Excerpt for The Gift of Death by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


Dedication

Introduction

Preface

The Beginning

Trouble Started

Art and Depression

Had Enough Bullshit

The Real World

The Land of Make Believe

Back to the Real World

Haywire

A Much Period of Calm

Utah

Poland

Return to the US and Latham NY

Coxsackie NY

Trenton NJ

North Carolina

Pennsylvania

Conclusion







Dedication:

“Is there a way to contact you? I think i know the answer. We, left behind, wouldn't mind hearing from you. I thank you for the dreams. Thanks for your compassion. I feel we are stranded here for a while. And now and then we feel out of place, and are trying to find our way through life. We come and go as friend or foe, forever disenchanted. “

by HS





Conceived April 2015

by the DisEnchanted



This is to my demised parents who tried their best.

My 25-year-old daughter who will remain always 25

All my dead friends.

To My family.



Introduction

I decided to write this in 2015 seven years after my Mom's death; six years after my Dad's; five years since my body took a beating by a 2000 lb. car, doing 35 mph in the shoulder of the road; five years after my best and only friend died; one year after my 17-year-old dog; and five months after my youngest daughter’s death by overdose. I am currently editing this document and it is December 13, 2016. I added this date because my other dog died Easter Sunday in 2016 at the age of 14. The past 10 years have been wonderful, between drug addiction and death.

My head is really screwed up at present and I am in chronic pain due to the accident. I thought maybe going back and writing it all down may help me sort out some of the crazy thoughts. Get off the drugs I am prescribed (Xanax, Valium, Prozac). I am also self-medicating three to four days a week with methadone or heroin. Currently they are the only days that I am truly happy. Every other day is like the movie 'Ground Hog Day ' with Bill Murray. I crack one of my eyes open and then I say, “Oh Shit, here we go again, another day just like the other”.

The accident has turned my life upside down. I tried to return to my calling 'Drawing'. It has not worked out, so I think I will try some 'Writing'. If I learn how to spell.

I started this document on September 25, 2015 at 11:40 am. My daughter has since died of a heroin and Kolonopin overdose, and who knows what else, on May 23, 2015. She will always be in my heart and part of my soul. I hope she finally found relief where ever that may be. I cannot wait to see her again to give her a big hug and a kiss. You will never know how much I love and miss you.

Dad





Preface

Written during the years 2015 to 2017

I started to write this book after some unconscionable events took place, which in some way may have been prevented. I could see what was happening in the beginning and just didn’t know what to do. Rehabs are bullshit. I’ve been there and have done that. We put our daughter in at least six to eight rehabs. All she ever found were more connections.

On May 23, 2015 at the age of 25 my daughter took a fatal overdose of Heroin and Kolonopin. She just turned 25 on the 20th of the month. This didn’t happen suddenly but was building up for a couple of months. She overdosed at least six times prior within a two-month period. Two of the times we put her in the tub and hit her with a cold shower. She came to and we would keep her walking, by holding her on either side, and forcing coffee down her. The other times she was blue with purple lips. We tried CPR while the ambulance came. They would give her a shot of Narcon and she would come back. She cursed us every time for bringing her back. She was a lost soul. She was too intelligent, a perfectionist, and just wanted to get high. Sometimes, I believe my father cursed us, which is a stupid excuse. When I was at my worst he would tell me, “I hope you have a child just like you and you can find out what it is like”. Dad I had one worse than me and I was no one to be bringing her up. I was a parent but also a drug addict and she fed off the drug addict side of me. She knew how to get me going, it never took much. At least you didn't have that to contend with. My wife and I moved to North Carolina in 2013. Our daughter was living with her boyfriend’s parents while she finished her last year at a local community college. I received a call from the mother telling me they were shooting heroin. Leaving empty bags and needles all over their room. I told her to check into a rehab and we picked her up at the door when she was released. We brought her to North Carolina in June 2014 hoping it would make a difference, but it was one big disaster. Of course, she found the wrong crowd. I believe the week she was there she brought heroin home and said “Dad, look what I found?” As a Father, I should have wrestled her for it and flushed it down the toilet. But as a weak asshole of a spineless person I shared it with her. We never did it in front of each other. Ha, what a warped sense of morals, couldn't watch her do it but could share it with her.

This time her and I were home alone. I passed out on the couch around four-thirty. I entered her room to let her know I was leaving to pick her mother up from work at eight o’clock. She was already on the floor, I tried to revive her but it was useless. I called 911. They came and took her to the hospital. Somehow my wife found her way home. I passed out in bed. At one time my wife came to see me and told me our daughter was brain dead and we had to pull the plug. Our oldest daughter and her husband drove down from Pennsylvania. Our other daughter was only two hours away and she came with her boyfriend. We went to the hospital the next day and she looked fine to me but she wasn’t. Hardest thing we ever had to do. She finally achieved what she wanted all along, “The Gift of Death”.

We had her cremated and took a ride to NJ where all our family resides. I have two sisters who insisted on a small mass. I saw no purpose but we went. It was the longest ten hours in my life with this little four by eight box containing her remains. I was in a complete haze. I couldn’t wait to wake up from this gut-wrenching dream. A small Mass was said with family and close friends. I was in such a daze that I barely remember anything that happened or even going back to NC a week later. I was still waiting to wake up from this nightmare. In a way, I still feel she is in another state and will call me to Money Gram her forty dollars like every month.

I really do not feel like I am here anymore. I love everyone as much as I always have, if not more. Life has lost all meaning. What I believed in before I do not now. I just want to sedate myself twenty-four hours a day (like the old Ramones song). Now a lot of you will think me crazy but I do not care. This is the only way I can explain it. We had a real love hate relationship my youngest and I. She hated me when I wouldn’t give in and get high with her. She would seek me relentlessly until I caved. At this point it was my turn to be pissed, but once we got something we were one big happy family. The part that I feel is missing may be my soul. She took a piece of my soul with her. That is what is missing, if such a thing even exists. I loved her so much and I do believe she loved me. How many late teens or early twenties think of anything else except the way they feel. Especially when drugs are involved. I am totally lost at this point in life and have no idea of what to do. Senseless to be here nowhere to go. Not really knowing who you are accept knowing you did have a past and most likely not a very good one. I do not blame my daughter for what happen but I look at the spineless creature I am. I caused all of this. I do not blame her, I blame myself for being such a weak asshole. I take full responsibility.

Presently, I lay down for bed around 10:00 or 11:00 pm. I take Elavil to help me sleep (which is complete crap), sometimes one or two Xanax, and Prozac in the morning just to face another day (which does not help much). I will lay there, sometimes, for two to four hours before falling asleep. My mind is racing a million miles a second. All the thoughts flood my being from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Trying to get it to stop is next to impossible. Some really bad things happened over the years and I really hurt the ones I love the most. Then my mind wakes to the same thoughts by 4:30 am. I recorded everything that came to my head one evening:

And 88 and two WordPad. I hope I can get this version of word and to work as well as one member name was on the Mac and two she didn't miss a beat. I wanted to record my dreams but the pork I want the record sure all share listening OK now you're listening let's finish our documents in word. I want to recall my faults as I lay there and tried to go to sleep my mind races I think I would get some men and while this idea is for drawings, for books and who knows what else I think you'd be very wild and interesting because we have no control over our thoughts as we tried to turn to sweep. We have one thought after another diff of flowing into our brain and we find ourselves thinking of one end if end of spectrum to the other listening it could not be a very long book I believe that the most 6070 pages after that and reader would get bored with it bought from 40 to 80 pages I think it would amuse people are the CL wearily thank as relayed ended than an attempt to alter a story had fishing people cannot sleep we'll lay there for two or 3 hours and use both Israelis from one spectrum to the other that that some 80 five had helped in the past three years and it has helped I get my mind of the race is march were all I get a duo is don't take the medication and there ought be just like before I'll be there for 2 to 3 hours just all kinds of boats going to my head making in some areas making up stories are rom what is this happened was that had they not do this idea that he and superman 999 they too weird AIDS is an insane............ . . . and on .. ..... . ... and on . . . . . where it will stop nobody knows... .. ... . . . . . ... . . ... . . . . .. and on . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Possibly a little background on myself will shed some light. I am sixty years old and have battled narcotic addictions since the age of twelve. This was the first time I tried heroin. I was not impressed. I continued to try it on and off until it grabbed me by the balls. Over my life time I had periods of pure joy and no addictions. I have the same wife, for thirty-three years, who means the world to me, and three daughters. The oldest daughter is now thirty and pregnant, recently she was married to a great guy. The middle daughter is twenty-eight. She lives with her boyfriend who I happen to like and they get along well as far as I know. The youngest daughter will be forever twenty-five. She is a beautiful woman, very intelligent and loving.

The Beginning

I was born February 21, 1957. I cannot remember anything after that before starting kindergarten at the age of 5 in 1962, Nothing ever happen.

First Grade

First grade, at the age of 6, sticks out a little because I did something nasty. Have you ever wonder why some kids are born with a wild streak and others are timid as mice? In my situation, I had a black streak not wild. My first memories of fifty-five years ago, are beating the shit out of another person (I will use the term ‘geek’ because it paints a picture). I must have been at least five maybe even six. At that period parents, didn’t worry about where their children were. The kids were just outside playing. If you showed up for lunch, dinner, and came home when the street lights came on. Everything was fine, just like, ‘Leave it to Beaver”.

The boy I beat up was the same age as me. I still remember his name and will never forget, ‘Francis’, which was enough reason to hit him at least at my age. He was very thin, pale, with coke bottle eye glasses. I can still see his face when I shut my eyes. He carried all his school supplies in a book bag. Three of us caught him on his way home which was at the end of the block. I was so excited because I was chosen to kick his ass. I believe I struck him several times until he fell on the side walk. Now, I sat on top of him while I continually punched him in the face until I broke his glasses and his nose was bleeding, I felt elated. Like I did something bad but it felt so good.