Samson cuts his hair and finds himself

"Darlin', give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming, steaming, flaxen, waxen
Give me down to there hair, shoulder length or longer
Here, baby, there, momma, everywhere, daddy, daddy
Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it, long as God can grow it, my hair"
The Cowsills-"Hair"


For the lion's share of the last 20 years, I have had long hair. People who have known me for less than that time period have only known me with longer hair, from my wife and daughter to co-workers who I only see and never really converse with.

I'm a rock musician. I am supposed to have long hair. It is part of who I am. I never dreamed of parting with it and shearing off my locks. With longer hair, I look like a bad ass rocker. Without it, I always thought I looked like a geek or an accountant, not a musician.

Me with long hair rocking out on the drums with CSI.

No, I will not cut my hair, I said. I'd sooner have my head slammed in a car door.


Then, opinions from the love of my life and a coworker who I only talk to in passing changed it all.
My lovely wife used to always swoon at the sight of long haired me. Once you know what the love of your life finds attractive in you, you want to go out of your way to keep it going so they can continue to look at you the way they always have, am I right? Then, a year or so ago, she started to tell me my hair was thinning. I asked myself "how could this be? Look at all this hair I have!" Yet, she was right. It was not as flowing and thick as it once was. Still, I was determined to carry on with my hair and hope that the right shampoo or whatever would work a miracle. My wife had fallen in love with a long haired rock and roll guy, not a geek who couldn't get a date in high school even if I had a fistful of weekend passes at the prison on Orange Is The New Black. I was going to stay long haired or die trying.


Then one day, a few months ago, a co-worker casually asked me if I play in a band. I said yes.
He said I reminded him of Meat Loaf. *record scratch*


In my head, I was like WHAT?


Now, I am not disparaging the talent of Meat Loaf. He is an amazing singer and a hell of a talent. However, he was also known for being overweight and looking like a cliché. As someone who had always been slender to a point, to be compared looks wise to an overweight rock singer whose best days were behind him was the final nail in the coffin.


Cue the song "Too Old To Rock and Roll, Too Young to Die" by Jethro Tull, my soundtrack for when I feel that time has passed me by and I should just surrender all of my musical dreams and just resign myself to giving up.

                                   


Then after days of mulling it over, I shared my recounting of the Meat Loaf comment to my wife and another couple we are close with on an outing in Carlisle. I said that comment was too much for me to swallow and it is time that I cut my hair.


Still, I waited a month after saying that, due to the fact that I was in a state of denial. Come on, I can't get rid of the hair. It's how people know me! I'd look like a goof head banging with short hair on stage or at a concert. It was how I turned heads when I started attending church regularly. It was how my brothers and sisters in the music community knew who I was. Most importantly, my wife fell in love with me when I had long hair and I didn't want to remove one of my most attractive qualities. I wanted her to still look at me the same.


Rocker to dork. Rocker to dork. Selling out and going back to the guy I was in high school. After I graduated, I became who I did because I didn't want to go back to being someone who was always pushed around. After my dad committed suicide, I solidified my image because I really wasn't the person I grew up as anymore. I was now my own man. I kept myself away from family members I was very close to at one time because I was not that same person I was as a child. I erroneously thought that I had to say goodbye to everything from my past.


Then, my maternal grandmother passed away. While her loss shook everyone in my mom's side of the family to their core, in addition to that for myself, it made me do a lot of soul searching. It made me want to reconnect with family I had distanced myself from before it was too late. Out of sadness and mourning came new beginnings. I am reconnected with many members of my family on social media now and we can keep in contact with each other. I also was happy to see that some things have never changed and I still love them as much as I always have and that the feelings were mutual.


So, with renewed purpose and realizing that I can be the person I once was as a child and still be the person I became as an adult, I decided it was time to let go of a symbol that I could not hold on to anymore. Hair is just that, hair. It is not charisma. It is not charm. It is not personality. It is not talent. It is not sex appeal. It is just hair and nothing else.

On July 30, 2019, I said goodbye to most of my hair. I felt free afterwards. I shocked the daylights out of 90 percent of the people I know. I startled my daughter because she had never seen me with short hair, ever. I still have people come up to me at work and say "you got a haircut!" My only prayer is that people will still accept me even though I look different. It is still me!


Hmmm...maybe people will take me seriously here at work now and I can finally get a new position. Maybe this haircut can be my exit strategy...Stay tuned.

Get me some Kaboom! because it smells like mildew outside!

It is hard to get motivated when it feels like a dank, rank, mildew-y bathroom outside.




"Hi, Billy Mays here with another fantastic product!"

Yes, I know the old song "summertime and the living's easy", but seriously, who wants to be outside when it feels like this? I don't know what's causin' all this because I am no climatologist and I don't claim to be an expert at studying weather patterns long term. That's why you will get no preaching from me on climate change or anything like that, because the old saying goes better to remain silent and let people think you are a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. I'll leave that question to experts.


So for now, I will just crusade that workplace dress codes change and let male workers have the right to wear shorts. Wearing long pants on hot and humid days is either a felony or it should be.


I haven't written here for a while, mainly because it made no difference in how I feel about things long term. My former therapist (more on that in a minute) always wanted me to write feelings out and journal them. It helped for a while, but in the long run it just gave me an echo chamber and when you have no therapist to use as a sounding board for your inner fears and anxieties, you end up just talking to yourself. What good is that if you talk to yourself all of the time? We all do that! We call it a conscience.


Anyway, I have just ended my close to three year connection with the therapist who I was seeing. Due to a change in venue and wanting to focus on her son graduating and preparing for college, she is not practicing for the time being. Our time together bore much good fruit and it helped me in a tremendous fashion. I wish her all the best in the future because she is a gem and a credit to the profession. This Monday, I will start seeing a new therapist who also has a degree in pastoral counseling and is involved in her church. I think seeing a therapist with a religious background will put a new spin on things and try and connect faith with mental healing.


Her main focus is on CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) and Gestalt therapy. I don't know much about Gestalt, other than I think it means looking at the whole person (please correct me if I am mistaken). Yet, CBT seems very interesting to me and I wonder if it will have a chance to pierce the thick armor of pessimism that surrounds my psyche.


You see, usually when someone tries to use positive thinking voodoo hoodoo on me, I end up tuning them out real quick. It seems so corporate and contrived, like something you see on those posters in a doctors office or those memes that people post on social media. Stuff like "If you think you are a success, you are a success" and "believe to achieve" and other sayings seem so fake to me. Let us say that I am walking along and a man points a gun at me, demanding my wallet. He grows impatient and shoots me in the stomach. He runs away with my wallet and I am laying there on the sidewalk bleeding to death. If I was in that situation, I would start praying an act of contrition because I know my time is short and I want to at least make peace with God before I die. Yet, positive thinking says that you can survive this if you believe you can and you will it to happen. However, if my wound is too severe, even if I try to crawl to the nearest hospital for medical attention, chances are that I will bleed out before I get there. No amount of positive thinking can solve that situation. If the wound is too severe, you're dead.


I read a quote once that impacted me and my way of thinking. It said "Always expect the worst, then you can only be pleasantly surprised". Whether it be a healthy saying or an unhealthy one, it is true. When you expect the worst and something great happens, the euphoria you feel is beyond description, almost ecstasy. Yet, when you expect the worst and the worst happens, you are mentally prepared for it. You have rehearsed the long death march in your mind for a long time and you already know what to do. Negativity also seems more "real" to me. Look at the state of the world around us; protestors everywhere, we are governed by idiots and morons on both sides of the aisle, people suffering, newsmen and politicians preaching like street preachers that the end of the world is nigh (some idiot politicians think it is only 20 years away!), no one can have an opinion anymore without being blacklisted even if it is inoffensive in the so-called land of the free (I'm sorry, but even if your opinion is downright reprehensible and disgraceful, you have a right to say it in this country. Don't believe me? Read the 1st Amendment)...I'm sorry, but if you sound positive during even this crazy time in world history, you are either smoking the "hopium" or seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. It only makes sense and is more real and true to expect the worst.


Now, there have been long stretches of time where I will be very positive about many things. It truly does lead to a great state of mind, until something bad happens. Then, it knocks me for a loop and the fall is long and hard. It seems when you are already down, it hurts less because you do not have so far to fall.

Why do some therapists sound like Tony Robbins to me?

Both therapists I have had in the past 8 years have tried to implant positive thinking in my head and have succeeded for short periods of time. Inevitably, a fall always happens and it ends up making me tune out the positive thinking process. This new one will have a real challenge on their hands, because my goal is to achieve a positive mindset and know what to do when something bad does happen. Neither therapist has been able to help me do that.


I am praying that this time, it will turn out to be different. Pessimism is a cancer that I would not like to have anymore. It leads to the devils' marionette strings which is anxiety and depression.


Stay tuned.

Intelligent? Nah. Maybe an intelligent fool.

"Day after day, alone on a hill
The man with the foolish grin is sitting perfectly still
Nobody wants to know him
They can see that he's just a fool
But he never gives an answer
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning round
His head in a cloud
The man with a foolish grin is talking perfectly loud
But nobody wants to hear him
They can see that he's just a fool
But he never gives an answer
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning round"
The Beatles-"The Fool On the Hill"


My mom used to always tell me "you are such an intelligent young man"! Many other family friends would also say the same.


There are many days I wish they didn't do that.

Honestly, I am not that smart. Most of the information I retain is useless. Sure, I could tell you what the Philadelphia Phillies record was in 1986 (86 wins, 75 losses) and who the last Frenchman to win a Formula One race was (Olivier Panis, 1996 Monaco Grand Prix), but anything useful? Come on, I'm not your guy. You'd be better off asking someone else.


I am a fool. If making mistakes was an Olympic event, I'd have more medals than Michael Phelps or Usain Bolt. If putting my foot in my mouth was a Formula One race, I'd take pole position, fastest lap, and the race win. I constantly make others angry or annoyed because of it.


I can't stop doing it though.


Each day I say "this is the day I will stop making assumptions about things. This is the day I keep my mouth shut and not pretend to know more about something than I already do." Alas, I keep doing it!


The cycle continues, on and on. My dear wife, God bless her and love her and I am amazed she has stayed with a moron like me for nearly 20 years, tells me I need to stop doing it. I need to just take the advice and learn from it and stop making the same mistake. My brain must short circuit because it keeps happening. Learn, God damn me, learn!


I do enjoy learning and reading about many different topics, especially world history and politics. Yet, I only ever learn enough to know part of the story and not the full experience. I usually end up having to make assumptions based on conjecture or on what I already know. Sometimes, I am close to correct. More often than not though, I am off the mark by a great margin.

Maybe it is out of fear of being called dumb or stupid. I was called that a lot when I was younger. I was in special education classes when I was in school, because my short attention span made it difficult for me to pay attention. I still fight that. It is something you cannot just "stop". Yes, that annoys people too! I still fight the battle of paying attention, or not getting up, or not fidgeting around. It doesn't end. This is part of who I am, like it or not. Accept it. Whether you are family or friend, if you love and care about me, you will accept me as I am.


Those difficulties made it hard to learn things quickly and I still struggle with learning in many ways. For me to learn it, I have to do it. I'll read the same book 5 times to burn all the facts and figures into my brain. My dad drilled me on state capitals at length and shared other random facts that made me hungry to learn more about US and world history. That, and books, books, books. My nose was always in one, and I would keep reading them over and over. Read, read, read.


Whenever I shared something I read out of one of those books with my mom or dad, the "Oh, he's so smart!" praises would come. My grandparents would tell me the same, so would my aunts and uncles, and so would my teachers. I'll be honest, I liked hearing it!


Hello Mom. Hello Dad. I hate to disappoint you, but I'm not a genius. I just read a lot of stuff a thousand times over and remember it well because I read it so much. That does not make me smart, it makes me literate.


I never learned how to balance a budget in school, and I'm still not great at it. If I wasn't married to a woman who is amazing with numbers as she is in life, I'd be living in a van down by the river. I never learned how to do algebra. I know enough about things to know I don't know enough about them. It hasn't done me much good in life. Life is not a Trivial Pursuit game. The only thing knowing all that silly shit has given me is the ability to annoy the living hell out of others with my useless facts. I'd much rather know how to balance a checkbook than know what city is known as the "Rubber Capital of the World" (Akron, Ohio). Fuck that stuff. I wish I could forget it all.


All reading and learning that stuff did was made me think I knew more about topics than I actually did. It made me an intelligent idiot. What I had learned had given me a wide range of knowledge on a little bit of a lot of things, but no DEPTH. I had the who and the what, but not the how and the why, yet I still acted like I knew the how and the why. Why did I still speak up in those situations?


Because I did not want to look like a big dummy.

What I should remember is the old saying "Better that people think you are a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt". So what do I do? Open my mouth and remove all doubt.


Lately, I have been doing my best to correct that habit. Yet, I still have trouble checking my sources. I still find myself getting into discussions on emotion alone but with no facts. It has lessened greatly, but it still happens and that is not good enough. It's a bad habit and I want it gone.


Thanks, mom. Your positive reinforcement inflated my young ego and made me into a know-it-all who doesn't know shit, and as some one who cares strongly what others think of him (due to having a low-self esteem), I don't want to be a know-it-all. What I want is the wisdom to say the words "I don't know". There is power in those words. Of course, there are the numbskulls who say "what do you mean you don't know?" and make you feel like an idiot. When that happens, the opportunity to be goaded in to giving an answer without supporting facts or research is high for me.


Then, the fool opens his mouth and removes all doubt again, and as God as my witness, I am that fool. Lead me to my throne and hand me my bauble.

Please change the channel in the waiting room, I'm here to relieve anxiety and not have more caused by it.

"An' I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation
Never said I wanted to improve my station
An' I'm only doin' good
When I'm havin' fun
An' I don't have to please no one
An' I don't give a damn
'Bout my bad reputation"

Joan Jett-"Bad Reputation"

I'm only 42, but I'm about ready to drop a "get off my lawn" rant that would be fit for an octogenarian.

Kurt Cobain (courtesy of The Daily Beast)

I have always enjoyed rock music and pop music. I was dancing to it as a toddler. It's in my heart, my blood, my soul. While I feel lots of the rock or pop music you hear on the current airwaves is not as good as the classics, there is still a lot of talent out there that gives me hope that pure rock and roll will live on forever. I also hear many pop songs that pleasantly surprise me that I really enjoy. Yes, current pop songs. Thank the bumper music of the Armstrong and Getty radio show for introducing me to new stuff.

Then, I go to the waiting room before my therapy appointments at Mazzitti and Sullivan, and what wafts out of the radio on WINK 104's airwaves (local pop station) turns me from someone with optimism for the future of music to someone who weeps at the demise of music. In other words, it's perfect for putting me in the right mood for talking about depression with my therapist, because I am thoroughly depressed and ready to jab a fork in my eye after all of that.

Rock and roll used to be about pissing off the elites and giving the middle finger to authority. It used to be all about leading a revolution and leading a charge against the establishment. It used to be counterculture. It once was used to give a voice to the voiceless and hope to the hopeless.

Punch the leaders in the face and kick 'em in the balls.

Now, it has become kiss authority on the face and pleasure them while you are at it.

Katy Perry (courtesy of Billboard)

This rant has been brewing in me for a long time and I cannot hold it in any longer. As someone who has planted his flag in the ground for rock and roll I cannot sit idly by and continue to watch the genre I love be turned into a farce and a shell of what it once was.

Yet, many of my friends and people who love me think I am out of my mind for saying these things. Well, I am sorry. I have a God given right not to like everything I hear.

Is it because I hate popular music? No. Goodness, no. Far from it. I grew up listening to popular music. I got my sense of what is catchy and what isn't from growing up with popular music. So, no. I haven't a beef with popular music. My gripe is with how popular music is being executed these days.

In the 1970's, 1980's, and even the early 1990's, you had popular music that would make you want to get up out of your seat. The popular music of those times had energy. There was "umph", as many hard rock and heavy metal acts crossed over into the pop charts. There was diversity. You could listen to an entire episode of American Top 40 and not hear two songs that sounded the same. Many artists spoke with their own voice instead of trying to copy the sound of others.

There was also rebellion.While Johnny Rotten and Joe Strummer made political statements in their music with the shyness of a rifle butt to the back of the head, more mainstream groups were also making powerful political/social statements. "Shout" by Tears for Fears expressed concern over nuclear war. "Don't Close Your Eyes" by hair metallers Kix tackled the topic of teen suicide. "It's A Sin" by the Pet Shop Boys grappled with Neil Tennant's homosexuality and the challenges of living with it at that time.  Pop/rock artists of the era were very politically and socially aware...even good time tunes like "Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats was an anti-war song. In the early 90's, bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam were the West Coast distributors of socially aware, and they knew how to make noise. In my day, we wore leather jackets, flannel shirts, Doc Martens, and we rocked the vote! Gen X was the original socially aware generation and our music proved it. We had sit ins by day and mosh pits by night at the local rock club.

Nowadays, not only has the bite gone out of the commentary from pop artists, the bounce and the hook has gone as well. Sure, Lizzy Hale from Halestorm can kick ass seven ways til Sunday, and Lady Gaga is a walking commentary with her meat dresses and her wild look and her retro sound, but most pop artists seemed to have lost their edge and mellowed. I swear, many of the songs I hear on WINK 104 today make 70s soft rockers Bread look like Mayhem in comparison.

Take John Legend for example. Very talented individual, though his stage name is far from earned yet. His appearance on the televised version of Jesus Christ Superstar is proof of his incredible talent. Yet, in his mega hit ballad "All of Me", he sounds like he is crying before and after sex. I hear this song a lot in the waiting room, and believe me, it gets me ready to vent like crazy because the song drives me to some vile thoughts with its sappy delivery and flaccid sound.

Then there is another song, who I have no idea who does it, who sings "Hey Mr. DJ, play that song all night long". Um, no. If you are at a club and the DJ plays that song, fire his ass. I hear that song a lot in the waiting room as well, and it also makes me ready to vent because it annoys me so.

Another example is John Mayer. All I hear is how amazing of a blues guitarist he is, yet his biggest hit is the schmaltzy "Your Body is a Wonderland". OK, to be fair...that's not his fault. Radio stations choose the hits and not the artists. Maybe if they played his stuff where he shows off some licks and riffs and bluesy fire ala Stevie Ray Vaughn or Joe Bonamassa, maybe I would not have been turned off to discovering more of his work. In fact, I do need to check out more of his work because I am sure much of it outshines that ballad.

For the most part, pop music today seems too happy. Nothing wrong with happy, but when every song you hear on the area's top pop station while sitting in the waiting room sounds almost indistinguishable from the next song, you start to wonder what happened to the rebellion, what happened to the commentary, what happened to the angst? Do teenagers get angry anymore? Do they want to pick up a guitar and rock or play a beat that will make you move? Do they want to write something that sticks it to the man? If this is the most "socially aware" generation in history, where is the music that reflects it? Look who is in the White House! Look who could have been in the White House! Either way, anger should have found its expression in the audio arts. This should be a ripe age for extreme rock and pop to tear up the airwaves with a message of freedom. Yet, I am not hearing it.

In the waiting room, I just hear the same limp drivel, driving me to madness and making me weep for the state of music.

We need more Lizzy Hales and less Katy Perrys. We need more Dr. Dre and less John Legend. We need more Nirvana and less Maroon 5. We need angst. We need a message.

We need sonic rebellion.

Selfie Esteem Boosting Experiment

"Of all of our inventions for mass communication, pictures still speak the most universally understood language."

-Walt Disney

First "leather jacket" selfie. I took it at my church, next to a crucifix.

Skinny. Geek. Skeleton. Wimp. Pencil Boy. Nerd. Dork. Chicken Legs.


I don't save many older pictures of myself.


When you are constantly mocked and degraded for being a skinny beanpole wimpazoid on your way up through school, you don't like to be reminded of what you used to look like. Especially when, for the most part, you still look like that. During the summer months, when I am forced to wear shorts, I look at my pipe-cleaner legs and knock knees and think that I must look like a walking tom turkey. I hate going out on date nights with my wife during summer months because I hate the way I look. Whenever I go out somewhere in shorts, I hear voices in my head from my younger days ready to insult me, ready to taunt me, ready to push me into a locker or spit on me.


During the winter and cooler months, I thrive fashion-wise because I can hide the things that I hate about my body. Long pants can hide my hideous legs. wearing a long sleeve shirt can hide my pathetic forearms. When it's time to go outside, I eschew the sweater, the fleece, or the parka. I'm a rocker. I spent my whole childhood wearing boring crap my mom bought me. There is only one thing I allow myself to wear: the leather jacket!

Me in one of my favorites, a brown distressed leather I bought at a thrift shop in Montreal, Quebec.

It makes me feel powerful, noticeable, attractive (yes, I am happily married. I love my wife and I want to look my best for her. I still want to impress her. However, does that mean I have to wear potato sacks and burlap when I am not with her?), larger than life, and like a rock and roll star. It gives me a shot of confidence even on my lowest days.


I recently revived my dormant Instagram account because I found a better way to take selfies with my phone: using a timer. I am horrible at taking them. I don't see how people hold their phone with one hand and snap a picture with the other and still have time to look all prim and proper for their photo. I always look like I am trying to wring my phone by it's neck. I also refuse to buy a selfie stick...just, no.


Yet, with the timer, I found I can take a perfect selfie. That gave me an idea.


Since my self-esteem is perennially in the dumper because I am not Ryan Reynolds or Tom Hiddleston or Chris Hemsworth and sometimes I even amaze myself that I was ever able to be blessed to be married to a beautiful woman and have a beautiful daughter, I decided to take daily motivational selfies of me in my leather jacket collection. It's to remind myself that I am no longer the loser I was in school and that I am somebody who is not a bad looking guy.

Rocking a soft brown trench I bought at a flea market

Since I have started, I have noticed a slight upsurge in my self-esteem, and I really enjoy it when others like them too. It gives me a really nice shot in the arm that does serve as motivation throughout the day. You might call it vain or prideful, but for someone who was terminally teased for years about his looks, it does help me with my anxiety and my self-confidence. Would you rather I felt good about myself or wallowed in depression?


Yesterday, I even got my former supervisor, who is a friend of mine, in on the act because we both noticed we wore the same style jacket. So, she took one with me! Little moments like that during the day make me smile, and it is always good to catch up with a friend whom you do not get to see very often since they moved to a new office.

My friend Lizette and I outside of our building. Great minds think alike!

While I once found the selfie a form of photography that was for the vain and the well coordinated and the trendy (and in some cases I still think that), I now understand why people do them. When you feel good on the inside, it radiates to the outside and vice versa. You want to remember the moment and maybe share it with others. They say if you feel good about yourself, it also rubs off on others. People can feel it as well as see it.


So, from now on, the leather selfies will continue because it makes my morale improve.

Confessions of an older gamer

"I got a pocket full of quarters, and I'm headed to the arcade.
I don't have a lot of money, but I'm bringing everything I made.
I've got a callus on my finger, and my shoulder's hurting too.
I'm gonna eat them all up, just as soon as they turn blue."

Buckner & Garcia- "Pac Man Fever"

Ever since I got a Nintendo Entertainment System for Christmas in 1988, I have been a video game fan.

Sure, I may have never gotten "Pac Man Fever" (I was never very good at it), but I was always huge into Super Mario Brothers, The Legend of Zelda, and Mega Man. I have spent many hours over the years going off to far away lands and imaginary places, meeting interesting creatures, and blasting them to smithereens. I was (and still am) also heavy into racing games. I call myself the King of racing games in my peer group. Nobody can beat me at a racing game, take it to the bank.

As I have gotten older and the gaming systems have gotten more and more innovative, it is incredible to see how far the industry has come. We even have video games that have become sports in their own right, and it has become a very popular thing and a big industry. One of my close friends even has a job in it. It's absolutely amazing how far the gaming world has come since the days of Pong and Pac Man.

Me? I do still enjoy picking up one of the classics and having some good fun with it. The fact that Mega Man 11 is coming out makes me want to start dusting off my collection of games featuring the Blue Bomber. Good, old fashioned, sometimes frustrating, but always fun.

Yet, while I still enjoy the old games, and still love playing racing games, when it comes to adventure style games, I was forever spoiled when I was introduced to a certain game in 2001-02.

The game? Grand Theft Auto 3.

It was my introduction to open world or "sandbox" style games. To me it was a revelation and a revolution. It also ruined every single other adventure game ever made that I had ever played. You didn't have to just follow a pre-ordered strand of levels or stages. You controlled a character in what almost seemed to be a virtual living environment inside of what could be a real city. You could go anywhere you wanted and do almost anything. Go on a crime spree, run from the police, cause mass chaos...anything! You name it, you could do it for the most part. What a great release and escape from all the problems of your daily life! Someone wrecks into your car in real life, you call the police and wait for a tow truck and exchange insurance information. In GTA? Pull the driver out of the other car and beat him up, or smash his car, or blow it up with a rocket launcher...and it's good clean fun because it is in a video game and it's not real!

It's a game that made breaking the law a fun activity...in a video game. Please note, I do not condone violence against others or against law enforcement or violence in general as I do my best to be a law-abiding, God-fearing citizen. Realize that I am not talking about real life here...it's in a video game. For me, it is the perfect release after a hectic day.

Yet, that even is not the best part about the Grand Theft Auto series...the best part is how open world the environment is and how you do not have to fight in a pre-set series of levels or quests. Hell, you can spend countless hours just roaming around and causing trouble. You don't even have to complete one single mission to have fun. That was the best part of all.

For me, Grand Theft Auto 3 was the best video game ever made and I thought nothing could top it. Then, Grand Theft Auto: Vice City came out, and it pushed the envelope even further. With it's retro-80's vibe and hot soundtrack, it would be me if you could take me and turn me into a video game! There was no way I felt that game could be topped, until Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas came out and that proved me wrong again! Set in cities based off of Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Las Vegas circa 1992, it once again captured the feeling and spirit of the time it was set in, with its gangsta rap sound track, street tough vibe, and more and more things for you to do and more and more glorious ways to cause mayhem! Unlike the first two games of the GTA series, San Andreas still holds up all of these years later because of the depth contained within its disc. Say it with me now: "GROVE STREET FAMILIES 4 LIFE!"

After playing games in the Grand Theft Auto series, I can honestly say, no other gaming franchise interests me anymore, at least when it comes to new releases. Sure, I love the old Nintendo games, but to me they have always seemed more geared towards children. That's fine for my daughter and her friends, and me if I decide to join in on a game with them, but it just does not hold my interest. Yes, the new breed of shooters that have hit the stage like Overwatch and Call of Duty all look like fun, but online gaming has one hang up with me: the veterans who always pick on the new gamers and don't give them a fair chance to establish themselves and get comfortable with the game (a big reason I never got into fighting games). Plus, once again, it is not open world. And yes, I love new racing games and I think I could give lots of the youngsters in Forza Horizon, Project Cars, and F1 2018 a good run for their money, but once again, the rogue gamer is always lurking who takes delight in crashing the new drivers into the wall and ruining everyone elses race (this is a real problem in online racing. I was winning a Grand Prix running away in F1 2017 until some idiot running a lap down decided to drive the wrong way and run into the leaders. I lost my front wing, had to pit, and finished a lap down. Racing game message boards are flooded with stories of this). Unless rules and etiquette are enforced in online gaming, I think I'll be sitting out and just stick with single player.

To anyone who reads this, I am looking for more open world sandbox style games to enjoy ala Grand Theft Auto series. I enjoyed Red Dead Revolver for the XBox, but am really interested in Red Dead Redemption 1 and 2, so if anyone has played them, drop me a line. I liked the first two games in the Saints Row series, but then they went off into bizzaro world and just got silly.

Oh yes, I do have GTA 4 and GTA 5, and adore them greatly and consider those two games works of art. Yet, for some reason, I have to rank GTA: San Andreas as the greatest video game I have ever played. Why? Depth. Yes, GTA 4 and 5 wow me with their amazing graphics and well written storylines, but you just can't do all that you could do in San Andreas. Sometimes newer isn't better.

A big part of me wishes I could go back to enjoying a simple side-scroller or one of the new games that are in vogue, but I keep getting the urge to "follow the damn train, CJ!" and I end up transporting myself to the land of San Andreas circa 1992, to help CJ and the Grove Street Families take over the city and build a criminal empire. My wife and daughter and I have some company tonight, and I love them and adore them dearly, but I hopefully will get a small slice of time to bust some caps in San Andreas.

GROVE STREET IS KING!



No bullshit, no run-around. Just heal me.

"Doctor, doctor, please
Oh, the mess I'm in
Doctor, doctor, please
Oh, I'm going fast"

UFO-"Doctor, Doctor"

I have never been the biggest fan of medical professionals.

Even though I have family who work and have worked in the medical field (not as doctors, but nurses and medical records), I have just never been the biggest supporter of doctors or nurses.

I don't know why.

A big reason might be my naivete towards medicine. On one hand, the advances in the medical field have been absolutely amazing. Diseases that used to run riot through the population like smallpox, polio, and cholera have been practically wiped out. Organ transplants, MRIs, new surgical techniques, and developments in prescriptions have done a world of wonders in helping people live longer and healthier lives.

Yet, in some aspects, medicine still seems like it is stuck in the Dark Ages where a sawbones would stick you on a dirty table to amputate a gangrene limb with nothing but a saw and a rag for you to bite down on. People pile up into emergency rooms and wait hours for treatment that should not take hours to recieve. Doctors give incorrect diagnoses. Surgeries are botched. People see 5 different doctors, get 5 different opinions, and are no closer to any answers for what is ailing them.

A few months ago, my father-in-law was in the hospital for what appeared to be heart issues. He was looked at several times but no one seemed to be sure what was wrong with him. At times like that, you want answers, not more questions. I was scared and saddened, as I did not want to lose another

father whom I loved. How are answers so difficult to find in an age of modern technology and medical advances?

I was plagued by ear problems earlier this year that I thought were going to damage my hearing. I went to the doctor several times and was told I had an ear infection, but nothing I was given seemed to clear it up. Finally, I went to the emergency room. They gave me a cat scan. Still, nothing was found. I felt like I was losing my mind because I knew something was wrong with me and these dodos were missing it, even though they had all these tools at their disposal to find it! I know something is wrong here, find it and tell me what the hell it is! Thankfully, the symptoms have seemed to alleviate due to a daily dose of allergy medicine. Still, it was a real pain in the ass that they could not diagnose a simple issue like that.

The issues with my ear, along with the trouble they had with trying to find out what was wrong with my father-in-law, really made me distrusting of doctors and them doing the job right the first time.

Over the summer, I went in to the doctor to get some issues I have been having with headaches, neck, and back pain looked at. At first, things seemed to be going a lot smoother in this process. At my initial visit, they checked my neck and felt that I WAS having issues! Hallelujah! They knew I wasn't

making things up. I was put on a drug for migraines (that doesn't work), given a prescription for muscle relaxers (that don't work), and was told to get X-rays done. When the results for the X-rays came back, I was told I have degenerative disc disease, a condition that may eventually leave me disabled.

The prescription? Physical therapy.

Now, after going to physical therapy for over a month now, I quite enjoy it. Yet, I am not seeing the benefits of it as of the time of this writing. It's been great to exercise as Lord knows I could use it, but I still have pain, and on some days afterwards I feel like I can barely move. Some of the exercises seem so pointless for what my condition is. Finally, we are doing weights, so it seems like we are cooking with gas at last, but some of the other exercises they have me do seem so useless for what I have wrong with me.

The pain in my neck has been bad the past few days, and my anxiety has ran riot due to these issues and not being able to see my therapist. I want to see my doctor to get a stronger anti-depressant (cause I want to be happy all the time) and also to ask them why they only did a physical therapy prescription for my neck and not my lower back, which is also troubling me and I think the X-rays would have told the doctor that. Why am I only being half-treated? Instead, it seems like they want me to have a physical instead. I was in a depressed and foul mood yesterday when I called my doctor to cancel the appointment for the physical, telling them what I wanted to be treated for and I would rather they treat me for those issues than just give me my "50,000 mile check-up". I was not happy. I dislike physicals because of the tedium and finger wagging the doc gives you if one of your levels is too high, but I will get it done because what choice do I have? I'd rather live in pain and still experience things than die.

Now, we are in the year 2018, right? Isn't there some form of back surgery I can get where I know I will make a full recovery? Surely, we have the technology at this stage in our development. If we can invent a telephone you can watch Netflix on, surely we have the ability to do a spinal operation which will allow someone with DDD to recover and live a full and comfortable life. It would also do wonders for people who are parapalegics or quadriplegics.

 

Yet, we do not have that. Why is that? Are we holding back? Is it insurance plans? Is it cost?

 

Apologies if I sound "political" here (OK TIME OUT! Why the fuck do we see all issues through a political lens? Can't we just look at issues without sticking a "liberal" or "conservative" label next to them? A good idea is a good idea, don't shit on it just because the person who brought it up votes

differently than you. Now, back to my message) but why is the medical profession so driven by money on both the physician side and the insurance side?

Why do we put a price on people's wellness and quality of life? Be it astronomical medical bills (after I saw what it costs to take someone to the hospital in an ambulance I nearly shit myself) or idiotic insurance plans, both sides do their best to make just getting sick and dying your most cost effective option. Maybe the health system should not be a for profit system. As great as free enterprise is, when it comes to people's health, it should be people before pennies. It should not cost half a million dollars for a routine operation or even a life saving one.

Anyway, sue me, but we're talking about the lives and quality of life of PEOPLE. Fuck money. Not everything has to make money.

Maybe I am spoiled by how Dr. Bones McCoy saw "modern medicine" in Star Trek IV: The Journey Home. Yes, it is only a movie, but you wonder why our medical technology has not moved as fast as it should move, and why certain operations are not possible even in the 21st century.

The way I see it is this: I am sick or hurt. You are a doctor. You went to medical school so you should know what to do. Fix me. Heal me. That's it. Don't give me the runaround or send me to ten different places. Heal me. That is all I want. Don't charge me astronomical fees for an aspirin, a shot, or an ambulance ride. Just heal me. Don't tell me 8 different ideas on what might be wrong with me. Give me the right answer the first time.

Just heal me.



Bob Welch: He didn't want to be a burden

“I’m not going to do this to you.”

-Bob Welch in his suicide note

Bob Welch

The job of a musician is to bring beautiful noise to an ugly world.

However, the onslaught of the aging process on the human body, or disease, or disability, can take the gift of making music away, and the effect it can have on a musician is devastating. It can be traumatizing. It can even drive you to end your life.

Consider the case of legendary guitarist Bob Welch, who once was a member of the incomparable Fleetwood Mac and also had several hit albums and songs on his own. Bob Welch took his own life on June 7, 2012. Yes, his death was a few years ago, but the circumstances that led to his end are what is causing me to write about him today, as I was unaware of them at the time of his death.

As a musician, someone who has lost a family member to suicide, and someone who struggles with his own personal phantoms who fight to take him down the same path, I am doubly saddened when I hear of a musician who has taken his own life. When I found out why Bob Welch took his own life, it scared me, because it is similar to something that is affecting me not emotionally, but physically. You see, he was suffering from chronic back pain and received spinal surgery three months before his death, and that surgery was unsuccessful.

But first, for the readers who do not know who Bob Welch is, let me introduce you to him.

As a youngster, Welch learned clarinet, switching to guitar in his early teens. He had received his first guitar at the age of eight. The young Welch developed an interest in jazz, rhythm and blues, and rock music. After graduating from high school, Welch eschewed attending Georgetown University, where he had been accepted, to move to Paris, professedly to attend the Sorbonne. Welch told People in a 1979 interview that, in Paris, "I mostly smoked hash with bearded guys five years older." He spent time "sitting in the Deux Magots café" rather than attending to his studies, and eventually returned to Southern California, where he studied French at UCLA.

Welch was struggling as a guitarist in his own band, Head West, when he was brought into the British blues band Fleetwood Mac in 1971. The band decided to hire Welch after a few meetings with him, without even hearing him play or listening to anything he recorded! Welch's debut album with the Mac was 1971's Future Games, and his second album with the band, Bare Trees, was released six months later. One of the songs recorded on Bare Trees was a Welch penned tune entitled "Sentimental Lady", which would later play a huge part in his solo career.

Bob Welch (center, in glasses) with Fleetwood Mac. Courtesy of ABC News

Three more albums with Fleetwood Mac would follow, Penguin and Mystery To Me, both released in 1973, and Heroes Are Hard To Find, which was released in 1974. However, the touring and the recording had taken its toll on Welch, who's marriage was failing and he had also felt he had reached his creative plateau with the Mac. Replacing Welch in Fleetwood Mac was a young guitarist named Lindsay Buckingham, who also brought in his girlfriend Stevie Nicks as a second vocalist. The rest, as they say, was history.

Unless you are a die-hard fan of Fleetwood Mac, it seems that the name Bob Welch has been forgotten other than being known as "the guy who was in the band before Lindsay Buckingham". Yet, the earlier material of the Mac was still quite good, especially from the era that Welch was part of, and it deserves a good listen. Unfortunately, when Fleetwood Mac was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Welch was not invited. Welch himself is quoted as saying in an interview with the Plain Dealer "My era was the bridge era, It was a transition. But it was an important period in the history of the band. Mick Fleetwood dedicated a whole chapter of his biography to my era of the band and credited me with 'saving Fleetwood Mac'. Now they want to write me out of the history of the group. It hurts. Mick and I co-managed the group for years. I'm the one who brought the band to Los Angeles from England, which put them in the position of hooking up with Lindsey and Stevie. I saw the band through a whole period where they barely survived, literally."

Yet, Bob Welch did find greener commercial pastures with the release of his first solo album French Kiss, which was released in 1977, and featured contributions from Mick Fleetwood, Lindsay Buckingham, and Mac vocalist/keyboardist Christine McVie. It was certified Platinum, reached #12 on the Billboard charts in 1978, and yielded three hit singles; "Sentimental Lady" (chart position #8), "Ebony Eyes" (chart position #14), and "Hot Love, Cold World" (chart position #31). In 1979 the album Three Hearts was released, which reached Gold certification and spawned another hit single "Precious Love" (chart position #19).

                                         Promo video for "Sentimental Lady"

                                          Promo video for "Ebony Eyes"

Welch continued to record and release albums into the 1980s, but developed an addiction to cocaine and heroin, which he was able to overcome in 1986 with the help of rehab and the support of his new wife. Welch then focused on writing music for others, but did return with an experimental Jazz/loop based album called Bob Welch Looks at Bop in 1999. He also released two albums where he re-recorded his material from his Fleetwood Mac days.

You are probably expecting me to say that things would continue to get better for Bob Welch, but sadly that was not to be. He had undergone spinal surgery earlier in 2012, but his doctors told him that he would not fully recover, which made him very depressed. He was in constant pain, and he didn't want his wife to have to care for someone who was an invalid. One of the sentences in Bob's nine page suicide note read "I’m not going to do this to you." Welch had watched his mother care for his invalid father for years and apparently didn't want the same fate for himself, or his family. So, on June 7, 2012, at approximately 6:00 AM in his family's Nashville home, Welch took a shotgun and ended his 66 years on Earth with a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

I remember when Welch committed suicide, because I was a Fleetwood Mac fan and I also remembered songs like "Sentimental Lady" and "Ebony Eyes" from hearing them on classic rock radio. So, of course I was saddened by it. It was not until recently that I discovered why he killed himself. He could not deal with making his family care for someone who would be practically helpless due to his spinal surgery being unsuccessful.

His issues made me think of my own back problems, and the possibility that I may end up in a wheelchair someday or worse, which would make my family have to wait on me hand and foot. That would be a hard load to bear, and I pray to God that I do not end up in his position. I don't want my family to just live to take care of me, especially if I was just lying around useless.

However, you have to also imagine that the loss of the ability to play music really contributed to Bob Welch wanting to take his own life.

People who aren't artists or musicians do not understand how much having that talent means to you as a person. You feel as if you were touched by God or a higher power to have a gift and to share it with others, to entertain people, to make people cheer and smile. Now, take that away from them...the Lord has just rendered you mute. You cannot share that talent with the world anymore. You cannot bring joy to people anymore. Add that to the fact that you have been rendered invalid due to disease, an accident, or a botched operation, it is easy to see how someone could be made to feel worthless.

I constantly worry about being one twist or turn away from a major spinal problem and ending up in a wheelchair. I constantly worry about losing my ability to play music. Losing that gift could be a blow that sends me over the edge like it did for Bob Welch. I just want to keep working to make sure that the day never comes where I have to lay my sticks aside for good.

I think people like Bob Welch or myself would benefit from a support group of musicians that are dealing with a disability. I think it would do a lot of good for musicians who are struggling with physical pain and/or loss of the ability to play like they did before. It would help to know you are not alone. Heaven knows there are days I just want to quit and throw in the towel and it would be good to have other musicians with the same struggles to reach out to.

Rest in peace Bob Welch. Thank you for the wonderful music you left your fans here on Earth. Like everyone who has died from suicide, I wish you had someone to help you out and someone to talk to when times got tough. I pray one thing I can do in this lifetime is help those who are hurting and in pain.



"Your Story Isn't Over Yet..Choose to Continue".

"And after all the violence and double talk
There's just a song in all the trouble and the strife
You do the walk, yeah, you do the walk of life
You do the walk of life"


Dire Straits- "Walk of Life"

People registering for the walk

After a slow start, participants began to roll in

During the walk (all photos are my own)

This year, it was time to take 20 years of sorrow and try putting it into action.


Anyone who knows me well is quite familiar with my struggles caused by the emotional trauma of my dad's suicide in 1998. The anxiety, depression, and fear of losing everything and everyone around me that was exacerbated by this incident has left a scar on my heart and my mind that may never heal. So, I won't go into details here. For years, I felt alone as if no one understood what I was going through. People who love and care about me would say to me things like "Learn to let go", "It's not your fault", "Time heals all wounds", "You need to forget about this". Please know, I am not upset at anyone for telling things like that to me. Y'all were just trying to help me feel better and heal and I appreciate that! However, unless you have seen what I have seen and dealt with, or went through this yourself, it is VERY hard to understand what is going on inside my mind and my heart. Therapy has helped, but it is not a cure. Medication has helped, but it is not a remedy. There are many times I still feel alone and misunderstood. I wondered if people like me, who lost a loved one to suicide, or struggle with depression and have attempted suicide themselves, have a voice.


Then I found out about the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.


The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) is a voluntary health organization founded in 1987 by a group of families who joined with scientists to establish a source of support for suicide research and education. AFSP is now the largest private funder of suicide prevention research. It is headquartered in New York, with an office in Washington, D.C. AFSP has chapters in all 50 states, leading the charge in education, advocacy, research and support. One of their fundraising events are the "Out Of The Darkness" walks, and two took place in Central PA in September; one in Harrisburg, and last Saturday in Carlisle.


Finding out about this organization was a revelation. It was a realization that I was not alone. I knew that there were others out there who suffered because of the suicide of someone in their lives be it family, friend, co-worker or comrade in arms. I knew there are people out there who struggle with
their own demons. When you have a mind that is racked with anxieties, depression, and worry, you have no idea what could send you over the edge or what small trigger could make you decide to take your own life. It is a difficult thing to live with, and chances are even the closest people to you in your life will have trouble understanding what you go through. You sometimes feel like screaming out loud "DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND?". You take out your anger on your friends and family because you don't know any better and you are frustrated. With an organization like AFSP, you don't have to feel alone. One way or another, you will meet someone who will understand the pain you are going through and is willing to share their story.

Tribute ceremony before the start of the walk

During the walk

At the walk, I was talking with an Army veteran who had written a book about his experiences with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). He had served four tours of duty in combat in Iraq, 3 times during Operation Iraqi Freedom, and once during Operation Desert Storm. He said that you can never be completely cured of the symptoms and you can never totally say you are free. Therapy can help you deal with it, but the feelings will always be there and some days are better than others. While he has suffered much more than I will ever suffer due to his combat experiences, I did feel a connection to him and how this does seem like a futile fight on some days. Be it seeing your best friend killed in action or finding your loved one passed out in a garage because of CO2 poisoning, that image will stay with you forever and you can't erase it. The best thing you can do is learn to live with it.


I also met another cool individual, a local race car driver named Richie Dobson. His number 55x Chevy Monte Carlo street stock runs at BAPS Motor Speedway in York Haven, PA. His motto is "Racing For Awareness", and his main sponsor on his car is the cause of suicide prevention. His own father committed suicide a few years after my own father did so. Racing fan that I am, I took several pics of the car (very sharp machine!) and looked closely at the livery (sponsor & color scheme) on the car. Typical sponsors of local racing cars adorned the machine (like Shermans Creek Inn in Shermans Dale), but the most prominent sponsor was to raise suicide awareness, with a very moving motto..."Your Story Isn't Over Yet..Choose to Continue". Also, around the suicide awareness logo was a few names, which I found out were the names of people who have lost their battle to suicide. To raise money for AFSP, he sells space on his car for people who have lost loved ones to suicide to put their loved ones' name on the car.

Me with Richie Dobson, driver of the Double Nickel Motorsports 55x

Tribute plate to Richie's late father on the front of the car

Learning that was like getting hit with a ray of sunshine through clouds of grey. My dad was a huge racing fan and passed that love of the sport on to me. He used to work on a pit crew for a driver at Silver Spring Speedway and he was a huge fan of NASCAR legend Dale Earnhardt. What could be a better tribute for my dad than to put his name on an actual racing car? So, I happily paid the fee and signed his name to a list, a list that I hope does not get bigger, because I pray no one else has to go through the pain of losing someone to suicide.


Wherever my dad is, and I pray he is in heaven, I bet he was smiling.


Yeah, to some that might seem silly, but it helped a lot in lightening a heavy burden on my shoulders. Just finding a way to properly pay him tribute is a massive step down the healing road. Dobson's car is quite competitive and he is a capable driver, so it would be awesome to go to the track and cheer
him and the 55x to victory. Then I could say, my dad's name made it to victory lane.


Dad, I will love you always and forever. My prayers for you have never ceased, neither has my mourning of your loss. My only hope is that your soul is in heaven, which is God's victory lane.


Love, your little Augie, Matt.


To learn more about the AFSP, please log on to https://afsp.org/


To learn more about and follow Double Nickel Motorsports, log on to: https://www.facebook.com/DoubleNickelMotorsport/




Your Story Isn't Over Yet..Choose To Continue

Living with survivor's guilt

"Repentant tears wash out the stain of guilt."

-Saint Augustine

September 3, 1998.

What if I was at home that day?

What would have happened if I didn't leave the house to go visit a friend in Shermans Dale to hang out, drink, smoke, and blaze a few joints? What if I came home afterwards instead of driving aimlessly along the roads of Silver Spring Township, lamenting my loneliness and my bad financial situation and fearing any reprisals that would come my way from a father who just would not let me live the life I wanted to live?

I ask myself those questions every day of my life. I live with them. They keep me awake at night sometimes. They give me nightmares. They make me question everything, especially my purpose in life and my faith in God. I can play through every detail in my mind as if it was captured on video. Ask me what I was wearing that day and I could tell you. Ask me what I was listening to musically that day and I could tell you. Ask me anything about it.

Some call it "survivor's guilt", which is part of the PTSD spectrum.

According to Psychology Today: symptoms of survivors' guilt include avoidance, feeling on edge, vigilant, detached, and easily startled. Additional signs include obsessing over what happened, feeling confused, unworthy, or ambivalent about living, harping on the meaning of life, or being plagued by the sense that no matter where you go, you’re never really safe. The resulting self-condemnation and isolation takes a toll on health and relationships. I am certain that this has taken a toll on many of my relationships with family and friends.

Carrying the guilt that you feel over not being there for a family member, friend, or loved one that needed you in the case that said person has caused harm or fatal injury to his/herself is a very heavy cross to bear. It is a cross that I really do not want to carry anymore, but I feel I have to.

Why? I was not there for my dad when he needed someone. His death is my fault in some ways.

Now, a long line of people, from friends and family all the way up to my therapist, have said the same thing: "It's not your fault". For 20 years, all I hear is "it's not your fault". Yes, that is correct. On the surface, that is 100% correct. I do not disagree with that. Yet, you are not looking deep enough. Dig deeper.

I was very irresponsible in the months leading up to dad's suicide. I was writing bad checks, stealing money from my dad's stash to augment my meager salary from my nursing home job, spending lots of time away from home, and more worried about the next pack of Marlboros or the next paycheck so I could buy a drum kit and start my dream of being a musician. Selfish shit. I should have stayed home more, then I would have known my dad was spiraling downward and his relationship with mom was deteriorating. Mom did tell me a thing or two, but I didn't buy it. Not dad, not the guy who had the balls to get up on a municipal plow during a blizzard and demand the driver clear our road so a mother with a newborn could get food for her kid. Not the guy who could put the fear of God into me with one look. Not the guy who all the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of and respected, even if they didn't like me. Not the guy who carried his family on his back and built a successful business from nothing. Not him. Mom was just telling stories, I thought. Dad's got balls of iron, nothing can scare him. He's the toughest man alive. He'll always be around, and I will be forever under his thumb.

I was yearning to be out from under his control, everything so orderly and responsible. I was wishing that something would happen so that I would be free of his authority, so I could live my life, and do what my friends were doing, living on fast food and alcohol, being wasted, writing music, playing

drums, sleeping on the floor of crummy motels, living the life of a musician (or so I thought it was at the time!)!

So, you could say, the day he died, my wish came true. Yes, I was overcome with grief, shock, and loss (because I did not want him out of my life THAT way! I was thinking more of my own place or something), but also a sense of relief and freedom I never felt before. Also, and may God forgive me for saying this, or may He punish me eternally in Hell for this...there were times I was actually GLAD he was not around anymore. Lord, have mercy on me and forgive me, please. How I could have felt gladness at all after the death of a parent is an unforgivable sin, even if it was brief and my mind would return back to reality and mourn shortly after.

Now, if I was a good, responsible son, I would have been there for him. I would have talked him out of it. I would have saved the relationship between himself and my mother. I know I could do it. What parent would turn down the wishes of their child? I could have been the glue that held them together.

But I wasn't there. Instead, I was hanging with a wastoid friend, being a wastoid, while at home my parents threw away 25 years of marriage and dad threw away 45 years of life.

So yes, in a way, his death IS my fault. I was not there to stop something I know damn well I could have easily stopped. If I didn't stop it, at least I would have tried my best, and if there would have been a struggle and I died, it would have been trying to help my family instead of  dying for something selfish. No greater love is there than a man who would lay down his life.

Also, the fact that I felt relief and freedom and sometimes even gladness at times after he was gone is an abomination, something I cannot forgive myself for. I should have grieved for him ALL the time and never felt any joy or happiness in those days afterwards. Yes, I DID GRIEVE, I DID MOURN, but not all the time. Those times of relief are a millstone around my neck. No priest can forgive that sin.

So, after digging deeper, you can most definitely see why this guilt may never leave. The guilt a survivor feels is like a penance. It's his price for survival. You're gonna carry that weight a long time. Have you had a loved one who has killed himself? A mother? A father? A brother? A sister? A child? A spouse? A friend? If so, surely you have felt the same way and still do. It's OK to feel that way and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

It is not much different from the soldier who lost his buddy in Desert Storm, or the friend who lost their co-workers on 9/11. You wonder and wonder how things could have been different, if you could have done something, anything, to save someone close to you. Even if it isn't your fault, your heart and your head will always say that it is. The hardest part is learning to live with the burden and not letting it destroy you. Somehow, I do. This is going to be with me the rest of my life. You can't cure it, so you have to find a way to live with it, and on days like the early part of this month every single year, it is a living hell.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.