My Dilerious Mind.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I am not sure if I should write this hub, but I am almost completely honest when I write unless a since of shame causes me to edit my work to certain extremes.
Sometimes I do not know myself, and do not realize that my mind has difficulties.
I think that my past in very dangerous situations still flash back into my thoughts. When I faced a burning eighteen wheeler I was not afraid to die, but the moment was amazing, astounding, paramount, so far into another realm of existence.
It was like I was there among the Heavens among the gladiators fighting momentous foes. It was like being in a world of bright lights that flashed in my mind like profound stars. It was like my insides , and all ny nerves in my body could feel everything. It was like being prepared for and impact that could obliterate every single molecule in my body. Everything around me was in bright lights. I think of crying when I now realize how close I came to being blown to pieces, or vaporized, or carbonized by flames of great magnitudes. No matter what we are we still desire to live, or wonder what our bodies, or minds will have to tolerate before the transition into the unknown.
Little Becky, my baby was so big in my mind. Sometime I just don't rest right. It is like a great pressures still causes me to crack up a little.
I am not easy to live with sometimes. I faced a lot of guns to save lives. I wasn't scared. I was so dead inside. Guns , shooters, criminals. They were nothing to me. I was broken down over our little baby. I just cried, and never stopped crying for what seemed like twenty, maybe thirty years. I wasn't afraid of anything. Every nerve in my body was numb.
The concern of being vaporized just seemed to wear on me as I threw buckets of water on the monster. So big, and such mighty flames, and my heart felt sick, and my stomach muscles stiffened. The body prepares itself for total destruction, and annihilation.
I received a commendation for facing the burninf eighteen wheeler fuel truck situation. I called firefighters, and twenty of them came like lightening to help me to destroy the flames. I wonder how many people would ever believe that I walked between two shooters , and demanded that they drop their weapons. How many people would believe that I have had armies of enforcement officers, as many as forty , or more comming to my rescue. I have stopped major gun battles. The truck could have taken the fuel racks with it, and a refinery, and part of a city, and killed God only knows how many people. I feel like crying when I think back at that moment knowing that God saved me from dying, and the refinery from being obliterated. I had no choice. I had to go to the burning truck. It was and automatic decision. I had to protect everyone , and my life was expendable to that effort if necessary. It is in a policeman's code. It is in a soldier's code. It is right to face great odds for the lives of people you love. You may not think you love a stranger until that stranger is dying in your arms. I had a boy die in my arms from a car accident. He was all twisted up. He was only a boy. He was a stranger, but I loved him because I guess it was because he was part of our human race. Maybe we all love one another more than we will ever know.
Sometimes I was so delirious when I worked pushing carts in a parking lot for a great big Super Center. It was a nothing job. It was below my abilities, but I was crushed over mom's death.
I was so gone. I lowered my head, and pushed all day in the one hundred and five degree asphalt lot. Long lines I pushed while I lowered my head, and cried, and prayed to saints and God.
A sweet delirious mindlessness would come over me. Beyond the great heat, and the internal body hell the body reaches a new level of tolerance. My mind would swim in delicious dreamy madness of delirium as my tears ran over my face. I would pray, and pray, and pray, and dope myself up with tons of pain medicine , and vitamins to make my mind and body super strong in and insane kind of way. If I did not take the pain medicine I would scream in agony. B-12 tablets made my arms like iron. The sun would beat down on me.
Men dropped like flies. I protected most of them by trying to do some of their work too. Heat will set you on fire in the craziness of all that work. The poor boys, some would colapse, and foam at the mouth. I began bringing home made ice tea that Joann made for a ten gallon thermos , and I made the boys, and men drink as much as they wanted too. I was muscular , and could pick up the back of the iron carts with my shoulder strength, and push forty to sixty to even eighty iron carts at one time. God had risen me above eight years of tears , and crying , and weeping over our baby Becky, and my dead mother , and I worked with the greasy slime of sweat , and soil like all the men were supposed to do to bring home the bread, and butter. I worked for eight years in that parking lot even with congestive heart failure , and pneumonia. I worked until I dropped to my knees crying, and screaming in agony because I did something bad to my kidneys, and lungs, and even to my intestinal system. I worked until I could not stand up, and until the only thing that could keep me standing were the carts I pushed. They supported the weight of my body. I had to lean on them to make it to the break room.
I developed psychological problems. My body, and mind had gone to hell. The only entities that kept me alive was God, and my wife Joann. Joann did everything for me. Acids ate up my insides. Severe insane anxiety would keep me from breathing. I turned into a coward over the most smallest things. I prayed for even my post office mail would be good mail, and never anything bad. I became a broken man, a crying man, a constantly weeping man. I could not sit even on a toilet without my intestines burning me alive. My wife became my nurse.
God must have saved my life a thousand times. I felt so good once when I saved a sweet little girl's life. The poor sweet child screamed , and cried until I picked her up, and carried her to my car. I drove almost ninety miles and hour to get her to and emergency room. I was always at my best when times were horrible. The doctor said that had I been five minutes longer the girl would have died. I am glad I was useful to Caroline. She was a sweet sixteen year old African American girl . I cradled her in my arms. I also carried dead aunt, and men have leaned on my shoulders. I grabbed a deaf man before a building exploded into flames. A young boy died in my arms. I have seen bodies mangled slaughterd wild life. I have seen girls, and boys with blood dripping from their lifeless hair. Every time someone was in my arms I felt God's presence in volatile times. I have stood up my child, and cried, wishing she could walk. I drew pictures of saints, and Mary , and Christ when all I could do was to draw. Every day I drew new pictures of angels, and God, and saint Mary.
My mind was just blown away by so much violence, death, torment, and tears. I lost mom , and dad that I cherished. My poor mother just simply died so slow. That nearly drove me crazy. They almost locked me away in and institution.
I never in my life drink alcohol. I do not dare. It is a depressant that would bring me back to memories in a dark gruesome place to the dungeons of hell. I think I have been to hell. It is where life is about unbearable suffering, and terrible tears forever. My heart will cry forever over Becky no matter how many years go by. If only I could give her my legs so she could walk, my sweet darling.
I love Becky , and Joann very much. I am over protective with them.
Don drove up at the refinery. He was funny. He raised his hands high in the air for a few fleeting seconds, and yelled out the word " KABOOM." Then he looked straight at me, and then he had a smile from ear to ear. He was a very good friend. I liked him for his bravery. He was a Marine Corp Helicopter pilot during the Vietnam conflicts. Don was a very professional soldier like my dear old deceased dad. Don was never serious over a darn thing. Everything was kind of funny to him, or at least he pretended it was. He had seen a lot of action. Another one of my very good dear friends was and Irishman named Terry. He was a police officer. He earned the Medal Of Valor by taking out a gunman during a robbery of a convenience store. I had many friends, all of whom were exceptionally good at doing specific tasks very well. All were good men you could feel glad to be around.
God Bless Everyone.