Thursday, January 6, 2011


  Have you ever wanted to die? Well, maybe that is the wrong question. Have you come to a point in your life that you said, "This is it! Death is upon me and I don't give a crap."
  Someone stabs you and you think, "Well anyways life was good, what's next, I think I'm done here."
  The old and the infirm are encouraged by doctors to take out a DNR order. That means Do Not Resuscitate. It also means if medical person goes against that order they could be fired from their job, lose their medical license and/or in some cases arrested.
  Because it shows that a patient has came to the conclusion that they are finished with the pain of this life and have take solace that next can‘t be all that bad. At least, compared to what they are going though in this life.
  Today, I had a pain in my chest on the way home from work. It was family related stress. It was the kind of stress that gets me every time. So what did I do? Nothing! Yes, it is like my own personal DNR. If death comes, I don’t want Doctor House dropping in and save the day. I want that first year quack that things ducks when he hears hoof beats.
  So let me make this clear I don't want to die. I don't want to kill myself. I don't want someone jumping out and given me heart attack, either. Just know if someone were to cause a heart attack. I am not going to tell anyone.
  When I got home, I took sometime for myself to calm down and relax. It was important because the stress was overwhelming me. I had no one to talk about the stress and no one to help me with the thoughts that were rolling around in my head. After a few hours, I felt better and returned to the family in the living room.
  I don’t do well with stress. I take it like most men and consume it like a cheeseburger, but unlike a cheeseburger we can’t get rid of it. A cheeseburger goes though a process that both helps our bodies grow and slowly kills us. Like stress, too many cheeseburgers and you are likely to have that before mentioned heart attack.
  When I got home; I wanted to eat. I had been taught that a young age that it is much easier to eat the cheeseburger than share it with someone. Once again, I am talking about stress. When I was young it wasn’t all Christmases and birthdays.
   I lived with someone in constant pain. He beat me. Not that I didn’t deserve it but I felt that he was taking things out on me for things that were going well in his life. I grew to understand this and one day we talked about it and the beatings stopped for the most part.
  With my son, my instincts are to lay a belt across his back side, but I tell myself, that it won’t help. So don’t call, Child Protective Services, just yet.
   So let me get back to my cheeseburger with a side of stress. We go through life with a constant internal conversation. Each person that reads the above essay, will draw their owe conclusions. Some will ask me to seek help, mentally and physically. Some will want to talk me about it. I expect to get a few Facebook messages and I welcome them. However, I wonder how many people would agree with me.

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