things hoped for-things unseen

campfire shirt

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

The best definition I know for faith is that it is the substance of things unknown and the evidence of things unseen. It’s like hiking a well worn trail-every time you got to where you walked to you saw the substance of the things which were previously unkown as you walked towards them-but you knew they were there….and when you saw these things they were the evidence of what you thought was going to be there when you got there…and it was.
It’s bigger then that-at least for me. It is kind of like being at the beginning of the trail and the only things you can rely on to sustain you is on your back in a backpack-and you trust it to get you to the end of the trail and to your destination.
Of course-there are many who have never experienced a long hike lasting several days…going down a trail,so the picture I’m trying to paint is not so clear.
I know one thing-money has nothing to do with faith,nor faith money.
Like I said once before about the monk that told me I owned nothing and later that night as we looked up at the stars he said I owned every one of them because they are in front of my eyes all the time-no matter where or what the circumstance….no one can take them away,ahhh…but your land they can. That remark in reference that I said to him earlier that I owned five acres of land-he pointed out it did not matter where you were standing that if you percieve in your mind then it is yours-but I owned nothing. It’s there as long as you want it,gone when you dont-no maintanence,no worry if you locked it when you left it.
He said after all…I owned nothing.
But everything I saw was mine.

Ten years ago I thought I had this bad chest cold-but the last night of it I felt like there was this thing inside of my body bigger than me and it was trying to get out…it hurt because the pressure was so great. Well-it turned out it was’nt a cold but my heart. It was giving out and a few days later I had a stroke. I was pretty certain I began to appreciate more what the old monk was saying way back in the hippie days-my body was broken because of a blood clot to my brain,fixed things so I could’nt drive a big truck again…which is what I did-no more fat paychecks and easy money.

I believe it was an intentional period of learning for me. The woman I was married to was (-really-) as volatile as a rattlesnake….there had to be a lesson in that ,and the convict (Rose)…she too,a lesson. Interesting,I recall that monk saying what little you can carry with you the better it is.
I remember the time when I was hauling cattle and then too my heart gave out and I was pulled off the truck. The guy that owned the operation was a millionare over ten times…or more. He drove me back to Florida. I remember him telling I was richer than him…at least where happiness came-he said he could’nt figure me out…I did’nt give a squat about money and yet I lived and acted like I was on top of the world. He,on the other hand,was so rich the owner of the bank would jump up to open the door for him if he ever saw him coming…he said he was agitated and worried all the time,and he was rich-and me? Well,he saw me as a guy that had a buck or two and just happy go lucky attitude….heck,I was living with out electricty then for about two years long-cooked on a campfire…walked just about everywhere I went-folks knew that.
So I guess the monk has a point…the guy died-heck,he was only 45. Dropped dead smack in his tracks-no more a millionare. And yet,here I am,still living from check to check-it aint easy…could be better,but then…it could be worse.
I had my stroke when I was 46…pushing my body to put 1100 dollars each payday in my wallet.
Somehow I think faith has to do with it-why did the rich guy die right away? and why did I keep on in this life?
It was in one of the rich guys semi trucks that my heart was trying to tell me then some things needed change about my life-it took a few years more for it to catch up and prove itself. While I was laying in that truck feeling the pain from my chest I saw things that made me have peace about death…I saw things that have to be special and a gift. It seemed so wonderful to feel your body go towards death…yet,death is not what we think-it is beauty and peace and soft and wonderful. It is the thing hoped for…but yet unseen.
I think I screwed up the whole process of what was happening-it was not too long after that the rattlesnake bride came into the scene-and after her…as if it was not enough,Rose…
It seemed like a slam-dunk to me. Like standing in the center of a tornado…
Well…most certainly I have come to the point of confusion to you my reader…
A guy I knew died,another rich guy-and his son has inherited a bit more than his life ever anticipated all this time. First of his life he had not-now he has….there was a motorcycle involved-some guy had it in his garage for several long years. The bike is worth something-it is a classic…and the son and I were talking about the value of the bike and the truth be known the thing that he said which was so true…I never had it until now and never needed it-and now that I have it it does’nt make sense to become greedy over things now.
I think he met the same monk.

what can one say?

my kind of design

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

My mind seems clamped from the ability to understand which way I am supposed to feel or what it is I really should do. I was able to meet with my therapist from the VA on Tuesday and she told me what has happened.

I actually am twisted into a place of unbelief-no,not unbelief at what she told me-unbelief as to what is she’d done and the ending punishment is we…her vet’s-are never be seen by her again. I can not tell you the number of us that are affected,just that there is a number.
There is a way to fully understand what it is she did…a mistake,yes and no-well,for all of us a mistake…but what it is was from a heart of a person that saw us-each of us-as persons who are damaged in a way certain things become greatly confused by our minds. She tried to help one of us bail out of a problem that had seemed to really escalate. My head knows the problem – the effect,so lets leave at she was doing what any of us would have done and would have been so grateful for her doing it for us.
A stupid thought in good judgement or bad judgement with a good thought….who can really say.

I’m unable to register the things the way they all line up. At the meetings I have had with her-I met the first person that ever believed me. It took a long time to realize it and a long time to get there-but it is so we were there.

I dont know how to accept what has happened has happened. It can be sure that even with my level of education it is not hard to see there is no way the people in charge of my therapist-those who call themselves ‘mental health professionals’ have any understanding of what these ‘punishments’ they have passed down have done to the people who have worked so hard to understand themselves and to trust someone.

It boggled my mind and made me unsure of how to react as well sat on a picnic bench and she told me this-we sat outside as I refused to enter the building. In her kindness she had brought me a coffee and a roll and the roll was in a napkin-it was awkward to hand her the napkin to wipe her tears. I know she was genuinely hurting-it switched our places for the only time in our meeting each other over the last three years.

I do not need to go into many deep details about this-to be private and to protect this woman. I wanted to keep my mouth shut-yet it makes me sick to find the way we were thought of in the minds of her superiors.

So how many can it be-10-20? How many of us have been wrongly done as this? How can an institution have such disdain for the medical care and mental health of their patients?The day I was told my appointments were canceled-and they would be in touch…the man that told me told me in a way as if he was tellling me the television had burnt out-with a whimsicle shrug and a roll of his eyes…my last contact with him,but thats the way the VA told me there was the end of three years. Two weekls go by and nothing. Four weeks-and I go in-but the doors were shut. I made some phone calls-a challenge for me,my phobic feelings about the telephone. I made the calls in the early wee parts of the day-3 a/m. because I was so emotional about what was going on…I telephoned.

The explainations were-vague,empty-just…I dunno’s.

Well there you have it-the mystery is solved. The missing therapist has been found. She is being transfered to another place-only one last good bye allotted to each of us…end of story. Never to be seen again…forbidden,that was the word used-forbidden.

What can one say?
 

November 7,2007

very fine vulcan

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

In 17 days it will be November 7.
To many the date has no significance-some perhaps celebrate a birth day that day ,that I am certain, and there is most likely some of who have a particular anniversary on the 7th….but otherwise,it has no real prominence-just another Wednesday,hump day…the middle of the week. To me it is a date that I never in my wildest dreams had ever thought would mean so much to me.
I have a judicial hearing on the 7th. I am going to sit in front of a military representative-I am told it will be an officer from one of the services-most likely,in my case-it will be someone from the United States Navy….after all-I’ve been yelling out about them at full force in these writings.
I have no faith in November 7th. There is no reason to any faith in a system that let my and others lives sift through the fingers of right and justice-at this point its a matter of going through that which I have started.
I would’nt have started this at all except I was led to believe. Belief has all gone…it has left me standing here by myself in awe of how fast it has been tromped on. I should have known better-to trust-to have faith in others-to rely on the slaps on the back and the words of encouragement and support…that seem so false now. I’m almost sure that November 7 will be a new day of humiliation and defeat.
I should have never said a word and left it hidden inside of me for the rest of my life….no one was interested when it happened-get used to it is what they said. I should have taken that advice to the end.
Say,I could be wrong…it may be someone wants to say they are sorry-that I was wronged. I doubt it. One can hope…but to me hope is just for certain things.
My brother emailed me the other day and said our father is getting weak-he feels my dad is soon to lose his life from cancer. I never could see calling it a battle-we all know we have to die…so his life is soon to end. With that event-another chunk of hope will be gone.
A hearing-if its seen in my way,that I am believed and the sorry does come as an apology…it is most likely there will be some kind of monetary award-perhaps monthly checks…money. Really? How will it make it better? How can it replace all of the years my father has regarded me as a failure-for his interpretation of what happened during the New Years weekend of 1969-70 was failure-I failed. There was no room or desire to sit down and listen to my side of what took place…never was there any want to know that the things that happened did indeed happen. It was’nt over that night,or the weeks that followed-or to this day…
So how can money make it any better?

The day that Rose was arrested by the FBI (Rose was the ‘Americas Most Wanted’ criminal my path had crossed with) not one of the people known to me as a friend came out to my house and said-
“are you alright…”
That night I stood out in my back yard trying my hardest to get drunk enough to forget the day even happened…drunkeness did not come-two cases of beers and not even a humm. I never felt so alone in all of my life except from the night in barracks D…it had to be a renewal of the charge that I was to have to accept through out my life…to get used to it. How ironic-to be treated like I was in barracks D and to find myself in the position to have to turn another human person into a convict whose life will alway be in a prison.
I stood out in my back yard that night and knew one thing for certain-the only one that I can trust is God.

I am not making much sense…this I know. My mind is going a hundred miles an hour,perhaps faster-there is no clock. Two people-absolute strangers to me-have volunteered to travel together with me to this hearing. They have told me that I need someone there for support. Yes,I need someone there. I am incredibly in awe of the offer…it is out of my realm of understanding how some one that I barely even know has offered to take time off from work-for them and I it will a two day journey with motels and dinners and breakfasts and gasoline…in my mind is-how much is this going to cost them? And yet-they have solidly offered to take this time for me. I have never even met one of them. I feel the urge to weep each time I think it.
My concerns are more for their welfare and safety then for my own circumstance-this is 37 years overdue…the misery that has trailed along because of it,and I am worried for the welfare of some one else.
17 days. Its one of those clocks that starts ticking and seems to go very slow but before you know it it will be here. My body is tense and my nerves are frazzled and I am so afraid I will miss an important point-worse,I am afraid of being accused of being a liar.
Only God and I know….this happened.
The one thing that has been shown to me by the offer for personal support from two strangers is that someone does believe me and is willing to take that time to prove it. That is worth more than any money could ever be…win or lose,to have two people contact me and say…you need support-and we are coming with you. That can only come from Heaven above-the home of God,the heart of God.
I wish it was my father,or my brother…or someone who claims friendship. How fitting that it should be strangers.

the luckiest guy I ever knew…

Wayne Sargent Smith 1952-2007

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I met Wayne Smith when we were teenagers. It was right at the time my family moved to the Washington DC suburbs. My father had bought a house right in the center of houses being framed,or not even that far ahead-and to be able to free up the Mayflower truck the contractor rushed to finish a downstairs room to store our furniture in.
It was my job as a 15 year old kid to be dropped off there and sit all day with that furniture.
Wayne and his split brother Rick were my first guests-as soon as my father dropped me off the first day these two guys were at my door.
There is too many places I can go from here when it comes to talking about these three teens and that era of the 1960’s hanging out in a house with out supervision-ha!. We were buddys since from those days on.

When I got out of the Navy and ended up in Micanopy Florida-I met my first wife,her dad helped me get married at the end of a twelve gauge and all my pal’s from up that way outside of Washington came down in a caravan of jeeps and motorbikes to see the event.
Of course my bride and I took off for Daytona to honeymoon and the group that came down from the north was in awe of the change in scenery-so they stuck around a few days and infiltrated the town like a bunch of uptown hippies.
Micanopy,you have to understand…in 1970 it was still a blend of the original families , a small tiny town of country folk, and this handful of artist beatnick hippies-there is a difference,okay? So the town was’nt ready for this crew.

Now how it happened-I aint sure. Wayne met Dee Blackwelder-a fourteen year old from Worthington Springs Florida. Now in 1970-a any hippie with long hair did’nt enter certain communities in Florida with out nearly getting the tar and feathers-Worthington Springs was one of those communities. But Wayne met Dee and they got married. And with her he got this family-one darned huge family.
Now here’s another place where this can go in different directions-but its really Dee this is about and how lucky Wayne Smith was to have wondered around Alachua County and found a dirt road and followed that road until he saw Dee,its a wonder he did’nt get shot…

Wayne and I had this on and off kind of friendship. We never realized when I came to Florida one of of my best pal’s from high school would follow-so we were friends-as Dee told me yesterday,we are family.

These past three months I’ve been really down-I have had a need to talk to someone and it never crossed my mind to ever talk to Dee. She called me a few weeks ago and asked if I’d come to a birthday party-for a dog…thats just the way it is around thier place,and while we were on the phone I was reminded by her wisdom in her conversation and how she makes such complicated things as losing her husband very smooth.
Well-I attended the birthday party. Its always just her family and her sisters newest boyfriend ,and they are very sweet simple people-Dee’s mom retired from repairing the machines at the old Franklin Crate mill and her step dad spent his nights at that mill on a golf cart watching over acres of slats of wood and not much anything else-he’s retired too.
I cant remark on Dee’s education-how far a girl would go in school only to married at fourteen-so I dont reckon there was much school after that. But to sit down and talk to Dee you could’nt even use a mile of school papers to match the wisdom that comes from that womans heart.
They were married 33 years,she said yesterday she was in love with a man who is in a grave and couldnt wait to one day be with him again…but until then she just has to wait until the right time,when he’s ready-she’s ready.
It was like the most complex thing made so simple by the way she talks. She mixes her words like sailor-but that is so easy to over look by the way she emptys out word after word of -wow,its too hard to really describe it….but it is so pure and real it lifts you up.
I can tell that this 47 year old widow is one of those widows tales are made about…the old widow woman,she is not. Dee is a lesson to take in learning what love must be like.
There were too many family members there the other week for ‘Bubba’s’ birthday party to be be able to talk with Dee much with out interuption. You have to understand-on one side of the house is where Dee’s son lives,he is actually her nephew-but she and Wayne raised him. Next door on the other side is one of Dee’s sisters ex’s,and after that in the next house is Dee’s mom and step dad-behind all that is a small travel trailer-some uncle lives there. So its a ready party-another son lives with Dee’s mom and step dad-and there’s the sisters…and thier girls,so it was and is always busy. Not to mention the sisters newest boyfriend.

Yesterday it was the right time. We sat on the front porch and I listened as Dee went on…telling things about Wayne and heaven and God and life and the wonder of it all , but she was telling it in a way that I could’nt help to think what a lucky guy Smith was.
March 16,1952-May 16,2007

the dream that keeps coming back!

gated community-jay herron 2007

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I woke this morning at about 0330 from a dream-one that returns from time to time….I was in a prison. These dreams are immense-details are so vivid and the size of the prisons in the dream are incredible. I believe the dreams are trails from barracks D….after all,thats where they said they were going to send me-and barracks D was not any more pleasant! I think ever having to go to prison is the biggest fear I might ever have.
In this dream I appearently was trying to find where I was supposed to be-I was walking through all of these areas and passing all kinds of shops…simular to walking through the USS Vulcan-welding shops,the foundry and various metal shops-and as you would imagine-the place was dark and gloom hovered over head…the sky pitch dark and damp. It was not a pleasant dream.
In the dream…as I passed other convicts-I realized they were employees of the Gainesville VA hospital. I recognized each face each time someone made eye contact….I found myself wondering about that even as I was asleep and it was just a dream.

As I have been writing in the past weeks about the recent-well,its longer than recent now…the seperation the veterans hospital has placed in front of me-the seperation from my therapy and the silence from Charlotte-my therapist,well…my emotions and stress level have driven me into a very tight corner and much of that has been paramount in my mind.
Just this week I recieved notice from the Veterans Affairs office that my hearing date has been set…it is less than a month-it has taken over 37 years for such a date to be made.
In my mind last night as I tried to fall asleep-and I couldnt figure out why I tossed and turned because I was exhausted…but sleep came hard for me because all I could think about was how on earth I’m going to get to St.Petersburg Florida for the hearing…my vehicles are in disrepair,and only good for local runs-not a trip 150 miles south. I kept worry in my mind about missing the time-being late…all those fears one gets when things are on the line. I suppose thats what triggered the dream….along with the fear that the judge I will be seeing will insist I have been telling one huge lie and I will be sent to prison for this.
That is what I think.
So last night I thought all of those things and they put me into sleep and there came the dream.
These prisons I dream about are huge communities-well,a prison is is’nt it? One large community-just a bit more confined (no pun intended) but in these prisons there are activities which compare to society out side-once I dreamt I was in a prison that was a giant flea market-crammed into the walls of the prison-each vendor (a convict) had a cot and his area was set up like a tight living quarters and he held his wares with great protection-as if he slept with one eye open and kept that eye on everything and everyone…trying to protect the items he had for sale.
Crazy? Yes it sounds right crazy…
Yet-these dreams come back over and over. The clothes and the shoes and the feeling one gets when the space they have is limited to one wall there and the other over there-and the people,yes…they are not people friendships are made with…they are evil people and your entire being is spent trying to survive and protect yourself.
And these prisons are not filled with a limited population-they are cramped and movement is restricted by the amount of men that have been packed away in there…
I am afraid.
I never in my life ever thought that November the 7th 2007 would ever be any different then any other day in any other time. But now it is my date-the date to tell what happened.
I am afraid.
One wants to trust-I’ve already told you that trust is not something that comes easy…it comes hard,sometimes it does not come at all. The recent events-the arrest of the senator from Idaho (arrested for sexual advances in a mens room) has caused great concern-personal concern. I was initialy raped in the restroom area of barracks D. The smell of a restroom brings back that deja vu feeling-the memory is so strong. Also-the senators arrest has caused me to realize trust is so faulty. And…the arrest of the federal prosecutor from Florida-his sexual deviancy has ended up taking his life,he commited suicide…but he also took the trust I have in the system and damaged it greatly….so,my fears are so wildly out of control by thinking about these men-men who we are supposed to look up to with honor and respect and see the very law on its feet…no,they destroyed that,at least for me.
This hearing coming up ismy final chance-I guess,to tell the story I have been telling here for this past year…and living with for 37 years.

Just so you can understand-I have filed a claim against the United States Navy for what happened in barracks D. A claim which is supposed to offer compensation for the damage done to my life as result of my time in barracks D.
Just so you can understand…a claim and compensation will never erase what happened-it will not replace what was taken from me then and all these years afterwards….I have previously explained that being a murder victim is more gentle in the end then being a survivor of rape and sexual assaults-over and over…because you have to live and remember day after day…over and over!
Do not think that if I win the claim that I’ve filed all will be better…money will not bring back the life I would have had and all I’ve lost and all thats been ruined by the events in barracks D. It will feel some what better to be given validation from the very source that laughed at me back then new years eve 1970…the chuckle the Navy ‘intelligence’ officer offered as a response to my reply when he asked “what happened to you?”
It is 37 years over due….

numb skull….

chicago-drawn by jay herron

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

If it was up to me to decide-I would say the phrase ‘numb skull’ comes from the old ‘Three Stooges’ films…..especially when in came to Curley,the dumbest of the bunch. You hear it used every where! When I was trucking and a trucker was trying to back his truck up to the dock – but ran over a car in the parking lot instead…he was called a ‘numb skull’. The phrase covers all bases of stupid-ones see’s a wing walker way up in the air on an airplane…’hey,look at that ‘numb skull’,or some lady is driving down the road with her forgotten groceries on the roof of her car….’hey,look at that ‘numb skull’,or you just bump into someone by accident in a hallway while checking the incoming calls on your cell phone…and bump! …’look out you numb skull’ !! The numb skull that mows his lawn each weekend at 0700 and the numb skull that passes you on a two lane highway and then slows down to make a left turn…believe it or not-we all got a tad of ‘numb skull’ in us.
Although the title of stupid goes a long way with this phrase-the genius of the Three Stooges gave it a second meaning to be sure it covered being wacked on the head…it seemed the smarter two of the bunch had a need to wack Curley on the head-poke him in the eyes and do other slap style damage to the poor man-always saying what a ‘numb skull’…I guess meaning he was hard headed and could not feel the pain.
Now I don’t know how they did that-hit that poor man like that all the time,and him just going on like a bee buzzed by…was it fake and trickery or was he really a ‘numb skull’?
To tell you the truth-I feel like a real ‘numb skull’ and I can feel the impact.
People should’nt pat themselves on the back and say….”well,I’ve never been guilty of being a ‘numb skull’,no ones ever called me that”!
slow down…
We are ALL being ‘numb skulled’!
Larry Craig-the Senator from Idaho must be Moe!
(you know…Larry,Curley and Moe)
…and we are the ‘numb skulls’.

Why would a man with the intelligence we have been led to believe a senator should have-not know what he was being charged with in that mens room?
How come we are expected to believe that he did’nt understand the charges…so badly he had a few days to think about them before he mailed the sign citation admitting guilt?
Why is that?
Why would the guy make the statement he was going to resign…effective a few days ago-entirely missed because this man is trying to have his decision turned around-the guilty plea over turned.
I’m sorry if I’m being a ‘numb skull’ about this…but in my condition-the personal fears I have of public restrooms-this topic is not easy to over look. I have experienced other men peeping and and certain suggestion made to with one can understand what is being indicated in that suggestion,a very uncomfortable feeling. Perhaps I’m more perceptive of this because I was first assaulted in the ‘head’ in barracks D…the very stink of a restroom brings it all back-so when some one is out of the ordinary,I feel it in my bones.
But my point is this…if a non ‘numb skull’ was to be accussed of this(soliciting sex in a public mens room) they would be kicking and screaming for a judge,and not signing an admission to guilt-not for this….mens room solicitation!! and just to think it would go away….maybe?? But not with the job Larry Craig has.
Now he’s wishy washy about quitting the Senate-more a numb skull than ever….and he’s making numb skulls out of everyone in America.
What is fearful-is this man is a soreness-and yet he has been in one of the highest positions we entrust our politicians to…and he’s that big of a ‘numb skull’ ??
No wonder Curley made that funny noise! whoop whoop whoop whooop……eergggg eerrgggg

The USS Vulcan AR-5

USS Vulcan AR-5 at James River

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

It was right around this time of year when I first saw the Vulcan. My heart had to have been racing with all of the thrill an 18 year old kid could muster…I was going live on this ship. Often times today I can go by a certain kind of equipment-something loud…and it takes me back to hear the sounds of the ship.
The Navy was going to be a chance for me. A new start-a hope to get back on track with my father,and the beginning of my life as a man.

I woke up about four this morning. Every morning I’d wake up and feel the failure and remember what happened and this morning was no different. It is really very strange-even to me…all of these years and that is what I wake up to-the memory of the failure and the regret of how it all went wrong.
I am feeling defeated. Back then I trusted what the USS Vulcan stood for-defending my nation and standing up to do my part for my country and constitution and I was so proud of my uniform .
My brother mutilated my uniforms.
Yes…that was another part of it-my brother. I was given the opportunity to serve with my older brother. What a mistake that was.
In the Bible there are countless stories in the old testament about the relationships of brothers. Joseph was sold by his brothers into slavery-that because they were jealous of him,and the relationships of sons with their fathers. They all seem like just plain old stories but in reality they mix with the contents of our own lives and become real.
My brother treated me like dirt when I came aboard the Vulcan-as I said,he mutilated all of my uniforms-so I was unable to work in areas of the ship…or stand watch,or stand out in an inspection. Instead I was placed with him in his station…the ships laundry-and was treated like shit.
I did not have the proper pay to replace my uniforms-so I had to wear what I had….my shirts with sleeves cut off of them and the moniker ‘Lil Herron’ over my shirt pockets to identify me as my brothers subject.
It was’nt what I was expecting. I could’nt understand why my brother rejected me-of course,we hardly knew each other…but that was the point.
Somewhere in this catalog of my life I have written about being caught in the snow storm and the way things went from there. I never really considered it that my brother had much to do with my being put into barracks D,but I think he did…maybe to teach me a lesson?
Frank was jealous because the ships education officer was treating me with certain specialty. He had given me some tests and I was qualified for further education to go to school and be given a degree and all I had to do was trade some of my life which was an easy trade because already loved the Navy and this was going to be my world….it still is,but not way I expected it.
I did nothing wrong-so it all goes to show that innocence is not always treated fairly.

I cannot go through it all-again,here…but in these past years one thing has been very certain-I have a hard time with trust. That because it was taken away from me many years ago…shown to be a thing of little value because every time I reach out for it my hands get switched-smacked like the old elementery school teacher used to do when you were’nt behaving well and she’d hit your hands with the edge of a ruler.
I really do not know how to explain myself-I really dont know how to tell you how it has been to live me since those days and nights in barracks D…the lessons of ‘trust’ learnt there have endured from the moment they were given. They will never be pursueded to change-I can see that now.

My recent experiences with the Veterans Administration Hospital in Gainesville have shown me that.
I adjusted. I did life in ways others do not…drank until I could’nt stand up. Did lots of drugs. Tried to act the bad ass,then it all caught up with me and I had a stroke. This whole thing was mine…my past. The events in barracks D had molded the way I live-yet after the stroke things changed around and the other things kicked in (my rattle snake bride-and the Americas Most Wanted incident…) and one day I get asked by the VA clinic if I ever get depressed. Yes…yes yes. That is for certain. The response was medication…drugs. I’m pretty sure that would have been the extent of it all-the treatment…aka pills that make you jolly! But what a slap in the face…should’nt drink to erase your woes. Shoud’nt do drugs to erase your woes. Have woes…take one of these-drugs. Its all the same. By the way…I’m still depressed,its worse now!
I thought I found a place to trust at the VA. I wrote a letter back then to protest the use of the drugs and outlined why I was in the state I’m in…the results of the rapes-the results of seeing my brother Carl go sliding under the wheels of a car…seeing Mr.Hoke blast his brains out….hearing my mother tell me it should have been me and not my brother that died…over and over and over.
There is only one place of trust-this I know,and that is the grave. How I wish I could go there-I wish it had been me in that hearse that carried my baby brother.
The VA responded to me and gave me an island. I was so full of doubt that I would not be able to remain on the island…but I was told that I would be there as long as it takes.
That is not so. So there it is–trust….trust….where art thou trust?
To be honest with you…I thought there was going to be good in this. God how wrong I was!