I Get It

But if I can go on, then so can you.

My Mom left me a suicide note when I was in 4th grade. I walked home from the bus stop one day, unlocked the front door with the key I wore around my neck on a chain and entered an oddly quiet house. The note was lying on my unmade bed. After reading it I nervously shuffled towards her closed bedroom door. The tear-stained note lay halfway down the hallway, forgotten. I slowly entered her darkened room, crossed the blue shag carpet and saw her there in bed writhing, black streamers of salty mascara ran from her eyes while she whimpered incoherently on the waterbed’s slightly undulating surface. I remember the muffled aquatic sound that the bubbles made as they scattered under the plastic skin every time she flailed or jerked or weakly pummeled the bed’s surface as she sobbed. I can’t remember what I said to her to talk her out of it, but whatever it was, it worked.

But there was a cost.

My young mind after that event, desperate to feel safe, built a little box around the part of my brain that henceforth expected the ultimate abandonment- the death of my mother by her own hand. It was an effective, albeit unsophisticated measure, that little iron box in my mind, but unfortunately it was hastily and clumsily built and its borders inadvertently sequestered many of my other nearby, related emotions. It was much later in life that I became mystified as to why I had absolutely zero emotional reaction when someone dies, even natural deaths and even loved ones. When my little sister died some years ago, I couldn’t even manage a single tear, and I tried, I tried really fucking hard. Young me did proverbial brain surgery with a dull spoon as opposed to a surgeon’s scalpel.

Throughout my life I have unfortunately known an inordinate amount of people who have taken their own lives. What started with a note from my mom grew into a dreadful daisy chain of friends and acquaintances throughout the decades who did the actual deed and prematurely went horizontal for their forever dirt nap. Every time it happened it pissed me the fuck off because anger was the only thing I was capable of feeling about it. Anger lives outside of the box and sometimes, anger itself IS the box.

But all this box business changed 9 months ago when my 18-year-old daughter Maisie Mae broke her spine. I broke right along with her C5 and C6 vertebrae as did my rusty brain box and the tears, oh how the tears finally flowed. A lifetime’s worth of tears, a fucking oceanic quantity of salt.

She spent a month in the ICU, 15 days in a cardiac unit and by the time Maisie was in the spinal rehab hospital those forbidden tears had started to dry up but not because I had shed them all, not even close. I felt my box quivering as it attempted to piece itself back together but that was something I absolutely did not want rebuilt.

Only one parent was allowed to sleep by her bed after hours, so my wife and I took turns. Every other evening one of us drove to an industrial park in Santa Clara, Ca. where our trailer was parked. On my nights away I drank 7 beers, only 7 though- that was my rule. (Ok, fine, sometimes 8) Seven seemed the to be the magic number and those seven IPA liquid incantations caused the mending edges of my box to lose adherence allowing it to split back open like a metallic black flower so that I could again ball my miserable fermenting guts out. I still had within me an ocean’s worth of tears and I’d be damned if I was going to let that build up ever again.

It was on one of my trailer nights after a very difficult day of helplessly watching my daughter suffer and tell us that she didn’t want to live, that I had an epiphany. I got it you see, I finally fucking got it. That’s not to say I wanted to do “it”, to off myself, no. But in that quiet and desperate moment, 7 beers deep, bloodshot eyes and a shattered rusty-black pulsating metal flower releasing its fetid emotional pollen into my mind I suddenly found myself holding my Glock.

I just held it. Within the surreal nightmare of my daughter’s suffering, I wanted the cold weight of its inherent metallic reality in my hand like a grounding rod to pull me from this nightmare realm and back into the wakeful world. I even peered into the barrel, not with the intention of using it on myself nor did I even consider it, but I wanted… no, I needed to finally understand so that in my understanding perhaps, I could do something about it. So I could understand Maisie’s misery. So I could maybe even help save someone’s Mom or friend or whomever from performing a permanent solution to their temporary problems and somehow put an end this terrible daisy chain. But also, I needed understanding for a more immediate need, I needed it in order to finally forgive and dismantle that fucking box once and for all.

So yeah, I fucking got it. I experienced a state so devastatingly dense and dark that I finally understood how a person could actually do such a thing. I clutched my 9mm ghost making machine and I experienced an emotional overload so intense that I wanted to peel my phantom from my very bones and flee into the light stained night above Santa Clara but no, I wouldn’t leave her, not now, not ever.

Never again would I be pissed off by those who choose to go, having glimpsed just how low a person can get emotionally, psychologically and even spiritually. And having shattered my pain box and by transmuting anger into understanding I felt a sad sort of compassion ignite then blossom hotly within my heaving chest.

I struck while the iron was hot and that night, there in that salty smelling trailer through tear blurred eyes and with the sound of the night traffic roaring like ocean surf and the noise of the drunk and cackling bums gathered around a barrel fire just on the other side of the chain link fence barking like sea lions, I wrote a poem.

It wasn’t something I wrote for myself, I’m too fucking stubborn to ever check out. It was for “them”. The them who I now felt kindred with instead of hurt and angry at. I wrote it for “they” to whom the pain was too great to contain. To all the mentally ill Moms and the PTSD plagued friends and all those who suffer so deeply and mistakenly think that their suffering is the “new forever”, I offer this poem to them. No matter how fucking awful something is, give it a damn minute because the only consistent thing in reality is change. It will change, it must change.

Oof… I’ve never shared this before, but it feels different here, amongst my fellow Substackians (I’m gonna keep saying that until it sticks😉) I feel like a dog who just pooped on someone else’s lawn and is now doing that little back leg peel-out scoot-scoot thing they do after shamelessly relieving themselves. But this sort of thing is why I came here, stackin’ subs and such (also going to keep saying that til it’s a thing😉) I came here to share the distillations of my own suffering and how I figure my own shit out to transmute it. Through great suffering I am finally, actually eradicating the experience of suffering from my system in a tangible and impactful way. It’s simpler than you might think, it’s just that we have a tendency to over complicate things. Seriously though, I’m telling you- neutralizing suffering is a thing, all that is required is to stop resisting “what is”.

So, that being said, feel free to share this simple little poem with anyone you know who also has a box, and no, I’m not talking about the sexy kind of box, keep it classy people this shit is serious!🙄

Also, don’t take life so seriously all the damn time😉

I hope this poem does someone, somewhere, some kind of good.

“I Get It”

*

I just want to say

I get it.

Don’t worry fam

don’t fret it.

*

Never

alone would I leave her.

Never

would I drop that cleaver.

*

Never would I do it

know what I mean?

I won’t pull the rope

on my own guillotine.

*

Seriously though

I do get it.

But those who jump

instantly regret it.

*

That lead candy

may seem nice.

But don’t be a dumbass

it’ll put you on ice.

*

I know it’s fucking hard

you’re trying to cope.

The answers not there

at the end of that rope.

*

But yep, I do

I get it.

If it’s locked and loaded

just set it.

*

Just put it

in a damn drawer.

A bullet can’t fight

a one-person war.

*

Stop

stroking it like a lover.

Put it away

put on its cover.

*

Ignore the voices

it’s you who must choose.

Don’t listen to pills

don’t listen to booze.

*

Seriously though

put it the fuck away.

Give it a minute

There’s something to say.

*

Just say “it”

say the damn thing.

Be the tearful hurricane

emotion will bring.

*

I know, I do

you don’t feel heard.

But fuck all that shit

let life be your word.

*

My advice is this:

see what happens next!

Don’t look too far forward

your mind will get vexed.

*

I don’t mean tomorrow

I mean right now.

You’ve won every battle

by fighting that’s how.

*

Seriously I mean it

wait one minute more.

Go get some air

feel your feet on the floor.

*

I know you’re tired

I know it’s rough.

You feel like a knuckle

the wall has made tough.

*

Temporary problems,

you can’t see what’s true.

A permanent solution

you cannot undo.

*

Don’t be so hasty

flush that pill.

So many graves

there’s no need to fill.

*

Avoid the edge

just make a call.

You’ll regret the big jump

you can’t stop a fall.

*

Seriously fucker-

go take a breath.

Don’t let today

be the day of your death.

*

I know it seems hopeless

perfect- life ain’t.

Just do your best

no one’s a Saint.

*

So you fucked up

just let it burn

enough to remember

then take a new turn.

*

But I get it.

Such a fast easy out.

If you believe in God

he’ll kick your ass out.

*

If you follow the Buddha

then don’t say a word.

All of your suffering

he’s already heard.

*

If you believe in Christ

then obey the boss.

Only one motherfucker

can ride on that cross.

*

Maybe you’re a Taoist

perhaps you like Zen.

Just keep waking up

again and again.

*

Believe in nothing?

Stick around a bit.

Life always changes

it’s great then it’s shit.

*

A believer in this

A believer in that

I believe in enduring

right where I’m at.

*

And maybe there’s nothing

perhaps you don’t seek.

But don’t let your legacy

be of a person that’s weak.

*

But yes, I get it

Pollyannas not here.

You can’t fucking bear it

you can’t take the fear.

*

Your eyes are too small

to release the whole sea.

The storm is too fast

your feet cannot flee.

*

Your pain is too hot

your pain is like fire.

Your pain burns so bright

you want to expire.

*

Or maybe it’s ice

suffering so cool.

Warm your shit up

don’t act a fool.

*

Don’t worry fam

don’t text me all hurried.

It’s not me or mine

of whom to be worried.

*

People check out

every damn day.

This is for them

these words that I say.

*

It’s hard to live

surrounded by death.

It’s like: “What is this shit,

fucking Macbeth?”

*

A rose bush requires

a whole lot of crap.

How can you bloom

if you take the dirt nap?

*

So I get it you see,

I get it I do.

But if I can keep going

then so can you.

*

Just put it down.

put it away.

Don’t be a dumbass

wait one more day.

*

The sun will go up

the sun must go down.

You will again smile

you must again frown.

*

There’s something about it

this life thing you see.

Humans must feel

it’s just how we be.

*

So listen up fucker

here’s something true:

some other motherfucker

will one day need you.

*

They’ll be on the verge

of a slice or a pull.

They’ll need a reminder

that life’s glass is full.

*

Full of the downs

so there can be ups.

We all start out empty

we fill our own cups.

*

I really do get it

indeedy I do.

But if I can go on

then so can you.

*

You aren’t alone

we’re all on the brink.

Stop believing the lies

your mind tries to think.

*

It will get better

it will get worse.

Don’t rush to the finale

you’re here to rehearse.

*

You don’t need morality

you don’t need belief.

One breath at a time

there will be relief.

*

Thoughts fuck you up

don’t have a cow.

You’re only fucking ever

right here and right now.

*

Thoughts are not you

thoughts are not real.

Thoughts are like cards

learn how to deal.

*

But I get it

I’m not the boss of you.

To endure this shit

speak what is true.

*

Scream and cry

lament and cuss.

Don’t be so selfish

think about us.

*

Let yourself mourn

don’t be like granite.

All things must spew

even this planet.

*

Holding shit in is a

very rough road.

Let it come out or

you’ll fucking explode.

*

That person you wish

could help you right now-

Be them for someone

in the future that’s how.

*

That’s how we make it

that’s how we go on.

All of your battles

so far you have won.

*

Figure it the fuck out

peace or bust!

You’ve got this my friend

In YOU- I do trust.