Drawing 7
posted by Elias Lemoon | 10:14 AM
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Elias Lemoon: His Life and Thoughts
Elias Lemoon is a 21 year old singer, songwriter, philosopher, visual artist and poet. He is the former lead singer of the Decibels, and now performs as a solo artist. Elias has written over 100 songs--which are a fusion of blues, folk and rock. He holds a black belt in Dang Su Du.
About Me
- Name: Elias Lemoon
- Location: Erie, Pennsylvania, United States
I love to write songs, essays and poems that make people more closely examine their feelings and beliefs. I welcome comments and questions on this blog.
- Drawing 7
- Seldom Sleep
- Down and Out in Erie, PA
- Charms
- Caught Thought
- Act Normal, Get Out
- Drawing 5
- Just for the Hell of It
- My New CD: "Echoes In My Mind"
- Drawing 4
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Seldom Sleep
Seldom did I find a need for sleep. I mean, I get tired. Real fucking tired. But sleep was just something I could not hardly do. It was harder trying to get to sleep, than just staying awake. Those comfortable and peaceful spots of snooze were a rare treat, indeed. When they did come though, I would soak up them "Zzzzzs" like I was never gonna get them again. Details from my dreams (and I dream every God damn night) can be as confusing to explain to a person as my “awake” life was. There was not much difference between me talking to Jimi Hendrix than flying away in my sleep or waking up the next day and taking my own shit out of the toilet so that I could spread it all over my face, neck and arms to cleanse myself—to purify my soul, or whatever crazy ass shit I made myself believe I was doing in a ritualistic Indian, Buddha, zem-zem, medicine man fashion. It was better not to speak some days.
The catch or trick to all of this that was being played on me was that there would be months in which I could not tell if I was dreaming or awake. My dreams now became the memories of the 'awake.” I would ask people if they remember doing something at such and such time and place. No one knew or remembered this memory that seemed to have really happened in my mind's catalogue. Just the opposite was the same... When I'd be dreaming, I would accuse the giant, talking ostrich named Winnie, of taking
the last piece of desert that I had gotten at the "Greek festival" a day earlier. The ostrich would just stare at me and ask me why I was saying something so insignificant that it did not make any sense at all. I was dreaming and accusing an ostrich of doing something that I had done while awake... I took the last fucking piece of that freaky desert, from the "Greek festival", not the damn ostrich! I should have been riding Winnie around and flying with her into space or whatever.
I concluded that I was a crazy man even when I was dreaming. You should have seen the way that weird ostrich looked at me...fucking insane. The line between the dream world and the awaken state was blurring, for sure. I could not even decide what was real when I was awake, more less when I was dreaming. To make this transition less institutionalizing, I just decided that it was real, all of it... and that I was always dreaming. But most importantly, that it all was one gigantic circus, with very freaky sideshows
of reality.
Night bear taught me how to adapt to the rapid transformations of change. For instance, if you're in a deep sleep and dreaming of a life that is far more pleasant than your own; then all of a sudden you wake up. You are usually pretty upset, that the life in your dream had ended. You now are
faced with the awaken world and are reminded that this is your true life..."Shit, the other one was so much better. Then the next night you dream of an event or situation (and it seems so real) that leaves you feeling humiliated, vulnerable, inhuman, ashamed or just scared shitless. Then, you wake up and express a sigh of relief and say, "Man, I am fucking glad that none of that shit really happened!" Then you snuggle back into your blanket and are thankful for the "awaken world" or life that you are leading.
I learned that both—the dream worlds and the awaken worlds— are one of the same. This was my gift from Bocephus, so that I could constantly be faced with multiple perceptions of what is "reality". You have felt ashamed, vulnerable and scared shitless when you have been awake; just as you have in those awful, dreams. You have felt thankful for this wonderful life when you have been dreaming; just as you have been pleasantly awake...don't throw away your life in dreams or your life when you are awake.
People seem to think that their dreams don't mean anything. Just as some people think that the life that they are leading doesn't mean anything. When I'm searching for significance, I never find it. I was looking for it, but for reasons that I shouldn't have been. When you look for significance to prove your self-worth, most likely you are just going to end up hating yourself. You try to bend the truth so that it may "up" your value...so that it will always side with you. For this reason, you might as well stop the search. The truth can be ugly sometimes and that is not something that you handle very well.
To find significance and truth, you must first be open to your weaknesses and fully aware of your potential. You are good and you are bad. The truth works the same and if you finally see and understand bad, good, ugly and beautiful with vigorous compassion, the truth will find you. Significance and understanding will meet you halfway, when you begin to look for them but remain open.
The past has been sneaking up on me like a great ninja. My actions in the "present" are influenced by the reminders of the past. I don't like this. I never have and never will but it is just something I have to put up with every once in a while. The past does possess some oddly shaped "pros." Occasionally, it will act as a guide on your movements through your map of the present. Instilling in you the memories of where the mountains are, where fresh water can be found and where good soil can be sown for your crops. Memories hold positive power just as they hold negative powers. For the most part, my day to day life becomes more livable when I tell myself I have no past only what is now... in most cases, the past proves to be a poor decision maker and a sloppy worker.
The catch or trick to all of this that was being played on me was that there would be months in which I could not tell if I was dreaming or awake. My dreams now became the memories of the 'awake.” I would ask people if they remember doing something at such and such time and place. No one knew or remembered this memory that seemed to have really happened in my mind's catalogue. Just the opposite was the same... When I'd be dreaming, I would accuse the giant, talking ostrich named Winnie, of taking
the last piece of desert that I had gotten at the "Greek festival" a day earlier. The ostrich would just stare at me and ask me why I was saying something so insignificant that it did not make any sense at all. I was dreaming and accusing an ostrich of doing something that I had done while awake... I took the last fucking piece of that freaky desert, from the "Greek festival", not the damn ostrich! I should have been riding Winnie around and flying with her into space or whatever.
I concluded that I was a crazy man even when I was dreaming. You should have seen the way that weird ostrich looked at me...fucking insane. The line between the dream world and the awaken state was blurring, for sure. I could not even decide what was real when I was awake, more less when I was dreaming. To make this transition less institutionalizing, I just decided that it was real, all of it... and that I was always dreaming. But most importantly, that it all was one gigantic circus, with very freaky sideshows
of reality.
Night bear taught me how to adapt to the rapid transformations of change. For instance, if you're in a deep sleep and dreaming of a life that is far more pleasant than your own; then all of a sudden you wake up. You are usually pretty upset, that the life in your dream had ended. You now are
faced with the awaken world and are reminded that this is your true life..."Shit, the other one was so much better. Then the next night you dream of an event or situation (and it seems so real) that leaves you feeling humiliated, vulnerable, inhuman, ashamed or just scared shitless. Then, you wake up and express a sigh of relief and say, "Man, I am fucking glad that none of that shit really happened!" Then you snuggle back into your blanket and are thankful for the "awaken world" or life that you are leading.
I learned that both—the dream worlds and the awaken worlds— are one of the same. This was my gift from Bocephus, so that I could constantly be faced with multiple perceptions of what is "reality". You have felt ashamed, vulnerable and scared shitless when you have been awake; just as you have in those awful, dreams. You have felt thankful for this wonderful life when you have been dreaming; just as you have been pleasantly awake...don't throw away your life in dreams or your life when you are awake.
People seem to think that their dreams don't mean anything. Just as some people think that the life that they are leading doesn't mean anything. When I'm searching for significance, I never find it. I was looking for it, but for reasons that I shouldn't have been. When you look for significance to prove your self-worth, most likely you are just going to end up hating yourself. You try to bend the truth so that it may "up" your value...so that it will always side with you. For this reason, you might as well stop the search. The truth can be ugly sometimes and that is not something that you handle very well.
To find significance and truth, you must first be open to your weaknesses and fully aware of your potential. You are good and you are bad. The truth works the same and if you finally see and understand bad, good, ugly and beautiful with vigorous compassion, the truth will find you. Significance and understanding will meet you halfway, when you begin to look for them but remain open.
The past has been sneaking up on me like a great ninja. My actions in the "present" are influenced by the reminders of the past. I don't like this. I never have and never will but it is just something I have to put up with every once in a while. The past does possess some oddly shaped "pros." Occasionally, it will act as a guide on your movements through your map of the present. Instilling in you the memories of where the mountains are, where fresh water can be found and where good soil can be sown for your crops. Memories hold positive power just as they hold negative powers. For the most part, my day to day life becomes more livable when I tell myself I have no past only what is now... in most cases, the past proves to be a poor decision maker and a sloppy worker.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 9:43 AM
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Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Down and Out in Erie, PA
Two full days and no sleep. Nothing new. Actually that's pretty amateur given my track record of endless days. Honestly, it feels good....ain't good for my body, but it feels fucking good. Besides, I always thought I worked better with little or no sleep anyway.
Slows down my brain's usually fast and exhausting thought patterns. After about the first day awake, you make it up, over and past the "hump of exhaustion"....It's easy ridin after this. From thereon, every thought seems less weary and tiring. You are no longer on a normal sleep routine. (The everyday "get up" and "lay down" schedule that most commit to so vigorously) I no longer have to worry about how long I will be staring at the dark ceiling of solitude before I fall asleep.
The normal worries that haunt my days are now thrown to the back burner. There is a silent mission at hand...an under lined quest that is screaming for my attention. Instead of my thoughts processing this great meanings depth...i just don't care...Other thoughts now are finally free to enter my subconscious. This time, however, I approach them with more curiosity and find the new "head fuckers" to be much more revealing. Right to the point--if one is here--My ability to function on little or no sleep brings new vision to my days. Therefore, creating a world that is much, much more simple.
I need my space and freedom to fall into what most people would view as an unhealthy, black abyss of insanity--doctor's orders.
My glass floors I walk on so carefully to make do in this reality of illusions is bound to crack from time to time, And sorry, but I'm letting whatever is underneath suck me in. I'm curious and can not help but be drawn to "great unknown mysteries below".
It's true, my leashes and ropes only go so far,..But eventually when they reach their ends, I take out my knife, cut 'em all and let go--for I need to travel further. I must.
I refuse to remain content or conform to the way of living that so many have righteously adopted purely because it conveys the actions of the majority. But, I do play the "game." Oh yes, I sure as hell have and still do. Don't get me wrong, however, there is always more to be proven as just another ridiculous fact of how Life is to be lived out....
We have all been forced to rush, rush, rush and keep to schedule, OR ELSE. But what we don't realize is that we can TAKE OUR TIME!!
Rush, rush, rush implies the "Do's" and "Get to's" of the future and even further, creates our constant addiction to worries. With that all said, Thank you and take care.
--Elias
Slows down my brain's usually fast and exhausting thought patterns. After about the first day awake, you make it up, over and past the "hump of exhaustion"....It's easy ridin after this. From thereon, every thought seems less weary and tiring. You are no longer on a normal sleep routine. (The everyday "get up" and "lay down" schedule that most commit to so vigorously) I no longer have to worry about how long I will be staring at the dark ceiling of solitude before I fall asleep.
The normal worries that haunt my days are now thrown to the back burner. There is a silent mission at hand...an under lined quest that is screaming for my attention. Instead of my thoughts processing this great meanings depth...i just don't care...Other thoughts now are finally free to enter my subconscious. This time, however, I approach them with more curiosity and find the new "head fuckers" to be much more revealing. Right to the point--if one is here--My ability to function on little or no sleep brings new vision to my days. Therefore, creating a world that is much, much more simple.
I need my space and freedom to fall into what most people would view as an unhealthy, black abyss of insanity--doctor's orders.
My glass floors I walk on so carefully to make do in this reality of illusions is bound to crack from time to time, And sorry, but I'm letting whatever is underneath suck me in. I'm curious and can not help but be drawn to "great unknown mysteries below".
It's true, my leashes and ropes only go so far,..But eventually when they reach their ends, I take out my knife, cut 'em all and let go--for I need to travel further. I must.
I refuse to remain content or conform to the way of living that so many have righteously adopted purely because it conveys the actions of the majority. But, I do play the "game." Oh yes, I sure as hell have and still do. Don't get me wrong, however, there is always more to be proven as just another ridiculous fact of how Life is to be lived out....
We have all been forced to rush, rush, rush and keep to schedule, OR ELSE. But what we don't realize is that we can TAKE OUR TIME!!
Rush, rush, rush implies the "Do's" and "Get to's" of the future and even further, creates our constant addiction to worries. With that all said, Thank you and take care.
--Elias
posted by Elias Lemoon | 8:06 AM
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Sunday, March 26, 2006
Charms
We are all but "charms" attached on a never ending necklace...fastened brilliantly upon the universal strand. Each of us reappears within the images that surround us...We can look and touch our souls, as we set our sights deeper into the eyes of others. Alone we are, but only as we listen to the voice of our individuality...That is a part of one's powerful drive to extend the tips of our branches towards the one's we do not.
At times, we can become like two trains colliding. What can be produced from this collision depends on the nature of the joining (whether the attraction was created out of pain, loneliness, greed, heartbreak, hatred, or love.) No matter what the basis may be, the fact remains that the collision becomes our "experience" and the debris (or what came out of this crash) is our "becoming"...The present state of our situation, (The Now) which from the very moment of its birth, is already inching itself towards another collision. Proving more to the fact of our growth and the ongoing truth that as a whole, a people...as one--we are always becoming life, and our position is inescapable from change. One might experience a sense of starving, but not knowing exactly what would make this cease. In turn, not being conscious of what precisely it is that one needs...what one's truth yearns for.
This is the very feeling of what it is to always be becoming. It's not a bad thing. It should not, however, be confused with what we want...For that is not what we always need. One may consciously picture, with detailed clarity, the things that he or she may want. We (as a people) are usually pretty good at voicing what it is that one may prefer of desire. But what one might find difficult in doing, is trying to picture or capture in words the objects, aspects, dualities, or surroundings that are truly needed, to flourish, to grow, to continue on while harnessing all of one's potential as the situations and complications or life reinvent themselves over and over again.
At times, we can become like two trains colliding. What can be produced from this collision depends on the nature of the joining (whether the attraction was created out of pain, loneliness, greed, heartbreak, hatred, or love.) No matter what the basis may be, the fact remains that the collision becomes our "experience" and the debris (or what came out of this crash) is our "becoming"...The present state of our situation, (The Now) which from the very moment of its birth, is already inching itself towards another collision. Proving more to the fact of our growth and the ongoing truth that as a whole, a people...as one--we are always becoming life, and our position is inescapable from change. One might experience a sense of starving, but not knowing exactly what would make this cease. In turn, not being conscious of what precisely it is that one needs...what one's truth yearns for.
This is the very feeling of what it is to always be becoming. It's not a bad thing. It should not, however, be confused with what we want...For that is not what we always need. One may consciously picture, with detailed clarity, the things that he or she may want. We (as a people) are usually pretty good at voicing what it is that one may prefer of desire. But what one might find difficult in doing, is trying to picture or capture in words the objects, aspects, dualities, or surroundings that are truly needed, to flourish, to grow, to continue on while harnessing all of one's potential as the situations and complications or life reinvent themselves over and over again.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 12:55 PM
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Thursday, March 23, 2006
Caught Thought
Approached by details too easily ignored.
Peeling my skin off as I think about the laundry to do.
Can’t I just be the alone passerby, when it's time to shut off what’s around me.
Guilt keeps weighing me down like an anchor, as I stray from the people in my life.
They question, wondering where the brighter man went.
When I've been right here--just not the way that you would like.
I'm pinned in a corner where it's hard to say no.
Let me go. I’ve got to go. I need to go to the places that make sense.
Call me cold-hearted if that’s what will make you feel good.
I digest this depression, the pain of tortured souls.
A seeker I am.
Remaining this way ‘till the spirits say I'm done.
Untill then I don't care that I'm unable to realize the selfishness that’s injected to my very bone.
A seeker I am.
"Hide he's here, that monster of a man."
"He just left in the middle of my very ‘important’ conversation.
"That must mean he doesn't care."
When the spirits beg to differ:
"A seeker he is"
"For his deeds are backed by us."
Peeling my skin off as I think about the laundry to do.
Can’t I just be the alone passerby, when it's time to shut off what’s around me.
Guilt keeps weighing me down like an anchor, as I stray from the people in my life.
They question, wondering where the brighter man went.
When I've been right here--just not the way that you would like.
I'm pinned in a corner where it's hard to say no.
Let me go. I’ve got to go. I need to go to the places that make sense.
Call me cold-hearted if that’s what will make you feel good.
I digest this depression, the pain of tortured souls.
A seeker I am.
Remaining this way ‘till the spirits say I'm done.
Untill then I don't care that I'm unable to realize the selfishness that’s injected to my very bone.
A seeker I am.
"Hide he's here, that monster of a man."
"He just left in the middle of my very ‘important’ conversation.
"That must mean he doesn't care."
When the spirits beg to differ:
"A seeker he is"
"For his deeds are backed by us."
posted by Elias Lemoon | 4:30 PM
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Act Normal, Get Out
When I first arrived on the unit, I was placed in a room that had an empty bed next to mine. I started to wonder if the other guy was in the bathroom or something. I was not in the mood for any friendly conversation. It was about 2 or 3 in the morning, and the sedative that they gave me when I came in was no where near enough to put this boy's mind at peace. I called for the nurse and asked her if I could have something more to put me to sleep. I told her, "I need something that would knock a horse out." She was kind enough to go and ask for me but later came back with bad news: "Your doctor didn’t prescribe you anything for sleep but he'll be here in a couple days and you could ask him about it then." She turned out the light and quickly walked away, probably in fear that I might ask for something else. Damn, damn, damn!
The nurse did tell me that I didn’t have a roommate yet, so this put me at ease a little. I spent that entire night staring at faces that were looking at me from the ceiling. Sometimes they would communicate, and sometimes they would just stare right back at me. I could tell that these spirits were pissed off at me for allowing myself to be admitted there. And truthfully, I was too. I came for help, but be careful what you wish for.
The night slowly went on and I had no patience. I looked up at the wall paper border that stretched around the entire room. It had drawings of big flowers on it. Not pleasant ones either. They reminded me of weeds or sticks...those plants that are so unattractive that gardeners pull them out of the ground and away from their flowers.
The drawing started to move and the room began closing around me. The drawing then came out of the wall and started coming towards me. It had turned into a carriage with a demonic figure seated inside it. I was scared shitless and didn’t know of a correct way to respond to this. The evil spirits were obviously expressing their anger. I clenched my fists as you would right before a battle, and did that for most of the night.
There was no way out, and I was frozen with fear of what the spirits might do next. All I could do was lie there helpless…forced to face what was happening.
The nurse did tell me that I didn’t have a roommate yet, so this put me at ease a little. I spent that entire night staring at faces that were looking at me from the ceiling. Sometimes they would communicate, and sometimes they would just stare right back at me. I could tell that these spirits were pissed off at me for allowing myself to be admitted there. And truthfully, I was too. I came for help, but be careful what you wish for.
The night slowly went on and I had no patience. I looked up at the wall paper border that stretched around the entire room. It had drawings of big flowers on it. Not pleasant ones either. They reminded me of weeds or sticks...those plants that are so unattractive that gardeners pull them out of the ground and away from their flowers.
The drawing started to move and the room began closing around me. The drawing then came out of the wall and started coming towards me. It had turned into a carriage with a demonic figure seated inside it. I was scared shitless and didn’t know of a correct way to respond to this. The evil spirits were obviously expressing their anger. I clenched my fists as you would right before a battle, and did that for most of the night.
There was no way out, and I was frozen with fear of what the spirits might do next. All I could do was lie there helpless…forced to face what was happening.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 4:08 PM
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Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Just for the Hell of It
It was one of those classic times for me. Crazy and not giving a damn. I used to roam the city in my car while fighting my demons and writing lyrics and ideas down. This was best done at night, preferably in the winter when everything seems to be dead. The world, society, just fucking life, feels silent in it's movement....beautiful.
I had a girlfriend at the time, and it was pretty serious, but she was completely oblivious to some of the things I did. She found no reason for me doing certain things, and frankly I wouldn't have any reasons for doing the things I did either. Reasons can become complicated, so lets just simplify things with no reasons. I am just fucking crazy and I did what I did. So to make it easier for her the best thing I could do was not tell her about certain things I did, unless of course, she would ask. Because in asking you are showing interest in learning, so I'd always give it a shot when I could. Usually I'd fail with my reasons but feel no regret because at least I tried.
Ideas and thoughts really can blow your mind when you’re on a hunt to catch them. I felt comfortable being alone because I had so many friends with me already. Another person with all of their thoughts, ideas and feelings would be too many friends at once, so I had to travel alone. No one except people who knew me best respected my journey, and that’s exactly why I would continue paving my own path through my pain. They saw me as a miserable, sad, and lost boy—and I most certainly was. But at the same time I knew that there was something to be learned while traveling in the dark. There was just as much to obtain in meeting my demons as there was in riding with the angels, and in some cases sometimes more than I ever imagined or was prepared for.
So other people's approval of my journey was not important to me. They just did not understand and that's okay because I didn't understand what I was doing either, but I knew there was something there. Something mysterious and fearful which sparked my curiosity. So I would plunge deeper into the unknown while realizing in doing so I was accepting all possible outcomes.
I felt as if things were already bad enough. I mean, I was recording a CD by myself and knew that if I didn't get it all out on record these pains would forever have a hold on me. On top of doing what I knew I could do best (make music), I was without a doubt going crazy while doing what I wanted to do. Awake for days, no food, and taking comfort in my pills—and a whole lot of them too. If I could get any drug to take with my pills I would gladly choose that over a cheese sandwich or a good nights sleep. I was driving with a license to do "whatever it takes" to fulfill the things I wanted to do. No one could stop me, and I couldn't even stop myself.
My ability to accept death as I accepted life gave me courage to put myself in harms way. I knew I was hurting myself at times but did not fear what could happen to me. I just did it so I could go on with my journey. Yes, I was using drugs to escape but I was also using them to trap the knowns and unknowns that I wanted to explore.
Most would say that this was selfish. I would say that I was selfish in my attempt to succeed, and what the hell is wrong with that? Just because I was doing it alone and without anyone's advice doesn’t mean that I will always do it that way. It was just that this particular journey called for me to be alone and alone in everything….my thoughts, my actions, my emotions, my ideas, and even my triumphs. So in a way you are selfish for not letting me go and do what I need to do. This is why reasons became complicated, because no matter how much I would try to explain why am doing something the other person felt that they were right about my wrongs. That is what made them become selfish.....the fact that I was being selfish.
It was just one delusional episode after another. I would get so caught up in voices that I would hear, and things that I saw, that I would become like a detective with a never ending investigation to pursue. Numbers and letters that I would see now became codes and signs. The Shadow people became suspects and the voices became evidence. They were given to me as messages that lead to even more questions and answers and more messages. I was a walking decode machine. I examined and analyzed everything as if it were telling me something. I could care less what people thought of me during these times. For I was working on something big, and felt great importance and significance in the journey. I believed in myself even when I was the craziest motherfucker walking down the street. I had intent. I intended on finishing my recordings no matter what. I intended on receiving and analyzing all messages and signs for deeper enlightenment along the way. I intended on investigating all leads. The things I wasn't intending on became what I learned the most from. They became the worst and best things that have ever happened to me.
This intent, or journey, took a toll on me and everyone around me. My girlfriend of one and a half years was shattered with frustration. My risks became what eventually broke us up. She hated me because she did not understand me. And this broke her heart because she also loved me so much, and I loved her too. It was best that we split in the end. I would have hated to have been constantly explaining the things that she did not understand about me and I think she would have hated it too. So I think we were just intended to bump into each other for awhile….and life went on.
So what did all of these signs mean? Well, besides them meaning I was completely fucking crazy, a lot. They provided me with the insight that I needed to become a better friend to myself. All of my strengths and weaknesses, all of my flaws and perfections, all of my ugliness, and all of my beauty. They let me accept the things about myself that were hard to accept. My craziness is not a crutch. It is an opportunity to explore—as everything else is.
I had a girlfriend at the time, and it was pretty serious, but she was completely oblivious to some of the things I did. She found no reason for me doing certain things, and frankly I wouldn't have any reasons for doing the things I did either. Reasons can become complicated, so lets just simplify things with no reasons. I am just fucking crazy and I did what I did. So to make it easier for her the best thing I could do was not tell her about certain things I did, unless of course, she would ask. Because in asking you are showing interest in learning, so I'd always give it a shot when I could. Usually I'd fail with my reasons but feel no regret because at least I tried.
Ideas and thoughts really can blow your mind when you’re on a hunt to catch them. I felt comfortable being alone because I had so many friends with me already. Another person with all of their thoughts, ideas and feelings would be too many friends at once, so I had to travel alone. No one except people who knew me best respected my journey, and that’s exactly why I would continue paving my own path through my pain. They saw me as a miserable, sad, and lost boy—and I most certainly was. But at the same time I knew that there was something to be learned while traveling in the dark. There was just as much to obtain in meeting my demons as there was in riding with the angels, and in some cases sometimes more than I ever imagined or was prepared for.
So other people's approval of my journey was not important to me. They just did not understand and that's okay because I didn't understand what I was doing either, but I knew there was something there. Something mysterious and fearful which sparked my curiosity. So I would plunge deeper into the unknown while realizing in doing so I was accepting all possible outcomes.
I felt as if things were already bad enough. I mean, I was recording a CD by myself and knew that if I didn't get it all out on record these pains would forever have a hold on me. On top of doing what I knew I could do best (make music), I was without a doubt going crazy while doing what I wanted to do. Awake for days, no food, and taking comfort in my pills—and a whole lot of them too. If I could get any drug to take with my pills I would gladly choose that over a cheese sandwich or a good nights sleep. I was driving with a license to do "whatever it takes" to fulfill the things I wanted to do. No one could stop me, and I couldn't even stop myself.
My ability to accept death as I accepted life gave me courage to put myself in harms way. I knew I was hurting myself at times but did not fear what could happen to me. I just did it so I could go on with my journey. Yes, I was using drugs to escape but I was also using them to trap the knowns and unknowns that I wanted to explore.
Most would say that this was selfish. I would say that I was selfish in my attempt to succeed, and what the hell is wrong with that? Just because I was doing it alone and without anyone's advice doesn’t mean that I will always do it that way. It was just that this particular journey called for me to be alone and alone in everything….my thoughts, my actions, my emotions, my ideas, and even my triumphs. So in a way you are selfish for not letting me go and do what I need to do. This is why reasons became complicated, because no matter how much I would try to explain why am doing something the other person felt that they were right about my wrongs. That is what made them become selfish.....the fact that I was being selfish.
It was just one delusional episode after another. I would get so caught up in voices that I would hear, and things that I saw, that I would become like a detective with a never ending investigation to pursue. Numbers and letters that I would see now became codes and signs. The Shadow people became suspects and the voices became evidence. They were given to me as messages that lead to even more questions and answers and more messages. I was a walking decode machine. I examined and analyzed everything as if it were telling me something. I could care less what people thought of me during these times. For I was working on something big, and felt great importance and significance in the journey. I believed in myself even when I was the craziest motherfucker walking down the street. I had intent. I intended on finishing my recordings no matter what. I intended on receiving and analyzing all messages and signs for deeper enlightenment along the way. I intended on investigating all leads. The things I wasn't intending on became what I learned the most from. They became the worst and best things that have ever happened to me.
This intent, or journey, took a toll on me and everyone around me. My girlfriend of one and a half years was shattered with frustration. My risks became what eventually broke us up. She hated me because she did not understand me. And this broke her heart because she also loved me so much, and I loved her too. It was best that we split in the end. I would have hated to have been constantly explaining the things that she did not understand about me and I think she would have hated it too. So I think we were just intended to bump into each other for awhile….and life went on.
So what did all of these signs mean? Well, besides them meaning I was completely fucking crazy, a lot. They provided me with the insight that I needed to become a better friend to myself. All of my strengths and weaknesses, all of my flaws and perfections, all of my ugliness, and all of my beauty. They let me accept the things about myself that were hard to accept. My craziness is not a crutch. It is an opportunity to explore—as everything else is.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 11:28 AM
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Thursday, March 16, 2006
My New CD: "Echoes In My Mind"
Though I do not like to classify myself into any one musical genre, I feel that it is necessary (in this case), to describe my music to the best of my ability. The 12 tracks on my latest album, “Echoes in My Mind,” are original and have taken on a life of their own. Some songs, like "Can U Fall Too" (which is the audio clip on the profile page of this blog), "Losin a Friend" and "People Crumble Sometimes" are mixed with a blend of acoustic-blues, folk and alternative country, and are a lot more mellow than the others. Most of these tracks were recorded when I was completely "out of it," on the edge, close to death, or just plain crazy...So it's safe to say that the music was as scattered as I was. But music has always been my obsession. And with obsessions there are always downsides that I've learned to accept. If I didn't, well, then I couldn't continue obsessing over all the things that I'm passionate about.
The more upbeat songs, like "I Try", "Let The Weather Change" and "Dry Mouth" ring out vibrations of rock, with a pinch of funky-blues and guitar driven melodies. I have to thank my old band mates, drummer, Ricky Smith and bass guitarist, Ralph Reitinger for contributing their talents to some of these songs. I also have to give credit to my producer at the time, Malley. He and I were "down and out" for days mixing this CD into what it became. The CD is being sold through CD Baby at http://cdbaby.com/cd/lemoon. On that site you can hear samples of each song.
My songwriting, in my opinion, is a form of questioning all of the aspects of life that surround us. Unfortunately, my answers always lead me to more questions. But without questions I could never continue writing about the things that we all go through. So, I guess I really don't know anything.
The name of my latest 12 track album is “Echoes In My Mind”. I hope you’ll give my music a shot. It includes acoustic and electric fusions of upbeat and mellow forms of blues, funk, new-age folk, rock and alternative-country. I am currently working on my next album, which I’m hoping will be a double disc of 30 songs or more. If you have questions or comments, either post them to this blog or e-mail me at eliaslemoon@aol.com.
Thank you for your time and take care.
Elias Lemoon
The more upbeat songs, like "I Try", "Let The Weather Change" and "Dry Mouth" ring out vibrations of rock, with a pinch of funky-blues and guitar driven melodies. I have to thank my old band mates, drummer, Ricky Smith and bass guitarist, Ralph Reitinger for contributing their talents to some of these songs. I also have to give credit to my producer at the time, Malley. He and I were "down and out" for days mixing this CD into what it became. The CD is being sold through CD Baby at http://cdbaby.com/cd/lemoon. On that site you can hear samples of each song.
My songwriting, in my opinion, is a form of questioning all of the aspects of life that surround us. Unfortunately, my answers always lead me to more questions. But without questions I could never continue writing about the things that we all go through. So, I guess I really don't know anything.
The name of my latest 12 track album is “Echoes In My Mind”. I hope you’ll give my music a shot. It includes acoustic and electric fusions of upbeat and mellow forms of blues, funk, new-age folk, rock and alternative-country. I am currently working on my next album, which I’m hoping will be a double disc of 30 songs or more. If you have questions or comments, either post them to this blog or e-mail me at eliaslemoon@aol.com.
Thank you for your time and take care.
Elias Lemoon
posted by Elias Lemoon | 11:04 AM
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4 comments
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Wednesday, March 08, 2006
The Declaration of Our Love House
As I watch my lady sleep
I gaze, in marvel, at the magnificent force that exists
between her and I.
Love is truly life itself
And since we spend most of our lives in suffering
We are given opportunities to experience this suffering with love.
I regret the times I doubted you;
For I was blinded with my ego's mind.
I did not see what I already had right in front of me.
Your eyes silently speak a truth that has never been promised.
Such a comfort I felt
When you finally realized my unconditional love for you.
It seems so surreal that two people in such suffering can let the other one in.
But that is what happened
And it happened through love.
So lets suffer together my sweet, T.C.
Lets love together.
Lets share the beautiful things in this world together.
You are all I need and all I will ever need,
You offer me a love so gentle.
A love that will take me in and nourish me through times of hardship,
So that I may do the same for you.
Your love is like no other before you and since you
There will be no other to contest the compassion of your vow.
You are a true partner is this lifetime of suffering.
What more could I possibly ask for...
"Our laughter just proves our love."
You are a kind spirit with a strong will
And I would like to spend the rest of my life here with you
And for you.
The tests of suffering that we have been through;
Mentally, physically and spiritually.
Hold all evidence needed of our pure, unbreakable bond..
You are my partner in this hard world
And I will be yours.
You are a gift of understanding,
A gift of wisdom,
That I honestly used to believe, would never find me.
I want to suffer with you,
Because without you,
I would not possess enough heart to suffer through this world with love.
I would not have enough love inside myself, to experience this life with compassion.
I promise you the same unconditional acceptance,
That you so willingly bestowed upon me.
Winning your love was the best thing that has ever happened to me.
The concluded point that I came to
Is that I know you would do anything for me and that I would do anything for you.
So, lets rejoice in the sufferings that built our little love house
This is everlasting.
And, in essence, is everlasting life itself.
I am your lover, your life long partner and best friend.
You are my lover.
My life long partner and my best friend
Who I will always care for;
Who I will worry for;
And whom I will always accept.
I gaze, in marvel, at the magnificent force that exists
between her and I.
Love is truly life itself
And since we spend most of our lives in suffering
We are given opportunities to experience this suffering with love.
I regret the times I doubted you;
For I was blinded with my ego's mind.
I did not see what I already had right in front of me.
Your eyes silently speak a truth that has never been promised.
Such a comfort I felt
When you finally realized my unconditional love for you.
It seems so surreal that two people in such suffering can let the other one in.
But that is what happened
And it happened through love.
So lets suffer together my sweet, T.C.
Lets love together.
Lets share the beautiful things in this world together.
You are all I need and all I will ever need,
You offer me a love so gentle.
A love that will take me in and nourish me through times of hardship,
So that I may do the same for you.
Your love is like no other before you and since you
There will be no other to contest the compassion of your vow.
You are a true partner is this lifetime of suffering.
What more could I possibly ask for...
"Our laughter just proves our love."
You are a kind spirit with a strong will
And I would like to spend the rest of my life here with you
And for you.
The tests of suffering that we have been through;
Mentally, physically and spiritually.
Hold all evidence needed of our pure, unbreakable bond..
You are my partner in this hard world
And I will be yours.
You are a gift of understanding,
A gift of wisdom,
That I honestly used to believe, would never find me.
I want to suffer with you,
Because without you,
I would not possess enough heart to suffer through this world with love.
I would not have enough love inside myself, to experience this life with compassion.
I promise you the same unconditional acceptance,
That you so willingly bestowed upon me.
Winning your love was the best thing that has ever happened to me.
The concluded point that I came to
Is that I know you would do anything for me and that I would do anything for you.
So, lets rejoice in the sufferings that built our little love house
This is everlasting.
And, in essence, is everlasting life itself.
I am your lover, your life long partner and best friend.
You are my lover.
My life long partner and my best friend
Who I will always care for;
Who I will worry for;
And whom I will always accept.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 3:12 PM
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1 comments
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Thursday, March 02, 2006
Outlining Things
Outlining things becomes an aggressive force that works for you and against you. My papers, whether blank or written on, are scattered all over the floor. My whole vision of the outcome crumbles into thousands of pieces. I am only seeing the horrors of horrors, and I am not even close to the end of this unpredictable road full of risks and sacrifice. But at the same time as everything around me is crashing down, and all that I thought to be Me is dissolving I remember the newness of this journey. I eventually come to realize my foundation. I am a seeker, and there is nothing that I or anyone can do about that. My identity rests in a place that no one can see. Labeled as songwriter and writer. That is as far as people will go with it. They don’t care about the “spiritual blah blah” that I experience. Or the many painful, cold, emotional and lonely battles that you triumph over. I am alone with all that. I am ultimately alone (with the journey). And that is why I am a writer, an artist, a seeker. I crave the truth. Not the illusion of living.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 7:01 PM
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In a Corner of My Room
This cardboard sheet I’ve decided to write on contains a corner piece of a room swirling with snow and no floor for my feet. Periods lock the door and fill more boxes with soulfully smoked cigarette butts as more time is faded forever.
And this bodily temple has less time to uncover what no one has yet to discover.
Sleeping with my chains of mystery as I await death. Accepting my failures and allowing my bleeding cuts to show and letting go to what was once all self-conscious.
And this bodily temple has less time to uncover what no one has yet to discover.
Sleeping with my chains of mystery as I await death. Accepting my failures and allowing my bleeding cuts to show and letting go to what was once all self-conscious.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 7:00 PM
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Friday, February 24, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Mumble
Doctor: You don't look too good today
[Patient replies]
Yeah I know I look horrible.. .Listen Doc, I know you got your casual "hi's and byes" to attend to. And your shot gunned overly medicated patients to pet and feed like lost dogs so I'll keep this short, so you can trip my fellow crazies out for their weekly shit. If I look horrible it's not because I feel bad. "Bad" is what sends a man to the psych ward for a weekend getaway from his family. Only to give him the misery and shit of knowing he has to return. Bad is what keeps a man on the couch for a Star Trek marathon that only ends too soon. I am not "Bad" or seeking attention in a ten minute weeping willow of pity. It's not an emotional scar of the skin; it's a stolen part of my Soul. Something that I dwell on and question the uncertain return to a connection of comfort, and a vast world that fills you with the joy of walking on a terrain that holds no limits and casts no bounds.
Freedom is at hand. The journey of purpose. I am a searcher, a rare but oh too common group of people that will cross any bridge, any mountain for truth. Walkers of the Black dog. The test of courage and strength can bind you into an unforgiving pit of despair; Where you are forced to succumb to the most ugly of thoughts.
Demons of spirit. The test there is to separate the impression of accusations that "they" (meaning despair) stuffs down your throat with fucking righteous zeal of the world... What is truth, is the test.. .1 must live here, for I am a searcher, even if I must die here. These spirits that guard the pit will not let me continue with my journey until the journey there is complete.. .Much more pain in store.
I, like many others must stay 'till I find what is separate with fear at our feet and being the very ground we walk on. Soaking in this torture gives me all I left, when faith, joy hope, peace, freedom and the very light of days are taken away from you.. .nothing. Maybe will, but also patience is at question for this is one of the most frightful and unproductive journeys. You see doc, it's not just one of the most untrue lies that people fall into believing, mostly because of our arrogance of bullshit if that this is our last and final journey, test. Life goes on brother, like goes on past our shattered differences.
LOVE is what stops me along past and gives me a trance of hope, of one beautiful truth that is walked past everyday. Our fucking absorbed lives of material gives us our wall of ignorance that grows higher and higher with each passing day. And each time we are sucked into motions and chores that don't mean a god damn thing. All that provides us with is another brick for the wall, and we take it, and say "Thanks," even though we have an unconscious source of awareness that that's not what matters!!! It's bullshit. Don't let it consume your mind with ego or untrue meaning. So when you say I don't look too good, you must think you are looking great and got it all fucking figured out.
So Doc instead of talking with a sore lip and a past grin of pain, and having you label all my problems I'm going to give you something to leave with and some advice... ..I'm wrestling in a slow journey that searcher me understand to part of the chain. But when you or someone you love is engulfed by a undertow of spirits and is thrown into the pit of despair (that you and other doctors might call an episode of depression). Just know for the books, that I'm on six different medications but the journey, the journey my friend is spiritual,...Slowly as I realize the survival techniques are not what you really remember climbing out. It's the distinguished truths. Decoding the chains set before you cause them to stretch and as a baby you will learn to walk again. Right.. .left.. .right. But remember the journey does not end.
One more thing I must ask....Want to come with me? Do you really? If so I will give you the pleasure of success (another word of many lies and masks). Points of no matter and pats on the back that your boss might give you as he passes you in the hall and looks at your ass. But if you really wanna come with me. With understanding of at least the struggle of truth, I will reveal my present condition that holds me in containment.. .Unsure Doc?.. .hesitant? Well maybe not today Doc. Maybe today’s not your day to find out, like me, you really don't know a God Damn thing...
[Patient replies]
Yeah I know I look horrible.. .Listen Doc, I know you got your casual "hi's and byes" to attend to. And your shot gunned overly medicated patients to pet and feed like lost dogs so I'll keep this short, so you can trip my fellow crazies out for their weekly shit. If I look horrible it's not because I feel bad. "Bad" is what sends a man to the psych ward for a weekend getaway from his family. Only to give him the misery and shit of knowing he has to return. Bad is what keeps a man on the couch for a Star Trek marathon that only ends too soon. I am not "Bad" or seeking attention in a ten minute weeping willow of pity. It's not an emotional scar of the skin; it's a stolen part of my Soul. Something that I dwell on and question the uncertain return to a connection of comfort, and a vast world that fills you with the joy of walking on a terrain that holds no limits and casts no bounds.
Freedom is at hand. The journey of purpose. I am a searcher, a rare but oh too common group of people that will cross any bridge, any mountain for truth. Walkers of the Black dog. The test of courage and strength can bind you into an unforgiving pit of despair; Where you are forced to succumb to the most ugly of thoughts.
Demons of spirit. The test there is to separate the impression of accusations that "they" (meaning despair) stuffs down your throat with fucking righteous zeal of the world... What is truth, is the test.. .1 must live here, for I am a searcher, even if I must die here. These spirits that guard the pit will not let me continue with my journey until the journey there is complete.. .Much more pain in store.
I, like many others must stay 'till I find what is separate with fear at our feet and being the very ground we walk on. Soaking in this torture gives me all I left, when faith, joy hope, peace, freedom and the very light of days are taken away from you.. .nothing. Maybe will, but also patience is at question for this is one of the most frightful and unproductive journeys. You see doc, it's not just one of the most untrue lies that people fall into believing, mostly because of our arrogance of bullshit if that this is our last and final journey, test. Life goes on brother, like goes on past our shattered differences.
LOVE is what stops me along past and gives me a trance of hope, of one beautiful truth that is walked past everyday. Our fucking absorbed lives of material gives us our wall of ignorance that grows higher and higher with each passing day. And each time we are sucked into motions and chores that don't mean a god damn thing. All that provides us with is another brick for the wall, and we take it, and say "Thanks," even though we have an unconscious source of awareness that that's not what matters!!! It's bullshit. Don't let it consume your mind with ego or untrue meaning. So when you say I don't look too good, you must think you are looking great and got it all fucking figured out.
So Doc instead of talking with a sore lip and a past grin of pain, and having you label all my problems I'm going to give you something to leave with and some advice... ..I'm wrestling in a slow journey that searcher me understand to part of the chain. But when you or someone you love is engulfed by a undertow of spirits and is thrown into the pit of despair (that you and other doctors might call an episode of depression). Just know for the books, that I'm on six different medications but the journey, the journey my friend is spiritual,...Slowly as I realize the survival techniques are not what you really remember climbing out. It's the distinguished truths. Decoding the chains set before you cause them to stretch and as a baby you will learn to walk again. Right.. .left.. .right. But remember the journey does not end.
One more thing I must ask....Want to come with me? Do you really? If so I will give you the pleasure of success (another word of many lies and masks). Points of no matter and pats on the back that your boss might give you as he passes you in the hall and looks at your ass. But if you really wanna come with me. With understanding of at least the struggle of truth, I will reveal my present condition that holds me in containment.. .Unsure Doc?.. .hesitant? Well maybe not today Doc. Maybe today’s not your day to find out, like me, you really don't know a God Damn thing...
posted by Elias Lemoon | 9:16 AM
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2 comments
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Seeker
Approached by details too easily ignored.
Peeling my skin off as I think about the laundry to do.
Can’t I just be the alone passerby, when it's time to shut off what’s around me.
Guilt keeps weighing me down like an anchor, as I stray from the people in my life.
They question; wondering where the brighter man went.
When I've been right here…just not the way that you would like.
I'm pinned in a corner where it's hard to say no.
Let me go, I’ve got to go, I need to go to the places that make sense.
Call me cold-hearted if that’s what will make you feel good.
I digest this depression, the pain of tortured souls.
A seeker I am.
Remaining this way untill the spirits say I'm done.
Untill then I don't care that I am unable to realize the selfishness that’s injected to my very bone.
A seeker I am.
"Hide he's here—that monster of a man."
"He just left in the middle of my very ‘important’ conversation.”
"That must mean he doesn't care."
When the spirits beg to differ:
"A seeker he is""For his deeds are backed by us."
Peeling my skin off as I think about the laundry to do.
Can’t I just be the alone passerby, when it's time to shut off what’s around me.
Guilt keeps weighing me down like an anchor, as I stray from the people in my life.
They question; wondering where the brighter man went.
When I've been right here…just not the way that you would like.
I'm pinned in a corner where it's hard to say no.
Let me go, I’ve got to go, I need to go to the places that make sense.
Call me cold-hearted if that’s what will make you feel good.
I digest this depression, the pain of tortured souls.
A seeker I am.
Remaining this way untill the spirits say I'm done.
Untill then I don't care that I am unable to realize the selfishness that’s injected to my very bone.
A seeker I am.
"Hide he's here—that monster of a man."
"He just left in the middle of my very ‘important’ conversation.”
"That must mean he doesn't care."
When the spirits beg to differ:
"A seeker he is""For his deeds are backed by us."
posted by Elias Lemoon | 9:07 AM
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Situated
It was one of those no win situations. I couldn't do the things I wanted to that just might make me feel good, and I couldn't even just let myself feel bad. It was May 2003 and I was admitted to Saint Vincent's Mental Health Unit. I guess I felt that I could let myself go there, but my number one priority was getting some medications. My craziness just reached one of those stages where it lead me to seek help.
The bitch of the situation was the doctors would only release you after 7 days if they felt you were no longer a threat to yourself and or to others. They also could hold you longer if they felt you haven’t made progress. Knowing this I had to learn to act. I had some experience in doing this around family and friends. So it was nothing new to me. In fact, I considered myself a professional actor when it came to pretending I was normal with that ever so repetitive "Yeah I'm fine", "I'm okay." "Don’t worry about it." I knew how to make a person absolutely believe I am totally recovered even if the day early I was sitting in a dark, silent room drooling on myself. And being that this fucking unit is based around rules of formality, there was no way I could do anything I wanted to do, but I approached it half way. They had these horribly organized talk sessions that all patients were expected to go to or risk loosing points for not participating. Yes, fucking points! On top of that absurdity the doctor would probably hear about it and use it to keep you in there; making the claim that because you felt you had to withdraw from the rest of the group you’re probably not doing so good. Which isn't entirely bullshit, but I just could not stand these corny group sessions.
They had groups on stress, topics involving people who are bipolar, schizophrenia, how to eat right by following the food pyramid, and the worse were the music groups. As soon as someone requested to hear "Proud to Be An American" and the aid played it on his guitar I was officially done with that group. All of these other crazies would start singing the most insanely depressing version of an already awful song. During the other group sessions there was always at least two very outspoken crazies who would constantly interrupt the group leader and go into their life stories. It was painfully annoying.
One patient, Mary, was an overweight black woman probably in her mid 50's. She talked a lot and most of this talk was directed towards her two dead husbands who talk back to her. She was the kind of women who took no shit. Apparently, she was raised in mental institutions, and was raped in one, and gave birth in one. The baby she had was the baby of the person who raped her. I felt for her. I really did, but would not take any shit from her. In a way this made her and me alike. I once walked into the eating room which was also the decaf coffee room. Oh how I hated that god damn decaf coffee.
I cant even have a little java in the morning!? Mary was sitting in a room all by herself. I was getting another useless cup of decaf and offered a cup to Mary who obviously had five empty cups in front of her. " Naw hat boy I'm alright." Every patient on the floor knew me as that kid that always wears the winter hat and this was how I was introduced to all the new patients by all the aids working there. After I got my cup of useless decaf, I contemplated sitting down with Mary, who was clearly in a deep discussion with her dead husbands. Fuck it, why not. I sat down right in front of her in a very relaxed way, hoping this would make her feel comfortable. Knowing I was there she abruptly stopped talking to her husbands. I asked her what her husbands names were. "Shawn and Dean. Both are pains in the ass, but are good men," she said. I wanted to know more. I asked, "What were you guys talking about.” She gave me a long look. When you’re crazy you have to carefully choose the things you tell people because you don’t know if they might be the doctors’ little spy. Paranoia is big. I could tell she was weighing me out. "Well, Shawn is being an asshole. You know he could have helped me when I was being raped but he is an asshole. And Dean is trying to act like he don’t love me. How couldn't he love this sweet ass. I know he lying'!"
I felt a need to say something. I said, "Well they'll come around; it must be hard having two husbands though. That’s twice the problems." She became very quite and then opened her mouth and leaned forward. " What is a handsome young man like you doing in this hell hole?" she asked me. I responded with the truth. "Well I keep seeing evil spirits and they are started to weigh too much for me. I'm here in hope that I can get away from the people in the white vans who keep trying to steal all my songwriting ideas." She leaned back and her eyes opened more than I've ever seen them open before and she was sporting a face of disgust and disbelief. "Boy, that’s just crazy. Crazy as shit!" and she got up and walked away.
Looking back on this it's pretty funny how a person who talked to her dead husbands would call me crazy. But that was what I was, and that was what we all were there....crazy. So, it takes one to know one. It was hard to let go, when everyone around you is also letting go too but I managed. I would portray myself as a silent assassin. One of those guys who doesn't talk too much and looks like he would break your face at the drop of a hat. This was good because it kept the other crazies away from me when I didn’t feel like talking, and kept others away when I was talking to someone who I thought needed to get away from the patients that were talking their ears off.
If a patient did get in my face too much I would either calmly respond to settle them down or violently respond with a combination of the craziest phrases and actions. The violent response worked like a charm but I only used it if I had to. Usually the other patient felt matched or threatened and would turn around and walk away. When I did talk to another crazy I was very interested in their situation for my situation was just as unbelievable.
One man, whose name escapes me, was Russian and his accent was very thick. He was about my height and was slimy built. He pulled me into the game room one day and said he had to tell me something. He was very nervous and made sure that we were in the room alone. He even would tell people to get out and would close the glass doors. Before he told me, just like every crazy does, he had to make sure I checked out right and swore me to secrecy. He went ahead and asked me a few questions first. The one that I can remember was; "what's your religious stance and why?". I replied "Well, I don’t believe in one religion. They all have something that’s good about them. I'm more spiritual than religious." He seemed pleased with my answer which happened to be the last question. " You see Jon there is one love and one God and we are all a part of this. We are all god." I then asked him why he was here. He answered: "I'm here because there are some people who would rather not listen to the things I have to say. It becomes dangerous when you are taking on the views of religion. Taking on views that people have written in stone, especially the Roman Catholic Church. The Russian secret service has gotten involved and my life may be at risk. They are scared of my views because they are true."
He then handed me the first of many letters he would give me. It was written in Russian with only a few English words that I could read. He said: "I want you to give this to your grandfather for me. I saw him the other day when he visited you and he looks like a man that would understand. But remember, don’t tell anyone else about this conversation." I agreed, and before I even saw my grandpa next he and I had quite a few conversations where he would enlighten me with his views. "One God Jon, one love, and we are all a part of Him. It is a never ending circle...life that is." He would whisper these things to me during group sessions and I found him to be very intriguing. The last letter he gave me before he left the unit had his name and number on it. "When you get out Jon, deliver this letter to the Archbishop of the Roman Catholic Church in New York. It is of the highest importance, and I would be very appreciative. I include my number here so and if you run into any problems just call me. Also if you ever need a job in Virginia you got one."
He left the next day and I couldn't help but observe that as crazy as I am, as crazy as my father was, and as crazy as everyone in here is, there is a certain truth to everything. And like my Russian friend said, they are just things that people would rather not hear much less listen to.
The bitch of the situation was the doctors would only release you after 7 days if they felt you were no longer a threat to yourself and or to others. They also could hold you longer if they felt you haven’t made progress. Knowing this I had to learn to act. I had some experience in doing this around family and friends. So it was nothing new to me. In fact, I considered myself a professional actor when it came to pretending I was normal with that ever so repetitive "Yeah I'm fine", "I'm okay." "Don’t worry about it." I knew how to make a person absolutely believe I am totally recovered even if the day early I was sitting in a dark, silent room drooling on myself. And being that this fucking unit is based around rules of formality, there was no way I could do anything I wanted to do, but I approached it half way. They had these horribly organized talk sessions that all patients were expected to go to or risk loosing points for not participating. Yes, fucking points! On top of that absurdity the doctor would probably hear about it and use it to keep you in there; making the claim that because you felt you had to withdraw from the rest of the group you’re probably not doing so good. Which isn't entirely bullshit, but I just could not stand these corny group sessions.
They had groups on stress, topics involving people who are bipolar, schizophrenia, how to eat right by following the food pyramid, and the worse were the music groups. As soon as someone requested to hear "Proud to Be An American" and the aid played it on his guitar I was officially done with that group. All of these other crazies would start singing the most insanely depressing version of an already awful song. During the other group sessions there was always at least two very outspoken crazies who would constantly interrupt the group leader and go into their life stories. It was painfully annoying.
One patient, Mary, was an overweight black woman probably in her mid 50's. She talked a lot and most of this talk was directed towards her two dead husbands who talk back to her. She was the kind of women who took no shit. Apparently, she was raised in mental institutions, and was raped in one, and gave birth in one. The baby she had was the baby of the person who raped her. I felt for her. I really did, but would not take any shit from her. In a way this made her and me alike. I once walked into the eating room which was also the decaf coffee room. Oh how I hated that god damn decaf coffee.
I cant even have a little java in the morning!? Mary was sitting in a room all by herself. I was getting another useless cup of decaf and offered a cup to Mary who obviously had five empty cups in front of her. " Naw hat boy I'm alright." Every patient on the floor knew me as that kid that always wears the winter hat and this was how I was introduced to all the new patients by all the aids working there. After I got my cup of useless decaf, I contemplated sitting down with Mary, who was clearly in a deep discussion with her dead husbands. Fuck it, why not. I sat down right in front of her in a very relaxed way, hoping this would make her feel comfortable. Knowing I was there she abruptly stopped talking to her husbands. I asked her what her husbands names were. "Shawn and Dean. Both are pains in the ass, but are good men," she said. I wanted to know more. I asked, "What were you guys talking about.” She gave me a long look. When you’re crazy you have to carefully choose the things you tell people because you don’t know if they might be the doctors’ little spy. Paranoia is big. I could tell she was weighing me out. "Well, Shawn is being an asshole. You know he could have helped me when I was being raped but he is an asshole. And Dean is trying to act like he don’t love me. How couldn't he love this sweet ass. I know he lying'!"
I felt a need to say something. I said, "Well they'll come around; it must be hard having two husbands though. That’s twice the problems." She became very quite and then opened her mouth and leaned forward. " What is a handsome young man like you doing in this hell hole?" she asked me. I responded with the truth. "Well I keep seeing evil spirits and they are started to weigh too much for me. I'm here in hope that I can get away from the people in the white vans who keep trying to steal all my songwriting ideas." She leaned back and her eyes opened more than I've ever seen them open before and she was sporting a face of disgust and disbelief. "Boy, that’s just crazy. Crazy as shit!" and she got up and walked away.
Looking back on this it's pretty funny how a person who talked to her dead husbands would call me crazy. But that was what I was, and that was what we all were there....crazy. So, it takes one to know one. It was hard to let go, when everyone around you is also letting go too but I managed. I would portray myself as a silent assassin. One of those guys who doesn't talk too much and looks like he would break your face at the drop of a hat. This was good because it kept the other crazies away from me when I didn’t feel like talking, and kept others away when I was talking to someone who I thought needed to get away from the patients that were talking their ears off.
If a patient did get in my face too much I would either calmly respond to settle them down or violently respond with a combination of the craziest phrases and actions. The violent response worked like a charm but I only used it if I had to. Usually the other patient felt matched or threatened and would turn around and walk away. When I did talk to another crazy I was very interested in their situation for my situation was just as unbelievable.
One man, whose name escapes me, was Russian and his accent was very thick. He was about my height and was slimy built. He pulled me into the game room one day and said he had to tell me something. He was very nervous and made sure that we were in the room alone. He even would tell people to get out and would close the glass doors. Before he told me, just like every crazy does, he had to make sure I checked out right and swore me to secrecy. He went ahead and asked me a few questions first. The one that I can remember was; "what's your religious stance and why?". I replied "Well, I don’t believe in one religion. They all have something that’s good about them. I'm more spiritual than religious." He seemed pleased with my answer which happened to be the last question. " You see Jon there is one love and one God and we are all a part of this. We are all god." I then asked him why he was here. He answered: "I'm here because there are some people who would rather not listen to the things I have to say. It becomes dangerous when you are taking on the views of religion. Taking on views that people have written in stone, especially the Roman Catholic Church. The Russian secret service has gotten involved and my life may be at risk. They are scared of my views because they are true."
He then handed me the first of many letters he would give me. It was written in Russian with only a few English words that I could read. He said: "I want you to give this to your grandfather for me. I saw him the other day when he visited you and he looks like a man that would understand. But remember, don’t tell anyone else about this conversation." I agreed, and before I even saw my grandpa next he and I had quite a few conversations where he would enlighten me with his views. "One God Jon, one love, and we are all a part of Him. It is a never ending circle...life that is." He would whisper these things to me during group sessions and I found him to be very intriguing. The last letter he gave me before he left the unit had his name and number on it. "When you get out Jon, deliver this letter to the Archbishop of the Roman Catholic Church in New York. It is of the highest importance, and I would be very appreciative. I include my number here so and if you run into any problems just call me. Also if you ever need a job in Virginia you got one."
He left the next day and I couldn't help but observe that as crazy as I am, as crazy as my father was, and as crazy as everyone in here is, there is a certain truth to everything. And like my Russian friend said, they are just things that people would rather not hear much less listen to.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 9:05 AM
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Thank God For The Crazies
Yep, thank God for the crazy fucked up people in this world. This illusion of reality that we live in is so crazy by itself that the delusional words spoken by any mental health patient might seem more tempting to conform to. Bless them all God damn it. Bless my father who I used to spend countless hours with videotaping the trees in the front and backyard hoping to catch whom he referred to as the "Tree People". God damn it they were real! As real as the sweat that would drip from my Dad's forehead when he would talk about them.
Bless my neighbor who is a vampire from the medieval ages and has not been able to use his powers for almost two years. But fortunately he is also an angel who frequently saves people with his lightning fast speed and his psychic intuition. Even though my neighbor weighs close to 300 pounds he is able to transform into an angel who can run at the speed of light. Amazingly, he is over 130 years old and looks like he is only about 25.
God bless my Aunt who hosts about five or six different people that live inside her. One being a seductive temptress and another being a very animated six year old girl whom I had the privileged of talking to.
Bless my uncle Bob, who is a gifted photographer who has gotten his heart stopped by many electric cow fences in the process of trying to cross over them to get the picture he wanted. He also once shrunk into a tiny one-inch version of himself and tried to crawl underneath a small crack at the bottom of a door.
I am quite thankful for being able to cross the paths of so many people that have had so many different adventures.
Being that white vans used to park outside my house and use sophisticated equipment to steal all of my song writing ideas. And colorful balls of energy continuously swarm around me taking the form of demonic faces, letters, numbers, codes, and at times some very small, oddly shaped little creatures. Yes sir, I think I have earned the right to use the word “crazy,” and carry it around like a badge of honor.
Even though the word "crazy" is just another way to classify and label people separate from the rest of the flock, I find it very liberating. Fuck, it's like a constant reminder of how much we all have to offer each other. Of course, like everything else in this world there is good crazy and bad crazy. Now being that I believe there to be no opposites there really is no difference.
The good crazy is just a stepping stone to the bad crazy and the bad crazy is just an educational center that leads to the good crazy. Each is useful. Each is inspiring. Each owns it's own feeling of liberation..
We all are crazy in our own ways. How could we not be in this dimension full of lies, losses and illusions of what is to be perceived as reality. How crazy do you look to a crazy person? Probably damn nutty. Hopefully I'm striking some kind of nerve in anyone who is reading this and is thinking they've got it all figured out. You’re only as stable and perfect as you lead yourself on to believe you are.
When we allow our ideals or vision of how things are to be shaken up every once in a while, we are opening the door to our hearts. Only at that time, when we let go of our pride, do we see that love, compassion and understanding is what makes us all the same.
What is one thing to you may be completely different to another person. When you open your heart to a complete stranger who may be telling you how he likes to eat glass and that he really is a king of some faraway place made out of creme filled ding-dongs, take some interest. As psycho as it might sound to you this is how he or she sees the world. Whether or not it is real doesn't matter. The reason it doesn't matter is because anything a person feels or experiences is real. Whether it's based on truth or is absolute bullshit it is real to them.
Now I'm not saying you have to put your life in danger by traveling to the darkest alleys to hear the stories of people. I'm just saying that if someone crosses your path with beliefs that don’t fit yours at least listen to them and try to understand. You don’t have to agree with what they say. In fact, a little bit of debate isn't always a bad thing. But don't tell them that what they are feeling or going through isn't real, because it is. So, what’s true or untrue does not matter when it comes to the feelings of another person.
This is also the case when you are trying to apply what is real to yourself so that you may conform to the reality of everyone else. Feeling like an outcast most of my life and that I always come last after everyone else, I have dealt with the pain of conformity. The way you should approach this is by being open to all of your thoughts and feelings just as you would towards somebody else. Be loving and understanding towards yourself no matter how crazy, how ugly, or how wrong you think you are. Or however "out there" your thoughts may seem.
Among many different things I learned from my father one very valuable tool was how to look back at all of your ugly, crazy thoughts or actions and laugh. On top of all of us being very sensitive, passionate and loving people, we are also very humorous, funny people.
Although the ugly, crazy times may have been very painful, those feelings from those experiences will be with us forever. So why not laugh at them every once in awhile and humor yourself. We all are going to go through enough pain and suffering during our time in this world. So laughing at yourself may give you that wonderfully crazy sense of liberation.
Bless my neighbor who is a vampire from the medieval ages and has not been able to use his powers for almost two years. But fortunately he is also an angel who frequently saves people with his lightning fast speed and his psychic intuition. Even though my neighbor weighs close to 300 pounds he is able to transform into an angel who can run at the speed of light. Amazingly, he is over 130 years old and looks like he is only about 25.
God bless my Aunt who hosts about five or six different people that live inside her. One being a seductive temptress and another being a very animated six year old girl whom I had the privileged of talking to.
Bless my uncle Bob, who is a gifted photographer who has gotten his heart stopped by many electric cow fences in the process of trying to cross over them to get the picture he wanted. He also once shrunk into a tiny one-inch version of himself and tried to crawl underneath a small crack at the bottom of a door.
I am quite thankful for being able to cross the paths of so many people that have had so many different adventures.
Being that white vans used to park outside my house and use sophisticated equipment to steal all of my song writing ideas. And colorful balls of energy continuously swarm around me taking the form of demonic faces, letters, numbers, codes, and at times some very small, oddly shaped little creatures. Yes sir, I think I have earned the right to use the word “crazy,” and carry it around like a badge of honor.
Even though the word "crazy" is just another way to classify and label people separate from the rest of the flock, I find it very liberating. Fuck, it's like a constant reminder of how much we all have to offer each other. Of course, like everything else in this world there is good crazy and bad crazy. Now being that I believe there to be no opposites there really is no difference.
The good crazy is just a stepping stone to the bad crazy and the bad crazy is just an educational center that leads to the good crazy. Each is useful. Each is inspiring. Each owns it's own feeling of liberation..
We all are crazy in our own ways. How could we not be in this dimension full of lies, losses and illusions of what is to be perceived as reality. How crazy do you look to a crazy person? Probably damn nutty. Hopefully I'm striking some kind of nerve in anyone who is reading this and is thinking they've got it all figured out. You’re only as stable and perfect as you lead yourself on to believe you are.
When we allow our ideals or vision of how things are to be shaken up every once in a while, we are opening the door to our hearts. Only at that time, when we let go of our pride, do we see that love, compassion and understanding is what makes us all the same.
What is one thing to you may be completely different to another person. When you open your heart to a complete stranger who may be telling you how he likes to eat glass and that he really is a king of some faraway place made out of creme filled ding-dongs, take some interest. As psycho as it might sound to you this is how he or she sees the world. Whether or not it is real doesn't matter. The reason it doesn't matter is because anything a person feels or experiences is real. Whether it's based on truth or is absolute bullshit it is real to them.
Now I'm not saying you have to put your life in danger by traveling to the darkest alleys to hear the stories of people. I'm just saying that if someone crosses your path with beliefs that don’t fit yours at least listen to them and try to understand. You don’t have to agree with what they say. In fact, a little bit of debate isn't always a bad thing. But don't tell them that what they are feeling or going through isn't real, because it is. So, what’s true or untrue does not matter when it comes to the feelings of another person.
This is also the case when you are trying to apply what is real to yourself so that you may conform to the reality of everyone else. Feeling like an outcast most of my life and that I always come last after everyone else, I have dealt with the pain of conformity. The way you should approach this is by being open to all of your thoughts and feelings just as you would towards somebody else. Be loving and understanding towards yourself no matter how crazy, how ugly, or how wrong you think you are. Or however "out there" your thoughts may seem.
Among many different things I learned from my father one very valuable tool was how to look back at all of your ugly, crazy thoughts or actions and laugh. On top of all of us being very sensitive, passionate and loving people, we are also very humorous, funny people.
Although the ugly, crazy times may have been very painful, those feelings from those experiences will be with us forever. So why not laugh at them every once in awhile and humor yourself. We all are going to go through enough pain and suffering during our time in this world. So laughing at yourself may give you that wonderfully crazy sense of liberation.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 9:04 AM
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The Beginning of An End
The next day was a day I could never forget the details of. There is no way I can be vague in telling you the events. It is a story I knew I would have to tell, but I only wanted to tell it once. This is a subject that has always been hard for me to look back on without feeling what I felt that very moment. I can relive it with absolute precision. I accept my losses but this is just one that I cannot recount without sorrow.
I woke up around noon and was planning on finishing the laundry I had to do so I could get back to my dads' house. My grandpa called not too long after I woke up and told me he had been trying to reach my dad on the phone, but was unable to. My grandpa had been trying to call him since 8 am with no answer. This had happened before, but when I went to investigate my dad answered his door. He was just "hibernating"(taking a break from all things to tend to himself).
But this time was different. I could feel it right down to my bones. I told my grandpa I would try calling my dad and would call him back. I was left feeling very unsettled, but quickly picked up the phone and dialed my dads' apartment. No answer. I left a message on my dad’s answering machine. I called again. No answer. I left another message. Each time I would call my messages became more desperate—almost pleading and begging for him to pick up.
I quickly jumped into "emergency mode.” I quickly got dressed in the basement, and franticly told my sister that she couldn't use her car to go to work because I had to check on dad. My movements just felt like reflex, but my mind and soul knew the truth of what I was about to face. I was just doing what I had to do. No questions asked and no conclusions made.
My entire body was shaking as I ran out the door to my sister's car. As I was speeding to my dad's apartment building the questions began to fill my fears. I called my grandpa on my cell phone and told him I was heading to dads' to check on him and would call back when I got word of what was going on. I hung up covered with denial of what I knew to be true.
I parked my sister's car in front of his building in the "emergency only" spot. Everything from this point on went in slow motion. The knowing of what was and my fears of facing it seemed to slow the whole world down. This only made the anticipation worse. I scrambled to keep myself together, for I knew that was how my dad would have handled it. Anyways he was my fucking partner, my best friend and the most interesting person I knew. If he was under fire I had to back him up and get him out of there, because he would do the same for me.
I used his keys that he had just made me copies of a week before to get in. I jogged up the wheelchair ramp at a pace that only seemed useless, but I did not know what to do other than what I was doing. I was running against the wind towards my biggest fear. My wishful mind could only imagine my dad answering his door with one of his "I'm feeling like shit but I'll smile anyway" faces. I opened the second entry door and dashed to the elevator. I pushed the up button about 20 times in hopes that it would speed the elevator up--that the elevator would realize I'm in panic and need its service. Right when I was about to use the staircase the elevator doors finally opened and swallowed me up. I pushed floor 6 and was forced to stand there for I had no place to run.
I watched the numbers light up one by one as it made it's way to floor 6. It stopped at my destination and because the doors opened slowly, there was about a 5 second wait before they reopened again. The splitting of the doors engaged and revealed the bench and the waist up mirror that had always resided there as you got on and off the elevator. My heart was pounding, I was dripping with sweat everywhere, and my reflection only sickened me. The blotchiness in my face looked worse than ever as I couldn't help but to take a glance at myself as I got off the elevator. The person in the mirror could have been a completely different person for all I knew, and I didn't care.
I walked briskly down the short hall and turned left down the longer hall where my dads' room was. The speed in my walk decreased as I got closer to his apartment door. I stopped in front of his door and felt cold, really cold. It looked as if the lighting in the building dimmed.
I knocked first because I knew my dad valued his privacy, and always respected mine. I knocked, and knocked.... silence. I put my ear to the door...complete silence. At this point I stopped in the moment and allowed myself to take in a deep breath. I then jingled through my keys to find the right one and realized I had the right key ready in my hand before I even got to his door.... another deep breathe.
I placed the key in the lock and slowly turned it. I was readying myself to face anything. The door made the all too familiar clicking sound as it unlocked. I opened the door and at first glance felt the shattering of my heart.
My dad was in plain sight, lying sideways in his chair with one leg dangling over. His head looked as if it had knocked over the lamp next to his chair which was still on. I froze. Trying to digest what I was seeing. I rushed in and closed the door behind me. I walked to him and saw that his eyelids were open but his eyes had rolled back into his head. I screamed for him..."Dad, what's wrong?! Dad, dad, dad!?".
Expecting an answer that I really knew would never come I moved closer to him still filled with hope that he might sit up. The silence was excruciating. I grabbed his hand and placed my other hand behind his head. He felt cold. Colder than I had ever felt anyone. My tears had been pouring since I first opened the door.
I then did what most anyone would have. I called “911.” The dispatcher picked up, and I told him my dad was cold, unconscious, not moving, and possibly dead. He got the address from me and said some people were on their way. He said that time is crucial and that I had to perform CPR. I had never done this for anyone, but that did not keep me from trying. He instructed me on what to do, and told me first I had to get him on the floor. I then put the phone down, but didn’t hang up.
I looked at my dad who was wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt, black sweat pants, and big construction boots strapped to his feet. I did what the dispatcher told me. I picked up my dad (who weighed about 280 pounds or more at the time) and put him on his apartment floor. I was later surprised that I was even able to lift him. Maybe it was the adrenalin, but I was not thinking about that at the time.
I then began to perform CPR.while pushing down on his chest about 15 times after every 3 or 4 breaths that I filled him with. Nothing was happening and the tears seemed to never stop. Then all of a sudden he let out what I now believe was just gas through his mouth. I will never forget the sound he made as I thought I might have revived him. Silence then prevailed once again, and a feeling over came me.
I felt as if my dad was in the room and was telling me to let him go. Let me go Jon, it's okay. I looked up towards his ceiling, thinking that he might have been watching me from there and a smile formed on my face.
The moment I felt this was the moment I understood. My dad was gone, but would never leave me. Still as peaceful as this was I was overcome with pain and grief.
I laid over my dad's body and then sat next to him, knowing he was dead. I was stuck in a trance, and realized that there was nothing I could do to bring him back. All I could think about or say was how much I loved him.
The paramedics arrived. I jumped up from the floor and tried to manage human communication with these guys. Given the situation, only spurts of uncontrollable whimpers came out over my words. They looked at me and advised me to try and relax and maybe get something to drink. I went into my dad's kitchen, which was not that separate of a room compared to where his body was laying. He had a small apartment but we were always very comfortable in it.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of pop. I opened it and took a few sips. This action felt too every day, and this was not like every day. I glance at my dad's kitchen knives and imagined slitting my wrists when these guys leave and meeting my dad up on the ceiling. But then my other family members began to fill my head. No one else knew about this and I had to be the messenger. This was bad news, but who else would tell everyone else, especially my immediate family who I knew were going to be just as devastated by this.
The paramedics did not take long performing what they had to do. They told me that he had probably been gone for 6-8 hours and that initially it looked like a massive heart attack. They tried to comfort me with the fact that he went quickly, but that didn't mean a damn thing to me at the time. He was still gone.
The paramedics said that they would stick around till the undertakers got there. I calmly tried to explain to them, after asking about 20 questions, that I had to call my grandpa. I took the phone and brought it into the bathroom to make this hard call. I didn't think. I just dialed…knowing that there was no perfect way to say this.
My grandpa answered and his voice reminded me of how I might have sounded a day earlier. I said it just as it was. "Pap, dad's dead!" He quickly responded with "what!?" I repeated the only thing I could say..."Dad's dead pap, dad's dead!" He tried to ask me questions and soon realized I was too in shock to answer anything. He told me he was calling a cab and coming over.
I sat down in my dad's black computer chair and saw that he had his favorite television channel on and the volume on mute. The undertakers soon arrived and the paramedics departed. I awaited the terror of my grandpa's arrival. I knew this was going to break him.
By the time my grandpa arrived the undertakers had already put a sheet over my father's body. He stumbled in with what looked like the caution of the world. He looked at me. Then looked at the sheet, and then at the two older men who were in the room. I offered my chair to my grandpa, and he sat down in the seat right in front of the sheet. He asked the two men if he could see his son's body. They of course said yes and lifted the sheet from his face and folded it back down to his waist line. As soon as my dad's face hit the eyes of my grandpa, my grandpa broke down like I'd never seen him before. I held him and he held me. "Why!?, why!? why did you have to leave so soon son!?" "You were doing so well!"His body was soon covered again and they began too put him on a stretcher to take him out. The manager of the building, who I knew and my dad knew well, came up to the door and expressed her sympathy. My good old grandpa was able to make conversation with her while I wondered what the hell I would do now.
His body left the room and we soon followed but not without me first taking the secret box that me dad told me to take if anything were to happen. I drove my grandpa home unable to even say the easiest of things. We were both in shock. I hugged my grandpa as I dropped him off and we let out a good cry. He told me that we would soon be in touch again.
I drove home, not knowing how to even look at the rest of my family who had no idea of what happened. I parked outside my house and sat there in the car trying to find the strength to get out. I cried and sat there and thought back to when my grandpa first called me. I knew the truth. I knew my father had died. And I knew that I had to face it. But my fears overwhelmed me as I ran towards them.
I was still sitting in the car crying..... frozen. "What am I going to do?" "How can I tell my family" who were just doing their daily activities inside the house. “I’ll let them be for a minute before I shatter their world like mine is." I sat there a little longer..... 18 days before my18th birthday. My dad was 58.
I woke up around noon and was planning on finishing the laundry I had to do so I could get back to my dads' house. My grandpa called not too long after I woke up and told me he had been trying to reach my dad on the phone, but was unable to. My grandpa had been trying to call him since 8 am with no answer. This had happened before, but when I went to investigate my dad answered his door. He was just "hibernating"(taking a break from all things to tend to himself).
But this time was different. I could feel it right down to my bones. I told my grandpa I would try calling my dad and would call him back. I was left feeling very unsettled, but quickly picked up the phone and dialed my dads' apartment. No answer. I left a message on my dad’s answering machine. I called again. No answer. I left another message. Each time I would call my messages became more desperate—almost pleading and begging for him to pick up.
I quickly jumped into "emergency mode.” I quickly got dressed in the basement, and franticly told my sister that she couldn't use her car to go to work because I had to check on dad. My movements just felt like reflex, but my mind and soul knew the truth of what I was about to face. I was just doing what I had to do. No questions asked and no conclusions made.
My entire body was shaking as I ran out the door to my sister's car. As I was speeding to my dad's apartment building the questions began to fill my fears. I called my grandpa on my cell phone and told him I was heading to dads' to check on him and would call back when I got word of what was going on. I hung up covered with denial of what I knew to be true.
I parked my sister's car in front of his building in the "emergency only" spot. Everything from this point on went in slow motion. The knowing of what was and my fears of facing it seemed to slow the whole world down. This only made the anticipation worse. I scrambled to keep myself together, for I knew that was how my dad would have handled it. Anyways he was my fucking partner, my best friend and the most interesting person I knew. If he was under fire I had to back him up and get him out of there, because he would do the same for me.
I used his keys that he had just made me copies of a week before to get in. I jogged up the wheelchair ramp at a pace that only seemed useless, but I did not know what to do other than what I was doing. I was running against the wind towards my biggest fear. My wishful mind could only imagine my dad answering his door with one of his "I'm feeling like shit but I'll smile anyway" faces. I opened the second entry door and dashed to the elevator. I pushed the up button about 20 times in hopes that it would speed the elevator up--that the elevator would realize I'm in panic and need its service. Right when I was about to use the staircase the elevator doors finally opened and swallowed me up. I pushed floor 6 and was forced to stand there for I had no place to run.
I watched the numbers light up one by one as it made it's way to floor 6. It stopped at my destination and because the doors opened slowly, there was about a 5 second wait before they reopened again. The splitting of the doors engaged and revealed the bench and the waist up mirror that had always resided there as you got on and off the elevator. My heart was pounding, I was dripping with sweat everywhere, and my reflection only sickened me. The blotchiness in my face looked worse than ever as I couldn't help but to take a glance at myself as I got off the elevator. The person in the mirror could have been a completely different person for all I knew, and I didn't care.
I walked briskly down the short hall and turned left down the longer hall where my dads' room was. The speed in my walk decreased as I got closer to his apartment door. I stopped in front of his door and felt cold, really cold. It looked as if the lighting in the building dimmed.
I knocked first because I knew my dad valued his privacy, and always respected mine. I knocked, and knocked.... silence. I put my ear to the door...complete silence. At this point I stopped in the moment and allowed myself to take in a deep breath. I then jingled through my keys to find the right one and realized I had the right key ready in my hand before I even got to his door.... another deep breathe.
I placed the key in the lock and slowly turned it. I was readying myself to face anything. The door made the all too familiar clicking sound as it unlocked. I opened the door and at first glance felt the shattering of my heart.
My dad was in plain sight, lying sideways in his chair with one leg dangling over. His head looked as if it had knocked over the lamp next to his chair which was still on. I froze. Trying to digest what I was seeing. I rushed in and closed the door behind me. I walked to him and saw that his eyelids were open but his eyes had rolled back into his head. I screamed for him..."Dad, what's wrong?! Dad, dad, dad!?".
Expecting an answer that I really knew would never come I moved closer to him still filled with hope that he might sit up. The silence was excruciating. I grabbed his hand and placed my other hand behind his head. He felt cold. Colder than I had ever felt anyone. My tears had been pouring since I first opened the door.
I then did what most anyone would have. I called “911.” The dispatcher picked up, and I told him my dad was cold, unconscious, not moving, and possibly dead. He got the address from me and said some people were on their way. He said that time is crucial and that I had to perform CPR. I had never done this for anyone, but that did not keep me from trying. He instructed me on what to do, and told me first I had to get him on the floor. I then put the phone down, but didn’t hang up.
I looked at my dad who was wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt, black sweat pants, and big construction boots strapped to his feet. I did what the dispatcher told me. I picked up my dad (who weighed about 280 pounds or more at the time) and put him on his apartment floor. I was later surprised that I was even able to lift him. Maybe it was the adrenalin, but I was not thinking about that at the time.
I then began to perform CPR.while pushing down on his chest about 15 times after every 3 or 4 breaths that I filled him with. Nothing was happening and the tears seemed to never stop. Then all of a sudden he let out what I now believe was just gas through his mouth. I will never forget the sound he made as I thought I might have revived him. Silence then prevailed once again, and a feeling over came me.
I felt as if my dad was in the room and was telling me to let him go. Let me go Jon, it's okay. I looked up towards his ceiling, thinking that he might have been watching me from there and a smile formed on my face.
The moment I felt this was the moment I understood. My dad was gone, but would never leave me. Still as peaceful as this was I was overcome with pain and grief.
I laid over my dad's body and then sat next to him, knowing he was dead. I was stuck in a trance, and realized that there was nothing I could do to bring him back. All I could think about or say was how much I loved him.
The paramedics arrived. I jumped up from the floor and tried to manage human communication with these guys. Given the situation, only spurts of uncontrollable whimpers came out over my words. They looked at me and advised me to try and relax and maybe get something to drink. I went into my dad's kitchen, which was not that separate of a room compared to where his body was laying. He had a small apartment but we were always very comfortable in it.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of pop. I opened it and took a few sips. This action felt too every day, and this was not like every day. I glance at my dad's kitchen knives and imagined slitting my wrists when these guys leave and meeting my dad up on the ceiling. But then my other family members began to fill my head. No one else knew about this and I had to be the messenger. This was bad news, but who else would tell everyone else, especially my immediate family who I knew were going to be just as devastated by this.
The paramedics did not take long performing what they had to do. They told me that he had probably been gone for 6-8 hours and that initially it looked like a massive heart attack. They tried to comfort me with the fact that he went quickly, but that didn't mean a damn thing to me at the time. He was still gone.
The paramedics said that they would stick around till the undertakers got there. I calmly tried to explain to them, after asking about 20 questions, that I had to call my grandpa. I took the phone and brought it into the bathroom to make this hard call. I didn't think. I just dialed…knowing that there was no perfect way to say this.
My grandpa answered and his voice reminded me of how I might have sounded a day earlier. I said it just as it was. "Pap, dad's dead!" He quickly responded with "what!?" I repeated the only thing I could say..."Dad's dead pap, dad's dead!" He tried to ask me questions and soon realized I was too in shock to answer anything. He told me he was calling a cab and coming over.
I sat down in my dad's black computer chair and saw that he had his favorite television channel on and the volume on mute. The undertakers soon arrived and the paramedics departed. I awaited the terror of my grandpa's arrival. I knew this was going to break him.
By the time my grandpa arrived the undertakers had already put a sheet over my father's body. He stumbled in with what looked like the caution of the world. He looked at me. Then looked at the sheet, and then at the two older men who were in the room. I offered my chair to my grandpa, and he sat down in the seat right in front of the sheet. He asked the two men if he could see his son's body. They of course said yes and lifted the sheet from his face and folded it back down to his waist line. As soon as my dad's face hit the eyes of my grandpa, my grandpa broke down like I'd never seen him before. I held him and he held me. "Why!?, why!? why did you have to leave so soon son!?" "You were doing so well!"His body was soon covered again and they began too put him on a stretcher to take him out. The manager of the building, who I knew and my dad knew well, came up to the door and expressed her sympathy. My good old grandpa was able to make conversation with her while I wondered what the hell I would do now.
His body left the room and we soon followed but not without me first taking the secret box that me dad told me to take if anything were to happen. I drove my grandpa home unable to even say the easiest of things. We were both in shock. I hugged my grandpa as I dropped him off and we let out a good cry. He told me that we would soon be in touch again.
I drove home, not knowing how to even look at the rest of my family who had no idea of what happened. I parked outside my house and sat there in the car trying to find the strength to get out. I cried and sat there and thought back to when my grandpa first called me. I knew the truth. I knew my father had died. And I knew that I had to face it. But my fears overwhelmed me as I ran towards them.
I was still sitting in the car crying..... frozen. "What am I going to do?" "How can I tell my family" who were just doing their daily activities inside the house. “I’ll let them be for a minute before I shatter their world like mine is." I sat there a little longer..... 18 days before my18th birthday. My dad was 58.
posted by Elias Lemoon | 9:03 AM
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