Existing in Pain – Daily Rant 2 Days Late

July 15, 2011

Note: I wrote this on Friday but haven’t had the chance to post it. I’ll give you an update at the end.

Woke up way too early. Trouble breathing. Asthma? Then the stomach turned and I had to go. To the bathroom. Funny. I have no bath but I call it the bathroom. I went. Felt a little better.

Face hurt. A little at first. It always starts with a little. It got worse.

Trouble breathing. I was smoking. Maybe I smoke too much. Then the racing thoughts and the heart followed. I made coffee. Good for asthma. I heard. I heard a lot of things so I drank coffee and a lot of water with my 4 morning meds. The stomach and heart beating anxiety kicked in as I tried to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

I had to be somewhere to help a friend with a ride this morning. The meds were kicking in. I started to feel a little better as I got dressed and mapped the address of my friend. The breathing was like hyper ventilating. It came and went. It went when the pills kicked in. Pills. Have to take ‘em if I don’t want pain or anxiety. I did.

I got a text just as I was psyching myself up for a long ride. It was my friend’s boyfriend canceling the ride I was to give. The long trip. Over. Now I can stay home and try and relax. Or feel pain and anxiety.

It goes away eventually. Drugs kick in. Feel better. Wear off. Feel worse.

Need a nap. No nap. I guess the stress is up there. Anxiety.

Watched a couple of movies. Did a few tings on the internet. Hurt. Can’t breathe.

All over the place. God. Bad. Breathe freely. Breathe naturally. Breathe short and slow. Loss of breath. Chest pain. Face pain. It’s all running together.

I look up the symptoms and talk to friends that have similar conditions. They confirm that it’s just a panic attack. Combined with my face pain. It hurts.

Don’t want to complain. Complain. Complaints. Revealing my pain to you and everyone else is  . . .  like getting a mew therapist.

Just repeating my day out loud. No answers. Just venting.

Conclusions come after solutions after diagnosis. Am I sure it’s not just  another panic attack in a way I haven’t experienced.

Experienced. Weird pain. Something different.

Do I need a hospital or not?  Go to bed and sleep. Get up early tomorrow to do some work for my uncle.

Good. I’m falling asleep as I write this.

Note: Aftermath- I was hoping that a good night sleep would be the cure. It wasn’t. I woke up at 6:30 am with the deep breaths and panic for no reason. I was tired but that was normal. I drank less coffee and took my morning meds, More face pain. I took pain pills. Everything kicked in by the time I got to help my Uncle at cleaning offices. I was just tired from all of the pain and anxiety the day before. I made it through the work hours. Then I had to go home shower etc and pick up a model for a photography project. It was an all day event but now and then I felt the anxiety and shortness of breath but had to keep going and took anxiety meds. I got through the day and went to sleep early. Woke up today feeling a little bit of the breath thing and anxiety and it slowly went away and I helped my Uncle again and now I just feel emotionally hungover. Tired blah. I made it.


Writing

July 9, 2011

Writing. I write even when I’m not writing. I have so many stories, ideas, blogs and books written in my head and a small portion of them are half or a quarter written on paper. Not paper. In Word documents. Unfinished thoughts, ideas, blogs, stories and novels. A writer writes all of the time. I used t write the way I thought and spoke. Now I speak and think the way I write. Sometimes my actual thoughts and spoken words use correct grammar and syntax more so than when I write.

 

Not everyone is a writer but everyone has a story worth writing. Everyone could be a writer. I believe everyone should write. Don’t be afraid. It’s just putting words in front of each other. Write what is on your mind. Write what happened. There are no rules. Some say that there are rules and a proper way to write. Blah.. Fuck grammar, syntax, spelling, punctuation and big words. If you can’t be creative then don’t. Just say it.

 

We all have live a rich life. Not always happy. Not always miserable but something worth writing about. Some of us struggle with day to day living and survival and it’s worth writing about. Some of us are happy and enjoy life with occasional struggles worth writing about. Right?

 

A lot of my friend send me poetry and prose that the usually keep to themselves and sometimes even hide away. These pieces of writings are some of the best I’ve ever read. I’ve published a few on my wordpress site and they even got more readers than I get. So much

 

Of all of the arts I’ve tried and even excelled at, writing is my favorite. Something about seeing what’s in my mind on paper or on a document or blog makes me happy and fulfilled no matter how bad I feel or what the topic is. I have this innate desire to share my thoughts and feelings as often as possible online and I enjoy positive and negative feedback. I am self-absorbed and like to be in charge. Writing is perfect for my ego. It satisfies my need for instant gratification. It’s one thing I can do without depending on other people. Complete control.

 

Whenever I get involved with projects whether it’s art, music or business partnerships I am the only one that has my heart in it and the others tend to fade out. They have their own dreams and lives to live. I can’t expect people to blindly follow my dreams and goals. So I write. I write. I write.

 

I may never be a best selling novelist or celebrated poet but I have people that read what I write. People like you. You must want to red what I have to say of you wouldn’t be reading this now. I guess there’s the partnership. There is also the completion of my writing. Once you read it my writing becomes more than just self indulgent self absorbed ramblings It is a complete work of art.

 

I thank you for that. I thank you for making me who I am today; A writer.


A POEM: Solutions & Survival

July 4, 2011

Back to the up all night and no sleep routine. It’s an old act I developed in high school or was it college? Not a stand-up comedy routine. Could be at this point because if I don’t laugh I’ll cry.

 

Cry. Soft whimpering cries. Loud screaming cries.

 

No dies. Not yet.

 

Tired wired eyes. I doze off then wake up. I wake up I doze off.

 

I tried to eat my worries last night and I couldn’t keep them down.

 

I’m hungry then I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. What can I do?

 

My body rejects my denial and forces me to think. Think. Think

 

I slept earlier yesterday after a panic attack. Anxiety attack. Anxiety went into cruise control and got into an accident with my insides and outsides. I was inside. Inside.

 

I slept yesterday. It was a dream. Not the sleep. It was dream to sleep. The day before I slept. Slept early. Awoke early.

 

Productive. Creative. Happy. Happy.

 

Today and last night and some other nights the pains in my face drove me to a painkiller. Kill the pain. Kill pain.

 

Kills pain. I can’t sleep. Can’t sleep. I dream of sleep. Dream sleep.

 

Remember the night owl I once was? I wanted to be? Proud to be?

No worries.

 

Worries. Problems. Dilemmas. Solutions.

Solutions.  Think. Think man, think. A Solution. Solutions.

 

Solution? Not there yet. Not sure I’m anywhere yet. Had one or two or three or more. Solutions. Each solution is kicked out of the way by a bigger worry. Bigger problem. Bigger dilemma.

 

I cry. I laugh. I get outraged. I am sensitive. Sensitive artist. Bah.. Starving artist. Bah..

 

I go away for a minute. Two maybe three. Minutes. I am surrounded by love and sex and fantasies I make up as they float through my dreams.

 

I get home to an empty fridge and a coffee table cluttered with reminders of my worries. I scramble for solutions. I do what I can to solve the worries, problems and dilemmas.

 

Productive. Creative. Happy?

 

Not sure. Doubt. Hope. In between.

 

Go forward. Move ahead. Back to the taxi. Whip it.

 

Maybe I will. Whip it. Whip it good.

 

I win even If I lose.

I survive. Survive.

 


A Watched Pot Never Boils or Adventures in Model Photography

July 1, 2011

Patience.

Good things come for those who wait.

They say a watched pot never boils.

I say a watched cock never erects (that is a story for another time)

I’ve been trying to get this new website going for months. I don’t want to reveal too much about it until it’s up and running and maybe successful. I have an outline of the site and the name. The concept is there. I have tech guys ready to help when I am ready. I even bought a camera so I don’t have to depend on my photographer friends. The missing ingredients are photographs of models. I even have several friends that have either verbally or written interest and commitment to helping me out modeling. They love the concept and are perfect for the parts. None of them have followed through after several months until the other day.

When I came up with the idea of the site my friend was ready to go and partner up with me. I was a bit anti-social and didn’t take advantage when she was ready to go. Then it took me months to get a hold of her and set a date. Meanwhile, she switched boyfriends and the new one is jealous and got mad when I hung out with her a couple weeks ago. This guy is jealous with her every waking moment.

She was advised by others to model for me if she wants to and not to tell him. I prefer boyfriends, girlfriends, fiancés, wives and husbands to at least know and hopefully approve and support the model. We set up our first shoot anyway. I had to pick her up a block away from her apartment because she lives near friends of her boyfriends.

We did the location scouting on the fly and did the shoot gorilla style. We both liked that. A sense of adventure and not knowing what we were doing next. We knew what outfits but not the poses and places. We played in trash, fake blood, pantyhose, the woods and an out door fire pit. Just to give you the idea of adventure we had. We were done in a couple of hours and headed back to her place. Then another ball dropped. Her boyfriend called and said he was coming over in 20 minutes.

Of course I got lost driving her and dropped her off just in time to clean up. In the haste I handed her my bag instead of hers. She had my lap top, camera and other valuables that for some reason I thought I couldn’t leave without. She suggested I stay in the area and we’ll exchange bags when he leaves her house. I headed to a local bar to kill time. After an hour or so she texted me to tell me he’s spending the night and we’ll have to exchange in the morning. I tried to get her to figure a way out of the house and do the exchange. I eventually accepted that I’d have to go the 12 long hours without my precious lap top. I realized the insanity.

I decided to stay at the bar since I was already making one-night friends and the bartender was hot. She even gave me a free roast beef sandwich. One guy who has been playing in dart throwing leagues for over 30 years played a few games with me and taught me how to throw. He kicked my ass.

I went home, slept, got up and off I went to rescue my bag. I’m not sure I want to work wither as long as she has a jealous boyfriend. We’ll see how that goes.

Now the other models set up dates and times then can’t do it for whatever reasons. Each one is a legit reason but it’s been frustrating as hell. I’ve made it this far so I’ll keep trying until I have at least 3 or 4 models shot until I launch the site. See you then.


I Am . . .

June 29, 2011

I’m fucking riled up and irritated. Anxiety is creeping into my blood stream exploding in my brain and heart. Imaginary convulsions. Public anxiety. Private anxiety. What’s the difference?

 

I feel safe for a while then it happens all over again. One bad apple spoils the fucking tree. Fuck that apple and the tree and the branches and the roots. Fuck you too.

 

Question my capabilities. You threaten my art. You are nothing. What have you done? Who are you?

 

I am Rich Hillen Jr. I am an American artist. I am a dream. I am a nightmare. I am sick. I forget that sometimes. Why does it seem that people bring out the disease? Make it worse.

 

“Snap out of it.” “Force yourself to do it” “ Get over it” “Move on.” “Just do it” “Do this” Do that”

 

Fuck you.

 

I do what I can when I can the best I can and that’s all there is to it. You don’t like it then leave me the fuck alone. Go. Now.

 

I can’t take people’s opinions, advice, recommendations, suggestions, demands, orders or anything you have to say that doesn’t support what I am doing.

 

Look, you don’t know what it’s like to to be me. To be infected with several diseases. Inflicted for life. Like it or not.

 

Even with my problems, even with what you view as me being lazy or rebellious or whatever, I have done more than you can dream of. I’ve been a rock star, an artist, made more money than you, fucked more than you, lived, truly lived more than you ever will.

 

Through my inferiority I see that I am superior to you. I’m not going to let you destroy me.


A Little Off

June 27, 2011

I feel off today.

 

Off.

 

Not good.

 

Not bad.

 

Not in between.

 

Everything is fine.

 

Fine in my head.

 

Fine I can handle it fine.

 

Everything is still fucked up but salvageable.

 

I’m rockin’ n’ rollin’ n’ what not.

 

Ya know. A little here and a little there.

 

Still crazy.

 

Medicated.

 

Off.

 

Sleep. Eat. Shit.

 

The next thing you know I’m here.

 

I sit.

 

I feel off.  I sit.

Sit.

 

Off.

 

Feel.

 

Felt.

 

Over and over.

 

And over again.

 

Breathing is easy.

 

Eating is no problem.

 

Drinking is fine.

 

Fine.

 

I feel fine. Just a little off.

 

Off today.

 

I carry the weight of yours and his and hers and theirs.

 

On my shoulders.

 

Floating on my shoulders.

 

It’s easy.

 

Carrying you is easy.

 

It’s fine.

Fine.

 

Fun keeps following me and I keep shrugging it off.

 

Fun. Off.

 

I scrape the remaining fun off of my upper thigh.

 

I laugh.

 

I cry.

 

I smile.

 

Can I offer you something to lick?

 

How about a sugar cookie?

 

A goober?

 

Fun?

 

It’s over for a moment.

 

Swallow.

 

Swallow the fun that’s left in my mouth.

 

Don’t be afraid.

 

Afraid of me.

 

Afraid of off.

 

Off.

 

I’m off.


Dunn is Dead

June 27, 2011

I wasn’t going to write about him but I saw something the last week that I thought was interesting. Ryan Dunn died last Monday and apparently there are a lot of loyal fans of his and of the Jackass tv show and movies he’s been major part of. I think most people have heard about it by now. At least in my neck of the woods. I even ran into him once at the North Star Bar in Philly at a Hank Williams III show. My girlfriend at the time was creaming her jeans because she had a major crush on him. I’ve been a fan at a distant. I’ve seen all of the CKY videos Bam Margera made previous to Jackass. I’ve seen every episode of Jackass and the movies. I watched most of the Viva La Bam series until it got redundant.

 

I always admired the east coast and west coast crew of Jackass. They were doing what I couldn’t do. I wouldn’t do. I wanted to do. There was also a total trust and friendship that I admired. I never had that with friends growing up. Sure I did some mischief and drank way too much but it wasn’t the same.

 

Ryan Dunn stood out from the rest with his commitment to do anything for entertainment and his laid back personality. He’s been hurt many times. I’m sure he’s been near death many times in his 34 years of life.

 

I made the comment yesterday that it was too bad they didn’t get it on film. I meant no disrespect. If I was Ryan and well known for my wild stunts, partying and fast driving I wish it was on film if I died a tragic death while speeding possibly drunk and crashing my Porsche. Just seems right.

 

Roger Ebert was jumped on for saying “friends don’t let jackasses drive drunk.” He pissed off a lot of people and apologized the next day but wouldn’t retract the statement. He stood by it. It was meant to be serious and funny. I think he is right. How many distasteful jokes have we all made including the Jackass crew through the years.

 

I’ve been to many funerals in my life and I’ve joked and heard jokes about the deceased. We laughed because it’s part of therapy for some of us. It’s also the style of our humor. I joked about flushing my grandpop’s ashes down the toilet because that’s what he would have told us to do.  Would imagine that Ryan’s friends would make jokes too. Ryan was known for his sense of humor, dangerous stunts and partying. Roger Ebert is a bit of a jackass in my opinion but he said what he said and its just words.

 

The other thing I heard about were the number of people visiting the scene of the accident. There are a lot of people scavenging the scene taking parts of Ryan’s car to sell on Ebay. It was presented like it was a big deal and no one has done it before. It has been done before.

 

For years crime scenes and related items of famous and infamous people have been gathered, bought and sold. I personally have owned a piece of serial killer Ed Gein’s house, dirt from his grave and a piece of his grave stone. There used to be a lot of things like this sold on Ebay and I was just as guilty. I wonder who is sicker the one who makes a profit for it or the one that buys it. I’ve done both and don’t feel bad about it. I might not like it if it was my family that died that people are collecting and selling but it has become part of our culture and has been for years.

 

I figured I’d mention my thoughts on Ryan Dunn, Jackass, Ebert, stealing, buying and selling crime scene memorabilia etc.

 

I still throw out a big RIP for Ryan Dunn and prayers go out to his friends and family.


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