Act 2: Scene 2
December, 1989.
Exit the stage and look at the pleasant aftermath of a holiday that was well spent.
Think about this . . .
Regard the thoughts and the feelings that come with having a full belly and a happy heart after Thanksgiving dinner.
The air was growing colder in the town of Hancock, New York.
The season was underway and the mountains held the frost each morning as if to lace the trees along the mountainsides.
I can say that I had never seen a winter wonderland until I was far away from my surroundings and the so-called city life.
I was new. At least to some degree.
I was moving away from an older version of myself and yes, this was good.
Of course, this was good.
Yes, it was nice to be free from the grips of a drug or substance that came first and came before me or my family.
It was nice not to be so lost or to have such an unbearable need.
It was nice to walk around without having the impending doom and the sad nature of a courthouse decision weighing over me. The dark cloud which followed me was letting up.
All was taken care of and now, all I had to do was coast and stay out of trouble, which was growing easier while I was on the farm.
However, I must impress the facts. The farm was far from an easy place. My views and my goals and my set of principles were not like the rules on the farm.
I did not want to wake up before dawn. I did not want to shovel pig slop or cow shit.
I did not want to work all the time.
I did not want to chase the sheep into the barn or have to wake up in the middle of the night to do a freeze watch and fire watch and nor did I want to do this and go to school.
I hated school . . .
I had no idea how to manage all the things that were coming my way.
On top of work, I had to work on myself.
I had to face true pain and the real facts that I nearly died more than once.
I had no idea how to face myself, let alone face the fact that I could hardly read a sentence, let alone understand the sentence I just read.
Everything has always been a fight in one form or another.
I was tired.
Hence, this is why I tried to end my life.
I tried to kill myself in multiple ways and of course; I did my best to euthanize the voices and the pain by using the best anesthesia I could find.
I poured drinks down my throat and pull edh wost kinds of smoke into my lungs.
I sniffed powder up my nose.
And towards the end, I pinned my veins to earn my wings so I could fly.
I was tired of waking up to the same life and the same disappointments.
I was tired of always being uncomfortable. I was tired of the belief that I am stupid, or that I will always be stupid or that I will always be alone or different. I was tired of being a loser, a nobody, and more than anything: I was tired of the belief that I was a disservice o the world and to better the world, I needed to do everyone a favor and die a slow or inebriated death.
I was tired of the belief that I was unlovable and undesirable and worse, I was tired of believing that I am unwanted and unable to match or fit anywhere.
Ah, depression.
You knew me far before I knew how to spell your name.
But you knew me anyway.
you knew my name and you knew my number.
I was moving ahead though. At least, slightl;y.
I was mainly out of trouble and somehow blending with the farm life.
I was blending in and flying under the radar at the farm.
I did my chores. I ate my food.
I woke up, did what I was told.
I made it through the day, and then when the day was over, I did the same thing the next day.
Rehab is far more intense than people assume.
I have met with people who preferred prison and jail over rehab.
I understand why too.
I was thinking a lot about the Thanksgiving that just passed.
The Old Man was happy with me.
I felt an unspoken bond coming back to us. And this was good too.
You know?
There are things you will always want to hear, such as the right words from the right person.
Or wait. No.
There are things you need to hear. There are people you will need to hear these things from, and make no mistake, you will need this the same as you need air. You need this like you need food and water and shelter because these things are essential.
Wait. No.
These things are as important as the sunlight from the sun or moonlight that falls across a snow-covered field and somehow illuminates the sky after a snowy night to prove there is no such thing as perpetual darkness.
Words like –
I love you
I’m proud of you
It’s good to see you or God, I missed you!
These words mean everything when they come from the right people and yes, adversely, they mean nothing when they come from the wrong or the adverse people.
There are words that are necessary. There are words that are packed with the essential nutrients to feed the soul and like the heart, or like the spirit and the mind and body, no life can live without these things.
I love you, son . . .
Those four words are small and bigger than life.
Words can redeem everything.
You need the source of light when you hear the right words because as long as that light exists, you will never perish, never fail, and you will never be swallowed by the black hole of a life that’s been abandoned.
There will never be darkness as long as there is light..
Or if there is love, despite the lonesome haste or the tragedy of despair; I know there are words that defy the darkest corners of our mental distortions.
I know that the blackness can overwhelm me.
But not so long as there is a glimpse of light.
Not so long as this message exists.
Words . . .
And these things . . .
Yes, these sentimental needs are combined and assumed and collected in words from those who mean the most to us.
Same as every child needs a father and a mother, or same as no one should have to know the absence of a grandparent, we all need to know the presence of touch. We all need to know that we matter or that we count or that we mean something, at least to someone. And more, we all need to know that someone out there is proud of us.
I walked and I tried and I traveled and I missed and I failed.
I swore that no one would ever be proud of me.
No one . . .
And why would they be?
All I knew how to do was destroy.
I never knew how to love.
I never knew how to open up and not be afraid,
I saw myself as diseased.
I had to be diseased because why else would I be the way I was?
Why else would people hurt me like they did?
I had to be disgusting because I obviously deserved what happened.
Right?
Why else was I picked on or hurt or touched?
Why?
Why couldn’t I have died when I tried to kill myself the first time at 8 years-old.
Something was different now though.
There was no trouble in school.
The law was not looking for me anymore.
The Old Man wasn’t mad at me anymore.
He was proud. . .
Good morning, Christmas Eve.
We were at breakfast when Brian G came over to talk to me.
He pulled me away from the table and brought me to the staircase, away from the others.
“Ben. Your Father had a heart attack.”
I stood there . . .
“We are going to drive you home today and I am coming with you.”
How is it fair to finally get something you’ve always wanted and then have it taken away from you?
This scene needed to end somehow, I suppose.
But not like this
At least, not yet
The pause broke and I reacted
I punched a hole in the wall.
Brian G looked at me and asked, “Who are you trying to intimidate?”
He said, “YOU’RE FATHER IS SICK . . .”
Brian told me, “You need to get it together because your family needs you right now.”
Then Brian told me, “We have to fix that wall now, but your Father is still sick. Now go and get ready!”
I have never punched a wall since that day.
I went and got ready
But the real question:
Ready for what?
