I was home, and had many visitors. To some, I seemed normal, although a little hyper and talkative. Being quite solemn most of the time, a few even liked this newly extroverted, friendlier me, and withheld their reservations.
Of course, my wife and partner of the last nine years knew that something was amiss, and worried that I was still not getting the rest my body and mind so desperately needed. On several occasions, the suggestion that I need to go see a doctor was strongly implied by her to no avail. I dismissed this idea as unnecessary as I only needed rest. Rest did not come.
After a couple of days, of countless long distance phone calls to people I called only on special occasions, like birthdays, holidays, and so forth, my mind felt extremely clear, my hearing was acute, and exaggerated, it was impossible to sleep with the slightly noise, real or imagined. My mind began to see things that were not there, the hallucinations became more vivid, no, there was no backup of sewage in the tub, the TV was not glowing at night. Crop dusters were not wagging their wings over my home with broken sprayers spewing poisons. The jogger behind the Cadillac was someone only I could see.
When I disrobed, and ran into the muddy fields, that's when the ambulance came. The local constable and my Father-in-law was desperately trying to cover up my shame, and to keep the mosquitoes abated. In a distant part of my brain there was some sort of unknown recognition that I was not supposed to be naked, even though it was the end of the world. I did accept a pair of undershorts. *insert laugh here*
On the way to the hospital, I implored the EMT as to the reasons for this special treatment, he only agreed with me, that we were going somewhere I could get some answers. Of course, the government needs me, only we have to make this one little stop first.This is not a story of tragedy, nor a cry for sympathy, but it is a story of how I got from there to here. This is my story of survival, and triumph.
I have not written this down before now, and do not know why I have chosen this moment to do so. I have read through some of your posts here, and I only wish to share a thought or two.
The year was 1985, and I was in the prime of life. Having been married for nine years, my wife and I were miraculously expecting our first born. Happily anticipating his arrival, and busy preparing for all the things that were to be, we were the epitome of young, success filled couples.
I was ToolPusher on a land rig at the ripe age of 28 just prior to the oil boom bust of 1985-1986 I had been either a Driller or a Toolpusher since I was 23. This particular rig required round the clock supervision of a collection of some of the most hodgepodge of crews on a different type of rig and drilling conditions than most were accustomed to. Adding to the mix, we had a newly promoted Drilling Superintendent who made no secret of his distaste for my style. Having recently being from another rig, I was placed in charge of this one by the owners against his wishes. Needless to say, everything needed attention, and I was anxious to get everything in order and repaired before rigging down and moving to a more difficult location. There seemed no end to the constant knocking at the door, with requests for assistance. From broken pumps, to non-existent lighting and a faulty generator, to the need to restring the drilling line at night with a crew that had never participated in this common daylight chore. There were tight hole problems, chalk, and a poisonous gas strata to drill though, with non-fully functional blowout preventers.
After eleven days and nights with zero sleep, and too few meals, I called one of the owners expressing my difficulties and stating my expectation that I would be relieved of duty the following morning. As predicted, this is exactly what took place. I was called in to the office the following day, and fired by the Superintendent. Incredulously, I went home and continued to call the vendors which I had outstanding orders and obligations with, making sure that all was being carried out and completed exactly as I had scheduled.
Due to sleep deprivation, and in denial, I had already crossed the line between reality and fiction. (to be continued)
© 2009 byronc How's that roof coming? 49 Photos, 9 comments  Ok, dog, let's see the pictures... 33 Photos, 22 comments  First Colt 20 Photos, 11 comments  Homeowner 20 Photos, 26 comments Album2 |
why ask?
I hurt my child again today, but that's all right you see, she was talking very loudly, and irritating me.
So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace.
I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in me, you see.
I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine.
So I slapped her very smoothly, and made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out.
Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew.
There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see? Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me!
I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute, why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees, and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never spanked their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well, but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away, doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
It's about meI hurt my child again today, but that's all right you see, she was talking very loudly, and irritating me. So I whacked her pretty smartly, across the arm or face, it doesn't really matter, to me it's no disgrace. I've done this so many times, it just comes naturally, just like my mother raised me, it's the fool in
me, you see. I've told her not to spill her milk, about a hundred times, never mind the floor is filthy, I don't have to make it shine. So I slapped her very smoothly, and
made her cry once more, I'm immune to her whining, she makes it such a bore.
You've gotten ketchup on your shirt again, don't look at me and pout. I don't know how to get it off, I can always throw it out. Washing clothes is not important, I have better things to do, if you weren't such a messy eater, if you would only chew. There'll be no more food for you today, I'm really bothered see? Can't you understand simple English? I said get away from me! I care about my child, I do, and I'll prove it in a minute, why just last week a playmate pushed her, and skinned her little knees, and boy I was so upset, I put my two cents in it!
I was yelling and screaming, it's the teacher's fault, you see?
She didn't watch the other kids, all much bigger than she is, she can't take care of herself because she's not yet three.
Don't let the children hurt her, that's reserved especially for me.
I hurt my child more than anyone, but it never dawns on me,
I'm hitting my own children, I'm the mother, can't you see?
She cries when she is hungry, or if she's cold or wet, I swear she's getting on my nerves, I'll have to beat her yet.
Sometimes she reaches out her little arms, begging to be held, but since I mustn't spoil her, a slap is what she'll get.
I'll put her in her little crib, she can't get out of there, and I'll just turn out the lights and leave her crying there,
when she's too tired of crying, we won't hear her anymore, if she wakes up again, I'll have to close the door.
Spare not the rod and spoil the child, is what my mother said, I think God made her an expert, I must listen to what she says.
It must be right, just look at me, it doesn't hurt a bit, this is the way that I was raised, and nothings wrong with it.
I am immune to those weak cries, and surely God don't care, I was also beaten as a child, and no one raised a prayer.
One day when social service comes knocking at my door, I'll make up some excuses, it's the neighbors, nothing more.
They spoil my child, they pick her up, they give her what she wants, she laughs too loud and plays too long, she's happy all at once.
They just can't stand my discipline, I can see it in their face, every time that I hit her, while we're over at their place.
Somehow it gives me pleasure, to be in such control, its perversion at it's finest, I'm enjoying this I know,
they better not say anything, we'll just get up and go.
I wont let them visit her, that'll teach them, yes it will, then they'll start to see things my way, it's my way or the hills.
Who are these people anyway, who raise their kids so kind, and do they think that they are perfect, that their children always mind?
They've never spanked their children, or maybe once or twice, all of their kids are well behaved, their son is very nice
He hasn't ever hit me, I wish he would sometimes, then I could get attention, and this would be just fine.
I may have Munchausen by proxy, sometimes my child is ill,
if another child has fallen sick, mine will too as well, but I don't know how to fix it, its a very bitter pill.
I'll have to call my mother, she'll answer right away, doesn't matter if I call her, thirty times a day.
I wouldn't have to call so much, every time I try, if only she had picked me up, and held me when I cried.
My child hit a teacher, and I spanked him very hard, I yelled you can't hit people, this is what I said.
My child then hit a playmate, just like I showed him to, I then had to hit him, and remind him what to do.
I don't know where they're learning this, it's from the other kids, I said you can't hit people, you're not people, don't you know?
You're just my little angel, and now it's time to go.
This poem as I have read it, has made me very mad, they're sick the ones that read it, and are smitten very sad.
There is only one thing more, that's left for me to do, I must stop that incessant whining, they don't have a clue.
Although the sun's still shining, I can see it through the door, I must put my child to bed, because my hands are sore. It's about me.
Its about me, a poem©Copyright Dec 2005, byron c, All rights reserved.
Last night I held a lovely hand,
