All For More (Or Less)

Today is the day that I put an end to this.
I am done with the lunatics in my head and done with all else that distracts me from who I am or who I choose to be.

There are nights when I have dreams and I am faced with the younger version of myself.
I see this clearly.
I see the way I was and how I behaved. or I might see a place that I used to go to.
Sometimes I see the places where I used to hide.
And I wonder . . .
I wonder what life might have been if I decided to go on my own instead of trying to be someone else.
And then I wonder about who I am now and who was I meant to be.
Is this it?

Is this all that I am and if so, does this mean this is all I will ever be?
I ask because I have questions.
All of these years incarcerated, I wonder too much about me and my past assumptions.
Am I who I was destined to be?
Or has destiny taken me around in circles?
Does anyone ever hear me when i scream out loud in silence, or am I just a passing phase, or some kind of incremental regret on the path of someone else’s life?
And this is not said to rip me to shreds or to tear me apart.
No, this is me questioning me.
This is me questioning my assumptions and adding mindfulness to the mix because if what i believed was false, then what should I believe now that I know the lies are clear?

Have I traveled and gone nowhere so that I find out now that I was never far from home to begin with?
Perhaps, I believed that I was lost but I was never lost at all.

I passed a place from my youth not too long ago. I saw myself, as if I was a witness to what went on.
And I think this way about my younger life.
I was more like a witness than an active participant.
(If that makes sense)
My youth was more like a movie I had to sit through and I watched scene, yet, I misunderstood everything from the plot to the dialogue.
Or maybe my life was like watching a movie with subtitles and my reading skills were poor and too slow to keep up.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe it was too hard for me to follow along.
In fact, I can say this is a perfect analogy. Life in the scene of a foreign film with subtitles that read in a different language.
I was too slow of a reader to keep up. No one ever taught me how to read in-between the lines.
Or in fear of missing out or appearing stupid, and to compensate or to be “normal,” I ran myself into the ground so that I could keep up and keep from falling behind.

I remember a night in late August of 1989.
This was a Sunday night.
I was just a boy, faking a life that I swore I understood.
But I hardly had hair underneath my arms.

Not long ago . . .
I drove by the spot where I was.
I saw myself as I was. Young, Afraid.
Defiant and ready to die for a life that was unwilling to do anything for me.

Or even better, I was more loyal to a life that was less loyal to me.
And no one cared.
I can see him now, me, or the younger version of me.
I see him clearly in my mind’s eyes.
I can tell that I was sick.
My skin was pale and green. My eyes were sunk into my head because I was far too thin. I was drunk at this moment and sick for a much different reason.
The momentum of my destructive took on a much different pace.

I had the tools of my trade with me, which are unnecessary to list for now, and to be fair to the story, all that should be obvious is that I was loyal to an enlisted poison that was draining my life in tragic deaths, one dose at a time.
And by the way, no one ever expects things to get like this.
No one ever thinks they will try the Devil’s poison, and then ask for seconds, and beg for even more.
No one believes this will be them.
And at the same time, I was not too surprised.
My lips had burn marks from a glass pipe.
My system was slowly being turned over to a new demon that would change my direction to bend or fold and fall in half-measures, slowly but surely, until I finally laid on the ground.

I can see that young boy now, —and yes, I was just a boy.
I was a guppy in the pond with fish that were far larger and far more ferocious than I could ever be.

It was clear that I was about to undergo some kind of change.
I could tell by the look on my face.
It was clear that whatever happened to me would be unstoppable as well as unthinkable because at best, I swore that I would always die by my own hand, —that is if at all, and when I died, I assumed that I would achieve my death by some lethal dose that caused me to slip away peacefully, softly, or like the dope-nods; I assumed that I would die in slow, withering stages like the lifeless color from a flower that had lilted and faded away.

I see him (or me) but I do not even recognize this person.
I am looking on as a witness.
Although, of course, I realize the person I see was me.
I remember the scene.
But not the script

This was my first time that I tested the legal waters.
I can see it.
This was the first time I felt the cuffs clasp around my wrists.
I wanted them to shoot me.
I wanted them to take me away.
I wanted them to “end me” because I knew the life I had was nowhere close to the life I wanted.
I can see the look on my face in my head and I can tell what I was thinking and feeling as I report this to you.

I can see the pain and the fear, which was somewhat muted and dull to me at this point. I say dull and muted because I understood the pain.
I understood this was me. and I know I was just a kid.
But what else was there to live for?

I was done.
I was finished.
I was empty of life, empty of spirit, and empty of all that one could need to stand back up and live another day.

I see this sometimes
I have dreams where I must face this young boy.

There are no words in these dreams.
There is only a look of understanding.

I remember the night of my first arrest. This was the first time I saw the truth about how men can be evil and life without empathy.
I remember the wife-beaters who had been celled up together. And I remember the drunks who howled in the jail cells, vomiting their last contents from their stomach, and screaming their sadness in loud retches of desperate pukes into the toilets.

There was a man who was in the holding cells for beating his wife with a baseball bat because she asked him where he left the car keys.
“You understand” he inquired with me.
And then he informed, “I just had to hit her with the bat.”
he said, “I had to,” as if this was deserved and acceptable for the courts who were about to keep him.

I was told by someone down the line that they were looking forward to meeting me in one of the larger holding cells. This was the loud discussion between two men, Their aim was so that they can “have at me” in more of a sexual way.
I knew they were not going to rape me, per se.
But I was not looking forward to hearing more about their ideas and how they wanted to show me their hospitality.

I remember a heavyset Latino. He was feminine as ever.
I remember listening to the men who told me that I was about to be raped and they changed their attention from me to the fat Mexican who arrived on the scene.

And from what I remembered, the heavy-set man was flattered and excited.
I am Caucasian. I was called white meat and wonder bread. I heard one of the assumed rapists call out and laugh about the heavy-set feminine man.
for this kind of attention. He and I were not the same.
He was tubby to say the least. He was more like a woman. He walked like a woman and had breasts, —perhaps they were not like a pair on a woman’s chest, but I assume what he had was were to excite the ideas.
He was heavy.
I was thin.
I remember one of the two rapists shouting from his cell.
“Aw man, I guess we’re going to have to leave the white meat alone.”
I was the white meat.

“Why?” questioned another voice from one of the other holding cells.
“You know what they say in jail, don’t you?”
“No, what do they say in jail?”

The first voice was about to regard the size of the ass, which belonged to the heavy-set man.
And then I heard a phrase that I will never forget.
Laughing back, I heard the first man say, “They say that there’s no better joy than a fat butt boy!”
And that’s when I knew—
I was certain,
I was in the wrong place and with the wrong people.

I do not know how I survived myself. I do not know much about how I was able to slip through the cracks or escape the worst of my punishments.
And I deserved everything that came my way.
I was not a victim of circumstances.
I was a volunteer.
I was, indeed, and it took decades of growth for me to recognize this.
I don’t know how I made it this far.
I only know that I somehow endured.

I managed to find myself in different cages. I have been to different places in Purgatory. I have seen different prisons and different versions of temporary hell.

I have lost life from the hand and had to make believe or imagine my life through the version of someone else’s dreams.
I have yet to live my life to the fullest.
But the time I served is irreplaceable.
So, this means I have to make my mark, here and now.

I have been locked up in one form or another for e lifetime now.
And now, it is time for me to break free.

I remember when I started sending these notes out to the world, and essentially, all of these notes were intended for you.
Even before I knew you or you were real to me; I have always been writing to you, my love, my muse, and my dream.
You are the best version of what love means to me.
Curves and swerves and smiles and all.

I remember the day I chose to write to you instead of daring the edge and contemplating the end.
I wrote the words, “My redemption has nothing to do with your response.”

I swore that I would do either of one thing, and whichever choice it was, —then there was no going back.
Either I end my life and die, or I stand up and I choose to live.

Today, as I send this out to you from my place in prison, I am reminded of the last day of my father, The Old Man’s life. Today was his last day above the ground on Earth,

I missed too many things. I missed too many years.
I see that version of my younger self and I want to reach him.
I want to reason with him.
I want to explain things to him.
But I know that he wouldn’t have had the ability to understand.
And to be clear, nor would the younger version of me have had the ability to believe that life could ever be different from what it was.

I cannot die another day in this cell.
I have made my tunnel and dug as far as I could.
I dug myself out to escape the hounds, the demons, and the guards, the other inmates, and even the Beast who knows I am about to escape, —and I assume all the Beast does is smile and leave a light on for me.
So I can find my way home.

But no.
I refuse this light because this kind of light is untrue at best.
The only truth is that I have held myself captive. I was the warden and the guard and the inmates and the beast, himself.
But not today, Satan.
No more.

And just then, the Devil sipped his tea and said, “I’ve heard this from you before, and yet, here we are talking about the same things again.”
Yes. This is true.
“So what’s going to be so different this time?”

God gave me an Angel and while she is not at my side at the moment, she offered me the chance to make her proud.
And dammit all, I am going to do this.

“Don’t worry,” said the Devil.
“We can keep your cell open for you.”
Not necessary.

“And you are so sure of yourself this time?”
Not at all.
But if not now, then when?
If I fail to free myself this time, then I will be bound to serve more life sentences, consecutively, and ongoing from now until the end of time
(Amen)

And I’m sorry.
I am.
I’ve done too much time.

I’ve missed too many things.
I lost too many people

“And what if you lose her?”
At least I’ll know.
At least I stayed true to one thing that was more than myself.

“At least you’ll know?” the Devil inquired.
The Devil laughed in his own condescending way.
“And what will you know?”
That I gave her my everything.
That I loved her perfectly, even with my imperfect life.
I loved her with all I have and I could give.

“And do you really believe that who you are and what you have will be enough?”

I don’t know what I believe.
and I’m sure you and all your demons will do all that you can to interrupt me.
All I know is I can’t love anyone, as long as I am here.

“So, then go.” laughed the Devil.

And without looking back, I stood up and exited my prison cell.
I surrendered my doubts and my fears.
Whether my love is returned or if my love comes back as returned to sender—then so be it.
But I know you are there.
And I know that I love you
And with all my heart, I swear that I will find you and love you and hold you until my last second above the ground on this Earth.

Opening the door, I looked up.
It’s nice to see you again, I said to the sunshine.
“Young man, I have always been here for you. It’s just nice to see that you’ve finally decided to arrive.”

The door is open.
The court is adjourned.
The jury has gone away and again, I am not guilty, guilty, and to the rest, I plead no contest.

the rest is up to me because, again –
my redemption has nothing to do with your response.

The End