According to the report manager on KDP (kindle direct publishing) I have sold 78 copies of Binks TODAY ALONE! This promotion is going better than I could have ever dreamed, the sheer number of new readers is overwhelming and I am filled to the brim with excitement! I have the page open and every so often the number listed under "Free-Units-Promo" will go up by one, and its a party every time. The idea is that after this three day promotional period the free copies downloaded will translate into actual sales in the future. The same way that people like Ethan's mom found out about it, good old fashioned word of mouth, will allow the fanbase of Binks to blossom and become a glorious following.
It's actually and finally getting out there in the way I had always dreamed but never dared to hope for, BINKS is being read right now by more people than in the entirety of its short yet arduous life combined. I had things to say, a story to tell, and a REASON to tell it. The silenced male voice of abuse victims has always been what this was about, for every boy or young man too ashamed or confused or hurt to speak out about whats happened to him.
This is my heart laid bare, every joyful moment and terrible incident spelled out in perfect detail with NO shame and NO bias. I think now also of the stigma involved with having a mental illness, of how society views us as either forest gump stupid or hannibal lector dangerous. My journey detailed within those pages, both digital and print format, SHOULD show the humanity behind those with psychosis. I hope I did my life justice, but I KNOW that I wrote with perfect honesty and clarity of the things I've been through, and that should be enough.
So here's to you, lost souls of the world, to all the botched and the damned.
And here's to ME, for having the balls to write the damned thing in the first place.
Here's to my family, for there love and support.
And too my close friends, some who might actually read this, you know who you are and I couldn't have done it without you.
THANKS EVERYBODY! I'll let you know how it turns out :)
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mental health. Show all posts
Monday, April 23, 2012
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The Worst days of the Best of my life
I'm moving! On the first I will no longer be a slave to loud drunken arguing and mid-night trips to the emergency room and will become a tenant of the fabulous Muse Apartment Complex in bustling downtown Charlottesville!
I got the news on Friday, and thus the weekend became a test of my mettle, both for the reasons I've just listed, and for a far darker one.
My dear brother once more became exceptionally intoxicated, and once more attempted to take his own life. This was followed by the useless bitch of a leech that is is fiance arriving home just in time to find him trying to hang himself off the patio with a home-made noose.
I didn't know this then, all I knew is when I signed into facebook it was smeared with post after post about how "love wasn't real" and how him and the rest of his buddies that have gone the way of the dodo would be missed. I did the only thing I could think to do... I called my mother.
She didn't pick up at first, so I kept trying, I knew the shit was hitting the fan something terrible but felt completely helpless to do anything about it. Finally she called me back, and as I was informing her of the situation the fight began. Through the ceiling I could hear a cacophony of screams, stomping, and breaking furniture as the epic struggle unfolded. My mother could hear it, through the ceiling AND over the phone. She tried calling them, and the bitch told her what was going on.
She did the only thing she could do... She called the police.
My mother called me back and by the tone of her voice I knew, but she told me anyway. My brother thought his fiance had left him, a "miscommunication" she would later call it, and no longer wanted to live. Above me the war raged on unchecked, I would later learn just how heinous these events were.
He hit her, a few times, and when she tried to pry the knife he was carving up his wrist with from his drunken, suicidal, hands he cut her. The police arrived in mid-conflict, Deus Ex Machina. They had him dropped to the floor, handcuffed him, and dragged him off to Five East where he was briefly evaluated then TDO'd.
For those of you who aren't familiar with this song and dance, mental health care officials can hold someone against there will ONLY if they are deemed a danger to themselves or others, and ONLY for 72 hours. After that they go before a judge and can be released again, regardless of if, by some miracle, they were magically cured of the crazy in the three days following whatever chaos just ensued in their lives.
I had a weekend of relative peace to ponder all this while I frantically began the long process of packing up my things. I had three weeks till the first, and no moment could be squandered. I brought up the AOL radio station "Awesome 80's" and worked like a mad bastard packing boxes, sorting out junk, and hauling old furniture out to the curb to be picked up by the city at a later date.
When Monday came around I was thoroughly exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, most of all the ones in my cripple-gimpy spine of "ill-equipped to handle heavy loads".
And then, I got a phone call.
My dear brother had opted to be released when placed before the judge, and they had no other option but to let him. He arrived home that day, and we briefly spoke on the phone about unrelated things like "did I know how to download fonts for MS Word".
But there was a saving grace to all of this, I had, in my journey into the closet of endless sorrows, found a treasure that promised great riches. Three vintage bills, all foreign and exceedingly old, preserved under yellowed plastic and ready to be cashed by a would be antiques dealer like myself. A quick perusal of ebay had me salivating with desire for money.
And so Monday came and went, and Tuesday followed.
I awoke this morning ready to haul my closet plundered gains down to a local coin shop and have my way with the clerks wallet as if it were a cheap whore with a few bad habits to support. The clerk took one look at them and told me he didn't want them in a gruff emotionless voice that had me wanting to leap over the counter and plunge my thumbs into his eyes-sockets while I chewed out his tongue.
These weren't any old bills, they were a gift. The one possibly valuable thing I got out of a man of which I don't like to speak. He told me to hold on to them, that they were worth something, valuable treasures gathered by his father during and after the great war. They were worthless, only held high by pompous collectors with no sense of morals other than "buy low, sell high".
I went home, pockets empty, cash-lust un-sated, spent like the money I wouldn't. My mother called again, and I begged her to take me to another antique dealer, THIS one was sure to recognize the value of my wares. The results were the same, a paltry offer of a dollar each. Antique dealers are such sleazes.
She dropped me off and I went inside, fully ready to place the few bills online for sale cheap in hopes salvaging the day, when the phone rang once more.
It was my mother again, she was still parked outside. My brother had called, there was a warrant out for his arrest... I came back outside and she asked me what she should do. I told her he had to turn himself in, otherwise the situation could become much worse. Apparently someones lines got crossed, and when his fiance told them she didn't want to press charges they went ahead and did it anyway. It didn't help that she told them he hit her, that he stabbed her.
And so we were off to the police station, all four of us driving in silence fully expecting my brother to be behind bars within the hour. There was no reason to believe otherwise. The officer told him that it was good that he came in, that the magistrate would look kindly upon that gesture. My brother was handcuffed and driven to the Magistrates office in the back of a police van, while me, my mother, and his fiance drove together.
She kept on telling people how he wasn't himself, that he was drinking, that he normally didn't act like that, that he didn't MEAN to hurt her. She was like a talking head caricature of a beaten wife, and I couldn't tell if it was an act or if she really was that damaged.
As we waited in the magistrates office I leaned against the snack machine while my muscles twitched and my throat spasmed from all the stress. I kept having to cough, a mixture of cigarette smoke, dust inhalation from all the cleaning, and intense anxiety had me going into fits every so often.
We could hear them questioning my brother behind the glass, and it became apparent that he wasn't going to be held today, that a court date was being set for Friday and that if he were so much as five minutes late he would be thrown behind bars.
He came out of that building acting almost excited, a clear changed from the despondent acceptance he had been displaying all day. I could barely look at him... he deserved what he got from all this, and STILL might have to do time. You don't beat your fiance, no matter how much of a raging she-bitch she is.
On a lighter note, he's gotten another sponsor and is once more working the steps. I wish him all the best.
I'll be moving on the first either way.
I got the news on Friday, and thus the weekend became a test of my mettle, both for the reasons I've just listed, and for a far darker one.
My dear brother once more became exceptionally intoxicated, and once more attempted to take his own life. This was followed by the useless bitch of a leech that is is fiance arriving home just in time to find him trying to hang himself off the patio with a home-made noose.
I didn't know this then, all I knew is when I signed into facebook it was smeared with post after post about how "love wasn't real" and how him and the rest of his buddies that have gone the way of the dodo would be missed. I did the only thing I could think to do... I called my mother.
She didn't pick up at first, so I kept trying, I knew the shit was hitting the fan something terrible but felt completely helpless to do anything about it. Finally she called me back, and as I was informing her of the situation the fight began. Through the ceiling I could hear a cacophony of screams, stomping, and breaking furniture as the epic struggle unfolded. My mother could hear it, through the ceiling AND over the phone. She tried calling them, and the bitch told her what was going on.
She did the only thing she could do... She called the police.
My mother called me back and by the tone of her voice I knew, but she told me anyway. My brother thought his fiance had left him, a "miscommunication" she would later call it, and no longer wanted to live. Above me the war raged on unchecked, I would later learn just how heinous these events were.
He hit her, a few times, and when she tried to pry the knife he was carving up his wrist with from his drunken, suicidal, hands he cut her. The police arrived in mid-conflict, Deus Ex Machina. They had him dropped to the floor, handcuffed him, and dragged him off to Five East where he was briefly evaluated then TDO'd.
For those of you who aren't familiar with this song and dance, mental health care officials can hold someone against there will ONLY if they are deemed a danger to themselves or others, and ONLY for 72 hours. After that they go before a judge and can be released again, regardless of if, by some miracle, they were magically cured of the crazy in the three days following whatever chaos just ensued in their lives.
I had a weekend of relative peace to ponder all this while I frantically began the long process of packing up my things. I had three weeks till the first, and no moment could be squandered. I brought up the AOL radio station "Awesome 80's" and worked like a mad bastard packing boxes, sorting out junk, and hauling old furniture out to the curb to be picked up by the city at a later date.
When Monday came around I was thoroughly exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, most of all the ones in my cripple-gimpy spine of "ill-equipped to handle heavy loads".
And then, I got a phone call.
My dear brother had opted to be released when placed before the judge, and they had no other option but to let him. He arrived home that day, and we briefly spoke on the phone about unrelated things like "did I know how to download fonts for MS Word".
But there was a saving grace to all of this, I had, in my journey into the closet of endless sorrows, found a treasure that promised great riches. Three vintage bills, all foreign and exceedingly old, preserved under yellowed plastic and ready to be cashed by a would be antiques dealer like myself. A quick perusal of ebay had me salivating with desire for money.
And so Monday came and went, and Tuesday followed.
I awoke this morning ready to haul my closet plundered gains down to a local coin shop and have my way with the clerks wallet as if it were a cheap whore with a few bad habits to support. The clerk took one look at them and told me he didn't want them in a gruff emotionless voice that had me wanting to leap over the counter and plunge my thumbs into his eyes-sockets while I chewed out his tongue.
These weren't any old bills, they were a gift. The one possibly valuable thing I got out of a man of which I don't like to speak. He told me to hold on to them, that they were worth something, valuable treasures gathered by his father during and after the great war. They were worthless, only held high by pompous collectors with no sense of morals other than "buy low, sell high".
I went home, pockets empty, cash-lust un-sated, spent like the money I wouldn't. My mother called again, and I begged her to take me to another antique dealer, THIS one was sure to recognize the value of my wares. The results were the same, a paltry offer of a dollar each. Antique dealers are such sleazes.
She dropped me off and I went inside, fully ready to place the few bills online for sale cheap in hopes salvaging the day, when the phone rang once more.
It was my mother again, she was still parked outside. My brother had called, there was a warrant out for his arrest... I came back outside and she asked me what she should do. I told her he had to turn himself in, otherwise the situation could become much worse. Apparently someones lines got crossed, and when his fiance told them she didn't want to press charges they went ahead and did it anyway. It didn't help that she told them he hit her, that he stabbed her.
And so we were off to the police station, all four of us driving in silence fully expecting my brother to be behind bars within the hour. There was no reason to believe otherwise. The officer told him that it was good that he came in, that the magistrate would look kindly upon that gesture. My brother was handcuffed and driven to the Magistrates office in the back of a police van, while me, my mother, and his fiance drove together.
She kept on telling people how he wasn't himself, that he was drinking, that he normally didn't act like that, that he didn't MEAN to hurt her. She was like a talking head caricature of a beaten wife, and I couldn't tell if it was an act or if she really was that damaged.
As we waited in the magistrates office I leaned against the snack machine while my muscles twitched and my throat spasmed from all the stress. I kept having to cough, a mixture of cigarette smoke, dust inhalation from all the cleaning, and intense anxiety had me going into fits every so often.
We could hear them questioning my brother behind the glass, and it became apparent that he wasn't going to be held today, that a court date was being set for Friday and that if he were so much as five minutes late he would be thrown behind bars.
He came out of that building acting almost excited, a clear changed from the despondent acceptance he had been displaying all day. I could barely look at him... he deserved what he got from all this, and STILL might have to do time. You don't beat your fiance, no matter how much of a raging she-bitch she is.
On a lighter note, he's gotten another sponsor and is once more working the steps. I wish him all the best.
I'll be moving on the first either way.
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