The Letter R

Day 12 – Outer Rig Line Up

My Lovely,

Today I sought words that could explain how I feel when I see your picture. As I have mentioned before, I only have the R section of an old encyclopedia.  If I had a dictionary, I am sure this would be easier. I happened across the word reborn which means being birthed again as an act of cleansing or faith. Each time I wake on the rig I know I am alone. I see your picture above my bunk and my devotion to you is reborn. Your beauty washes over me, and I am clean once more.

I close this note with a vigor reborn by love. I count the days till my hitch is up, and I can leave this place.

Always in love,

Rinn

Day 38 – Drum Collection B

My Lovely,

Today's word is robotic. The book has a very long description of the term. For me, I know that everything I do here is robotic in nature. No creative thought. No alteration of designated tasks. Every action is so coldly mechanical in shape and form. I am not a robot, but here in this place my acts are robotic, and I hate it as much as I love you.

These letters are the only task that gives me a reason to feel human. I count my breaths as I write them. On average I take 83 breathes during the time I write to you. Every one of those breaths is filled love for you. I know it is just my imagination, but there are times I smell strawberries as I write. The red of your hair and sun on your skin must be like strawberries. I hope this does not impose too much upon you. I know, as my mind knows that a beauty like yours must smell of strawberries. I long to kiss your lips to taste of the wild growth in that endless field.

Always in love,

Rinn

Day 42 – Chemical Collection

My Lovely,

Today is a rough one. Hence, that is my word for the day. I have been scrubbing the inside of the tanks. Doing this, I must wear a full HAZMAT suit. The air is stale and wet in my mask. The suit cannot be ventilated, so the heat just builds as the sweat rolls off of me. It is rough and required. If I forget to complete this task, there will be an overfill, and I will die due to seepage. I want nothing more than to remove this suit and lay with you in the open air. Feeling the wind lick at the exposed areas of skin. The light steps of your fingers upon my chest as I breathe. Your hair draped around your face hung over me like a shade. Everything fresh, clean, and free. With you I am free.

Always in love,

Rinn

Day 101 – Sewage Pools

My Lovely,

I regret to inform you that I lost my pen. It is okay though I have found an alternative. Something crawled out of the pools today. It looked like a lizard but moved like a spider. I killed it and am now using the black blood it bled as ink. I also regret a hardship you may have in reading this letter, as I had to use an old drill bit for a pen. I will keep writing as long as the blood is liquid.

Always in love,

Rinn

Day 113 – Crew Quarters

I am stupid and reckless in my love for you. I did not follow company protocol for mail delivery. I now sit with every letter I have written you with no way of sending them. Maybe I could send them once I am back Earthside. Mail them out one by one every day so that you could receive them as if I had sent them from the refinery. I will be by your side as you read them so I could explain any confusion you might have. Though the point of writing these letters was to keep me sane knowing that a piece of my consciousness was with you.

I am so close to being with you. I am so close to ending my time here. I am so close to holding you in my arms feeling your heart beat with mine knowing my aloneness was nothing but the moments between those beats.

Always in love, 

Rinn

Day 120 – Earth, Living Zone 12 – Apartment 3B

Dear Miss Gaverly,

I am writing you this message to conclude case number X45-75. As you mentioned in your halo message, you had no prior knowledge/ engagement with employee Trusal Rinn. However, according to his final will all of his belongings were to be delivered to you upon his death. Included in this package are his last paycheck (after loss deductions), a single picture of yourself, and a collection of correspondence written by Mr. Rinn to you.

The case is now closed and or business is concluded. We will not seek loss of revenue against you as Mr., Rinn’s slacked work efficacy, and eventual death was apparently due to his obsession with you.

Sincerely,

L. K Harper, CFO Star Refinery Corporation

Day 1 – Living Room

Dear Rinn,

I finished reading the last of your letters. Who were you? The picture you held so dearly was taken as an encyclopedia stock photo. No matter my questions, it now hurts when I breathe. The love you thought you had for me in that horribly empty place. The longing you held to be with me. The sorrow in each word you wrote about me. I find it too much to bear. You seemed beautiful and imaginative and caring. If only you were here beside me to answer the unknown.

I am sorry, and I love you for it. Wherever your spirit is may it find peace in knowing I received these letters. Rest now, you are free.

Loving you after always,

Gwen

Show and Escape

“Did you bring it?” said Chuck. His face bright eyed and nervous Chuck towering over the boy in front of him. His excitement was palpable awaiting the illicit contraband.

            “Yeah I got it, back off man!” said Alvin pushing Chuck away. “Did you bring yours? Did you bring what you were supposed to? Because if you didn’t, we have a real big problem.”

            “Al! Come on you know I got it. I always come through for you. You on the other hand have the issue remembering.  Besides, if you forgot yours, mine won’t even matter.”

            The two boys argued back and forth over whom had forgotten what. Other children trailing hats and gloves ignored them as they spilled into the classroom of Sunshine Daycare Center. The brightly colored room filled with many face and bodies. They happily placed items into cubbies exchanging hellos filled with excitement. Al and Chuck’s entire argument had gone unnoticed while the room became more vocal with tiny voices. As Ms. Torrance watch she knew this was going to be a wonderful start to the year.

            Ms. Torrance stood and nodded to Harry, her teaching assistant. This was the signal to flicker the lights and close the door. Every child immediately stopped and turned to face Ms. Torrance. Al and Chuck hastily ran to their cubbies stuffing their belongings away. The last thing needed was drawing attention to their actions. They took their places behind their desks, waiting for Ms. Torrance to begin.

            “Good morning class, “ said Ms. Torrance.

            “Good morning Ms. Torrance,” twenty small voices answered in chorus.

            “Go ahead and take your seats,” said Ms. Torrance. She counted in her head the children sitting before her. She made a mental record of the children in attendance. It was this first count she would use as a checklist anytime a child entered or exited the classroom.

“There should always be twenty,” thought Ms. Torrance. “We’re going to start this morning with show and tell. Does anyone have anything exciting to share from their summer?”

            Two hands immediately shot up. Both Al and Chuck leap almost loose from their seats.

            “Alvin and Chuck which one of you boys would like to go first?”

            “We want to go at the same time,” Chuck and Al answered.

            “Curious,” thought Ms. Torrance. “Okay...? Are you sure boys?  You can each go right after one another.”

            “No we really need to go together,” said Al.

            “Yeah we really, really need to go together. Our stuff won’t be good if it’s not together,” said Chuck.

            “Well, alright then boys. Come on up and share what you brought.”

            Al and Chuck rushed to their cubbies to grab their bags. They moved like the wind from one side of the room to the very front.

            “My Dad got a new hobby this summer,” said Al.  He reached into his bag removing a cylindrical shaped item. It was brown etched with lines on all sides. “Here, my Dad calls this his ‘mellow out buddy’.”

            Ms. Torrance took a hard look at the item. A word rushed into her head, CIGAR! “Oh Alvin that is a very adult toy you have there, can you give it here please?”

            “But why? It’s not even lit up yet. I was going to do that next,” said Al, reaching into his pocket to fetch the lighter.

            “OH NO, there is no need for that Alvin,” said Ms. Torrance. She leaned across the desk; hand out attempting to snatch the cigar away. Just inches away as Chuck jumped forward with his item in hand.

            “Annnnnnnnnnnd here is what Al’s Dad uses to hide it from his Mom,” said Chuck. His small hand held a glass bottle. Chuck depressed the gold nozzle at the top. The room was suddenly filled with the pungent odor of cheap brute cologne.

            Eighteen small noses snubbed back in revulsion. They began to cough and wheeze. Cries and the cologne filled every corner of the classroom. That is when mass hysteria read about it medical journals took hold. Tiny bodies fled their desks streaming into the aisles. Chairs were thrown everywhere as Chuck and Al rushed to cover their mouths and noses. All the while Chuck continued to rapidly depress the nozzle.

            “Harry! Open the door, everyone line up FIRE DRILL!”

            Forty-four feet lined up straight, and rushed forth from the room, away from the cologne. Al and Chuck made sure to be at the end of the line. They knew that Harry would ignore them while the girls were in distress. He was one of those “rush in on a white steed” kind of heroes. The line of children between the two teachers ushered themselves down the empty hallway. All looking forward to the promise of fresh air.

            Ms. Torrance who was allergic to such cologne could barely walk as her eyes swelled and filled with tears. As she stood and held open the door she was too distracted to recall her earlier run of counting to twenty. This miscount allowed for both Al and Chuck to step free the line and rush toward the far end of the playground.

            Both boys raced as far as they could before stopping to take a breath. They hugged and high fived each other, their plan had finally worked.

            “Freedom,” said Al.

            “Freedom,” said Chuck.

            “Freedom?” said Ms. Torrance.

            Half way across town a woman would claim she heard the sound of glasses breaking in her sink. What she did not know was that it was not glass that had broken but the hope and hearts of two small boys.

            “Good plan boys. Just not good enough,” said Ms. Torrance. She pointed sternly to the line of students standing by the entrance. “Now get!”

            The boys obeyed. They moved awkwardly, shoulders heavy, heads to the ground,  feet laden with sorrow. As they approached their classmates, cheers and accolades welcomed them. They were heroes. They were legends. They would try again tomorrow.

Captain, my captain...

This is a personal note for those that either need to read what I am writing or for my own understanding. My intention is to be open with my own understandings. I am in no way commenting on the overall and general understanding of mental health or human suffering. I hope that what I give here is understood as it is intended. 

Recently the whole of the entertainment and American public were shocked to hear of the death of Robin Williams. I like many were shocked to hear that such a wonderfully talented actor was no longer on the living plane. I immediately when to the internet for answers finding that his death was suspected and then confirmed as a suicide. I was even more shocked and heartbroken to learn that his actions were a result of a lifelong fight against depression. I asked, what could a man so funny be so depressed about to seek silence in such a way? I also asked, is this the cost of the line light? Do all the greats die young burnt out from flames fueled by passion and heart? Is there hope for those of us that have talent but have yet to be struck by a spotlight? I was flooded by the questions of hope in such a dark ending. Then I remembered the scenes from Dead Poet’s Society, The World According to Garp, and my favorite scene from Good Will Hunting. Matt Damon is making fun of Robin Williams’s deceased wife, Matt laughs making obscene comments about a picture she painted. Williams suddenly lunges at Damon pushing him against the wall. Damon is shocked as quiet rage rolls off of Williams’ face. Williams says in a low and direct voice, “If you ever say anything about my wife again I will fucking end you.” Right there, like myself, movie goers were thrown off their seats with one comment from a man who used to stand on his head saying, “Nanu Nanu.” I wondered where Williams had gotten his understanding of loss so great that it leap from the screen and shook the audience awake. Now it would seem that this scene for Williams may have not been acting, it may have been how he felt every moment for a very long time. I much like the proverbial hero looked deep into the void and found that it was looking just as deeply back into me. I understood what Williams was saying in that scene, I understood the loss, and now I can understand that for him life was more battle than banter. The point I make here is that we all have demons deep in our hearts, the question is do we fight them free them or give in to them? Why the loss and struggle of a funny man speaks so fervently to me is because I am afraid at times that like Robin Williams I may seek silence rather than die alone screaming in the darkness. 
The reason why it is relevant is that in my own wonderings I too have almost given in. For the last seven years I have been in active consoling. I attend both private and group sessions at The White Raven Center in Anchorage Alaska. It is through the good work and guidance of the facilitators Marianne, Floyd, Cathy, Toby, Rebecca and others that I am still here. Not that I was at any point ready to go quietly into that good night, I was moreover always there on the edge looking out over the void. Some might say that I have not had reason to be so morbidly depressed or suicidal. Some might say that their struggle is harder than mine so I should man up. Other still would say that we all have issues so keep calm and carry on (I loath that phrase not for its meaning but more of its usage). I say to that from an earlier and angrier voice, “GO FIRETRUCK YOURSELVES!” Now that I have had lots of time to heal I can say openly to those that question my journey “Go and help yourself. I will if I can be there to witness your healing and support you as you need in doing it. You have all the weapons you need to battle the darkness inside, now you only need to choose to fight. 
In my own life I have a father who ditched me before I was born. I was born with a disease that made me, in the eyes of others, weak and broken. I have family members that chose to “check out” of life rather than live it. I have a mother that married a man who tried to drown me in a pool. She then chose to flee that marriage only to choose to give me up as her son to try and make a life with that same man. I was married at a young age to a woman who was the only reason I graduated High School. I fathered a child with the love of my life, and I lost both of them in the blink of an eye to the idiocy of a drunk driver. I was blamed for their deaths because I missed a phone call. I was (and still am) outcast from everyone that I thought loved me and supported me. I stood for ten years alone in the dark, screaming, waiting for death to get it over with. I have walked calm into that good night, but I have raged internally against the dying of a light I could care less about. I did what I thought a man was supposed to do, suck it up and keep it all on the inside. I can now say that even though I had my head above water I rarely remembered to breath. Until I made the choice to come back into life I was lost. I can see the old me standing angry and alone cutting into his soul just as he cut into his flesh over a hundred times. I carry those scars upon me, but they do not make me what I am. 
Now that I have complied the outline for madness which I have lived I can better offer the point. No one needs to stay silent, or calm, or strong, or nice, or proper, or anything if they don’t need to. Robin Williams kept his struggle silent and internal. He chose to leave the world instead of continue to live in it. He may have been able to come back from the void if he had felt validated in choosing to live with the support of others. Who is to say that he didn’t; I am noting that is still not okay in today’s society to broken. Broken meaning that you don’t want to live, or get out of bed, or stop crying, or stop punching the wall. Broken as in unable to remember those parts of yourself that broke off because it was too much to carry on. The soul parts shattered from your core so that you could keep walking forward without pain. Broken as in you can remember what it is to be not broken. Broken as I was, broken as in moments I can remember where I too longed for to be over. Being broken is not the issue, the issue is that bring open about being broken is something best left alone in the dark. And to all of that I say again, “FIRETRUCK THAT!” 
There is no need for people feel bad over wanted help. There is nothing wrong with having issues if you openly look for the opportunity to resolve them. We are human so there is no reason to feel bad or guilty in needing people to be humane. There is no reason to be alone in the dark because you do not want to burden anyone else. Your silence is not golden, your madness is not rude, your struggle is does not lack merit, your heart does not need to beat alone. As I write this I am worked up slightly because of how important I feel this is to everyone. The point, behind my ranting, is that no one need go alone, its dangerous out there take this, my (anyone’s) hand. I cannot fix it, but in the least I can listen to it and walk with you as you battle it. Again, you have all the weapons you need, now fight, and know that your need not fight alone. 
I am sad with the loss of the person and the talent of Robin Williams. I am sadder that he went alone into the night. I am even sadder that he is not alone in the struggle that claimed him. I hope that even with the loss we can see that there is no point to it for anyone else. If you need to be heard speak up and someone will listen, I did. 

A Deadman's Wish

How soft the river bed is 

gently lapping upon my feet. 

Time is lost as I look downstream

eyes open unblinking

How many days?

How many hours?

Has it only been a moment? 

Am I too lost in beauty to know 

the length of time I have laid here.  

Nothing moves here but nature 

wind through the leaves

water racing beside each bank

light into shadow and back again it turns.

My body needs no more

stimulus to drive it from its seat

It is good to rest old bones

it is peaceful to settle old flesh. 

So nice are these times

no hunting to madden my heart 

no screaming to fury my soul 

no sorrowful laments silent in my mind.

Gods please make this steady

make this constant a river flows.

Let my dead stay dead

let my soul be at rest. 

Cover me with silt to nourish the ground

for generations that still have yet been born.

Make me a stream 

rushing willingly to my end.

I am tired 

I am hungry 

most of all I am willing to find

my peace after death.

I would cry if I could. 

Weep to show my intent 

But my eyes are dry as is my flesh 

all but my feet.

As I sit without time beside my river 

rushing for the ocean 

to take it home.

What pieces of me become part of it 

I hope will be happy knowing 

I wish for all of me to be home as well. 

A Deadman's Lament

I am no longer aware of when

it was the first time I went mad. 

My memory has failed

just as my heart lost faith in everything. 

All I know is that my world is silence

in the void of what I once was.

I recall here and there

the happy of what was lived

in memory shared with or about others

before the darkness took its first bite. 

Do all of the others feel as I 

in their hunt for something great

could each also know 

the similarities of the emotion I long for. 

For them I hope not

because for me it’s lonely here

locked in the darkness of my mind. 

Everything is on automatic 

reacting only to outside stimulus 

like heat, motion, taste, and sound. 

All the while I sit watching

banging ethereal fists against my prison. 

Walls hard and course like stone

but alive and present like water without air.

Hunger, is a word both my body

and my mind understand. 

They sit across from each other at that table 

drinking from the same cup. 

The senses catch another impulse 

and my body begins to move.

Slow feet being their trod 

toward a glory known only as yearning

My body smells the fear

my belly rumbles at the sweat 

my mind screams, “oh god, no more, please run, not another, not yet.”

They are rabbits cowering with fright

my body responds to instinct. 

I become more than just imagined fears

more than the boggy man lurking clothes at night.

The look on their faces says horror

the taste of their flesh sings divine. 

Pastiche of Yusef Komunyakaa' "My Father's Love Letters"

Little Things by Jeff Lee 

She swings her feet freely back and forth.      

Small white shoes polished to shine.                   

Catching the moon’s full luminous glow reflecting white on white.

 As she swings she also sings                               

a tune of mice and clocks                                   

running hickory dickery then stop.                   

In her ignorance is innocence                             

Knowing nothing of what has happened         

or anything of the great beyond to come        

My job is to tell                                                     

her what will befall her next                                

on her road to salvation.                                         

A shepherd one traveler called me,                       

the great and mighty decider some used,          

soulless bastard cried another.                       

They all cried, screamed, and pleaded.               

It is their nature                                 

to want more   

of the life they had lived  

no matter how full or empty                             

they want more.                                                    

Her head turns in my direction                            

eyes a pale blue                                                       

“Hi, why are                                                            

your clothes so black and smoky?”                      

She does not know me                                               

I am just another person to her                      

a stranger on the street.                  

“Clothes are as they need to be”                   

“Your dress is pretty”                                               

“Mommy made it for me,                                     

she cried on it though.”                                                 

“Can I go home now, please?”                              

My job only allows me a                

purpose, never a choice or favor                        

I am death, even when it hurts.    

Original Poem: http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/poems/komunyakaa/my_father's_love_letters.php

(I only matched the word count from each line)