In a letter from -B- that I received when I was living in Bellingham, WA during fall 1995, the letter contained a closing line of: "opinions are like assholes, everybody has one."
I remember that the letter was two pages on front and back of one page and that I thought it a rambling letter until I read the closing line, which struck me as implying that I was an asshole for having traveled to Bellingham, WA via Maine and across the USA originating from Gaborone where my decision to leave -EH- and -JL-'s compound in Gaborone culminated with -JL- shouting at me and kicking a white, plastic chair towards me at an outdoor lunch table.
The argument between us was that I wanted to learn how to write and wanted to go to libraries and read so that I could learn to write. -EH- and -JL- offered me one of two other choices for me to keep busy while in Gaborone: aerobics instructor class or scuba diving in a swimming pool. I did not want to do either class, but I enrolled in aerobics class during evenings at the gym and spent days at the University of Botswana library.
I left Gaborone due to irreconcilable differences between -EH-, -JL- and myself in that I did not have space to pursue reading in libraries and learning how to write as I was practically illiterate at the time with only a high school diploma, which did not amount to much in terms of educative processes for me. I was almost "stupid" at the time and knew it.
So, I decided during fall of 1993 after my first hospital visit in NYC when I was attending SFSU that I wanted to "learn." Learning for me meant reading and writing. Upon arrival in Bellingham, WA: I immediately sought out the university library and spent twelve hour days over three years reading and writing in the library while sleeping in my vehicle over the three years.
During June of 1995, I enrolled at a community college in Bellingham, WA and signed up for an independent course study titled: "Write like Hemingway." The professor with whom I studied writing like Hemingway whose initials were -CV- stated to me at the conclusion of the course that I had found my "voice," as in a writing voice. -CV- issued an A for the course at the end of summer 1995 and shared my writings with his literature class.
However, during June of 1996 when I was diagnosed with schizophrenia: I literally lost the "writing voice" I had garnered during the write like Hemingway curriculum in terms of not being able to verbalise coherently or write coherently. I thought and mentioned to -EH- in an Oregon motel room where we stayed over a weekend trip at the time that I needed a "home" as to a reason why I was diagnosed, given that for everybody: it is 50/50 environmental/biological; with some people 30/70 and other people 80/20, depending on ratios.
Part of my thinking as to a reason for my diagnosis was such that I had never known a home base in my life with my family spread out all over the world and no personal contacts or networks to whom I could go to for reprieve in Bellingham, WA or anywhere. I knew nobody but the one so called friend -K- whom I originally went to Bellingham, WA to visit with -K- stating to me that I had come to his "turf," i.e. Bellingham, WA.
So, I decided to move to Maine upon invite from -B-.
Since moving to Maine having been diagnosed with schizophrenia during June of 1996 in Seattle, WA and hospitalised once before 1996 during June 1993 at a hospital in NYC where I was immediately put into an isolation room on the ward for three days without anybody to talk to other than a doctor for five minutes of each day that I was in the isolation room, I have been called as many epithets as an auctioneer can spit out in a spiel.
I would posit that I won't repeat the epithets that I have been called for sake of not turning this piece of writing into a "rant" and keeping the tone communicative, but I will repeat them anyway with a disclaimer that the epithets have hurt my feelings over the years. Whereas I would be angry a lot due to the frustration of being called epithets because of whatever reason (stigma? judgement?), I am now concluding that epithets I have been called are what people think of me: as in peoples' opinions of me.
Epithets that I have been called since moving to Maine during October 1997 are: pathetic; crazy; teatsucker; motherfucker; schizo; you hear voices; alkie who swills his drinks with sperm; it's all in your head; zero credibility; faggot; mentally ill (as in "what are doing with him: he's mentally ill" to two different girlfriends of mine over two different dinners); chicken; basically nuts; don't have anything to do with him, he'll make your life a living hell; manipulative; lunatic; I'm going to fuck you, fuck your family and god is going to get you; money talks, bullshit walks; you have milked schizophrenia for all it's worth; why doesn't he pull himself up by the bootstraps; etc.
The epithet: "it's all in your head," triggered me into hanging myself at the property in Portland, ME on May 29, 2008 because I had had enough of -EH- saying "it's all in your head" to me for years on end since 1996 when I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. To this day: I cannot and could never communicate anything with -EH- on a verbal, communicative level. As of late, -EH-'s twin sister concurs with my assessment in my trying to communicate with -EH- in that -EH-'s twin sister has said to me that she was my age now before -EH- would let her finish a sentence.
During 2010 over the phone, I mentioned to -JL- that I would give up trying to talk to -EH-. -JL- said to keep trying to communicate with -EH-. Since 2010, I have tried to communicate with -EH- to no avail. It would not matter if I told -EH- that the sky is blue. -EH- would not take my word for it and she would have to consult somebody else about it.
The conclusion that I draw is that epithets I have been called are reflective of my family, my family's friends and strangers' opinions of me and the definitive conclusion might be for me to disappear as it is obvious that I am considered a kind of pariah to other people (including family) because of whatever reason.
However, I have a cat and dog to think about in life: not to mention a wife! So, I am not sure what to do at this juncture in my emotional state concerning family. I understand that it is almost impossible for an impression to impress upon an impressionist who created an impression, but I need to know if the communication herein is clear enough to elicit a definitive conclusion about me from -EH- and -JL-, among others in my life to whom this piece of writing might be of concern.
Am I going to be threatened with eviction? Am I going to be banned from -EH- and -JL-'s home, as has happened?
Bear in mind: statistics show that 90% of the two million people who are diagnosed with what I am diagnosed are unemployed. 95% smoke. 77% of cross genre media depict people diagnosed with schizophrenia as psychopathic criminals. 3% of people diagnosed with schizophrenia are in jail: a statistic which reflects inmates from general populations of the USA. Lastly, my doctor has said that a lot of people in the community have "misjudged" me.
So, as a last ditch attempt to elicit a definitive conclusion about me from people whom I have known all of my life: do people wish me "dead" or to disappear because that is the conclusion I draw and the conclusion which has been impressed upon my conscience in light of herein context?
On another note: I am a self published author who may have an opportunity to be hired as a Peer Educator in a psycho-social class at a college in Maine. If I secure a position as a Peer Educator at the college, I may be able to vend my books and/or require reading of my books for students in the cla$$. I am currently engaged in talk of my securing a Peer Educator position at a college with a State of Maine vocational counselor who has read some of my writings and raved about them saying to me that I am an "excellent writer."
It would seem that "reading without reflecting is like eating without digesting" in that I have regained my voice in writing which I lost during 1996 when I was diagnosed and that my writing voice might pay off in the not too distant future, as of October 2014.
Other prospects are odd jobs to which I apply and sometimes secure and other times do not secure. Some jobs that I have held in that past were at a university for eight years simultaneously working as a superintendent at the building where I live in Portland, ME until I hung myself and quit everything due to the fact that I gave up life because of epithets impressing upon my conscience without my being able to communicate otherwise about myself or experiences: just deemed "basically nuts!"
In the coming weeks I am going to decide if something on the communicative level with people in my life has changed with this herein last ditch effort to communicate myself to people in my life and if not: I will be taking the dog and cat back to their respective pounds where I adopted them, leave the vehicle in the driveway at the Portland, ME property and board the Greyhound to eat baloney sandwiches outside of San Francisco City Hall where homeless people convene, or, die in a ditch.
I was never on a so called "acid" trip or called -JJ- when I lived in SF like -JJ- insisted during February 1993 and -PL- asked if I was on acid or that I called -JJ- in a call -PL- placed to me at 7PM PST February 23, 1993 while -PL- was in Rochester, NY in order to ask me if I made that call in my dorm room at SFSU on 802 Font BLVD, SF, CA. I did not know -JJ-'s phone number at the time, as -JJ- contested that she did not know my phone number from notes on record during the time.
At the time, I was beginning to go to A.A. with a sponsor in S.F. and when I heard that I was accused of calling -JJ- with baby at 5AM CT during the previous week of February 23, 1993, I was livid at some New Yorkers with whom I went to school in New York because I thought that the New Yorkers with whom I went to grade school had pranked -JJ- stating that they, the New Yorkers with whom I went to school, were me saying "I am eight people" and that I was on acid and that they, the "pranksters," would take care of me. (I have since read -EH-'s notes from Gaborone about the incident at the time and have the notes in possession today, October 26, 2014: the which I have thought that I might scan and post on a blog).
The point: I implore family and others to "not judge, lest ye be judged" and to open a communicative with conclusive, conversational relationship with me for the first time in my life at my being 41 years old. I have tried to communicate the details herein verbally for years on end to no avail and I have supposed that it has been wasted time for me to try and mend trust bridges with family over "lies" about me.
Hence: if I am not able to communicate to -EH- about -EH- paying $229/month to the cable company between 2013 and 2014 when the subscription cost is $118/month or that squirrels come into the attic at the Portland, ME property off of tree limbs in the back yard and the limbs need to be cut back by an arborist with -EH- retorting that squirrels come in the attic off of power lines in front of this property: that the power lines need to buried, etc.; then, I give up and either need money to maintain the dog, cat and wife or disappear.
Meanwhile: I continue my search for some kind of a paying gig and/or community involvement so as to offset accounting from -EH- with a job shadow on October 27, 2014 @ 8am until noon at a dog kennel or else odd jobs and I will be hearing about a Peer Educator position by next week or the week after next week.
Otherwise, if my relationship statuses with my family continue on the tract that they have been on since eons ago: then I might just have to disappear. I just can't stand the love/hate relationship that my family and others present to me in my communications with family.
If I tell y'all on January 3, 2014 that it is fifty below outside and that it is predicted to be a coastal storm with no more than two inches of snow and thirty degrees above 0ºF the next morning and to put the dogs in the mud room on paper instead of letting the dogs outside to pee: then please believe me and do not call me "lunatic" and "mentally ill" while locking me out of the house without my dog in fifty below temperatures!
I hope that this message clarifies and communicates with family and others to whom it may concern about me and my being. I only ask that I be afforded a little respect as a human being, the kind of respect that Russ, the dog, taught me in how to treat Patch, the dog: "it is important not to overlook love."
Sincerely, -JB-
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