Mental Health Support

Sorry, friends and supporters. I know it's getting beyond tedious when I post over and over and over about the same exact thing. Especially when I do it for months on end in posts long enough to be a short story.

Rant off. I guess I find them very cathartic, but that doesn't mean I should inflict them on everyone else ad nauseum.

For the record, yes, I am furious about a lot of things, not just what I feel was done to me. Everything was coming out today, especially bitter memories of my father when I was a kid. Really bitter, in fact. I've shared this before, he was completely gone. When I was under about 8 or 9, I just wanted the kind of dad who would take me out in the back yard and throw a baseball to me. Instead, my father was a really creepy transvestite who would come home, pull all the drapes, go into the bathroom in his suit and tie, and come out a few minutes later in women's negligees, and a bra with enough foam padding to make Dolly Parton look flat chested. Nice thing to subject a young boy to, huh? It's amazing that I'm a normal heterosexual male with no kinky stuff hiding in the closet. Creeped me out when I saw 'Psycho' for the first time, my father was Norman Bates.

Later, of course, after my mother took all of his little kinky playthings out in the backyard, doused it with gasoline and had quite the bonfire, my father's hobby shifted to guns, oh yeah, someone who shouldn't be trusted with pointy scissors bought dozens of rifles and shotguns. And he enjoyed playing target practice on me while telling me I was a piece of shit. No ammo, of course, but he cocked the trigger more than once when I was in his sight.

I'm going to stop tormenting everyone here, and instead write all of this stuff out, probably pages of it, and take it to my weekly therapist appt. on Wednesday. I'll torment her instead, hey, it's her job, and I keep reminding her that I am great job security. This week's adventures alone should give the two of us enough to chew on until about February --- of 2015 .

Finally, yes, I am OK. I worked out first thing this morning, and then came home, cleaned the leaves from my gutters and the big leaf piles in corners from the wind caused by Sandy moving to our east last week. Now going out for a ride, pretty warm here for November in Detroit. Not a weeping mess, not a manic fool. Mad, yes, out of control, my short story post not withstanding, no.

Thanks for bearing with me.