I see the journey, the path I have taken like the wake of a great ship.
I thought a lot about that statement above before I committed it to paper. After all this is a sort of memoirs for me to process a journey into blindness that still leaves me with the question of why God hates me so much, why me. I am tired, so tired. I am tired of fighting it, especially alone. The saddest part of my life is having to reconcile the fact that not a single person cares about me. My life is all blurriness. I go weeks without talking to a single person and I am more and more isolated every week. It is that more than anything exhausting me. Even writing this blog there is the certain knowledge that less than five people if any will actually read it. For the last six weeks or so there is a cruel God like pattern that someone out of the blue will ask to come get me and then back out. It has happened at least once every week for the past six weeks. In the future I will just say no to anyone who asks because the rejection hurts so much. What I want is to fall asleep and not wake up. I know God has a special place in hell for me but it will be exactly like life is now isolation and loneliness for eternity. If I had access to really good drugs I would probably. The only things keeping me from this is that certain knowledge that no one would know or notice and that means that my dog would end up dying from dehydration or starvation. I could never do that to her and right now she is the only one I talk to, the only thing that gives me any confort. There are also the words of my mother who is still the voice in my head that no matter what you just keep going. I don’t even feel depressed, I am eating, showering, swimming and sleeping. It is just bone crushing loneliness. Sometimes you just need someone to love and care about you, to make an effort for your benefit to be more than a joke or an afterthought but there is that fucking magnifying glass. Loneliness and isolation are exhausting. I am so tired but I will persevere. I will find a way.
Corey was one of several kids that came to the hospital during the crisis months where every day I feared that I would get injured or die. The hospital was a scary place, like some weird war zone where the combatants were all kids. Corey was a big African American kid. He was one of a few kids that others did not pick fights with because he could seriously handle himself. You could look at Corey and understand how some kids just didn’t have a chance but to be street kids. He didn’t look like much to me or anyone else. There was something burning though inside of him. It took me a while to see it. It started through something simple. We started playing basketball with the kids in the big gym that we had. It helped burn off a lot of aggression and it became a privilege that you had to earn. I will say that I played a lot of basketball from the time I finished playing football my senior year in high school. During my college days I played as much as eight hours a day and I made a lot of contacts working with kids all over so I could and would play anywhere even the worst neighborhoods. I knew someone everywhere.
Corey used to ask me what I was reading because I always had a book. We started talking about books and he asked me about Black History which happened to be something I had read a lot on and so we talked a lot about Freedom Summer, Martin Luther King Jr., SNCC, Core and the Black Panthers. I gave him my copy of Malcolm X. We spent at least a half hour on each of my shifts talking about history about his cultural history. Corey asked if I would take him on an outing and I got permission shortly before he went back to Indiana, in fact he already knew the date he was leaving. Corey and I went to three places that day, the first to a really good barbershop because he needed a haircut bad, the second to a friend of mine’s house whose mother cooked us lunch. She loved Corey and hugged him which is something he needed. Finally we went to see the Malcolm X movie that was showing in theaters. When I took him back he thanked me for the best day ever. The day he left he asked that I not be there and said his goodbye the night before, tough as always shaking my hand and thanking me for everything.
Corey is one of many that I don’t know what happened to them later. I like it that way because it allows me to think the best of them. I would like to think he is still burning inside still seeking knowledge.