-28T13:24:00.000-05:00

I think what sat so badly with the case mentioned in the previous post, was the complete irreverence the mother had. She talked of the possibility of aborting her child as if she were deciding what pair of heels to wear to the bar. Even people that aren't governed by a strong sense of right & wrong can usually be coralled by thoughts of embarassment. A mother that secretly wished that she did know so that she could have made another choice- I wouldn't expect her to want the world to know just how little she thinks of her living breathing daughter. The insignificance of this young woman's life compared to the opportunity to maybe cash in on 10 million. It's daunting to see someone not even care just how badly they are perceived by those around them.

The fact that this creature is now forced to care for her daughter as part of her plea agreement, well it was a way to get a confession. Leaving the girl in her mother's care, I worry for her emotional well-being. So much resentment already exists within them both, forcing them together each day hardly seems fair to the daughter.

One of the many things running through my mind on loop.

Small Doses

2006-03-27T19:49:00.000-05:00

Wrongful death. That's a phrase we hear every single day on the job. People die that shouldn't have to, it's a constant part of the life cycle. A baby is born, someone dies in their sleep. Another baby is brought into this life as an elderly person succumbs to illness. A child takes its first breaths while another child takes its' last in a split second car crash. It cycles, painfully when it hits close to home, but the cycle is a constant.

Wrongful life. It's a term I've thought of frequently but I guess never in a million years did I think that I'd be handed a case that it applies to- at least in the minds of a few. I didn't think I'd speak the words "wrongful life" outloud to Eames on any occasion. Families are complicated and sometimes even dysfunctional disasters, I'm a product of that, as is my brother. Tucked away in one of the deepest, smallest corners of my mind, I know that my dad really wished we were never born. Not just because he told us so, but because I could feel it. His eyes burned with hate and resentment most of the time and even sober he was never very good at hiding his emotions. I knew. I'm sure that my brother knew as well.

Last week we worked on a case that involved a young teen with spina bifida. She was confined to a wheel chair but I think she really dealt with her physical limitations very well. She really had a good attitude and I got the impression that as long as she felt loved and supported, she would probably accomplish the goals that she set for herself. Her mother, a money hungry ~~lush~~ ~~drunk~~ alcoholic was trying to sue the Ob/Gyn that cared for her during this pregnancy. The gist was that if they had run the proper tests then she would have known about the likelihood of her daughters' condition and could have chosen to have an abortion.

Her daughter knew about the lawsuit and understood all to well what was being not only implied, but publicly aired. I know how awful it is to suspect a parent regrets having you and even moreso when you finally accept that what you've feared is in fact real. But to have it discussed over dinner in passing, listening to your mother focus on the financial windfall she sees in the future because she couldn't choose to kill you inutero... This was one that even I had to detatch a bit from. I couldn't let my mind fully understand the strength of the words being tossed around- not while looking at a 100 pound girl in a chair trying so hard not to be a burden to anyone.

If I let myself really get it, I would have completely lost it. It is awful enough just knowing that some parents devalue their children in private, but to have the calculating, heartless ability to make your feelings known to the media...

That takes a touch of evil in my opinion.

Even now, I can only touch this topic in small doses.

Interesting

2006-03-26T07:55:00.000-05:00

What the bartender saw the night Imette St. Guillen was drinking at the Falls.
By Chris Faherty

I know it sounds cliché, but it was just like any other Friday night at the Falls. I was in the weeds by eleven. It was wall-to-wall by midnight. At quarter after three, I was splitting the tips with Rebecca, the other bartender. By 3:45, I’d closed in on the finish line—the organization of a small mountain of credit-card slips—when I decided to take a bathroom break. The bar was close to empty, but en route, I noticed one of the last patrons: She was sitting alone at the far end of the twenty-foot oak bar, very erect in her chair. I remember thinking how strange it was to see a dainty little girl sitting alone at the bar, talking to no one. But I had a routine, business to finish. The last chore was in the basement. At around 4 a.m., as I was counting my drop in the office below, the girl, like any other patron at closing time, was asked to leave and escorted out by the doorman. Later that day, the dead body of Imette St. Guillen was found in an abandoned field in East New York.

I met Darryl Littlejohn three months ago, when he was hired as a doorman. But I didn’t know him by that name; I knew him only as “B.” I was outside grabbing a quick smoke, sparking up some conversation with Kwan, our regular bouncer, who introduced us. I asked the obvious question: What does B stand for?

Continued...

Words Yet To Be Spoken

2006-03-25T20:36:00.000-05:00

I know that it seems ~~crazy~~ insane for me to EVER see my mother and Nicole Wallace in one another. I do realize how, oh, probably evil it sounds on my part to even think such a thing. The correlation comes from The Nicole File. There is a wealth of information within those pages that has yet to even be discussed. Things that seem unnecessary and irrelevant to the case. Things that just further define who Nicole is- her mentality, her pathology. It's no secret that I've been over and over it all a multitude of times. Partly because that's what a profiler does and partly to try and anticipate the next move. Then, a good deal of time has been spent just lost in the details, understanding a little too well what she has been through. It's not just that I can visualize it but that I've watched similar things happen to my mother.

See, this is really one of those blatantly frightening moments where, yes- I DO identify with a perp and I sort of understand some of the downward spiral. I understand her and get her better than I would most other women.

When Nicole spun her tale about not being able to conceive while married to Gavin, it was the truth. She knew that I'd dig up her medical history at least in part anyway. She knew I would find enough to piece things together. When her daughter was nearly 2 she was diagnosed with a gynecological cancer- something curable in the long run that likely was the gradual result of "misspent youth". The treatment would be successful but draining on her. She would have been weaker physically and just taking care of normal everyday things- like her daughter had to have been very hard. She had a boyfriend back then but we've never found his real name. If he used an alias in the first place then he probably wasn't the best guy around. We also know the kind of people that Nicole attracts. Her daughters death was during her treatment time. That only helps to feed my belief that she didn't kill her, but a fed up, put-upon, raging boyfriend did and Nicole was too drained to stop him. She knew no one would believe her so she had to bury her child and of course figured out the best spot in the country to do so.

She knows my mothers' history. I'm sure she managed to pull her medical records and identified with what this complete stranger went through. Dan Croyden was such an easy mark. Maybe he wasn't violent but he was completely self-absorbed before walking out on his cancer-stricken wife and young kids. Killing him, that was probably almost too easy for Nicole. She saw the man that bailed out on her in this guy and no doubt she thought she was doing his now ex-wife a favor. The fact that she could toss him my way- well that was just an extra bonus for her. She knew I'd look at this guy's history and see my father. Then I'd listen to his pompous arrogance and hear my father. It was brilliant on her part to kill so many birds with one stone.

A stroke of genius really.

I'm not sure why Nicole hooked up with Evan Chappel. Maybe it was a fluke, maybe she was obituary surfing and saw that he was newly widowed with a young daughter. I do believe that once she was confronted with the truth about her daughter (when I say truth, I mean someone knew the child existed & then died) I don't think that she could just stuff it all down again. It was too much and even one single other person knowing, well, that made it suddenly very real. Gwen was maybe a little older than her own child would have been and she knew that this was likely her last crack at some sort of motherhood. The fact that Gwen was at risk for gynecological cancer once she hit puberty, that made Nicole even more protective of her. In her mind it was making up for what she couldn't prevent years earlier. She had every intention of being in this child's life. Probably in part because she knew firsthand the tough road ahead of Gwen in a few years.

These are some of the things that spin in my head all at once. All of the similarities- my mother's illness, Nicole's illness, neither could protect their children. My father, Nicole's boyfriend, Dan Croyden- they're all pretty much the same despicable man but presented a bit differently on the outside. I watched my mother struggle to get well while her supposed biggest supporter was only dead weight. I can imagine Nicole in that same situation.

It doesn't change things, not ultimately. She killed several people before having a child & she has killed several since. Nothing cancels out the damage that has already been done. It does make me see her as a person though, someone that has been through hell herself & not only by her own misdeeds.

Serial killer. A nice, neat label. Beneath it always lies a complicated, painful mess.

A Few Things Preventing Me From Sleeping

2006-03-25T03:16:00.000-05:00

Why are people so willing to put complete faith, trust and belief in the unseen?

Why is the need to believe in something bigger than us so great that in many cases common sense goes right out the window?

Why do religious zealots believe that shunning, killing and judging is what "God' wants them to do, yet they at the same time say that "God" is the only true judge. Isn't that a complete contradiction- actions versus words?

Why must we believe in our own faith so firmly that it imposes on or cancels out the same faith of a different individual?

Why do we shred each other over the things that make us unique?

Why do we judge each other so harshly when we're all flawed?

PriceLess

2006-03-24T16:12:00.000-05:00

Walls Fall Down

2006-03-23T10:26:00.000-05:00

When I was around 8 or 9 my mother was diagnosed with some serious medical problems. She needed surgery & then spent the better part of a year undergoing various kinds of treatment. Before that, I knew my mom was different. At least I believed so because I was too young to really understand the show people put on for the sake of others. I was sure that ours was the only screwed up family in the neighborhood. Now I remember back & things pop into my head that make me believe many families were just as messed up. When she got sick my brother & I knew it was serious but we also knew she would eventually be ok. I don't think that anything could have prepared me for actually watching her struggle to get better. So many days she was too exhausted & too physically depleted to even get up & down the stairs. Many times she was admitted to the hospital for more intensive treatment & so that someone could keep a close eye on her condition.

Up until that point in my life, I knew that our homelife was dicey. I knew that she & my father fought horribly & I understood as much as a kid with no other experience to draw from can, that dad treated her pretty badly. Mom was the anchor for my brother & I. She did everything for us. Took on all of the parental responsibilities and seemed happy to do so. Even on her worst days she never, ever made us feel like a burden of any kind. When she first got sick she tried so hard to keep up with us & to keep all of our lives running just as they had before. it was just impossible to do that though. I look back now & realize what a bundle of energy she was to juggle us, work, the house and all the extra stuff without complaining. our lives sort of came to a halt as did hers for awhile.

Her focus on family & mini escapes couldn't continue because she was just too sick. Her thirst for books & knowledge was lost and replaced with a need for sleep. Instead of comforting herself, lost in the pages of a good read she had no choice but to rest. Her only respite became sleep & dreams were her most frequent distraction.

She slowed down physically & mental illness flooded her. She spent years keeping it at bay, fighting for every bit of control over it but once her defenses had to drop, there it was.

My brother & I watched mom fight to regain her physical health but the Schizophrenia was impossible to deny. I mean it was impossible. As her body got stronger so did her delusions. To see part of her healing while another part seemed to break a bit more each day was so painful.

She could save her body but the whole process cost her something almost more valuable, her mind.

Entitlement

2006-03-22T19:02:00.000-05:00

Money. Greed. Financial Gain.

Nothing brings out a persons' inner snake quite like dollar signs. Let me correct that. Nothing brings out an inner snake faster half of the time. I swear half the country is truly guided by cash. Not morality. Not a sense of doing the right thing for the sake of it being the right thing. Not respect. not the good old Golden Rule. Certainly not love.

True intention, true character & true motivations are revealed once money is involved.

I've seen it even in my own family. Someone dies & family members slink out of the woodwork looking for what they feel their "entitled to".

Entitled???

i just do not get the overwhelming sense of obligatory entitlement that so many people have. If I haven't worked for it, I really don't want it. Seriously. When my father died there was a really small stash of money left behind. It's existence shocked the hell out of me because right up until his death he played hard & his vices propelled his actions. That money was left to my brother & I. It felt wrong to take it for many reasons. I felt like I'd- oh I don't know, knocked off a safe in a Bodega or something. The amount was irrelevant, I felt like I was holding dirty money.

How a person ends up believing that another mans mini-fortune is something that they're entitled to just escapes me.

It's About Time...

2006-03-22T06:57:00.000-05:00

New York Post Article

I Suddenly Remember Each Time We've Met

2006-03-21T15:55:00.000-05:00

The sweater. My mother's cream colored sweater with small pearl buttons. I keep seeing it in my dreams. She may be wearing it, or Alex even. Nicole has stood before me in it more than once. It's a comfort thing to me. Every single time it appears it is intended to try and cancel out some of the turmoil that came before it. It was a gift to my mom from my grandmother & she loved it. I realize now that it was a comfort to her as well. It would be draped over the back of her chair at the library, it kept her warm while getting us to school on chilly mornings. It was the first thing that she grabbed after a fight with my father. She would swaddle herself in the fabric and now I know, in those darkest moments, she probably needed my grandmother but was far too proud to admit it. She saw no escape for herself other than to wrap herself tightly while trying to disappear from view.

The sweater was like her security blanket. It made her feel better or it made her body trick her mind into believing so.

Lesser of The Evils~ Whatever That May Be

2006-03-20T19:12:00.000-05:00

I'm waiting to hear back from my mother's doctor. After her recent break they've tried lowering her meds back down a bit. The thinking was to stabilize her and then try to get her back to the lower dosage. Last night she had a setback. The problem is nothing appeared to trigger it. She was alone in her room and basically just collapsed mentally all over again. She slept last night and woke this morning in the same fragile state. They opted to pump her full of those damn drugs again and she'll be down for the day. I'm not sure what the next step is. Keeping the meds elevated leaves her really lethargic at best. But does she need a higher dose. Is it better for her to be unaware of her inner demons? I just don't know what to even hope for. Whatever is in her best interest is best. Escaping her inner torture is a blessing I'm sure. I know that. But what quality of life is that- not that a mental break every few weeks is better. It's beginning to feel like a lose/lose situation. She has been slipping away from me for most of my life. I've watched it, seen the gradual mental decomposition and it... Hurts, but she has always known me. An increase at this point means she won't always communicate or even realize I'm in the room. If she does realize I'm there she may not know who I am.

The lesser of the evils...For her. How do I know what that even is?

All the thinking, trying to figure out what is really best has made me really look at my mom's life overall. I could say upping meds so that she is lethargic if not catatonic is lousy, but is it better than her moment by moment reality when she is clear and alert? No one but her can really answer that. Clear headed but haunted or spacey and at peace? I think it's one of those situations where you think you know what you'd rather but when presented with the situation for real, your mind could change.

When I think about her relationship with my father... I wonder if she just couldn't handle him. Did she start backslidding mentally because it was better, easier than staying in the present. Was it easier to get lost in her own psychosis than it was to really admit how lousy her life with her husband was? Even when I was a kid and they'd fight, I knew what he did was wrong. I blamed her for him leaving, but I also thought he treated her badly. He was always so self- important & self absorbed. Every conversation was turned into something about himself. He had a way of doing that and it drove everyone nuts. You always felt like he was superior, not because he really was, but because he needed to believe he was. His own arrogance led him to believe that he could say whatever the hell he liked to anyone at all- but if they responded, well. How dare they. How dare anyone say anything negative about him.

A fine example of a man who could dish it but couldn't handle getting back what he brought on himself.

In many ways they were polar opposites. Mom wanted peace and calm while dad thrived on chaos and drama. Two radically different sets of needs trying to coexist in a merged world. I can to this day remember mom trying to talk to him and feeling... Less than him. Or that's how she believed he saw her. One night not long before he left us I heard them fighting. I didn't understand it very much then. Now as a grown man it kills me. She was asking for the simplest of things. Emotional support. She felt doomed in his presence. He wanted particular things accomplished then slammed her when she tried to do them. The gist was if you can't be supportive then at the very least, stop dragging me down.

"If you love me why do you take so much pleasure in insulting me just for kicks?"

I can still hear her saying that. How did he respond to her request to back off and stop being so hurtful? By slinging more insults. Pushing more buttons. Belittling her for things undone and insulting anything accomplished. Hitting raw nerves one at a time until she finally snapped and punched him.

I can still see the big, pompous, self-important man on the living room floor choking my mother while I watched from the next room. Mangling the body of the woman who was half his size. Sealing the deal, showing her exactly what type of dirt beneath his shoes he thought her to be. She was good enough to carry his children, cook his meals, cater to his insane extended family, but how dare she- How dare she ask that he treat her with the same respect that she instinctively tried to give him. The nerve of her to initiate a conversation where she simply asked to be treated with a little bit of kindness. A reminder that she needed to feel supported and held up by someone & as her husband, shouldn't he be the one to want to do that?

My father left that night after finally letting mom go. He was gone for a few hours and I'm sure she prayed he would drive his sorry, drunken ass into a telephone pole. She was oblivious to me even being there. She was just lost in her own thoughts. I lost count of how many times I heard her tell herself outloud that she hated him.

"I hate him. I hate him. I hate him."

It was almost like a chant.

The next morning she was withdrawn from everything. Bruised and slow moving. She looked defeated physically but emotionally I think he did choke some of the life from her. That was a clear turning point in her sickness. If she stayed lost in her own head, if she withdrew into her own deluded world- well maybe those delusions were better than reality. Maybe in her delusions she fits in. Maybe the people that live in her head, maybe they treat her with kindness. Maybe she is treated like a human being there & maybe she believed that no one on the outside, no one in the real world would ever treat her well for very long. So she retreats back into her own created safety zone.

All she wanted was to have a husband that adored her and instead I think he truly broke her.

...

2006-03-20T06:21:00.000-05:00

The universe has a funny way of making me sleep. A convienently timed 2 day migraine which has kept me in a darkened room since yesterday morning. Somehow, I suspect that if I'd have had to work, my head would have been just fine.

More later.

Visions

2006-03-18T15:42:00.000-05:00

I took a walk around
the crazed side of my mind
and had to cringe at
all the memories I thought
I'd left behind.

Faces of people who left
me alone and sad
and the childhood of
happiness I barely remember
I had.

The ghosts that I had
forgotten and have now disturbed
flood my sight to replay a version
of Hell I once left, only
now to return.

It seems like nearly every waking, breathing moment of this week has triggered stuff that I'd rather not think about. I've worked a few doubles because well, I might as well. I'm sure not sleeping so if I'm going to be up I might as well convince myself that there is a good reason for it. The extra pay is irrelevant at this point. I'd do it for free if it meant I find some sort of ~~peace~~ steadiness at 3am.

My Whole Existence Is Flawed

2006-03-16T10:53:00.000-05:00

Nicole will haunt me for the rest of my life, that much I've already accepted. It doesn't matter where I am, what I'm doing or who I may be with. She's going to come back a zillion times over. The connection between her and my mother is that neither of them were able to protect their kids. I believe both wanted to, but ultimately it was impossible. I don't know exactly what happened with Nicole but my mom, she was too focused on trying to stay focused. She had to put so much energy into trying to keep things together that situations right in front of her were often unoticed.

I also know what it feels like to have slipped thru the cracks growing up. Something is obviously wrong, someone is hurting you & yet no one notices. Your own mother, for whatever reason doesn't put a stop to it and anyone on the outside with even an incling just turns their head.

When I decided to confront Nicole about her father's abuse, even the very first time, I knew that I might be getting in over my head. The fact that she never threw those questions right back at me is amazing. She knows, just as I know with her. She knows that there was too much emotion fueling my words, too much personal understanding. She just, for whatever reason chose not to fire back at me.

Maybe that in itself was a "singular touch of grace."

Rewind. Rewatch. Reconsider.

2006-03-15T14:06:00.000-05:00

I stayed late last night. I went into an empty office and reviewed some of Nicole's interrogation footage. I've watched it all more times than you can imagine, memorizing every gesture, every intonation in her voice trying to get a grasp on her weak spots. Not the likely ones but the real ones that only show when you take the time to review a tape. The things that a single eye blink can cause you to miss when sitting face to face. So last night I really had an overpowering need to watch her again when confronted about her daughter. She didn't play the part of grieving mother, looking for sympathy. She didn't work to cover her ass very hard & she was not thinking on her feet, not for Nicole anyway. I mean somewhere in the back of her head she had to have prepared for what she would say should this ever hit the light of day. That's what killers do, they concoct stories. That's what she does. But this, it was different. The pure rage in her eyes when I accused her of killing her daughter, the way she shrieked at me like an animal. That wasn't guilt talking, not murderous guilt anyway. She was appalled & outraged to be accused of such a thing and while watching her, none of her usual telltale ticks were there. She didn't kill her child. She knows who did & likely couldn't stop them. I think that guilt crushes her. Just the way she told me to stop talking about her, the way she insisted on it- I was touching something sacred to her, something far too painful for her to handle if her attorney hadn't walked in.

Abused kids, well we do one of two things as adults- we either continue the cycle or become extremely protective of children in general. Even Nicole can fall into that protector category. Killing may come easy but every murderer has some invisible line that for whatever reason, they just won't cross. Children are hers. I'm sure of it. That is why she did the right thing with Gwen & protected her. In her own mind, she has to. To correct what happened to her & to make up for not saving her own child. She tried to tell me about Gwen & then stopped realizing that I needed to figure it out for myself. This, this tragedy with her daughter is the same. I wouldn't believe it any other way. And really, who would? That's why she drove a few hundred miles & buried her. Who could she tell? no one would believe that someone who has done time for killing in the past would make an exception and NOT kill their now dead child. It looks like a no brainer. I'm sure no one else gave it a moments thought. I know when I first saw the report & even for months afterwards I didn't even toy with the notion that she didn't do it. Of course she did. It was brushed off as just another body to dispose of.

Now, it's different. Now I see it very clearly. Last night I saw it for myself in her demeanor, the way she carried herself. Now I'm sure.

Distract. Deny.

2006-03-14T08:36:00.000-05:00

Another night put to rest, thank God. The dreams last night- disturbing. Usually I avoid actively persuing sleep. I just try to let it catch me by surprise and I often wake with books & papers scattered around me. If I try to go to sleep I usually just lie awake full of anticipation. I know how bad the dreams are and lying in bed in active pursuit of the horror before my eyes, well, I don't do it that way. I just can't. I stay awake for as long as I can hold my head up & when a nitemare wakes me I return to the pile of books & papers. Distraction. It's the only way that i know how to make it thru some of the darkest hours. That's why I'm a fountain of frequently useless information. If I focus on learning something then I can't possibly be still ensnared in the nitemare.

Distract. Deny. Eventually a new day breaks.

Last night I was in a darkened room alone with Nicole. She was speaking, her mouth was moving but it was like watching a silent film. I heard nothing, couldn't even read her lips. It was all about the visual, this dream was. She was standing over me wearing a familiar cream colored sweater with little pearl buttons on it. I was staring at those buttons until I realized that I remembered seeing them before. When I looked up at Nicole's face she was no longer Nicole, but instead my mother at about Nicole's age. Still speaking silent whispers, still standing over me.

She was right there, but I couldn't understand her. Couldn't help. Couldn't reach her because touching her & speaking myself were both impossibilities in this dream. We were right in front of each other but communication was completely broken.

Nicole. My mother. In many ways they are the same to me. 2 people in this world that I'm pulled towards yet can't find any comfort in.

My Mind's Eye Has Been Busy

2006-03-13T11:35:00.000-05:00

A few people have commented about my being quieter than usual. I never really thought of myself as anything but quiet. A loner. Lost in my own head. I guess even for me, I haven't been as fast on my feet or something. I am distracted though, by a lot of things. Don't get me wrong, I AM paying attention to what's going on but I'm running on 2 tracks at once.

My mother is still not entirely back. I visited yesterday and she had a hard time staying awake because of her meds. I'm not sure what is harder, seeing her extremely agitated or zonked out. At least agitated she is capable of feeling something. It finally hit me the other day that I fear things triggering her memory but I think even moreso, I fear her reaction triggering mine.

I've had to question my own selfishness. I don't want her to be upset or to suffer in any way. Her own mental affliction is bad enough on a good day. But when she ventures into those dark spaces, I have to go with her either to take her hand & guide her back out or at the very least, to understand what is happening. Truth be told, I'm terrified of getting stuck there, right beside her. She gets upset about something that my father did 30 years ago & on one side of me I see an old woman with the fear of a child in her eyes. The other side of me stands that same woman, only in her 30's living the scenario while I watch as a fearful child.

Her flashbacks. My flashbacks.

Eventually, I will get stuck. It's destined to happen.

...

2006-03-11T21:38:00.000-05:00

The rage. A lot of it goes back to my father. The way that he treated my mother & us. I felt no anger towards him until I was in my late 20's. It took me that long to be strong enough to take a good, clear look at my family & to actually see them. The people they were rather than the people i wanted them to be. My father was a lying, cheating drunk that probably didn't have a single honest day in the last 20 years of his life. My brother is now his carbon copy. My mother, I just never know what the next week will bring. She might be lucid & even vibrant or I can walk in & find her drugged, looking pale & very much like the old woman that she is.

This past week my rage was triggered in several ways almost simultaneously. My own flashbacks, moms break & then my brother had to stir the pot. He called mom & talked to her late Thursday & just hearing his voice caused her to slip back again.

Just the sound of his voice & the little bit of ledge that she was clinging too disappeared. She spent Friday & half of today sedated again.

My father knocked my mother down mentally for years. He made her feel as though she was less- deserving, worthwhile,intelligent. She got away from him but not at all with her wits intact. To sit here knowing that the reason that she is struggling still is because of him- that kills me. It's as if he reaches out from his grave just to give her a good shove & knock her on her ass when she least expects it.

That Was Just A Dream, Just A Dream

2006-03-10T11:28:00.000-05:00

"Accidents Bobby. They Happen in Every Family."

I woke to the sound of those words being whispered in my ear. I swear that I did. Spoken, clear as daybreak. I opened my eyes and saw no one. I got to my feet and began searching for her because I know I heard her voice. I'm sure of it. I looked in every room and of course I found no one. My door, still locked.

Completely alone.

The difference with this dream- I didn't wake in a panic. Instead I was calm, almost felt like I was moving in slow motion rather than my usual need to flee.

Relived it was just a dream...Disappointed it was only a dream...Relieved to be alone behind a locked door...Upset that I am indeed alone, behind the door.

Alone, behind a locked door. Seems an analogy for the way that I cut myself off from people alot of the time.

Lost In The Lost.

2006-03-09T21:49:00.000-05:00

I feel like I have finally crash landed this week. there is very little doubt in my mind that i am indeed sitting at rock bottom. And rock bottom- it's a really tight fit.

The emptiness remains but the silence isn't quiet as numbing as it was last night. but my week, where has it gone? I'm serious, where did it go? What did I do? I'm sure if pressed I could conjure up a bunch of answers to "What did I do?" but I'm not connected to much of anything. I typed that last sentence & paused to space out for a few minutes. I can't even stay connected to trying to put my thoughts somewhere.

Actually I do remember this afternoon. I was consummed with anger, no- rage. Pure rage. It scared me & I hate admitting that, but it did. I felt capable of really hurting someone just for the sake of hurting someone. A good reason to feel angry was replaced with that actual anger. That's fine, healthy even but it didn't take long to realize that the feelings were far bigger than I.

I felt like I could tear down a building with my bare hands. That kind of anger scares even me.

The Sound of loneliness is Deafening

2006-03-08T22:50:00.000-05:00

You never really realize the impact that people make until after the fact. No matter how important they are & how grateful you may be, you never feel the entirety of it until it comes to a screeching halt. Not until the relationship ends do you see the full impression that was made on your soul. A deep indentation on your heart.

I feel lost and alone and it is all because one single solitary person is gone from my life. All the scurrying bodies in Midtown during rush hour might as well not be there because they cannot replace the physical existence of a life long friend.

I don't need to talk to people every day or even every week. But in my mind knowing that they are "there", somewhere going thru the motions of everyday life- it's a comfort.

It's hard for me to wrap my head around the concept of "gone". You die and then you are gone from the earth in all tangible ways. We go from real and alive and full of potential to dead and gone in just a matter of breaths.

How can that be? How can it take so precious little to alter our existence and partially paralyze the emotional well being of those left behind?

Alex

2006-03-07T13:37:00.000-05:00

Since several of you have emailed to ask I figured I would clear up the confusion. The person posting as Alex is NOT the same Alex that you guys spent 6 months interacting with. She has every intention of coming back in March. If you click the link to her old blog you'll go to a detective Eames but it's not the same one that you guys know & love. She never put a hiatus note up & so the *imposter* was able to aquire her old site url.

And I'm sure Alex will be none to thrilled when she realizes.

Running on E

2006-03-07T07:22:00.000-05:00

I finally have a few minutes to attempt to write something & I can't even think now. I'm completely numb. My mother is doing a little bit better. She's not fully sedated & not very agitated either. Not better but somewhere in the middle of all of that so I guess that's ok. It means she's emerging from this rough patch at least. Thank God for that.

My friends wake is this evening & god how I hate those things. I'm so accustomed to dealing with death & seeing dead bodies at work that I'm just on autopilot. Put me in a funeral home with someone dressed up to resemble what they once were- a corpse that I cannot touch & suddenly it freaks me out. That's when it sinks in, the person is gone.

More later. I have to get going. I'm basically on my own this week. Eames has been upstate since Sunday visiting one of her brothers. It was her turn to take off a few days before they evaporate into thin air. Man how I hate looking across at that empty chair. One more bit of needed normalcy disrupted this week.

Taking Five

2006-03-06T13:38:00.000-05:00

Sorry I dropped off the radar for a bit. The last two days have been a strategical nightmare for me. Forget about the stress & emotional end of it, just the logistics have been difficult. I went from canvassing Saturday night/Sunday morning to then driving up to check in on my mother. That right there is 3 hours round trip not counting the visit time. My friend finally did pass away yesterday morning so from Carmel Ridge I drove out to Queens to spend time with his family. I was able to take care of some of the small details for them so I at least feel like I've done something to help.

See? Constant motion, logistical nitemare.

Hopefully later I can sit for more than 3 minutes (preferably NOT in a vehicle) & actually unload.

Support, Sedation & Overtime

2006-03-04T13:35:00.000-05:00

Thank you so much for the comments & emails of support. They always mean so much more than I can ever express. The fact that anyone even reads this thing, let alone comments still amazes me. I never take the comments for granted.

Seeing my mother this morning was rough but unfortunately, I've been thru this a lot. She is still very sedated & it is painful to see her like this. Thinking about how vibrant & alive she was last weekend just hurts. A few days, a few words. She's broken. It just, hurts. They'll try to ease her out a bit this week & it'll be very touch & go. It always is. I know that something can trigger these episodes & I also know that sometimes nothing obvious triggers it. It just never gets any easier to go thru. She's the only person in my adult life that I am responsible for. I don't have a wife & kids & all of the expenses to go with a family of my own so I try to pour everything that I can into caring for her. My job is such a huge part of my life but my mother- if I can only get ONE thing right in this world, i'd want it to be her care.

I need to get some sleep & then Eames & I have work tonight. All the detectives are alternating nights this weekend to canvass the old Bowrey area. Whoever tortured & killed that poor woman last weekend is still out free & we really are worried that this guy is just getting warmed up. Someone HAS to know something.

That story is HERE in case you aren't familiar with it. The whole city is really on edge.

The Fear Beneath the Fear

2006-03-03T17:16:00.000-05:00

I've been spared the ride upstate until morning. Dr. Scheemo left early & my mom is not going to be awake so there's no point in making the drive. I'll go early tomorrow instead & get there in time for his rounds.

That's the logical rational thing to do. My mother. Some- A lot of times, I'm not sure who the parent even is. she's not really the woman that I remember when I think back to the good memories so sometimes it's hard to connect her in that way. When she is lucid & doing well, she treats me like an equal. During the rough patches & especially when she's eased out of being heavily medicated she's like a child. Totally confused, doesn't really recognize me or she will, but she'll think I'm 8. I'm like 3 times her size & she'll scold me for something I probably did do at a young age. I choke when that happens because I know she is still mom. The woman that taught me to read and ride my bike. The one who gave a damn about us & sacrificed her own mental health in an attempt to be able to think on her feet. A plan that delayed her own help & may have cost her a productive life in the end.

"She's a lot like you."

Or am I a lot like her, in every sense. That is the thing that terrifies me. I've studied Schizophrenia until my eyes have nearly bled. I know the possibilities. the hereditary lines. the pathology. She wasn't diagnosed until well into her 30's. I know very well that I could be sitting EXACTLY where she sits at some point. I fear it and deny it and resist it and shove it as far away as possible- but I still know. I'm moody & emotional & I refuse to medicate myself just because of those things because- at least I'm feeling something.

But is that what my mother did? Did she just ignore, excuse, whatever until she completely broke?

There's no way of knowing really.

These past 5-6 however many years, I've talked to so many schizophrenics in the line of duty. I try so hard to relate & put them at ease & that almost seems to easy for me. Part of it comes from my own deep-rooted terror. What if I end up totally breaking, stuck pumped full of drugs and maybe on good days getting to breathe fresh air or spend an hour in art therapy. Will anyone take those few minutes with me, to try to get through or to appear to really care.

I fear in the deepest corner of my heart & in the pit of my soul that I'll end up somewhere far worse than Carmel Ridge just completely alone.

"She's A Lot like You"

2006-03-03T08:23:00.000-05:00

I got a call from my mother's doctor at 6am. She isn't doing well at all. They aren't sure why but she had some sort of "break" during the night. They sedated her & she'll be down for the day. I'm going to have to take a drive up after work. The doctor said that she has seemed more agitated in the last two days then they've seen her in months.

I know what triggered it. The boy she read about the other day. I was so worried that this could happen. I know that she needs to get things out but I never know how much is too much. If i know she's struggling I'm careful about what I'll even bring her to read. I know she gets stuff from others so I can't keep every trigger away from her, but I try. This time, I knew... I knew there was a small chance but I just let it go. She has been okay & I thought she could handle it. I should have known better I just should have.

When she brought it up the other night I hoped that letting her talk & get it out would help, somehow prevent, something. Instead I handed her Pandora's Box & held the lid open for her. Now she's in a bed being pumped full of drugs.

Completely my fault. I have two things in this world that I need to do, go to work & keep my mother as ok & balanced as possible. This week I'm failing at both.

Her doctor made some comment about her coming out of this & he chased it with, "She's a lot like you.". Could anything scare me more?

Shut Out or Shut Down

2006-03-02T22:01:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what exactly happened today. Either I shut people out until I realized I was pretty much alone and then shut down or else I felt repeatedly shut out until shutting down felt like a good escape.

Either way, the day was a series of dead ends, wasted hours and now Eames and I are left with more confusion than we started with this morning. That aside I'm a breathing paradox tonight. Every sentence that I type I can completely contradict before the next line. I need to sleep but I can't. I need a break but my mind is racing. I try to focus and find myself floating from one topic to another.

Glad I'm alone but wishing I wasn't. Completely enraged but once I realize that it switches to fear. I need to lay down but my head pounds even worse if I rest it on a pillow.

Complete. Fucking. Mess. Of. A Somewhat. Human. Being.

...

2006-03-02T07:41:00.000-05:00

Innocent~ By Fuel

(Something Like Human)

Satan, you know where I lie
Gently I go into that good night
All our lives get complicated
Search for pleasures overrated
Never armed our souls
What the future would hold
When we were innocent
Angels, lend me your might
Forfeit all my lives to get just one right
All those colors long since faded
All our smiles are confiscated
Never were we told
What the future would hold
When we were innocent

This prayer is for me tonight
This far down that line and still ain't got it right

And while confessions not yet stated
Our next sin is contemplatd
Never did we know
What the future would hold
Or that we'd be bought and sold
When we were innocent

DOWNLOAD MP3 HERE

Journey Into Madness Sadness

2006-03-01T15:29:00.000-05:00

I spoke with my mother last night- a normal occurence. I always check in with her when I get home from work. This week she has been a bit clearer than I've seen her in awhile. I'm used to her illness kind of going in cycles. She has a rough patch & then slowly comes out of it & seems fine. Almost like she doesn't even belong in Carmel Ridge. Her lucid weeks are spent with her inhaling every bit of reading material that she can get her hands on. It's almost as if she makes up for the time she lost while being sedated or heavily medicated. No matter how much I bring her to read, the next week she'll have moved onto a pile of stuff that other patients or nurses have given to her.

When I was a kid she'd get 3 newspapers every day. 2 obviously based in NYC but one was from upstate "where the winters are white and streets are lined with flowers once the weather warms". When I say upstate I mean, way up in the Adirondaks where the seasons are at full throttle. Now I can see that it was her daily escape. She wished for that normal life on a tree-lined street with a good husband & nice kids. Somehow she equated the idea of leaving the city as a way to maybe change what she already had, but for the better. One week every summer we would go up to Lake George where my grandparents had a cottage. Mom was always so happy to get away & dad, well he hated having to leave the city. His drinking buddies. His other women. There was always a lot of resentment coming from my father. Even before I was old enough to grasp what it was, I remember feeling it. My brother though, he never cut him a break ever. When i was maybe 5 or 6 I knew that dad didn't seem to like us much but it never really occured to me that it mattered because we had mom. Dad was always angry & loud so I just tried to stay out of his way. I don't even think I feared him at that age I was just already self-programed to cut out if he walked into the room and sat down.

The week before my 6th birthday we were returning from the Lake after what was a really explosive week. Dad was fighting with everyone & no one over everything & nothing. I couldn't wait to get home but the car ride back was just torture. It was dark by the time we were back in the city and my father had ranted most of the way home. As we hit the bridge my brother muttered, "Thank god.". Two simple words of relief. The nitemare was almost over. We'd be out of that car soon. My father, sensing the relief in my brother's voice, asked what he meant by the comment. I mean, it was self-explanatory really & a sentiment my mother & I both shared. I don't think my brother even managed to get a word out before my father pulled over to the side & started screaming at him. Running down the list of imagined things wrong with his son as he so often liked to do. He got out of the car & dragged my brother who was seated directly behind him out as well, dragging him over to the edge of the bridge. He was yelling something about throwing him over and my mother jumped out of the car screaming. I couldn't even look. That was the first moment that I remember realizing what my father was capable of. I was sure he was going to throw my brother & our mother both in the river. I was crunched in a ball on the floor behind the passengers seat hoping that he would simply forget about me. I was absolutely terrified for what seemed like hours. Eventually the door opened & my brother was literally thrown into the backseat but landed on top of me where he stayed the rest of the drive home. His face scared the hell out of me. Now I know that he went beyond terrified and probably had completely dissociated, luckily for him. But at the time I didn't understand. I also still believed that my mother was a safety net for us.

When I spoke with her last night she mentioned different things that she had read & finally she started to talk about the little boy whose father tossed him off the bridge last weekend. The conversation that I have dreaded all week- that I've half prayed would never come about. She was really upset when speaking of the boy and I knew that this was where her lines were blurring just a bit. This horrible thing gave her the chance to speak about what had happened with my brother without having to be direct & obvious. She projected a lot onto the little boy, things clearly she thought & felt for my brother but couldn't let herself say. If she showed fear to my father he reveled in it so she always had to take a smart approach. He wanted to scare her, panic her, provoke her & very rarely did she let him see it. I know he got her often but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. At least not until her illness completely overtook her. She told me last night that she had resisted taking meds when we were younger because she was afraid that she wouldn't be "sharp & alert" enough to protect us.

It was lose/lose though. It was him, not her. On her best days now at least she half believes that. He could have helped her and instead he tormented her & then terrified her children right in front of her.

Fear of Fear

2006-03-01T11:36:00.000-05:00

(written last night but saved as a draft accidentally)

Fear, a chilling thrill,
Fear, a nightmare that kills.

The killer of sanity, breeding absurdity, the butchery of all rationality,
Fear is behind it all.

A state of mind beyond comprehension,
Fear.. a dark night sky of gargantuan expansion,
Dark? sometimes even painfully bright,
sinfully bright light,
piercing through shut eyes, inflicting torment....

Fear of disease...fear of the morbid state,
when the soul clings on to the mortal with much dilemma,
whether to leave or not, one doesn't know.

Fear of death, of parting from life, life so dear to those who love you,
Fear of that unearthly sight, of silent hearts, and silent nights.

Fear of silence, silence which brings the dead alive, silence feeding on your senses, siphoning out every ounce of composure...
Deathly silence, choking you, creeping into you like an evil serpent.

Fear of the evil, the ugly, the hideous..
Fear of encountering or being the unsightly being,
Fear of the abnormal, the unknown..
of uncertainty, and of a bleak past that threatens to return.

Fear of ridicule, of jeering faces and sardonic statements,

FEAR OF FACING ONE'S OWN FEARS..

It never ends, its eternal, its incessant...

Fight it with the sword of frienship.
Friendship? indeed yes..
befriend this supremely evil beast,
tell your mind, "Its just a state of mind, a grotesquely deformed version of reality"

But how will you face the fear of facing your fears?

The question remains a question...

Fragile Frame of Mind

2006-03-01T11:18:00.000-05:00

There was a criminal justice student murdered here *STORY LINK* last weekend. Maybe you've seen something about her on the news, the case is getting national attention I think. It's the kind of case that will eat away at me even though it's not mine to solve. The woman was found with clear packing tape completely covering her face & that is an especially cruel form of torture. The general idea with something like that is that the perp/s forced her to watch what they did to her and she couldn't make a sound.

And pretty much anything that you can do to torture a person was inflicted on this woman.

I just cannot imagine the kind of evil that it takes to enable anyone to do something so heinious. I've been doing this for years but this sort of crime never, ever gets easier to handle- even at a distance.

Is it pure evil? I mean can hate even motivate a person to do these kinds of things? Is it more ambivalance & simply not having the ability or capacity to care about anything at all? I know the supposed textbook answers of course, but it never makes it easier to really process.

Heavy Cloud, No Rain

2006-02-28T06:45:00.000-05:00

I took a long walk after work yesterday. I thought it was to clear my head but I think it was because it was cold. Being hit in the face with cold air, feeling my nose burn... well, at least I was feeling something. Proof that I'm alive, solid proof that I'm here & capable of feeling anything at all. The strangers that I passed, some of them I remember so clearly it's as if I really know them. Not because of any overwhelming amount of interaction but because I guess I was really analyzing details. The older man stocking magazines at a corner newstand; The young girl in a bright green coat walking a dog 3 times her size; a tiny old woman with her arms full trying in vain to hail a cab. Everyone with completely different lives, unique agendas, different homes & life circumstances to go back to and yet they all had a single thing in common. Lack of joy. At best they all looked numb, at worse they looked mad at the world.On that walk I saw not a single moment of happiness pass between two people or even flow from one person. I'm sure it was there, somewhere. It had to be.

When I walked into my apartment & was relieved to be home, safe from everything *out there*. After awhile it hit me that while I was walking I was looking for comfort or a sign of it. As if one random act between two strangers, one display of brief affection, something- would have given me an unrealistic bit of hope. The left side of my emotional scale is loaded with boulders and yet it seemed like if I could place even a feather on the right side, it might somehow balance things.

Funny how a singular touch of faith or grace can weigh more than concrete on the hardest of days.

...

2006-02-27T14:53:00.000-05:00

"COUNTING THE BEATS"
by Robert Graves

You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I,
What care you or I?

Counting the beats,
Couting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.

Cloudless day,
Night, and a cloudless day,
Yet the huge storm will burst upon their heads one day
From a bitter sky.

Where shall we be,
(She whispers) where shall we be,
When death strikes home, O where then shall we be
Who were you and I?

Not there but here,
(He whispers) only here,
As we are, here, together, now and here,
Always you and I.

Counting the beats,
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.

Stumble Then Crawl

2006-02-27T05:40:00.000-05:00

I've been up for hours which wouldn't be a bad thing, if only my normal escape hatches were working. Normally i'd have my face buried in a book- any book written about anything. I know why. I know it's in part the "need to know more about everything". I also know a huge part is the need to distract myself. If I focus on the words then I can't possibly focus on the dreams. The moving pictures that play over & over behind my eyes even once I wake. If I study some brand spankin' new topic & absorb it, it keeps the disturbing things at bay. At least usually.

Tonite I have been less than capable of that. The walls feel like they are moving in on me and the silence is lethal. I want to leave and just walk but I haven't been successful at finding my way out the door either. There is no safety net, there is no retreat.

I'm stuck in death's waiting room. There's no escape and there's no way to speed it up either. A friend from childhood has been ill for months and finally rge doctor sent him home to die the other day. If he makes it a week without any treatment it'll be a miracle. The "treatment" wasn't working anyway but somehow you delude yourself into thinking that as long as a person tries to get help, hope might be in sight. I don't blame him for giving up & when he did the doctor didn't offer any possible positive outcomes if he kept plugging along.

We all knew better but hoped for something different.

My last thoughts did not & were not intending to imply that everyone who suffers deserves it- not at all. We've all known people who were awful & then suffered just as we've known someone wonderful who suffered as well. The point was, who or what decides. Is it all in the hands of fate?

My friend is more like a brother than my actual brother has been in decades. So I'm stuck in that horrible spot of jumping when the phone rings. Relieved when it's not his number on my caller ID, then wishing that it was.

Anticipating a loved ones death is like standing atop a cliff with your toes dangling over the edge while someone has their hand on your back, ready to push you. There's no way out. You are going down. The only uncertainty is when. It's imminent, but those final seconds feel like days.

How many times can your soul die?
Your heart can die a thousand deaths
For with every false hope
Of a promise for tomorrow
It is resurrected.
Alive, alive and again capable
Of suffering and dying
Just as so many times before.
First it throbs and aches
And fills with darkness.
Then it begins to fall
Down deep into your stomach,
Where you can feel its weight.
There it slowly breaks apart
Piece by piece
As the moments of its life
Haunt your mind.
The pieces are absorbed
And ravage your soul,
Infecting it, too, with this darkness,
Deeper than hellish night,
Until it gasps for the fading light of life
Surrenders and finally
Retreats
Ad mortem
Until the next false hope
The next promise
Is presented.
But the soul, the soul is not
So strong, so resilient
Once the soul is damaged
There is no hope of recovery.
The damage spreads like a virus
And death is slow and imminent
And eternal.

Do We Choose Our Death or Does Our Death Choose Us?

2006-02-26T14:32:00.000-05:00

Have you ever really notcied the way that people die? I'm not talking about accidents or unforseen circumstances with sad endings. I mean the person that learns they have an illness that puts a solid, yet unrevealed number on their days remaining. You see people who live their lives with grace, carry themselves well and have earned the love and respect of those they encounter. Is it per chance that they often die with the same degree of dignity and genteelness that they lived? Aren't they often (often, not always) the ones that go in peace, or in their sleep or without much suffering at all.

It seems like once a person moves beyond their own fear they are often at peace with what comes next.

What I really wonder about is that miserable fucker that slammed everyone they'd ever met into the verbal ground in their waking, walking days. You know the kind I mean. Never a good word to say about anyone behind their back, never an insult to their face either. Is it a coincidence that these people are othen left to linger & suffere & drain the life & spirit from those around them? Isn't it kind of a reflection on the way that they lived their life & doesn't it almost make sense that they would fade away inch by inch with the same level of misery that they lived?

Is it really all just a coincidence? Luck of the draw? Another form of karma perhaps?

...

2006-02-25T13:16:00.000-05:00

Main Entry: madness
Part of Speech: noun
Definition: foolishness
Synonyms: aberration, absurdity, alienation, craziness, delirium, delusion, dementia, derangement, distraction, dotage, folly, frenzy, hallucination, hysteria, illusion, insanity, irrationality, irresponsibility, lunacy, mania, mental disorder, mental illness, neurosis, phobia, preposterousness, psychopathy, psychosis, senselessness, stupidity, unbalance, unreasonableness, witlessness

Full of Broken Thoughts

2006-02-24T14:40:00.000-05:00

Last Sunday I woke a bit later than usual. Sleeping late always leaves me feeling out of sorts. It's as if my body realizes just how tired it really is and I end up feeling exhausted instead of refreshed. I was fumbling around trying to make coffee when bits and pieces of a nitemare started coming back to me. Something about a little boy that was found in the river. Somehow I knew that his father was responsible and had tossed him off the bridge alive because in the dream there was a struggle, a kid screaming & then a boys' body being pulled. That was pretty much the sequence or at least it was how I remembered it to be. It was vivid and I knew it was so real to me because well, it triggered me but I tried to let it go. Awhile later I went out to grab a paper and there on the front page I read:

Boy Thrown From Bridge By Father Feared Dead

I was off of work & apparently this had transpired late the night before. By mornng they were still searching for the boys body.

This kind of thing has happened to me before, I don't know why. Maybe I've been doing this for so long that I instinctively know the patterns of crime waves & sense what hasn't happened in awhile. Maybe it's a fluke or maybe that it's because my dreams are so frequently ~~frightening~~ disturbing that sooner or later I have to get it right.

I don't know but it really is my secondary thought.

My first thought was knowing, absolutely knowing how frightened that boy was.

Face The Face

2006-02-23T14:02:00.000-05:00

I've spent most of this week shutting down, shutting out & shutting off everything around me. I took this week off from work- the vacation that I never take. The week that traditionally rolls over until it's deleted from existence. I never take time off, not more than a day anyway. I've been going through the motions these last few months and poorly at that. When I'm not going through the motions on behalf of others (is it really even for their sake??) I feel like I'm running- trying to escape... Something. Perpetual motion. Keep busier than usual. Pretend to have some sort of *normal* life. Why? Why am I putting on a game face that I don't really want to wear in the first place? Why am I trying to be normal for normalcy's sake when it is something that I have never in my life been.

This faking my way for nothing, running away from something and towards nothing- it stops now.

I've been taking a sort of painful look at myself and I really do NOT like what is staring back at me. I'm not sure that I have ever exactly liked that guy that drills holes through me in the mirror. Probably not but there has to at least be a more bearable version than this mess that reflects back.

I think I've been so ensnared in the day to day bullshit that I never noticed how far I was drifting from myself. Now I just feel like a powder keg of pent up frustration. I realize that as all of the complicated parts of my life have crashed into each other these past few months, instead of living and dealing in the moment, I've sort of ducked out. I've felt only the bare-assed minimum and tried to forget the rest. That hasn't worked, it never does, for me at least. I feel like I've been bounced off of one rocky shoreline after another; My mother. The media. Nicole Wallace. My nitemares. The really disturbing crap that I never mention. I've done a stellar job of ricocheting off of things but my feet, they've never touched the ground again until now.

This week I've dropped purposeful anchor, taken a good hard look in the mirror and what I see is just terrifying.

Hiatus

2006-02-20T17:59:00.000-05:00

Instead of everyone wondering where I've gone & what happened I figured I should tell you myself. I simply need a break, that's all. One little blog with my thoughts turned into a really big labor of love. 6 months worth of work and quite honestly, I'm burnt out so I'm taking a break.

Last weeks trolls prevented me from doing this then. I've seen enough of them to know, don't engage them and they go away. Please don't blame them for my hiatus because you'd be giving them far too much credibility & validity.

I may be back after a rest & if I am, you'll all be the first to know I can't thank you enough for reading & also allowing me the opportunity to get to know you. If you already have the email here then feel free to use it, knowing that I'll be checking it.

Take care of yourselves and please keep supporting one another. This blog may have kicked things off but what YOU have built is a strong amazing community that can continue without my prescience.