Act 3: Scene: One and done
July, 1991
I went back after being ahead
And what I mean is I lost my way and went back to being lost instead of finding my way home.
I lost it all
And you look back and you think and you wonder
You wish and you dream and you have ideas of what you could have said.
I wish I said more.
I wish I did more.
I wished I was better.
I wish I was bigger and bolder.
But I was only me.
I wished I didn’t have to wish so much but life is life and the past is this forever unchangeable thing. Hence, we live with regrets. And hence we live with the past or we scurry to run and hide because it hurts when we live in the shadows of a wish that never came true and a wish that never was and never will be.
I spoke my heart out to the sky and prayed and wished and I begged and I pleaded. I worshiped and I tired to have a life that resembled something close to what I wanted.
And you reach and you try and you beg and you borrow. You do what you can, by any means necessary.
You steal and you work your life away to find whatever you can, including the little things that build your castles Or maybe my castles were too weak.
Or maybe my castles were like the one Jimi Hendrix sung about because “castles made of sand fall in the sea, eventually.”
Life is nothing more than a fragile moment and to be clear; us as we are can do nothing else but gain a foothold so we don’t slip away.
All we can do is hold on as tight as we can before the rotations of Earth send us out into the stratosphere – and then what?
And there we are, timeless and dead or spaceless and somewhat forgotten.
Or worse, I can be as meaningless as I had always believed myself to be.
But still, I know there has to be a reason for all of this.
I know there has to e a reason why I am still here.
I never wanted to go down this way.
I never wanted this to be me.
I thought about the things my Father, The Old Man said to me before he died, which coherently, The Old Man’s last words to me were “take care of your Mother.
I failed at this.
Two years later and after his death, I was back to square one again.
I was driving through my town with a loaded, nickel plated .357 beneath my seat.
I was armed and petrified.
I was playing games like cops and robbers and being followed again, just like I was back in 1989 and being a suspect under investigation for a series of local crimes.
I earned a charge after a fight that took place.
I hurt someone . . .
Assault II, which carried a sentence.
I had real crimes this time.
I had a severe case against me and there was more. And I do mean more.
And, so, when I say more, I found out that more of the same means more of the same and the devils around us are always willing to save us a place and keep the seats warm
I went back to more of the same.
This means more of the same sickness. I found myself in a situation where in the case of me or someone else, I chose to make it someone else. I was fit to murder and fine with the outcome, hopefully for at least some kind of monetary profit.
I had become that person again.
I was numb.
I was hateful.
I was fine to die or kill or be either of the two and fine to be in-between.
I was fine to defy the stars and aptly fine to defy the hands of fate or the spirit of destiny.
I was fine if I died.
I was fine if a bullet took me out.
I was fine either way.
I saw death. I saw pain.
I saw myself go back to hell and I saw how I gave up and voluntarily added myself to a line of souls who were all lost and set to die.
I lost my dignity and worse, I lost the time I gathered away from a drug that turned me into an entirely different person.
But I was back.
I was back, as if I had never left and of course, the devils around me were eager to welcome me home.
I was driving around with stolen equipment in my car.
I knew something worse was about to happen.
So . . .
Rather than die or die away in tiny pieces and allow myself to become a fragment of my bleeding soul and be tortured, I went back to a familiar comfort.
I signed myself back into treatment.
And I tried.
Dammit, I tried.
But no.
I could not get back to where I was and I could not find myself or find my dignity.
So –
I walked upstairs after a group and thus; I went back to another familiar cure.
I grabbed hold of a pair of jeans. Then I went into the bathroom of my bedroom in the same treatment facility that I tried to end myself the last time.
My roommates were all gone and there was no one else around.
I went into the bathroom
I tied one pant leg around the sprinkler pipe above the toilet,
I wove the other pant leg around my neck.
I took a series of deep breaths,
And then, I tried to end my life
(again)
I do not remember going out or losing consciousness.
I only remember slipping into a dream state and softly disappearing.
I must have convulsed enough to unweave the knot around my neck because I woke up on the floor. My first idea was that I came to the conclusion and the idea of being a suicidal failure.
Why me?
Why did I have to endure?
Who did I have to feel the way I did?
Why does the world always seem better or easier for others and why does everyone else always seem stronger than I am?
Why?
I exit my soliloquy and step from the stage to mention that it was three ago. Or wait no, a little more.
I walked away from everything to be with the person whom I swore that I loved.
I lost it all, which was fine for me.
And I risked it all, which was also fine.
I lost everything . . .
Over a lie.
But wait . . .
let me go back to the position of being the awkward narrator.
Dishonesties have always killed me.
And yes, we are as sick, and as dark, and as lost as our secrets.
This is what happens with dishonesties.
They spoil the heart and ruin the mind.
Therefore, if I am to be anything; then I have to be more than I am.
I have to be more than my failures and more than my failed marriages.
I have to be more than my past dishonesties and more than my eagerness to be beyond where I am now.
I have to work and scratch and bleed and sweat and more, I have to fight back with all I have because even if what I have is not enough; I cannot allow myself to “hangup,” like I did when I was younger because this time, the end might take me away.
This is time I might succeed and in all fairness to myself; I cannot leave it up to fate abd see whether I am successful or once more, I bet the odds and be aa suicidal failure again.
No . . .
I lost more than I ever thought I would have.
I lost my love.
I lost most of my family.
I lost myself more and so, if I am to be more than I have to do more.
Dear God,
I do not pray like other people do because I grew tired of asking for your help.
I grew tired of praying because your answers were not always the ones I wanted to hear.
You say no alot. . .
but before you decide to say yes or now –
Just give me this.
Just let me have today.
Tomorrow we can see and make a deal about something else.
But today . . .
Just for today . . .
Let me score one goal.
Let me do one thing that gives me pride.
Let me feel the greatness of love instead of the sadness of a love that was never mine to begin with.
I make no excuses.
I take all the blame that belongs to me.
But as for me?
I have to end this scene and let the players change to open the door to a new life or a new opportunity.
And if you say no . . .
I get it
But still . . .
I still have to try
At least one more time because to me, this is the secret to my endurance.
I have to get up no matter how tired I am; to fight back, no matter how weak I am, and to give myself another day to make things right, even if everything else comes out wrong.
Too many signs point me to a direction.
This is where my heart goes, but please . . .
Blessed Father,
Help me stand up.
Help me regain my composure.
Let me gain my love back
So that when my love returns, (or if)
I will hold this more dearly, more closely, and more wholeheartedly than Mary held Jesus for the first time.
I beg you
Please
I know there are things worth fighting for . . .
Most of all, love.
Because to me, love is worth everything.
And like my friend Kenny told me before he died and said it took him finding out that he was dying to understand what it means to live; it took me losing everything to understand what it means to have something that was worth everything
I love you . . .
Always
