So I quit my job…

So it’s been sometime since my last post hahaha, mostly because my life has been fairly ordinary for a couple weeks. I’ve come to regard that as a red flag however, because when I grow stagnant I stop writing and let a very important part of my mind lie fallow. So first a funny story. Up until yesterday I was still working at the call center, but I finally couldn’t take it anymore. The promotion promised to me a little over a month ago was given to someone else on Friday, which on its own I could live with until I found another job, but yesterday when I came into work they’d made him my supervisor. The guy they gave me my job to, Justin, was a good friend of mine until recently. We lived together out at the Water House, and knew each other fairly well. Even this, I told myself, I could live with just a little bit longer. I read books for most of my day, and no matter what’s bugging me I can handle it so long as I can read. On Tuesday I took a day of paid time off after writing the poem I’ll be posting below, to cool my jets and save up a little serenity to come back in Wednesday with. All my serenity lasted me about two and a half hours, but I still had my book right? So I could still deal with the job, right? Then Justin looked over at me and said, “Sam, Sam!… I need you to put your book away.” I set the book down and took some deep breaths. I tried to pray but couldn’t seem to get it out, so I grabbed my vaporizer and went to the bathroom to pray. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (the people in this office and the way I’m being treated), the courage to change the things I can (whether or not I continue to work for these people), and the wisdom to know the difference. I walked back into the office and quietly packed my things. I discreetly clocked out, and patted the new guy I was training on the back and told him good luck. I walked up to my boss at his desk and said, “Spencer… I quit.” And I walked out. I immediately felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest and felt some of the excitement for life and its endless possibilities flood back into my brain. I’m looking hard for another job, but I expect I’ll be doing a lot more writing in the meantime.

This poem I wrote on Monday after my boss nearly made me snap. I was fuming and about to give myself up to rage, but after the first stanza I was smiling and cackling and treating him politely in an extremely facetious manner.

Spencer’s Misstep

There it was, the last sleight he’d ever make,

I rise from my seat with not a tremble or a shake,

I pull my blade from its place, sharper than death,

I watch him gasping for air, fear on his breath,

I walk casually forward as he’s frozen in place,

I slide the blade down my palm and wipe the blood on his face,

My hand finds his throat so as to silence his cries,

I pull him down on the desk and take the first of his eyes,

He struggles and screams but his limbs have grown weak,

I drag the blade out the socket to pluck the rose from his cheek,

My knife finds his throat as he ceases to fight,

With a smile and a slash I have ended his life,

With excitement and glee I raise the knife to my lips,

To taste of the blood he must surely have missed,

His eyes wide and staring with no hint of a spark,

I chuckle to think that I scarce showed my dark,


Moving On

So after two and a half months I left the serene Water house to move into the city. A lot has happened since my manic mood swing last week. First and foremost, I have been asked to move into one of the nicer city houses as house manager. I won’t be headed there for another 13 days, but I needed to move into the city asap or lose my way to get to work. So last night I packed up my things and headed for the ghetto, where I’m temporarily living in another recovery house. I already know where I can score heroin within a block of this house but it doesn’t really bother me. If I wanted to get high I would get high, but I don’t so I don’t. So far I’ve gone out for coffee twice, went for a nice long hike in a massive park area not far from me, and have made plans to explore an equally massive cemetery right across from the house I’m living in now. I’m also working on getting involved with a poetry group in Lancaster. In short, things are pretty good right now. I wrote this poem the other day at work. It flowed out of me in 14 syllable lines and flawless iambic pentameter over the course of like a half an hour. Very happy with it.


Some days I find that I must write of death and suicide,

Or else instead I’ll soon be dead and wishing I had tried,

To get that demon out of me by any means I could,

To stop that madness in its tracks and kill it where it stood,

The things I write of black and blight are not so dark you see,

But vessels I create to keep the darkness out of me,

Awake at Last

So last night I found myself in a peculiar spot. Although everything in my new life is conspiring in my favor, I realized I still felt completely empty inside. I found my self saying to a friend that I felt like I was always trying to come up with little things I could change so I could maybe feel okay on the inside. After a short bout of elevated moods and self-confidence, my consciousness leveled out and began to invite in that quiet anxiety I wanted so badly to have left behind. Slowly but surely I found myself silently terrified at meetings, cigarette breaks at work, and any other situation where  someone might find a reason to make eye-contact with me. So last night I decided to give one last change the old college try, despite the fact that it amounted to pure and simple insanity because I’d tried time and time again and always found myself close to suicide and broken. I decided to not take my anti-psychotics. Oh what I night I had. I haven’t slept yet, but I can tell you it’s going to be a beautiful day.


Tonight I play high-stakes, I don’t know to what end,

Desperate to awaken, I’ll dance with madness again,

Anything is better than this waking dream I live in,

So I sacrifice this bitter pill, and pray that I’ll be given,

Back the spark of mania that made me thirst for life,

That gave me hope in the darkness that someday I might,

Know this love beyond love in the truth of my heart,

And know myself better for the time we spent apart,

For all this time I’ve spent dwelling in doubt and in fear,

Some part of me knew that the rest was not here,

But far away waiting for the threshold to break,

The moment when at last, I’d be truly awake,

I just had this sudden feeling last night that I knew what was missing, and that it was me. Somehow I just didn’t have the courage to commit to this new life of mine, not fully. I was too afraid, too anxious, too doubtful. What a fantastic thing to happen. Praise God, I’m back at last.

Still Kicking

So I haven’t posted in ages here, I’ve been doing well, but not putting aside a lot of time for writing. I spent a little time yesterday writing and rereading all my poems and I’m gonna try to make more time for that. So just an update, I’m getting a promotion at work very soon. That’s right, I will now be running my very own gang of drug addict telemarketers! Exciting, right? Anyway I’ll post more about my life later in the week. For now here’s my latest poem, I was kinda finally able to capture that elusive anxious feeling that’s stuck with me for so long.

Anxiety Attack

I’m walking down the hallway where anxiety creeps,

Where fear reigns king as honesty sleeps,

The truth is irrelevant here where the lines begin to blur,

Between reality and fantasy where nothing is sure,

I’m afraid to go forward but there’s no way to go back,

I’ve had one too many thoughts to cancel this attack,

So I begin and keep my head down, resigned to my fate,

And pray that no one notices, if they do it’s too late,

They wouldn’t let me go, they’d tie me down or lock me up,

If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that there’s no one I can trust,

No, I can’t talk to anyone about this, they would never understand,

To speak the truth of this feeling would be more than I could stand,

So I bide my time until I can make it to my bed,

Where I swallow that most bitter of pills that quiets my head,

As I lay there and wait for the voices to stop,

I think to myself that I do this a lot,

The Embrace of Silence

More and more lately I’m discovering I’m a quiet and possibly awkward guy. This has been been causing me a great deal of distress, because I didn’t used to be quiet. I used to be quite loud and fun, running around being everyone’s friend, cracking jokes, and always knowing what to say. It occurs to me however, that until quite recently, I spent a great deal of my time on a great deal of drugs.Now with my brain truly unfiltered, I’m getting my first true glimpse of who I am, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that there’s nothing wrong, this is just my existence now. I rarely know what to talk about around other people now, and I often find myself suffocating in the awkward silence that I always seem to find myself trapped in. The past day or two I’ve wondered frequently whether this awkwardness and silence is really something bad, a symptom of a more sinister problem. I’m beginning to think that is not the case.

The Embrace of Silence

Enjoy this silence, don’t examine it too much,

You’ll mar its beauty with your human lust,

For meaning, for answers, for cause and effect,

This silence is just silence, and it’s not yours to wreck,

There’s no need for it to break, nothing needed to be said,

Clothe yourself in its void and let it envelope your head,

There is peace in this quiet, there is joy in the night,

There is safety in the darkness when at last you cease to fight,

If you can end for a second you mental dissection,

You’ll experience true freedom and observe true perfection,

When you make friends with the silence and an ally of the dark,

There’ll be quiet in your head and peace in your heart.

A Question of Time

So last night, having been struck by a case of the crazies, I went downstairs into the basement and found a dark corner where no one would see me even if they came downstairs. I sat there and waited in good faith for the anti-psychotics to kick in, but after a period I felt the need to do something so I started writing for the first time in a couple weeks. Praise God I started to feel better long before my meds decided to kick in.

A Question of Time

The inevitable tick-tock of the universes time clock ticks on despite my protests lest it spare me even a moment in which to catch my breath. So I sit in a basement on a hill, trapped against my will with time to kill. As I ponder wrong from right I realize that not all of me can survive tonight. So much of me is too sick to fight so which am I? Do I run and take flight or remain here and die? As the seconds tick by to my surprise I wonder calmly whether the question of intention ever enters the equation or just passively looks on in fear and trepidation. I didn’t intend to want to die, really I didn’t, and now faced with suicide I find I’m crying out for life. So which is it? Do I want to live or don’t I? All these periodic breakdowns have only served to show my doubts and fears that I hold so dear have never been my friend. They’ve kept me here and brought me near to nothing but the end. So here and now I lay them down, I don’t need them anymore. I’m starting my new life today, more excited than before.

Didn’t cringe even a little bit :)

So I haven’t posted here in like a week, mostly because I’ve had some crazy writers block, but even more so because I had a lot to work out internally. I’ve been suffering a lot in my new life because my entire life I have cared so much about what people think about me. So much so that my perception of myself was governed by the perceptions of other people, or at least what I perceived them to be. All of a sudden I’m in this brand new place where nobody knows me, and being myself has become very ambiguous. It’s been very uncomfortable up until the last day or two, but I’m finally starting to accept that I get to decide more and more of who I am every day.

Today I looked in the mirror and actually smiled at myself. I didn’t cringe even a little bit! I posted something to that effect on Facebook and was practically overcome with positive feedback and love from some very dear friends who know my struggles and support me. Everything about my life today is beautiful and perfect.

A lot of my positive outlook may be coming from the fact that I finally finished my fourth step today. For those unfamiliar with the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, step four is: We took a searching and fearless moral inventory. For most people, this is a rather intimidating step. My first run at step four triggered an acid flashback accompanied by a panic attack and ending with me laying on the ground in the fetal position hugging myself. Today I just wrote it out, and it was relatively simple and showed some very clear patterns in my behaviors and fears. Nearly all of my fears show that I have startlingly low self-confidence.

Tonight after making a meeting out in York where I heard a fantastic speaker, I went bowling with a couple friends from the recovery house I live in. Bowling! Like how normal is that? Anyway I still haven’t written anything new, but I have a whole lot stewing in my brain for the coming days. This one I wrote in rehab on day one of a manic mood swing. Someone was whistling I’ve got a golden ticket from Willy Wonka and it got stuck in my head and became the theme for a remarkable day. Somehow it feels terribly appropriate.

Golden Ticket

I’ve got a golden ticket,

I’m sitting here smiling,

right in the thick of it,

Laughing at the Irony,

My outlook is fixed,

Every minute another win,

I’m only playing for the kicks,

How could I have ignored this ecstasy,

Neglected the joy right next to me,

So much relief as I sigh,

Just so happy to be alive,

So many things to be done,

So many miles to be run,

So many smiles to be won,

Think I’ll overachieve just for fun,

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