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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

~ Words For You, Just Ask

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Tag Archives: Sobriety

Letter to Someone Considering Suicide

10 Thursday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Addiction, Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Depression, Health, Men's Health, Mental Health, Poetic Blog, Recovery, Suicide, Women's Health

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Addiction, Bipolar, Depression, Health, Joy, Love, Manic Depression, Men's Health, Mental Health, Peace, Recovery, Sobriety, Suicidal, Suicidal Depression, Suicide, Truth, Women's Health

Suicidal2

by Bill Watkins, formerly suicidal
3/10/2022

Dedicated to the memory of Robin Williams

***

I would have told Robin just to sleep.  Stop trying to breathe.  Stop doing stuff and thinking you have to do stuff.

What suicidal people sometimes forget is the glory of the “mini-deaths” cleverly built into this life: sleep.  The complete cessation of activity.  The suicidal want to stop, want all thinking to stop, so… STOP!

Complications arise with drug and alcohol addiction.  Next to that, or maybe the same thing, is a bedevilment of negative thinking, insane thoughts—which any human being is capable of thinking from time to time.

There is a snowball forming, and suicidal people might start to believe the lies they are telling themselves that all would be better, if they were dead.  If they took an action to stop the heart and stop breathing… for good.

I was a victim of a suicidal depression that lasted about three or four years.  Parts of it are cloudy still, but I can now sum it all up as:  Alcoholism.

I started drinking Dad’s last sip of bourbon when I was five.  I started drinking the flammable, volatile, toxic liquid on my own with friends by the age of twelve.  I was blacking out on the substance by thirteen.

The above facts were not of interest to the multiple doctors I saw for depression at the end of the last millennium.  They saw and heard some symptoms, started to prescribe me drugs.  One of those doctors is now a recovering alcoholic, but because they missed my obvious alcoholism I sometimes think all of them were either alcoholic, drug addicted or just plain incompetent in the field of mental health.

I forgive them.  Alcoholism is “cunning, baffling and powerful,” to quote Alcoholics Anonymous—a powerful, tough, formidable foe.  I don’t blame anyone for my alcoholism and subsequent suicidal depression, but have come out of it to celebrate twenty years of consecutive sober days to distrust Western medicine in some areas.

They and all of us are fallible!

To the person who is at the time of reading this letter considering suicide, I say: “I love you. Thinking of suicide is a normal response to pain, when the pain builds and builds and sustains over a long time.  Love and accept yourself in this moment, but if you have a place to sleep that is warm and sheltered, be grateful for it and ‘die’ the mini-death that is sleep.  Stop trying so hard to breathe.  Slow down.  Do nothing.

“Do nothing for as long as it takes, with no time limit.  Based on my experience, the good rest and permission to stop will after time become a meditation or dream that makes you want to ‘go’ again.  You might get a vision that is positive.

“As far as managing life through a suicidal depression, stop doing that. Get out a piece of paper after your rest, and write down one or two things you want to do.  Eventually a bucket list (since you’ve been craving death anyway) of passions and activities.  Today, of course, you can only manage one or two of those things.

“Do them.  Love yourself for this one day.  That’s the only day that matters and exists.  If something makes you smile (that is not harmful to anyone, drugs or alcohol), note that and do it.   Repeat it, and follow that bliss throughout your day.  Your day is now your life!

“Note stuff in life we can’t control, like results or the future.  Let them go.  Maybe even consider prayer to a power greater than yourself.  Call it whatever you want to call it.  Just know you’re not in control of everything, and if you let yourself go… if you stop trying so hard and just rest… you’ll find the world continues to spin, and I do believe based on my own experience that positive thoughts and dreams are within us all…

If we wait for them.”

The Real Pandemic

01 Tuesday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Covid, Health, Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Alcoholism, Civilization, Covid, Health, Joy, Love, Pandemic, Peace, Sobriety, Truth

LA Filth1

Civilization.  Leaving the earth
behind.  Latching on to
parts of a big holy book,
leaving others behind.

(Because…)
Science.  Nevermind the snake
oil, the leeches, the blood suck—
Letting us know that fear
becomes a drug…

And drugs sold means lots of money.
Panic! It brings us to our knees—
from there, “Please!” many cry
not in prayer but at the deified
smocks of Western medicine.

Civilization. The real pandemic,
Cut off from the earth, from a
working faith;

We bow down to Science—
human, fallible science,
calling every theory fact,
Counting our cash,

Pointing up at hospital rooms
(great places to die)
instead of Native Great Spirits.

The Cure to believe in Nature,
in Creation.

But few can hear sound words
above the Suck,
the helicopter patrol, the
car addiction, the echoes
Streaming off asphalt’s oasis.

Stop

No Mistakes Too Great

30 Monday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Amends, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Recovery

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Alcoholism, Amends, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Recovery, Sobriety

Awareness is all; Truth paramount,
Words trying so hard, give them
a chance!

Where were you at the middle school
dance?  Were you trying to be cool?
The truth is…

We were all made perfectly, like a
Christian Scientist would say, things
are just right.

“Nothing useless is or low, each thing
in its place is best,” why anyone wrote
poems after

Longfellow is a mystery, to improve on
genius one needs to study history, admit
each feeling.

No matter how bad things got or whatever
mistake or crime one commits, there is
always a way…

A way back, forward, out in overcoming
the problem, give the body and mind
a chance.

I was blinded at the dance, the devil in
my life since I drank with Dad, his last
sip of bourbon,

then I had a first crush and never told her,
the devil happy because I was a liar.  Third
grade!

So when other crushes came down the pipe
in middle school, I was a master liar, looking
for what?

How do you improve on the first girl the
LORD gives you to love?

Haha!  You cannot!

You live a life of lies, until you admit the
truth in a 12-step meeting or somewhere
else safe.

Truth wounds all heals, sews them up,
heals all wounds, over time all mistakes
and sins!

It’s never too late to change, to make
amends, to live the true life where Truth
itself…

becomes your best friend.

The Poem Not Written

16 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Humor, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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Tags

1983, Alcoholism, British, Dating, Depression, Dreams, English Beat, Galaxy, Harold Ramis, Health, Humor, James Bond, John Hughes, Joy, LAX, Love, Native American, No, Octopussy, Otsungna, Pasadena, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Recovery, Sobriety, Soccer, Stealing Land, War Games, Western Medicine, Wingandacoa, Writing, Yes

Poetry1

I had plenty to say about
British invaders “using
natives kindly” and coveting
their land before stealing
it amidst the chaos of
mutiny, rebellion, starvation,
and forced coups in a land
natives called Wingandacoa
but the British vainly called
“Virginia” after their queen.

I had even more to say about
living at LAX airport in a city
most call Los Angeles, but I
prefer the native name,
Otsungna, signifying “place
of the roses;” I lived there,
trying to raise 600 bucks to
catch a plane for London
because Sigi Schmid, the
L.A. Galaxy soccer coach,
never called me to give me
a tryout in 1999.  Instead of
being depressed about that,
I rode my bike to the airport
from Pasadena (Chippewa:
“crown of the valley”), parked
the bike, lost the bike for
twenty-four hours, figured it
was stolen, then it reappeared
magically where I had left it
at the front door to the international
terminal, un-scratched and
unscathed.  So I sold the bike to
a redcap for 250 dollars,
which is how much I needed
to buy my ticket finally,
after camping out at the airport
three days.

I would have written something
about living in psych wards, when
filled with self-doubt and un-
checked alcoholism—how I
literally checked myself in
once at an emergency room in
Pasadena with symptoms
of “Self-Doubt.”  That helped me
to realize that was crazy, and
I slowly began to believe not
that I was crazy, but that I was
alcoholic, and that if I just
refrained from drinking alcohol
or using drugs one day at a time,
all would be fine!  Even if I just
watched TV or a movie, made
that my whole day, it was okay,
and better than doing something
bad like putting mind-altering
substances in my body.

I would surely have tackled
Western Medicine, and how sick
it is.  I frankly think it has serious
health problems, along with
the insurance game littering
its offices, halls and examination
rooms—perhaps why they’re often
too cold with air conditioning that
makes you sicker than before
you left home.  The sicker you
are the better deal health
insurance is for you, so good
luck with that; the healthier
you are, you lose and the health
insurance companies win that
round, so what’s it going to be?
Remember War Games from 1983?
“The only winning move is not
to play…”  From that year I also
remember “Owner of a Lonely
Heart,” Octopussy, Never Say
Never Again—two Bond movies
in one year!  English Beat’s last
year together, Chevy Chase
in Vacation, Harold Ramis
directing the John Hughes script.
I had thirteen dollars to my
name that year and felt rich…

Last, I was going to write
something on an impromptu
date at the post office.  I ran
into Mrs. Right, I’m sure of it,
so why was she hollering outside
the name of some dude, sure
to be a husband or boyfriend?
Could it have been a friend or
brother, and I still have a chance?
No matter what, it was rather
an enchanted meeting, and
I hope to see her again.  Does
that mean if her other guy
sees this poem, he’ll come
after me, email me, threaten
me with violence, if I
don’t stay away from his girl?
It’s happened to me before,
because I try to be true to
my own feelings and let women
decide what they want to do,
and sometimes someone will
let you make moves on them
because they’re bored or
not thrilled with their current
guy, but there is a danger of
ticking someone off, so I’ve
resolved to at the sound of
“I have a boyfriend” staying
generally the heck away,
hoping for romance when the
coast is clear.

I would have written all that!

I Like Life

13 Wednesday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Life, Nature, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Recovery

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Gratitude, Joy, Life, Love, Peace, Poetry, Recovery, Sobriety

Just as it is.

It needs not our sour rot,
the grape is better than the
wine—a reason they call war
trophies spoils,

the disease of more plundering
the till that is perfect as is,
Lao Tzu’s quiet, uncarved block.

I like Life!

Sunshines and rays against the
mist making ready rainbows of
our worst rains and pains…

I like life!

Just as it was; God, Higher Power
the mantra hated by an atheist,
his or her right but look not to
altered states—

Put up a fight!!

Do not say good bye until true
fatigue sets in, the eyes close
in a smile—

Good night!

I like life, citizens of Rome, nothing’s
wrong until we think too much,
adult games forgetting that philosophy
that to get to heaven (peace of mind)
one must be like a child.

I like life—

Calm in the middle of strife.

The worse thing that can happen
often out of our control, ask
the powers above for Wisdom,
be like King Solomon and grow
very old!

Not 100 years like today, but
hearken back to the Old Jews’
day.

“He was 946 years old, and was
gathered to his people.”

I like life!

Sunny, rainy, put up a fight!  Sing
song, God, good, no?

Rain.  Sunshine.

Bow.  Rainbow?  Fine—the end?

no.  Beginning?

Always

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