Santa Claus

When I was a kid, my family went to some weird lodge that housed a men’s club. It’s Christmas time; Santa is there for the kids. My parents want me to sit on Santa’s lap, for pictures. I am horrified. I hang on to a table for dear life.

“It’s just Grandpa in a Santa costume.” My Brother or Dad says.

My Grandpa is Santa! I think.

I sit on his leg. My Mom snaps a picture. Santa gives me a present wrapped in red paper. The colorful paper holds my attention. Somebody snaps a picture. I go back to my seat.

“That isn’t fair! I didn’t get a present!” A girl says to me.

Her protests fall on deaf ears. I open the present. It’s a small wooden piano-shaped music box. I open the lid. Little metal prongs pluck at rotating cylindars covered in bumps. Seeing music being made by an inanimate object is a magical thing.

Years pass and I tell everybody my Grandpa is Santa. I get into arguments over it. My best friend, Bob, tells me Santa isn’t real. That I am causing a fuss over something I am wrong about. Bob is the same person who showed me where a man hangs himself in The Wizard of Oz. So he is a source of information I trust. (you don’t need to Google it; it’s just the shadow of a bird.)

We visit my Grandparents. I get to go out to eat with my Grandma and Grandpa. We are riding to the restaurant in the snow.

“I know Santa isn’t real!” I say.

“Well, don’t tell the other kids. You don’t want to ruin Christmas for them.” My Grandma says.

I am happy. It is that intense childhood kind of happiness. That happiness that feels like it will never end.

“That means God isn’t real either!” I say.

My Grandpa pulls to the side of the road and slams on his breaks.


I was wounded by having that happiness stripped away. God was never a helpful, friendly force in my life. He was a vengeful agent of punishment. I wanted him gone. I faked my way through church and my families religious beliefs for many years. Under all that faking, my anger was growing.

By the time I was a teenager; I hated God more than I could hate anything. I became a Satanist. I didn’t sacrifice virgins. I didn’t participate in orgies. I just did a lot of drugs.

I began to study religions every day. Nothing felt authentic to me until I discovered agnostic thinking. Then I discovered the rock solid case Atheism has. I let go of Christian thinking. I found the truth. The truth has brought a lot of peace into my life. I love this endless mystery we live in. I love knowing that we have so much more to learn about. I love this incomprehensible amount of time and space I get to be a part of.


Delusion 101

A therapist should be your sanity coach. Most therapists I have met are bad at their job. Here are some things that I have learned from the good ones about delusions.

  1. No matter how much you try to tell yourself a delusion is a delusion; you wont believe yourself. That is how delusions work. You get an idea and you believe that idea with no concrete evidence. You try to tell yourself it isn’t real but your nutty brain keeps telling you it is. EX= The ghost of my neighbor’s dog is haunting me. The dog ghost is barking in Morris code. The dog is giving me instructions on how to save the planet. If I listen to Jingle Bells close enough I will hear the code. That sounded very silly the first ten times I got that idea. Maybe I keep getting that idea because it is true. I am aware that things like that are never true. I should listen to Jingle Bells just to be safe.
  2. If someone tells you something enough times you will start to believe it. A delusional mind will do that with no assistance. It isn’t because you have a vivid imagination. It is because you have a mental illness. Delusions aren’t the flights of fancy creative people have. Delusions are not going to help you compose your first symphony. Delusions will help you get injured or in trouble if you act on them. EX: Your delusion is telling you you can fly. You try to fly off of the roof of your home and break your pelvis.
  3. Don’t confuse your illness for strength. Draw a line in the sand between who you are and what the illness turns you into. Everybody wants to feel special. Nothing is going to make you feel more special than the idea that you have super-human powers. If anybody had super human-powers; nobody would call them super-human powers. If you are hungry for that special feeling, create something. Making things is what the human mind does best. Just don’t make a bomb. You don’t need a bomb. Nobody ever needs a bomb.
  4. If in doubt= use your senses. If you can’t verify something using your sight, hearing, touch, smell or taste, it’s just a waste of time. You are not going to win the reality lottery. If you think you can teleport, read minds, shape-shift, fly, melt things with your heat vision or master telekinetic abilities, think again. If you are surrounded by people who are pointing at you and screaming “Stop melting everything with your heat vision!” If you can see and smell the twin paths of the smoldering remains; it is worth your time to look into the possibility that  you have heat vision. You should also keep in mind that verifying something with one sense is not going to cut it. If you have delusions you will have hallucinations. Don’t hit it and quit it on reality. Get to know reality. Let reality fill up your mind. If there is one thing you need to overcome delusional thinking…it is reality.
  5. Phone a friend. If you are having a difficult time getting over recurring thoughts; talk to someone you trust. Getting those ideas heard is therapeutic in itself. I know not all humans are trustworthy. I know that you may have friends that are just as batty as the belfry. I also know that it’s no fun to show any vulnerability. Why show your weakness when it makes you feel so strong? Showing your weakness and dealing with the problem will strengthen you. You have to learn how to kill a delusion before it harms someone, including yourself. The more delusions you slay the better you will get at slaying them. Recruiting trusty worthy squad members will help you far more than going after it alone will. Look for a therapist and visit your therapist often. If you feel the one you have is ineffective get a new one. A good therapist is an essential delusion slaying squad member. You think that you can’t afford a therapist. Having a therapist will be a lot cheaper than mental and medical hospital bills.
  6. Don’t have any shame in your game. Shame is for kinky bedroom role playing; not your public life. Some people may stop believing in you when you tell the truth. Losing your credibility is frustrating and it hurts like crazy. Arguing or talking someone to death isn’t going to fix your problem. You have to step away from the situation. You have to understand that it is not up to everybody else to understand. You are not the center of their world. You don’t need them to believe you. You also don’t have to shroud yourself in a cloak of sanity. Don’t be one of those crazy people who keep telling everyone how sane they are. “I am not crazy” is something every crazy person says. People will be afraid of you. People will treat you like you are less than human. Getting mad about it or trying to hide it won’t help. Educating yourself and others will help. Just keep in mind that you don’t have the magic power to make someone believe something they don’t want to.
  7. The lyrics may change but you will learn how to recognize the tune. Once you start to identify your delusions; you will notice that you could file them away with no problems. Learning the type of delusions you get will help out. Just make sure to keep room open for new files. Here are some of my delusional categories:
    1. Delusions of Grandure
      • I am going to become a “house hold name”
      • I am the smartest person on earth
      • In my twenties, I was the most beautiful person alive
      • I am going to be president
      • I don’t need anybodies help because I am all powerful
      • I am a religious character in human form
      • I am the best there ever has been at (whatever I am working on at the time)
      • I am too amazing, nobody else has the mental capacity to comprehend my outrageous levels of amazing.
    2. Everything is poisoned
      • mind controlling chemicals in the public water system
      •  cancer causing everything every where all the time
      • someone drugged/ poisoned my food or drink
      • All food and drink is so full of harmful substances it is healthier to go without any food or water, ever.
      • There is a gas leak in my apartment
      • There is radiation emitting devices hidden in the walls and floors of the places I go to
    3. Someone is spying on me.
      • the phone is tapped
      • someone has hacked into my devices and is listening/ watching with camera or speakers.
      • a car is following me
      • someone has hacked into my game system and can see what I am doing on it
      • someone is listening to me talk to myself in my apartment from outside the apartment
      • someone put cameras and microphones in my car/ apartment
      • that person who caught my eye is a spy
      • people can read my mind and they use my ideas in their work
    4. I have established a telepathic link with someone and they are guiding me to do what I need to get done.
      • A celebrity (living or dead)
      • A fictional character
      • A character I created
      • My pets (living or dead)
      • My dead relatives
    5. I have super-human powers.
      • Telepathy
      • Telekenetisis
      • Shape shifting
      • Flying
      • Existence Manufacturing/ Destroying (creating dragons, castles, a date for an event, an army, fire, ice, or lighting ect. ect. out of thin air.)
      • Time travel
      • Parallel dimensional communication or travel
      • I can control reality with my will

Dad’s Stalker

I am at my grandparents house. Their phone rings. I pick up the phone.

“Uuuh yeah ummm UH! UH UH UH!” A woman says.

“Hello?” I say.

“Uh UH! Ummm UH!” A woman says.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

My grandma yanks the phone away from my ear. She picks a red plastic whistle off of the end table by the phone. She blows the whistle into the phone.


I plug my ears.

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!screeeeeeeee! screeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Grandma slams the phone back down. She waves her finger at me.

“Don’t you ever pick up the phone in someone else house! That is rude!” Grandma says.

“What was wrong with that lady? Why did you blow a whistle into the phone?” I ask.

Grandma’s face gets serious.

“That woman is someone who went on a date with your father; when he was in High School. She was too fast for him. He didn’t want to see her again. She has been calling the house every day since. Sometimes she calls over and over again all day.” Grandma says.

“What does fast mean?” I ask.

I never found out who that woman was. I wish I knew what possessed her to call every single day for decades. She was very dedicated for someone who just got dumped after one date. Maybe she was just bat shit insane, maybe not.

Anything but Tantric


People were talking about ecstasy (X, Beans, MDMA, Molly) like it was pure poison that will kill you in an instant. So of course, I had to try it. The pure stuff was expensive and hard to find…we got the designer pills.

The first time I took ecstasy; I didn’t feel anything. I imagine the pills were fake.

My friends and I said= “I think I might be feeling something.” or “Are you rolling yet? I think I am starting to roll.”

We stand around in someone’s apartment. I watch the visualizer on some game system and listen to techno. I didn’t roll, not a damn inch.

The second time I took ecstasy; we went to a club. My friends and one guy who kept to himself; were the only people in the club that night. The second time I did roll, but only a little. I stare into a strobe light. I lay against a speaker and enjoy the vibrations of the bass. Nothing wonderful or horrible happens.

My friend tells me about a rave in North Carolina called Tantric. She says I need money. I usually didn’t have to pay for drugs and I didn’t have the money.

Mother decided it was time to give me her wedding ring. Someone at work told her “When a husband dies; the wedding ring goes to the eldest daughter.”  I was she. I was also mad at my Dad. Mad as hell at him. I didn’t want a physical reminder of him or his death. I pawn the wedding ring. I have enough money to go to the rave.

We go to North Carolina and cram into a cheap ass hotel room. We snort cocaine. We smoke pot laced with crystal meth. We drink Zima. Zima tastes like ass, fruit soda and alcohol. After I have three beers, two laced joints and a couple lines of coke I sit around.

“I am not high! Are you guys high?” Frank asks.

I am not the only one! I think.

“I am not high.” I say.

“But we just! How the FUCK did that happen?” Frank asks.

“I think all the uppers and downers canceled each other out.” I say.

Frank gives me a big glassy eyed stare.

“Can that even happen?” Frank asks.

“It just did” I say.

The next day was the rave. We all had two ecstasy pills to take. They were called Mitsubishis with chocolate chips.

“Look at the x. You see the chocolate chips? That is heroin.” Frank says.

“These were expensive as fuck. If you puke, you better pick the bean out of the puke and take it again. Don’t take more than one in a six-hour period; you will fucking die.” Jessica says.

Everyone takes their pill.

“I want to take both. I want to get fucked up this time.” Tiffany says.

“Don’t do it. These are so much stronger than anything we have had before.” Jessica says.

Tiffany pouts. We all take our first bean for the night.

Someone in a B movie animatronic Horror movie monster suit walks into the building. Frank freaks out and runs towards the monster.

“He would be the first one to die in a horror movie.” Jessica says.

“Yep” I say.

We take turns taking pictures with the animatronic monster. I start to feel different. I am transfixed by the horror movie monster. Then it is gone, the group splits off. I stare at the second bean in my hand. The chalky white part of it is melting way into the wrinkles on my palm. I don’t have a pocket to put it in. I don’t want to have a weak high again. I take the second pill. I walk around. My friend Tiffany is making out with a very cute guy. I feel the pangs of jealousy. Jessica and Frank are a couple; so they are in a private place fucking. That left me and Webster.

Webster had a bad habit of hitting on me when I was very fucked up. Webster was the first guy I ever French kissed. I was drunk off my ass at the time. I get as far away from Webster as I can. I find a dance floor that is going crazy. I am feeling the music. I can’t dance, only preps dance. I am not a prep! I think. I bob my head and cross my arms over my chest. The ecstasy starts to dig in deep. I don’t roll. I spin out of control. My heart races. I start sweating a lot. I run around asking strangers for clove cigarettes and massages. I get clove cigarettes and talk to a guy who is laying on the pavement.

“I smacked out too early!!! Fuck that is not good…but it feels so good. Ummm so good to be smacked out.” The guy says.

I smoke my black cigarette. The smoke feels like an oral orgasm. I get a wave of warm soothing pleasure rolling in a constant circuit from my head to my feet. I go back inside and hop around the dance floor. I go ask a girl for a clove. I give myself a scalp massage. Someone gives me a vibrating massaging device. I call it a vibrator the rest of the night. I end up in a van full of people I don’t know. I am massaging my scalp.

“We go around the country and go to raves. We don’t get high but we still have fun. You don’t need drugs to have fun.” A boy tells me.

I am too high. I am not hearing it. I search for my friends. I find Webster. Webster is smoking a joint. I sit down next to him. He passes me the joint. He opens his mouth to say something and a massive red firework explodes in the air above us. The beauty of the firework makes us both shut up and watch. More fireworks go off. Bang Bang Bang! I have to put mental effort into remaining upright. Webster passes me the joint.

“Is this laced with crystal meth?” I ask.

“Yeah” Webster says.

“I don’t want anymore.” I say.

I pass the joint back to Webster. I watch the fireworks. The display ends. I get back to the most active dance floor. They are playing a song that is a remix of that “I wear my sun glasses at night” song. I can feel a wave of pleasure going up and down my body. I watch a guy who is swirling two green glow sticks on strings around. I sit on a chair. A spike hits my back. I stand up. I realize that I just got jabbed by a rusty nail. OMG! Did I just get AIDS from sitting in a chair?! I think.

I go back to the ravers who don’t get high. I tell a girl I am a mix between Stephen King and Picasso. She isn’t buying it. I realize I am around strangers. People who haven’t seen my art or read my stories. I go back to find my friends. I see Tiffany laying on the ground. She is squiring like a worm on a hook. She has two black X-es on her shoes made out of electrical tape.

“Tiffany, can you hear me?” I ask.

Tiffany’s eyes are shut. Tiffany squirms around. Is not responding to me. Jessica finds me.

“That fucking guy she was with gave her more ecstasy. She is fucked. Come over here I need you by the port-o-potty.” Jessica says.

I follow Jessica to the port-o-potty. Frank is hanging out behind it.

“I need you to hold on to the drugs.” Frank says.


Frank and Jessica step back.

“The drugs are switching gears on you. You are wigging out. That happens sometimes, just chill.” Frank says.

“Mellow” Jessica says.


I storm off and go back to Tiffany. Paramedics are loading her into the back of an ambulance.

“Do you know this girl?” A female paramedic asks.

“Yes” I say.

“I need to know what she has been taking over the last 48 hours.” The paramedic says.

“Everything” I say.

“She is going to die if we can’t treat her. We can’t treat her if we don’t know what she has in her system.” The paramedic says.

“Ecstasy, cocaine, heroin, crystal meth, alcohol and pot.” I say.

The paramedic’s eyes bug out.

“What is wrong with her?” I ask.

“What do you think is wrong with her?! Would you like to ride with her?” She asks.

“Sure” I say.

I get into the back of the ambulance. I see the two black X-es on Tiffany’s shoes. I think of the old cartoons when characters get X-es over their eyes when they die. Tiffany’s cheeks are covered in a red rash. I remember a documentary I watched about ecstasy overdoses. A rash on the cheeks is the first sign of liver failure; according to the documentary. Tiffany isn’t moving anymore.

“Are you family? You can’t ride with her if you are not family!” The male paramedic says.

“I am not family.” I say.

“Then you can’t ride with us.” He says.

“What are those X-es for?” I ask.

“We put X-es on the shoes of all the kids who are overdosing. We have to go, now.” The female paramedic says.

I get out of the ambulance. I scream at Frank and Jessica more. We all go back to the hotel. I ride to the hotel with a beautiful black girl with blazing blue contacts.

“You want to do a bump of ice?” She asks.

“What is ice?” I ask.

“Ice is very very niiiice.” She says.

I snort a bump of ice. I feel a pleasant warm sensation in my nose. I don’t feel anything else. I am still rolling too hard to feel anything else. We get to the hotel. The girl with blazing blue eyes leaves.We smoke cigarettes outside. There is another girl there.

“Sir Mix A lot is having an after party for the rave. Do you want to go?” She asks.

“Hell yes I want to go!” I say.

“We aren’t going.” Jessica says.

“Why the fuck not?” I ask.

“Tiffany is in the hospital. We need to go inside and get some sleep.” Jessica says.

We go inside. I close my eyes. I see phosphorescent blue and green pipes forming themselves behind my eyelids.

“Annie said these pills have LSD in them. She said they made her trip balls. Annie is such a dipshit.” Jessica says.

The phone rings. Jessica answers. There is a hush in the room broken by a few, yeah, uh huhs. Jessica hangs up the phone.

“That was Tiffany. They called her Dad. She is pissed of at you.” Jessica says.

“At who?” I ask.

“At you!” Jessica says.


I lay down and watch the neon pipes weave intricate paths behind my eyelids. If it wasn’t for Tiffany’s lame ass we would be at a party with Sir Mix a Lot right now. Fuggin’ Bitch! I think.

To this day Tiffany is still mad I told the paramedics what she took. I found out that Ice is just Crystal Meth. After a night of staying up with Jessica and her new boyfriend; I discovered I fucking hate Crystal Meth with a passion. Now that I am 36, I avoid drugs. I got better shit to do and better people to hang out with.