Wednesday, October 23, 2013


You know the feeling you get when you wake up from a truly horrible nightmare and thank God you were only dreaming? I guess you might call that relief, maybe euphoria, maybe joy. I'm not sure what the term is for when you open your eyes and the nightmare keeps going.

I can remember the nurse screaming.

"Do you know what year it is?"

"Twenty-twelve," I answered. "Twenty-thirteen."

"Do you know who's president?"


"Do you know your name?"

"I'm BB."

I remember that fifth glass of wine, the frantic confession to the priest over the phone, my brother telling me to stay awake even as I started to fall into a coma.

"You can't stop me! I already took the pills!"

I was crying and laughing at the same time. I was so happy. I was so sad. I was so unburdened.

I'm so sorry.

And I mean that, as much as I have ever meant anything, because in pulling out of a 14-hour coma and being restored to life the only thing I can think about is all the people I betrayed. Thomas, who was my erstwhile companion. Powell, who was still my brother even with all his faults. Pie, who looked up to me. God, who gave me all my gifts and many of my flaws. You, my readers, who rooted for me over the years. And myself.

One thing I keep returning to is the BB I used to be, the one who threw blackened away and decided to see life for all the good it contained.

I don't understand how I went from being that 21-year-old boy, the one with the future standing as an endless sunlit vault before him; to the 25-year-old young man who saw no future at all. I don't understand how I went from striding a summit to collapsing on my bedroom floor. Every time I think about it it makes me cry.

There are no easy answers for me as I return from the psychiatric hospital to the home where I almost died. There are many things I'll need to do, and one of them is to grieve. I'm giving myself time for that, but not too much time. The other element in moving forward is reconstruction, and that means that I can be fragile and vulnerable, can withdraw into myself, for only so long. Eventually some heavy lifting has to take place. I'll let you know when, with the help of doctors and my family, I figure out what that is. I already have some ideas.

I know you all expected more from me. I expected more from myself. And I really hope one day I can achieve that.


r said...

I'm really glad you're okay, and alive, and well enough to write this. Grieving is a good idea. Take all the time you need. Dropping expectations for now might help for a bit, you just are as you are - no shoulds, not right now. Thank you for being so deeply honest. Again, plain and simple - really, really happy that you pulled through. Thank you, thank you, thank you...

Adon said...

Depression and despair can take you places that you would never have thought you would ever go.

One of the helpful thing you can do to combat depression is to reach out to others in need. You will lift them up as well as yourself.

Hang in there....Adon

laura b. said...

Sweet BB, I'm so sorry for all of your pain. I'm so glad you are still with us. ♥

naturgesetz said...

I'm glad you survived.

I'm glad you made your confession to the priest.

Having read your previous post as well — which I somehow missed when you posted it — I'll say, try not to make it about the money you're making and the debts you've incurred. Try to make it about the siblings you love, the people who love you, the things you can do, the beauty you can enjoy.

(BTW, do you still have to hide your face? Does it serve any purpose?)

Arizaphale said...

Can't say I'm surprised. Can say I'm glad it's over and that you're still with us. REALLY want to say stick with it, take your time and God bless you. I always love it when you've called by my site and left a comment. I appreciate your insight, intelligence and humour. Don't deprive us, and those you love, of your presence again please.xxxx

Anonymously Me said...

Can I please meet you in real life sometime?

Jay M. said...

There's one mistake here...I don't set others expectations, unless it's to treat me the way I treat you, which I hope is with love and compassion for a fellow human with all the flaws and foibles we all share.

Remember one thing about goals, too. Not reaching a goal is not failure, as long as you did your best.

Personally, I think you're a fine person, meeting obstacles head on and never giving up. And I can't fault you for depression, and it's not like you wallow in it and use that as a reason why you aren't achieving goals - but you ARE trying!

Peace <3

Sean Lyons said...

I'm trying to figure out the right words to say.
After reading about the highest of highs and the lowest of lows in your life, I somehow feel your pain.
You are right - there are no easy answers. It is going to take patience to heal and so much love, the love that you truly deserve, to help you along the way.
You deserve some kind of normalcy - I truly hope you get it somehow.
If you need anything - a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, a face to look at and talk to - you know how to reach me.

jo(e) said...

Oh, BB.

This was difficult to read.

I wish so much that you lived nearby so that instead of reading this on a blog, I could invite you over for lunch and we could sit and talk about everything.

I'm sending a hug over the internet.

Just Me said...

It's been a long time since I've stopped by some of my favorite blogs. Your posts always touched me, and this one brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't leave without sending you a hug. Many people care about you, even though we've never met you.