Ol' Mr. C

I would like to quote some lyrics from a song I was listening to a few days ago. A song I know well and have listened too many times. It somehow seemed to fit the events of my mental state of the past few days.

“Nothing Ever Goes As Planned” (Dennis De Young) Styx

“‘Cause
Nothing ever goes a planed
It’s a Hell of a notion,
Even Pharaohs turn to sand
Like a drop- in the ocean
I’m so together and I act so civilized
But every time that things go wrong
I’m still surprised
I’ve done my duty
And paid a fortune in dues”

Mr. C was hanging round looking for a fight. He stirred up some trouble and wanted to have me complain about not getting laid and asking lots of “why not me” ’s and “why everyone else” ’s. Over the years, I have often times been amazed at how quickly and easily I can get depressed. Anger and frustration takes hold and Mr. C makes his appearance. What is even sometimes more amazing is how comfortable it feels. It is like coming home, picking up on a conversation that had a long interruption, yet never actually stopped. Even more amazing still, is how I become surprised at my depression and wonder how can it be this is still happening to me. He did not hang round too much and I did not entertain him. He was allowed to speak on occasion, but he did not take over.

return of the zombies

Sunday afternoon, my father was showing my son and I one of his many guns. This particular one is a 20 gage, bolt action, shot gun. For some reason, I always thought a 20 gage was some type of joke and not a real shot gun. I thought 18 was the highest gage amount. Also, I had never seen a bolt action shot gun, only single shots or pumps. This gun is old and has a long barrel. I did not think any more of it that day. I was still concerned about my son and his issues he was having with his school friends and all of that I mention previously. That night, or early morning, I had another zombie dream. My son and I were here in our house. The front door was open with he and I standing looking out at the rest of the World. It was a warm, sunny, bright day. Usually, a clear vivid dream such as this has some significance for me. That shot gun was in my hands and a zombie came waltzing up in it’s awkward theoretical manner, then entered the house through the front door. I shot it in the face, completely obliterating it’s entire head with nothing remaining, not even anything as mere as splatters of plasma or bone fragments. I turned to my son, who was standing behind me with a shot gun, not a 20 gage bolt action, and told him: “Don’t shot them in the head like that. The cops will not be able to identify them once they arrive.” No sooner had I finished that factorial comment, another zombie entered the house. This time, I shot it through the chest, in the heart, nearly severing it in half. At least, the face was still recognizable. There came perhaps 6 more into the yard. My son stepped up to join in the activities. After pulling the gun up, preparing to shot again, the dream altered. The zombie part and my son and being even in this city was over. In the movies, and apparently in my dreams as well, zombies are symbolic of brain dead, very low functioning, can not think for themselves and always follow the rest of the herd, sheep, I mean, humans. They are the type of people who can not do or act or say anything of their own accord, only do or say want they know from the majority consensus. Not very flattering as far as I am concerned. The dreams theme or message was just telling me that my son must also be involved in fighting ‘zombies’ in his life. Suppose that is only fitting considering what happened with him and his “friend.” The dream is encouraging became it is suggesting that we both have very effective tools in combating this issue. This is my 3rd zombie dream in the last year. This was the first that my son was in one. These dreams remind me that I can not just be a follower. In my hour of deep need and desperation, I wish to be a follower and just have random sex or sex without love or just jump from one relationship to the other. Pick out something very easy and take whatever I can get. Please, do not take offense anyone! I am not saying anything bad about anyone else and their choices. Simply, that is not me. I have to be true to myself.

Happy New Year

Today is the first day of Spring for us here. Right now, it is 16 degree F and we have 14 inches of snow. Welcome to Wyoming! Typically, March is one of our biggest snow months. We need this moisture, though. We have been in drought for a long time now. This new snow will only help, especially the fishing. Spring time for me is a new beginning. Some places around this small World of ours celebrate the Spring equinox as the New Year and not January 1st. I like this idea. This is how I have always viewed Spring. In the Spring, life becomes new, renewed, blossoms. New hope for the coming year. No looking back in sad reflection of the ending year, just looking forward with excited anticipation. Right now, I can think of only one category in my life that is lacking. There are some that still need some improvement, but they are at least moving in a positive direction right now. Many aspects of my life are doing very well right now. The only one lacking: my love life. Right now, today, it has been 6 years and 5 months since I had a girlfriend. 5 years since I last had sex. How does it look for the new year? Well, a little better than this time last year. Will it happen? I would like to hope so. Sure, I have been looking, but nothing thus far. Thta only adds to the frustration, fueling Mr. C’s fire. Sure, I have meet a few very interesting and intriguing women, but they are all thousands of miles away from me. Not even really sure if they like me that way. Today, I feel hopeful that I will meet someone in this World that is willing to take the time to get to know me and see that I am great guy. Maybe this year I will meet someone who would be willing to give me the opportunity for sex, for making love, for giving me some of their precious time. One can only hope!

why I blog

Many years ago, I had a series of very intense very vivid dreams. They were very ‘realistic,’ complete with sounds and smells and bright, vivid colors, even tactile sensations (hot, cold, wet, etc.). These dreams, that I labeled “holocaust dreams,” kept me awake at night and effected my days. I would wake from them feeling very frightened. When I tried to make sense of them I would find only confusion. Sometimes, I would lie awake for hours contemplating life and who I am and 'what It all means.' I labeled them "holocaust" because the dreams were of nuclear devastation. At this time in my life, 1979 - 1981, I was questioning God and the existence of a Higher Power. I labeled myself agnostic. Of course, at this time period we were at the height of the “Cold War” and all of the worries about nuclear attacks from the Soviet Union. Talk of nuclear bombs and war and all of that was inescapable. On the news, no matter which media form, in conversations in the streets or elsewhere, at home or at work or at play, the topic of nuclear war was constant. Where I live, we have an air force base. Within a 150 mile radius of my city, completely surrounding us, were nuclear bomb silos. Thus, we were considered to be at “ground zero.” We all considered ourselves the lucky ones because we would die first and not have to suffer years of nuclear fall-out poisoning. (this was labeled suicidal tendencies by our nations’ psychiatrists of the time). Then we got those MX missiles here. Any one remember those? How can I forget. No surprise then that my dreams were full of nuclear holocaust. My dreams did not have me looking at the bombs drop on my head and me screaming in agony as my molecules vaporized in the searing heat flash. Oh no, I survived. In fact, I was completely unharmed and often the soul survivor. Everything I knew as life was obliterated or reduced to rubble. No where was life, not even a dog or cat or rodent or tree or flower or blade of grass. All life, all vegetation, all animal and insect and human life had been vaporized. Just me walking around. I would wake and wonder: why me? Why did I have to live and be left alone? This happened 2 sometimes 4 nights a week. I would sometimes not get back to sleep. Finally a friend suggested to do as one of his college professors' suggested, and write them down. Just get up right after the dream and write down every small and every large detail. It worked. I placed a note book and pencil by my bed and when I had a holocaust dream, I would write it down, providing as much details as I could. The dreams stopped, for a time anyway. I kept my ’dream journal’ and wrote down the dreams that were to me significant or intense and vivid. As time went on, I would write about my thoughts and feelings and significant events of my life, and not just my dreams. To this day, I still have a journal I keep. Blogging has taken over, perhaps even, replaced my journals.

Thank you all for you time and your comments.

update for my son and Mr. C

My son and I had a long talk Friday night. Over 4 hours worth. Seems the story is a bit different than from the way my ex told me. Before I go further, I will try to be objective with this. Most parents, my self especially, have a tendency to favor our off-spring in most, if not all situations. Even if we know in our hearts they are wrong. Throughout this whole lifetime of my son long ordeal with the ex, I have tried my best to listen to my son with my heart AND my head. Hard for me to do at times, yet, with him it seems to come natural. My son has not gotten along well with his step-father since my son was perhaps 6 or 7, sometime shortly after the birth of their own son. Not sure of time lines here because of the distortions with what I have been told, as mentioned earlier. I can recall quit vividly one day my mother and my son talking while I was out of the room, just not out of ear shot. Their were discussing me and who I am in relation to my son. My son told my mother (and I quote) “(my full name) is my pretended father and (the other guy) is my real father.” No, my mother explained, the other way around. Next visitation, the following weekend, my son began calling me “Daddy (my full name)” and the other guy “Daddy (his full name).” Before that he just called me by my first name. Wonder where he got that from? (sarcasm) Back to the present: There are some similarities to the story. First similarity: they were out eating at a restaurant and there was a debate over the phone. Only one other similarity exists. Just to set this up, S, the other guy, had several drinks at the restaurant. According to my son, S was already “mad” before they even got there. In fact, S often comes home from his long day at work angry. He has a drink and becomes even more angry. Each drink he takes, more anger. On the drive home from the restaurant, the argument ensued. The argument escaladed until S pulled over and got out of the car, calling my son out. Yes, asking that they engage in a fist fight. S told my son that the phone “is taking over his life,” grabbed my son’s cell phone, which S paid for, and smashed it on the ground. Then, he got into my son’s face, with his fists raised and called my son out, asking to fight. My son refused and S took off leaving my son there to walk home. According to my son, S often gets in my son’s face and “tries to fight” him. My son did not want to go home, so he went to his friend’s and spent the night. That is the other similarity. Of course, I had lots of emotions and thoughts that I did not allow to run through me. Ultimately, most of those thoughts and feelings, such as I will take care of S myself, see if he wants to call me out (again, because he has before) and see if he would like to follow through with it, would not do any good for anyone and perhaps just make matters worse. The feelings and thoughts I did allow involved me being concerned about legal ramifications and getting my son out of there. We discussed just that and having him move back in with me. However, I made it clear to him that it is his choice, but my best advise for making the matter better. We then discussed my son’s attitude of late. He agreed that it has not been good and that he will do something about it, without any prompts from me. Very good! Per his idea, he will be making 2 lists. One is “bad habits” the other “good habits.” He will focus more on doing the “good” and to find solutions to the “bad.” His troubles with school are typical, so not much was needed there, just to find healthier solutions. The drinking and pot was pinned down to one friend. This guy has been an issue for my son, coming between him and his friends of many years, spreading rumors, demanding that my son do the drinking and drugs and just showing up places uninvited. My son had, previous to our conversation, decided to not have this guy as a friend any more. We did not discuss the pot much further at that time, so we will latter. My son has gotten lots of direction from me on that subject although apparently I should have focused more on peer pressure.

my son and Mr. C

Since my son was a child, ( we divorced when he was only 4 months old) my ex has been giving me the same old routine. When we first got divorced, she wanted to make her new husband my son’s father. After that did not work, she stopped pushing, but kept playing the game. As my son got older, she resorted to calling me only when there is a ‘crisis.’ Never to tell me he is doing well or joined some sports team or had a school play or he was sick; no, just for the huge issues. Mostly what it comes down to is she calls me when she can not handle the situation herself or she is very frustrated and can not think of any solutions. Even before I obtained my BA in psychology and my professional training with troubled youths, she would call at these times. At first, her drama effected me, but now I just take it with some salt. I do not even stand back and ask why any more because I know it is the residue of her selfishness from my son’s early years and her resentment toward me from our failed marriage. However, there is another aspect of this that sometimes bothers me. Each time she has called and complained and rambled on, she has divulged some information about my son’s behavior that I was previously unaware. Some of it has been significant enough to warrant concern on my part and has caused me to wonder why she, or he, did not tell me about it before. For example, he shot out their neighbor’s window to their house with his BB gun. I found out about that a few months after the fact ( actually she did not remember exactly when it happened, so that gives an indication that the length of time was perhaps longer). I can see where my son would not report to me such incidents. Who can blame him? Would I have done so at his age in that situation? Most likely not and I am not saying he should. However, whenever there has been some ‘reporting’ to do on my part, I have done so in a timely manner, as in telling her at the end of my visitation time. Yet, there are some occurrences that I have not mentioned to her because I took care of it and I did not feel the need to have her input. Just depends on the severity and of course, I try to treat her as I wish to be treated. My son’s best interest comes first and foremost. Last night, 3-16-2006, she calls me on my cell phone. I was at the YMCA volunteering during their annual major fundraising event. I was busy, but I am expected to drop everything and adhere to her drama. If she calls, then it is only to ‘report’ about my son’s negative behaviors. She calls for nothing else ( of which I am very appreciative). She informed me that he had “run off” from home for 2 days and missed some classes at school. Then, she informs me that at an unknown time, he came home stoned. He admitted to smoking pot. Last week, she found 2 empty alcohol bottles in the back of his vehicle. The night he took off, my son had become angry with her husband because he “asked” my son to stop texting on his cell phone while they were out eating dinner at some restaurant. That cell phone and text messaging as been an issue here with me as well. He does it non-stop. While we eat, while we watch movies, while we are in the car, even at the theater. Of course, I made some “house rules” about that and we discussed it and he has stopped doing it so much. Last night, he became belligerent (something he has done only once with me, yet something he does daily with her and her husband) and then “jumped out of the car on the way home.” He spent the night at his friend’s house and then refused to “come home.” Actually, he just went to another friend’s house and was not answering the phone. They confiscated his cell phone, so I can only assume she meant the friend’s phone. My suggestion was to just go over and get him. To me, that was my first thought. Not so for her, I guess. I further suggested that if he choose not to go with her, that I would go and get him. She called me an hour latter and said he came home with her. My son and her husband have had lots of fights. In fact, from about age 10 to 14, that guy would call with his drama and his anger and make comments such as “your son” and “my house,” the typical uncaring step-father antics. He would call at 10 AM and yell at me, sometimes calling me names, and demanding I take care of the situation right then and there. Thankfully, those days have ended, but I still get ‘crisis’ phone calls. To me, there is no surprises with this other than the drugs and alcohol stuff. That is a huge concern for me. I have not spoken to him yet. When he gets here tonight, we will have a few long talks. Last night and this morning, I was upset because I was hoping he would avoid my mistakes with drinking and drugs. Thus far, he has and one time of him trying should not be a major concern, but does warrant attention on my part. Ironically, my son has not done any of these things with me. Now, for the past 2 years since he started high school, there has grown some distance between us. He does not talk to me so much any more, but then, he never really told me his secrets or his problems before. Sure, if I asked and then it was vague and devoid of details. Yet, lately, his attitude has been very poor. He seems angry and aloof and distracted. In my opinion, just typical angry teenager behavior. Oh yes, I monitor it and make suggestions here and there. In that respect, the apple has not fallen to far from the tree, although I was hoping he would roll some distance beyond the trunk and roots. I had been hoping he would be the me now and not the me back then when I was his age. By his age now, a junior in high school, I was a junkie and had been for about 3 years. Not living on the streets, but a ‘functional’ junkie. If he has only smoked pot once or even 20 times, he has indeed fallen far from the tree, just not as far as I had hoped. I have been very careful to not allow Mr. Cynical to affect my actions and behaviors and words with and around my son. Certainly hope there is no “genetic link.”

a visit from Mr. C

Funny how the next few days, or sometimes longer, are challenging after a nice dream like that. Mr. Cynical came by a visit 2 days ago. I had hoped that by exposing him in such a manner as this would cause him to back off, yet, there he was, just as angry as ever. In fact, I was rather taken back by the intensity of his anger. Standing there observing his behavior, I could not help but be amazed at the level, the degree of anger and hostility he invoked in such a short period. To me, it seemed nearly instantaneous and the anger absolute. I could see him, even feel him, trembling with it. And for what? Why? What prompted this? Not sure, really, perhaps nothing more than just the usual. There was no specific event that occurred, no catastrophic incident, no minor irritation, even. One word triggered this, a word I do not recall, just that the Voices do not often allow for my own personal thoughts. It seems They constantly need to remind me of thoughts and actions and feelings about occurrences that I already know and have already felt. They want to warn me when I am already taking heed of such “danger.” They feel They need to tell me what it is I should think and how I should feel and in which manner I should react when I am plenty capable of doing so on my own and am, in fact, many times, already doing so. Some days it is no so much enjoyable conversing with the ‘dead.’

bikes, viaducts, & raging rivers

My dream from early this morning, 3-13-2006:

This dream began with me on a mountain bike riding it up a viaduct at night, perhaps after midnight, so, then 'twas very early morning. This viaduct is one of ours here in town that crosses over the railroad tracks just before downtown and onto a busy one way street. The other viaduct, the one I was on, is a one way headed South, leaving downtown. Only, it was much different. It was much steeper and there was no pavement. Instead, there was lots of very large coral and live sea rock that was very rough with many deep, dark crevices. As I began to ride up it, wanting to get to the other side for some unknown reason, I began to consider the challenges. To begin with, the bike was in 3rd gear, making it harder to pedal. My legs felt very heavy and thick. I was very concerned about the bike going too slow, me losing balance and falling into a crevice or having to stop pedaling and falling off the bike, or not making it at all. Stopping was not an option. I began arguing with myself: I can not make it, I need to shift down into first, I am to old and… but I did not stop, I kept going. However, I did shift down into 2nd. Then, I had this huge Enlightened thought. I spoke aloud to myself, “Hey, I have been going to Spinning now for a year. I’m in good shape. I can do this easily.” And I did. The climb became effortless. I could feel the power and strength in my legs. The air flowed easily in and out of my lungs, as though I was not even breathing. I became taller, more muscular, thicker, calm. It was as though I was floating. My mind became quit as I focused totally on the here and now, focused on what my body was doing, just like in Yoga class. The “road” underneath me changed to trimmed hedges with me riding on top. Could have been more treacherous, but my focus remained on the top of the bridge, on my goal. When I reached the top of the viaduct, I slowed and looked down. Instead of the numerous tracks and trains and such there, it was a big river. In Guernsey, Wyoming, there is a large bridge just south of town that crosses the North Plate. When I was a child, that river seemed huge and daunting. I can recall one year when I was about 8 or 9, the year I nearly drowned some 15 miles east of there, there was heavy flooding. That river over ran it’s banks, raging with dirty, mucky water. Tree branches and logs and all kinds of things rushed past. That is exactly how it was in the dream. I looked up from the river to see bright clear blue skies and the Sun setting with an orange sky-line. Still setting on the bike, I held a clinched fist up to the sky as if to say “Right On, Mr. Sun!” I woke feeling very lethargic. I went to the bathroom and as I stood there, letting go, I thought about the dream. Then, I began to feel very good about myself! This dream told me that I have not only the physical strength, but the inner strength to over come and make it not only to the top, but to the other side with no problem. I go to Spinning at 5:30AM, 3 days a week. Sounds crazy, I know, but it is worth it! The dream tells me: I have good tools (the bike) and the support of God ( the Sun) to over come my obstacles in life (the coral, the hedges) and all my troubles and worries ( the raging river) are all just water under the bridge ( or soon will be). With dreams like these, is it any wonder I love naps and sleeping?

me and Mr. Cynical

Within me are 2 very distinct people. They are as different as dark and light, night and day, good and bad. They both are aware of each other’s existence. At times, they seem to forget how the other thinks and feels, but that awareness is still there. At times, the awareness is far below the surface, way out of mind. At other times, it is very near, clearly in mind. One person I will call the “Cynical” one, the other, the one I wish to always be. Mr. Cynical comes along at any time, any place, for seemingly, no reason. When I am ‘he,’ I am angry, frustrated, confused, bitter, resentful, depressed, self-loathing, foreboding, do everything wrong and do nothing right, very low self-esteem and self-image, fat, ugly, stupid, bald, old, unworthy of love and full of fear. The worst of all possible situations is not just some remotely possible, but the absolute truth and what will indeed become, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the truth and the way. There is no consoling Mr. Cynical. No positive thoughts nor positive affirmations nor encouragement nor good news nor positive events, not matter how wonderful, nor how recent, can cause him to see any beauty or love or anything good in my life or life in general. ALL is bad and always will be. There is never anything good and will never be. He/I acts out by dropping out, being angry at everyone and everything, especially God, because after all, it is entirely God’s Fault for everything. I hate myself and my life. Even having the awareness of the other guy, the actual truth clearly in mind, is sometimes not enough. This guy, he can not stop himself from being so pessimistically cynical. He seemly has no control over his words. Even with the other guy screaming in his ear, Mr. Cynical can not stop being pessimistic and angry. Now, Mr. Cynical, he is not always so morbidly pessimistic. At times, there are layers or levels of his personality. Sometimes he takes over absolutely, at his fullest extreme, instantly. Other times, he is just sort of, kind of cynical and can be reasoned with, and sometimes, he just drops out. That drop out phase or level, well, he just does not care and takes nap. He goes to bed 12 to 14 hours before he has to be up the next day. We/I have all of these wonderful talents in art and music and writing and have time to do all of this needed/necessary creating, but he just sets there thinking it all a waste of time. He will lie on his bed and thump through the channels on the TV, never really watching, but wishing and wondering and asking why everyone is so damn lucky and he is rubbish. Mr. Cynical has a very distorted perception of what is ‘real’ and what is ‘fact.’ The facts, at times, do indeed support his pessimism, his frustration, his foreboding, his lack of trust. He does not understand why his life is so bad and there is no love. Most times, he thinks he is a good person and deserves love, but wonders why he can not have his desires. Just so unfair! God is punishing him. Then at other times, he hates himself and has multiple reasons why he should not even exist, let alone be loved. No matter how angry or resentful or frustrated, Mr. Cynical knows there is a voice in the depths of his mind that says he is wrong. That God does not hate him or that not ALL is bad. Never say never, right? This other guy, the one I wish to be ‘me’ always; he is a great guy! He is kind, caring, considerate, funny, witty, intelligent, charming, talented, thoughtful, patient, intuitive, happy, and joyful. He has tons of love from all sorts of people and places and things and ways. This guy’s life has lots of ‘great’ and lots of ‘pretty darn good’ and tons of ‘it is all getting much better each and everyday.’ This guy has a calm, deep sense of “knowing.” He “knows” that one day he will have everything he has ever desired. That is all just a matter of time and patients and trusting and some good effort here and there. During the best of times, he forgets all about Mr. Cynical. In fact, he can not even recall how it feels or why he would even consider feeling that way. Mr. Cynical hates the other me. Yet, deep down inside, he wants to be him. Some days, these boys conflict. Mr. Cynical sees it as fighting, where as the other guy, he just views this as a part of life that he is working through and learning to cope with and to improve.