Stay Human

There are thieves in this world who attempt to steal life's most precious treasure
They lie, beg, cheat, desecrate, and manipulate their way into our souls
These people try to steal your humanity
They are the men and women who leave you heart broken
The parents who never cared
The  politicians who steal your money
The doctors who robbed you of your health
And the ones who said you can't
Sometimes it is inconceivable to imagine
These people attempt to make you like them
To rob you of your soul and your heart
To transform you into a heartless beast
But no matter what has been taken from you do not turn
Because if all we have in this world turns to dust
then all that matters is who we are
Not what we possess


Anyways, I would like to dedicate this to a Lyme disease patient who lost his battle today, Patrick Wylie Kelly.
My thoughts for his family and friends.

The past few days have been interesting;. A surge of symptoms here and there. Some loss of motivation and then right back to the forefront again. I won my SSI case today, so that is a great blessing. They ruled it was psychosomatic (I really don't care what they say as long as they give me money). Besides that I have been practicing and reflecting. I feel like it is time to lay this journey so far on paper. I know I have talked to many people in it in bits and pieces, but it really is an epic journey that has taken me across the world in terms of people I have met and things I have discovered, as well as the ends of my sanity and will to live.

It was June of 2010. I stood in the airport lobby staring at the huge 747 through the thick glass that would take me away from the woman I loved, from the dream I had accomplished, from a life I had built that I knew would end but never wanted it to. The last eight months had been building to this and I never could have dreamed I would be where I was then. It was literally at that point one of the hardest things I had done in my life. It was funny that I cried and she didn't, but we said good bye. My throat open and closed and I heaved and turned away to head back to my home. Little did I know I was bringing more than just some souvenirs and photographs from Japan.

That plane ride home was like torture....sitting in a crowded seat alone in a plane full of people. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about how I was going to do it. How we were going to do it, I was determined at the time though. So I sat in a daze and tried to sleep. Every few hours I would check the screen to see how far away I was from her and from home. It was quite unsettling a lot to know you were in the middle of no where. That if you were to crash that there would be no help. Thank god it never happened. I watched some movies on Chopin and listened to classical music on the way back. It set the mood fairly well. When I had arrived at LAX I looked at the grey smog filled sky with a giant sigh. Everything was fairly ugly compared to where I had been before, but it was home nonetheless. I met my dad and we drove home, there I continued to talk to her everday.

I began practicing bass again after a hiatus of about a month. I had accepted my admission and San Jose State University and was waiting to go up north. Every day I practiced around 5 or 6 hours. Eventually I got a gig playing for a friend's rock band with only 6 days to learn 5 songs from a CD. During the rehearsals my left hand and arm started to hurt. I was afraid, perhaps I was overdoing it. I went to the doctor and was instructed to take anti-inflammatories and ice it. So I did...for weeks and weeks. Eventually the pain got so bad I could not bend my arm. I then went to physical therapy week after week. At this point I had moved out on my own to a house in Cypress. I rented a nice room with a few other people and decided to change my major and try to get into a better school. Why you ask? Because I had been bombarded with the possibility of not being able to make any money in music. Suddenly things I had never cared about, like a family, kids, or a house, all seemed to be in the forefront of my mind. I wanted to get married, and she had said yes. But I had already felt the burden of needing to provide, instead of accomplishing what I wanted.

So instead of practicing bass 6 hours a day I began studying math. Day in and day out I studied and went to class. I was in 18 units and going to 3 different colleges 5 days a week. I thought the only way to succeed was to kill myself through hard work and effort. I still managed to practice and get some gigs on the side as well as get lessons from teachers. That time was very liberating though, I was completely on my own. I had only one purpose, and that was to serve me and survive. I honestly wasn't taking great care of myself then. I stayed up late, drank often, and ran myself ragged. All this time my left arm was literally broken. I woke up with it in pain, and I went to sleep with it in pain. I couldn't really use it anymore. It just tangled there useless. Eventually I began to wonder if there was something with the nerve as opposed to just tendonitis. I remember stretching it one day and it literally exploded. My elbow flared up and then began the worst pain I would soon know for what seemed an eternity.

Fire was the best way to explain it, but if you have never known the feeling of nerve pain than you better thank god, jesus, allah, buddha, and anyone else you could give thanks to because this is quite literally the greatest pain a person can experience. It felt like someone had shoved hot coals under my skin and set them there to burn. It tormented me day and night, never relenting. Soon the pain spread to my other arm, then my back, then my legs, and I was reduced to nothing. Just a shell of pain...


To be continued