I FEEL GREAT!!!....Damn.....

If you have been following this blog for any extended period of time, you'll know of the medical issues I've had in recent years.  Functioning from day to day would be difficult enough, if I had just one of the many conditions that I am forced to deal with. 

As a quick recap, in June 2009, I was diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome.  The following month, I was diagnosed with PTSD.  I had taken short term disability from work, from early February of that year, until mid-July.  When I came back, I lasted two days, before I was vomiting in the waste basket at my desk and crying in the bathroom stalls.  Needless to say, I haven't worked a day since.

In March of 2011, I started developing a number of unusual symptoms.  I won't go into details.  But, if you're interested, you can read more about them here.

So, March of 2011, I was diagnosed with a Chiari Malformation and Type 2 Diabetes.  A month later, I was diagnosed with a herniated disc at L5 S1.  In June, I had a partial discectomy.  In September, another partial discectomy and a spinal fusion.  No change in symptoms.

In January of 2012, doctors discovered a massive benign cyst, resting against the pineal gland, in the center of my brain.  It's inoperable, but everyone agrees that it shouldn't be causing any of the symptoms that I currently have.

In September of 2012, my allergist discovered that I have Sjogren's Syndrome, almost by accident.  He thought that some of my symptoms could be due to a food allergy.  I had been told before that I was allergic to gluten.  After testing 87 different foods (and gluten), everything came back negative.  I reacted worse to the saline, than on any of the allergens tested.  On a whim, he ordered an auto-immune panel.

If you're unfamiliar with Sjogren's, it's an auto-immune disease that attacks the moisture and mucus producing glands in your body.  The most common symptoms are dry eyes and a dry mouth.  It can manifest a number of symptoms that mimic other diseases, like lupus or Multiple Sclerosis.  Speaking for myself, I constantly have a dry mouth.  For someone that doesn't smoke, I certainly have had my fair share of cottonmouth and pot lip.  My nose gets so dry, that I have random nosebleeds throughout the day.  Also, the wax in my ears has all but disappeared.  I'm on medication right now to help me produce saliva.

Since maybe October or November of 2011, I have had increasing and worsening issues with pain and neuropathy.  Occasionally, I'll have electric jolts jump through my body.  At times, I have a sudden, sharp pain, as if someone had just amputated my hand or my leg.  Lately, I have pain on the soles of my feet and on my fingertips, that feel like a quick deep paper cut.  I have constant joint and muscle pain, often associated with lupus or a severe case of Sjogren's.

I also have an issue where, regardless of what I've done that day, my body shuts down at approximately 3PM every day.  It's not a feeling of exhaustion.  My brain literally starts shutting itself down.  Within a matter of minutes, I stop thinking clearly.  I start slurring my words.  And, if I don't get to my bed, I'll just fall asleep wherever I'm sitting.  Most days, I wake up not even remembering falling asleep.

I scheduled an appointment with my neurologist, because the pain has become unbearable.  I do my best not to take any narcotics.  I come from a long line of addicts and alcoholics.  Last thing I need is to become hooked on opiates.  In any event, I have been dealing with this long enough to know that my pain was neurological, and not rheumotological in nature. 

My neurologist had finally received the test results from when I was originally hospitalized in March 2011.  At that time, a spinal tap was done.  Both to test for Multiple Sclerosis, and to complete a CT myleogram to get a clearer image of my spine.  He said that the lab results showed extremely high protein levels in my spinal fluid.  If he was to diagnose me, solely based on those lab results, he would say that I have Multiple Sclerosis.  I have a full set of MRIs on Tuesday to check for lesions or demylination on the nerves in my spinal cord.  In the meantime, he was going to start basic treatment AS IF I have Multiple Sclerosis.  On Thursday morning, I was placed on a heavy dose of steroids.  My Lyrica was doubled, to 300mg twice a day.  And, I was placed on Clonodine.  In addition to helping with Tourette's tics, Clonodine works well in connection with other nerve medications, like Lyrica, to reduce nerve pain.

The last three days are the best I have felt in close to six months.  I haven't had that daily "crash".  My pain, both joint and nerve pain, are virtually gone.  I still have a little pain here and there, but it's nothing that a couple of ibuprofen can't handle.  Occasionally, I'll still get lightheaded.  I still have double vision from time to time.  But, I don't have the brain fog or confusion like I used to.  Honestly, I feel GREAT!

And...that's a problem.

It looks like I have MS.  It makes sense.  For years now, I've had every single symptom listed for the disease.  As of yet, I haven't had any detectable lesions.  Then again, 15-20% of those with Multiple Sclerosis have no lesions show on an MRI.  Maybe, I'm part of that 15-20%.

It's refreshing to finally see the light at the end of this tunnel.  I really believe that we're getting close to having a definitive answer.  No more guessing.  No more useless blood tests and MRIs.  No more clueless doctors.  I know what's wrong.

Holy shit.  I know what's wrong.  That's fucking scary.  I've seen MS progression in other people.  And, while everyone is different, I have an idea as to what to expect in the coming years.  It's not going to be pretty.  While medication and therapy will improve my quality of life, it's all downhill from here.  It's really a bittersweet moment in my life.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything.  This is something that, two years ago, every neurologist I spoke with said, "No.  It's not possible.".  I put the possibility of MS out of my head, and was able to focus my energy on those that were chronic, but not as debilitating. This is a difficult possibility to accept.

I really don't know where to go from here.  I'm going to have to make a number of big changes in my life.  We're living in the worst major metropolitan city in the nation for someone with MS.  Needless to say, Nadia and I are going to have to make some important decisions in the near future.

At least I have an answer.  It may not be the answer I've been looking for.  But, in the end, it's better than not knowing at all.

Sunday Confessional: My First Job - The One I've Never Talked About

Note:  I've never been a believer of "The names have been changed to protect the innocent".  Fuck the innocent. If they were so innocent, I wouldn't be writing about them.

When I talk to people about my first job, I tell them that I worked at a men's clothing store in the mall.  I sold suits and dress shirts for $5.75 an hour, starting the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school.

The truth is, I had another job earlier that summer.  I went to work for a business that was owned by one of my Jehovah's Witness "brothers".  He made working conditions so unbelievably horrific, I was forced to quit after three days.

I was talking to an old friend a couple of weeks ago, and she brought up Bill Sturgis.  Immediately, my shoulders tensed up and tears started to fill my eyes.

Sunday Confessional: I Need A Financial Bailout

I was sitting at dinner and thought that it might be interesting to try a regular weekly post on The Twitch.  I wanted to write something that had a little depth to it.  I realized that it has been a while since I have talked about the things that have really been bothering me.  I started this site to discuss my Tourette's and PTSD, among other things, and have found it very therapeutic to let things out.

That being said, I have decided that every Sunday, I am going to have a post called 'Sunday Confessional'.  Each week, I'll write about my medical conditions, or childhood memories or what has been troubling me from the previous week.  I promise to be extremely honest and open.  I won't hold anything back, although, I'm sure on some subjects I probably should.  I know that by the time I have figured all of this out for this week, I probably won't technically post this piece until Monday AM.  But, as long as I started it on Sunday, it still theoretically counts as a Sunday post, right?

This week, I have decided to write about the one thing that keeps me up most nights...money.  Or, should I say, the lack of it.

Three years ago, when Lennon was born, my wife and I both worked as trainers for a major cell phone company.  We were living very comfortably, making roughly $125,000 a year between the two of us.  We were able to buy all of the babies furniture and clothing in advance and pay cash.  We had a very nice three bedroom apartment.  Right after she was born, we purchased a brand new Dodge Grand Caravan minivan with all the options.  With our income, it was no sweat to take care of two car payments, along with our other bills.  We were doing so well financially, that we would regularly max out our credit cards, then pay them all off in a matter of 60 days.  We would do that repeatedly.  My credit score was amazing.

In September of 2008, we moved from Albuquerque to Phoenix, to be closer to family.  Both of us were able to transfer with work into technical support positions at the same pay.  We moved into a beautiful three bedroom house with a garage.  It was the perfect house for us.  My wife cried the day we moved out, in fact. Things were good.  We were home.  We had our first Christmas as a family of three, tree and all.

By February of '09, things had taken a decidedly downward turn for me, medically.  Wait.  Let me back up a minute.

I had my first tic in August of 2006.  I had no idea what it was.  It was so violent, I thought I was having a seizure.  That first night, I didn't know what to do.  Jessi (my wife) and I were panicking.  She drew a hot bath, and I sat in the bathtub for nearly an hour...shaking.  I remember just repeatedly asking her, "What's going on?  Should we go to the hospital?" Over the next two and a half years, the tics came more frequently and got progressively worse.

OK.  Back to February 2009.  My job required me to speak on the phone for 8 hours a day.  I worked in a call center.  Not only were my tics getting so bad that I was essentially "barking" during my calls, but I was getting so loud, that my coworker's customers could hear me.  Here is a video that I shot on webcam in early June of 2009.  It should give you an idea of the types of tics that I had at that time.

Add to that my increasing mental distress.  People don't call technical support to say that "everything's OK, and you folks are doing a great job".  Something is broken and needs to be fixed.  Often, the customer on the other end of the line is pissed off.  They're pressed for time.  They don't want to go through the troubleshooting steps with you.  They just want their phone to work NOW.  The stress of the situation effected me.  Out of an 8 hour work day, I was locking myself in a restroom stall up to 6 hours, on some days.  Other days, just the sound of the customer's voice on the other end of the line, would cause me to vomit in my waste basket, often during the first call of the day.  That's if I had the courage to make it up the stairs to my desk.  On two occasions, the thought of going into work caused me to "soil myself" in the parking lot.

I went out on Short Term Disability in April of 2009.  Short Term is a great option, but like Long Term, which kicked in that October, you're paid only 60% of your base pay.  You no longer get any shit differential, incentives, bonuses or commissions like you did as a full time employee of the company.  So, my pay actually took a cut from about $4800.00, to $1983.00 a month.  40% of what I was taking home.

In June of that year, my wife went out on disability, due to complications that occurred during Lennon's delivery.  So, both of us were making about 40% of what we were accustomed to at that point.  On June 25th, I was diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome.  The following month, I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD, as a result of years of emotional and physical abuse from my parents and scores of childhood bullies.  I immediately was placed on Long Term Disability (which is set to expire this October), and was told to fill out paperwork for Social Security Disability.

Somehow, we managed to keep up most of our bills for the next year.  The first thing to get set aside were the credit cards.  Then we got behind on the van.  We had to voluntarily surrender it last June.  Interesting fact:  once a vehicle is repossessed and sold at auction, you still owe the difference between the loan amount and sale price.  Nice, huh?  We moved out of our three bedroom/2000 square ft. house, and into a 600 square ft./1 bedroom apartment to save money.  We put Lennon in the bedroom.  Jessi and I put our bed in the living room.  Very cumbersome, to say the least.

It got to the point were we had no room for our dog, Ollie.  Our little apartment was so cramped, he couldn't walk anywhere.  Our friends, Lori and Zach, offered to watch him for a while, so that he would have space to play and run in their yard.  We didn't want to see him go, but it was necessary.  Lennon really missed him.

Around the first of February, we received a letter in the mail, stating that Jessi's disability payments had been terminated.  One of her doctors had not submitted supporting documentation as requested, and they had determined that she was ready to go back to work.  She wasn't.  Suddenly, our income was cut in half.  In a matter of two and a half years, our yearly household income had gone from $125,000 to just under $24,000. It has been there ever since.

Let me tell you, a family of three cannot realistically live on $24,000 a year.  You don't make enough to make ends meet, but you make too much to qualify for most government programs.  At $1999.00 a month, my family brings in almost $400 a month too much to qualify for food stamps or Section 8 housing.  Currently, since my daughter is still 3 years old, we qualify for WIC, which gives us 2 boxes of cereal, a jar of peanut butter, a pound of cheese, one dozen eggs, 3 gallons of 1% milk and about $6.00 of fresh fruit per month.

In may, I received my acceptance letter from Social Security.  With it, we received a direct deposit for the "retro pay" for the 25 months of payments that were due to me during my official disability period.  Here's what sucks about the retro pay:  it all goes back to my Long Term Disability provider, since they have sent me a monthly check for the last two years.  I had no choice but to spend some of it.  At the time that it came in, our checking account was in the negative.  We were three months behind on our car payment, two months past due on our electric bill and a month past due on our car insurance.  I also needed to replace my broken cell phone.

Every so often we get lucky.  This month is a different story.

In July, I got a letter from the IRS saying that since I was now receiving Social Security benefits, they could levy my disability check to pay for back taxes owed in 2004, when I worked for my parent's business.  I called them to explain our financial situation.  They agreed to put me in an "indefinite noncollectable status".  The status wasn't approved until three days before my direct deposit went through, not enough time for the levy to be stopped for August.

Between the automatic payments that came out of our checking account, the negative balance at the time the deposit came in and the IRS levy, our checking account balance after our monthly deposit came through was $28.00.  It's the 29th of the month, and I have no idea where our rent or car payment or electric bill are going to come from.

Being poor sucks.  You never get used to it.  You can only adjust, and it's one major fucking adjustment.

Lennon is too young to know any better, which is good.  I grew up not having anything, and knowing it was because we didn't have any money.  We still do what we can to spoil the hell out of her.

In more positive news, we got Ollie back, or as Lennon calls him "Stinky Mr. Pooperton"

Jessi is supposed to start a new job a week from today.  There have been a number of delays (She was originally scheduled to start three weeks ago), so hopefully this will work out.  I go into surgery on the 19th.  I will be lying in bed, recovering, until approximately late January.  As such, Lennon will have to be in preschool during the day.  That's another $750-800 a month on top of the bills we already can't pay.  I'm sure once Jessi goes to work, we'll be able to get back on our feet.  It will just take a couple of months.  Hopefully everyone can wait that long.

Where's my stimulus package?

I Came Out To My Mother Yesterday

Yesterday, my mother sent me an email, asking me if I could send her my address so she could send my daughter something.  For some reason, she doesn't understand that if ties are severed between her and I, they're severed for my family as well.  She seems to think that she'll be able to have a perfectly normal relationship with her granddaughter even if she's no longer talking to her son.  I don't understand how her mind works.

In the response to her email, I told her that, considering the bang up job she did parenting me, I wanted her nowhere near my daughter.  I also decided to get a number of things off of my chest.  I told her for the first time about my PTSD, and that it was caused by years of child abuse that I had endured.  Finally, I told her about my bisexuality.

Lastly, I'm bisexual.  I've known this since I was about 11 years old.  Growing up was pure hell in that house.  I had absolutely no one I could talk to.  I had no friends.  I couldn't even talk to my own mother.  Everyday I was getting my ass kicked, being called a fatass and a faggot.  I contemplated suicide on a daily basis for most of my teenage years.  And I knew that if I opened up about what I was going through, I would be bullied by my family too.  Growing up, I wanted to come to you and tell you about the crushes I had on just as many boys as I did girls.  It wasn't just Anne and Ambre.  You have no idea how alone I was, but I knew what the consequences were if I told you.

I'm not expecting a response.  I don't want to ever speak to her again.

Update

I haven't been posting at all lately.  I've been in a bad funk.  My Tourette's is getting progressively worse.  I've also been having more PTSD episodes recently.  In fact, earlier this week I had one of my worst flashbacks in months.

As a child, when I went shopping with my mother, I would sometimes get distracted and walk away from the cart.  To teach me a lesson, she would often keep walking ahead of me, or intentionally hide behind a display so I couldn't find her.  She would make me become lost.

A few days ago I was in a large bookstore with my wife and my little girl.  They were looking at books in the area in front of the restrooms, and I decided to use the restroom.  I came out, expecting to find them there, and they were gone.  I had a flashback of when my mother would make me wander around the store lost and crying.  I went into one of the worst panic attacks I've ever had.

The rational part of my brain was saying, "Relax, they're in the children's section", while the panicky side of my brain was saying, "They've left me and they're never coming back."  I was ticking, almost in tears, and grabbing my chest when I finally found my wife.

I don't want to go into too much detail, but things have been really tough financially.  When I went on disability last year, I made the mistake of not immediately adjusting our expenses (rent, cable, 2 cars) when my income decreased.  We fooled ourselves into thinking that we would be able to keep living the same lifestyle we were living while making 40% less than we were.  I don't know what we were thinking.   By the time we realized we needed to make some adjustments, we were so far behind that we couldn't catch up.

Last week, I was able to reach out to a childhood role model of mine.  He gave me some much needed advice.  I'm back on my feet.  I know you're not reading this, but thank you.

We were running some errands yesterday and pulled up to a red light.  On the corner was an older woman begging for money to pay for a family member's funeral. I gave her the only dollar I had in my pocket.  Beside me, a minivan pulled up and stalled.  The lady in the driver's seat tried probably 20 times to start it, but couldn't.  She just sat there, crying.  Then it hit me.

We're doing OK.

Today, I Became A College Dropout

This afternoon, I signed the paperwork necessary to drop out of school.  It's something I've been debating over the last couple of weeks, and, upon the advice of my doctor, thought it was the best decision to make.  I was only going to class part time, but it was overwhelming.  I have been at such a high stress level over the last week that I can't eat a meal without getting sick.  That's not healthy.  It came to a point where I realized I had to lighten my load, and school was the easiest thing for me to drop.

I may go back in the future.  I don't know.  I do know one thing:  If I go back to school for massage therapy, it will be at a different campus.  I can't imagine having to start all over again with my Professional Development teacher.  He was such an asshole.  He did nothing but single out and degrade students based upon how they dressed, the tattoos and piercings they had, etc.  In Monday night's lecture he said, "Your commitment to help people should be more important than your tattoos and piercings."  He then told us that we should remove any artwork or piercing he found "unprofessional".  The following morning, I went to my local barber and got a mohawk. I couldn't stay in this guy's class until next March.

I liked what I learned, and I was good at it, but between the Tourette's and the PTSD, I'm not able to do this right now.  I haven't been myself for weeks.  I'm stressed out and pissed off all the time, and I am definitely not happy.

As to the future, my future, I don't know what I'm going to do.  I just had my interview for my third level appeal for Social Security.  It may take as long as 16 months to get a thumbs up or thumbs down on that.  The company I have been working with has a 91% benefits approval rate at this level, so odds are in my favor.  My long term disability is still set to expire next October.  If I am forced to go back to work at that time, I don't know if I can handle it or not.  I've been thinking about focusing on this blog and developing a following over the next year.  Hopefully, in another 12 months, I can make a living writing.  Hey, it can happen.

My Brain Won't Let Me Forget Him

I had a really bad flashback a few days ago. Probably the roughest one I've had yet. I have been having nightmares pretty regularly, but flashbacks have been few and far between. When one comes up, it almost takes the air out of my lungs. It wholly catches me off guard. This one really shook me up.

I was getting dressed a few mornings back and I grabbed my belt. I grabbed it by it's ends, with the buckle and the holes touching. It dropped down by my side. Suddenly, I was in a room getting beat by my father. It was so clear, it was as if I was 9 or 10 years old all over again. My thighs felt the pressure of being pressed up against the end of my bed. I saw him. Standing there with his belt, held in the way mine was seconds earlier. His fat, sweaty face looking down at mine. Hell, it was so real, I could even smell his breath.

The entire episode lasted all of 15 to 20 seconds, but it felt like an hour. When I realized I was standing in my bedroom, an adult, and completely safe, I started shaking. I haven't seen my father in five years, and, since having these nightmares and flashbacks, I don't think the time will ever come where I will want to again.

I think I have said some of this before, I don't know. My dad's weapon of choice was his belt. He reminded me of a baseball player in a lot of ways. My mom would use whatever was handy. A wooden spoon, a switch, a ping pong paddle. My dad's belt was like his favorite bat. He was faithful to it.

When I was younger, I would get "whipped" while clothed, and, if I was lucky, with pants on instead of shorts. As time went on, my dad realized that the clothing cushioned the blow, so to speak. I was also able to tense up my ass muscles without him noticing. That made the spanking hurt less. As a consequence, all spankings were done bare assed from that point on.

My ass became his field of dreams, and let's just say he swung for the fences. He had a way of swinging the belt much like the way a ball player would swing at a pitch. He used two hands, one holding the belt together at the buckle, the other stretching it out straight at the end. He would then take a step forward and swing. The fucker actually would swing at me like he had a baseball bat in his hands. Occasionally, he would get a little too close and I would get part of a belt buckle or a fist across my backside. If I tried to stop him, or if I tensed up, or put my hands behind my ass to block the whacks, I would get more. So, I took the buckle and fist hits.

I got beat this way until I was 14 or 15, until my ass was hairier than my dad's and it became embarrassing for him to whip me bare assed. My dad was 5'10". By then I was well over 6' tall. At that point, it came to shoving matches and threats of punches. I think he punched me once, but I punched him back. By that time, the whole "Honor your father and mother" stuff had long gone out the window.

I don't know what caused my parents, but mostly my dad, to whip us like he did. I know he was beaten by his dad. Believe me, I'm not trying to make excuses for him. He had always felt that we thought we were better than he was. He dropped out of school shortly after the sixth grade and wasn't an educated man by any means. He had provided for us simply because he was a hard worker. In a way, he was right. All my life, I had never respected him, and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't beat the respect into me. Now, no matter how hard I try, my brain won't let me forget that fat ignorant fucker. So, I guess he got the last laugh after all.

Flogging Molly Helps Raise PTSD Awareness

L.A.-based punk band, Flogging Molly devoted their latest video to raising awareness to PTSD and depression disorders. The song 'Punch Drunk Grinning Soul', off their year-old album 'Float', combines band performance with animation to create an extended public service announcement of sorts.

Flogging Molly was already one of my favorite bands. This just added respect and further devotion from my ITunes account. The video is below. Give it a look.


Flogging Molly "Punch Drunk Grinning Soul" with PSA

Flogging Molly | MySpace Music Videos

Rejection Is A Bitch

There isn't a better way to say it. Even when you're expecting it, rejection is one hell of a bitch. As some of you may know, I had my mental evaluation with the Social Security Psychiatrist on January fourth. It didn't go that well in my opinion, but, he told me to expect a response from the SS(that's what I've decided to call them from now on), within the next two to three months.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my mailbox yesterday to find a thick envelope from the SS postmarked the 27th of January. "Fuck", I thought, "This can't be good". I have to admit, I was waiting for this letter to come, just not so soon. In my mind, three months meant three months....OK....two months....hell, at least sit on the paper work for six weeks to make me think I have a chance. The SS doctor didn't even turn his paperwork in until the 8th of January. That gives me what? Seventeen...eightte...NINETEEN DAYS?!? COME ON!!!

I read through the the first paragraph of the letter so fast I entirely missed the part were I was rejected. I assumed it, but kept reading. I came across a list of the doctors whose information was taken into consideration. Missing from the list, of course, was my biggest cheerleader, my therapist. He had so many pages of info to send them, it could have made your head spin. They never called to request it. Instead, I had the two neurologists that misdiagnosed me to begin with, A gastro doctor that I haven't seen since April, and my primary physician. She was great years ago, but her practice has gotten to the point that if you're not in there for botox, you're not worth her time. Haven't been in there since July.

So, right off the bat, those four doctors worthless. Here's what got me. The letter said that according to the information that was given to them, that I have made such an improvement that I should be able to return back to work by 04/10/2010. BACK THE TRUCK UP. APRIL 4TH? OF THIS YEAR? Who said that? Couldn't be my psychiatrist. He just prescribed me Xanax to help me get more than two hours of sleep per night, an increase of one anti-depressant, and an additional anti-depressant to hopefully help stop the nightmares I have about my family at night.

And my neurologist, couldn't be him. He has even suggested drilling holes in my head to place electrodes on my brain to stop my Tourette's tics. I still have tics where I speak in an Irish accent. I've started a new tic where I have to touch the top of my head. He has also increased my Invega because I have started to have "super tics" where my head and neck seize up and I stop breathing mid tic for up to 60 seconds. Yeah, I'll be fine in two months(sarcasm).

I wonder if it was that SS doctor that saw me for a total of 45 minutes that made that assessment. That is what pissed me off about the whole situation to begin with. The thought of having someone that you have no history with, telling a government agency whether or not you're sick enough to be disabled or not. The day that I saw him in particular, I had a migraine at about a level 9.5. I was very quiet. I wasn't ticking much because my migraine is my tic when I have one. The whole situation just frustrates me.

I knew this was coming, but it doesn't make it easier. I have 60 days to appeal the decision, and you bet your ass I'm appealing. In the meantime, it's a waiting game.

Change The Channel In 2010

I am a person that never, I mean NEVER, make New Year resolutions. To me, they are pointless. They're a waste of time, and they always end up being broken. This year, however, I have decided to make one. I'm changing the channel.

It's a simple concept. If I am sitting on the couch watching television, I am not going to sit through a show that I have no interest in watching. I am going to pick up the remote and change the channel. Why aren't I doing that with my life? Why do I insist on "sitting on the couch" and letting other people and events dictate how my life is going to be lived? So, from now on, I'm changing the channel.

I have already removed certain contacts from Facebook. Why am I still wanting to be friends with people I have nothing in common with? Why do I bother when it comes to people that think they're better than me and my family? CLICK.

I have been sitting back for way too long and letting politics as usual happen in my community. Between Maricopa County, the City of Phoenix and the State of Arizona, there is always a need for a Democratic voice and an activist in the state. I have spent too many years on my ass as a citizen complaining about the Sheriff, City Council members and Governors as time has gone by. CLICK.

The Greater Phoenix area has more LGBT citizens than San Francisco, but a very fractured LGBT "community". Part of the reason why Arizona is such a "Red" state is because the gay community in the Phoenix area is not cohesive. I want to help change that. I want to help bring the community together. I am not sure how. Hell, at this point, I not sure if that is even a possibility. I have been a part of what has been considered the LGBT community in the Phoenix area for the better part of 14 years, and it has been downright embarrassing. The only time anyone communicates with each other is Pride. Lesbians distance themselves from the gay community. Even the gay community is split by the bar or club that is frequented by the individual in question. Leathers hang only with leathers. Bears with bears. Club kids with club kids. CLICK.

When I was first diagnosed with Tourette's Syndrome, I was very discouraged at the lack of visible support in the state of Arizona. The website for the Tourette Syndrome Association Arizona Chapter was more than a year behind. It had no contact information. It had no information for support groups or online support. I found myself getting depressed pretty quickly because I felt alone in my fight. I am so thankful that I found Karen Miller. She almost singlehandedly has been keeping a number of local Tourette's support groups up and running. She not only has a group for young adults, but also one for children and for mothers of children with TS.

I don't ever want to see someone else in the same situation I was when I was first diagnosed with Tourette's. Lost, agitated and feeling alone is no way to start a lifelong journey with a neurological disorder. I am going to become an advocate for those with TS. I am going to blog about this as much as I possibly can. I am going to assist Karen with the support group with as much help as she needs. CLICK.

I am going to do the same with my PTSD. I have a unique perspective on it. Mine was a result of childhood abuse. I am not a veteran. I am not a casualty of war. I am a casualty of brainwashed parents.

That being said, let me make one thing clear. I am not, and have never been anti-God or anti-religion. I admire people that have a belief system or a level of faith that has role in their life. It is those people that make God such a central focus in their life that it trumps all other ways of thinking. They can't think for themselves. It's "God's way or no way". That is the problem I have with Jehovah's Witnesses. That is why I am no longer one. There are tens of thousands of people that make the decision to leave the church each year. Doing so, they are abandoned by their families and friends. I will be a voice for them as well. CLICK.

Change the channel in your life. Whether it be recycling your soda cans, or losing a couple of extra pounds. Donate some time at the dog shelter. Blog. Get off your ass and grab that remote.

My Social Security Appointment

I guess it went about as well as it could have gone. He seemed a little skeptical about my PTSD diagnosis. He kept asking me what made me think I had PTSD. It almost got to the point where I said, "Maybe you should talk to the people that diagnosed me and find out why THEY think I have it". I had a migraine at the time. Still do.

I've had this migraine since last Friday...so 5 days now. I have been popping Imitrex and Percocets like fucking Tic Tacs and haven't had much relief. The most has been down to a 6 from a 9 or so. Last night was so bad, the pain was going through every joint in my body. It hurt to chew.

Gotta love Tourette's.

Tourette's/PTSD Update

There have been some ups and downs in regards to my mental and physical health in the last week. First, I have noticed a steady decrease in tics since being placed on Invega by my neurologist. So far, so good. The nights of restlessness and pacing back and forth seem to be a thing of the past as well. Most nights I am still only getting 2-3 hours of sleep. I wake up anywhere between 3:10 and 3:45 in the morning. Sometimes, I am able to force myself back to sleep until a little after 5am, but most mornings, I am up for the day by then. It's a strange feeling. Feels like you're the only one in the world. No one you can call. No one online. No one you can chat with on Facebook. Just you, your laptop, and your boredom for 5 hours until the baby wakes up. You never get used to that.

Since seeing my therapist the other day, I've been having a hard time with my PTSD. I've been having more flashbacks than I've been able to count. It has been extremely tough. Something in particular has been bothering me that I haven't thought about in over a decade. It's very hard to discuss, embarrassing in fact, but I have to get it off my chest.

From the time I was in my early teens, until I was in my early twenties, roughly 8-10 years, I had a problem with bed wetting. This wasn't the occasional piddle on the sheets at night. This was something that happened every single night. I would wake up soaked in my own urine, and would have to change my sheets, find towels to soak up the mattress, and start a load of laundry to wash my underwear, sweats, pajamas(whatever I was wearing to bed that night). It was routine. I must have wet the bed thousands of times over the years. I could never figure out why.

It was the ultimate embarrassment. I wouldn't spend the night at any of my friend's houses in fear it would happen there. My family was afraid to take me on vacation. When on vacation, I would be so nervous, I would try to stay up for 3 to 4 days straight. One time I stayed up at Disneyland for 3 days straight. I finally fell asleep the third night. I woke up the next morning with the bed so soaked, my hair was wet. I was so tired, I didn't even wake myself up after wetting the bed multiple times.

I was afraid to fall asleep on the couch at home or in the living room floor. It got to the point where I wouldn't be allowed to drink anything with dinner or afterward. I still would wet the bed. I finally confided with my doctor and was given a prescription to help stop urine production at night. After my first day on the medication, I stopped wetting the bed.

The thing that is bothering me now is this, did that medication just give me a placebo effect? Was this a psychological condition and not a medical one? I was on that medication for a little over a month and haven't taken it since. That was 12 years ago. Could the reason I was wetting the bed have been because of the abuse and not because of "urine production". Was this all a way for my brain to deal with trauma. My brain basically did the same thing with my bowels back in 2000 and again this year and we just now realized that was part of the PTSD. Why wouldn't my bladder do the same?

The whole idea of this being a possibility is really upsetting me. The trauma of the bed wetting experience itself is devastating. I can't think of anything that can make a teenager feel more alone, more shamed. It's such a personal issue, that even in my mid 30s, I still feel uncomfortable talking about it. The reactions that often come from the parents and siblings often fuel that shame. There is no support. Just finger pointing, giggling, and embarrassment. My mother even made me go into the grocery store to by my own Depends once. There is no support in that.

I am now starting to wonder if, not only was I showing signs of Tourette's as a child, which I am slowly starting to have memories of, but, was I also starting to show symptoms of PTSD as early as my late teens or early twenties. If I have been going untreated for the better part of twenty years, how long will it take me to recover from this? How many hours of therapy will it take to undo the damage that has already been done?

A Stranger Gets To Determine How Sick I Am

Yesterday, I received a letter from Social Security. I have an appointment on January 4th, with a doctor I've never seen before, to determine if I am "disabled enough" with my TS and PTSD to qualify for Social Security benefits. Upon reading the letter, I instantly went into a panic attack. A half hour exam with a stranger could determine the rest of my life in some regards. It's a scary thought.

With some of my doctor's, I had been working with them for close to a year before I was diagnosed with PTSD. That was after years of putting all of these weird unrelated symptoms together. Prior to that, I was told I had everything from Crohn's disease to a gluten allergy to the fact that I was lactose intolerant because I got sick to my stomach when I was stressed or put in an uncomfortable situation. There were times at work, before I left, when I spent four hours out of my eight our day in the bathroom. Now that I'm not working, I don't get sick anymore.

I had to go to three different neurologist, including one at the Mayo Clinic, before I was diagnosed with Tourette's. My current doctor is one of the most respected neurologists in the United States. His resident was the doctor at Mayo that originally misdiagnosed me in May. Traditionally, Tourette's is diagnosed in patients in adolescence and not at 34. I didn't notice my first tics until age 30. It was originally believed that I had adult onset Tourette's Syndrome, which is generally unheard of. Since my diagnosis, I have had memories of childhood tics, so I realize this wasn't an adult onset disorder, but rather, decided to manifest itself full force in connection with the PTSD and stresses that were going on at the time. But my point is, it took three doctors to diagnose me. THREE. And Social Security expects someone with no prior knowledge of my situation to make a decision as to my disability within the course of a 30 minute visit. The whole situation really worries me.

Flashback Of A Tic

All along I have been telling people that the first tics I experienced was in August of 2006. I didn't have any recollection of any tics before then. My wife says that I have always sniffed, but she never thought anything of it. Other than that, I have never had any memory of a tic, until today.

This afternoon, I was in the car and had a flashback of my childhood. I must have been only seven or eight years old at the time. I was in church. My right arm started to move in a jagged up and down motion at my shoulder. I remember the feeling internally as if my shoulder joint was rubbing up against my rib cage. It was a very strange feeling. It almost tickled. I remembered liking it. I didn't know what was going on, but, because of that feeling, I wasn't scared.

I couldn't stop moving my arm, of course. After a couple of tics, both of my parents had noticed what was going on. They both started telling me to "cut it out". I tried, in vain, to tell them that I couldn't. I continued ticking throughout most of the church service.

When I got home, both of my parents sat me down on the steps leading up to my bedroom. They asked me what I was doing during church. I told them I didn't know what was going on, but I told them what it felt like and that I wanted to stop doing it but couldn't. They wanted me to show them what I was doing. Of course, I couldn't do it on command. They thought I was trying to break dance. LOL......I WAS BREAK DANCING IN CHURCH!!!

I got the shit beat out of me by my father that night. By 1980's religious whack job parent standards, I was spanked. By 2009 Child Protective Services standards, I was beaten. My dad had a method of spanking me that I will never forget. I was usually bare-assed and his weapon of choice was his leather belt. He would take a step back and take a full swing at me, leading off with his right foot, like he was swinging for the fences. And God help you if you put your hands back behind you or tensed your ass up. You got double then.

Needless to say, that was the last time I ever ticked like that. I remember actually trying to recreate the movements a couple of years later, but couldn't. I didn't recall that night until today. Wow. Heavy shit to absorb. I've had TS for 25 years or more and I'm just now figuring it out. Heavy shit.

It's Official - I'm Disabled

Big sigh of relief! I had my interview on Wednesday morning last week. My case manager told me it would take two to three weeks to reach a decision. They came to a decision and alerted my employer within a matter of about three hours. It was that much of an open and shut case. I knew I had some issues..but damn!! I contacted MetLife today, and they were able to verify that indeed I was approved. I contacted my former(I love saying that) employer's payroll department, and they were able to verify that they were notified by H.R. on Friday to remove me from payroll records. Nice thing about that is that I now have access to all the profit sharing funds that were contributed to my 401k. The "termination" was backdated to 10/16.

I have so many questions now for my case manager now, but he is out of the office on vacation until the 6th of November. Not that big of a deal I guess. I have, at least, the next 2 years off of work. I filled out the necessary paperwork for Social Security online over the weekend. Took a minimum of 10 hours of work. It was ridiculous. I then had to print up and fill out 24 pages of paperwork on top of that. Cost me almost $2.00 just to mail twenty miles. It's been a hectic weekend to put it lightly. Nice thing is, I have no deadlines; no assignments to do over the next 3 to 5 days. Just a therapy appointment on Wednesday. I'm going to bed in fact at 10:35 tonight, and have no reason to get up before 9am tomorrow. Good night.

The Only Word That Comes To Mind Is "De-Evolution"

It appears that over the last 6-9 months, my brain has taken a rapid deterioration compared to how I used to function. It's almost as if I have taken a step 30 years backward, or 40 years forward.

I get lost in the grocery store. I forget my wife's and daughter's names sometimes. As I have stated in previous blog postings(see 10/10/09), I have trouble associating words with objects or places. It's almost as if I have Alzheimer's at the age of 34. I don't know if that is normal for people with PTSD, but it is frustrating as all hell.

I'm not trying to toot my own horn, but I used to be a genius. My communication skills and multitasking abilities were second to none. I can't even put mayo on a ham sandwich now. If I'm rinsing a dish in the sink, and my wife asks me a question, I have to put down the dish, and turn off the water to answer the question. Then it usually takes between two to three minutes for me to remember what I was doing before the question was asked. Yesterday, I was on a website, and the site was telling me to hit a button that said "OK" to continue. My wife and daughter were in the room, making noise in the background. I read the instructions on the computer close to twenty times before asking my wife and daughter to leave the room so I could concentrate on what I was doing. All I had to do was click "OK", and I had to have complete silence in the room so I could read the instructions for the twenty first time.

Without my wife reminding me, most days, I forget to eat. I forget to shower, to shave, to take my pills, to even drink water sometimes. Many days, when I do attempt to make a meal, I am so indecisive, my wife practically has to tell me what to eat. I don't know what I'm hungry for. In fact, I don't even realize what I am feeling is hunger.

And, to top it all off, my brain has turned me into a ventriloquist's dummy. Remember my previous post where I spontaneously started talking like Matthew McConaughey? (see 09/21/09) Well, it's still happening. Not too frequently, but ol' Matt has company. I now am speaking in an authentic Northern Irish accent on a regular basis, for extended periods of time. This is happening unannounced, and out of my control. I'm even using phrases like "da'" instead of dad. It sounds so genuine, you would think I was in the IRA. I have no idea how, or why, this is happening. And, just as soon as it starts, it stops.

My only fear is that what has started will not be able to reverse itself, but only get worse. This song seems to fit right now. I have to keep telling myself "I'm just a little unwell....."

My Brain Is All Fucked Up

Somewhere in the last 6-9 months, something has happened to my brain. When I write something down or type something out, I am able to articulate my thoughts without having a second thought. But when I am speaking, there is something missing when it comes to the wiring between my brain and my mouth.

I have started stuttering. Stuttering badly. To the point where I have to stop what I'm saying, close my eyes, take a number of deep breaths, and start over again. I have never stuttered in my life. I also have a problem associating the correct word with an object or thing...example:

I have been using the words "Green Day", instead of "Craigslist". Last night I was trying to say "Crock Pot", and I was saying "Velveeta" and "Cube Steak". Today I was trying to say "Lantern" and was saying "Canteen". This happens over a dozen times a day. Luckily, my wife knows me well enough to have an idea of what I am talking about most of the time. And, she's so nice, she'll answer my question, or continue the conversation as if nothing happened. Unfortunately, in the "outside world", I don't think I could be so lucky.

I can imagine it now. "Ma'am, I'm looking at your squirrel monkey (billing statement) and I see that your bill is overweight (past due) 127 doll parts (dollars)". Wouldn't exactly be able to hold down a job. And that's why I am here. My psych says it could be the PTSD or symptoms of the Tourette's. My neurologist says it could be my Tourette's meds telling me that I am not taking enough meds, or that my body isn't used to the medication yet, or that I am dehydrated. And my therapist says it could be all of the above. So who the hell knows. All I know is that it's frustrating as all hell. I feel like an idiot. I can't even get a simple sentence out most days.

I was a customer service representative or a tech support rep over the phone for 17 years, and I was damn good. I could solve any problem or fix any product, and now I feel like I'm starting over. And I have no idea what the hell I can do. It just amazes me how the brain works. How trauma can rewire it. It can be a very complex, yet a very simple organ. It doesn't take much to shake it up and switch things around. Wonder how long it will take to wire it back to the way it was before.

Soundtrack of My Life 10/07/09 - The Fray 'Never Say Never'

Things have been very tense lately for Jessi and I. There have been many days that my PTSD has gotten so bad that I'm unable to take care of myself. I can't go into the kitchen to feed myself unless I have things planned out far in advance, (what I want to eat, how I'm going to make it, etc.) If I am not up to the minute on my medication, something so much as hearing a spoon hit a plate in the sink can make me go into a major freak out. I start screaming, stuttering, and ticking for the next 10 minutes.

I tick at the grocery store. I tick at Walmart. My daughter screamed a couple of days ago at the store and I screamed and crouched and held onto the store shelf. I tick violently at restaurants. Needless to say, this has taken a huge toll on the two of us, both mentally and emotionally.

With the exception of seven days, I have been on short term disability since February 14th. It started out as stomach problems initially. I was losing control of my bowels at work....shitting myself in the parking lot on my way in for the day. After a colonoscopy and an endoscope, my gastro doctor found nothing wrong. He thought it may be an allergy, but couldn't tell me what I was allergic to. Later, we realized it was the first signs of PTSD showing themselves. I came back the last week or so in March, and was having panic attacks so bad that I was hiding in the bathroom for an hour at a time, and then going home sick.

I went out again on short term on April 7th. Since then, I was diagnosed with Tourette's on June 25th, and PTSD on July 30th. I have been on 60% pay because of the disability status since April, so needless to say, things have been tight. We've really had to cut corners and decide on what is important. Needs vs. wants type of situations.

That coupled with the fact that I feel like I'm losing my ability to take care of myself, take care of my family, and take care of my daughter, have made the last few weeks very hard. There are times I can tell that my wife is past her breaking point. She's the anchor in the house, the foundation. Without her, I don't know how we would have made it this far.

The next couple of weeks will be tough. My short term runs out in a week. MetLife decides whether I qualify for long term disability or not. Whether I am approved or not, I am no longer an employee of the company I've worked for since 02/17/2006. It's a very scary time. I would have never believed you if you would have said five years ago that I would have been in this position today. It is unreal. Other people have given up under more forgiving circumstances. I've said this before. We can't give up. We can't give up. We cannot give up.

Don't let me go, Jessi.

I Am Jack's Diseased Brain

When I woke up yesterday morning, I had no intention of falling asleep in my own bed. Things had progressed to a point with my PTSD, that I was determined to check myself into a mental hospital before the day was done.

Things had gotten bad. Over the course of the previous week, I was rapidly deteriorating on a daily basis. I had always had what I had called "the monkeys" in my head: my description of the ADD type symptoms I had experienced most of my life. I had always likened it to walking into the TV room at Best Buy with every TV turned onto a different channel and each one with the volume at full blast. My brain had always expected me to try to keep up with every TV. My mind was racing at 100 mph, all the time.

This week....the TVs were gone. My mind wasn't racing. It was far worse. Instead of the TVs, it was screaming. Hundreds of people screaming. Not the blood-curdling screams from teenage girls that you hear in horror movies. These were screams you would imagine coming from Hell. From men....women....and children..from the time I opened my eyes in the morning, until I was able to finally fall asleep at night.

I have developed a very bad stuttering problem. Like "Porky Pig" bad. It has been getting to the point where most of my conversations with my wife involve charades to get my point across. She is so unbelievably supportive, but even she is reaching her limit.

I drove to Target a few nights ago. It was the first night I have driven myself in probably two months. First, while at the store, I kept telling myself, "Don't ask me if I am finding everything ok"....over and over and over....at that point, any contact with a person would result in a complete screaming meltdown. A couple nights earlier, we were in a store and my daughter shrieked. I immediately crouched down to the ground and grabbed the store shelf. As I went to the register, I was so flustered, I forgot my PIN number. This was the same PIN I have had since I was 18. And then, to top the evening off, I forgot my way home. I got lost.

I had gotten to the point where my only reaction, the only way I felt like I knew how to respond to people was to scream. It wasn't a violent thing. It was reactionary. Where my daughter had come and grabbed my leg before, my reaction was, "Don't touch me. Don't touch me". I was at the point this week where it gone way beyond that. Looking at me, touching me, talking to me, getting in my personal space came with a reactionary scream.

The worst happened Thursday with my daughter. I went to pick her up and she didn't want to be picked up. She grabbed my neck real hard with her fingernails. My reaction, involuntarily, was to grab her shoulders and squeeze inward. I realized within a second what I was doing, and set her down before I hurt her, but it scared the shit out of both my wife and I. It's hard to explain to someone that there's a difference between WANTING to hurt someone, and having a REACTION. That is when we started talking about hospitalization.

I called my therapist yesterday, and also got in to see my psychiatrist. My therapist thought it was a good idea but my psych thought I may have a hard time getting in. I called my insurance company. I was on the phone with them for an hour and seven minutes answering way too many questions. They gave me a number of options but said that it would be very unlikely that I would be accepted for "inpatient psychiatric treatment". Three reasons: I am not ACTIVELY suicidal. I am not ACTIVELY homicidal. And I am not CURRENTLY high on any narcotics. Considering I have never so much as taken a toke of pot in my life, the third one may be an issue. So....unless I decide to shoot up some heroin, start cutting, and chase my wife around the house with a cordless Black and Decker power drill, I think I'll be sleeping in my bed tonight.

I'll keep you posted........

My Baby Brother Turned 30 Today

I have been shying away from a lot of the topics this blog was intended for (PTSD, Tourette's, abuse, family, growing up as a JW, etc.), and putting a lot of funny or "fluff" type postings in instead. Truth is, I am really nervous to bring up a lot of stuff. I know that it's going to feel better to get it out of my head and on paper, so to speak, but there are so many things that, looking back, I can't even believe, I know it will be hard for you to believe them as well.

My little brother turned 30 today. In any normal life, that wouldn't be much of an accomplishment. For Ben, it's one hell of a milestone. As a child there were dozens of times when his body tried to shut down and squeeze the life out of him, and, for one reason or another, he wouldn't give up.

He developed severe asthma as an infant. He was hospitalized and in the ICU for the first time at 4 months of age. He spent most of the next five years in the hospital. Usually 2-3 weeks in, 1 week out. When he was four, his doctor told my parents to move him to a drier climate or he wouldn't see his fifth birthday. Without hesitation, my father quit his job at Sears that he had held for 21 years, loaded up everything we could fit into a 24 foot U-Haul truck, and left Columbus, OH, for Phoenix, AZ.

We arrived in Phoenix on Valentine's Day, 1984...homeless, and with my father unemployed. My dad eventually found a job making $5.25 an hour at a warehouse. My mom was a stay at home mom. Our rent payment was $450 a month. You do the math. We were on welfare, food stamps...even qualified for the government cheese and peanut butter. OK....I'm getting off topic. Sorry.

We got to Phoenix, and things for my brother started to improve, but not by much. By now, he had been on one form of steroid or another since he was six months old. His visits to the hospitals became fewer and farther between....mostly, I think, because we were without insurance. He qualified for State run health care, but it didn't cover much. He received a discount on his inhalers, discounts on the dozen or so pills he had to take throughout the day, but that was about it. By first grade, he had his own nebulizer, or what we called his "breathing machine". His doctors in Phoenix eventually told us that the drier air probably did help his asthma a bit, but the pollution in the city counter balanced what positive effect it would have had. All in all, it really didn't make much of a difference whether we moved or not.

Years passed. My brother had missed so many school days per year between the fourth and the sixth grade, about 40-60 per school year, it was as if he never showed up. It was at this point that my mother decided to take him out of public school and home school him. That sounded like a good idea at first. Two weeks later, "home schooling" amounted to sleeping in and fiddling around on the computer.

It was around this same time that my brother had developed an acute reaction to chemicals, any chemicals. Scented deodorant, perfumes and colognes, candles, hand lotion, floor cleaner....the list went on and on. The slightest scent would instantly close his airways. He couldn't go shopping, or to church, or even have friends over for that matter. Everything in our home, including our laundry detergent and dryer sheets had to be unscented. He became a hermit.

It was also around this same time that I tell people that my brother died every night. We shared a bedroom. At least once a night, sometimes two or three times, my brother would wake up having a massive asthma attack. Most times it would wake me from my sleep. I would scream from across the hallway for my mom to wake up and come help. Sometimes, unfortunately, I was a heavy sleeper and wouldn't wake up until the lights were on in the bedroom and my mother was screaming at me to wake up. Jesus, why she didn't have a baby monitor in our room....why she relied on me...I still to this day do not know. I had a routine. I could run to the kitchen, get a coffee mug from the cabinet, fill it with tap water, put about a teaspoon of cherry Jello powder in the water for flavor, stir it, nuke it in the microwave for 45 seconds and be back in the bedroom in 1:15.

The reason why I say he died every night is because the hot water never worked. His bronchial tubes were so tight that his lips would turn white, his face a cold, ice blue, and he would go unconscious. That would give his lungs a chance to calm down and take a normal breath. My mom would turn his breathing machine on and strap his mask against his head, he would regain consciousness, and within minutes, everything would be fine. THIS HAPPENED EVERY FUCKING NIGHT. For probably two years. I was 15 or 16 years old and I had to deal with the possibility of watching my brother die every night for two years. LOL....anyway.....moving on.

Because of being on steroids continually from the time he was 6 months old until he was in his late teens, his adrenal glands never developed properly. He never developed muscle mass the way that he was supposed to. Long story short...he never hit puberty. It's pretty much the same thing that happened to Gary Colman. I am 6'4" tall. My brother is just under 5'2". As an adult, the asthma seemed to go away, but a multitude of problems took its place.

He has either Crohn's disease or Ulcerative Colitis. It is to such a degree that it cannot be determined. At the moment, he bleeds so much from his colon, stomach and intestines, that they cannot stop the bleeding long enough to complete the testing and get an accurate MRI or CT of his abdomen. He is currently going through chemotherapy to stop the bleeding. If that doesn't work, they are discussing a colectomy.

He also has a myriad of mental issues. My brother is very intelligent. A genius in fact. I don't think I have ever personally known anyone smarter. That is part of the problem. He has delusions of grandeur. He thinks he knows better than anyone else how to do something. He over thinks everything. The last time I shot a game of pool with him it was taking him 10 minutes plus to make his shots to figure out the angles and trajectories.

Due to his years of isolation, he had no social skills. He had no ability to hold a conversation. He met a girl online, another Witness, in Ohio. The corresponded for months via email and instant message. Finally, they met, and my brother was in love. They got married just before his 21st birthday. By then he had already attempted suicide multiple times. Strange how your body will fight to stay alive in one situation, but you choose to end your life in another.

Once, when he was 14, he programmed his computer to call 911 with instructions to remove his body and not to disturb our grandmother down the hall. The rest of the family was at church at the time. He didn't follow through. There was another time when him and his wife first moved into their own apartment, out of my parents house. My then sister in law woke up and noticed he wasn't in bed. She searched the apartment. He wasn't there. She started walking through the property. She found him sitting on the pool deck near the deep end. He was using duct tape and nylon rope to tie weights around his ankles. He was going to jump in. He was maybe less than two minutes from jumping in. Honestly, I could write a book....and probably will with the stories I could tell.

He moved back to the Cleveland area, and had two daughters with his wife. Two amazing little girls. God, I miss them so much. That's when he really went off the deep end. Ben had always been a drinker. I have never seen anyone drink so much in my life. It was impressive by frat boy standards. He would regularly drink sometimes two bottles of Captain Morgan a day. When the girls were born, I think that's when the PTSD set in. He got to the point where he couldn't make a left hand turn if he was driving. He would have to plan his route so that he could drive in a large spiral or corresponding right turns to get to his destination. If someone touches him, he screams and starts climbing the wall. He has since become a heavy pot user and has started using meth.

He got to the point where he thought his wife was trying to kill him. He refused to eat anything in the house. He wouldn't sleep. My mom and dad convinced him to come back to
Arizona to get better. Convinced him to abandon his children. I don't understand it. When he got off the plane, he weighed about 90 pounds, and was an ashy shade of gray. He looked like an AIDS patient close to death or a concentration camp prisoner. He stayed with my folks for almost two years, smoking weed in his bedroom with a vaporizer the whole time. They then decided as a family to return to Cleveland and fight for custody.

When it comes to custody, neither my ex sister in law or my brother are fit parents. My brother has never worked a day in his life. Most days when the girls are visiting, he locks himself in his room and works on his computer. Contrary to what my mother insists, he is not a good father. My ex sister in law is far from a good mother. She sends the girls to school in the winter in shorts and sandals. She lets them eat Oreos for breakfast. The girls are on the verge of going into foster care. If my brother wins custody of his children, my mother will raise them, try to make them model Witnesses. This means they'll either be in therapy the rest of their life or strippers by the time they're 16....or both.

So...he made it to 30. Like I said, it's one hell of a milestone. 20 years ago, I would have said that it was a blessing. Now, it's looking more like a curse. It's a very harsh thing to say about my little brother. But Ben, in all my life, the only thing I have ever wanted was peace for you. I love you.