Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about no prompts today...just some thoughts.

You guys...I can't prompt-along today. I'm just not feelin' it. Part of me wants to feel excited that I finally got all of "Cabin Fever"  up and organized and pretty much done with for good (god forbid the day I ever decide to proofread it or try to reinterpret anything, because no). And I should be looking forward to revamping "Slurred Emotions (highlights)" , but let me finish processing that other period of my life first before I get into that. There's a whole mess of stuff in-between too that I can't imagine even confronting now, and the stuff before and after, and, nope. Not feelin' it.

There are some subjects I really try hard to consciously avoid talking about, mainly out of fear I'd be talking about them all the time, and I don't wanna do that. This is supposed to be a place for fun and chicanery and whatever...a release from life, if you will. That's why I write, why I took up blogging when poems stopped working for me, and moving on to other ways to try and be helpful, encouraging, and/or just myself when all else has left me with limited options. That's why I'm doing this today...this is all I have that I'm comfortable with right now in the moment, or the last few years of moments. And I consider myself lucky.

I watched a video today that probably won't mean much to a lot of people, but it was more than just another reminder to me. For context, you should probably watch it too... the Daniel Carcillo POV  .

I don't care what side you're rootin' for, or where you're from, or what you do now for work or fun or leisure. The fact is, there are so many frickin' ways that this can happen to anyone, from a plumber to a truck driver to a professional athlete. Freak accidents happen all the time you never hear about; the media alerts you via headlines when someone who makes a whole lot more money than you did suffers the worst.

Steve Montador played hockey for the Buffalo Sabres, among other teams, in his long career. He wasn't supposed to even reach that level, but he stuck around for a long time. He was found this past February dead in his sleep at age...35, I think? 34? Doesn't matter. He's not that much younger than me.

He played a much faster version of hockey against a lot stronger competition than I ever played, and for a hell of a lot longer. Sure, I got my scratches and scrapes playing street hockey, and in the two years of high school football I played I broke a pinky (forever crooked) and a shoulder (a second time...it ended a promising scholastic wrestling career). Figure in the lumps I took playing both pickup football and basketball in parks I'd ride my bike to that were miles from home or on a frozen lot in town) until I started driving, and the years well into adulthood I spent playing rec-league floor hockey (both as a goalie and a defenseman), I also got my share of headshots.

One of the first things I was ever taught playing organized hockey was to keep your head up crossing the line- blue line, center line, didn't matter- you kept your head up, regardless. Otherwise, you get decked. I'm not a big guy either- I'm 5'6"- but I could get by being fast with good reflexes, and had instincts to make up for the talent I wasn't born with. I can recall at least three instances where I was 180'd between winter football, summer basketball, and floor hockey. Like, blackout 180's. Straight-up diagnosed concussioned. Before concussions were even a concern in the real world. And that's not taking into account the sticks I took to the mouth or the diving shot blocks I made with my head as a defenseman who wasn't afraid to jump the point on PK's. Or all the domeshots I took between any practice or pickup games, because when you're short and keep your head up, shots go off your mask and other shoulders find your temples quick. Plus, I was dumb, like we all were back before sports medicine was encouraged...I put off a hernia surgery in 2000 to defend the championship the spring deck league I'd played with the half-season before could try to repeat (it was a YMCA league with some friends I'd just met, they brought me in for the championship game, we won, I had a sick game shutting down the undefeated team's leading scorer...my doc wanted a vacation and why wouldn't I be asked back?). Pride is a beautiful, painful thing.

And why wouldn't I come back? I secured friendships, we partied all summer, and of course when the fall session came around I was in. In one fast series of play early in the year against our opponents, I slid and blocked a shot off my glove, the ball went off my mouth, and in a hurry to recover against the ensuing rebound, I took a follow-through from a stick in the same spot. I sat out the rest of the first period and all of the second with gym paper towels stuck to my face, came back in the third, and had the game of my life with a goal and two assists. I was a terrible offensive defenseman, let it be noted. I'm I was more the stay-at-home kind...I hated the street hockey ball-hogs when I was playing net and they'd leave me hangin' out to dry. Fuck man, I was good enough to hold my own, but I needed help sometimes too! At least being quick I could jump a rush, but not hang my goalie out to dry because I could get back. And the ooohs and ahhhs by the 10-15 friends/family in attendance for us were usually worth it.

We usually played on Sundays, and after the games I'd have a party at my apartment to watch the Sunday night football game. No better way to ice off your face than with a cold Sam Adams among friends, right? Go into work the next day to the cool-ass job, get all the mockery about why your face is swollen, go back home, and "ice that up" more.

The Y stopped holding leagues because we had gotten a goon who would retaliate when liberties were taken on our team. I did my job...I slid, I blocked shots, I drew penalties. This guy took fights and ended it all. I had scumbag fathers show up drunk, with their kids on the team, try to pick fights with me. Being the diligent non-pregamer, it was easy to draw double-minors...they get pissy, get the second, come back looking for more, and you keep your head when they get 2-4-1 pissed again. But we had a dude who felt like getting back for every little thing, and I was done. Love to have a dude like that on your team in '99. But not when he's the reason your league ends.

Anyway, long story short, I was done with hockey. I did the grown-up thing and tried to suck myself back into work and personal relationships. Most of that failed. Some didn't. But my damage was done. The aching body wanted to replace that stress with gametime tensions; my head was always on the afterparty. My head knew I was done. My body still thought there was another league for me. I still had my goalie stuff. Timing wouldn't let me. Responsibilities wouldn't comply. I went double-crushed batshit eventually. Cost me everything I owned. From loving a kids' game. And when I say that, I fucking lost everything while going triple-nutso on OTC sleeping aids, booze, allergy meds, and anything I could get to shut my mind off. Best relationship ever? Done. Nicest dance floor moves? No longer. Pretty much everything. All of it. Most of it was peaced out on me before I even had a say-so in it. There were other factors, but fuck my man, I had a job and a super-awesome girl and a house and fuck everything and everyone else.

And I lost that. Because I was so fucking careless.

Steve Montador is dead, and we don't know what killed him or led him there. Maybe it was drugs. Maybe it was depression. Maybe he got sick and couldn't sleep again another fucking night. I've been there. And I've been at those ends. And I don't have a god, but god if she can't get there in time for him, I'm fucked. I'm legal. I'm on point with this. I have depression. I think I always have, for as long as I can remember...but I have long adult periods I also don't remember. I tried to fill the gaps. That doesn't always work. After all I've done, I'm still ashamed to admit I've seeked help over all of the wreckage I've done to those close to me. I still fuck up. And that fucks absolutely everything up for me mentally. But I...I still love the pain...I love the hit. I love getting fucking annihilated by someone to protect my teammates. I still haven't learned the art of self-protection.

My head is wrecked in part because I never learned how to properly take care of it. "Always keep your head up" isn't the best or worst thing to say. Each day is still a recovery process for me. Both hands can count the times I haven't been right. I still might not be. And I might ever not be.

But Montador...he was 35. 35! I'll be 40 soon, and don't think there haven't been days where I haven't veered off-course. I don't expect my former employers to take care of me, but they didn't pay me to shit on my life for them (though in fairness, some expected to, and I did kinda pay them back by re-shitting on it...I do take ownership of that). But dammit...no, the point is don't take mental health for granted. I could sit in a room in silence for hours without crashing...doesn't mean it's fun. Doesn't mean I want to do it. I might get all high-n-mighty occasionally and say "Buy the ticket, take the ride" (in reference to Hunter S. Thompson). Live life, but don't fuck it up. Take opportunities when they provide the chance, and don't chance your opportunities.

I'll get through my personal situatuon. Hasn't killed me yet, I don't expect it will, and no, I'm not gonna speak to it until I have to. Monty's death scared a hole in me though...and we can't be scared of mental illness, even if just a rec-enthusiast like me still is personally. I forget a lot more now than maybe I ever remembered. Getting adjusted to new routines to compensate for that is a freakin' nightmare slash anxiety attack just waitin'. It's worse than any hit I've taken...because it feels like I'm still too young sometimes.

I love you guys. And I mean that, not just in that drunk pills way. Best place to retreat? Here. Dark days? We all have them. Even you, who says "the service at the coffee shop was turr-bull today". We all got better days than that, lady. We're still here. We're still trying to make a difference. I'm just doing whatever I can whenever I can, while I still can.