Headthegong.com

Today was the day. For three and a half years I walked the halls of a psychiatric hospital, with a badge that said “Bob D.” and key that could get me out of there whenever I wanted. Most nights I left around 11:08pm, but I always returned, eventually. Today I had to ask someone to let me through the doors, because today I turned in my badge and key. Today I said goodbye to my co-workers, my friends, who are — without a doubt — the finest group of people I’ve ever worked with.

I’ve been ready for a while now. Ready for a change. Ready to leave that place behind. But it’s more than a place, really. I lost sight of that too often. Each one of us brought our lives, our whole selves to what we did, day in and day out, together. Babies were born. Loved ones died. There were crises, one after another it seemed, that had to be worked out. And we always seemed to work them out. We somehow managed to keep it all together. We laughed a lot, too.

When I got home this afternoon, I couldn’t keep myself together for long. I went into the bathroom, sat on the floor, and sobbed hard. Real hard.

Today I left at about 4:25pm, without a badge and without a key. But I have some gratitude, for Larry and Linda, Marc and Mike, Leslie and Geoff, for Teresa and Delania, Debbie and Gary, Michael and Ryan and Jennifer and Old Chief and Paul and Greg. And, of course, for the kids, the hundreds of them who sat with me on those ugly pink chairs, all of us staring at that big chunk of wood in the center of the room known as “the pick,” sharing our pain, our confusion, our bullshit and bad dreams, our experience, strength and hope.

I’m leaving a lot behind. A big chunk of my soul.

Keep it well, my friends.

Thank you.

Life is weird. Of the three phases of existence (Life is weird; Life is good; Life sucks), it’s probably the most interesting. As it happens, weirdness will often follow a long stretch of sucky-ness. I’ve been agonizing over what to do while my wife is in Mexico. She’ll be gone a year — that’s twelve months — and now that I’ve decided to end my time at the Adolescent Chemical Dependency Center, I am “free” to do whatever I want, float wherever the wind carries me.

Trouble is, I’ve been tossed about in a twister these past several weeks, spinning around at break-neck speeds, yet going nowhere. I want to be closer to my family, so the Northeast is pulling me. I want to make music with my best friend Eric, so North Carolina is pulling me. I’ve been searching for jobs in both places, but so far I’ve found nothing but the same old entry-level mental health gigs I’ve been doing for the past fifteen years.

My wife has been great through all this, supportive of whatever kooky idea floats through the ether waves. Thursday night we ordered some pizza and stopped by the library to grab a movie. Mary Alice wanted to watch “The Chronicles of Narnia,” and I didn’t care one way or the other. When the movie ended, my wife pulled herself close to me and started crying. It just really hit her that we’d be apart for the next year. I went to the bathroom and did something I’ve only done maybe once or twice in my life. I pooped in the sink.

Of course, I’m kidding. I did something even more out of character than that — I prayed for some guidance. Anyone who reads this blog or knows me at all, knows that I am not a believer in such things. I guess I did it both as an experiment and an act of desperation. My friend Larry recommended “giving a nod to a higher power.” Also, as part of my job, I’ve been attending AA meetings three times a week for the past three years, and this one old-timer always mentions how he began praying to a God he didn’t believe in, and it worked wonders in his life. Anyway, I did the deed, and somehow it allowed me to see clearly what I’ve known all along — I need to go to Mexico with my wife.

Somehow, I had long ago dismissed that option out of hand, based on little more than basic math. My life has been full of “Ah, what the hell” decisions resulting in a pretty substantial mountain of debt. I promised myself I wouldn’t live beyond my means anymore. Really though, the quick dismissal was based more on fear. Nothing could be further from my comfort zone. Rugged living conditions, scorpions on the walls, a language and culture I don’t understand — it all sounded too scary. But when my wife cried like she did, I just didn’t care about anything else. And now, at long last, I have some clarity. The answer to the “North Carolina or Massachusetts” question was “Mexico” all along.

Larry knew it from the beginning. When I mentioned it to him last year his response was “Of course, you’re going with her.” Even my Mom was surprised when I told her I didn’t plan to go: “Where’s your sense of adventure?” I don’t know where it was, Ma, but I think I just found it.