Lightening Does Strike Twice

Perhaps lightening does strike twice.

If I asked the world to tell the truth about me, I am afraid that what the world
perceives as the negative in me would overpower all the good about me.
Within me there exists a deep love and hopefulness that truly guides me through
each day I live. I know this about me and this is beautiful.

I also know that I have scars and not just on the outside. I have many scars on
the inside that tell horrors that most who know me could not imagine. Most who
know me would have trouble comprehending the level of mental abuse that I have
endured in my 38 years. This doesn’t mean that they don’t care about me; it just
means that we have different lives and come from different places (in this world).
My scars on the outside tell a story that reminds me of who I am and where I come
from. My scars on the inside consistently point me in the direction that I need to be
going in, so that is indeed the direction that I am heading.

These scars exist in my present life and will exist to some degree until the day that
I die. This is how it is. The human brain allows for this to happen. Our brain also
possesses the capacity to grow beyond the damage done that remains fresh in our
scars. This is a beautiful thing. It is truly remarkable the ways in which a person
can be so damaged and broken and yet at the same time be incredibly strong and
capable of moving forward in a positive yet realistic direction.

In my personal experience, I have proven that it is indeed possible to, if you will,
take the lemons that you have been handed and truly make the most delicious
lemonade out of them. This lemonade can be quite refreshing and invigorating.
This I do believe.

Each one of us existing on this planet, at our cores, all have huge potential to
become something great. Some people have got it made and some people struggle
immensely. It is interesting how people who have it made and live what at least
on the outside appears to be an easier life and those who struggle a great deal both
suffer in a similar way when it comes to feeling pain and hurt. This is because pain
and hurt exists regardless of who you are, where you come from or how much
money you have.

We owe it to ourselves and to each other to think about who we want to be in this
world. Are we committed toward overcoming the negatives that plague us in our
daily lives? Do we want to rise above the unfortunate damage and the horrendous
scarring that hold us back from becoming who we need to be in this world and in
each of our personal worlds and inside our heads?

If I asked the world to tell the truth about me, it may come in the form of a warm
sea breeze or as April showers. The truth about me may exist in all the flower
patches of the world and in both the richest and poorest of places. The truth speaks
volumes and the truth can be represented in good and healthy ways. We don’t have
to succumb to our scars and the mental devastation that takes up way too much
space in our brains.

Within me there exists a deep and profound love and sense of hopefulness that I
don’t need to be defined by my scars. My scars on my outside tell unmistakable
tales of trauma. My scars on my inside can cripple me and prevent me from
becoming the person that I so desperately aspire to be. The truth about me is that
my dreams are coming true and that all the scars in my world and all the scars that
people experience every single second of the day on this planet, in no way need to
define the lives we live.

My feeling is that if we can own who we are, then no one can take away the
goodness inside each and every one us. The only person who truly will keep you
down is you. If you know deep inside that you want something more out of life,
then it is your job to seek it out and fight for your better day. This can be done. I
am living proof of this.

Today I learned something of extreme value. I learned that lightening strikes twice.

Sick Joke - 9/04/08

I sit here feeling like my intestines are tied in a knot. Tied in a freakin’ knot.  I sit here truly not knowing what tomorrow morning will bring. Will I be able to stand up? Function? Live and dare I say thrive? Yes this is a sick joke that I have lived over and over again. When you wish me well and say good luck and I hope you feel better. I am of course touched. But it is when you help me achieve simple heights, the simple things that we take for granted, then that is when you have truly helped a man. For helping a man who has been struck down crossing the street is our duty and we wish him the best of luck and we send him flowers. Business owners offer him and his family some discounts to make it easier. Now if a man like the man in the story we are about to relive, received support in the same way that hit and run victim did, then boy would all our lives be enriched.

It is when you look at me and I look at you and we look around and look at everyone else that we see at least two very different things. Through my eyes I see value and possibility even in those who have been called scum by any number of unauthorized figures. It seems that from what I understand you are saying is that one person is worth much more than another. But how can this be? Is it in how I cut my hair?  So you don’t like my haircut? I paid $16 bucks for this! Oh so it’s not my haircut then it’s got to be my eyeglasses? Oh so you paid $260 for your frames? I laugh at that as mine cost $40. Well you’re a cheap bastard. Well that’s all I could afford to spend. Then you need to get a job. I have a job. Then what’s your problem? I don’t enough have skills. Not my problem. But you have lived a life of opportunity. Yeah so I don’t owe you anything. But I am sitting here in pain, suffering. Can’t you help me? Why should I? Because we are both humans and you have the means and access to help me. Sorry I am buying a new stereo today, I can’t help you. I just need $15 so I can eat something good and clean my clothes and this will help me feel better. You just are going to buy drugs. No I don’t drink or use drugs. You’re lying. I am not. Clean and sober 7 years. Great so you think I should take pity on you and just give you money? I am not looking for pity I am looking for help. I want to pull myself out of this. I know I can live a better life. I want to succeed. Yeah and you think I should pay for you to buy things because your life is screwed up. I didn’t ask for this. I always wanted to be happy. I always wanted to have a good life and work and have friends and a family. I have always wanted all this and so much more. So you think me giving you money will help you get that. It would help me right now because I am so hungry and my clothes are dirty. It could be the beginning of the rest of my life. I've been asking people to help me for longer than I can remember. And here we are, simply two people standing on a street.  If you can help me right now it would help me get through the day. I hope tomorrow someone will listen to me when I ask them to help me improve my life. I hope tomorrow someone will help feed me when I am hungry. I hope tomorrow will better. I know tomorrow will be.

A story I wrote: My Name Ain't Lazarus

              I was cold as ice the way Desmond shot her down. She had no chance that Sarah Betty. Twenty years have come and gone since 1981 and then some and our old boy Desmond got no time. It is a new century and look at how things have changed. For our man Desmond he got no time.   

             Desmond was from the old school of thought. For him, a drink with a friend and a smoke and we could say goodbye today forever. But Desmond was not as simple as it’s been implied. He had his dark side and his darker side.

 So what if he preferred to drink alone? It reminded him of his days in the pen. At the core of his being, Desmond was a loner. Even a woman as healthy as Sarah Betty could not steal his heart.

The question I am asking myself is and I mean damn I am looking at myself under a magnifying glass, is who are we to judge Mr. Desmond? What if we are twice as soulless as he? What if we are already dead and we just don’t know it?

Desmond’s mind is grumbling like the roar of an angry engine. His thoughts are sunken deep into his subconscious. His mind is sunken deep into his skull. The suction from his gut is sucking and groping for his soul. His neck aches and has caused him considerable unhappiness for quite some time now.  Desmond is at his breaking point though and I will tell you what I know.

It’s Sarah Betty. There’s never been a girl more welcoming than she. One hour with this magical woman can tame any man, for a year or longer. She is like an inoculation for a deadly disease. She is a prescription drug that has been banned. She is worth getting locked up for, and Desmond knows it. She is in his heart, and he wants her gone.

Once when I was a boy I went fishing. It was not ordinary fishing and ordinarily I would have never done such a thing. I sometimes wonder how I survived that nightmare. Is it one mans nightmare or is it another mans dream, and who are we to take a stab, to make a judgment.

 In Desmond’s mind he was a vicious and gnarly seafarer. He told me they called him Harpoon Johnny and he said something about nailing seventeen whales in one week. Maybe this is true yet even our own Desmond is not sure of much of anything these days and he certainly would never had used the word gnarly.

Desmond will do whatever it is Desmond wants do. This man was stubborn in more ways than one. Thank goodness for that good old, stubborn Mr. Desmond.

Once Mr. Desmond was telling me about his days as a boy. He called me Lazarus. My name is Carson Bukowski Carnegie. He called me Lazarus and he told me I was lucky he would speak to me at all.  Lazarus ain’t even my damn name.  It’s not even close.

Mr. Desmond told me about this one time he learned a lesson about women.  Every story Desmond told me was this one time or that one time. Well this one was about someone he called the dragon lady.  He was getting more and more descriptive about this dragon lady. I think drinking pint after pint will do that to a person.

Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Desmond is ok in the head. Sometimes I wonder if one day on my usual route home that I’ll come to find that my old friend Desmond has breathed his last breath. I wonder if anyone would have cared though I don’t think he would care if they did.

He would say my dear boy Lazarus, let me tell you this story about this one time except it would now be silent.

Now it’s just the sun battling the clouds today my boy Lazarus.

 Damnit, my name ain’t Lazarus.

A story I wrote for Deathpanel Press: No Gracias

             I try to not regret very much in life. I try to allow my experiences to be life lessons that enable me to grow. I try to be non-judgmental because throughout my life I have made many misjudgments. I try to be open to new things as I have closed myself off to so much in the past.

            Several years ago I visited Mexico. I found myself in Oaxaca, a beautiful southern city that claims to have the tallest tree in Mexico. Oaxaca also is a city that has packs of wild dogs roaming the streets. I stayed with the family of a local punk guy named Erick. I wish I remembered all of their names however sadly I do not. At their home I slept on a concrete slab covered by a roof made of sheets of metal that was about 25 feet high. This family I stayed with did not have running water. Therefore, water got delivered weekly and was stored in two storage containers.  One storage container was for drinking and cooking and the other was for washing. The family was very careful to explain to me not to make a mistake with the water. This family with whom I stayed were poor yet they had one of the nicest television sets I have ever seen.

            In the city centre there were armed soldiers everywhere. The soldiers stern glares did not make me feel welcome. I was thirsty so I went to a street vendor and got fresh squeezed orange juice in a tied plastic bag complete with a straw. It is a pretty awesome experience to buy fresh squeezed OJ on the side of the road and have it served to you in a strange and definitely unaccustomed way. For my snack, I went to a different street vendor and got corn on the cob however this is corn on the cob Mexican style and it is called elote. Elote is a cooked corn on the cob, slathered in mayonnaise with crumbled cheese sprinkled on. At first thought you might think that this sounds fairly unappetizing however it is surprisingly tasty and delicious.

            While I was in Oaxaca, some friends and I visited a market place. There was so much to look at and ask questions about and it was all very interesting. We came across a punk and metal record store. Did you know that in Mexico, it appears that “porno core” is quite popular? This at the very least applies to some of the people I was travelling with. While we were in this store, guttural and brutal grind music was playing on the stereo and each of the songs included a sample of what sounded to me to be some pretty unfriendly sex.

            There was a woman travelling with me with a very young daughter and they were both in the store and no one flinched. I found the situation pretty hard to swallow however it didn’t seem to bother anyone I was with. Perhaps it is better to say that it didn’t appear to me that anyone was bothered by the samples and the music. What it really comes down to is that a white man from Boston who doesn’t speak Spanish and doesn’t have the background, understanding and lived experience of the culture and life of a Mexican person, surely is not the right person to make any sort of definitive conclusion about the situation. I can say that at some point while I was in the store, they played Anal Cunt and I suppose it warmed my heart as they a local Boston band and it made feel close to home. Yeah, I am not sure that Anal Cunt has heard that one before but who knows?

            While we were in the marketplace, one woman that I was shopping with had purchased a bag of crickets who had already met their demise. She offered me to try some of these potentially tasty yet definitely crunchy treats. Looking back, I can’t believe I balked at the opportunity, I mean when in Mexico, do as the Mexicans do. To this day this is a choice that I wish one thousand times over I could make again. It is not so much that today I want to snack on some crunchy critters. I don’t necessarily long to chomp on bugs but oh my goodness, I screwed up in that moment. I had an opportunity to be at one with Mexico. In many ways I feel that I am connected at the heart, based on the many beautiful and meaning experiences and memories that I hold dear in my heart when I remember my time in Mexico. However it doesn’t matter which way I analyze the situation, I know that I failed immensely in that moment. The choice was mine and I said “no gracias”. In the future, I will not be making that mistake again.

A story I wrote: The Man with the Twice-Broken Bifocals

                We live in a twisted society and in this society we often find ways to justify both the right and the wrong and often within the same sentence or thought. One might think that this is some political trick, a ruse to befuddle those with nimble bones, wax filled ears and twice broken bifocals. One may wonder if this description paints a picture of me or perhaps you, if you are able to admit it. At the moment and I am stuck wondering if it is me who is wearing those twice broken bifocals unsavory as that thought may be.

I am the scum of society. I am the grime that collects in the groove of your shoes. I am the scum on the street abusing and using the system, myself and the American way of life. I am nothing but a pitiful waste of skin and bones. Society hates the man with the twice broken bifocals for good reason. Society hates this man because society failed in its morbid quest to deny him everything.

                The man with the twice broken bifocals is not an ordinary fellow. This man has volumes of valuable knowledge and wisdom and experience deep within his heart and in his brain. You look at him with contempt for he is what is wrong with America, or so you’ve been taught or believe.

                I find it most shocking when I am on the street or on the subway, and against my better judgment I become an eyewitness to the luxury and the fraud of those before me. Perhaps these mutants from a better upbringing than mine, who look at me with scorn and detestation, will at last discover the hope and beauty within me. But, for now they must quickly scurry along and fly faraway to celebrate their meaningless, empty, luxurious and obnoxious lives. How many people from my neighborhood, where I am from, get to go on trips and fly here and there and everywhere you can imagine? Therefore, I am the man with the twice broken bifocals and I am going nowhere.

                 Perhaps it is all in their heads and perhaps it is all in mine however when will someone think twice about throwing people who have so much to offer into the trash? People of America take a look in the mirror and pay attention. You stare at this man and when he looks you in the eye you become a ghost and look away and you hold your purse and your child closer and tighter and you don’t have a clue that I cannot clearly see you through my twice broken bifocals. I sit here and I cry and I beg; if you won’t help me live then please help me die.

                In death, one does not need to wear twice broken bifocals but I would ask to please have my lucky spectacles, as useless as they may be, buried with me as they are my only reliable friend. I don’t need a fancy box for my flesh and my organs to be devoured by bugs in so please, just dig a hole and throw me in; it is as simple as that. I don’t care about a headstone or a suit jacket, a button down shirt or fancy slacks so please let me die with dignity, my way.

                When all is said and done, please plant a lilac bush on the grass up above my final resting place, as lilacs are my favorite flower.

        

My first MRR column.

            On April 13^th 1988 I was delivered to the now bankrupt and defunct Charles River Hospital, a mental health facility. I was a naïve 14 year old from a shit town 25 minutes outside of Boston. I was sick with mental illness and the painful life I was living was about to quickly and progressively get worse. I hit bottom countless times over the years and with each episode I became sicker and sicker and my quality of life became worse and worse. In 2004 I lost the will to live, to even try to stay alive.  This was when I, as an adult, finally began to address my mental health issues.

            A common sentiment is that the punk scene is a safe haven for the mentally ill, the drug addicts, the alcoholics, the dysfunctional, the freaks and so many others like me; those who are on the fringes of society. In my experience, the punk scene allows someone like me, someone who for many, many years was so incredibly sick; continue to be sick without setting off enough warning signs that I needed serious help. At the same time it is unlikely that during those years, without being committed, that I would go seek out and get the help I needed. My reality is that after years of being institutionalized against my will, I developed an extreme distrust of the system and I rejected it.

            In my experience, the punk scene frowned upon taking medication. Even dear friends in well-known bands spoke out against the taking of psychiatric medication. This anti-medication pressure and non-acceptance was a powerfully negative force in my life. Curiously, most people will take medication for having a cold, the flu, diabetes, high blood pressure, for pain, a headache, cancer, HIV, acid reflux or they will have a broken bone set and put in a cast or take antibiotics for any countless number of conditions. 

            In order for me to cope with my illness and the poor quality of my life I started smoking weed. I got high everyday and I would do anything to make this happen. They say that smoking pot is not addictive however for me it was the only thing that kept me under wraps and I had to do it. I was self-medicating and I did this for 10 years.

            The punk scene allowed me to be sick. No one helped me find my way toward getting well. I had numerous friends who worked in human services yet I don’t recall being steered toward obtaining services. If they did it wasn’t enough because as a child of the system, living in misery would be 100 times better than losing my physical freedom.  Looking back I must ask why weren’t my punk friends helping me get well.

            I was unleashed into the world at age 18 unprepared for society and lacking the knowledge and experience needed to successfully integrate into general society including the microcosmic punk scene. My adolescence was spent living in very unnatural living situations surrounded by other uprooted teenagers and group home “staff”.  These experiences set me up to fail and fail I did and these failures were repeated over and over again for many years. So much of what I needed to know about how to effectively get by in this world was totally lost on me. I never had a chance.

            The punk scene makes excuses for people to do fucked up shit. The punk scene gives a free pass for one to be wild, crazy and destructive. I have to ask myself how many times did I hurt someone else when I was not well? I think the answer to that question is a lot. It is also equally relevant, necessary and important to acknowledge that there are those who took advantage of my being ill. I’ve had lots of “punk” friends over the years, some of whom have done some pretty sketchy stuff. Over the course of the life of a person with a mental illness we come across a lot of people who are very good at sinking their teeth into us without leaving bite marks. One frightening reality is that there are people out there who will do and say anything and hurt anyone to achieve their goals; this has been my experience.

            In the punk scene acting crazy and wild are accepted behaviors.  People freaking out and being wild was and is par for the course punk rocker behavior. In my situation, I had a real serious problem and anyone reading this that knows me, regardless of what you may think of me, legitimate or not, knows that I was not well. The punk scene and my punk friends did nothing (or very little) to help me get better. One crucial point that must be stated is that no one should ever think for even one second that I liked or wanted to be acting the way that I often did. My unfortunate behavior was an expression of my inner pain and suffering and the sickness and chaos that I experienced personally only brought more and more pain and suffering to my life and only made me sicker and sicker.

            I had no way to make things better. Every time I acted poorly I only made things worse. The friends I’ve lost over the years due to my instability are many. Mental illness is a lonely life, and no matter how much I wish it wasn’t, it still is.  All those years I was always sick and I never had a chance to get well. I was forced to live in residential and group home settings as a teenager. I went straight to another group home once I aged out of the adolescent mental healthcare system at age 18.  Within a few days of arriving at this the newest and last group home that I lived in, I was introduced to marijuana. Things then went from bad to worse.

            I have done a lot of damage to myself and to others over the years. I know that if I had been receiving effective treatment all those years that things would not have been as bad for me and for those around me

            The reality is that recovery from mental illness is not only possible, it is probable. Indubitably, my 22 years life experience of being part of the punk scene has informed my thinking about life in general, mental illness and how to live a better life now that I am well. I am experiencing what is called “recovery”. The National Consensus Statement on Mental Health Recovery defines recovery as "a journey of healing and transformation enabling a person with a mental health problem to live a meaningful life in a community of his or her choice while striving to achieve his or her full potential." I am living this reality and I am grateful for my disease, my recovery and for my opportunity to live a more meaningful and purposeful life.

            I have written this column because I want to see my people rise up and live a happier, healthier and better quality life. When I say my people I am talking about those of us who live with the symptoms of mental illness. After a lifetime of sickness, I am well. However this seems to be difficult for a lot of people who know me to believe and accept as truth.  I changed my life for the better and I am as far as I am concerned a beautiful success story. I am going to share with you about my recovery and what I did to get well. There are countless punk rockers, and people in general in our world, who are  unhappy and struggling, who are self-medicating to deal with their pain and hurt, people who are on the fringe of society just like I always have been and likely always will be. That is a reality of life however I bring a message that things can improve for people who struggle with the symptoms of mental illness. Why must we continue to dull our emotions through substance abuse when we might benefit so much more from appropriate psychiatric intervention and/or peer support? Why must our friends and families living with mental illness turn to suicide?  Why does the punk scene, a place of purported acceptance place a person such as me into the slim and restrictive category of being ‘crazy”?  Why do we enforce stigma over offering love and acceptance? I can tell you that there is so more to me than a mental health diagnosis. I suppose it is easier for most people to classify me and put me in a box than to acknowledge that I have changed for the better. I am well, damnit, so please embrace me and let’s move forward.

            In 2004 I hit rock bottom and was seriously in need of major psychiatric intervention.  In the fall of that year I was arrested twice and I was not well either time and the cops were exceptionally cruel to me as would be expected.  This experience was incredibly traumatizing for me. I also lived in a house with some really terrible people which was triggering me and causing me to have symptoms. I then moved to a different part of Boston. I was still in desperate need of psychiatric help as my then current doctor was not meeting my needs. I needed a therapist so I looked in the yellow pages and 3 weeks later I began meeting with a wonderful social worker whom I meet with weekly and have done so for 5 years. I fired my psychiatrist and sought out a more attentive doctor. I then accessed vocational services at the Massachusetts Rehabilitation Commission. I began attending a special and now defunct school that taught individuals with mental illness to work as counselors. I graduated from this school and did a 3 month internship at a local rehabilitation center. I also passed the Certified Peer Specialist Exam and was honored at the State House for it. I worked for one year at a recovery community as a peer counselor. I was laid off so I began attending college. In 33 credits I have a 3.856 GPA, not too shabby I must say. I played in a band and all the songs I sang were about my recovery. I finally got a great apartment that I can afford and I love it.  I go to community acupuncture at least 2 times per month and it helps! I go to the gym which is wonderful for my mind. I watercolor. I spend time with my nieces and nephew. I have a great new job working as a Peer Specialist. I volunteer facilitating a weekly recovery group that is highly successful and I am compiling a book of the curriculum that I have created for this group.  I have put out a fanzine. I have made and nurtured friendships and relationships. I seek out and offer peer support to people in the mental health community and with friends in the punk scene.

            I accept the scorn of others as it is pure gold in my fuel tank and whether anyone loves me or hates me it matters not as my recovery is stronger and more powerful than anyone has any idea including me. I AM in recovery! I love life. I have changed my life and how I manage my symptoms for the better. I am surviving yet I am doing something even better than simply surviving, I am thriving and kicking ass in general. The world is my oyster and whether or not I have a mental illness and whether or not people accept me and treat me with dignity, I am happy and content and my life is beautiful and that’s that.

One of my columns from the Malaysian Fanzine Shock & Awe

I will be turning 38 years old on Tuesday May 24^th 2011.

The past two months have been dreadful; a couple of the worst months of my life yet not even close to being as bad as it could’ve been. I hurt so much emotionally. I have suffered exponentially. I have felt hopeless and worthless and useless. I’ve had a hard time keeping myself together and in one piece yet somehow I have survived and I am pulling through, working to get back to that better life that I so desperately want and need to live.

This has not been an easy journey. No, this has been a battle to the death, or for my life. Sometimes or often, I don’t know what to do to get myself to the next day or the next hour or minute. Sometimes, I operate by the second, if that is what I must do to keep from completely and totally self-destructing. The will to live is so strong within me and I seem to be able to access that hopefulness in my worst moments while that action of accessing my hope as positive action is so far beyond my cognitive awareness.

I love life and I hate wanting to die. I feel that way all the time. I want to live and be happy and succeed and it feels so inaccessible to me. I constantly am trying to make things better. This is a constant battle for me, a battle that is never completely won and is a battle that is just part of a much greater war that I am fighting.  I wage this war in an effort to conquer my pain and the destructive demons that eat away at my soul like acid. This may sound melodramatic however I wholeheartedly assure you the reader, my peers, that it is not.

My reality is that I have a serious mental health condition and that I have experienced trauma and abuse almost my entire life. I am going to be 38 this coming Tuesday and I don’t know how I am still alive. I’ve experienced such personal, inner torment throughout my years that it is overwhelming for most people to hear about or talk about. Yet, I continue to move forward with my life as if I welcome the challenge. With all the compounded hassle that I am forced to face and deal with on a daily basis one could deduce that it would be near impossible for me to effectively function yet somehow and someway I do.

When a person is faced with painful, impossible situations how can they be expected to make rational and reasonable decisions about their life? This is a very good question and something that I face every single day of my life. I often struggle when it comes to making good and healthy decisions when the stakes are so difficult and unreasonable. There is a saying in the mental health recovery movement that says ones reaction to an unreasonable situation may actually be a reasonable response (to an unreasonable situation). Think about it, when really bad things happen, humans react strongly and sometimes in over the top ways. These responses may be unusual for a person to have in general however when under extreme distress a person may respond and react in a very exaggerated manner. This reaction is something that I am quite familiar with. This happens to me and it has happened to me a lot recently as I have previously stated that the past two months have been extremely difficult.

This journey of mine has been treacherous and brutal to put it mildly. To be perfectly blunt, it has been a challenge at times to not harm myself and this catastrophe of mine has even led me to the most dreadful of ways of thinking that could impact my most basic mortality. Clearly, I don’t share this with pride or excitement as this absolutely sucks, feeling so morbid and awful. Having to manage these sorts of intense, dark and overwhelming feelings is not my idea of a good time.

Interestingly, while I have suffered to such an extreme degree I have also experienced a great deal of success, happiness and joy in my life. I know that it may sound very strange and contradictory yet is it one hundred percent true; there is a lot of good in my life. Sure, of course, we must admit and acknowledge that the negative can have and certainly has had an incredibly brutal impact on my quality of life, my level of happiness and contentment and success. This is just the way it is, my life is a complete and total juxtaposition and I am forced to deal with it and live in the best way possible, regardless of my challenges.

I have some good things in my life at the moment. I have a great apartment that I can afford that is nice and big and I feel comfortable living in. I just finished classes and while I did have a very difficult and rough past two months I still earned an A- in Algebra and a B+ in Spanish. I think that is pretty awesome considering the poor mental health and quality of life that I have experienced in recent times. I think it is a huge success and I am proud of myself, I did real well. I have a great job which I will share more about a little later on. My job allows me to do something that I am very good at and talented at which is absolutely a wonderful thing for me. I have a few really good friends which I am extremely lucky to have in my life. I have been working on losing weight for quite some time and achieving a great deal of success which is utterly huge for me. Fascinatingly, in the past two months of living a life in mental health crisis, I have lost over 10 lbs, which is just amazing.  I don’t know exactly how I am doing it however eating better and eating more responsibly and doing aerobic exercise several times per week is certainly paying off. Essentially, going on regular 30+ minute aerobic walks have been benefitting my life and my mental health and stability not only due to my losing of weight yet also because aerobic exercise is so good for a person’s mental health. It is phenomenal how great I feel mentally after going on one of my “walks”. So clearly, there are some very good parts of my life and I feel very good about some parts of my life.

It is important to try and focus on what is good and positive and healthy in my life and also to be cognizant of what is reality in my life.  To be realistic is enormously important in being well and healthy and living a good life. This is because there are some things that you cannot change in your life and in this world and I think my energy is better spent working toward the future. I have many goals that I am working toward and I will have more success in reaching my destination if I acknowledge the role of and by facing reality on my journey toward living a better life.

I want to be a happy person and live a good and happy life and this can be achieved through hard work even while I fully admit that I struggle with a mental health condition and having a history of trauma and abuse in my life. I am a survivor of so much and my battle continues and always continues. It is never ending. Every single day presents new and sometimes difficult challenges for me. Sometimes I succeed in handling and managing these challenges and sometimes I am adversely and terribly impacted by these challenges. That is life so if I want to find better ways to live and better ways to be happy I am forced to and I must also realistically address the issues and challenges that I face one day at a time. This is a truly doable prospect yet extremely difficult at the same time. This is a challenge that I accept and I move forward with, as carefully as possible and with my eyes on the prize of mental wellness, happiness and success.

An interesting thing that I mentioned earlier that I want to share is that not only do I have a mental health condition and I should add, a debilitating mental health condition, I also work as a mental health counselor. Yes, you read that correctly, I work as a mental health counselor. My current title is Peer Specialist and this means I work with individuals who have mental health conditions and also issues with addictions. In my role I use my training and education and also my personal lived experience to help people who are experiencing difficult and hard to manage mental health and addiction issues live better lives. In addition to that I teach these individuals how to better control their symptoms, how to communicate their needs more beneficially and effectively in order to have their needs met and to achieve an improved quality of life. 

This is pretty incredible and I am sure some of you will agree. How can a guy who has these serious problems and who at times struggles with functioning at the same time have the role of mental health counselor? I can tell you that it is not easy however it is the best thing that could have ever happened to a man who only 6 years ago could hardly take care of himself. I am a beautiful success story and I have had a really brutal past two months and I am here to say that while I am still struggling, that I am succeeding at realistically making my life work for me while dealing with a very difficult and hard to manage reality.

I am succeeding and I will continue to fight to live a better life.

I know there are people who you the reader know, who struggle with some of the same sort of things that I struggle with and I am asking you to treat them with compassion and respect and dignity because they are people with feelings, just like you and me. They may deal with some serious issues that society may say makes them unimportant and unworthy however I am telling you here, that these people are just like me and I am a success and they too can be a success. They need and want your love and acceptance. I am turning 38 on Tuesday May 24^th 2011 – I will struggle and I will survive and I will thrive. This is my promise to me and my guarantee to all of you.

Thank you to Shock & Awe for including my writing in their fanzine. I welcome all correspondence and I thank all of you for reading.     

My column for Distraction Zine from Indonesia - 7/2011

I have been struggling with some mental health issues over the past three months and I often feel extremely alone. It hurts a lot and I often feel stuck not knowing what to do or how to help myself. Now I am aware that there are things that I can do to help alleviate my suffering. I am going to talk about one thing in particular in this column and how it has helped me. My hope is that someone out there reading this column will benefit from knowing how I have managed and coped with my issues and the tough experiences that I face in my daily life.

Today, in an effort to feel better, I took the initiative of going for a walk in my neighborhood.  The act and action of walking creates a sense of progress for me. I also am moving in the forward direction, making myself experience a different, however slight, situation or surrounding. There is wind in my face, the sounds of birds singing, car horns, the sound of traffic and often barking dogs. All of this is part of going for my walks in my neighborhood and I am grateful for it all as it helps remind me that I am an aware, living being experiencing the world that is all around me. I achieve this by walking in my neighborhood and it helps me keep my perspective on my life at a reasonable, comfortable and safe level.

Today I decided to walk toward a destination of which I am quite lucky to have within walking distance. This destination is the Atlantic Ocean only a 15 minute walk from my apartment. Sadly, this bay is polluted and unsafe for swimming and wading in yet this ocean quite beautifully offers me many tools in my quest for personal and mental health wellness. When I walk those 15 minutes on my way to the ocean I find that this exercise is excellent for both my mind and my body. On my journey to the ocean I walk along a beautiful street complete with lots of beautiful trees, wonderful flowers planted in the yards of families, many of whom take particular pride in their homes and their yards and I am also joined by countless birds singing and chirping which for me is both amazing and delightful. All of these nice things make my adventure to the ocean quite amazing, healing and healthy.

Once I’ve arrived at the ocean I am blasted by the lovely and cool sea air and offered a wide view of the bay. There were dozens of moored boats fairly close to the beach and one can see the skyscrapers of downtown Boston and the city skyline in the background. Most spectacularly I find myself under the flight path of airplanes heading to and leaving from Logan airport.  There is a boardwalk along the edge of the beach and the road, and it is not uncommon to come across many dogs out enjoying the day with their humans and I like dogs. There are also two sailing clubhouses nestled on the water and lastly, of course, there is sand and at some points lots of rocks

After I have begun my journey walking to the ocean I focus my thoughts on my destination and how I know I will feel better once I get there. I will sometimes work up a bit of a sweat while walking and while observing the trees and flowers and dancing in my mind to the birds songs. As I approach the ocean and I can see the openness and hugeness of it, I begin to feel a massive sense of freedom and I can feel the weighted pain in my mind float away.

I stand there looking out at all that is in front of me in the distance and also being keenly aware of all that is surrounding me on land and I think to myself how lucky and fortunate I am to live so close to all of this. I  turn and walk on the boardwalk for almost 10 minutes  soaking in that sea air while my body  takes step after step toward achieving my wellness.

I can count on this experience to bring me to a peaceful and healing place every time I seek it out. I want to be healthy and I want to be well. Sometimes in our lives we face painful realities that are way out of our control and there may be only limited ways in which we can address these situations that get in the way of our happiness and our lives and prevent us from fulfilling our hopes and our dreams. I have figured out that walking to the ocean helps me feel better when I am not feeling well and I have figured out that this journey of mine will inevitably bring me clarity and peacefulness. There are not so many wonderful things in this world such as an ocean being only a 15 minute walk from my home. Thank goodness that I have identified that the ocean helps me heal and helps bring peace to my life.

My name is Craig. I live in the city of Boston in the United States. Thank you for reading.

The Impact of Choosing Recovery - My presentation at the Boston Resource Center 12/2010

The concept of recovery entered my life by complete chance. It was only 5 years ago that I first became aware of this recovery as we refer to it as in regards to mental illness. I had zero idea that I could ever be anything more than the absolute waste of a person that I felt I was.

I had no idea what recovery was yet I took a huge step and attempted to get my first therapist in 15 years. I took this step to get a therapist because I knew that I had very limited options in my life and they were, simply, to live or to die.

Without any doubt, I wanted to live. I wanted to live and thrive and achieve and celebrate and laugh and love and be successful and be proud. I had to choose, life or death, so I picked up the phone and called random phone numbers for therapists in the phonebook.

This was the first day of the rest of my life and it was 100% my choice.

Many of us might have forgotten or simply not know that we can be the ultimate decision makers in how we live our lives and manage our recovery.

Ultimately it is up to each and every one of us, the individual, to make the changes in ourselves and how we live our lives.

Making these changes allows us to feel better and live better.

Whether you love him or hate him, former President George W. Bush took the words right out of my mouth when he said “I’m the decider” during a press conference. He was talking about being the one in control.

I think being in control of our lives and how we interact during our day to day existence is incredibly important to achieving our mental wellness and happiness.

When George W. Bush talks about being the “decider”, or whenever I hear any person talking about what it is we need to live the quality lives we desire I can find empowerment in my control.

What does it mean to choose recovery?

To choose is such a basic act.

We choose one banana over another banana. We choose one seat on a bus over a different seat. We choose to wear a green shirt instead of a red shirt. We choose to live. We choose to recover.

How does one choose to recover and what does it mean to choose to recover? Well, in my experience, if I hadn’t chosen to seek help with managing my out of control life, then I would not be here today, alive. I simply would be dead, or homeless and sick or in jail and sick.

I know that I made the right choice and I want to help others, my people, all of you, in choosing that you too, can decide, to improve the quality of your life. We can choose to be in recovery and we can choose to be well.

After I had been seeing my new therapist for several months I knew that I wanted something more in my life. I knew that I wanted a job! I also knew that throughout my life I had a lot of difficulty in keeping a job. It was solely up to me to make changes in my life so I chose to contact the Massachusetts  Rehabilitation Commission.

I went to their orientation meeting and after waiting several months I was assigned a counselor. This counselor told me that before he would request funding for me to receive vocational services that I had to prove that I could work and keep a job. He wanted me to go to a volunteer work center almost a one hour commute, by the T, from my apartment starting at 8:00 am five days a week.

I told him no thanks and that I will go get a job and come back after I have worked for several months and then request funding.

So I got a job selling pretzels at a pushcart for six months at Downtown Crossing. I went back to my worker and I told him that I wanted training and that I wanted to work.

He offered me vocational training for working in a cafeteria or doing filing in an office. I told him that I was a smart guy and that I can do more than that. He replied by saying that they were a state agency and only had so much to offer.

He then asked me what I wanted to do. Without a seconds hesitation, and being completely ignorant about the weight and importance  of what I was about to say, I told the worker that it would be great to be able to work with people like myself and help other people live better lives.

The worker then left the office we were meeting in and went to several different offices and after several minutes he brought back an informational sheet dated 1997 from something called the Consumer Provider Program.

When I got home I looked them on the internet and there was a number, so I called and a woman answered. “Hello Consumer Provider Program”.

And I responded, “are you serious?”

She asked me what I meant and I said and I quote “do you really take people with mental illness and train them to be counselors?

She said “yes” and I responded by saying   “That’s crazy they don’t do that!”.  As it turns out they do and quite ironically, I am now one of they.

I was sent information about the program and miraculously it arrived the next day and that following day was their open house.

Well, guess who chose to get himself up, showered and out the door by 8:00 am for the first time in who knows how long?

I chose that I wanted to be well. It was my decision.  I made the choice to face life and to face the difficulty of getting well after a life of dysfunction and sickness.

I made it to the open house, on time and I listened to what was being said and I looked around and I knew that I was not going to squander this opportunity.

I applied, I interviewed and I was accepted. The moment that I found out that I was accepted, my tears flowed freely and it was beautiful. This day was the first day of the rest of my life. I now truly had begun the rise of Mister Craig Lewis and it was all due to my choices.

Any step of the way I could have rolled over and given up however I was tired of giving up and I needed to find a way to improve my quality of life.

How easy would it have been for me to have given up?

How many times had I given up in my life up until now?

 I had to take a stand and decide that I had no more time to screw around and I had to choose to move forward and find better ways to be.

When we have a choice, we have an option.

Some choices are better than others.

Some choices will put you on a more difficult road.

Some choices can feel more like a leap of faith than an educated decision or a positive risk and that’s life.

When it comes to my mental illness, I’ve figured out, that I make the choices of how things are going to be. I choose how I am going to respond to a difficult situation. Having a mental illness does not give me a green light to do and say things that are going to cause myself and others problems.

The reality is is that I make the decisions in these situations. If I am angry, then I need to step back and take some deep breaths, have some water and go for a walk. Why you may ask? Because I am building and protecting my future. If I can manage my anger and not get myself into too many complicated and unfortunate interpersonal situations then my life in the long run is going to be much, much better. There will be less stress and less pain in my day to day and I think most people really would benefit  from a little less stress and pain on a daily basis.

Recovery is about choice for me. My medication helps however I must be the decider on whether or not I am going to be happy and successful and well. I decide and only I decide.

If I want to lose weight then I decide to implement the changes in my eating and my exercise to achieve my goal.

I am facing a great challenge and maybe some of you can relate.

I am quite often late. It happens all the time and people really do not appreciate it including myself.

Here is a situation where as of yet I have not been able to make that adjustment in how I do things and find ways to not be late.

Being late so often definitely does not help me at school, work, socially, in relationships, in my volunteer responsibilities and in so many other vital parts of my life.

How am I going to fix this problem; I’m not entirely sure. However, what I do know is that it is all about choice.

I can choose to prepare myself better so that I leave for my destination earlier. I can choose to not stop for coffee when I know I don’t have enough time. I can choose to not waste precious moments screwing around on my computer. I can choose to adjust my priorities and I can make better choices.

This is not a matter of if I can make better choices, it is solely a matter of choice.

Will I find ways to make things better or will I continue to prevent myself from meeting my potential? At the end of the day, I am the person who suffers the most when I allow myself to drag myself down. It is up to me.

Choice plays the biggest role in my recovery. If I want to be well, I better get enough sleep. If I want to lose weight I better prepare healthy meals instead of going out for pizza. If I want to be on time then I need to prepare myself better in advance and make sure that I give myself enough time to reasonably get to my destination.

The point of all of this is that we can control more of how we feel in our day to day lives that we might think. We all have to make choices everyday day in day out. Making positive choices is required hard work in order to positively impact our lives.

If there is one thing that I know, I know that the impact upon my life of choosing recovery, choosing to improve the quality of my life and choosing to experience daily wellness, has left me a happier, more content and infinitely healthier person.

I know that I have a lot of potential, as does every person in this room. I want to not only reach my potential, I instead want to go further than I could ever dream.

If someone told me five years ago that today I would be a healthy, successful and generally happy person, I would tell that person that was an absurd and completely foolish thought.

Well, as it turns out, I am healthy, I am successful and I am generally happy so two points for me!

I love life, I try my best at everything I do and I try to make the best choices possible in order to be healthy, successful and generally happy.

Victory is mine.

My Guest Column in Maximumrocknroll #340

It was not so long ago that I was unable to effectively take care of myself. My life was a waste and had very little value. I was alienated, alone and miserable and I acted in ways that clearly exemplified how sick I was. No one spoke up to help me make things better. I had a chronic problem and no effective help or guidance, least of all from the punk scene.  Life for me was hell and I wanted to be dead.

Many people found it easier to simply label me as “crazy” instead of putting in the time and effort to see deeper into who I was. I was forced to face the brunt of several extremely manipulative people who did and said some atrociously shameful things. This is something that unfortunately happens to people who have the mental health condition that I live with. It is a victimization perpetuated by friendly villains who are wholly supported by people who somehow like to eat the shit of these friends of theirs and apparently like the taste. It is strange the degree that people acquiesce when such tyrannical abuse is occurring. Well, I have seen this happen many times and not just to me. It is strange when there are so many people whom you otherwise think highly of who willingly allow themselves to be played in a game that they have no idea is being played.

Having a mental illness is something that society will judge you for. I have certainly been judged all throughout my life and in the punk scene. I was so despicably subjugated by my parents and by the mental health system for many years some time ago.  My parents decided a long time ago that I was never going to get better, that I was their sick son who was going to be a burden on them for their entire lives. Interestingly, now that my parents are both suffering from mental illness and since I have severely limited my contact with them from minimal to almost none, I am doing better and they are doing much worse.

In the punk scene, wow, it is so brutal to even think about this stigma that I am talking about in this column. I’ve had people who were supposed to be my friends pushing the notion that I was “crazy” and that everything I said was to be discredited and the only thing that people needed to know was that I was “crazy” and that no one else had any responsibility to take for their behavior ever. This is an interesting thing I am talking about here.  How can a person be 100% wrong about everything that had happened, about every experience and about every single thing that was said and done?  How on Earth could I have been so wrong about every single freakin’ thing and how could an entire community of people simply buy into the most manipulative slandering that intentionally discredited me as simply being “crazy”? This blows my mind. Does it not blow my readers minds?

Are people with mental illness to be treated simply as being useless and as having no value? Are we to be used as jesters at the beckon call of those who wish to degrade us for their own twisted ulterior motives? The answer should be no, of course not, however, unfortunately this happens all the time. How many people do you the reader know, who have a mental illness? How do you treat them? With respect and dignity or do treat them as fools and as someone to not take seriously? When you think about your friends and your family who deal with mental illness, how do interact with them? Do you turn your back or do you embrace and engage them? Have you done some of your own research to try and understand why a person may be acting a certain way? Have you spoken to that person and told them that you care about them and that you want them to be happy and that you know they are suffering? Did you treat them first as a person and then only second as a person with an illness?  These are questions that I wish most people that I have known in the punk scene in my city would have asked themselves over the years to better understand about who I was, why I was doing and saying the things that I was doing and saying and perhaps to show me some compassion, love and decency even if it seemed that due to my actions that I did not deserve it.

Of course, if someone is interested in knowing more about some obscure band from East Antarctica, they will be searching the internet for that information faster than I can say “say no to mental health stigma” and then sharing the information they find with their friends online and in person. Now, why are we not also seeking out information about mental illness and how we can better support our friends and family and yes, those people in the punk scene, like me, who suffer from a mental health condition? Don’t you think I am worthy of making the effort to better understand me? Have you considered what your relationship might be like with me today if you had been more informed about who I was, why I said and did the things that I did and perhaps if you knew that I was suffering to such an incredible degree and hated being the way I was wishing I could have made things better for myself? Now some of you have done a great job however many more have a great deal of work to do.

We scream about racism, sexism, classism, homophobia and so many other worthy issues in our society. Who here is screaming about discrimination to people with mental illness? Aren’t we worthy of being treated with dignity and respect and fairness? Yes? No?  I can tell you that I have suffered a great deal of discrimination as a person who has a mental health condition. Society does not like people like me. I am not normal, whatever normal is, I am not it. In the punk scene I’ve been labeled “crazy”. Actually, not just labeled, I was identified as “crazy” and mostly by people who either had something to gain by perpetuating this garbage, or more likely by innocent/ignorant people who are all just trying to carve themselves out a little bit of a good life in this world and who were sadly misdirected.

What I want is a little bit of liberty.   I want to no longer carry the label of “crazy”. I want to no longer feel discredited for being a person who struggles when things in life get a little screwy. I want to feel like I am equal with my peers. I am speaking out very loud and clear here. Stigma against people with mental illness must stop! The punk scene must embrace the idea that treating people badly due to their having a mental health condition is discrimination. Stigma can be destroyed through becoming educated about mental illness. Stigma can be destroyed by communicating with and trying to understand those who are different than ourselves. When we alienate and push away people with conditions such as mine, we lose out on valuable life experiences and perspectives that can make our world a better place. It is time to embrace people who after being born with a disease that they did not want, still deserve to be treated with dignity and respect.

I challenge anyone reading this to contact me for any reason. I ask that any person who reads this that I may have harmed or done wrong to over the years to please contact me so I can take responsibility for myself and do my best to make amends.  If there are people out there who read this who know that it would be a wonderful thing to contact me to settle any issue that may have existed over the years then please do.  I assure you that I am very willing to make things right. I want to love more than I hate. I want to live more than I want to die. Please let us make a small difference in the life of a person who has struggled and let us not stigmatize that person, instead let us show our support.

My name is Craig Lewis and others know me by my nickname Crusty Craig. I have had a debilitating mental illness all of my life. Six years ago I found out by a complete and total fluke, that people with mental illness can get healthy. I truly had no idea that this could happen. This is called “Recovery”. I am currently in recovery and living a great life, all things considered, while also living with my symptoms. I am a success, it is amazing. I work as a mental health peer counselor and I help people just like me, learn how to better manage their symptoms, get some control over their lives and improve the quality of their lives so that they can be happier and healthier. I have received effective training, I am still in school and I use my wealth of lived experience from living with a mental illness to help people and beautifully, I do help people.  Thank you for reading. Thank you to MRR, I’ve been reading you since 1988.  Recovery is real.