Letter 65

July 5, 2011

Dear Renelle,

Some more junk to be sorted out. Let me know how the visit with your sister went or is going. I received a letter from my mom a day after yours made it, and wrote her an extremely brief note in reply. I was helped in a huge way by my celly J. not being here to listen to the radio. So I was able to turn on the light and bust out a letter, briefly. I had some chaotic thoughts at the time, and don't think I answered all the questions she asked in it.

Anyway, for some unexplained reason, I'm either obsessed or compelled to write. I'd even go as far as saying it's bordering on being an addiction. 

It's getting more hazardous to stay off the radar of the newest Col., especially for me taking that damned tranquilizer every day! By the time the loud T.V. goes off at midnight, I get roughly 5-6 hours of quiet, then ZAP! Bright lights come on at 5:45 or so, and stay on until that shift leaves at 8. I, on the other hand, am clearly not, ay-em, motivated. The nonsense we smurfs tolerate is unbelievable! That road leads to chaos increased exponentially. I'll not go down it any further.

This is written over the weekend; one of the difficulties I find most consistently is time allocation. Prioritization even takes second to that, and an observer uneducated as to the variegated idiosyncrasies making me myself likely would think it ridiculous that one in a situation with nothing but time has that concern.

A truer picture of my situation emerges when considering the following, however: even though the day begins pre-dawn, I don't. I may put a pretense of being functional during these hours on, but I'm stuck in quicksand. I continue on until 1-2 in the afternoon, when my brain finally shakes loose from the medicine-induced haze/fog. Then I spend an hour (give or take) washing and getting rid of crustacaens. At that point, I have approximately 1/2 hour until the third and last meal is brought around. So I don't get involved in much other than light reading, as it wouldn't make sense to be deep into a project and have to stop to eat. I'll come back to that in a second. If our schedule isn't changed, after eating, I've taken meds designed with protecting a safari from charging rhinos, and only have two hours, longest, to do whatever I'm going to do. All of this is accomplished on my own while in an extremely bitter/resentful mood. Just when I'm fully coming around, I have to take that medicine again! There has to be another solution, allowing for more clarity of thought/purpose.

It may be needless to point out all this is performed under the duress of constant watchfulness, lest we be surprised by another dorm-inspired/shakedown, as on the 24th! In my opinion, a black mark for security--all they found was one mattress that had a lighter/cigarettes in it the guy didn't even know were there. Constant unrelenting tension can't be conducive to a long and healthy life, but then I don't know all I'm going to, either.

I'm slowly getting over my irascibility now (at 12 noon), and trying to recall what exactly I'm going to get delivered tomorrow from our "Canteen." I've done the sugar rush so often it's killing me. This time I believe I went for the other end of the spectrum from doughy/sweet/fatty. Before I get caught up in my head, J. says hi.

I remember a joke you'll hopefully appreciate. More of a truism, really. Speaks to the prevailing attitude afflicting the one on the street. The difference in major and minor surgeries? Major if it's mine, minor if it's yours.

Though I despise loathingly what passes for T.V. now. There was a time I'd have to be physically removed from the presence of one. Among my favorites was "Monty Python's Flying Circus," an hour's worth of unrelated skits featuring some notable English comedians (John Cleese, Michael Palin, Eric Idle). The exact reason it was a favorite show is that it required the use of my mind to "get" most of the humor in it. Several times during the show, a brief musical interlude would play, and there would be words on the screen announcing "And Now Something Completely Different," followed by a bare foot squashing all of it. 

So, And Now. . .I'm afraid I may accidentally have settled into a lifetime niche now. Let me explain, please. Through few conscious choices, I landed in a situation that bred little other than antagonism toward others, blotted out daily by the chemical sledge of medication. By way of reaction to living (?) under coercion and threat of violence constantly, I at first used drugs as a commonly-accepted denominator, negating the medications I was on.

When I finally realized abusing my brain with the yo-yo effect drugs had, I quit the extra-curricular abuse. A brief time later, the place where I dwelled (solely responsible for the medications I was taking), ran out, claiming there was nothing badly wrong with me, and I'd be surely getting re-medicated around 12/1/09. They were wrong. After telling the nurses many times I was unwell, I lost control and beat a man nearly to death for a minor offense.

The cycle of nearly making it someplace I wouldn't be bothered much, but removing all doubt about my ability to thrive at such a place, had set in. Now, looking at my possible choices when released from prison, I fear the same type thing will occur just as I near a break-away point. That's what makes it tough on me to relax sometimes. Thus far, I've only been offered two equally distasteful options to a repetition of losing control: spending the rest of my mobile years blottoed on meds, or playing doctor and self-medicating. That's it. Thay all may have small differences, but come down to either of the two above on closer scrutiny. Please let me know if any other ways come to you.

Reality is tough to accept as a whole, so I put it off in hopes I'd figure another way around my fortune. As concisely-real as I'm able to, these are the two options I'm faced with for a future life: blitzed out of my mind unconscious, or gambling with my freedoms. Those words are what I've been reduced to (?). Both unfortunate and true, my prison is extended until my final rest.

So you see, all is not anywhere close to the rosy-colored picture after release, but I still would just as soon take the lessons I'm learning here back into the society that's still sleeping and try to wake it/them.

On a much-preferred lighter note, I'm 1/2 done with Outliers--what a mind-set he's got! Though it's been slower going, it looks outward, where Blink looked inward. I still think the Orwell book Animal Farm has any contest hands down, though I suspect you've read it, and you know that in spite of the title, the book isn't really about farm animals in the least! Ease back down a couple notches there. I don't want to compound my problems by getting onto a subversive rant. I will state that I'm weary of dumbing myself down so more can understand what I'm about.

By only having read a book and 1/2, I've already got a sense of respect and admiration for Mr. Gladwell, but don't know (relatively) much about what gives him such a unique take on the ways of people. All I really (think) know about him is what is listed under his picture in a few condensed sentences. He's got an extraordinary grasp of ordinary things/people/ways.

Not all is gloom and doom. We did get enough rain to give the firefighters the needed edge to get the fires out here in the big-bend area. I understand the Governor almost declared it a state-of-emergency. I've written myself into, out of, back into, and back out of depression, figure I'll quit while I'm still at least a head. All the available light is leaking out the window, now anyway. Remember, life is for living--see that you do. Why yes, thank you. I'd love a cup of coffee. Right. I need to seek help in keeping my single marble from rolling away.

Your chemically-altered friend,
James