Way back in September of 1989 I entered a rehab center for drug and alcohol abuse. I was seriously fucked up and quite honestly trying my best to kill myself each and every day with whatever I could get my hands on to help me along that final journal...Seriously, there wasn't a day in the 80s when I didn't take a drug or drank a lot. Had it not been for a couple of things, a friend and the shrinking ability of my skills of drawing and painting became a revelation and so I made the very difficult decision to go to rehab. The first thing they did was put me in the 'Screaming Room' to allow the drugs in my system began to be pissed or sweated out of my system and trust me, this process is beyond any pain you could possibly think of and the whole seeing things that may or may not have been there is enough to drive a person crazy. Then came the serious shit. If you've ever seen the movie 'Clean and Sober' then you can get a hint about what the process is about. ...
More drawings. The four main characters have always been incredibly difficult to put down on paper. I have dozens of drawings, sometimes I've come close, but they are always just out of view. I could have simply chosen 'Stereotypes' but I refuse to take that route. Another reason I can't really do this story myself. Tomorrow...
What I'm about to write about isn't one of those 'Woe is me' stories. I spent a great deal of my live with a set of flexible morality. I smoked, drank, popped pills, indulged the flesh as if it were an amusement park and am reaping the results. This last week was centered around the question as to whether or not I wanted to be admitted to Hospice...Yeah, it's heading toward the final stretch and try as I might I can't pretend that I'll see my next birthday. I weight about 135lb, blind in the day light and have about fifteen percent of my lung function. I fall, had a few serious problems that should have been stitched but I had already been told by my specialist how I was going to die. Not a pretty picture. I can't begin to explain just how much pain I have on a daily basis or the sheer terror when Oxygen cannot get into my lungs and the sheer panic of losing control. Can't walk far,can't eat a lot and it's only because of my sister, Beth, m...
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