Witness to Withness

Setbacks, healing cost

I danced until my feet whistled on the grass
The washing of purity depleted glory
I through myself upon destiny
Something better to find in the wisp of silence

Insights flood the internal angst as one gets in touch with the realization that a self (one’s own), really does count for something. Out of the whispers a sign that things will indeed get better.

         At times it seems like one has to go two or three steps backward to go forward. I wish I could say that there was a point at which I knew for sure I was out of the woods and going home. As I said in another part of my story it was like living out a dream/nightmare. That moment never presented itself as long as I dwelt at Taunton State. Kurt went home long before I did or at least he left the hospital before I did. This only made me feel worse and wonder where my life which seemed to have ministerial potential might drift. I had made friends with Walter Delude, but after having experienced Stephen’s duplicity, I was not sure I could trust anyone again. I did tell Walter about Stephen. I can only guess what he may have done with that information. Nothing seemed to change after I told him about it. He was more animated and encouraging than ever. He told me that the reason that he was not a priest was that he had reached the last year of his training and did not like the fact that the Latin Mass was being taken away. He also talked about how disillusioned he was when he found out that some priests were homosexuals. I had no idea why he shared this with me. I only knew I wanted out. I made a friend out of a person by the name of Richard Ugi. He seemed to be quite the charmer. All the ladies seemed to be at his beck and call. Just ask him. He was the Italian stallion. No one could resist his overtures. He had been at the hospital due to the effects of some drugs that sent him off the deep end. He took a liking to me, I have no idea why.

         Another piece of the puzzle was the medicine/therapy issue. I had no idea what had been happening all that time. I had been in group therapy once a week for about three months. There was only one therapy session given by a social worker. As far as sorting out what medicines worked I felt like I had become a medicine cabinet. I knew about thorazine. I am only guessing that they found some combination of meds that worked. It has been many years since I have pondered this possibility. Was I sober because they got me on the right drugs or because I was tired of being sick. Maybe it was a bit of both.

         I continued to dream and envision until it was time to go out. I did not see my brothers or sisters, while I was in the hospital. This was significant for me, because it seemed like I was always going to see Kurt and in different situations I went out of my way to find ways to take friends to see Kurt, before my hospitalization at Taunton, if only for my own comfort. I think that is what made it hurt the worst. I saw my grandfather once and my dad a handful of times, my cousin George once. There was no female support from my family of origin. I do not know why and I doubt I will ever understand this sleight. I do know mom hated hospitals and she was in the midst of a lot of trauma with her latest birth. Two of my four sisters were too young to know what was going on. Maybe it was a man thing to go the hospital route. Even more puzzling to me was why college friends did not visit or pastors or friends (makes one wonder if I had any.) I had reasons to be bitter. Upon exiting I was told all kinds of stories about why they did not come. I am sure I will never know.

         I saw Stephen here and there and was invited into his coffee room right to the end of my hospitalization. I was ignored in for the most part and yet was not at peace with how things ended. I did not like the way the entanglement felt and afterwards disappeared.
         I do recall field trips, to a Catholic lighting display around Christmas, for example. I was lucid enough to know that there was a perky small attendant who was very likeable and another attendant who called himself manic to a lesser degree. I saw myself as a manic depressive. There were all manner of thoughts that crept into my consciousness as insights of a heavenly bent. “Something better” was one calling that God had for me and another involved sorting out the role of silence or lack thereof in invoking God’s presence. I wanted God even to the degree I looked in the bathroom mirror and thought to myself that the God that is called “I am” is what I see reflected in the mirror. I scripted my understanding of participating in a new creative circumstance. I was the godhead GAP and dreamed of inhabiting planets and enjoying control of my sexuality with any female I wanted. I also thought that I could turn my sexuality into a case of fruition coitus or just pissing in the vagina as I saw fit. The overall sense I had in the weeks before I exited the hospital was that I was called by God to bring all persons into a healing relationship with God whether they were in heaven or hell. I saw my particular mission as bringing people out of hell. I did not want any to perish and I do not think God did either. This informed my spiritual understanding later. I was open to accepting any kind of belief system as opportunity for celebrating integrity, even if it was on the verge of being satanic. I felt this way and yet was cautious of sharing my views because of possible condemnation. I continue to live in this tension. I want a connection with the dogmatic individual and the free spirit. It is very difficult to be true to both. I did get out of the hospital, but that is for the next chapter.