For me freedom and living are synonymous. I might be slightly more fortunate than others when it comes to financial matters. Due to the fact that I collect Social Security Disability Benefits to the tune of roughly $700 a month and I was also awarded a retroactive payment for 26 months of SSDB checks to cover the time period when I wasnt getting paid, Im sitting pretty when it comes to a nest egg if you will. I also come from a family that is fairly well off financially, so money isnt really a factor in how I choose to live my life. I may not have access to all of the money I have at all times and because of this many times I find myself without cash at the moment. I understand that much of my freedom is probably dependent on the fact that I have some money available when I want to go and do something. Maybe if for me to do whatever it is that suits my fancy was tied up with having to earn money than I might have a more positive outlook on working and who knows, I might even find myself with the motivation to work. But that is neither here nor there because Im here and this is my reality.
To me work has always been more about killing time or possibly meeting new people, new contacts for either selling or doing drugs, most often though it was just a way to get my parents off of my back. I havent had much in the way of luck when it comes to schooling either. I ended up leaving public school and going to a private residential school in Colorado during my high school years. While I was in public school I was put into a mental hospital by my parents (against my will and to this day I still believe inappropriately) because of outside stressors. I got my girlfriend pregnant when I was 15 and she was 14; she had the baby when I was 16 and she was 15. Im getting ahead of myself though.
My parents were completely against the idea of her having the baby; they sat us down once my girlfriend had reached a point where she could no longer conceal the pregnancy (we kept it a secret until she was already into her sixth month, she really didnt show at all until around the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth week.) My parents were adamant about her having an abortion. Neither my girlfriend nor I were okay with that option, especially considering the fact that she was very close to the third trimester. I personally am against abortion except in cases where either the mother or baby will most likely die, the baby itself is at risk because of either drug usage or alcohol abuse, the baby has an increased risk of birth defects due to heredity or biological situations, and lastly due to any kind of pregnancy due to abuse be it rape, incest, or any other situation that was forced upon the woman. I believe that my parents motive for putting me into the hospital were more to influence my thoughts about the pregnancy than any other consideration. Being that I was still 15 at the time, I was relatively nave and I actually believed what the doctors were saying to me. When I arrived at the unit I wanted to have the baby, I was deeply in love with my girlfriend, I was in relatively high spirits considering the circumstances, and I felt that I was still just experimenting with drugs.
At the time of my discharge I was completely changed. Almost every aspect of my character had been attacked, I had been filled with medications and I was diagnosed with all kinds of disorders. Up until the time that I was in the hospital I had never once had the idea of committing suicide come to me. Midway through I was under the impression that I was suicidal, that I was SEVERELY depressed or that I might have manic-depression (although I had no idea what that was or what it meant,) that I didnt want anything to do with the baby and/or my now ex-girlfriend, and yet I still felt that I was only experimenting with drugs, although they tried to brain-wash me into believing I was a drug addict. Once out of the inpatient place, I had to go to outpatient therapy for a period of between two and three weeks. Outpatient was more like an unsupervised study hall than a place of therapy.
By the time I had returned to my high school my ex-girlfriend had progressed from hardly being noticeable to being as big as a house. I did my best to avoid her and to stay as high as I possibly could. During the course of my therapy I had made a bunch of new connections for drugs Id not yet heard of or hadnt yet tried so I took up these new chemicals instead of what I had been doing. A month and a half or so after coming back to school my ex missed four days in a row, and on the fifth day that she was absent I found myself in the nurses office experiencing the most intense pain Id ever felt (and thats still true to this day) right in the middle of my stomach. As time went on the pain moved from my stomach to my lower abs and finally to my groin area. I went through this horrific pain for nearly an hour and a half it began at roughly the same time that she went into labor and continued until the exact moment that she finished giving birth I wasnt aware that she was in labor, and wouldnt find out for several days. It was April 27, 1993.
That afternoon my mom went to visit her, she (my mom) had gone to stress the idea of adoption and to hold the baby boy that was now named the name Id come up with; Damian Alexander Kerstetter. My mom made sure that she was back home before I got back from school; she didnt say a thing about it to me. I didnt find out that my son had been born for another day and a half, maybe even two days. My ex-girlfriend brought him home and after two weeks of sleepless nights and almost constant reflection about the situation that she was in she decided that it would be best to put him up for adoption. She contacted an adoption agency and her cousin and arranged to have an open adoption. The adoption became final on May 15th after both my ex and I signed the papers agreeing to the adoption.
I kept up with the drug use and eventually my parents decided to commit me once again to a program, this time the primary focus was on substance abuse. I spent almost nine months in this treatment center, all because I was too hard-headed to just agree to give up the people, places, and things specifically I refused to stop hanging out with my friends. When I finally agreed to the stipulations outlined by my therapist I was released and then went immediately to an outpatient program for further treatment. I had arranged to go to a school in Colorado instead of going back to public school, but because the school operated in trimesters I had to wait about four months before I could start at the new school, so my parents and I decided that I would go back and do a less intense schedule of classes at the public school. I chose a member of the teaching staff to act as my advocate and as a person who I could go to in the event that things became overwhelming. On the morning I had planned to return to school (I decided to not go around 6:15 am because I didnt feel that it was a good idea). Mr. Briedinger had a stroke and died in the office that very morning. This man was one of the few people in the school district who had made sure to look out for me, to care for me, he went far beyond what was expected and he meant a lot to me. He was also one of the most, if not the most popular and respected teachers in the district. Several nights after his passing the school held a memorial service in his honor, and my mom was driving me to it when a drunk driver hit us. I eventually made it to the memorial, after getting a ride with my ex-girlfriend and her mom, but I wasnt able to take any of the night in because I had chosen to leave my mom and go to this event; my moms back was injured in the accident and she was taken to the emergency room, and this was the only thing that I could really wrap my thoughts around, because I wasnt with her.
I did end up going to the school in Colorado, I only stayed a year, and I made sure that I was kicked out so that I couldnt return to it even if I changed my mind. Several years passed and I decided to go to West Chester University, I didnt even last three weeks, I was too busy getting high and selling drugs to go to class or study. A couple of years after that I went to Computer Learning Centers. The course was broken up into six or eight week sessions. I made it through the first session with ease; but as soon as the second session began I got this idea to go to South Carolina, I did it on a whim and even ended up going to Florida. I missed the first week of the second session and the rules stated that if you missed more than four days in a session you were supposed to be dropped from the course. My parents worked something out and I was able to stay enrolled and we were going to set up a plan for me to get caught up. But no sooner than we had made all the arrangements a nasty rumor was beginning to spread through the students and even faculty members saying that the schools doors were going to be locked and the school would be shut down. I chose not to go to school the following day and sure enough, the rumors proved to be true. Another several years went by and I again decided that I would attempt school, I signed up for four courses at the local community college, I made it three-quarters of the way through the semester before everything ended up falling apart. So.the way it now stands is Ive basically come to accept that school is not really going to be the next step that I take provided that I choose to take that next step.
THAT'S AS MUCH AS I'VE ALREADY WRITTEN FOR THIS BLOG, WILL EITHER WRITE MORE OR THIS MIGHT JUST BE THE END OF THIS STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS EXPERIMENT
To me work has always been more about killing time or possibly meeting new people, new contacts for either selling or doing drugs, most often though it was just a way to get my parents off of my back. I havent had much in the way of luck when it comes to schooling either. I ended up leaving public school and going to a private residential school in Colorado during my high school years. While I was in public school I was put into a mental hospital by my parents (against my will and to this day I still believe inappropriately) because of outside stressors. I got my girlfriend pregnant when I was 15 and she was 14; she had the baby when I was 16 and she was 15. Im getting ahead of myself though.
My parents were completely against the idea of her having the baby; they sat us down once my girlfriend had reached a point where she could no longer conceal the pregnancy (we kept it a secret until she was already into her sixth month, she really didnt show at all until around the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth week.) My parents were adamant about her having an abortion. Neither my girlfriend nor I were okay with that option, especially considering the fact that she was very close to the third trimester. I personally am against abortion except in cases where either the mother or baby will most likely die, the baby itself is at risk because of either drug usage or alcohol abuse, the baby has an increased risk of birth defects due to heredity or biological situations, and lastly due to any kind of pregnancy due to abuse be it rape, incest, or any other situation that was forced upon the woman. I believe that my parents motive for putting me into the hospital were more to influence my thoughts about the pregnancy than any other consideration. Being that I was still 15 at the time, I was relatively nave and I actually believed what the doctors were saying to me. When I arrived at the unit I wanted to have the baby, I was deeply in love with my girlfriend, I was in relatively high spirits considering the circumstances, and I felt that I was still just experimenting with drugs.
At the time of my discharge I was completely changed. Almost every aspect of my character had been attacked, I had been filled with medications and I was diagnosed with all kinds of disorders. Up until the time that I was in the hospital I had never once had the idea of committing suicide come to me. Midway through I was under the impression that I was suicidal, that I was SEVERELY depressed or that I might have manic-depression (although I had no idea what that was or what it meant,) that I didnt want anything to do with the baby and/or my now ex-girlfriend, and yet I still felt that I was only experimenting with drugs, although they tried to brain-wash me into believing I was a drug addict. Once out of the inpatient place, I had to go to outpatient therapy for a period of between two and three weeks. Outpatient was more like an unsupervised study hall than a place of therapy.
By the time I had returned to my high school my ex-girlfriend had progressed from hardly being noticeable to being as big as a house. I did my best to avoid her and to stay as high as I possibly could. During the course of my therapy I had made a bunch of new connections for drugs Id not yet heard of or hadnt yet tried so I took up these new chemicals instead of what I had been doing. A month and a half or so after coming back to school my ex missed four days in a row, and on the fifth day that she was absent I found myself in the nurses office experiencing the most intense pain Id ever felt (and thats still true to this day) right in the middle of my stomach. As time went on the pain moved from my stomach to my lower abs and finally to my groin area. I went through this horrific pain for nearly an hour and a half it began at roughly the same time that she went into labor and continued until the exact moment that she finished giving birth I wasnt aware that she was in labor, and wouldnt find out for several days. It was April 27, 1993.
That afternoon my mom went to visit her, she (my mom) had gone to stress the idea of adoption and to hold the baby boy that was now named the name Id come up with; Damian Alexander Kerstetter. My mom made sure that she was back home before I got back from school; she didnt say a thing about it to me. I didnt find out that my son had been born for another day and a half, maybe even two days. My ex-girlfriend brought him home and after two weeks of sleepless nights and almost constant reflection about the situation that she was in she decided that it would be best to put him up for adoption. She contacted an adoption agency and her cousin and arranged to have an open adoption. The adoption became final on May 15th after both my ex and I signed the papers agreeing to the adoption.
I kept up with the drug use and eventually my parents decided to commit me once again to a program, this time the primary focus was on substance abuse. I spent almost nine months in this treatment center, all because I was too hard-headed to just agree to give up the people, places, and things specifically I refused to stop hanging out with my friends. When I finally agreed to the stipulations outlined by my therapist I was released and then went immediately to an outpatient program for further treatment. I had arranged to go to a school in Colorado instead of going back to public school, but because the school operated in trimesters I had to wait about four months before I could start at the new school, so my parents and I decided that I would go back and do a less intense schedule of classes at the public school. I chose a member of the teaching staff to act as my advocate and as a person who I could go to in the event that things became overwhelming. On the morning I had planned to return to school (I decided to not go around 6:15 am because I didnt feel that it was a good idea). Mr. Briedinger had a stroke and died in the office that very morning. This man was one of the few people in the school district who had made sure to look out for me, to care for me, he went far beyond what was expected and he meant a lot to me. He was also one of the most, if not the most popular and respected teachers in the district. Several nights after his passing the school held a memorial service in his honor, and my mom was driving me to it when a drunk driver hit us. I eventually made it to the memorial, after getting a ride with my ex-girlfriend and her mom, but I wasnt able to take any of the night in because I had chosen to leave my mom and go to this event; my moms back was injured in the accident and she was taken to the emergency room, and this was the only thing that I could really wrap my thoughts around, because I wasnt with her.
I did end up going to the school in Colorado, I only stayed a year, and I made sure that I was kicked out so that I couldnt return to it even if I changed my mind. Several years passed and I decided to go to West Chester University, I didnt even last three weeks, I was too busy getting high and selling drugs to go to class or study. A couple of years after that I went to Computer Learning Centers. The course was broken up into six or eight week sessions. I made it through the first session with ease; but as soon as the second session began I got this idea to go to South Carolina, I did it on a whim and even ended up going to Florida. I missed the first week of the second session and the rules stated that if you missed more than four days in a session you were supposed to be dropped from the course. My parents worked something out and I was able to stay enrolled and we were going to set up a plan for me to get caught up. But no sooner than we had made all the arrangements a nasty rumor was beginning to spread through the students and even faculty members saying that the schools doors were going to be locked and the school would be shut down. I chose not to go to school the following day and sure enough, the rumors proved to be true. Another several years went by and I again decided that I would attempt school, I signed up for four courses at the local community college, I made it three-quarters of the way through the semester before everything ended up falling apart. So.the way it now stands is Ive basically come to accept that school is not really going to be the next step that I take provided that I choose to take that next step.
THAT'S AS MUCH AS I'VE ALREADY WRITTEN FOR THIS BLOG, WILL EITHER WRITE MORE OR THIS MIGHT JUST BE THE END OF THIS STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS EXPERIMENT