Hell. Just saying the word brings a bead of sweat to my brow. Hell. It’s a word, when thought of, reminds us of fire, flames, torture, and demonic icons.
The red devil with pitchfork and horns.
The black demons with the wide white eyes.
The lake of fire.
However, sometimes Hell doesn’t always fit in these neat iconic figures. Just like everything else, in life, the concept of Hell doesn’t fit in a little box; it can get messy, out of order, complicated. At times, things that do not seem to fit the ideal Hell are more Hell than Hell.
For the past two months I have experienced Hell, in this form. In fact, in some cases, I am still walking through Hell, but I am hoping that I am almost out. With luck, I can just step out of the pits and bitch slap good `Ol Lucifer in the face and tell him to fuck his mother as I two step out of his overpopulated place and James Brown slide on over to Heaven! Or at least back to Earth!
It all started with my Father’s Cancer recovery. Getting no sleep, I would work all day and drive from Delaware to Camden and sit in a chair all night, getting no sleep for three weeks. When he came home it wasn’t any better. My Father required a special diet of liquid food and water. I would prepare him his meals and takeoff for work. When I came back home from work, I would find cheese steak wrappers from Pats Pizza or soda bottles lying next to him.
Then the medication kicked in, and he was overusing the pills prescribed.
Then came the driving on the medication.
Then came the three cars he ran into.
I became stressed, I had to take off days from work to stay and babysit. The doctor told him he couldn’t drive for two months and he was driving three days after his surgery. I wouldn’t know because I was at work, but once I saw the damage on the truck I knew what happened.
Then came the fight at the store he got into.
Then came the days he forgot about.
Then came the news of Chris Johnson dyeing.
As if going to work and taking care of a recovering cancer patient wasn’t difficult enough, I received word that a friend and ex-boss died. It hit me hard and I blogged about it as my way to cope with the loss of my mentor. Then I didn’t blog until this article here.
Then came the night I got locked out.
Then came the night my car got stolen by my Dad and a Mexican.
Then came the day my items got stolen out my house.
Now hooked on prescribed pain medications, my father would go on black out spells and not remember. It made me sick! I would come home from work and my office floor would be covered in white dust from where he would crush up Percs and sniff them.
He was out of it.
I was done with it.
One day I decided to carpool to work and left my car at home. When I came back home after my shift, my car was missing and the house was locked up tight. I called my Father and he didn’t pickup. I was stuck outside my house for two hours waiting for him. When he finally arrived, my Father was in the passenger seat and a man I never met before was under the wheel of my car. I came around the side of the car and banged on the driver side window. The man tried to take off, but I stopped that by kicking in the door (I know bad idea, I kicked in my own door but I wanted my car). When I looked at my Father he was high out his mind and looked at me and said, “I’m going fishing.”
What the fuck!!!!
The next day, I went to work with a dent in my car door; but when I got home, a surprise was waiting for me. My Apple imac was stolen, along with all my writings, college works, blog, pictures, and everything else on there. My PS3, college graduation ring, money, and another 10k dollar ring was gone. My Father was on the couch sleeping when I asked him what happened. He said he didn’t know.
Then I told him to eat a dick.
Then I told him I was done.
Then I lived in my car for a month.
Living in my car wasn’t as bad as I thought. At least I had freedom. I washed at the gym and didn’t spend any money. I took long walks in the park, thought about life, and appreciated little things.
I started getting calls and voicemails from my Father, he was making promise that he I knew he couldn’t make good on and all he would do was cry. It pissed me off more. I started cursing and wishing the worst. When I would visit friends, they offered me a place to stay or wash up, and I appreciated it. That time really showed me who my friends really were.
Then my Father came to my job.
Then I took a kidney attack.
Then I got stuck at home.
About a month of sleeping in my car, I ended up with a kidney attack. I was in the emergency room. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I kept getting calls from my Father. I kept sending him to voicemail. By the time I got out of the E.R. I had 77 voice mail messages from him. All were of him screaming and crying. I called and told him I have to come home because I was in the hospital. Ground rules were laid and were suppose to be met.
But they never were.
The same shit is going on.
Then I got fired.
Without a place to stay, I ended up back home. I wouldn’t talk to my father, I wouldn’t leave my room, and I would work all day and stay away from home as much as possible. Then, while I was in court, I got a phone call from my job that I was fired.
I thought: This is rock bottom.
I thought: I’m in the deepest part of Hell.
I thought: Fuck Hell, I’m getting the fuck out.
The point for all that bad shit that happened to me was to make me stronger. To let me know that I can take it, brush off my shoulders and say: Okay life! Is that all you got; I’m still standing! I can take it.
So know my perspective of the world has changed. I always loved the deceptiveness of the human kind. I thrived on being deceptive and tricking people, but it in order to keep deceiving, you have to lie. I can’t lie. It feels better to tell the truth and be done with it and move on.
I’m doing for me, myself, and I from now on, and first. Although I am still living in Hell, I can slowly moving out. It is harder to move out of Hell than it is to move in, but when I move out, Goddamn I will never move back in!