You’re an asshole, god.

I am sitting in my 4th Psychiatric Hospital.

Fourthce™

Remember the place I swore I would never end up in again?

I haven’t had any suicide attempts since 1994…

WTF AM I DOING BACK IN A PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL IN FEBRUARY 2001…

?™

I

DON’T

BELONG

HERE

How the fuck did I end up in the one place I have done everything I can think of to never end up in again?

I was listening to “the plans you have for me”, Ole Sky Dude.

I was trying to embrace the skillsets you gifted me!

HTF does talking to a very nice actor for 45 minutes end up in me being in a mental health hospital 2 months later?

^ this is an example of the Bargaining Phase of the Grieving Process

ANSWER ME, YOU OMNIPOTENT MOTHERFUCKER!!!

^anger phase of Grieviosity

God Almighty™ remains silent.

Like always.

The morning after the car accident I can barely move. My back is in the most pain I’ve ever experienced– and I’ve had a LOT of back injuries up to this point.

Every day for the next 2 months I will awake in double the amount of pain I was in the day prior.

Whenever I think I have maxed out on how much back and nerve pain a human is capable of being in, I will discover new levels of ouch. It sounds like hyperbole, or that I’m exaggerating. But, every day for 2 solid months the pain doubles in intensity. Something is very, very wrong in my back.

No amounts of ibuprofen or aspirin/paracetamol or alcohol or nicotine will help make any of this pain lessen or get better.

By February 2001, I am literally unable to walk and I can’t feel my left leg. It feels like it’s painfully numb/electrical shock. ER visits showed nothing broken and I was given pamphlets on stretching.

Was also given lots of pills that I would get addicted to.

After 2 months of excruciating agony, I can’t sleep. No position I can find will allow me to sleep for more than 10 minutes at a time. This destroys my mental health.

It culminates in a 2 week stretch of insomnia where I am unable to sleep due to the pain and I end going manic AF. Something I did not realize was possible in my life, since I am not someone who suffers from bipolar disorder. But apparently severe sleep deprivation can trigger a manic phase in anyone.

And I will get picked up as I am wandering the world like a crazed maniac, I will be placed in handcuffs– the ole’ ZipClickity™– for trespassing– don’t ask. They assume I’m drugged out of my mind and I’m taken to a hospital where they run drug screens and realize that I am basically suffering from sleep-deprivation-induced-mania.

So I get 5150’d again!!!

*sigh*

This is not how I pictured my life going.

I was supposed to go to college and have a RealJobCareer™. And then, once I listened to my heart and started believing in myself and trusting the skillsets God Almighty™ gave me… right as I’m about to get into professional acting again after a 6 year mental health hiatus…

Right as I had been trying to tape and superglue all the Broken Mirror pieces of my life back together again, SkyMan allows an overworked sushi chef to SMASH my “crafting project” into Ground Glitter™ and doesn’t stop my back from being destroyed and fucking up my life yet again.

Thanks God Almighty™.

You suck.

and you know it

And here I sit.

Painfully.

I can’t undersell how much pain I am in every fucking second of every fucking day. It makes someone with ruminating OCD kinda cranky because it intrudes on my thought process 24/7.

“Ya know, if I can ever make Edwin & the Orbs, I could have the main character !!!PAIN!!! travel from the time period– !!!!ISAIDPAIN!!!!…. fuck…. what was I thinking about? !!!PAIN!!!”

-SavedDave™’sRuminatingBrain™DerailedbyPain

I admit I was already a clinically insane person before the car accident (except I wasn’t because I was still in denial at this time of my life).

But that level of chronic pain will literally drive you crazy.

Anyone who has experienced a severe back injury with herniated discs and muscle trauma from whiplash… it is constant, incessant, nothing makes the pain better for longer than a minute, can’t sit, can’t stand, can’t lie down, hurts to breathe, hurts to move, hurts to not move, hurts to wipe your ass, hurts so much that eventually you can’t walk anymore and have to crawl on your hands and knees to get to the bathroom.

It destroyed my mental health. Again. Because that’s the shitty hand of cards I’m going to be dealt in this life, apparently.

This is what I get for being born on Friday the 13th.

I’m Cursed™

For the last 2 months of my life I have been unable to work.

This puts my LifePartner™ under the gun as the sole Provider™ since our roommates had left months earlier. This puts tremendous strain on everyone. L’ilDaveyAdult™, FutureSpouse™, ReligiousParentLandlord™…. everyone is tense and frustrated and worried because my back is not healing like it should.

Resting and using heat and ice packs and anti-inflammatories and stretching… none of it is helping and I literally cannot walk. Not like I’m paralyzed. But, the muscles in my back were in a state of permanent spasm to the point of being locked.

And I would battle my COBRA insurance which didn’t want to pay for an MRI and over the next year of my life I would have unnecessary treatments done that would worsen the discs that we don’t know are herniated… because the insurance didn’t want to know about them.

I have to threaten to sue a doctor at one point so he will let me have an MRI in the fancy machine sitting in his building and when– after 9 months of traction and muscle relaxers and pain pills delivered by the truckload (opiates are amazing)– I finally get to have that MRI we will learn that I have herniated discs pressing on major nerves and this is why I can’t feel my leg.

YAY SCIATICA!!!

In the Shitty First Year of Millennium 3, I would undergo so many doctors appointments and spinal injections and on and on and on…. my inability to work will place economic pressure on my parents who had used what tiny bit of White PrivilegeInheritance™ that they put into the WhitePrivilegeInvestment™ of the condo we lived in that I am forced to file for disability to cover the mortgage payment.

And at first, I think of this as “temporary disability”

Temporary.

Did you hear what I said?

I said Temporary, goddammit.

But temporary is not ending.

And while I’m battling my new friend ChronicPaintopia™… I also get to battle health insurance companies, and auto insurance companies– ya know, all those companies we pay money into that never want to pay out when the shit hits the fan because capitalism is so awesome.

Due to all of these issues being unsettled and up in the air, who knows when my back will get better and I can be gainfully employed again? Doesn’t stop the bills from coming– and now there’s even more!! My medical bills were $30,000+ and climbing.

The driver that hit me was under-insured and his company settled immediately. I would have to sue the insurance company of my AtheistFather-InLaw™ whose car we were in when we were hit.

Did I mention Atheist FIL does not like me? Not too interested in having his daughter shack up with a Fucking Evangelical™ mentally ill artist who now can’t work because of a back injury.

The pressures and frustrations of everyone attached to my life, and there’s literally nothing I can do.

I CAN’T FUCKING WALK PEOPLE.

2 months and a 5150 stint turn into 6 months of chronic pain.

For those who have never lived with me or known me personally, I do not like to sit still. I am an active person. Remember waaaaay back like 50 posts ago I said I am never bored? I’m always into something.

5Jobs™. OddHobbies™. StrangeTalents™.

Juggling. Ice sculpting. Magic. Music. Acting. Balloon Animals– yup those too.

And so… I’ve never needed to sit still before. There’s always something to do. Or a friend to hang out with. Or a place to travel to. Or another cigarette that needs to be smoked. I do not suffer from idle times.

What happens when someone who does not like to sit still…

is forced to?

I would be stuck in that condo that we couldn’t afford day after lonely day.

I lived on the sofa. Everything within arm’s reach so I need to get up as little as possible. I’m going insane. There’s only so many times I can watch every movie I own– at one point I watch The Big Lebowski every single day for 3 months straight and study every shot in the film, every edit, every art direction choice and scene design element, sound design, script analysis…

I start playing the guitar.

I read every book. twice.

I start reading Hiking Magazines imagining some day that if I ever got the ability to walk again I would hike the Pacific Coast Trail and never stop walking the earth.

I consume copious amounts of pain pills– the pharmaceutical industry LOVES to provide all sorts of fun treats to get hooked on and this is the part of my life where I become a pill addict for a year or two.

The alcoholism deepens during this year.

Nothing really makes the pain stop.

This is where weed enters my life– because with weed I could at least function whereas the opiates just have you in a state of nodding off/sleep.

I’m basically high 24/7.

Cuz this shit hurts 24/7.

I would battle god incessantly during this time. Trying to understand what the fuck is wrong with my life that I can never seem to get ahead.

Why can’t I ever prosper?

Am I being punished for my suicides?

Am I being punished for living with my FutureSpouse™ that YouAlmighty™ had prepared for me before time existed?

Why is it whenever I get close to starting the career you had planned for me– bEcAuSe I tHoUgHt ThIs iS sUpPoSeD To bE wHat i’M DoInG– you yank the rug out from under my feet?

Am I being punished because I’m trying to get into Hollyweird™?

Am I being punished because I realized I’m an artist?

I thought that was how you made me, OldSkyDude.

I would scour The Bible™ trying to read Job for the 1,000th time like all my elders and pastors and Holy Therapists had said…

And why am I doing this– other than boredom?

Well, remember how I said:

People raised in The Church™…

Flock back to The Church™…

When shit hits the fan.

One of the books that I read multiple times was Ye Good Ole Holy Bible™ to try to glean some kind of understanding for the suffering I’m going through.

Is being an artist a sin?

This is where I would learn about Jubal.

And how when the first generations were born God gave humanity the first shepherds, and doctors, and carpenters, and farmers, and there buried in all that text is proof that god also created ARTISTS: JUBAL.

The first Fucking Artist™ that God Almighty™ ever created.

See? It’s not a sin to be an artist!!

ask me why I would ever struggle with that idea having been raised in Evangelicaltopia?

Why would I think that being an artist was a bad thing?

Why are all the narratives in my head that being an artist is a waste of time or not something that I was literally born to be?

AM I BEING TESTED HERE?!?

HOW MUCH SUFFERING DO I HAVE TO GO THROUGH HERE BEFORE I CAN HAVE A LIFE LIKE EVERYONE ELSE?

YOU LET ALL MY FRIENDS HAVE NORMAL LIVES!

WHY NOT ME?

WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?

why do i suck so much

*looks in mirror*

*sees back brace*

i hate you

fuuuuuuuuck not this again

I’m 23 years old.

I walk like I’m 93.

My entire life has been ground to a halt.

And all I do is just suffer and sit here.

Maybe I’ll get up in 10 minutes and hobble over there… and then hobble back and sit for another 20 minutes until it starts hurting again.

How do I kill the next hour?

Do I need to go to the bathroom? That usually takes 30 minutes out of my day. 10 minutes to crawl there. 10 minutes to try to handle things. 10 minutes to crawl back.

Nah. I went already.

Do I need a snack?

nah

pain pills?

nah

fuck

is it time to hobble to the mailbox?

nah

played guitar today and my fingers are bleeding…

… read the book… again…

guess it’s time to just…

sit on the sofa…

again

watch tv

again

*sigh*

I turn 24 years old…

lamest birthday ever.

Lit.er.al.ly.

The summer passes….

One morning, in September, I am rudely awakened by LifePartner™FutureSpouse™TheOne™.

“Your Religious Parent™ called and said someone hijacked some planes and flew them into the World Trade Center and the buildings came down.”

It was 11am PST.

The events had happened 5 hours earlier.

A thing to know about me is that I am a severe night owl. This is a good thing when you are a professional performer and DJ because I clock in at work in the evenings when all the good day workers need to be entertained on a Friday Night. And so I usually wouldn’t get home from work until 4-5 AM by the time I’ve gone back to the warehouse and dropped off gear.

As well, due to my mental health conditions I had ALWAYS struggled to fall asleep. So I always wake up late. My kids would learn the word “nocturnal” based on my sleeping/waking habits. “Dad’s nocturnal.”

Anyway… 11 am and I’m in that half asleep half awake state where you aren’t certain if what you’re hearing is a dream?

or is this really happening?

being loaded on painkillers makes reality very dreamlike anyway

I awaken and hobble down the stairs and turn on the tv and sit down in my ass-shaped sofa-cushion that I have formed over the last 9 months of daily boredom.

And I watch tv for the next 2 weeks straight.

Maybe I went to bed a few times.

But I had nothing else to do.

And there was something remarkable happening and it was shaking the foundations of my reality.

Yeah, sure, terrorism and the War on Terror and 3,000+ people dying and all of that was awful and terrible.

But this is not why I can’t peel myself away from the tv for 2 weeks straight.

This is the story of:

When Fucking Everyone

Finally Fucking

Understands the Fuck Outta

Fucking Suicide

Photo: Richard Drew Associated Press

Up until that point in my life– this is 7 years since my massive attempt– every single person in my life had given me the crappiest, shittiest treatment for being a person who had tried to kill themselves.

I had been told I was a sinner.

An apostate.

A prodigal

That I was selfish.

That I was weak.

That I was trying to take the easy way out.

But now

EVERY

SINGLE

MOTHERFUCKER

ON

THE

PLANET

IS

A

FUCKING

EXPERT

ON

FUCKING SUICIDE™.

“I’d have jumped, too!”

“can you imagine how awful it must’ve been to be worried about burning to death?”

“What a horrible choice to make…”

“They had no choice!”

“they were gonna burn to death!”

*clears throat*

Um… excuse me.

There are certain situation where you are NOT considered a sinner or demon possessed if you commit suicide?

“C’mon! Can ya blame them?”

“Would ya just let the fire consume you?”

“They were trying to end their suffering, Dave“

*Dave stares at camera*

so lemme get this straight…

suicide is ok…

if somebody’s life is on fire?

“can you imagine the horror of having to make that decision?”

“I’d be so scared knowing it’s my last action…”

“imagine how brave you have to be to
stare death
in the face
and then
leap.”

*dave blinks*

Every Fucking Genius™ that had given me shit for 7 years was now suddenly empathetically imagining themselves in the shoes of those leaping from a burning building to end their lives less-painfully than being burned to death.

It made sense to them.

The math is simple:

Die painfully?

or

Die less-painfully…? by your own actions?

I heard people discussing how those who leapt to their deaths would be welcomed into Heaven™ and that God Almighty™– who was rather silent in warning any of those folk that this would be their last day on earth— wouldn’t punish these people for the sin of suicide because there were…

*checks notes*

….Extenuating Circumstances™.

Unfuckingbelievable.

Everyone understands suicide now!!

Yay!!

Maybe now I can finally get some fucking respect for this health prob–

No.

Fucking Evangelicals™ will show no mercy to the mental health crowd after learning that suicide is a perfectly reasonable and logical decision to make when someone’s life is on the verge of immolation.

And while my life was a metaphorical fire rather than a literal one…

I was suffering painfully.

And I was trying to die less–painfully.

And just like those folk who made an instantaneous decision that they had not planned on making when they awoke that morning, I know precisely the state of mind that someone is in when they make a move like that.

It’s simple.

You are trying to end your suffering.

So why is it ok when they do it…

… and not when I do it?

Why are their families and memories given respect and patient understanding and love and kindness is showered upon those families and lives and those deaths are grieved and mourned heroically?

And not mine?

The Hypocrisy of the Fucking Evangelicals™

Who like to pick and choose

when to accuse

those who Lose

At some point during the year of 2001, my medical records are submitted for a Disability Claim to help out with the rent of the condo in Tweekside™.

ALL… of my medical records.

Including the ones from 7-8 years ago.

And remember how I was so certain that my back injury was a TEMPORARY DISABILITY?

Well… the back injury was…

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo…..

The Government of The United States of America has a program called Social Security.

This program was created by a disabled President.

A man who was born into extreme wealth and privilege– whose Uncle Teddy had also been a President of this country– and even though this man was born into wealth and privilege he would have an intimate understanding of suffering because of his disability.

And his knowledge of pain & suffering and how disability bred poverty destroys lives, he would create The Social Security Administration so that people who were disabled could have some level of income to aid their lives.

Because he knew what I would later discover… that The Church™es, and private industries, and private charities, and families often couldn’t– or WOULDN’T– lift a finger or bother to throw a nickel at someone to better their lives.

And it would be this Social Security Administration that would take one look at my medical records from:

Dave’s Adventures In Suicide™

and after reviewing these records precisely ONE TIME…

I will be declared Permanently Disabled™.

On. my. very. first. try.

(I’ve always been an overachiever at losing)

I am the only person I know whose case history was so bad that I got SSDI on my very first attempt.

Go ahead… ask anyone you know who is on SSI/SSDI.

How many times did they have to submit papers and how many times were they rejected?

EVERYONE GETS REJECTED

I have always been a rather extraordinary motherfucker.

And now I’m a disabled™ one.

Stuck on the very same Social Security that Project 2025 and the MAGA assholes, and every fucking conservative cunt my entire life has been trying to destroy.