Catching myself going through old pictures. Florida and other eastern states. Being on beaches, sitting with people, always looking away and off into the distance.
It seems like, in all of these pictures, I have absolutely no interest in what's around me. Not to be an asshole, but it's kind of fitting for the company I was in. But that should've had no effect.
I don't remember once having gone down to the beach at night alone to walk around and think. I don't remember once taking a stroll by myself with my thoughts, actually. It really gets me down, honestly. I was too wrapped up in other happenings to take some time for myself.
Maybe it's a little stupid to feel this way about "thinking in other places". But, seems to be nice.
The photos were from my, then second, trip to Florida. My first trip was very thought filled. It was on different terms, different people (my parents) for very different reasons than "fun". I walked around the town alone when my dad was in the hospital. I walked and smoked with my mom, whom doesn't smoke and I was too young to be smoking. We talked alot. We had sleepless nights. We went to the beach to pass time. Went to aquariums and other places that I don't remember thanks to the stress. I remember alot of sponges, that's about it.
I remember a black man from Lawrence Kansas in the hospital with my dad. He gave me some advice to live by:
"Ever fuck?"
me "Yeah."
"Lemme tell ya, boy."
I smile and look away with unease, but curiosity.
"Ain't nothin' in the world like fuckin' on a full stomach. Getchu some chicken, some mashed p'tatoes, and fuck."
He brought some well-deserved comic relief to the situation. He was a very nice man, I hope he's doing well.
My father was in and out of a dream-like anesthetic state, it was terrifying, I thought he would be that way forever.
It tore my world apart. I wanted to walk into the ocean and not return. I wanted to crawl into bed with him and make my heart stop. Crawl into bed with my father like I used to as a child when I was scared, now terrified for him, the strongest man in the world.
The next summer, I went to a different part of Flordia, with different people, for different reasons, and all these photos were taken. I really hope I was thinking of something worthwhile when I was looking off into nothingness.
I remember standing on the edge of a cove with my dad, feeling the wind off the ocean and watching the storms miles away. Lightning striking the surface of the ocean and causing nothing. The tide wrapping around some wooden poles in the shallows, wondering to myself if I could walk across the cove on them.
I don't like the ocean. I dislike the feeling in my stomach when it's dark with waves crashing, a storm in the distance, and wind breathing brine in my face.
If it's true what I hear about memory, then seeing the ocean will never be a nice thing to me. And I'm okay with that, because I have Table Rock lake for a body of water with great memories.
Looking back on all the inbetween moments where an underlying terror was alive, I wonder if I ever knew that they would be worthless in the grand scheme. I remember the doctor almost turning my father away before his treatment because his case was a bit more severe than a simple Xanax love as many of the others had. A little bit worse than the Methadone alternative others had taken up.
Four 80mg oxycontins.
oxy IR's
Xanax to sleep
muscle relaxers
Daily.
I remember the shock my mother and I had when he told the doctor how he ingested them.
I remember the terror that my father was going to kill him if he turned him away.
I remember my dads determination and his tears when he hugged me before going to the room to get started on his treatment.
Will of an ox. But this was the one thing he, "couldn't stop on his own."
Years later. If anyone actually reads this and is interested. He is doing great. Persistent in being sober from addictive medications or ones he can't keep control of. Ibuprofen/naproxen is his pain pill of choice now.
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