#Dreadstorm and the Continuation of Our Descent into Collective Malignant Madness...and Bonsai

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I am in need of a release.  Just a general release of energy.  It’s not good, healthy energy, either.  It’s some awful, dark, fear-aggression thing that has me jerking my head around all over the place at the slightest rustle of just about anything, really.  It is a primal fear which originates at the top of the spine where the very most ancient part of our humanity resides with all the dread it had to face then just to live another day.  It is dread, actually.  I feel actual dread at the prospect of continuing on with my life status quo doing the same thing I have been doing and pretending that we are not in the middle of the collapse of society as we think we know it.  Or as we want it, rather.  Or maybe even need it.  

There are some of us left in the world, particularly here in the U.S., who are connected closely enough with the civil unrest of the sixties, that we can appreciate it in a more tangible way than the youth of today.  We can get some sense of the brute-force energy directed like a Tyson-uppercut at the jaw of our elected power structure in the forms of student and civil uprising and a couple of people with the Balls, figuratively speaking, and eloquence to get noticed and get traction.  I have my parents, both of whom were teens in 1968, for reference to what things were like then.  So, some of us can relate to those times through direct reference or even just through the general leftover air of the Power to the People movement and the vapor trails of hope left over from a society that was on the verge of discovering that PTTP was not just a slogan, but an actual thing.  That power is, in fact, a reservoir of wisdom and knowledge built up over millennia which can and should be accessed at any time by anyone who wishes to learn from past mistakes and/or build on established strengths.  This power should only be put to use by people who genuinely want to do good with it.  To corrupt it by any other use is like stealing from your grandparents when they are already on a fixed income.  It’s despotic and unforgivable and I want to sharpen a stick at both ends for that fat orange sow who so brazenly flaunts the fact that he is doing exactly that.  

Anyway, so I am connected to the sixties through my parents and they are connected to the fifties because that’s when they were little kids so that is the time in which their little brains and minds began to consolidate information and form lasting memory pathways, to a large part.  And that time was a time when the middle class was thriving, largely due to the fact that we made our own shit, and a lot of shit for other people.  But we also made TV.  Leave It To Beaver, Mr. Ed, Gilligan, Looney Tunes…  A whole bunch of harmless, escapist, wholesome crappy shows that were goofy-funny and gave those kids the message that this is how things are supposed to be because this is largely how things are already.  The people who made that first TV also made it through the war and built a whole new way of life on the backs of steel workers, construction, road and infrastructure creation and upgrades, etc… and they were strong and resilient and then they just set up camp in front of the TV, assuming their kids would go ahead and continue this glorious utopia they had set up.  The problem is that they gave up just a little too soon.  They spent too much time voraciously eating red meat and running through barrels of oil and then…wham.  Kennedys dead, Vietnam, Nixon, racial injustice and high tension, acid, music…pure nutso.  But the strangest thing happened.  Because (I guess) there was such a huge psychic divide between the Big Nap of the baby boom and the juggernaut of creativity brewing within the boomers themselves, somewhere along the line the umbilical cord snapped and these boomers figured out that they could actually rearrange the country and make it better…actually better, if they could just muster enough of their ranks with powerful communication skills and genuine charisma to come forward and lead them.  The problem, again, lied with the age divide.  Also the issue that anyone who did come forward was killed.  But there were just too many of the old guard left who did not want to vote for a candidate who clearly had the best interests of the people as the primary goal, rather an older white man who looked kindly and seemingly had the Ozzy and Harriet life, as evidenced by the stepford family with which he resided.  And that was basically it.  Oh and also this notion of “retirement” began to worm its way into the national consciousness, completely setting people up for failure by promoting the idea that people just stop working (contributing) at some arbitrary point in their sixties.  But it almost worked.  They almost had it.  

Things are much different now.  The ages bleed together more profusely.  We now have a bunch of generations that are actually defined but by which I am regularly confused.  I know I am gen-x but then there are millennials, gen-y, and gen-z.  wtf.  I am 46 and there are actually at least two “generations” after me?  Anyway, to my point, people have babies at all walks of life, these days, and these arbitrary dividing lines are really much blurrier than the way they are portrayed.  Perhaps because this is the case, we may have reached a tipping point where enough of the population is young enough, progressive enough, and astute enough to notice that we are currently being ruled by a witless cave troll with the social awareness of a wolverine and the morals and appetite of Tarrare.  Not that swapping presidents would accomplish anything of any real consequence…  That will take some time.  Engineering a slow-burn style of anarchy takes careful planning and lots of interchangeable pieces and contingencies in case something catastrophic happens, like a war or a pandemic, which it will because that is the best way to gather mass attention away from a cheap grift.  But…the point is that it is possible now, assuming that the cultural age divide is as important as I think, to aggregate all of these post-boomer generations together and enable them all to formulate a commonly-held system of beliefs which could eventually transform into the basis for a new system of—something.  Life, maybe, or at least the act of living.  Maybe base it on Universal Moral Law or something…I dunno.  Just give a shit.  That’s really all I ask.  

I’m really just super tired right now.  Really threadbare.  My head is so mixed up I am usually in a state of rigor and I am basically paralyzed by anxiety also.  It is actually difficult for me to even write this.  But, Christ, I can only take so much and be quiet about it.  Why do people consider the most trivial things so goddam important while they basically ignore the psychic pain in which they, themselves, struggle to breathe every day?  Why do we respond to every single fucking minor irritation with rage and reactive aggression?  Why do we struggle to feed our own brothers and sisters while we force feed ducks and cattle so privileged people can eat their livers and petit filets?  Why do we seem to make all the wrong choices?  Are we really this much like a virus?  Will we just eat our host until we are forced to either move planets or die along with it?  We’ve cut our space budget so much that space exploration is now left to the private sector.  This is something about which we were once MOST PROUD!  We put a person on the moon and when they got there, not only did they do science, they drove around in a fucking dune buggy!  Will we have enough visionaries like Elon Musk in the future who care about exploration and learning and have the resources to exploit that care?  Will we ever drive dune buggies on Mars?  It seems as though exploration and learning for the sake of themselves is no longer in fashion.  It doesn’t make enough money.  

Fuck it…mortgage the earth itself and all her gold and spices. 

These questions are but a small percentage of the thoughts that whirl non-stop around my head and have caused this dread.  I have a difficult time pretending to be anything close to happy.  I cannot focus on anything for more than a few minutes, and I am afraid to go to work (NOT because of covid-19).  The media calls it “covid fatigue” or something like that but covid is only the the thing that tore off the bandage and exposed just how raw and huge and just how not-healed the national wound is.  A wound that began when that first person figured out they could exploit another person and end up a little ahead on the deal.  Original Sin of Economy.  Probably happened before recorded history.  But if it were recorded in some cave painting somewhere, it would be a picture of a fat, white douchebag offering someone three small rocks for two huge ones or some bullshit like that.  

It’s about to storm…I do love a good storm.

-C 

Oh yeah...Bonsai is pretty cool.  I've been dabbling.  And liking.  #BONSAIDanielSan

Training Break...The Zone-6 300KPH MagLev....DC Pig Fat is Slowing the Earth's Rotation!!

Ren made me do it, as usual...

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Well I’m sitting here watching the UCI track world cup and working on sponsorship stuff for Zone-6 and the thought just occurred to me that I really want to go ride my bike.  The thing is, though, that three days ago I made a commitment to myself that I would take a couple weeks off the thing because I feel really worn out.  I’m tired a lot, it takes me about an hour and a half to get my legs under me when I do longer or harder (that’s what she said) rides, and my freakin hamstrings and glutes refuse to release fully when I roll out and stretch…which is every day.  Those things tell me I need to take a break.  And I need to REALLY take a break, I mean not just from riding, but from running also, which I do a considerable amount of in the off-season.  And I just started running two weeks ago and just got over the initial soreness of said activity.  So that sucks.  Now I will have to go through that shit all over again.  But…gotta get my body recovered and healthy and ready to start training for next year.  

Some athletes do not need to take a break like this.  I know plenty of riders that keep training year round at a high level.  They may ease off the intensity or shut it down altogether, but I know a lot who just keep going as though they are getting ready to race in three weeks.  In my opinion, unless you actually ARE going to race in three or four weeks…doing a lot of intensity this time of year is pointless and a waste of energy.  But…it’s just an opinion.  But but but…I am an opinionated guy and I’ve done a lot of research on the subject and…well…I’m right.  So STOP training like you’re racing and just take it easy for a while.  Your body will most likely end up stronger and much more ready to resume actual, focused, and, most importantly, high-quality training training when it’s time to ramp up the intensity in February (why is there an R in February?) in order to be ready to race those early season March and April races which nobody gives a shit about anyway.  

Yeah, that first race in March is fun and all…and it’s great to see all your racing buds again and get the sprint legs firing, and maybe even start some shit and get a break going, but…alas…no one at Indy Crit, TOAD, Intelli, or Quad City weekend says “Hey you guys, you better watch out for (insert miscellaneous rider name) because he won Marian three months ago…  And to be clear, I am not discounting the Marian crit as not worth your time at all…I wish there were many more early season races on the regional calendar.  Were that the case, I would place a much higher priority on inserting a peak into my training calendar for that time of year.  The sad fact is that there just aren’t enough early season races to justify it.  But, again, these are only my opinions.  And they matter very little in the grand scheme of things.  AND…for the record, I am sooooooo very grateful for Dean and every single other race director who puts in the time and great effort to put on races in these fragile and uncertain times for the racing community.  I will always support them as much as possible.

Oh so Dead Sexy

So, what else?  Well…Zone-6 is definitely upgrading its stature for 2020.  We are sponsor hunting at the moment and getting our kit designs started.  We have significantly bolstered the roster for 2020 and I believe we will be protagonists in the local and regional elite races.  I am still in the business of development so we have also added a few more young up and coming cat 4 and 5 riders to the stable.  Matt Laubach will be team manager for 2020 while I remain the director and basically Bossman (as Rachel and Bri still refer to me) and chief horsewhipper.  I am super proud of all the guys for their commitment to our team vision, which is rider development, person development, and community involvement with a focus on volunteer efforts.  

The focus on volunteer efforts will definitely involve our respective geographic areas and individual and organizational needs within, but will also extend to many of the races in which we compete.  Last year, I had everyone who raced Indy Crit do a volunteer shift for Jen and it worked out very well.  For 2020 I will expand that and be proactive in contacting race directors to offer our guys in a support role.  As I mentioned, I am passionate about developing the individual person FIRST, and the bike racer second.  And giving back to the community which supports you is a key element in the development of a well-rounded individual.  

Too often we are apathetic toward those in need of a hand in life.  But we gladly accept that same offer of help when we need it most.  I firmly believe that the more often we go out of our way to offer assistance to those in need, the more we can actually change our everyday and automatic thought processes for the better.  That is, our go-to decision making can begin to default toward a more positive choice when faced with apathy vs action.  I am always amazed and reinforced at how good it feels.  

Oh year…I shall now tell you what I have learned on the News:  wild fires = bad.  Turkey and Kurds and Ukraine and military aid and quid pro quo and bombs and missile strikes…all very bad.  Impeachment and ridiculous two-party political division and CNN vs Fox--more badness. And a certain political leader of the free world (more like a tribal chief, in reality, when considering his constituency) is a poorly-programmed automatous and grotesque caricature of some greasy pig-fiend from Tammany Hall not fit for the Chuck E Cheese Band, let alone the Hall of Presidents.  A first-order cretin dunderhead who somehow lacks the moral awareness which is automatically instilled in the very genome of every human being from birth.  The thing's dreadful psychopathy is the sort usually reserved for the worst of the criminally insane.  ----I cannot recall where I heard that heinous description, but I’m sure those words are floating around somewhere in low orbit, up for grabs should anyone need a mantra to repeat whilst in deep meditation or just looking at an iPad while pooping.  I suspect the author of those words is a dangerous man, and not to be trusted around the weak-minded.  

Editor’s note: Mr. Richter subscribes to NO political party whatsoever and would most likely vote for Kermit the Frog from the Muppet Show, as a write-in, due to his humility and altruism, two words which we believe are scheduled to be deleted from Webster’s Dictionary in their next edition.

Recovery is Real...The Bottom of The Well...Kurtz Gets His Wish...Chris is Sleepy

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Recovery is good.  Going very well…much better than I ever expected.  AA is good.  Lots of great people there who Genuinely Care about everyone in that community.  And it is a real community.  I never thought much of it, before this shitstorm happened.  Or, rather, before I caused it to happen.  But my attitude toward that very gracious group of folks changed from the moment I began to listen with a completely open mind and a completely open “heart”. 

What does that word mean…?  Heart.  I never have really considered it, unless I considered it a very trite thing to mention.  But so many people use it in every day speech.  It pervades our daily lives in both the written and spoken word.  You hear it in news stories, in song lyrics, in television shows and movies (Lifetime movies, especially…hahaha).  You read it in novels, in print news, in greeting cards, and poetry.  Of course, every single athletic coach in the world uses it in every day speech.  And motivational speakers…well they are maybe the most frequent users of this powerful trope. 

The trope, itself, is a stand-in for so many things.  It could be a metaphor for positive emotions like love, or kindness, or empathy (have a heart).  It could stand for courage, or concerted effort, or strong self-motivation as it pertains to any sort of physical or emotional effort.  There are probably a hundred different ways to use the aforementioned word.  Maybe more.  For my part, I suspect “open heart” means the capacity to abandon ego and learn fearlessly.  Yeah…I think that’s the whole nut, here.  And with that being said, my heart is open now.  It is open now because it was completely empty and on its way to the cemetery; but was still beating very faintly and slowly and I, with the help of Big Guns Upstairs, snatched the thing up and shocked the hell out of it and tore out all of the fucking evil crud that had been blocking the flow of life. 

It is a terrifying, humbling thing to go to the bottom of the well and take a look around.  The bottom of the well is made of solid rock and it will kill you if it can.  It has that power because you have that power.  And when you are not in control of your own mind, and thus your own actions, there is a very good chance you will use that power.  I suspect that many people think they have reached the bottom of the well, but still have a long way to go.  If you can still float, you have not made it yet.  It you only think you have made it, you haven’t.  When you hit rock bottom, you will know it.  I knew it, instantly.  I had been on a full-speed expedition toward it for some time and I knew I was almost there for about three or four months.  The clues and markers were in plain sight and I knew it would probably kill me but I was a stubborn fucking pilgrim and I was not about to give up on my quest.  I knew that the only way I could truly change my life and my worldview was to slam into that rock bottom full-tilt boogie and see what the fucker had in store for me.  Well…it was damn ugly.  Damn ugly, indeed.  It felt like being stuck in some schizophrenic’s lucid dream about an evil carnival with only a giant Gravitron for a ride and some vacuous stumblebum jams you inside after force-feeding you half a bottle of vodka and six peyote buttons and says “Don’t come out ‘till ya shit through your eyeballs!” 

I don’t ever want to be at the bottom of the well, again, let alone ride a goddam Gravitron.  I know I’m having a bit of fun with this piece, but I want to be deadly clear; hitting Rock Bottom is not an experience I would wish on anyone.  It is the same Horror that Kurtz managed to blurt out as he lay dying, pathetically, on the steamboat in Heart of Darkness.  I have read that book many times and I’ve always thought, or suspected, that the Horror, about which he gasped, was actually the ultimate fulfillment of Kurtz’ self-loathing…an angry, violent, psychopathic descent into a self-generated insanity that could only end when he was completely emptied of anything human.  His soul died just before his body, leaving time only for those fateful last words.  Well…he got his wish, but, like I said, the Bottom of the Well will kill you if it can.  Kurtz knew he was at the bottom, but his madness was such that the Horror of the well brought him only relief instead of regret.  I was one of the fortunate ones, and my circumstances were providential.  I was categorically exhausted, mentally and physically, but I started to climb out with a little help from some really great friends, family, and God as I know Him.  And with that, I am done with this thing.

Off to bed…C

Broken Man 4

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Broken man part 4

Well I broke myself out of that place.  It was absolutely not as advertised.  I was not allowed to go outside.  No riding bikes…no running?  Not even just around the building?  Also the food was patently non-nutritious.  All processed crap full of sodium, sugar, fat, and more sodium.  My room was dirty and the beds were very uncomfortable.  So I left. 

I made a plan for the next few weeks.  I started AA tonight.  It was great!  I already met quite a few great people and actually volunteered to tell my story when it was time for that. 

I have been to meetings before but I was always full of trepidation when I got to the places in which the meetings were held.  It was because I knew that the people who really work the program are authentic…hones.  And back then I was still in the throes of working my “personas”, as I call them.  I created a persona to fit in to those meetings simply so I could get through them as easily as possible.  And it worked.  I talked the talk and walked the walk.  But I did not think the thoughts.  Because I was not authentic.  I was not open with my thoughts.  I compartmentalized all the pain inside me and walked out onto that stage as a trained actor.  I was filled with dread…real fear.  My life thus far has largely been defined and delineated by constant fear and anxiety.  And that fear was why I never took AA seriously.

But today was different.  Actually the last ten days have been completely different.  I don’t remember the last time I was this vulnerable and raw.  I know that I would normally only do that with Beth.  I have been that way with Beth…especially in the beginning.  So, anyway, I drove over there and walked straight in without any trace of fear.  I think it was God. 

I’m so tired.  I know this was not super interesting but I am trying to keep the blog up to date.  And this is the best I have at the moment.  More tomorrow.  I am feeling much better than ten days ago.  Much hope and my mind is clearing…remarkably.  I can think again. 

See ya—C

Broken Man 3

I have some Fantastic Friends. That is all today. 

Diary of a broken man--day two.

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Day two of the Journey of a Broken Man

A little better today.  Had a pretty shitty morning.  Super emotional and I really miss my wife.  No real physical symptoms today but the mental shit is pretty bad.  My head is clearing out pretty well though and the thinking is getting faster and more precise.  I don’t really know what to expect in this realm.  I suspect I’ll keep getting clearer as time goes on but I KNOW that means that the anxiety and guilt will become stronger.  I think this will get a lot worse before it gets better.  Still…haven’t had any substances for three days and that is the best I can hope for at this point.

Interesting that a few people reached out to me today.  I guess more people read my blog than I thought.  I didn’t share it on social media so I’m not sure how they found it.  But…i really don’t care either.  Those few people gave me a little more hope in the world and in people…friends.  For those pals:  Thank you.  Thank you mucho.  For a person like me, who has always tried very hard to just fit in…to be liked and respected…to just fit the fuck in!…well I guess that really just surprised me.  Surprised the hell out of me.  You see, I’ve never really trusted many people.  I can count on two hands the number of people I honest to God trust in this world.  I imagine that is a pretty shitty way to live your life.  But I always felt very vulnerable as a kid and I learned super early that the best way to not feel vulnerable is to build big, giant, mental walls that cannot be breached by conventional weapons.  I’ve put myself out there a few times in life and a lot of those times end up in disappointment for me.  

Jesus I sound like a bleeding heart wanker.  But I guess this experiment (the journal) in putting myself out there for realsies.  And since I do not even know who my authentic self is anymore, maybe this will help uncover that kid.  This is not a conventional weapon.  It is an attempt to blow up those walls to smithereens from the inside.  No one else can really do it—especially if I don’t want you to.  Hell, I don’t even know if I really like bike racing in an authentic way.  I suspect I do…but I don’t Really know.  I know I like riding my bike, though.  Of that I am quite certain.  That part goes way back to the Sunblest days.  Escaping the hell that was going on in my house with Curt and his bullshit by riding my BMX bike all over those early, unfinished neighborhoods in Fishers (back before Fishers became a soulless caricature of Carmel by ripping down every last remnant of a once charming small town and replacing it with a GODDAM IKEA and those fucking poser monstrosities they put all over the fucking town hall area).  Fuck you, Fishers, for taking my town from me.

Apologies to anyone who lives in Fishers if you find that rant offensive.  But I find Fishers offensive now and I don’t ever want to go back.  Not even though I owned a business there, either.  The whole place disgusts me.  Except Sunblest, and Cottingham (sp?) Estates, and old downtown, and anywhere else I had friends.  Which was not a lot of places because we only had about 8-10,000 people in the 1980s there.  

I guess I have some anger in me as well.  Probably a lot.  And I curse a lot.  I will probably always do that.  I find it extremely therapeutic.  Like punching and kicking, only with words.  Extremely useful!  Incidentally, that’s one of the reasons I LOVE Beth’s home town.  Largely unchanged since she was a kid there.  

But I am not doing this to be PC or even nice.  I am doing it to get all my shit out in the open.  So I will write what I feel like writing and if anyone is disgusted with me for it, well I guess that’s on them.  

So currently I am watching the World Road Race replay on the tele and holy shit what a great race.  What a finish.  And the women’s race…what a performance by our local hero, Chloe D.  Sublime ride in the TT and one helluva ride in the RR.  Devastating attacks.  In years to come, That chick is going to straight rip the souls out of her peers.  Pure Beast Mode.  Pure Killer Instinct.  Can’t teach that, folks.  A vicious killer in the style of Bernard Hinault and Genghis Khan.  Americans love that shit.

Okay I’m tired and I need some sleep.  I rode my own bike today and felt pretty good after about an hour…finally.  I’ve felt like shit on the bike for a while now.  Burned out.  Had a shitty race season.  I know that a lot of that was due to my substance abuse and lack of actual food intake.  Most days the past year I rarely ate anything before evening because the stimulant effect of the dope I was taking just made me not hungry.  It worked for a while, but it finally caught up to me, I think.  Incidentally I have been starving ass hungry from morning to night since I quit all that shit and have been eating everything in the house.  Which is not a lot due to the fact that if Beth does not do the shopping, I just eat whatever we have left until the fridge is nice and cleaned out…which is the way I like it.  Even when I was eating properly, my diet has always consisted of about ten total foods.  And most of those ten foods are pasta and cans of tuna…hahaha.  

Okay I’m done for today.  More tomorrow….  -C 

Diary of a broken man

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Two days ago I broke down.  I don’t even know how to begin this.  I have been a downright scoundrel for a long time.  I am an alcoholic, a sometime drug abuser, a manipulator and liar, and I have basically let everyone I know down so many times that I cannot even remember most of the those times.  Right now I have been sober for two days and I feel awful.  I feel very vulnerable.  I am filled with anxiety and shame.  I am terrified of losing my wife and our pups.  I made a sacred commitment to her and I have let her down.  I have outright lied to her and I have lied by omission.  She gave grace to me once before when I was drinking a lot and drove drunk with her and put her in danger.  I told her I would quit…and I did for a while but then I did it again.  I have no right to expect that grace again.  So I must be prepared for her to leave me.  I came clean to her two days ago and told her everything I have been doing.  I gave her access to my bank accounts and credit card today so she could see everything.  Funny thing is that I left a paper trail to everything.  So I am terrified.  I am anxious.  I am in a very shitty state right now.  We have agreed that I will go to inpatient treatment.  I admit that I would never have even considered that before…

I have done the following things:  I have been using cough meds (dextromethorphan) on the order of two to three bottles a day (900 mg of dxm), alcohol (a gulp full every few hours to temper the anxiety), marijuana (maybe a puff or two daily), and my own prescriptions (sometimes abused by adding extra doses).  I have been doing this for over a year.  The dxm, when dosed carefully, and especially when combined with pregabalin in my regular dose, creates a dissociative effect and a not-unpleasant “floating” feeling.  It also is effective in alleviating anxiety.  It sometimes puts me in a manic state and I find that I can be much more gregarious and talkative to people, which has helped me sell bikes and be more social in general.  

The combination i have been using worked for awhile…worked like I wanted it to.  Until it started to make me lose my mind.  Also I noticed some pretty crappy side effects.  The dxm causes me to retain water and makes my skin very blotchy.  The marijuana sometimes makes me even more anxious, which is why I used it sparingly.  And I really only started using that fairly recently.  I actually tried cutting out the dex and only using the weed.  But I could only do that if I was already in a happy mood…which is not very often anymore if I am not on the dex and pregabalin.  

Things just started to get more complicated the longer I went on with this regimen.  And I was spending a lot of money going to CVS or Walgreens all the time to buy more dex.  Add in the vodka (and sometimes beer…I really love a good, strong IPA) and my credit card went up and up.  But I found I could escape the guilt and worry if I just kept myself medicated.  So that’s what I did.  I took the easy road.  Funny thing, the easy road…you get quick gratification that way but you miss a hell of a lot of interesting things.  Important things.  Things that matter.  

I missed a hell of a lot of things that matter on the easy road.  

This first journal entry is about me telling whoever will listen (yes, “whoever”, not “whomever”).  I am in a very bad place right now.  My psyche is broken.  I am broken.  I have nothing to lose anymore because I have lost myself.  Sure, I can still lose my marriage and family and my “stuff” (truck, moto, bikes, etc.) but if I don’t even have my mind, that stuff is effectively gone.  Because if I don’t even know who I am anymore, how can I be present for my family?  I am fucked six ways from Sunday and I don’t even know how to find me.  I do not love myself right now.  In fact, I hate myself. Two days ago I wanted to die.  I came close to doing it.  I really, really thought long and hard about it.  I actually planned it all out.  It’s even written down in a little story I wrote.  I put it in this blog a few entries ago.  It has always been comforting to me that if life became to painful for me to endure, I could simply stop it.  

But I thought about Beth and the pups and I became filled with remorse for all the things I have done.  I suddenly realized that I loved them very much and the thought of causing them the sort of pain that a suicide would certainly do broke me in half and split my heart in two.  One half is the manipulative asshole that only cares about himself.  The other half, or more accurately, the tiny little piece that broke off of that shitty half, is somehow a precious little piece of someone that I have not known in a very long time.  I hope I can get to know that person.  I hope that person can become strong enough to save me…whomever I am.  So I will go to inpatient treatment and ask for help.  And I hope they will recognize that person and teach me who he is.  I hope they feed him well and help him to find a sense of self-worth.

I have already had help from Beth, Brian, and Matt.  I owe them my life right now.  Not that my life is worth much these days.  But, maybe…in time.  

I don't really care who sees this post.  I don't have that many followers, anyway.  People will find out sooner or later, anyway.  If you read this, just know that I fucking hate gossip.  So be cool about it, please.  And if you see me, please go ahead and talk to me about it.  I won't mind.  

More stuff tomorrow.  -C