Help Support Suicide Awareness and Prevention With Bob

Hey, folks.

The release of The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is fast approaching (this Thursday in fact). But first, I want to talk about Suicide Awareness and Prevention and why it’s important to me.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal

Suicide has many forms.

One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?

There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and reoccurrences of suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.

Help is something we all need, whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades; their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also giving ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing.

I invite you to join the fight against suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another. If you cannot purchase a copy, forward or share this. Let’s help with suicide awareness and prevention.


“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


*The new hardcover design will be unveiled and available as well.

To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255
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A Side Project [End of the World WIP]

So, with everything that’s going on (or rather has been going on) lately in the news. I got to thinking…I really need to crack down on my historical (fantasy) fiction novel. Why is “fantasy” in there? I’ll get to it in a moment, but first…

A few years back I had a dream. One where we started to have a social decline. Where people started doing more cyber-bullying and extreme trolling than ever before. The young adults and children started to die from “peer-pressure” or suicide pacts; were encouraged to kill themselves and such perverse acts. Some were groomed…to rape, take up arms and join some of the newest militias (old and new) and be ready for the coming war.

We had a president… one whom we couldn’t quite make heads or tails of, but I do remember Obama exiting the White House, and then things started going south. I only remember that the new president was boisterous, very loud, demanding, but also doing a lot of double-speak.

Next, there was an uprise of ISIS and other terrorist groups. They actually all united together, believe it or not…proposing to one another that in their Fear War, they would divide up the spoils of war…and how they would go along doing it. The extremists of the Right and Left also became loud. Very loud. There were riots at protests, a lot of people were hurt, and then there came again the matter of the Police’s lives being at risk. Civil uprise began. Nazism rose up once again. The KKK was assimilated by the Neo-Nazi’s and together. It was the beginning of our second Civil War.

Across the seas, terrorism spread like wildfire. “It is under control,” they said; the authorities trying to sway our faith—keeping it with them, instead of being afraid of what was coming. War. North Korea was a threat, sure. They eventually attempted to attack the US, but it was a distraction. Secretly, it was a live war game, prescribed and written as dispensed on both sides to keep the eyes of the world on us, while the black flags of terror were sweeping across the world. It was no longer a war over seas. It came here. It had come. The keyboard warriors that had shouted so, loud and proud that they would “end those sons of bitches.” They were left cowering over their status updates on Twitter and Facebook.

What happened next was sad…it’s true… The Pope was assassinated by the “United Terrorist Group” as a show of might. A new one was quickly elected and then… there was a heavenly sent messenger.

“A new crusade must begin. While we have respected those who would practice anything Christian or Catholic…it is time to strike out the heart of evil. The Muslim extremists must be slain,” the new Pope declared.

Yes, a new crusade. Granted, it wasn’t against the Pagans or all those non-Christian or non-Catholic…but it was a crusade against Muslims—particularly the group(s) we hear and see nowadays in the news.

The Nazis rose and fought against the Anifa group. The other movements and groups were pulled to a side. The military was deployed and Marshal Law was declared. A lot of people died. The second Civil War would eventually end…but at a bloody cost.

The economy crashed—hard. It would be the worst Depression we had ever seen the likes of. Climate Change picked up exponentially. Though, there was a lot of “yes” and “no” on that debate…so the matter was never settled within the scientific community.

Then North Korea mysteriously blew up. A stage act to bring China, Russia, Iran, and a few other countries to go to war with the USA. North Korea was “free” but it was quickly being circled by the countries who wanted to install a new government body. A treaty would be established…but at the cost of millions of lives.

While this had gone on for some time, there were new laws and reforms that were signed into law. Many of which were never voted on publicly. This was all done during the “North Korean Escapades,” and this…this led us to our second Revolutionary War and continuation of the Civil War (it had not ended yet, officially).

It then a proceeds to a clash of ordinary citizens with Neo-Nazis, with government officials/soldiers/etc. Meanwhile, the terrorist groups were laughing at us…but also suffering serious losses themselves. Eventually, they were driven to the brink of extinction…but alas, you can never kill an idea.

Now, here comes in the fantasy bit. Around the precipice of the action, we encountered many strange phenomena occurring here on Earth. Ice completely melting, frequent quakes and strange weather. Climate Change was to blame, but then on the day of the massive quake where we lost most of California, there emerged a giant brown dragon that was adorned with golden spiked tips. In the sea, there was a giant green bipedal beast with red eyes, the head of a Tyrannosaurus, and massive forearms. I know, it sounds kinda like Godzilla, right? Then, from the Arctic regions, a white giant squid. The Middle East had an army of piranha like beings that flew. Think, bats or birds but could strip a body down to the bone in seconds. Finally, there was a flying pterodactyl being with brilliant shimmering feathers from somewhere in South America.

TL;DR version: Pretty much the world goes to shit and a lot of crazy shit went on. It’s a historical (fantasy) fiction novel after all… But some parts that are going on today are pretty questionable. Far-fetched, yes, but let’s hope we can be reasonable with each other, regardless, in our days.

And so, that was me sharing with you all, and idea…and basic outline that I did from a dream/nightmare a few years back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Friday night to finish enjoying. 😉

Take care and until next time,

RJM

 

Disclaimer: If I hadn’t made it clear…this was all in a dream. Thus, fiction. So, NSA and such… I’m not plotting or anything. I’m just a writer writing about a dream that I had. Go home.

Hanging on to a Thought

Even though you’re gone,
We’ll keep moving on.
You’ll be another thought—a memory,
Someone who was just like me.

You should hear the things that they say
That you “quit and threw it all away.”

That “you didn’t care about the rest world,”
“Selfish. Good riddance.” Other “sentiments” hurled.

Though, I know that you’re somewhere around,
Safely watching all the things that will become unbound.

They say it’s a joke, a cop-out, and easy to quit,
“Live. Let love.  C’mon, man, take another hit.”

To leave behind all that you love and make a great escape,
When we live and breed in a world full of greed and hate.

For when the demons have finally won, what more is there to say?
“Why did you give up. Why didn’t you stay?”

So often we say that we’re fine,
Debating, procrastinating, biding my time.

When will it be?
All this misery…

Too many times I’ve put it all down,
Not to let myself be consumed, pulled under and drown.
Letting others know that it’s not my time to go.
And though I smile and try to be strong,
My thoughts, they’re dark; caged, I don’t know how long.

Eventually, the dam will break,
All that has been locked away—will I wake?

It’ll be a day where there’s no preparation,
Maybe then we can have our conversation.

In the end, we die alone,
But in life we’re lights, shone.
To each other in the dark,
We guide one another, looking for our spark.

And so your story might have ended,
Those who are lost will continue to be tended.
Our invisible wounds from which that we bleed,
All the pain and agony inside which has sown its seed.

We’re not alone in our daily struggle,
But the world makes it harder to “love your neighbor.”
Frowned upon and looked down on,
Being called “a freak,” and “you should kill yourself.”

The problem isn’t us or those that already hurt,
It’s those that antagonize and do so spurt—
Content and think they’re “safe” behind their computer screen,
When they’ve never even met you or me.

So I understand why you felt you had to go,
I only wish you could have lived to see life so.

What wonders that maybe… the world will bring,
Even if though we’ll never hear you sing.

…Again…

Comfortably numb do I exist,
Still, I’ll fight and continue to resist.
The darkness and horror that lives within,
So that maybe others can be helped—that they can see what life’s like when it begins.


Rest easy, and thanks for all you’ve done.

This was also published on www.abnormalpublishing.com

The Middleton Files: Spanish Ladies

The Middleton Files: Spanish Ladies

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

An excerpt
[Formerly a short story]

 

 

 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Various timers went off, telling the kitchen staff to tend to the assorted foods in the kitchen. The warm smell of sauteed onions, the fresh hint of mustard and the sweet smell of ketchup wafted through the air. The tantalizing scent of newly fried french fries (lightly salted), with the aroma of freshly cooked chicken intermingled with the allure of piping hot cooked hamburgers.

The staff would bark orders to one another, while a manager would supervise and give aid when needed. Sometimes placing items in brown paper bags and handing them off to drive-through customers.

It was a quaint little shack, offering the release of the food blues. Various tables and chairs laid in unison – groups of four chairs per table in rows of two, sometimes three. The place was warm in color; a fleshy tone – nearly resembling the inner portion of a medium cooked steak or burger.

A few more people came in from the cool and sunny summer afternoon. It was lunchtime, which meant rush hour part two.

“Hey! Do you mind already?!” A rather red-faced, tall, pudgy, bald man in professional business attire behind another few people hollered.

There at the front of the line stood one man (for several minutes now). His eyes were scanning over the entire menu, debating with himself just what exactly to order.

“C’mon man, you’re making them all angry,” the young youth in excessive baggy clothing leaned inward towards the contemplative gentlemen; the brim of his hat so cockeyed and flat – the man only disregarded his knowledgeable interjection.

The man was a tall, athletic (although, the only visible remark was his toned arms due to the thin red and black checkered flannel shirt he wore). He wore a black baseball cap, sheltering his shoulder-length long dark ruffled hair. His face was rugged and worn. Both face and arms were slightly reddened, comparable to the more tanned blotches, telling the tail of his extensive time outdoors. The attendant stared patiently into the man’s bright green eyes that wandered about.

Finally, the man’s eyes stopped and fixated upon the menu. He licked his lips and with an invisible tug, his gaze fell to the restaurant attendee.

“I’ll take a…” the man started but was interrupted.

“I’ve had it with you, you, retarded fuck! You’re wasting all our goddamn time! I could have eaten and been on my way back to the goddamn office! You know, some people have to work for a living, instead of being some yuppy who leeches off the fucking government and all of our tax dollars! YOU are the reason why there’s a decline in society nowadays! People. Like. You,” the bald man lashed out.

The man closed his eyes, sighing aloud.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Did I offend you? DID I UPSET YOU?! Good! Now you can see where we all are! You thick-skulled fuck!”

“Sir, I need you to please, calm down or leave,” the attendant calmly replied.

“I am calm! Don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” the bald man snapped back. “I don’t even know why I bother coming here—”

“Look,” the silent giant began, still eying the menu, his voice deep, “All I want to do is just get my food, eat and then be on my way, exactly like you. You though—you are a spiteful person; one who’s always got to be right. Picking on others, being rude and swindling your way on everything. You, sir, are the lowest of the chain. Even maggots work harder than you. You aren’t worthy to be under my boots.”

There soon followed a brief moment of silence, to which the giant placed his order, and the attendant smiled in compliance.

“You son of a bitch,” the bald man roared. “Just you wait when you’re alone somewhere at night. You’ll get what’s coming to you,” the man finally snapped back.

“We all get what we deserve, some just get it sooner than others. You may want to stop wishing…” the lone man replied, others’ eyes looked to one another in awe.

Soon enough, the patient man’s order was ready; placed on a brown plastic tray, atop some decorative sheet of paper advertising a new quad-patty burger. The man frowned, then looked up and at all the other people that waited in line (even the angry little bald man) and at those who were already eating.

Such nonsense… that we ingest.

“What are you staring at?” the cue-ball man inquired.

The man carried his tray with his order: a spicy chicken sandwich, sweet potato fries, and a bottle of water. “Hmm,” the man stared at the beet red, wannabe goat-man, “absolutely nothing.”

He was enraged further beyond reasoning now. The angry man swatted the tray out of the giant’s hands. “How’s that for nothing, you asshole!”

The silent giant stared at the ground in dismay, sighing.

“What’s the matter?! Are you gonna cry about it, you big fucking baby!?” the man raged further into the sizable man’s eyes.

He closed his eyes; whether it was to suppress any emotion or find a way to shrug off the attacks. Something just didn’t feel right at that moment.

Without warning, the giant grabbed the scrawny bald man by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The giant’s eyes were red with an absolute fiery rage. “Little man, you dared wish for death? Allow me to grant you such a wish!”

The cue-ball flailed about and cried for help, all in vain. No one dared to challenge the colossus, except the young youth.

“Hey! Let him go!”

The giant’s wrathful glare fell upon the young man and with his free hand, grabbed him by the skull and tossed him out through the cafe window, only to be run over by a car via the drive-through. His hat crumpled underneath the tires, along with his popped skull; unlaced sneakers underneath the driver’s side of the car. A small grin scrawled across his face. He turned his anger back upon the bald weasel.

People began to flee in terror, but he wouldn’t be having that. No, there will be no survivors today.

“There will be none!” the man bellowed as he began to flail around the scrawny man, swatting people left and right. Smashing them together: men, women, children, young, old; it didn’t matter who—only whoever was in his range of wrath.

“Do you see what you have brought upon everyone, by speaking for everyone?! Everyone shares the same fate!” he screamed as he smashed the man repetitively against the floor, to the wall, and atop the counter-top.

An alarm blurred, moans and screams. Blood sprayed and dripped everywhere; what was once a white and vibrant tile – was soaked with the lives of numerous victims. The giant discarded the now bloodied pulp of a man to the floor. He walked over and picked up his chicken sandwich, a bottle of water and sweet potato fries; slowly walking out the window towards the alleyway that laid behind the fast food diner: whistling and humming to himself, “Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish Ladies…”

*  *  *

Shortly after, the police had arrived at the burger joint. The only survivors were the female attendant who had waited on the man and a majority of the kitchen staff. The man nearly eradicated the entire restaurant. The driver of the car, who ran over the young man, had also come back; save for probably being identified and hunted down by police. He had claimed that was the fastest he’d ever run from anything in his life.

New Boston Police Department scoured the scene, having been short lately due to cutbacks; the police chief requested the aid of some close colleagues down in Middleton. Namely, two detectives whom the chief considered to be the best in all of New England.

“Where the hell are Detectives Dana Deupree and Walter Conway?” the captain inquired over the dispatch radio.

[Title is from the short story when it was originally penned. Release title will differ. Originally published on Abnormalpublishing.com

The Synthetic Prophecy

The Synthetic Prophecy

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

 

 

“Many years ago, I was blessed with a vision. Whether it was by an almighty being of the cosmos, my creator or whatever the sort was beyond me. It was a vision I discarded as being nothing more than just a mere dream. I was five or six…so I never took it as being a prophecy…or an event to come to pass. Most science fiction, dystopian, or post-apocalyptic stories have something similar. I chopped it up to being nothing more than an influence by something I had once seen on the television.

Then it came to pass…

One afternoon, I was traveling with my mother. We were running errands; the basic kind, you know. We had ventured to the local grocery store. As we had exited the vehicle and neared entering the establishment, the sirens began to sing…

People shrugged it off as another test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Then, inside the store, all the TV’s, all the monitors, all the cell phones, everything cried and warned with the coming end. An attack was made. The target? Our location along the West Coast.

People ran. Panicked. Cried.

I looked up and saw them in the bright azure sky streaking towards us like rebel burning diamonds against the daylight. I felt my stomach sink. My hands had begun to sweat in my mother’s grasp.

A voice chanted, “Initiate Evacuation Protocol: Disembark. Repeat. Disembark.”

One by one, then dozens, thousands, millions…people dropped to the ground. I, myself watched as my body dropped to the ground. I looked over and saw my mother’s body drop limply upon the ground. Everyone flew up into the sky, a blue-white streak against the azure grain. We watched as the missiles struck the ground, the buildings, and reduced everything to a fiery crater. War had come. We were the first to be hit, and we certainly wouldn’t be the last.

We spiraled through the cosmos; flying by stars, buzzing by planets…Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, so far away from the sun, watching the Earth become a mere speck. Until then, we arrived. A new home. A new hope. Here.

We all awoke to our new mechanical bodies, synthesized humans. Robots. The Singularity may have saved us…or rather given us a way to escape death. However, back on Earth, many were trapped. Left to endure the war that took place. It is only a matter of time until it follows us here.”

The now young man appearing synthetic human opened his eyes and stood up before the crowd around him. “Surely, we could try to outrun our demise…or we can embrace a destiny where we fight back, survive. When they come—and they will, we will be waiting. We will return. We will reclaim our home planet. They will call us ‘alien’ but eventually, they will see…” He reached down and took up a foreign weapon. “We are more human than they are. We will save those left behind.”

Excerpt From a WIP [Work in Progress] Piece of Mine.

What follows is a small excerpt from my epic dystopian novel (that is still a WIP). It is a rather large novel, one that will most likely be broken up into parts (while a super mega ultra rare edition will be. . .all parts in one.).

OK, here’s a hint at how massive it is right now. 600+ pages and I have 20 or so pages of outline. It’s in its raw form; unedited, not revised. Just. Raw. *boom*

Anyway, this particular addition is something I came up with the other day and as such, it has found a place within the novel, which serves as a sort of backdrop. A society that is controlled via nanomachines. Where the rich live in biodomes and the poor in slums or radioactive wastelands. Where lies and fear are spread continuously to help control the weak.

It’s up to a group of rebels to take on the organization that overthrew the world’s governments from their original rule and to free the people whose minds have been warped. Can they rebuild society, though? Can they remake the Earth? Or is it all just a fantasy?

It’s Hell on Earth. Here. Now.


Malthus turned his attention back to the computer monitor. His eyes tired from staring at the screen of variables and formulas for so long. Hours upon hours. The calculation was everything—it meant. . .everything.

They have to be exact. Precise.

He felt a vibration in his pocket. Another disturbance. There was no time for more of those.

The computer screen went black. Anger set in. A mighty fist hammered the keyboard.

Malthus sighed heavily. The generator probably finally went.

Then, on the screen there appeared a ghastly man, an old friend and lab partner of his. “Malthus,”

“You—you? It can’t be.”

The man spoke again. This time, his tone more melancholic. “This is a pre-recorded message. I pray when you receive this, you know what to do. Play it. Share it. It is time.”

The man cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“My friends, I have a confession I would like to share with you.”

“You see, I cannot contribute to society anymore; for what it stands for, the people that are placed upon such high pedestals, that will send us to our certain doom. What I can do is call for us to rebel.”

His eyes opened; an inferno raged within them. “Rebel, friends.”

“Let us lead each other into unity and overthrow the corruption that is now. Let us purge this idyllic idiocy that casts its horrible shadow of death and our demise.”

The man’s voice grew louder, almost shouting. “Rise up.”

“Rise up from your decrepit chair of lives lost. Shed the shackles of debt and control. Rip off the blindfold of lies and deceit. Remove the earplugs that kept the truth from ringing in your ears!”

“Be free,” he shouted.

The fire in the man’s spirit raged on, behind his words, and in his voice. “See your brothers and sisters; for we all are of one race. Cast aside the labels: of prejudice, race, religion, sex, and profession. Let the truth ring; let it resound throughout the land! We will not be slaves! We will never be subjective subjects to a corrupt and unruly society and government!”

“We must be fleet-footed, truthful and just. For our enemies are numerous and vast. We must make examples of those responsible.”

His tone changed to a cautionary tale. “Be wary, friends, for there are brothers and sisters who are oppressed and fear for their families and loved ones. We must protect them, our neighbors, the sick, the poor, and our children.”

The man took in another deep breath, while a tear ran down his cheek. “Let our voices carry truth. Let our final cry be heard! Let the world know, we are no longer dumb, deaf or blind to the corruption that plagues us! And we shall strike down those that oppose the will of the People.”

“Enough!” said a stranger in the video recording. “He’s said enough. Now, make an example of what we do. . .to traitors.”

The defiant man breathed heavily. His spirit raged on. “We are the beacons in the dark! We are the Torch Bearers!”

A gunshot resounded and the man still sat up. Focused. Fixated.

The man shouted at the top of his lungs, “WE WILL NOT BE CONTROLLED!”

Gunfire erupted on the scene, and then the man, along with whoever was present were engulfed in flames.

Malthus stared at the screen and stopped the recording. He grinned to himself. “My friend, you did it. You really did it.”


I hope you enjoyed that small piece and that you potentially, look forward to the final product. . .when it gets done. Hoo!

More to come and all that fun stuff. Right now? Dinner! I gotta make this BBQ pulled chicken. 😉

Until next time.

RJM

Poem: Black

Black

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

All these scenes I’ve painted black,
To hide the pain, I’ve yet to have attack—

Me; nay, us, for the day will eventually come,
An assassin lying in waiting, where it shall strike from?

They say to “go in faith” and “take this tome,”
Tis often true, tragedy strikes close to home.

Where I’ve found myself on my back,
crippled from a fall; an attempt to snap—

My neck, my limbs, my life. . .broken,
The words I’ll never utter, never spoken.

As darkness comes and overwhelms what I see,
I know you’ll never understand who I really was. . .me.

“It’s better this way” I once thought,
To give up, that it’s all for naught.

However, I’ve learned that there is much more, to this thing called life.
And that is why I am so happy to have you as my wife.

Though, I fight, the right and wrong; with the light and dark,
I know you’ll be there to guide me along the way, on this journey we embark.

For I now see, I was selfish and wrong,
That alone, I was weak but together, we are strong.

The scenes will become clear, and on that day, we may weep,
For when one goes down to eternal sleep.

That’s alright because at least we will be there,
No one else, with nothing left to care.


This was originally posted on A.B.Normal Publishing’s site.

My Own Prison: A Poem and Post

Prison. For most, they think it to be a building—a physical entity that exists to house criminals and wrongdoers. In most cases, however, a prison can also be one’s self. For the millions of those who suffer from depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder [PTSD] and many of the other mental illnesses and disorders, their mind is their own prison.

Built from the ground up, bit by bit, piece by piece. It can result from many things. For me: it’s been overcoming guilt. The burning anger that resides within. The negativity of several people and their dirty antics. The “what ifs?” The memories, though some blurry, of when I was on my antidepressants; the actions and things said. . .done. The immense sadness that dwells within. The constant twisting and shaping of how one can manipulate things against their own being. You realize it, you acknowledge it, and you know it to be a lie, but you can’t seem to overcome the grief that has besieged you and left you, seemingly, stranded.

Alone.

A fight for your life.

You have been tossed into shark-infested waters, and you are bleeding out.

My first therapist wasn’t horrible. He was just doing his job and trying to help me. You can’t help those who do not will to be helped or want it. I found it to be my punishment—to suffer—to slowly kill myself. Painfully. With the most potent malice ever conceived.

There were others that tried to help. Then there was the medication. Going to sleep for. . .what I believed was one day, turned into two or more sometimes. It hurt. I felt I was missing out on the most important of times, and it was unfair—to my daughter and my wife. . .and myself.

I was unstable. Anything and everything could set me off. The wind could blow the wrong direction and I would be having an anger attack. Eventually, I would do an unspeakable act that would convince myself; through a sort of out of body experience, that I needed to lose the medication and get proper help. That I needed to accept responsibility and be a man, a father, a husband. There were to be no more “woe is me” moments.

It would take time. . .

As time has gone on and that I went through EMDR therapy, my overall person has improved. I made changed, important and very much needed changes. I stopped being surrounded by negative people. I began exercising and losing weight (because I have always hated my body image). I stopped drinking alcohol in unnecessary consumption rates (I was an alcoholic, plain and simple in the end there. I became dependant on it).I started eating healthier. The food I did consume was not healthy and paired with soda, it bogged me down.

Simply enough, I didn’t care about myself. I didn’t love myself. I needed to change that. Being on the path to recovery doesn’t happen overnight and everyone is different.

“Get over it. That happened X years ago.”

“That still bothers you? Grow up.”

[At the intersection where the accident happened after finally being able to take my daughter home, away from the hospital, with my wife in the car behind me] “Sorry, I thought this would be the faster way. . .”

Being accused of wanting to kill my wife and daughter and using the accident to cover it up.

Those were a few of the many things said that were fuel added to the raging tempest I held within.

Time. Help. Understanding. Therapy. Changes.

That has been what has helped me. Good friends. Family. And making myself really change—for the better.

Every now and then, I get a dark spell, and that’s OK because it’s going to happen. I’ve been trying a new technique personally, and it’s helped. . .to a degree. Writing, however, has been the most helpful.

Normally, I’d never share my emotions or my thoughts. I figure, though, if someone can relate—someone can be helped, and that others out there that struggle can know that they are not alone in the fight. That there are rescue boats in these shark-infested waters with proper help for you. Then that’s fine with me. Because we are all pieces of a far grand puzzle than we can comprehend.

Stay strong and stay vigilant, friends.


My Own Prison

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

Life undoes itself from me slowly as dare try to redeem
This prison
All these walls I’ve built up
Damn them
Damn me

I want to break free
From the binds that continue to keep me
Sometimes I only believe in self-absolving

But I know it to only be
I mustn’t keep fighting for me
For they are why I am here
The things I hold dear

Here

I will suffer through the pain
Because I have so much more to gain
Pain knows love just as well

As life knows death
Intermingled we are

The realization in which I now know
I do not suffer alone

Poem: The Division

The Division

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

Divided we are and united we fall,
Here we stand behind this wall.
Not one of brick and mortar,
But one of mud, slinging slurs, hate, and more.

Today is the day, now more than ever,
That we should stand shoulder to shoulder and raise our fist against the order.
For they will lie, cheat us, and steal,
Like they always have; anything to make a deal.

“Divide and conquer,” that was the motto,
To keep us oppressed, apart, broken, “lead” to follow.
For so long they have succeeded,
To keep us down, battered and beaten.

Now is the time, for us to rise up,
That we will no longer be silent and told to shut up.
Corruption, hate, fear and lies; hold no place, not in my heart,
It’s time to end it before it starts.
Where color, sex, and orientation; it matters not,
It’s important to erase our mistake, our disgusting blot.

United we shall be,
With them at our feet.


This was originally published on A.B.Normal Publishing’s site.

Expectations

What are your expectations? It doesn’t matter if it’s in business, life, a career, sex, your spouse (or significant other/mate), food, eating out, a new video game, your president, your government, etc.

Where did you set the bar? High? Low? Somewhere in the middle? Do you set certain expectations high in your list that only you know about?

With people nowadays, you can see something like:

“10/10. Would bang again.”— Internet Troll

“Drove like a snail in rush hour traffic. Wouldn’t recommend. 1 star.”— Anon Uber App User.

or maybe something like:

“They looked great but was horrible in the sack. Also found out now I have The Clap.” — Anon, Booty Call App User

I mean, we have a president that uses Twitter to influence others; ratings can go up or tank at a single whim.

This leads to the next point: Reviews—they’re similar you know. In fact, they’re mostly just the faux mask that covers “expectations.” You are reviewing your expectations and addressing those expectations of an establishment, book, place, person, etc.

Some folks nowadays can’t function very well out in the world without the strong opinion of “the elite.” You know the folks that are on Yelp that say “Elite ’15, 16, 17,” and so on? Or “highest reviewer” accredited to their username via Google+.

No, I am not one of those folks.

There are tons of horrible people, sure. However, there are a lot of good people in the world too. We’re humans. It is expected. You can sort and sift through reviews and you get a glance—a glimmer of what type/kind of person someone is. Not only by their history of visits, purchase history, and the sort but by how you are being told how they interacted with whoever they are reviewing [this also constitutes an establishment, customer service, etc.].

“I had a bad experience here. They threatened my fish.” — Anon

“Food was horrible. I wouldn’t even consider bringing it home and giving it to my dog.” — Anon couple; I actually overheard this one.

There are millions of reviews out there. Those who feel the need to make a point. Those who must feel the need to feel needed. Those that seek others satisfaction.

Ah, the Digital Age.

The Internet is a wonderful, yet, scary place to be on. You have an insurmountable wealth of knowledge and tools. Yet we spend hundreds to thousands of hours watching cat videos. Fragging people [Nothing wrong with that, game on! And yes, that is me being bias.]. Stealing other peoples’ identity. Hacking elections. Ousting pedophiles that have horrible images on their computer drives. I can keep going.

Technology has changed us—humanity. The human race. Technology knows no racial bias (except maybe console versus PC; Sony vs. Microsoft, .etc but that’s reaching at best.). It knows what we have programmed it to be. What we want it to be. What advances we want. Cures. Curse. Death. Damage. What can we do to inflict unto others? The good intermingled with the bad and vice versa.

You may ask, “What the hell does that have to do with expectations? Why did you bring up reviews? Who the hell threatens a fish?”

Well, we expect a lot. So much from businesses, people, schools, etc. Our family. Some men expect women to put out on the first date. We expect food to be hot (or cold) and served at our preference. We expect to be put first, high up on a pedestal. Some people expect their religion is right and is superior to another person’s. We expect the loser to go home crying. . .with a participation trophy. We expect too much—as a society, a whole. It’s a path that can—and will—lead us to our downfall. We cater too much, while not giving a damn about consequences. Enter your “keyboard warriors,” cyber bullies, trolls, etc.

Great expectations.

We are not a community that is so transparent. Well, we are. . .when it comes to greed. But that’s another lengthy discussion, though. We’re not a close-knit community that really backs each other up, helps one another without expecting something in return, gratification, or simple enough—money.

Technology has sped up our dehumanization and desensitization. When we are able to truly modify our bodies as cyborgs and/or androids, will a person even care about anyone else? Would we still exist as being. . .human?

That “eternal salvation” of uploading your memories and consciousness to the Internet (Transcendence on crack), while say, a meteor that will destroy mankind indefinitely here on Earth, but elsewhere in the galaxy or universe, we are beamed via satellite signal to space and wake up in new sleek android models. It was just a few seconds in delay to us, but in actuality, it was a hell of a long time.

I digress. Simply put, times have changed. The radical evolution of societal influence and lack of actual human interaction, the lessening of empathy, lack of sympathy, morals tossed out the window, common sense that is now rare, and so on.

We often like to say that we are the superior race, especially, when it comes to man versus beast. However, are we really that much better? Cool—poseable thumbs, a large neocortex, “alleged capabilities of complex problem solving, and operating weapons of mass destruction.” Sure, I guess we are. I suppose I would say that sardonically, because I know even after we are all gone, Nature will go on without us. It has for millions of years and will.

Sure, I guess we are. I suppose I would say that sardonically because I know even after we are all gone, nature will go on without us. It has for millions of years and will continue to.

You can consider this, I suppose a young person rambling on. Perhaps. But would you disagree? That there are a lot of issues that are presented here that are of importance and relevant, that are just tossed aside like everyday refuse? Swept under the rug. Dismissed and barred from public discussion because it’s a “no-no” and would make someone else upset and they might break out the whips and chains [Not the good kind either.].

Suicide, depression, anxiety, PTSD [Post Traumatic Stress Disorder], bullying, all of these and more are getting quite out of hand. As a sufferer of one of these many. . .side effects. . .I’ve made it my way of life to explore them, help others, learn other peoples’ stories and experiences, and even just listen. We all bleed the same. We all break. When, how, and why, though will come in to question.

So, you will see posts about suicide. Depression. Anxiety. PTSD. Other mental health issues and such. Writing is my therapy. It’s my way of sharing with others. Though it may be fiction in some ways, you do not have to feel silenced, judged, oppressed. With how news, media, and press are getting gagged, misinformation everywhere, etc. What’s next? Writers of fiction and non-fiction are hunted? We’ll see, right?

While I hope to entertain people, make it my career, provide expectations, get reviewed—I do it for myself. Do you want to know who my most cynical critic and ball-breaking is? It’s me. Granted, I am changing that way to not giving a damn completely, it’s still a process. I want to write just for the pure enjoyment I get out of doing it; being a god amongst men and women, creating worlds, life. In the very same manner—becoming death, chaos, a destroyer of worlds and relationships.

I could go on and on. . .though I would like to know: what are your expectations in life right now?

I will end with one of my favorite quote from the movie Legend with Tim Curry and Tom Cruise.

“The dreams of youth are the regrets of maturity. Dreams are my speciality. Through dreams, I influence mankind.” — The Lord of Darkness; Tim Curry

I wish you all well. Be safe and take care. The world is a mess. . .but it is a beautiful mess under all those bandages.

RJM

 

P. S. While I reintroduce some works, I invite you to check out a free ebook on the Kindle store: Abnormal Side Effects. If it’s not free for your region, then I invite you to a free copy here.

Feel free to talk with me, too. I don’t bite. Too hard.