Activecitizen54's Blog

Somber Saturday

Posted in Uncategorized by activecitizen54 on April 20, 2013

Somber Saturday

The normally abundant sunshine of Florida has abandoned me today to this living Hell of Somber Saturday, 4/20 and all that entails.

The tears blur the words and there is just so much to get poured out for so many and so damned little time demonstrated perpetually for me in this life.

I’ve avoided doing this for years and years now but with 60 looming in the devastating head-on collision that I know it will be I am facing this now.

Today is the 25th anniversary of best friend Butch dying in my arms.  The cloudy gray weather is an amplifying feature that moves me to write to maintain some sanity today and after all this time I grieve more than ever for those who are no longer with us. So I snatch up the ever-present hand towel and mop the eyeballs and start doing what it is that I do.

So today is 4/20 and the insanity of the War On Drugs that is the War On Main Street rages on with two more States coming to their senses to end the failed prohibition but an Eric Holder & BFF do-nothing Department of Injustice conspiring to justify their existence.

Perhaps that’s part of my issue today is that I feel like I have to justify my existence.  That is part of this perpetual Mid-Life Crisis that seems to have settled in from the last change of decade and has made adolescence look like a cake-walk.  For we who are suicide survivors these are dangerous days.

There are truly no regrets but the reality of today makes for some interesting experiences so rather than beating around the bush here I will just get to it.

I am, first and foremost, a farm-boy, nature-child whose first lessons were those of the world surrounding me on levels that only life within the womb of nature are able to define.  I am the 4th male child with 3 older male siblings and a female sibling out someplace in the world and, quiet honestly, I am ecstatically happy that these creatures are separate from me now and always.  The reasons for this will become apparent but for now you’ll have to accept the truth of the statement.

My parents, God rest their poor tortured Republican souls, were products of the Great Depression and not particularly successful but maintained a middle-class standard of living  for us.  They were much too involved with Daniel, my next oldest sibling, seven years my senior and my sister, 5 years junior, to become actively involved in my life and those times when they tried I was very successful at limiting access.  My parenting is predominantly from self and my paternal grandparents which has helped provide me the clarity of vision that’s kept me breathing and moving forward for a lifetime now.

The childhood cast of characters was fleshed out with the Collins family, our neighbors with 6 boys all of good Irish Stock which perhaps explains some of my “weakness” today.

My life lessons were founded in the natural cycles of the Upstate NY dairy farm and the forests surrounding the farm with the Sugar Maple standing sentry at the face of the salt-box style farmhouse my first teacher.  The Farm, 3 miles up a dirt road from Breezeport, NY was 90 acres of cleared pasture, barns and surrounded by forest preserve and patchwork farms flowing down the Chemung River Valley spread out below us.

I was always amazed at the flocks of city folk who would come tour to ogle the spectacle of the blood red leaves of my kindred souls spilled out across the mountainsides in a glorious send-off to summer heralding the bitter depths of the nearly endless winter soon to come.  From my second story bedroom window across the porch roof the Sugar Maple Sentry stood in stark black skeleton to the unending white and sub-zero cold shivering and swaying in the howling north winds.  Often in the deepest of the February coldest nights the cannon-shot of one of my Sentries brothers life departing could be heard and I would seek these places in the forest as soon as the snows left to be amazed at the abundance of life created by one of my brother’s death

Most Yanks think of spring as Forsythia and crocus but I have this vision of the blood red blooms of the Sugar Maple frosting the mountainsides and my vision of them with ruby glow as Spring long before those other late-comers.  From age 3 onward I was a child of these spring forests of Hepatica, Eronthronium, Violets, Trillium and Moccasin Flowers who gave way to Mondardia, Phlox, Digitalis and jewel weed as the heat of summer was cooled by the Maple leaves bigger than my hand at the time.

It is with much trepidation that I viewed these cycles of life from my 14th year forward.  As the progression of the blooms and fruits of the field kept their time my world was shattered by the suicide of my Grandfather, despondent over of the loss of Gram. A wiry wisp of a man Earl Hamilton lived a tortured life with a male lover and 2 sons 19 years apart, a married Gay Man.  I have continually prayed that he is at peace now.  The seeds sown however from his act of self-destruction have grown and been fostered in this life at times all too well.

The salvation is knowing I’ve not ever gone to the place of actually writing the note.

Oh I freely admit that there have been times when I’ve been sorely tempted to just check out to the recycling center but that would be a vindictive and unproductive act on my part and that’s just not who I am.  It’s much more rewarding to torture one’s self and continue to endure the pain and self-inflicted torment.

I am the beautiful child bullied and tormented because of my sexual identity and I’m not one who has ever hidden me.  I am the political activist, the public speaker, the voice for all those who have come before me and those yet to come.  I have not ever given power to the hate but finding antidote to the poison as the years progress becomes increasingly difficult.

I have no doubt that I am absolutely insane.  Always have been and always will be and that’s how God intended me to be I suppose.  I’m not insane in the Einstein sense of doing the same thing time and again and expecting different results.  I am insane in the sense of holding full knowledge of who “I” am in the Buddhist sense and a compassionate understanding of right thinking, right speech, right actions that have left scars and battle wounds galore but never, ever heal.

After Deb was a strange period for me.  Deb’s sister married my next to the oldest brother David who sexually abused me as a child and continues to sexually abuse children to this day as an alcoholic, born-again sub-human unworthy of anything but contempt in his greed and narcissistic illness.  Daniel too sexually abused me and this extended beyond childhood into adulthood with his claim to having had sex with Deb.  Today that means as much as Daniel, the Queen, a lying self-absorbed sick human who has never risen above the level of his crotch.  Just history for the Republican Cults of Jeebus Inc of today is all.

After Deb I found myself.  That was perhaps the best gift ever.  I hold no animosity toward Deb or those other creatures whom “family” is the only term not-derogatory that I’m able to get out concerning them.  Finding myself was, at the time, a process of elimination and I gratefully found myself alone with Buffy, my cocker spaniel in the boonies of Port St Lucie, FL working and moving through life in strange and twisted ways that only those who’ve walked our Berdache path are able to clearly understand.  After the complete and total devaluation, the destruction, deceit and depravity of doing what is expected I found a state of nearly pure bliss where there were no strings, no expectations, no demands and only time.  I began to work to pull the shattered, the compartmentalized life of a married Gay Man into the man I hold in the core of my being as the adult of the precious child battered and sexually abused within my deepest soul.  I am an OK guy.  I’m not perfect but I am an OK Guy who still carries the scars and never forgets where he arose from.

I am empowered with my own fate and the captain of my life without doubt and the measures of that are my exclusive domain.

After several months of blessed solitude in October of 1984 Mike washed ashore.  What a beautiful and loving man.  Mike and I met, began a relationship in part founded on my desire to be single, maintained two residences for 6 months before finally giving in to being coupled.  I committed and I really should’ve been “committed” for doing the deed.  The handwriting was on the wall from Archer Ave with Mikey’s violence and Tanguray Gin addiction.  Years later when I took the Gin away Mikey The Beer Sponge was born and the Beer Sponge Family would dominate my life all winter as the guilty Catholic plague on the face of the Earth that they truly are. I have no love of or for the vile and disgusting “holier than thou” attitude that drove Mikey insane and that enfolds him according to his plan.

I spent 10 days without shoe laces and 18 months in a Prosac fog as a turning point with Mikey the Beer Sponge and I learned to face the demons and belt the bully after a broken arm, broken leg, broken arm, destroyed business and life.  Back to the drawing board.  I did learn that I am able to move through life unencumbered and that’s a gift to this day long after the Prosac Fog lifted and the amplified by delay reactions worked through my poor decomposing brain.  I did learn how humans may be motivated to murder as a result of Mikey the Beer Sponge.

I retreated to South Carolina and the mountains to find healing and some solace after Mikey The Beer Sponge.  The comfort of the forests and mountains worked some magic on my soul and provided solace for this Loner again.  I knew the temporary nature of my  retreat and began planning escape almost as soon as I landed.  The months spent on a sailboat at a friend’s dock in N Reddington Beach prior to making the dash back north prepared me for what was to come.

Dangerous Dan and his lying, thieving ways a clear description and motivation for just being back in Florida and I did exactly that with a vengeance by moving to the Keys.  Living well is always the best revenge.

Doors open and close and the Venezuelan Victor appeared at my door in Key Largo in timing with Hurricane Ivan and that’s an accurate description of the relationship.  I miss him but clearly I am better for having sent him to Miami and moved me to St Pete.

So what’s the issue today?

The issue is, now and always, ME.  I am feeling discarded, abandoned, alone and the Loner is pushing to just be alone. I’m not being self-centered here but being the wounded animal that I abhor and finding the foundation for today’s me is literally driving me insane.  I’m feeling the three-eyed troll without any real foundation other than life around me and recognition that I am nothing.

Finding solace in being nothing is difficult at the moment.

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