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PostPosted: Sat May 18, 2013 5:56 am 
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This journal is a compilation of a variety of events that have transpired throughout my years. I am writing to remind myself how I arrived on the road I am to date. I plan to write in free thought and analyze afterwards. This writing style has proved helpful to me.
Perhaps someone else can benefit from my experiences.



I am four years old standing at the edge of that bright green couch. Why are all these people here? How can he still be sleeping on that couch...so bright...with all this noise? I stare at the overly long, high bed with those funny wheels. Does my bed have funny wheels? I walk down the hall and pull up my blanket. Small black wheels. Why are there lights flashing outside my window? So bright. Mom will know. Where is mom? I walk back down the hall and my dad is now on that big bed with the funny wheels. Ma? The bed is wheeling towards the front door. Where are you taking my dad? The man only bows his head down and continues to push him farther away from me. WHERE IS MY MOM? I am only four years old.


These are my memories from the morning my father passed away. I can picture the scene and feel the sensations clear as a bell. Sensations of confusion, a tinge of fear and a lot of anxiety. My mother chose to not comfort her children and instead leave the house with my father's partner. I was later told she broke down and my grandmother stayed with us. Way to go Mom. Lol. I know now that she handled her initial grief the best way she knew how but, it took me years to get to that level of understanding. This event was a turning point for our family. My mom was left alone to raise two kids, 3 and 4, with one on the way. We were always told my father died of an enlarged heart. Stress was supposed factor as he was a Newark cop with 2 toddlers and a soon to be newborn. Much to our surprise, we found out years later, quite by fluke, that he really died of a drug overdose. I will touch upon that later on in my free thought.



I will add that after my dad passed we stayed in our apartment for only two months and I remember a strong urge to set that couch on fire.



I am 8 years old and I am skating up the rocky sidewalk. I jerk forward after every tiny rock I hit. I am not allowed to ride in the street. I am not allowed to do a lot of things. Bam, one really hard jerk and I am on my knees. Man that hurts. Ripped jean leg. I am so mad. We live on a dead end street. what could possible happen if I ride in the street? So unfair. The street it is. Im on the smooth pavement and my skates are riding like thunder. I am almost to the top. Should I get on the sidewalk yet? Screw it. I hear a loud noise behind me. I know what that noise is. my stomach churns as I skate to the sidewalk. I dare not turn around. The truck pulls into the driveway. He is home. I am skating as slowly as I can towards the house. Doesn't matter much because he is quickly upon me. Bam I am on the ground again. Not from a rock. From a hand. I wish I could break that hand.




I am eight years old standing at the neighbors open car door window. Matchbook in hand I am filled with fear and unusual excitement.I light the matchbook, toss it through the open window and walked on up the hill. I hear them. Sirens. Fire sirens. Oh crap...so cool...oh crap. The next week I am standing in my neighbors backyard matchbook in hand. I light the matchbook toss it on the dry bush and saunter out of the yard and up the hill. So cool. I am only 8 years old.



After my dad passed away we moved from our newark apartment into a mother daughter home with my grandparents. Mom's side. We were stable as stable can get considering our circumstances. My mom worked and us kids were alone or downstairs with our grandparents. My mom did her best to keep us afloat financial. Emotionally? That is a different story. She turned to booze to deal with her grief. When she wasn't working she was out or had friends at our house. My first tastes of booze were during this time. A sip of beer here a sip of amaretto there. I guess they all thought it was cute to give kids booze? My mom met a guy named Mike when I was 8. I remember feelings of angry towards him for taking away the little time my mom did have for us. Mike turned out to be a heavy cocaine user. He turned out to be abusive towards all of us. 4 years later my mom had decided enough was enough. Wow. 4 years. Really Ma?


My small stint as an arsonist was limited to the two fires I set. I think now I needed that sense of power in a world where I was powerless and I also think the rush I got was a foreshadow to my future path of self destruction. It was and still is to some degree, all about the rush. I was also so very sad and mad inside and had to release it somehow. That is how i perceive it. I was never taught any coping skills. Left up to my own vices and fire it is.


I am ten years old standing in my neighbors garage smoking an old cigarette butt from a coffee can kept on the shelf. Gawd this tastes so bad. I am so dizzy and my head sure is buzzing. I need to sit down. The concrete feels so cool. I should put my head on it. Ahhh that feels nice on my cheek. I hope I don't puke cuz that would suck. Oh great, Mark just walked in. Omg he is so cute. I better sit back up and I am gonna smoke another butt. Please god don't let me puke. I wonder if he likes me? He is way too old. Probably has a really pretty girlfriend. Why do I gotta be so young? Ill bet his girlfriend don't smoke. Omg he looked at me. What the heck is he looking at me for? My armpits are sweating. Why do I always sweat so much when I am nervous? I hate it. He is giving Brian his bottle? Why didn't he give it to me? What the heck is it? Bri what is that? Give me some. Holy crap this stuff is good. Tastes like a peach. I want some more. I better give Bri the bottle back. Mark's gonna think I am a pig. Screw it. One more chug. Why did I stop sweating? Wow I feel pretty good. I feel like a loosey goosey. ahhhaaahhhaaaahhhaaaahhhaaahhhaaahhaaa. God Mark you are so cute. Oh crap. Did I just say that out loud? Awww who cares. Mark Mark Markie Mark. I wanna feel this way all the time. Yea Baby. I feels so good and I am only ten years old.



This would be my first experience of getting drunk. I remember that feeling so clear. I was free. Free from anxiety, free from my problems at home, free as a bird. I felt so at home in my skin. What stands out to me now is that underlying rush I got from doing things that would put me at risk. I was in love with that rush and I wanted more. I did not drink again until later in my life but I often thought of the feeling it gave me. We would still take my neighbors mom butts and smoke them from time to time. I got the rush in other ways such as not doing my school work etc etc. I now know that I was addicted to the rush. Feel free to jump in if any of you can relate. I would be interested to hear if anyone sought out that rush at an early age.


I gotta get ready for work I will post more later.

_________________
Be careful of those who imagine themselves to be on

the High Road
If they really are on the High Road, they will offer to take

everyone else with them, not simply tell others that they

are going the wrong way.


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Fond Du Lac Psychiatry
Dr. Jeffrey Junig, M.D., Ph.D.

  • Board Certified Psychiatrist
  • Asst Clinical Professor, Medical College of Wisconsin

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