June 02, 2003
When my ex-wife told me that she didn't want to be married anymore, she took my son and ran off to shack up with her unemployed, dope-smoking lover in his single-wide trailer 50 miles down the road. Whatta woman.
She WAS clever enough to cancel all the credit cards and clean out the bank accounts first, so that she threw me into the street with a sheriff's warrant on my head with $60 to my name. I checked into the cheapest motel I could find. Lots of Spanish was spoken there.
I felt as if I had a feral animal trying to claw its way out of my chest. I never hurt so badly in my life. I drank a pint of vodka. That didn't stop the pain. My One True Love broke my heart. I couldn't believe it. I can't believe it to this day. But she planned it, she did it, and she carried it off exactly according to plan. I remain stunned by that fact today, but I was REALLY disemboweled that night.
So, I wrote three suicide notes, laid my identifications out on a table, broke open a Bic razor and cut myself really bad on every major artery I could hit. I still have the scars to show you from that episode. I did it in the bathtub with the warm water running, because I wanted to die. I still don't know why it didn't work.
I passed out from loss of blood, but I clotted and didn't die. I woke up in the ambulance on the way to the hospital after the maid found me the next morning. I was really pissed about the way things turned out. The doctor who sewed me up was pissed, too, and didn't use any novicaine. I didn't care. The stitches didn't hurt that bad. He kept cussing at me, telling me that my hemoglobin was down to 7 and I would suffer all sorts of organ damage from that kind of blood loss.
Ha! I didn't. Of course, I had collapsed my veins so badly that the three pints of whole blood they gave me had to go in my leg, because that was the only vein they could find to hit. I really should have died.
They threw me into the looney bin for ten days under Suicide Watch, which I found amusing. An orderly was tasked to come to my bed once every hour and ask me, even if I were asleep, "Are you going to try to kill yourself again?" I was hooked up to an IV tripod and wearing one of those assless hospital gowns. "Are you going to believe anything I say?" was always my answer.
I finally got pissed at that idiocy and told him (although the night guy was okay... just doing his job) that if he woke me up again to ask me such a stupid question that I might KILL HIM, because I DON'T GIVE A SHIT! He left me alone and allowed me to sleep after that.
I finally talked the shrink into letting me out of there. He signed all the papers to release me and I was going to stay at mama's house and go back to work to put my life back together.
That's when the Bloodless Cunt got involved. She hit my mama with all sorts of logic about how unstable I was and how I didn't need to go back to work in a chemical plant after attempting suicide, and mama ate every crumb of it. She called the doctor and cancelled my release. My mama once trusted Jennifer the way I did. She knows better now.
I was stopped at the door the next day and told that my release was cancelled. I spent another night in the looney bin while Jennifer managed to get me put in Willingway Hospital, a rehab clinic in Statesboro. My mama paid for it, of course. I didn't really need rehab, because I never needed dexox, but once you're grabbed by those people, you stay there until THEY say you go.
My brother drove me there. I was just happy to get out of the looney-bin, because at least I could smoke cigarettes again, but I asked him, "Dave, did you have a fucking thing to do with this? If you DID, pull the car over right now. I'm going to beat the dogshit out of you."
He said, "Rob, I'm just following orders."
For a high-octaine litigator, he ain't much in a pinch.
I spent 35 days there and got out after I told my councellor that I was going to jump the fence if they didn't let me go. I had prostate cancer. Jennifer was sending me nothing but divorce decrees in the mail while she ran off to rock concerts in Jacksonville with her new lover. I wrote Quinton every day and NEVER got a reply. Jennifer saw to that.
Yeah, I whine. I've got a lot to fucking whine about.
Walk a mile in my shoes, THEN tell me how much you know. As soon as I was safely ensconsced at Willingway, the Bloodless Cunt moved the unemployed dopesmoker into my house. That disease-infected (hepatitus "C") cretin slept in MY bed, saw MY son every day and fucked MY WIFE while I was locked up in a goddam rehab clinic.
When I got out, I had to bring my brother with me as protection against her calling the law on me because of the peace warrant when I picked up my stuff (all NEATLY PACKED, by her) to try and rebuild my life. I had my guts and my manhood cut out 28 days later. She put a swimming pool in her back yard last week.
Don't you fucking people tell ME to be tough. I've hung my head into the abyss. I liked what I saw there. It's better than what I've seen and lived before.
That's no confession, that's a cry for help.
You cannot even imagine the kind of pain you would reap on Quinton's head if you succeeded in ending your life. This is the kind of inheritance he deserves?
Your pain is awesome, frightening and full of black lonliness. But you have a chance to heal if YOU so choose to do so. Don't do this to him, there is no peace in it for you or for him, only eternal questions.
Maybe it's time for you to walk a narrower path to be the salt and the light for Quinton.
The ONLY REASON I don't quit is my boy.
He still loves me as daddy, even if I do see him only twice a month for four days total. We have a good time in the time we have.
But that shit ain't right.
While I am sympathetic to the fact that you've had some hard knocks, don't for a minute think that you have suffered more than anyone else on this earth. You are not the first or last to try to end your life, or succeed in doing so; you are certainly not the first or last to have to go through a divorce; to have a deck stacked against you; to suffer pain and heartache.
It's the fabric of life, Rob. Nothing more; nothing less.
Let the pity party continue. I thought something had changed. Looks like it's all still the same.
Second verse, same as the first.
I never told you to be tough. That isn't even anything I'd ever say. I ain't your momma.
Dammit, if you are gonna quit, quit. If you aren't gonna quit, don't quit. If you write, I'll read. If you don't write, I'll read something else. It's that simple.
I hope you don't quit, but I'm not about to coddle your ass and beg you to write. It just isn't my style. Although I obviously don't speak for all of (or any of) your fan base.
Either way, it's good to see you're back.
You know, we all have a hard luck story. Someday maybe I'll give you mine. But for now what you need to know...and remember. Quinton is just a boy...in a few short years he will start becoming a man. You are his role model..his hero.
Children learn by what they see there parents do...the good, the bad and the ugly. When you have a child..it's not all about YOU anymore. If he sees you wallow in self-pity and how you handle this TEMPORARY low point in your he will handle it the same way...when he THINKS there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Grieve for you loss Sir.. it's your right, then we all have to get about the business of moving on.
You are in my prayers.
I still miss my favorite cousin, Wendy, who hung herself around 15 years ago. Damn crazy Washburn blood seems to make us prone to that sort of stuff. In addition to the large nose genes.
"The ONLY REASON I don't quit is my boy. "
That, sir, is reason enough.
I just hope Quinton is able to tell you someday how much he appreciates your being there for him -- and have you hear it, tell him to knock off the mushy shit, and give him a man-to-man hug.
Wow. I am amazed at the comments telling Acidman to get out of the pity party.
Even if you feel that way -- hell, even if you're right -- I think it reveals a callous misunderstanding of where he is in his life.
Would you tell some one suffering grief at the death of a loved one to snap out of it? No, you'd understand the legitimacy of their emotions, and you'd understand they have to work through the grief process.
So, Acidman, I direct my comments to you: YOU ARE RIGHT. You're life has sucked. What your ex-wife did to you -- what she was allowed to do to you through the legal system -- SUCKS. You got the short end of the stick (to put it mildly), probably in more than this instance you have blogged about. From what you've posted, it seems you, many times, put your head down and kept on truckin' -- making a living, interacting with your sons as much as possible.
And you know what -- it's not fair. I mean, it's NOT FAIR in capital letters. I agree, you drew a fucking poor poker hand in this deck of life. But I also agree that at some point you are going to have to decide to play the hand you were dealt -- and make the best of it.
Maybe when we're all dead and gone, some one, some where (God? Satan? the great Lotto in the Sky?) will reveal the WHY and WHAT IT MEANT and WHAT IT WAS GOOD FOR. Maybe not. Maybe you just got fucked.
But, from reading your blog, I think there is something down deep inside you, that will rise to the challenge. I just think you need to let it rise, instead of trying so hard to pull it up.
And don't listen to people who don't affirm the good in you. I know that sounds like totally new-age bullshit, and I REALLY am not one of those, but having turned 40, I've come to realize that it just don't pay to waste your energy on things that don't do you good.
Start thinking about where you're GOING, instead where you've BEEN.
Best of luck!
All commenters are 'all' right. My kids are grown, but the last one, who is going into his senior year of high school. They rely on you way past 18 years old. (Not that my parents have ever been there.)
I wouldn't admit to this in public, even if I had thought about it (and I have). I have told close friends, in person, what was going on in my life. But, I don't think I would put it ALL out there.
This genre of medium bothers me because I can't know if it is real or not. I need to get back with people I can see and touch.
I won't play with you. I will be back in a couple of days. (Notice I didn't say FOREVER.) Because I know I will be back, and integrity is a big deal to me.
The lesson I take from this tale is that the medical establishment is intentionally cruel, as is demonstrated by their refusal to let their patients smoke while under forced incarceration.
Intentional cruelty is the one true sin in this world, according to my Mama, and everyone else's, I would hope.
This is why I know that the majority of the medical establishment are liars when they claim that they care about people. They only care about their high opinion of themselves.
All those people-- family, friends, and medics alike--were in the wrong to subject you to so much force, Acidman. Their bullshit about caring for you was vanity, plain and simple.
WRITE, WRITE, WRITE!!
It's what you do, it's who you are.
Be there for Quinton; don't ever think he doesn't have a much better handle about what's going on than you can imagine! Some day he'll tell you about what he's seen at the other house...don't press him, it will come out when he needs to tell you.
WRITE, WRITE, WRITE.
It's what you do; it's who you are.
Acidman, Somebody already said you drew a lousy poker hand and that seems to be true. But we all know there are more lousy hands than good ones, so play the ones you're dealt.
Don't quit lovin Quinton & his bud. Don't quit being good at your job. Don't quit writing. Here, in a journal, wherever, write.
I'm just 8 days away from the anniversary of my spouses attempt to take her own life one year ago. This has been a painful year for both of us and we are not out of total danger today.
So. Don't. Quit.
There's a very good reason why you couldn't kill yourself.
You're too fuckin' mean!
ROTHFLMAO! I liked that Ralph!
I TOLD you to be tough and I meant it. Sometimes when we don't feel tough, we must act tough just to get us through the rough times until we can be tough again.
You are certainly not the only human with a sad tale to tell. We all have them, some worse than others and to assume that you are the only one, is really self-absorbed and ridiculous.
Maybe, just maybe, people come here to give themselves the strength to go on when they think they haven't got any. Maybe you provide some of your readers with the example they need to make it through the tough times.
It's okay to say you aren't always up to snuff, but do yourself a favor and absorb some of what people have had to say - we can all learn from the wisdom of others - especially those who have peeked into our lives and seen our demons.
If someone like me, who you have beaten down, insulted, and utterly mistreated can still show support and care for you, then MY GAWD man, stop thinking the whole world is out to get you.
It's out to get me :)
PS. Your ex-wife certainly seems to have earned her moniker. I hate when some women give all women a bad name.
I caught this post on your blog today... and what comes to my mind is that you made it through the very worst in your life, and though you had trouble at first and it was very painful (yes and betrayal cuts deeper than most seem to realize) and you went down hard for a while, you came back up and are getting through it, day by day, as best you can. And if that's not being tough, I don't know what else is. Being tough doesn't mean never allowing yourself any human moments of weakness - I mean hell, I don't care what anyone else says, every one of us is fragile and breakable, no matter what shield or facade we can put up. Fake toughness like that never lasts for long. But being truly tough means that you have the strength to stand back up and keep going when you fall down.
I'm with you Dawn, it's true that a few rotten apples can ruin the whole bunch. There's nothing meaner or lower down than a mean ass snake of a worman. It's not been that long since I had one, supposedly a friend, who led me and my husband down the garden path of suckerdom. And on top of that she sued us after we helped her get her business going again! But I have others who would give their lives, or maybe just the shirt off of their back for me.
Dammit Acidman! You cut *along* the vein, not across it!
Ooops. I said too much.
My late father:s father did himself in when my dad was but a lad of roughly your son's age and, to put it simply, he never got over it. He looked up to his father (who ran a car in a closed garage) all his life and despite his rich and accomplished life (retired from a career in the Foreign Service as an Ambassador), I think he would have traded so much to have been able to share more years with his father.
I'm glad you didn't succeed because there:s a boy growing up with a hero in his life.
The simple fact that the BC didn't die in a hail of gunfire means you're a better man than most, A-man...