Tag Archives: Drugs

A Techno Kind Of Night

19 Apr

This last weekend, I had the privilege of hanging out with some of the finest DJs the Midwest has to offer. The crews over at PhulPhunk and Kansas City Techno got together and put on one hell of a free show for the internets. Come and take a look at just a few of the snapshots I took that night.

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One Week

21 Mar

One week.

That’s how long it’s been since the first pill hit my bloodstream.

One week.

That’s how long it’s been since my body slouched and conformed to that comfy leather couch in that dimly lit room filled with books and inspirational messages.

One week.

It’s been one week since I admitted I was broken. Just one measly week.


My mind has been racing, running like a postal worker trying to escape the clutches of a rabid dog. Like the mailman, my mind just wants to deliver the mail and get on with its life. But there is something waiting, lurking. Something standing in the way. Something more scary than gnarled teeth and a foaming mouth. Something more terrifying than deep growl and a vicious bark. Something so limiting, imprisoning, and so very encompassing it sucks the very air out of my lungs before I can even breathe it in.

That something is me.

As much as I hate to admit it, I am the one standing in the way. At the very core, it’s me who is responsible for my own happiness. I have to be willing and able to accept the help. I need to ditch the¬†skepticism, the rolling eyes, the doubtful thoughts.

I need to open my mind.

And that folks, will be the hardest thing for me. I have to dig deep. I have to unlock doors and open windows that have been shut, sealed, and locked for years and years.

So, as I sit here a few hours away from my next therapy appointment, I realize that I, myself, hold the key. I just have to figure out where I left the keychain in the first place.

Come Monday

17 Mar

Let’s be honest.

For once, at least.

Honest with my friends. Honest with my family. Honest with complete strangers.

But most importantly, I need to be honest with myself.

I am not well.

I have been struggling for so long now, that I don’t even know where the surface is most days. Sure, I can see the sunshine sparkle as the waves splash miles above my head. But I’ve lost the ability to swim. Or maybe, just maybe, I never had the ability in the first place.

I’ve been dodging this truth, this brutal honesty for quite some time. My vocabulary of quick answers carry a bevy of “I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m surviving.” All statements used on a daily basis to thwart a single worry from anyone else about what may or may not be going on inside my head.

But Monday, I woke up and verbalized to myself and the pillow I clutched tightly that I, in fact, am not fine. I am not okay. I am not surviving. And as I heard those words actually come from my own mouth, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I’ve known for the last couple of weeks that I was nearing my breaking point. I already knew I had one foot over the edge. And I could feel the other foot lurching forward without much hesitation.

With my grip on reality waning, I picked up the phone and dialed. As ashamed and defeated as I was, I knew I needed help.

Monday was my first therapy appointment.

After staring at a hauntingly scary prescription bottle that sat harmlessly on my bathroom counter for the last three months, I finally opened it and took one of the tiny blue pills, placed it on my tongue, and washed it down with a splash of orange juice.

Monday was the first time I took Zoloft.

For those who know me well, this admission, this revelation proves just how low I am and how serious I am about getting my life back on the right track.

I’ve been saying for years that I don’t need medication. I don’t need therapy. I don’t need help. My pride fooled my logic into thinking these statements were gospel. My stubbornness instructed me that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and depression were for the weak.

But Monday, I admitted to myself I was wrong.

I am four days into trying to right my ship. The waters are bumpy on the best of days. From hour to hour I wonder how this is all going to work out. My feelings of shame, guilt, and weakness have been magnified exponentially because in my mind, I should be stronger, I shouldn’t need help.

But I do.

And since this Monday, I am no longer afraid to admit it.

And Elsewhere

10 Dec

I’ve been a busy internet bee this week. After a few weeks off the radar, I am back in action full force. So, get to clicking and read away!

This week at MamaPop:

Tuesday’s Post: HIMYM Season Six Recap: Episode 11 “The Mermaid Theory”

Thursday’s Post: Mashup Of The Year? The Notorious XX

Friday’s Post: Want To Ride Unicorns With Robert Pattinson? That’ll Cost You $80K

This week at Draft Day Suit:

Wednesday’s Post: Zack Greinke And Trade Rumors Go Together Like Peas And Carrots

Thursday’s Post: Matt Cassel Has Appendectomy, Further Proof God Hates Kansas City

And Elsewhere

12 Nov

Well, another week has flown by. As usual, I have been super busy whoring myself all over the internets for your reading pleasure. Don’t believe me? I have proof!

This week at MamaPop:

Tuesday’s Post: HIMYM Season Six Recap: Episode 8 “Natural History”

Thursday’s Post: ANTM Cycle 15 Recap: Episode 10 “Kyle Hagler”

This week at Draft Day Suit:

Friday’s Post: Zack Greinke To The Blue Jays? Say It Ain’t So!

And Elsewhere

5 Nov

Links make the world go ’round. I who am I to stop the world from rotating? So, in the interest of planetary safety, I give you the links!

This week at MamaPop:

Tuesday’s Post: HIMYM Season Six Recap: Episode 7 “Canning Randy”

Thursday’s Post: ANTM Cycle 15 Recap: Episode 9 “Margherita Missoni


This week at Draft Day Suit:

Friday’s Post: National Title For Mizzou? It Will Never Happen





And I was very lucky to land on Schmutzie’s Five Star Friday list this week for a personal post. A very good week indeed!

Check out Five Star Friday:

Five Star Friday’s 125th Edition Is Brought To You By John Milton






30 Days Of Truth: Day Seven

3 Nov

Day 07-Someone who has made your life worth living for.

The beeping from this machine grates against my soul. I know it’s coming. Without fail, every ten seconds, the beep will come. It’s no longer an annoyance. It has become something I fear, something I hate. Deep inside, I know it is helping me. The constant flow of chemicals it pumps directly into my body allow me to live one more day. But still, the pain is still indescribable. The sickness fills my body and rapes my soul. I want to quit. I want to just give up. But I can’t.

I know she will be back soon. With her haunting smile and assortment of needles, she’ll have to replace this I.V. again. I know it’s time. I can feel it leaking down my arm. I can see the blood mixing with the saline and pharmaceuticals. She tries to calm me as I start to cry. That’s all I can do anymore. As I drift in and out of consciousness, the tears roll down my cheeks. Here I am, a grown ass man, reduced to tears. It’s the only emotion I have left. Everything else has been taken from me. Tomorrow will come. No matter how much I wish it wouldn’t, there’s no stopping time. So I just cry. The tears are all I have left.

The nights are the worst. My mind is alive with a flurry of terror. I want to scream, but all I can muster is a failing whimper. My eyes strain to focus in the pitch black darkness as I look around to see if I am alone. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. It’s been a few hours since I’ve heard a voice from the stillness of the night. Right on schedule, I hear the click of the door latch. Without warning the blinding darkness is immediately replaced with searing fluorescent light. With a methodical precision, I am poked, prodded, and heavily medicated. As the morphine flows freely through my veins, I let go. Tomorrow will come. As much as I fear it, it will come.

The needles pierce my skin. The numerous cold stethoscopes assault my body. The otoscopes invade my ears. The radiation blasts through my body. No matter what they do to me, I can’t convey the hell I am experiencing. I just cry. My body limp, my soul gone. I just cry. As I lay flat on my back to ensure the spinal fluid doesn’t leak out the hole they placed in my spine, I wonder if this is it. Have I reached my end?

And then I heard his voice.

“Hi, daddy.”

I felt his warm little hand reach out and brush my arm. In that moment, I felt no pain. I could see the bewilderment in his eyes as he tried to make out just what was going on with me. He knew I was sick. That wasn’t a secret to him. But seeing the tubes and machines hooked up to me must have been a shock to his psyche. I wanted dearly to protect him from seeing me like that, but I didn’t need to. The smiles and hugs broke through my medically induced haze. Without hesitation, stories of his past week flooded the room. He wasn’t really phased by a thing. He just wanted to hug me, tell me how much he missed me, and tell me what he did at school last week. For a moment, I forgot about everything. It was just him and me trapped in a moment of normalcy.


It’s a funny word. But when you have gone through hell, you plead for normalcy again. Just a little taste of it was all I needed. I needed to know what was on the other side looking in. His little sister was at home waiting. She was merely months old and I was missing out on precious time. Time I couldn’t get back. I had missed half of her life on this planet. As I heard him say goodbye and close the door behind him, I was at peace. No matter what I had to go through to get home again, I would do it. Instantly, my pain turned into an anger. I knew I was missing out. I wasn’t going to let this thing beat me down any longer. More determined than ever, I sat up in my hospital bed for the first time in days. I knew tomorrow would come. And for once I wasn’t afraid of it.

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