Today I turned 39 years of age. Wow. I remember my mom being 39. It really doesn’t seem that long ago, but it was, obviously. I remember thinking that was old back then. I never really gave a thought to actually being this old. Age is a funny thing, at least to me.
In my mind I am much younger. In there I am probably 18. A very mature 18, I might add. I keep up on trends, new music, fashion, movies, art and sexy women’s shoes (the latter being my little fetish; I want to design them). My musical spectrum is very broad, from classical music scores to the guttural screams of Black Metal. I usually don’t discriminate, but if it sucks, I won’t be into it. My taste in women is broad as well. I have found in the past couple of years that I am a big fan of brunettes. Again, I usually don’t discriminate. I have just as much love for curvy women as I do for women who are physically fit or skinny by random biological means. My sense of humor is extremely sarcastic. I prefer to be around people who at least get my jokes. I can make light of pretty much anything. This intimidates some people, but I love it.
I’ve been told that I don’t look as old as I am. And I guess it is true to an extent. I definitely don’t feel 39 years old. And if I shaved my glorious beard, I would look even younger. That won’t be happening, as I love my beard. It is kind of a trademark at this point, so I would feel very guilty if I ever got rid of it. Deal with it.
As for birthday plans, I’ll be spending time with two of my closest girl friends. It should be very low key, but highly entertaining. We plan to laugh a lot. I really love these two. That will make my day. A beautiful birthday with two beautiful people. What more could I want?
One of my best friends caught me with tears running down my face last night. I think it’s the first time he has ever seen me do that.
Dave, a friend and former bandmate, was with me the night I was shot. We were standing next to one another when the young gunman pulled the trigger. The bullet entered the left side of my neck, exited the right side, entered the front of Dave’s throat, bounced around, finally ending up in Dave’s right upper shoulder/neck region. Needless to say, we are very close and share a bond that not too many people are able to have. He knows me pretty well. He knew I had been crying. He also showed up a little early. Usually I keep this from friends, as I don’t want to cause worry. It is my cross to bear.
Sometimes the pain is excruciating. Right now it is made worse by a large stone floating around in my bladder. Unexpected muscle spasms cut my air supply, but only for a split second. This hurts. It’s hard to explain to someone who has never experienced it. This pain, coupled with my neurogenic nerve pain is enough to drive me insane. I don’t let it. I would never do that. I have conditioned myself to be pretty tough. I think I could handle just about anything at this point. There is no sadness regarding my paralysis, at least not that I can consciously acknowledge. I am at peace with my situation. But the pain…
Having alone time and a bit of privacy is pretty important to me. It’s in these times that I can sit and meditate on life, love, or the lack of it. It’s in these times that I can harness the pain, but every now and then pain gets the better of me and I do cry.
Alone in the dark, I cry.
The shooting was one thing, but the paralysis was something new and completely different to us. In the beginning, Lyra wanted to do everything. She cared for me so much that she didn’t want anyone else to do the things required to keep me functioning on a day-to-day basis. Eventually this created problems.
We basically began to fall apart. We took out our anger on each other quite a bit. We called each other names. When you get to that point, it is very hard to return to something normal. She stood by me for two years. She did everything in her power. We even went to counseling. It did not help. In the end, she needed to be out and I knew this. I wouldn’t want anyone to have to go through what she did. It was a life-changing situation. One in a million. And I have no ill will toward her at all. In fact, I wanted her to go. I wanted her to be free. From everything. It was a hard decision on both our parts. The love was still there. This was the hardest thing to wrap our brains around. We divorced.
It hit me very hard. I felt lonely and a bit abandoned, even though I had a huge part in her departure. There were times when I felt like I couldn’t go on. But I did. And for the better. We are still really good friends. We talk a lot. The love is still there. I don’t think it will ever go anywhere. We have a special bond. One which I cherish, and will forever. Her name was Lyra and I adored her. Still do.