Exodus 3:1-6
Now Moses was tending the flock of Jethro his father-in-law, the priest of Midian, and he led the flock to the far side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. 2 There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. 3 So Moses thought, “I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.” 4 When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, “Moses! Moses!” And Moses said, “Here I am.”5 “Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” 6 Then he said, “I am the God of your father,the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob.” At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God.
I have been wanting to write this blog for a while now. I mentioned it a couple of blogs ago. It's September now. I'll get to that. I've been staying at three different peoples homes in three different beautiful San Francisco neighborhoods. The latest was The Mission. I love the Mission. It's about as crazy as The Tenderloin or SOMA, but some how has a lot more "normal" people hanging out. It is also a very Hispanic neighborhood, but it's very artistically cultural as well. I may live in The Mission someday.
I kind of have my sights set on Chinatown right now. It has cheap SRO's (Single Room Occupancies) like the Tenderloin, SOMA and The Mission without as much drug drama. Or, if there is it's in Chinese, so that might help. It would kind of be like I used to hang out in the Mission because everyone spoke Spanish. I do have a thing for Asian women.... I definitely won't go into the Asian massage parlors that offer a "happy endings!" Chinatown is close to where I will soon be selling my art - Justin Herman Plaza. In fact, of all of the cheap hoods with SRO's, Chinatown is the closest and seems it would be the safest for my addiction. I've never seen anyone shooting up in the streets of Chinatown. I'm sure I will now. I'll figure it out as it happens.
Speaking of women, the frequent offers to hook up have subsided. I figured they would. I'm glad. I was telling my good friend via this computer about that married woman flirting with me and her comical behavior as it occurred the other day at Brainwash. She said, "Geez!" I love when she says, "Geez!" I then told her about how these type of offers and flirtations had been going on for me for a few days. She said, "You must be menstrual." I can't believe she would say such a thing! That really made me moody. I was telling my friend I am living with how I don't sleep very well and she suggested it might be menopause. Okay girlfriend?
I talked to my beautiful "girlfriend" from 2400 miles away this morning. The one I "fell in love" with. I still love her and always will. She really was somehow there for me when I really needed someone on a few occasions. Like I said many blogs ago, she was way to many amazing things to stay single. And, she is far away. It never really made sense and I knew that. It was still nice to have her help me out the ways she actually did and gain a new friend. When she started seeing this lucky guy, I was a little heart broken, but if you love someone you'll be happy if they are happy and that's what she seems to be. Knowing that, so am I. I mean that. I'm an emotional screwed up mess anyway who falls in love with.... It felt a little more to me. It seems nothing happens by accident. She's a good person. Anyway, she said something like, "You're not blogging as much, you must be enjoying life...." She is right, but I am also so busy. Busy in a good way. So many exciting things are happening in my life.
I am so lucky to have so many help me. I am trying to spread myself out as much as possible. That's why I bounce around to different neighborhoods. It seems all of my friends are creative in one way or another. My last friend I stayed with and I are planning on collaborating on a pretty exciting project. Actually it's his project and he's asked me to help out, but I'll get to that later. I gotta get to this blog! This is all just.....not what I wanted to write about. Perhaps that's why I have been also writing less - planned blog content. This one isn't so bad, but I started writing the Long Road to Ruin one the other day and I had to stop. The subject of the devil just brings me down. A lot.
Let me finish this recent stuff really quick. I had one friend tell me that once I got one year clean, I could stay with him in his bed as long as I was willing to be bottom. Hey, he cares more about my recovery than I do. If an attractive woman made such an offer (hint, hint), I'd probably take her up on that today with only 5 1/2 months clean. She'd have to be bottom, of course.
It's a good thing I went to church yesterday. I told my friend I was staying with in The Mission how there were beautiful women at my church and he said, "Now I see why you go." That's really not it. It's just a fact. The real reason is the undeniable message every week that coincides with my life. I started writing this blog before yesterday's church service (space-time). This sermon was based around the scriptures that talk about Moses and the burning bush. I think I've seen enough burning bushes over the past nine or so years to believe in God. I'm pretty sure that the reason I stood at the gates of hell and met the devil himself is because I did see that proof and still chose to do the things I did. God did not like this. I read this in a copy of the Qur'an I found on the street just before I got clean. Talk about scaring the crap out of me. The devil didn't seem to like my disobedience either. That guy is really hard to get a long with. Not impossible. Is salvation possible for the entire universe? I'd like to believe so. I bet God agrees.
I got to see two of my old buddies from my program at church also. One said he read my blog when I was exited and he thought I was "crazy." I wonder why? The other one was an usher at church. The one who was an usher is one of the guys who helped Susan and I pack her shipping crate. He's the one Susan said she felt like she had known forever. It does feel that way for some reason. It's probably that friendly East Coast personality of his. That's sarcasm, but I do love East Coast attitudes. More importantly, I love this guy. He told me he was reading my blog before church. This blog....I need to keep it up. It actually kind of started to help me keep up with all my friends. I'm so popular don't you know.
Then, my other friend who said I was crazy and I went to lunch with my career coach, her dad who was visiting from LA and this young woman who has an absolute angelic voice. (My career coach I went to lunch with is a book editor - I bet that was a run-on sentence!) She (the woman with the angelic voice) sings for the church sometimes. Her (angelic voice woman's) sister was also in town from DC. We went to this pizza place on Valencia. I can't remember the name and I'd look it up, but I'd hate to give them bad publicity by praising what a great place it is. Aren't I just.... I'm not all bubbles and sunshine. I am grateful for those who helped me and who have saved my life. And that pizza place probably raised my cholesterol - see, I am a loose canon.
My friend from the program and I were walking afterwards and he said, "I read your blog when you left and man, you're like - crazy." He compared my mind to that of Steven Kings. Wow. If I ever manage to get the blog written I am going to call Long Road to Ruin, it should really read like a horror novel. I can't even write the thing. I know I can't talk about everything. I just can't. The really, really creepy thing about all that happened to me is - it happened to me. I still like to call it meth psychosis and it kind of was, but something inside of me knows it was more. That alone should keep me clean, but I will always have to work to stay that way.
I guess my whole point about mentioning my three friends mentioning something about my blog that morning is I don't want to slack off on it. I like that people read it. My readership is down as a result of my writing fewer blogs! I was in the newspaper business years ago and I still can't have that! My most popular one recently was the one I wrote after I got kicked out of that program - Please Forgive Me. It actually had TWICE the normal readership for some reason. I guess people love drama. Come to think of it, isn't that what this blog is all about - the drama surrounding sex, drugs and rock-n-roll! No Dave, it's supposed to be about God! It is, but my being has a tendency to wanna slip into my old ways. That's why I need God. That is what this blog is about.
Okay, now the let me get to blog I wanted to write:
I guess my whole point about mentioning my three friends mentioning something about my blog that morning is I don't want to slack off on it. I like that people read it. My readership is down as a result of my writing fewer blogs! I was in the newspaper business years ago and I still can't have that! My most popular one recently was the one I wrote after I got kicked out of that program - Please Forgive Me. It actually had TWICE the normal readership for some reason. I guess people love drama. Come to think of it, isn't that what this blog is all about - the drama surrounding sex, drugs and rock-n-roll! No Dave, it's supposed to be about God! It is, but my being has a tendency to wanna slip into my old ways. That's why I need God. That is what this blog is about.
Okay, now the let me get to blog I wanted to write:
September has frequently been an "interesting" month for me. Lot's of things have happened to me personally and to the world it seems. Football starts in September! That's huge. It was especially huge when I played. I really loved playing football. We sucked my senior year, but I personally got a lot of recognition for being so small - and good I guess. I was featured in the Cincinnati Enquirer, The Cleveland Plain Dealer and was on some sports show with George Vogal and Chris Collinsworth on Channel 5.
I won the "Tiger Award" my senior year. I guess it was the biggest award given at the end. I basically won it because I was the smallest player with the biggest heart. Back during the holidays when I was homeless, I used to wonder how someone like me, with such a big heart could be panhandling and shooting up on the streets of San Francisco. I felt like a heartless piece of crap for all I put Susan through. I also felt pretty unsuccessful in life for obvious reasons.
I remembered the words my coach said when I won that award. "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." It all started to get really confusing to me also, because we spoke a lot about Pride back then. I did have to fight my way out of that mess in a lot of ways, but it was still surrender and losing my Pride that seems to have helped. Perhaps I am fighting for something bigger now. Surrendering is learning to fight for Good I believe. It's complicated! Let's move on.
I met Susan in September of 1989. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She made me a better person in so many ways. She changed me for the better and challenged me to think of the world in such a better way. She saved my life - many times. I miss her. I will always love her at a deeper level. I want her to be happy with her new life and believe she will be. I believe I will also. Life is becoming very beautiful for me. This makes me smile.
September 11th 2001, I was in a meeting with my boss on the 31st floor of The Carew Tower in downtown Cincinnati. My dad called and said to turn on the TV. We all of course no what happened. Like so many, this event effected me deeply. Back then, at 49 stories, the Carew Tower was the tallest building in Cincinnati. I remember Susan called and suggested I get out of that building. She thinks that way. I never did, but I just couldn't concentrate on work anyway so I did leave.
At church on Sunday, after reading that bible verse the pastor pointed out how God has a way of calling us out onto grand journeys. The events of 9/11 had nothing to do with me personally, yet in some ways they did. I took it very personal. The people who died, well, that was hard not to take personal even if you didn't know any of them. Actually, I had a cousin who worked in the Pentagon at the time. Years later, just few years ago, he would in fact die flying a plane in Afghanistan.
I even took the buildings personal. If it's not obvious, I love skyscrapers. Sometimes I feel like I took them more personal back then. I could see they were gone. It was all they represented. That's of course why they were targeted. Back when it first happened, I didn't know or personally love anyone who actually died, but I did know and love those buildings. I was fortunate enough to get to go to the top of the World Trade Centers a couple of times. One of these days, I'll find the photos I took back then. I think Susan has them. I'm sure she'll find them once she unpacks. Anyway, the whole thing affected me. I decided I needed to move.
We loved New York and we loved San Francisco. I decided after 9/11 that I had to get out of Cincinnati. Life was just too short. I loved visiting big cities, but I figured it would be much different to actually live in one. Was I ever right about that. I felt the tense climate (as a result of 9/11) in New York might be to hard to live in so I set my sights on San Francisco. For years prior to our moving here, I had said my dream job would be at the San Francisco Chronicle. Susan and I loved San Francisco.
We got engaged at Coit Tower. We spent part of our honeymoon in San Francisco. We visited at least ten times. I really wanted to live here. I got that job of my dreams. I recently wrote about this, but on my way to take the drug test for The Chronicle once back in Cincinnati, I did something I rarely did back then - I prayed to God. I really wanted that job. I had to do a lot to get the marijuana out of my system back then because I smoked it every day. I also asked, "God, please give me a sign." About five minutes later I passed a church. Out front on their sign was written, "You asked for a sign?" Was I ever in for some signs to come!
We got engaged at Coit Tower. We spent part of our honeymoon in San Francisco. We visited at least ten times. I really wanted to live here. I got that job of my dreams. I recently wrote about this, but on my way to take the drug test for The Chronicle once back in Cincinnati, I did something I rarely did back then - I prayed to God. I really wanted that job. I had to do a lot to get the marijuana out of my system back then because I smoked it every day. I also asked, "God, please give me a sign." About five minutes later I passed a church. Out front on their sign was written, "You asked for a sign?" Was I ever in for some signs to come!
We moved here around the end of August or early September. I'm not really sure of the exact date. San Francisco is beautiful in September. Because of the maritime continental climate, we always get and Indian Summer here. When I first moved here, everyday pretty much felt like spring for the first couple of years - without the rain (except in the winter - it does actually rain for a few months.) It still does feel like Spring to me everyday really.
My job at The Chronicle lasted for almost two years. I did great at first, but I was eventually fired. I was frequently smoking $400.00 worth of crack a night and going to work. I think that they started to suspect something. Every time they gave me a big chance, I'd blow it in a big way. What is it about addicts that we love to do that?
Once I got fired, I was introduced to recovery for the first time. I was really excited about the idea of recovery, but I was a little embarrassed that I had reached that point and had already started losing things - like my job. I thought that was bad. It was at the time. I was in a financial mess. Like so many times, I tried to rush to get my life back together and get back to work. I relapsed. I worked at SF Weekly for a very short time. It think I got nearly 90 days clean my first attempt and relapsed - in September.
Crack just didn't work for me anymore. I wanted to be high so bad. All I could think about before taking my first hit of crack was my next hit of crack. I was broke and sat on a street corner one night - miserable. It was the corner of Larkin and O'Farrell in Little Saigon. I sometimes refer to that corner as my center of hell. I later realized I had also messed up near this corner years before - when I didn't even live here yet.
I met this prostitute on that corner that night. She invited me into her room. I had nothing, but she got me high. I really didn't even want to be with her either. She asked me if I ever shot speed. I said I had not. She ask if I wanted to. I said I did. Let me just say that changed EVERYTHING about my entire EVERYTHING in a way I cannot never fully explain. Just thinking about that day makes me want to get high. It always has. It is so twisted how much doing that drug that way took from me and yet I still lust for it sometimes. I get a warm sensation in my heart and short of breath just thinking about it. It's sick.
I was introduced to the most messed up scene of IV drug use and sex one could possibly imagine. I don't really want to talk about the details because they are so dark and so seductive to me at the same time. I feel it in my chest right now so I'd rather stop. It's evil.....
Things were so confusing to me back then. Why did I keep going back to this sick scene of sex, hardcore drugs and known diseases. I didn't care. I just showed up, put my head down and rolled up my sleeve and then......
Again, I need to move on. It gets me in the heart. Speaking of, I just got back from the clinic and I have to have a bunch of tests run at General Hospital Monday. I've been avoiding this one. I always thought things went away if you swept them under the rug. Since I had my 'relapse' with her almost a month ago, I went today to get HIV and STD tests and thought I should bring up some other issues.
After telling the doctor what we did, she seemed very unconcerned about my possibilities of catching HIV or Hep C but was very concerned about my heart. My left arm is pretty much always numb and I was having chest pains near where my heart is when I ran about a month ago. The volunteer doctor from SF General who came into my program kept telling me I needed to get tests, but I kept putting it off. I still have severe pains in my chest and arm, but I think those are more about stress or nerve damage. My left hand is almost always numb or feels like it has needles and pins in it. Since I'm right handed, I shot up in my left arm most of the time so I guess that may have something to do with it. I know I hit some nerves some times. I hated missing!
I have faith it will be okay. I was really hard on myself for a long time. That drug hits you in the heart and that's why I loved it. She told me I looked and seemed very healthy. I wanted to tell her she looked very cute because she was but I'm not inappropriate like that in person! All the nurses were also cute. I was half naked having lots of cute nurses put these sticky EKG monitors all over my body. One kept breathing on her fingers to warm them for me and saying, "Are my hands warm enough?" One called me "Hairy" Potter. I didn't think I was that hairy, but I guess as I get older it moves from my head to my chest. It felt like it just might be the beginning of a porno movie. Man I'm twisted. Speaking of those little sticky EKG monitor things, they put them everywhere! I thought we got them all before I left the doctor, but I was finding them on me all night.
One more thing. Let me just say this - Thank God for Healthy San Francisco! What an amazing city I live that someone like me gets such caring free healthcare - with hot health care providers I might add! In all seriousness, the doctor was very nice and really was concerned about my well being. I think my parents history of addiction and both of them dying from "heart failure" had something to do with it. I'll be fine though. It's just precautionary.
Where was I? Oh yeah, when I left the clinic this morning, someone had stolen my bike seat. That sucked. Capp Street! It's just life in The City I guess. I was riding next to this woman today afterward and told her what happened. She said that happened to her in New York. I said, "Life in The City." She said, "I hope someone got a meal out of it." I said, "Yeah, me too." That's just kind of the way we think around here.
Now, seriously, where was I? I found my way to this dark scene that I'm going to try to avoid thinking too much about. Basically, after I would get high and do "whatever" within this scene of people, I would b-line to Lands End, The Presidio or Ocean Beach. I didn't want to be around people. I began seeing things out there. I also saw things at these shooting galleries. It wasn't just me either. I remember being with that prostitute one time and right after I shot up, something caught my eye. Something else seemed to have joined us in the room. This was not the first time I had seen such a thing. However, there were other real people there and I looked over at this guy and he said, "We're not alone!" and started laughing.
The other things I noticed was when I was walking down the street is that the street lights would blink on and off as I passed under them. It was as if something was trying to get my attention. Then there were the passer by's whose words always seemed to fit into my existence or whatever I was thinking even though they didn't necessarily seem to be talking to me. Then there was the timely songs that would come on the radio at just the right time. I began to wonder if something really incredible could be going on.
I started to realize that perhaps we really weren't alone in this Universe. Besides these ominous entities that seemed to be hanging out in these sick shooting galleries, I used to see these things in other places too. Especially out at Lands End. I frequently saw them in trees. I began referring to them as shadow people. I'm sure I had heard that term somewhere before. I told my older brother about the "shadow people" and when I did, he asked, "Shadow People?" He went on to remind me of his experience with Shadow People when we were young and living way out in the country in Morrow, Ohio. I had forgotten all about that.
A lot of strange things happened out in Morrow I never fully understood. I still don't. I do know more now than I did, but I will likely never tell it all. It's not all about me. Let me simply say that something or someone did not want us there. Many dark things happened. There was this black van that always came around also. There was a lot more, but I want to point the black van out because it seems to have started coming around again later at another dark time in my life.
This is Beaty's Babbling Brain Blog so lets jump around a bit. The first time I was in recovery, my counselor asked me if I had told my dad or my older brother. "Of course not." Was he crazy? I had lot's of secrets that were going to my grave. Didn't everyone? I wasn't even telling him everything. Basically, what I am saying here is - this transparency you're reading didn't happen overnight. I didn't even want to tell my family. I only told my wife of my crack addiction when I was losing "everything". Back when I thought those "everything's" were everything. Don't get me wrong - job and financial security are pretty big things to lose. And, I heard something back then that I wish I would have understood, "You hit bottom when you stop digging."
I would eventually tell my family of my addiction issues. Eventually however, I started digging again. Things got worse. Instead of smoking crack - I was shooting meth - and worse. My family used to wonder where I would go for days and how I would get high. I told them half the story. People got me high back then. I was in this "scene". I also sold meth on the streets sometimes. I told Susan and my family some of the parts where I would be out in the remote areas of San Francisco - seeing crazy things and hanging out with wild life. My dad hated the story of the fox I used to hang out with near Baker Beach. He would have really hated the whole truth! Overall he was pretty understanding and he never actually told me he hated the fox story - someone else did. He was genuinely concerned. Sometimes, Susan would file missing person's reports on me. The San Francisco Police used to tell her since I was a meth addict, she needed to let me go. It seems they knew something we didn't just yet.
My dad was having a lot of troubles of his own with his health back then. He was unable to work because of it. This only made his alcoholism worse. I've told some of the crazy details before and recently re-posted that blot, Contrails because I didn't really want to have to rewrite the details or relive them really. It basically seems my dad was willing to tell everyone what I was doing but not what he was doing. This was hard for me because I always lied for him. I didn't even want him to lie for me but if your going to tell everyone my truth then please tell them yours too. I'm not trying to be resentful about this anymore and I love my dad and he really was concerned. I don't deny he drank more because he worried about me - I get that. But, what came first, the chicken or the egg? Addiction.
I knew one of us would die. I tried to save him but didn't care about myself. My little brother who was dealing with the same things as me when I was young told me that he kept seeing this black van driving around. There's a lot more I can't really say so I don't know how useful that statement is. I just care about people and see everything for what it truly was - addicts who love each other. Still, since my dad refused to get help, I dropped him off at a hotel room with his oxygen tank. He refused to look at me the last time I saw him as I left. We didn't speak for 3 months. We were both killing ourselves. One day we finally spoke. He told me he was ready to die. I told him I knew how he felt but it was ultimately up to us. I told him I loved him but that I couldn't keep doing this.
My dad died 3 days later. It was June. I almost didn't make it home for the funeral because I was once again out on one of my binges. I did make it and despite the uncomfortable circumstances I delivered his eulogy.
I remember flying back into San Francisco. I looked out at this beautiful city as we landed but I was scared. I knew I was landing in hell.
All I wanted was to get to that hell as soon as possible. I found my "friends". My dad's death was not going to save my life. I used so hard for a few months. Finally, in September I was so messed up one night. I was also very sick. I just wanted to get high. I was losing my mind. I had not yet started hearing voices. The voices really freaked me out at first. Actually at first, before the voices, it was these coincidences and occasionally these "shadow people" that I would see.
That night, I saw a dark figure in our living room. It scared me. I didn't know what it was. I say that, but I kind of did. I even told Susan, "This one scares me." I should have headed the warning. I ended up leaving and buying meth. Once Susan found out, she told me to get out and not come back until I got clean. The speed I had wasn't very good. I was so sick. Somehow shooting speed made everything feel better. I remember I shit my pants that night. That was a first. I was telling a friend about my situation the other day and kind of laughing about something. He said it sounded like I was glorifying it. I told him that if he wanted to here the true hell of what I had been through, I could gladly share that. I just don't know how to explain, "Where I've been" to people without sounding like a complete downer all the time. I just try to make a little light of things and stay positive. There is nothing light about shitting your pants kids. There's nothing light about what happens next either. Still, these things are like a day in candy land compared to the hell I would end up experiencing in "the parallel universe" I had yet to cross over into. Well, maybe not candy land, but things got a lot creepier. At least this kind of thing I could make sense of.
Susan eventually let me in to "clean up". Perhaps I should have given up on getting high at that point. I was desperate and determined to change the way I felt. I was out of money, but I had some marijuana. By now, it was 4:00 in the morning. I should have waited until daylight and I should have went to The Haight to sell it. However, again, I was desperate and tried to sell it to the first person I ran into on 6th Street that night. There were actually three of them. One had a gun. Long story short:
I know I've showed this a couple of times recently, but it's a nice reminder that there is nothing glamorous about my drug use. This happened six years ago! I had to lose just about everything. I almost lost my life many times. I still may.
I wouldn't go to the hospital at first. By the time I did, it was too late for stitches. I think Susan took this once I finally fell asleep in case there was a need for some kind of police report or something. I never filed one.
I could thank that guy for a couple of things. I got almost four months clean after this. I also started writing Beaty's Babbling Brain Blog. I did it for a couple of reasons. I wanted The Truth about me to come from the horses mouth. I also felt it might be my responsibility to share all that I had been experiencing. I felt that those who live a normal daily existence may not see the things I was seeing. It seems I found evil. That's what I decided. However, if evil existed, God existed. I used to think it was The New World Order and the Illuminati. It could be to some degree. However, I do know that it is more about God than anything. I believe God will find a way to us all. Perhaps God is a little more subtle in his approach. Thank God. I thought perhaps I should be a messenger of sorts. I promise you I am no one special. In fact, if anything I was a bad person who God is utilizing to help get his message across to show just how much Grace he gives. I hope that's the case.
After my pistol whipping, I was pretty miserable. Now I was not only having to deal with the feelings I had over losing my dad. I had to deal with the pain and shame of what had happened to me. Not using drugs meant I had to feel everything and there was just so much to feel. I just wanted it all to go away. I needed and outlet. I wasn't really believing in recovery at that time, so I started writing.
I started listening to a lot of music too. I frequently heard the song, Wake me up when September Ends. I didn't completely know what it was about. All I knew is it was exactly how I felt. Before those days, I used to think it was written about September 11th. I'm sure some heard that song and could relate it to that. I didn't really listen to all the lyric, but I certainly heard the chorus, "Wake me up, when September Ends." I've had some hard days, but I do remember those to be very hard. I needed it all to end.
It seemed my writing really helped. Susan was so good to me through it all. Unfortunately it also gave her reason to believe that when I would eventually start using again, it would be much safer for me to do so at home and safer for her to give me money. A monster was being created out of love and compassion. This can turn into something known as co-dependence. Addiction is so ridiculously confusing. For almost four months however, I was clean and we were became pretty happy. How could I ever use again after what happened to me?
I'd like to jump to yesterday really quickly - which is when I was writing the above paragraph. I had on old friend from my from hometown ask me to contact her because she was going through a very similar situation as the one you just read with someone she loved. I called and talked to her. It was all very timely. Addiction can be so hard on so many. I think just being someone who could relate helped, however, I tried to take it a step further and got some real information for her about where her loved one could actually seek help. I got this information from one of Susan's family members in Cincinnati who I have always respected for the caring work she has done throughout her life.
I'm no one special, I promise you that, but this is just what doing the next right thing can do and how the Universe can unfold. I hope it may at least be an opportunity to consider. Ultimately it is up to the person who needs help however. That can be the hardest part with all this. They have been in my prayers. Sorry to be so vague, but I really do care about people and totally get the need for privacy in these cases.
I remember I relapsed the day my family left San Francisco just after the first of the year. I guess it was 2007. That was my kind of day to relapse. I really started losing my mind. I had not started hearing voices yet. However, I knew "something" was going on. I was seeing all kinds of crazy things. I was also starting to read these messages written on places like the sidewalk and noticed peoples words would seem to be for me as they passed by. It seemed I was getting "messages" from all over the place. I spent so much time at Lands End and the Presido watching "the boats" do there experiments. They were creating land slides and doing weather control experiments. I was certain of this. I was even in a slow moving landslide myself one night that they created. I saw them do it, of course. I used to tell Susan of all this insanity. She thought I was insane. I'd tell her, They are up to something! She didn't care. She just wanted me to stop using and stop leaving her. They would eventually become The New World Order. I was certain of it. There were just too many people involved.
Strange things continued to happen. One night, while using at an old bunker built during World War II that are located all along the coast, I found this bag of something on this concrete slab which was kind of like table. I carried it down to the beach so I could see what was in it. When I opened it, it was full of internal organs from "something". This kind of freaked me out. It was always creepy out there but sometimes I loved the creepiness. That creepy satanic seeming stuff was not the kind of creepiness I loved however.
I would climb all up and down the cliffs in the middle of the night, tweaking with no lights. In some places the rocks were very loose and it could be hundreds of feet down sometimes to the ocean. It was insane. I have no idea what I was doing. My friend and I would later "joke" that I was in super soldier training. I thought that perhaps I was part of the mind control going on. They of course have mind control equipment at the top of the original San Francisco Federal Building - the building I referred to as Old World Order Headquarters. There are these huge vents at the top of that building in the middle of the Tenderloin of all places. I lived in the shadow of New World Order Headquarter (The new San Francisco Federal Building) or the building I referred to as "The Death Star". It too has grated vents on the roof to house mind control equiptment.
As insane as I was, this stuff is actually documented. It was even something that went before the Senate or was a US Court Case back in the late 70's. I can't really remember the facts now a days and don't really have time to look it up. All I know is the things I "figured out" back then - I figured out before I found information online about it all. It also had to do with all the GWEN Towers that were all around - of course. I don't want to get into all that craziness again. I was crazy. I think.
One day, I was creeped out by "something" and decided, I needed to get out of New World Order Headquarters - The Presidio. I was on foot, but I had ridden my bike there the day before and I knew how hard it was to navigate my bike in the sand. As I was going up this steep hill, I saw bicycle tracks in the sand. I thought, "someone could flip over". Just then I looked up and two kids were speeding down the sandy hill. I wanted to say something but did not. I was imagining how easy it could be to flip over. As I got to the top of a hill, I came to a road by and old abandoned hospital. I heard a bunch of mopeds whining over the top of this hill. A group flew by me. Then one came by itself. Right as I looked up, this woman for no apparent reason flipped over the handlebars and slid across the pavement stopping right in front of me! It really freaked me out. I said to her, "Are you okay?", but she just lied there. Moments later another group of mopeds came whining over the hill and stopped to help her. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, but she seemed pretty messed up. I remember thinking,"What the F___ is this place? There is more than just people involved here. This is evil!" As I was leaving the gates of the Presidio vowing to never come back to that place again on that drug and vowing to fight for good, I remember letting whatever it was know. "I'd be back on the Good side!" Once I got to the gates, I turned to look back one more time and it seems it had a message for me too.
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If you can't read it, it says, "Good as... Dead." I of course believed this message was for me.
Before long, I'd end up doing exactly what I said I wouldn't do - get high and go back. It was never about that really. Well in some ways, I did think I was on to something out there and could only really figure it out while high. However, my craving was for the rush and the sex. Not The Truth. It seems I'd discover the Anti-Truth every time.
A year must have past since the pistol whipping and it was back to September. I had been getting these horrible staff infections. I learned I had something called MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus). It's a horrible infection people sometimes get at hospitals. It is very resistant to antibiotics. IV drug users get it. One has to have contact in an open cut with the infection. The infection can live on surfaces for some time. That's why people get them at hospitals.
I'm not sure exactly how I would get it, but those infections were the most painful thing I think I've ever experienced. They made that black eye in the above photo feel like a tickle. It is very contagious to the touch if it is gotten into an open wound. You know when someone has one! However, it can also live on dirty sheets of piss in the sink hotels. So if the person from the night before had one and one lays on those sheets with an open wound, which is common for addicts, it possible to get it that way. I'm quite sure that's how it happened to me sometimes.
Everytime someone gets one, it gets stronger and more resistant to antibiotics. I used to have to go to urgent care every day to get an antibiotic shot. They give it in your rear end and it hurt so bad. Plus, you have to drain the infection and stick antibiotics inside the open wound they cut for you to let it drain. It's so discusting. It's like a pimple times one million that can last for a couple of months. I hate to show this discuting image but if this blog is to discourage drug use and share reality than here it is. This is not one of mine by the way. I've had so much worse. I have one scar on my pelvic area that is over 2 inches wide.
Please if you have never used drugs - don't. And, if your at any stage of addiction - stop now. I promise it gets worse. I promise.
I have reached the point that if I do get another, I will lose the limb it is on or I will die if it's somewhere besides a limb. I would have a slight chance, I guess, but my doctor told me years ago that there are no antibiotics that can treat it anymore. I played Russian roulette every time I used. I never liked to admit that she told me that. I kind of still don't. As long as I never use, I should never get one again. I don't think it lives in me. (unfortunately, I learned after I wrote this, it does.) I think my body just can't fight it anymore. Trust me, I know when I have one. Getting these infections used to clean me up for a while. They are so painful.
(I have to add that I went to church today (9/9) and ran into the Doctor who originally wanted me to get the heart tests. I told her I was finally getting the tests tomorrow and she was very glad. She assured me it was of course precautionary. Since that made me feel a little better, I mentioned my MRSA situation. I don't want to elaborate until I know a little more myself, but it actually sounds more grim than I have been willing to admit to myself. It's important I remain healthy and injury free. Staying clean will increase those odds. It's important I try to be grateful for every waking moment I have. Every day is a gift and is beautiful to me. I must never forget that.)
One day I was wondering around The Presidio near the shore by the Golden Gate Bridge and met this old black man. He was 80 years old. He called himself, "Jack the Bean Stalk." He had just gotten to San Francisco. He told me had never been there or in The Presidio. He had just gotten out of prison. He was in prison for 50 years.
He was nice enough, but something about him didn't make sense. He told me he was from New Orleans. But he said, "I just had to get out of New Orleans." He made a point of telling me this many times. To such a degree, I took notice of his reiterated comments. He'd look me in the eye and say, "I had to get out of New Orleans." It was strange to me.
He then asked me if I wanted to do some meth. I of course did. Most of my time at The Presidio was spent in this very private remote cove that was very hard to find. One could only reach it during very low tide or by a very hard climb down to it. It was surrounded by at least a hundred feet of cliffs on three sides and the waterway known as the Golden Gate on the other. It was very near the mouth to the Pacific Ocean and huge waves would break in that little cove. Jack the Bean Stalk who said he had never been there before walked us down this windy path right to it. It was very low tide. In tide cycles, I learned from being around them, that there are two high tides and two low tides. One is very high and one is very low - the other two are in between. It was very low so we ran around to the little cove as no wave was coming in. He sm0ked some meth with me. I really wanted to shoot some, but not with him of course and something just didn't feel right to me. I finally said I had to go.
When I got home, I told Susan about this strange old man who, "Just had to get out of New Orleans." She just thought I was crazy as usual. A week later I was at Ocean Beach. I felt a staph infection coming on. I was at a very dark secluded part of the beach by the sand dunes. Two strangers walked up and said, "Did you know the New Orleans is getting hit by a huge hurricane?" I had no idea. It was Hurricane Katrina. I didn't think much of it.
I was starting to be in lot of pain. I knew I was getting a bad staph infection on my right front pelvic area. It got to where I could hardly walk. It was about size of a softball. I hobbled to Baker Beach, near my private cove. I built a fire, took out my knife, cut a 7-Up can in half and filled it with water. I boiled the water. I put a hot cloth on the infection and began cutting it open with my knife. It was so painful, but I had to open it up. I did have some success, but would ultimately have to call Susan to come get me and take me to urgent care. That is where that 2 inch scar is today where the doctors had to finish opening it up for me. It was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. It just wouldn't get numb no matter how much they tried to numb it with a local anesthetic. Everywhere they stuck a needle in the tender infection it would shoot blood and puss. So Romantic.
I ended up being laid up on the couch for a long time. All that was on television was the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. I was so miserable and it was a miserable thing to watch. Then I remembered Jack the Bean Stock and how he said over and over, "I just had to get out of New Orleans." I called Susan and asked her, "Do you remember how I told you something wasn't right about this guy? Do you remember where I told you he kept telling me he he had to get out of?" She recalled, "New Orleans." That storm didn't even exist yet.
If I recall correctly, it was not long after all this, I started hearing voices. Talk about scaring me. I used to run like hell in the early days of hearing voices. The voices were those of my friends and family - alive and dead. They were of strangers. Police. Actually, they were originally that of neighbors - and Police. Then came the devil. Then there was of course - God. It was all so real to me. I heard things and saw things. It seemed I was existing in a parallel universe at times. I still think that is truly possible.
In the beginning, there were so may voices trying to guide me in the right direction. They were really trying to help me get clean. They told me so many things about how the universe actually worked and what we had to do to get to the right place - I guess one would call Heaven. There seems to be multiple paths to get there. Many of my friends and family would try to persuade me to follow them in their path back then. They really wanted to help me. It also seems as though we're not going to get there and play harps in our mansions. It seems there's work to do. That makes sense to me actually. It seems we will have to help Good perhaps forever. I remember it sounded amazing. I recall even receiving Heavenly glimpses. I used to talk to these voices for days. They stayed with me for a long time after I used. They got really frustrated that I would keep using. I was suppose to quit coming to them that way and have faith that one day, it would all make sense. I just had to keep doing the next right thing.
So many people here and "where ever" have tried to help me. I think that anyone who has ever read this blog understands that. People are beautiful. I consider many of them to be my angels and my saints. Even the dark ones. I like to believe that we all have a chance to make it to a good place some day. I'm pretty sure that's what God would like to happen also.
That said, it's tough to imagine for everyone all the time. I talk about his guy I have called, "the devil". I saw him at the GA office yesterday. He was raising hell - go figure. I just hoped he wouldn't see me. Thankfully he didn't. The thing about "the devil", is he really tried to help me for years. The advice he gave was not wrong. His life was almost a mirror image of mine. His story so closely matched mine. It would get really dark with this guy and I may try to finsish writing about all that some day, but I would simply like to say that in some ways, he helped me.
GA was a waste of time by the way. I knew in my gut it would be. I'm just a little nervous about getting back on my own two feet. I do have faith everything is going to be okay and I will pay my own way. Anyone who thinks welfare is anything but totally hard to deal with is wrong. I know I put myself in that situation. Some people have a hard time getting out of that situation. I am completely honest which is why I won't get any. However, it doesn't mean many people don't deserve and need it. And those who are dishonest, will pay one way or another - that I'm sure of. God still gives a lot of Grace to all.
The GA Office is a Good place, but it is no fun. I mean, after all - the devil was there yesterday! There was also a guy there from my program I got kicked out of who loved to "hold me accountable" all the time. I did my best to get along with him while there but.... Then there was this woman passed out in the kids play area and a San Francisco cop had to wake her up. If you look close, you can see her feet.
Then there's the bathrooms.
My reasoning to share all this is so people realize all this "easy welfare living" is no picnic. I'm not denying responsibility for my actions, but some people aren't as lucky as me in their ability to get out of this situation as I believe I will. It has a lot to do with social economics but I won't get into all that.
I used to shoot up in GA's bathrooms so I was defiantly not part of the solution all the time. However, some never gave up on me. I'm doing all I can to make a difference in this world - I promise. If a few can actually do that with the help given than I think it makes it worth it for all. I'm doing my best to be one of those few.
I'm very busy these days and very tired and I feel like this blog sucks right now, but I have to keep writing it. Perhaps I'm crazy. When I left my storage unit yesterday on my bike with my headphones on listening to KFOG, Wake Me Up When September Ends came on. It reminded me - I need to finish this blog.
I'm in the process of reorganizing my life so I can get back to work. It's hard, but it beats working hard to lose everything. I closed two storage units, opened one, and consolidated into one that Susan and I opened 11 years ago. One that I closed had lots of drug reminders like orange caps and little meth baggies in it. I threw out all the syringes before I got clean almost 6 months ago because I knew some day I would have to go back in there and would hopefully be clean. I had a friend there to help me. He really helped me in so many ways. He would quickly grab all those little reminders out of my hand as I found them and shove them into his pocket out of my sight. Susan rented that storage unit for me to have a place to keep my clothes and other things. It gave me a place to shoot up. Let me tell you, the voices didn't like that. Neither did the devil. Neither did the people who worked there! I'm so glad to have closed that storage unit.
Being at that UHaul storage is so emotional for me. It has memories from so long ago - many which were kind of frozen in time - eleven Septembers ago.
Thank God for all those who have helped me. So many have from so many different places from all over the world and perhaps The Universe! It's pretty amazing. I almost want to say ridiculous! I really was that messed up out there for a really long time. I've said it before, if God can give me the Grace I have been given, then it can be given to anyone. I think believing is important. I always said, for me to truly believe in God, I had to try get the Good Orderly Direction part down as much as humanly possible. I was shown things and continued on a dark path and this is why I believe I suffered hell on earth. It still seems I will end up coming out the other side to a beautiful place in life and perhaps beyond. Although I am sad about all I lost as a result of my addiction, life is becoming beautiful. I have faith that everything will remain that way.
I need to end this blog. I've been writing it for over a week. Now I have to go back and read it! I'm sure there are lots of mistakes. Hopefully, fewer when you actually read it! I've been so busy. It's all been good. Very good.
I start work next week. I get my license back September 11th. Go figure. Even the dark times lead to good times it seems. That was always the case. Even Susan used to believe my staph infections to be blessings in disguise because they would force me to clean up for over a month if I wanted to live. They took a long time to get rid of.
I emptied and closed two of my storage units. I opened one near The Embarcadero where I'll be selling next week. I thankfully closed the one in SOMA that I used to shoot up in. That was pretty haunted. Susan rented it for me pretty much t0 keep me away from her and so I'd have a place to keep my things. I used it to use in it. They hated me at that place. I was such a tweaked out mess. (I'm pretty sure I just repeated myself just now, but I want to keep the next paragraph that flows from this one - in my own babbling way.)
Speaking of tweaked out messes, I kind of feel bad for calling that woman Tweaker Chick. I only did because she was actually tweaking at the time. I feel sorry for her. People called me Tweaker all the time and that is what I am, but I didn't always like it. I didn't care that much, but I thought it may not be nice to call her that anymore. She actually has a beautiful and cool hippie like name. I do hope that woman get's help. I have been exaclty where she is. That drug just makes some of us.....that way. It would be best for me not to run into her again.
Where was I? Thank God for my friend who helped me clean out my storage bin. He has also been giving me food lately. Every since he read my ramen noodle comment on facebook! I really wasn't fishing for that kind of help. I was very grateful for all I had. His contributions have been very helpful though. He is a great artist. He is a filmmaker. I stayed with him last weekend. I played guitar for him to dub (is that the right word) into some of his videos.
The most exciting thing about our recent collaboration is a project he has asked me to be his assistant. A few years ago, he made this awesome documentary film called, Sweet Onion Salad. It's a documentary about the poets and musicians who show up at the 16th and Mission Bart Station in The Mission to perform every Thursday night. Many of them also perform at my favorite place - Brainwash! I should fit right into this project.
This gathering has been going on for nearly ten years now. He is making a new documentary for the ten year anniversary and has asked me to be The Director of Photography! How cool is that? I am very excited to assist him on this project. He is a very talented filmmaker! I love the first film, Sweet Onion Salad. He has only improved over the years and he also has better equipment. We went out and took some test shots last Thursday night.
The original film is going to be showing at The Roxy Theater in The Mission in December. I can't remember the date, but I'll be sure to post it when I find out.
I am also going to be having at least one of my photos on display at an art show this weekend at SOMA Arts. Hopefully more, but I have been so busy, I haven't had much time to deal with all that.
Life has really been beautiful. I guess I am a little concerned about my health but in some ways I am grateful that I get a reminder to appreciate every moment. I know we all forget to do that and it is hard. To be honest as I guess I should be about everything, I am in a lot of pain right now. My hand is completely numb and my arm and chest really hurt. I thinks it's stress because I'm actually thinking about all this health stuff. It may be nerve damage also. I guess it won't just go away unfortunately. I am glad I'm finally going to the hospital for those tests tomorrow.
If I died tomorrow, everything is still amazingly beautiful about all that happened for me. I don't anticipate that happening, but I want to remember just how lucky I am to even be alive and what a beautiful gift every moment of my life truly is. Every day is A Beautiful Day. I appreciate the beautiful view I get to wake up to each morning - The San Francisco Bay.
It turns out that song, Wake me up When September Ends was about Billy Joe's dad dying. It turns out the entire album American Idiot, could really be about my life. It's about this guy, The Jesus of Suburbia and his girlfriend leaving their hometown for a big city. He's an addict and meets a bunch of angels and demons. She finally leaves him to go home. They both live on. It's a lot more detailed than that, but that's the gist of it. It's even a play Jesus of Suburbia on guitar now.
Billy Joe said that the song, Wake me up When September Ends was the song that if any didn't really fit into that album. It fit perfectly for me. Regardless of what it was for me, it was a lot for him. I suspect it was a lot for those at the Superdome and in New Orleans one year after Hurricane Katrina. And, The Saints went on to kick but that night and eventually win a Superbowl. There must be a God! Okay God, the Bengals turn!
Hopefully the lyrics are clear enough on this one and you get the message. Actually, they didn't change them that much really, they just kind of combined three songs. The lyrics were really appropriate for the situation despite the fact that they were written about something else years before, Space-Time. To me it resembles some other bible stories besides the one about Moses I mentioned in the beginning. It reminded me of Jesus on the boat in the storm. It also reminded me of Noah and the flood and the bird who goes and gets the leaf in her mouth. Right? I'm laughing at my bible story telling. Basically, Good will always comes from bad. We must have faith.
They overlapped the lyrics too much on these for me to transcribe this song trio. And, I'm tired and I want to watch Peyton Manning beat the Squealers! End it Dave!
Now, seriously, where was I? I found my way to this dark scene that I'm going to try to avoid thinking too much about. Basically, after I would get high and do "whatever" within this scene of people, I would b-line to Lands End, The Presidio or Ocean Beach. I didn't want to be around people. I began seeing things out there. I also saw things at these shooting galleries. It wasn't just me either. I remember being with that prostitute one time and right after I shot up, something caught my eye. Something else seemed to have joined us in the room. This was not the first time I had seen such a thing. However, there were other real people there and I looked over at this guy and he said, "We're not alone!" and started laughing.
The other things I noticed was when I was walking down the street is that the street lights would blink on and off as I passed under them. It was as if something was trying to get my attention. Then there were the passer by's whose words always seemed to fit into my existence or whatever I was thinking even though they didn't necessarily seem to be talking to me. Then there was the timely songs that would come on the radio at just the right time. I began to wonder if something really incredible could be going on.
I started to realize that perhaps we really weren't alone in this Universe. Besides these ominous entities that seemed to be hanging out in these sick shooting galleries, I used to see these things in other places too. Especially out at Lands End. I frequently saw them in trees. I began referring to them as shadow people. I'm sure I had heard that term somewhere before. I told my older brother about the "shadow people" and when I did, he asked, "Shadow People?" He went on to remind me of his experience with Shadow People when we were young and living way out in the country in Morrow, Ohio. I had forgotten all about that.
A lot of strange things happened out in Morrow I never fully understood. I still don't. I do know more now than I did, but I will likely never tell it all. It's not all about me. Let me simply say that something or someone did not want us there. Many dark things happened. There was this black van that always came around also. There was a lot more, but I want to point the black van out because it seems to have started coming around again later at another dark time in my life.
This is Beaty's Babbling Brain Blog so lets jump around a bit. The first time I was in recovery, my counselor asked me if I had told my dad or my older brother. "Of course not." Was he crazy? I had lot's of secrets that were going to my grave. Didn't everyone? I wasn't even telling him everything. Basically, what I am saying here is - this transparency you're reading didn't happen overnight. I didn't even want to tell my family. I only told my wife of my crack addiction when I was losing "everything". Back when I thought those "everything's" were everything. Don't get me wrong - job and financial security are pretty big things to lose. And, I heard something back then that I wish I would have understood, "You hit bottom when you stop digging."
I would eventually tell my family of my addiction issues. Eventually however, I started digging again. Things got worse. Instead of smoking crack - I was shooting meth - and worse. My family used to wonder where I would go for days and how I would get high. I told them half the story. People got me high back then. I was in this "scene". I also sold meth on the streets sometimes. I told Susan and my family some of the parts where I would be out in the remote areas of San Francisco - seeing crazy things and hanging out with wild life. My dad hated the story of the fox I used to hang out with near Baker Beach. He would have really hated the whole truth! Overall he was pretty understanding and he never actually told me he hated the fox story - someone else did. He was genuinely concerned. Sometimes, Susan would file missing person's reports on me. The San Francisco Police used to tell her since I was a meth addict, she needed to let me go. It seems they knew something we didn't just yet.
My dad was having a lot of troubles of his own with his health back then. He was unable to work because of it. This only made his alcoholism worse. I've told some of the crazy details before and recently re-posted that blot, Contrails because I didn't really want to have to rewrite the details or relive them really. It basically seems my dad was willing to tell everyone what I was doing but not what he was doing. This was hard for me because I always lied for him. I didn't even want him to lie for me but if your going to tell everyone my truth then please tell them yours too. I'm not trying to be resentful about this anymore and I love my dad and he really was concerned. I don't deny he drank more because he worried about me - I get that. But, what came first, the chicken or the egg? Addiction.
I knew one of us would die. I tried to save him but didn't care about myself. My little brother who was dealing with the same things as me when I was young told me that he kept seeing this black van driving around. There's a lot more I can't really say so I don't know how useful that statement is. I just care about people and see everything for what it truly was - addicts who love each other. Still, since my dad refused to get help, I dropped him off at a hotel room with his oxygen tank. He refused to look at me the last time I saw him as I left. We didn't speak for 3 months. We were both killing ourselves. One day we finally spoke. He told me he was ready to die. I told him I knew how he felt but it was ultimately up to us. I told him I loved him but that I couldn't keep doing this.
My dad died 3 days later. It was June. I almost didn't make it home for the funeral because I was once again out on one of my binges. I did make it and despite the uncomfortable circumstances I delivered his eulogy.
I remember flying back into San Francisco. I looked out at this beautiful city as we landed but I was scared. I knew I was landing in hell.
All I wanted was to get to that hell as soon as possible. I found my "friends". My dad's death was not going to save my life. I used so hard for a few months. Finally, in September I was so messed up one night. I was also very sick. I just wanted to get high. I was losing my mind. I had not yet started hearing voices. The voices really freaked me out at first. Actually at first, before the voices, it was these coincidences and occasionally these "shadow people" that I would see.
That night, I saw a dark figure in our living room. It scared me. I didn't know what it was. I say that, but I kind of did. I even told Susan, "This one scares me." I should have headed the warning. I ended up leaving and buying meth. Once Susan found out, she told me to get out and not come back until I got clean. The speed I had wasn't very good. I was so sick. Somehow shooting speed made everything feel better. I remember I shit my pants that night. That was a first. I was telling a friend about my situation the other day and kind of laughing about something. He said it sounded like I was glorifying it. I told him that if he wanted to here the true hell of what I had been through, I could gladly share that. I just don't know how to explain, "Where I've been" to people without sounding like a complete downer all the time. I just try to make a little light of things and stay positive. There is nothing light about shitting your pants kids. There's nothing light about what happens next either. Still, these things are like a day in candy land compared to the hell I would end up experiencing in "the parallel universe" I had yet to cross over into. Well, maybe not candy land, but things got a lot creepier. At least this kind of thing I could make sense of.
Susan eventually let me in to "clean up". Perhaps I should have given up on getting high at that point. I was desperate and determined to change the way I felt. I was out of money, but I had some marijuana. By now, it was 4:00 in the morning. I should have waited until daylight and I should have went to The Haight to sell it. However, again, I was desperate and tried to sell it to the first person I ran into on 6th Street that night. There were actually three of them. One had a gun. Long story short:
I know I've showed this a couple of times recently, but it's a nice reminder that there is nothing glamorous about my drug use. This happened six years ago! I had to lose just about everything. I almost lost my life many times. I still may.
I wouldn't go to the hospital at first. By the time I did, it was too late for stitches. I think Susan took this once I finally fell asleep in case there was a need for some kind of police report or something. I never filed one.
I could thank that guy for a couple of things. I got almost four months clean after this. I also started writing Beaty's Babbling Brain Blog. I did it for a couple of reasons. I wanted The Truth about me to come from the horses mouth. I also felt it might be my responsibility to share all that I had been experiencing. I felt that those who live a normal daily existence may not see the things I was seeing. It seems I found evil. That's what I decided. However, if evil existed, God existed. I used to think it was The New World Order and the Illuminati. It could be to some degree. However, I do know that it is more about God than anything. I believe God will find a way to us all. Perhaps God is a little more subtle in his approach. Thank God. I thought perhaps I should be a messenger of sorts. I promise you I am no one special. In fact, if anything I was a bad person who God is utilizing to help get his message across to show just how much Grace he gives. I hope that's the case.
After my pistol whipping, I was pretty miserable. Now I was not only having to deal with the feelings I had over losing my dad. I had to deal with the pain and shame of what had happened to me. Not using drugs meant I had to feel everything and there was just so much to feel. I just wanted it all to go away. I needed and outlet. I wasn't really believing in recovery at that time, so I started writing.
I started listening to a lot of music too. I frequently heard the song, Wake me up when September Ends. I didn't completely know what it was about. All I knew is it was exactly how I felt. Before those days, I used to think it was written about September 11th. I'm sure some heard that song and could relate it to that. I didn't really listen to all the lyric, but I certainly heard the chorus, "Wake me up, when September Ends." I've had some hard days, but I do remember those to be very hard. I needed it all to end.
It seemed my writing really helped. Susan was so good to me through it all. Unfortunately it also gave her reason to believe that when I would eventually start using again, it would be much safer for me to do so at home and safer for her to give me money. A monster was being created out of love and compassion. This can turn into something known as co-dependence. Addiction is so ridiculously confusing. For almost four months however, I was clean and we were became pretty happy. How could I ever use again after what happened to me?
I'd like to jump to yesterday really quickly - which is when I was writing the above paragraph. I had on old friend from my from hometown ask me to contact her because she was going through a very similar situation as the one you just read with someone she loved. I called and talked to her. It was all very timely. Addiction can be so hard on so many. I think just being someone who could relate helped, however, I tried to take it a step further and got some real information for her about where her loved one could actually seek help. I got this information from one of Susan's family members in Cincinnati who I have always respected for the caring work she has done throughout her life.
I'm no one special, I promise you that, but this is just what doing the next right thing can do and how the Universe can unfold. I hope it may at least be an opportunity to consider. Ultimately it is up to the person who needs help however. That can be the hardest part with all this. They have been in my prayers. Sorry to be so vague, but I really do care about people and totally get the need for privacy in these cases.
I remember I relapsed the day my family left San Francisco just after the first of the year. I guess it was 2007. That was my kind of day to relapse. I really started losing my mind. I had not started hearing voices yet. However, I knew "something" was going on. I was seeing all kinds of crazy things. I was also starting to read these messages written on places like the sidewalk and noticed peoples words would seem to be for me as they passed by. It seemed I was getting "messages" from all over the place. I spent so much time at Lands End and the Presido watching "the boats" do there experiments. They were creating land slides and doing weather control experiments. I was certain of this. I was even in a slow moving landslide myself one night that they created. I saw them do it, of course. I used to tell Susan of all this insanity. She thought I was insane. I'd tell her, They are up to something! She didn't care. She just wanted me to stop using and stop leaving her. They would eventually become The New World Order. I was certain of it. There were just too many people involved.
Strange things continued to happen. One night, while using at an old bunker built during World War II that are located all along the coast, I found this bag of something on this concrete slab which was kind of like table. I carried it down to the beach so I could see what was in it. When I opened it, it was full of internal organs from "something". This kind of freaked me out. It was always creepy out there but sometimes I loved the creepiness. That creepy satanic seeming stuff was not the kind of creepiness I loved however.
I would climb all up and down the cliffs in the middle of the night, tweaking with no lights. In some places the rocks were very loose and it could be hundreds of feet down sometimes to the ocean. It was insane. I have no idea what I was doing. My friend and I would later "joke" that I was in super soldier training. I thought that perhaps I was part of the mind control going on. They of course have mind control equipment at the top of the original San Francisco Federal Building - the building I referred to as Old World Order Headquarters. There are these huge vents at the top of that building in the middle of the Tenderloin of all places. I lived in the shadow of New World Order Headquarter (The new San Francisco Federal Building) or the building I referred to as "The Death Star". It too has grated vents on the roof to house mind control equiptment.
As insane as I was, this stuff is actually documented. It was even something that went before the Senate or was a US Court Case back in the late 70's. I can't really remember the facts now a days and don't really have time to look it up. All I know is the things I "figured out" back then - I figured out before I found information online about it all. It also had to do with all the GWEN Towers that were all around - of course. I don't want to get into all that craziness again. I was crazy. I think.
One day, I was creeped out by "something" and decided, I needed to get out of New World Order Headquarters - The Presidio. I was on foot, but I had ridden my bike there the day before and I knew how hard it was to navigate my bike in the sand. As I was going up this steep hill, I saw bicycle tracks in the sand. I thought, "someone could flip over". Just then I looked up and two kids were speeding down the sandy hill. I wanted to say something but did not. I was imagining how easy it could be to flip over. As I got to the top of a hill, I came to a road by and old abandoned hospital. I heard a bunch of mopeds whining over the top of this hill. A group flew by me. Then one came by itself. Right as I looked up, this woman for no apparent reason flipped over the handlebars and slid across the pavement stopping right in front of me! It really freaked me out. I said to her, "Are you okay?", but she just lied there. Moments later another group of mopeds came whining over the hill and stopped to help her. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, but she seemed pretty messed up. I remember thinking,"What the F___ is this place? There is more than just people involved here. This is evil!" As I was leaving the gates of the Presidio vowing to never come back to that place again on that drug and vowing to fight for good, I remember letting whatever it was know. "I'd be back on the Good side!" Once I got to the gates, I turned to look back one more time and it seems it had a message for me too.
If you can't read it, it says, "Good as... Dead." I of course believed this message was for me.
Before long, I'd end up doing exactly what I said I wouldn't do - get high and go back. It was never about that really. Well in some ways, I did think I was on to something out there and could only really figure it out while high. However, my craving was for the rush and the sex. Not The Truth. It seems I'd discover the Anti-Truth every time.
A year must have past since the pistol whipping and it was back to September. I had been getting these horrible staff infections. I learned I had something called MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus). It's a horrible infection people sometimes get at hospitals. It is very resistant to antibiotics. IV drug users get it. One has to have contact in an open cut with the infection. The infection can live on surfaces for some time. That's why people get them at hospitals.
I'm not sure exactly how I would get it, but those infections were the most painful thing I think I've ever experienced. They made that black eye in the above photo feel like a tickle. It is very contagious to the touch if it is gotten into an open wound. You know when someone has one! However, it can also live on dirty sheets of piss in the sink hotels. So if the person from the night before had one and one lays on those sheets with an open wound, which is common for addicts, it possible to get it that way. I'm quite sure that's how it happened to me sometimes.
Everytime someone gets one, it gets stronger and more resistant to antibiotics. I used to have to go to urgent care every day to get an antibiotic shot. They give it in your rear end and it hurt so bad. Plus, you have to drain the infection and stick antibiotics inside the open wound they cut for you to let it drain. It's so discusting. It's like a pimple times one million that can last for a couple of months. I hate to show this discuting image but if this blog is to discourage drug use and share reality than here it is. This is not one of mine by the way. I've had so much worse. I have one scar on my pelvic area that is over 2 inches wide.
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| Glamerous |
Please if you have never used drugs - don't. And, if your at any stage of addiction - stop now. I promise it gets worse. I promise.
I have reached the point that if I do get another, I will lose the limb it is on or I will die if it's somewhere besides a limb. I would have a slight chance, I guess, but my doctor told me years ago that there are no antibiotics that can treat it anymore. I played Russian roulette every time I used. I never liked to admit that she told me that. I kind of still don't. As long as I never use, I should never get one again. I don't think it lives in me. (unfortunately, I learned after I wrote this, it does.) I think my body just can't fight it anymore. Trust me, I know when I have one. Getting these infections used to clean me up for a while. They are so painful.
(I have to add that I went to church today (9/9) and ran into the Doctor who originally wanted me to get the heart tests. I told her I was finally getting the tests tomorrow and she was very glad. She assured me it was of course precautionary. Since that made me feel a little better, I mentioned my MRSA situation. I don't want to elaborate until I know a little more myself, but it actually sounds more grim than I have been willing to admit to myself. It's important I remain healthy and injury free. Staying clean will increase those odds. It's important I try to be grateful for every waking moment I have. Every day is a gift and is beautiful to me. I must never forget that.)
One day I was wondering around The Presidio near the shore by the Golden Gate Bridge and met this old black man. He was 80 years old. He called himself, "Jack the Bean Stalk." He had just gotten to San Francisco. He told me had never been there or in The Presidio. He had just gotten out of prison. He was in prison for 50 years.
He was nice enough, but something about him didn't make sense. He told me he was from New Orleans. But he said, "I just had to get out of New Orleans." He made a point of telling me this many times. To such a degree, I took notice of his reiterated comments. He'd look me in the eye and say, "I had to get out of New Orleans." It was strange to me.
He then asked me if I wanted to do some meth. I of course did. Most of my time at The Presidio was spent in this very private remote cove that was very hard to find. One could only reach it during very low tide or by a very hard climb down to it. It was surrounded by at least a hundred feet of cliffs on three sides and the waterway known as the Golden Gate on the other. It was very near the mouth to the Pacific Ocean and huge waves would break in that little cove. Jack the Bean Stalk who said he had never been there before walked us down this windy path right to it. It was very low tide. In tide cycles, I learned from being around them, that there are two high tides and two low tides. One is very high and one is very low - the other two are in between. It was very low so we ran around to the little cove as no wave was coming in. He sm0ked some meth with me. I really wanted to shoot some, but not with him of course and something just didn't feel right to me. I finally said I had to go.
When I got home, I told Susan about this strange old man who, "Just had to get out of New Orleans." She just thought I was crazy as usual. A week later I was at Ocean Beach. I felt a staph infection coming on. I was at a very dark secluded part of the beach by the sand dunes. Two strangers walked up and said, "Did you know the New Orleans is getting hit by a huge hurricane?" I had no idea. It was Hurricane Katrina. I didn't think much of it.
I was starting to be in lot of pain. I knew I was getting a bad staph infection on my right front pelvic area. It got to where I could hardly walk. It was about size of a softball. I hobbled to Baker Beach, near my private cove. I built a fire, took out my knife, cut a 7-Up can in half and filled it with water. I boiled the water. I put a hot cloth on the infection and began cutting it open with my knife. It was so painful, but I had to open it up. I did have some success, but would ultimately have to call Susan to come get me and take me to urgent care. That is where that 2 inch scar is today where the doctors had to finish opening it up for me. It was the most painful thing I have ever experienced. It just wouldn't get numb no matter how much they tried to numb it with a local anesthetic. Everywhere they stuck a needle in the tender infection it would shoot blood and puss. So Romantic.
I ended up being laid up on the couch for a long time. All that was on television was the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. I was so miserable and it was a miserable thing to watch. Then I remembered Jack the Bean Stock and how he said over and over, "I just had to get out of New Orleans." I called Susan and asked her, "Do you remember how I told you something wasn't right about this guy? Do you remember where I told you he kept telling me he he had to get out of?" She recalled, "New Orleans." That storm didn't even exist yet.
I had no idea what all that was about. I still don't. Something I thought -something bigger. I have no idea who Jack the Bean stalk was. I also forgot to write above that he seemed to know a lot about me. He told me if I ever needed something to eat, to come find him at Carl's Junior at 7th and Market. I lived a block away.
It seemed many have tried to help me over the years.
In the beginning, there were so may voices trying to guide me in the right direction. They were really trying to help me get clean. They told me so many things about how the universe actually worked and what we had to do to get to the right place - I guess one would call Heaven. There seems to be multiple paths to get there. Many of my friends and family would try to persuade me to follow them in their path back then. They really wanted to help me. It also seems as though we're not going to get there and play harps in our mansions. It seems there's work to do. That makes sense to me actually. It seems we will have to help Good perhaps forever. I remember it sounded amazing. I recall even receiving Heavenly glimpses. I used to talk to these voices for days. They stayed with me for a long time after I used. They got really frustrated that I would keep using. I was suppose to quit coming to them that way and have faith that one day, it would all make sense. I just had to keep doing the next right thing.
So many people here and "where ever" have tried to help me. I think that anyone who has ever read this blog understands that. People are beautiful. I consider many of them to be my angels and my saints. Even the dark ones. I like to believe that we all have a chance to make it to a good place some day. I'm pretty sure that's what God would like to happen also.
That said, it's tough to imagine for everyone all the time. I talk about his guy I have called, "the devil". I saw him at the GA office yesterday. He was raising hell - go figure. I just hoped he wouldn't see me. Thankfully he didn't. The thing about "the devil", is he really tried to help me for years. The advice he gave was not wrong. His life was almost a mirror image of mine. His story so closely matched mine. It would get really dark with this guy and I may try to finsish writing about all that some day, but I would simply like to say that in some ways, he helped me.
GA was a waste of time by the way. I knew in my gut it would be. I'm just a little nervous about getting back on my own two feet. I do have faith everything is going to be okay and I will pay my own way. Anyone who thinks welfare is anything but totally hard to deal with is wrong. I know I put myself in that situation. Some people have a hard time getting out of that situation. I am completely honest which is why I won't get any. However, it doesn't mean many people don't deserve and need it. And those who are dishonest, will pay one way or another - that I'm sure of. God still gives a lot of Grace to all.
The GA Office is a Good place, but it is no fun. I mean, after all - the devil was there yesterday! There was also a guy there from my program I got kicked out of who loved to "hold me accountable" all the time. I did my best to get along with him while there but.... Then there was this woman passed out in the kids play area and a San Francisco cop had to wake her up. If you look close, you can see her feet.
Then there's the bathrooms.
My reasoning to share all this is so people realize all this "easy welfare living" is no picnic. I'm not denying responsibility for my actions, but some people aren't as lucky as me in their ability to get out of this situation as I believe I will. It has a lot to do with social economics but I won't get into all that.
I used to shoot up in GA's bathrooms so I was defiantly not part of the solution all the time. However, some never gave up on me. I'm doing all I can to make a difference in this world - I promise. If a few can actually do that with the help given than I think it makes it worth it for all. I'm doing my best to be one of those few.
I'm very busy these days and very tired and I feel like this blog sucks right now, but I have to keep writing it. Perhaps I'm crazy. When I left my storage unit yesterday on my bike with my headphones on listening to KFOG, Wake Me Up When September Ends came on. It reminded me - I need to finish this blog.
I'm in the process of reorganizing my life so I can get back to work. It's hard, but it beats working hard to lose everything. I closed two storage units, opened one, and consolidated into one that Susan and I opened 11 years ago. One that I closed had lots of drug reminders like orange caps and little meth baggies in it. I threw out all the syringes before I got clean almost 6 months ago because I knew some day I would have to go back in there and would hopefully be clean. I had a friend there to help me. He really helped me in so many ways. He would quickly grab all those little reminders out of my hand as I found them and shove them into his pocket out of my sight. Susan rented that storage unit for me to have a place to keep my clothes and other things. It gave me a place to shoot up. Let me tell you, the voices didn't like that. Neither did the devil. Neither did the people who worked there! I'm so glad to have closed that storage unit.
Being at that UHaul storage is so emotional for me. It has memories from so long ago - many which were kind of frozen in time - eleven Septembers ago.
Thank God for all those who have helped me. So many have from so many different places from all over the world and perhaps The Universe! It's pretty amazing. I almost want to say ridiculous! I really was that messed up out there for a really long time. I've said it before, if God can give me the Grace I have been given, then it can be given to anyone. I think believing is important. I always said, for me to truly believe in God, I had to try get the Good Orderly Direction part down as much as humanly possible. I was shown things and continued on a dark path and this is why I believe I suffered hell on earth. It still seems I will end up coming out the other side to a beautiful place in life and perhaps beyond. Although I am sad about all I lost as a result of my addiction, life is becoming beautiful. I have faith that everything will remain that way.
I need to end this blog. I've been writing it for over a week. Now I have to go back and read it! I'm sure there are lots of mistakes. Hopefully, fewer when you actually read it! I've been so busy. It's all been good. Very good.
I start work next week. I get my license back September 11th. Go figure. Even the dark times lead to good times it seems. That was always the case. Even Susan used to believe my staph infections to be blessings in disguise because they would force me to clean up for over a month if I wanted to live. They took a long time to get rid of.
I emptied and closed two of my storage units. I opened one near The Embarcadero where I'll be selling next week. I thankfully closed the one in SOMA that I used to shoot up in. That was pretty haunted. Susan rented it for me pretty much t0 keep me away from her and so I'd have a place to keep my things. I used it to use in it. They hated me at that place. I was such a tweaked out mess. (I'm pretty sure I just repeated myself just now, but I want to keep the next paragraph that flows from this one - in my own babbling way.)
Speaking of tweaked out messes, I kind of feel bad for calling that woman Tweaker Chick. I only did because she was actually tweaking at the time. I feel sorry for her. People called me Tweaker all the time and that is what I am, but I didn't always like it. I didn't care that much, but I thought it may not be nice to call her that anymore. She actually has a beautiful and cool hippie like name. I do hope that woman get's help. I have been exaclty where she is. That drug just makes some of us.....that way. It would be best for me not to run into her again.
Where was I? Thank God for my friend who helped me clean out my storage bin. He has also been giving me food lately. Every since he read my ramen noodle comment on facebook! I really wasn't fishing for that kind of help. I was very grateful for all I had. His contributions have been very helpful though. He is a great artist. He is a filmmaker. I stayed with him last weekend. I played guitar for him to dub (is that the right word) into some of his videos.
The most exciting thing about our recent collaboration is a project he has asked me to be his assistant. A few years ago, he made this awesome documentary film called, Sweet Onion Salad. It's a documentary about the poets and musicians who show up at the 16th and Mission Bart Station in The Mission to perform every Thursday night. Many of them also perform at my favorite place - Brainwash! I should fit right into this project.
This gathering has been going on for nearly ten years now. He is making a new documentary for the ten year anniversary and has asked me to be The Director of Photography! How cool is that? I am very excited to assist him on this project. He is a very talented filmmaker! I love the first film, Sweet Onion Salad. He has only improved over the years and he also has better equipment. We went out and took some test shots last Thursday night.
The original film is going to be showing at The Roxy Theater in The Mission in December. I can't remember the date, but I'll be sure to post it when I find out.
I am also going to be having at least one of my photos on display at an art show this weekend at SOMA Arts. Hopefully more, but I have been so busy, I haven't had much time to deal with all that.
Life has really been beautiful. I guess I am a little concerned about my health but in some ways I am grateful that I get a reminder to appreciate every moment. I know we all forget to do that and it is hard. To be honest as I guess I should be about everything, I am in a lot of pain right now. My hand is completely numb and my arm and chest really hurt. I thinks it's stress because I'm actually thinking about all this health stuff. It may be nerve damage also. I guess it won't just go away unfortunately. I am glad I'm finally going to the hospital for those tests tomorrow.
If I died tomorrow, everything is still amazingly beautiful about all that happened for me. I don't anticipate that happening, but I want to remember just how lucky I am to even be alive and what a beautiful gift every moment of my life truly is. Every day is A Beautiful Day. I appreciate the beautiful view I get to wake up to each morning - The San Francisco Bay.
It turns out that song, Wake me up When September Ends was about Billy Joe's dad dying. It turns out the entire album American Idiot, could really be about my life. It's about this guy, The Jesus of Suburbia and his girlfriend leaving their hometown for a big city. He's an addict and meets a bunch of angels and demons. She finally leaves him to go home. They both live on. It's a lot more detailed than that, but that's the gist of it. It's even a play Jesus of Suburbia on guitar now.
Billy Joe said that the song, Wake me up When September Ends was the song that if any didn't really fit into that album. It fit perfectly for me. Regardless of what it was for me, it was a lot for him. I suspect it was a lot for those at the Superdome and in New Orleans one year after Hurricane Katrina. And, The Saints went on to kick but that night and eventually win a Superbowl. There must be a God! Okay God, the Bengals turn!
Hopefully the lyrics are clear enough on this one and you get the message. Actually, they didn't change them that much really, they just kind of combined three songs. The lyrics were really appropriate for the situation despite the fact that they were written about something else years before, Space-Time. To me it resembles some other bible stories besides the one about Moses I mentioned in the beginning. It reminded me of Jesus on the boat in the storm. It also reminded me of Noah and the flood and the bird who goes and gets the leaf in her mouth. Right? I'm laughing at my bible story telling. Basically, Good will always comes from bad. We must have faith.
They overlapped the lyrics too much on these for me to transcribe this song trio. And, I'm tired and I want to watch Peyton Manning beat the Squealers! End it Dave!
Exodus 19:5-6
5 Now
if you obey me fully and keep my covenant, then out of all nations you
will be my treasured possession. Although the whole earth is mine, 6 you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words you are to speak to the Israelites.”
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