Dead Alive

I was raised in a quiet town located in northern Kentucky. Our house was an English tutor that sat at the bottom of three hills. Across the street was a large field of elm and maple trees; plenty of room for the kids in our neighborhood to dream and play in. As nice and peaceful the environment was outside but there was no safety for a kid to live in within our house.My parent's world seemed not as happy as mine was. I am not sure exactly how things started to change. But I vaguely remember dad scaring us kids when he'd fall asleep while driving the car. Sometimes he was sick and would vomit all over the floor. Mom developed a nasty temperament. I vividly remember her pulling us kids around by the hair. We received daily lickings with dad's leather belt. We probably deserved it but if we truly were innocent; then she'd tell us that it was for something that we got away with. We never knew when it was coming. When dad came home from a long day at work; mom would scream at him to do something about us kids and he would hit us too. Dad gave us "love-taps" as he called them. Our bodies were covered with welts and cuts. If that weren't enough then I received black eyes and the rest of us had our hands pushed into scalding hot water if we got caught stealing food for example. Every time I got beaten; I learned to disassociate from it. I didn't feel the pain as much if I pretended mentally to be an "outsider" peering in. I learned to numb the pain.People around us noticed; some called the cops, but when I was younger we didn't have the child abuse laws that we have today. Most people would look the other way. And we were constantly warned not to tell people what went on at home or something worse would happen to us. But as each year went by, I got harder and meaner. In all the beatings I received; I never once was hugged or told that I meant anything to them. Nothing hurt worse than all the screaming insults hurled at you. I think the things they told us hurt worse than the sting of the lashes. Mother would scream; "I wish you were never born. She would tell us how rotten and worthless we were. It seemed that nothing ever made them satisfied. We gave up trying to please them; I avoided them as the result of fear of future reprisals. Mom would get out this black handkerchief and tell me that my soul was as black as that rag before God. She would tell us how angry God was at us for disobeying them. I lived my whole childhood believing that no one could be trusted. Not even God. When I was seven; mom penetrated me with her finger; hooked it and pulled out bloody flesh one day in the bathroom. Bright pools of blood splattered on the floor. It was my first encounter with molestations; with more to come. (I learned years later from my grandmother; that she thought mom was molested by her father. She really didn't mean to do this but she had to break my spirit; so that I would behave... it was terror that kept me in line back then. If someone touched me off guard at school. I flinched or jumped... my nerves were raw. But no one ever knew what happened behind those closed windows. No one.At seven, I started injuring myself. I would bang my head on the wall or push bobby pins into my skin; it was also at seven that I first ran from home. Never could get very far... there just was no place to go. No escape; no where to run. Some teachers tried to help. But we never talked much. They would have pow-wows with our parents and all my parents did was shame us kids if our grades slipped. I hated report cards. I was scared to show them to them. Sometimes I'd forge their signatures hoping to not get caught. I just couldn't study well at school. I had a hard time concentrating. And I rarely did my homework. It was the fear... the constant lack of safety, the daily room searches. I learned to hide saved lunch money in electrical wall sockets for the day when I needed to live on the streets awhile. I slept in a roach infested basement with the dog for eleven years. Nothing like waking up in the morning to the sound of your bare feet crunching the water bugs on the floor. I was very shy in school. So shy that I became easy prey for the bullies there. I had a difficult time expressing my needs. I just can not tell you in more descriptive terms what it was like to live like this day after day; year after year. One time I was even pinned to the ground and given "golden showers" as a kid. You can't imagine how disgraceful it felt to be urinated on. My father pushed us into metal garbage cans while mom took pictures. He took us to the street and told us that the garbage man was going to stop by and take us away. And get this; they actually had the gall to show our relatives pictures of the event after Christmas dinner. Might have been funny for them; but as a seven year old; I was scared! I rolled the can over; the lid popped off; I slid into the street; nearly got hit by a car and slid into a sewer.

When I was twelve; I was a loner. I went to school and during my lunch hour I went to the library to study Foxfire books. For those who don't know about these excellent books. They were written by mountain folks in Appalachia the rules of living on your own in the wilderness. I spent many hours studying how to build a log cabin, how to hunt for food, how to use scents, how to live off the land. I was determined to run away and live down in the mountains of Kentucky; far from society; kind of like Grizzly Adams in the old TV shows.

There was a teacher who took an interest in me. His name was Mr. Thaxton. This guy took me one step further by learning survival techniques though hands-on experience. Mr. Thaxton was an experienced climber of some of the world's highest mountains. He taught me how to read topographical maps, use a compass, trail blaze, set traps, create shelters, rock climb up ninety degree cliffs, rappel, canoe entire rivers, make rafts and canoes from trees; and so on. By the time I was fourteen; I was confident that I could survive on my own if I needed to get out. My younger siblings looked for me to set the example for them. We set up a network of outposts throughout the woods, the neighborhood kids got in on it. Years later those outposts became quite useful in dodging the police.By the time I was fourteen; I was a skilled shoplifter. Nothing to be proud of; I was hungry a lot and had to forage for something to eat. I never got caught till years later. I was intelligent and very smooth. I was also getting very angry inside... and I took mom and dad's silver coin collection and blew it all on pop and candy. They raced all over town trying to get them all back. They recovered about half. They rest was taken from birthday gifts from other relatives and so forth.

I experimented with cigarettes and pot. I never liked the cigarettes that much and I had to be careful smoking the pot cause your clothes really reek with that stuff. I knew people nearby that would grow pot in the center of a cornfield. By the time the plants were mature; you couldn't tell the difference between the weeds and the corn from the air. It was a clever idea.

I became deeply interested in science and burning things. My parents bought me a Skill-Craft chemistry set. I wanted to learn how to make incineraries and bombs. I was fascinated watching things burn. My parents were getting worried about me and started sending me to counseling. Seemed every time I started opening up and trusting one of them; I got yanked out and sent to someone else. I learned later that these counselors were accusing them of causing the problems at home and they could not accept that... it was always our fault. Weekly, the entire family would sit in chairs around the room and listen to mother read off a shopping list of everything that was wrong with her children. We sighed and struggled to sit still.

Most of my peers would pick on me a lot because I was fearful of them. I seemed to do well in classes where the teachers praised me; and where they didn't; I just avoided them all together. I isolated more and more from everyone. Whenever school was out; I had to get away for a while so I could think. Some days I would just walk aimlessly down a road till blisters formed on my feet and couldn't go any further. The older I became; the further and longer I'd stayed away from home. By the time I was 16, my parents were used to my excursions. I developed quite a track record of absentees in school. Just didn't want to go anymore. At home; I spent most of my time writing journals, reading books, and planning my travels for the weekend. But homework was performed at a minimum effort. I was failing my classes. The beatings at home stopped. We just screamed at each other instead. My parents became afraid of me.

If bad could get worse; it did. It was a finals week at the end of the 10th grade. I was hopelessly behind in my classes. I just sat through my classes daydreaming or drawing pictures. Corky; my dog recently chewed up my algebra book. I tried to turn it in to my teacher; Mrs. Cox. I told her my dog ate my book; and it was pretty bad and soggy with dog saliva when I handed it to her. She wasn't too pleased though the class was amused. She said I had to pay for it and would tell my parents to give her twenty bucks for the book. Well, my mother gave me a twenty dollar bill the next morning; being the smart ass I was; I went to a couple of stores and cashed it in for pennies.I arrived to class late as usual. While everyone was reviewing equations with the teacher; I was busy stacking pennies across my desk in accordance to the year they were stamped. I should have known what was going to happen but I sure didn't think about it at the time. Mike Schutzman decided to go up to the front of the class to sharpen his pencil. When he came back, he deliberately ran into my desk. This caused those 2000 pennies to shower on the floor. The class laughed at me and I was really embarrassed. But that brief second of shame quickly turned into rage. I got up and turned around and beat the crap out of him. The kids around me egged us on. The teacher stepped out of the room to get some assistance. I felt a firm hand grab me by the wrist as I cocked my fist back. I got up; turned around and knocked Mrs. Cox's hand off my arm and screamed out "F**k You Bit*h! The classroom was strangely silent. I knew I was in trouble. Mrs. Cox stepped out of the room and brought the principal up to see me. He ordered me to step out from the class and go to his office.

I knew I was in for it. I had suspensions for truancy before; I thought here it goes again. "What will my parents do?" I wondered. I was suspended for the remainder of that year. I was also charged with assault and battery of a teacher. I was summoned to appear before the Board of Education in a few months for expulsion hearings.When I got home my mother already knew what happened. She took me upstairs into her bedroom and we sat together on the edge of her bed. She placed her hand on my lap and said in firm but low words; "Jonathan, you have disgraced this family and from this day forwards; you are no longer our son. We disown you." I swallowed hard. I thought she was just angry and would get over it. But I had no idea that she really meant business.

I had to appear before the school board on the assault and battery charges. They expelled me but allowed me back in the following year since this was my first offense of this kind and gave me probation instead. I also had to attend a year's worth of counseling on a weekly basis as part of the terms of my probation. I was firmly warned that if I broke one more rule at school that I would be gone for good. I read in the papers over the next few days on the front page; "Kid narrowly escapes expulsion... and has Highlands teachers up in arms!"

My parents avoided me in cool silence. The next couple of months; I spent mostly outside. I rode a ten speed around the countryside. Learning the area; and thinking about what I should do. Ten miles turned into twenty; twenty into fifty; fifty into a hundred miles a day especially on the weekends. I was skinny and strong. I got my spending money by donating plasma in downtown Cincinnati. I stole money from offering plates at church I had to find other means. And I found it through a group called; "Junior Achievement".Junior Achievement is a high school group that is sponsored by area businesses to help students learn how to set up and operate a business. At the end of the school year, students with the most successful businesses are rewarded with scholarships, and other prizes and recognition. I participated in "JA" for the entire four years that I was in high school. However, by the time I was a junior; I participated in a mighty big way. JA was my escape from the crazy life I lived. While I was failing in school; I was excelling in JA. I devoted all my after school time learning about sales techniques, public speaking, and operating a company. I won many awards for outstanding achievement in many areas. JA helped me live a dual life away from my classmates but amongst high school students from all over the greater Cincinnati area.Life at Highlands High got real tough. Kids would taunt me and try to get me to resist them. They wanted me to break my probation; and I had to keep quiet and ignore them. This became tougher to do as the year progressed. In industrial arts, for example; during the loud whining of electric table saws and other equipment; I was got beat up in the corner of a room by a number of students. I just lied on the floor and endured the kicks in the ribs etc. I feared fighting back; fearful that a teacher would see me fighting and then kick me out for good. This type of stuff went on for the next two years of my life.

When I raced home; I was met by my younger siblings. They were angry at me because the teachers at school would mock them on account of me. I was determined to prove to my that I was still a worthwhile kid. I spent many afternoons selling tickets for our annual trade fair. (At the end of the year; the businesses would set up a huge fair to promote all the unique products each of the companies produced. The profits of each company, would then be split up with approximately five percent going to the stockholders; and the rest into the JA purse to be used for training students in the years to come. And then the companies would disband. The process would begin again the next school year.

I sold thousands of tickets to the trade fair. By the end of my junior year; I had received a two year scholarship to Northern Kentucky University; eight days, seven nights on a Caribbean cruise touring the Bahamas. A couple other trips; local news articles of my achievements. Our company was one of the top five finalists of all the eligible companies in all of Ohio, Kentucky, and Indiana. I was so proud. I was sure that now having earned a scholarship that they would accept me. I was one of the ten top achievers in the entire country. This was quite an honor; yet it seemed hollow because my parents never once praised or encouraged me. I realized then that nothing I ever did would ever be enough for them. It's like they had an engraved image of me before their eyes and they could see past the facade at who I really was inside. All they could see was this image. This greatly discouraged me.

It was too late; my parents tried to have me institutionalized at a state home in Danville. Mom would cut out newspaper articles and stick them under my pillow for me to read. The newsprint detailed how kids were being so abused at these homes that a number of them tried and some succeeded in hanging themselves. My parents that had to see the judge. They blamed us kids for the problems at home yet the psychiatrists and others didn't see things that way. Now this really infuriated them. Instead of sending me away all of us kids to counseling; the judge demanded family counseling and eventually just parental counseling.

I went on all the trips that summer. I did not enjoy myself much because I spent all that time thinking about home. I decided to repeat the cycle again in my senior year. I had to get those awards next year to stay out of the house as much as I could. So during my senior year, I repeated the feat; only this time I was the second highest achiever in the country; topped only by one person. I received another two year scholarship and another series of trips. But in my senior year; I was coming apart inside. I had begun planning my suicide; I had set the day for my attempt.

My parents sent me to a Catholic retreat. I wanted to go but I really acted like I didn't want to go so that they would force me to go. This pleased them and me; the master manipulator! The retreat was at Camp Marydale near Cincinnati. This place was deep in the heart of a large forest and had a large lake behind our cabins. It was a cool November weekend with overcast skies. The whitened birch trees had shed their leaves. The ground was colored in the shades of autumn. A frosted wooden bridge spanned the crisp partially frozen waters. I felt like I was dying inside; as reflected by mother nature herself.

"What would this meeting teach me?" I wondered. I headed indoors to receive my cherished meal. The person who issued the food happened to be Mike Schutzman's mother. This startled me and rang a loud bell inside me. Mike was the person that lead to my expulsion nearly 18 months ago. Yet here I was standing before his mother!

Mrs. Schutzman was very warm and affectionate towards me. She recognized who I was and beckoned me to eat with her. I sheepishly accepted... and that's when I broke inside. I started revealing my secrets; yet I still forced myself not to weep. I quickly ate then moved went back to my cabin. But the suppressed feelings of hopelessness could not be contained. And for the first time in many a year; I sobbed and sobbed till I could no longer walk. Little did I know that someone overheard me. And who else but a priest from another church. I tried to lie and cover my tracks. But he witnessed to much and would not give in. He was the first person to listen; and when we finished; he placed his hands on my head and wept with me in prayer. I was determined to get through just one more day.

Little did I know that the theme of that retreat was all about "masks". We all have them. I smile and tell people I'm fine; while thinking about death. I gave in; and wept through the retreat. Some who treated me with scorn in school softened their approach. When it was all over; the cloud of darkness returned. I had to go home and face the realities of life. Up went thy mask; and dared not reveal any weakness to my parents. They expected a change; and covered it up in my facade of lies. I hid in the basement; where I wept in the still night. I realized that I could not hold on; I made my decision to die. Sunday, May 1st, 1980; the day of the Nazi Demonstration at Fountain Square in the heart of ethnic Cincinnati. I had just finished changing my clothes after attending another boring church service to appease my parents. I sat on my bed listening to the radio when I heard an announcement that warned everyone to stay away from downtown Cincinnati that day. I had nothing better to do that day except help cut the grass or escape from there on my trusty steed. Off I went; pedaling down that long winding hill to the urbanites below.

When I arrived at the scene; true to my ears; there was a pretty massive riot going on. There were thousands of people standing with fists in the air, screaming hostile gestures at some dark uniformed people on a stage at the other end of the park. Fountain Square is usually a peaceful place. It consisted of a three tiered copper fountain; a gift donated from France; located in the center of a sea of dark cobblestone. Overhead towered the high skyscrapers that echoed the traffic from the streets below. I used to come here a lot to watch the pigeons and ease my troubled mind. But today; the serenity of the park was replaced by violence. I moved past the lines of people surrounding the stage. There stood before me were about fifty cops dressed in riot gear with face shields. On the stage were black uniformed SS Soldiers. Each with a red armband bearing the mark of the Swastika. And I stood there amazed. It almost seemed as if it were taken from a movie. I had arrived just in time to watch the final attraction! The Nazi's were voicing racial obscenities over a loudspeaker. They denounced Baptists, Catholics, African-Americans, Jews; it seemed like every problem in our society was the result of these groups of people. I backed away and sat on a black marble wall in the back of the park to observe what would happen next. They started pushing through the lines to attack the Nazi's on stage. The police tried to disperse the crowd through firing volleys of teargas. This only infuriated them further. They overwhelmed the police and chased the skinheads through the streets. Lucky for them; they had waiting transportation. But the cops were not so lucky. I watched the angry masses overturn police cars and firebomb them. They smashed store windows and ripped down street signs. It was total mayhem! I decided to hurry to McDonalds on 6th street to grab a sandwich before they got too crowded. I went back down to fourth street and sat on one of the marble walls at the park again. By now everyone seemed to have left and the park became quiet.

Three women showed up and started passing out little newspapers called the "Pravda". They carried a red flag with the infamous hammer and sickle on it. I just shook my head in wonder. A trio of veterans offered me five bucks to ride up and knock a lady down and steal her flag from her. I did it! I got paid and they got their flag. What I didn't know was that they burned it on national television later that evening.

Afterwards, there was this black dude... he walked up to them and asked for one of their papers. They gave him one and as he turned around and walked away, he tore it up and threw the confetti into the air. What he didn't know was the cops saw him do it. They cited him for littering. Oh, he was mad!

Then along came some college students from Columbus, Ohio. They were just down here to visit a mother and thought that it would be a nice day to take a walk down to Fountain Square. They had no knowledge of what had occurred that day. Each took a turn at preaching the gospel straight from the book of Romans. They received howls and jeers from the crowd. I was impressed with their courage in spite of the resistance they received. I listened to their message.

I mumbled softly; "God, if your out there, I just want one of them to come up and talk to me". And sure enough; about twenty minutes later one did. I was so excited... yet played it cool. A tall black man introduced himself to me and lent me his hand. He told me his name was "Chuck". I told him that I wanted to meet him and his three friends away from all these people down by the river bank a few blocks away. They shrugged and agreed to spend some time with me.We spent hours down there. They knew their bibles pretty darned well. That really impressed me! They said I was truly loved by God and He didn't want to see me die. In the end; I bowed my head in prayer and surrendered my life to the Lord. I felt a flicker of hope for the first time. They gave me a ride to Chuck's mother who served us a very tasty meal of barbecued ribs. Boy; they were good!! They went on to Columbus afterwards and I rode home on my bike. I was disappointed that they lived so far away. But they promised not to forget me and would faithfully write me each week while at home.First thing I did when I got home was tell my parents how they got it all wrong and that they were going straight to eternal damnation. Should have been more careful with those words. I didn't realize how angry they became after hearing that from their wayward son! Next thing I knew I was being rushed to a catholic priest to be conformed again. I asked Father Fortner one question... tell me; "Isn't there only one mediator between God and man? Why is it that we pray to Mary?" He could not give me a straight answer from the Bible. Afterwards; I knew I was even more correct and firmly grounded myself into the Word. This really alarmed my parents. They forbade me from ever seeing those people from Columbus again. They said I had been brainwashed. They told me that only priests could read the Bible and I clearly misunderstood it's meaning. They said that since I never been to seminary I had no business challenging them or any other authority in the Catholic church.

Chuck and the other three continued to faithfully send me letters of encouragement. They would send me simple bible studies from Intervarsity Press. I read and filled them out without delay. I was hungry for more knowledge. And they were feeding me the best medicine my young soul could receive. When my parents learned of this; they would intercept my mail and destroy them.

Eighteen months later...

It's amazing how getting religion comes back when in trouble. I had no car; my only transportation was by ten-speed in the dead of winter. I took some advice from a pastor friend of mine; housing was of greater urgency than work. I got whatever savings I had and put the money down at a student dorm for 4 months and agreed to audit classes at the local Bible college. When I arrived; I tasted something different and unique there. Some stuff was to my liking; some was shockingly disgusting. I had thought that going to a private college would deepen my understanding about the bible and at the same time allow me to be positively influenced by my peers. In a way some of this was good. I did make some quality friends there. Some of whom I miss very much. The classes were very serious and had a mix of apologetics and historical relevance to them. Some was quite intriguing. Like; the parting of the Red Sea by Moses. There is a logical theory as to how this could have happened. I was truly interested in this stuff and over the course of the last twenty years; I dedicated many hours into this type of research. What I did not appreciate was that the very people who would hold prayer meetings early in the morning were living a double-standard lifestyle. I saw a lot of x-rated movies being shown in the student lobby at night; there were these interns studying to be pastors and teachers practicing sexual promiscuity while living the Christian life! This sickened me for I had hoped that people there had the same spirit of ideals that I did. (Well... in a way) I had hoped that I would receive more than just an education but be amongst others who shared the hopes and visions that I wanted to attain. To be fair; I found two who were genuine. The rest I named "Sunday Christians". Christians on Sunday; but forgotten the rest of the week. The two who were for real; Larry; an Irishman... who truly had a wondrous mystery about him! He would build these dulcimers and play them in Gaelic; I was truly impressed how he loved Ireland. Everywhere he went; he had a big smile on his face. I was welcomed into his dorm often and greeted with all his favorite hymns. I really liked being around him. It was Larry who introduced me to a local musician by the name of Rich Mullins. Today his music is heard around the world's airwaves. But the money ran out by late spring and I was talked into going to Columbus and staying with the friends that I met there.

I moved in with a roommate named Mike King. Mike had a great sense of humor and I really liked him a lot. I used to call him "Sky King". He taught me by example how to make farts smell bad. I mean if anyone has ever had Skyline Chili... he had three five-ways and two three-ways. We both ate our full then we went to people's houses and would play cards and have farting contests; scoring points for who could smell the worst. Mike won of course. Just brings tears to my eyes thinking about it! : ) Mike was not the best maid either. I loved to be around him but could not stand how he lived in our apartment. I got the bed and he chose the couch. Totally selfless... and I felt obligated to repay him for the kind gestures by cleaning up his apartment. But I didn't tell him and wanted him to be surprised by my efforts. You couldn't see the floor due to all the papers he just lied around. So I just pitched it all and never thought twice as to any valuable info that might be contained on them. When he got home; he turned livid! He dug through the six cans of trash and sorted all the papers back on the floor again. He had a knack for knowing just where everything was even though we had to hop around to find a place to walk sometimes. The dishes never got washed either. Once in a couple of months after we had exhausted every utensil did they ever get done. Life here was totally the opposite the way I was taught at home. I guess I let it all rub off on me some. I got to liking it all and became a slob too.

But Mike had a big heart and it was easy to overlook his faults. The guy just amazed me. Mike worked hard at jobs requiring a lot of heavy lifting. He taught me that it does not really matter how much you make as long as you work hard and do honest work. Mike worked hard and never complained about his wages. He just depended on the Lord to get him through. There were days when he would run out of gas and coast to the pumps and just manage to put enough pocket change in to get by. The thing is... he ALWAYS managed to get by!

After a while; I moved into a rooming house with Joe Healy on West 9th Avenue; just three short blocks south of the Ohio State campus. While I missed Mike; I was sorely relieved to have a room of my own. On the weekends I still got to see Mike. But now I was occupied in other things. And developed a relationship with Joe and some folks across the street.

I lived in a sort of commune. We all went to the same church yet we all rented apartments near each other within a one block radius. It was neat being able to see everyone everyday. Never a need to travel around; everyone was there. I liked that. The "brothers" lived in a house across the street and held bible studies there and would let me stop by and listen to them play the guitar, share books and go do stuff around campus for fun. The sisters lived one house north of me on my side of the street and would bake goodies for us all and chat with us some too. I felt refreshed; appreciated and welcome there. So unlike home; I felt like I belonged there. I never wanted to leave; it seemed like a small taste of heaven. But what I didn't learn until many years later that my faith in God was toxic. I seemed to stand strong in the faith; performing good deeds and all in order to "feel" good about myself. It was toxic because unlike selfless faith; I was hiding my painful past from them; and never dealt with any of it. I wanted their love, praise, acceptance; so I performed in whatever way I could to get that nurturing. Sooner or later; something had to give and when it did; I collapsed into a hole that I could never climb out of.

Late one Saturday evening in October, Mike called and invited me over for a home-made strawberry shake. This I could not pass up! Mike makes good shakes. While there; we chatted, watched some David Letterman, and then got a phone call from a damsel in distress. Mike and this person talked for hours on the phone; apparently he knew this person from years past. I watched frustration crest lines on his face. At four in the morning; Mike finally hangs up and asks me to go on a drive with him to Dayton, Ohio; about 80 miles away. He said he needed me to talk to him and help him stay awake. He was going to pick someone up and see if he could find some shelter for this woman. While this issue was a mystery to me; I agreed to go.

I enjoyed his company; we sang hymns all the way to Dayton. I hardly knew the words, my throat would constrict when I tried to sing. Mike; would instruct me to sing out loud because to do so would release the tension on my vocal chords. Mike used to sing on a choir; to this day, I still can't sing well; but try I did, and my throat was sore for days.We arrived in Dayton around five thirty in the morning. Standing beside our gray Camaro was a brunette deputy sheriff named "Rhonda". Rhonda looked tired and worried. I never in my life thought a cop needed assistance; but I soon learned that they are not much different from the rest of us; they got problems too. Rhonda invited us into her upstairs apartment to chat with Mike and tell us specifically what was the problem.

While Mike and Rhonda were talking, my attention drifted off to the curious things that she had around the room. For example, on her coffee table she had a gray marble chalice with eight cup-lets. I didn't think much of it... my eyes gazed at a bookshelf nearby. Books on tarot cards, witchcraft, yoga, I Ching, the Kabala, and "Fate" magazines caught my eye. I felt a strange curiosity swell within me. On the top shelf was a game called "Runes". I reached for it and found these wood chips with bone images engraved on them. Rhonda told me to keep my hands off. I focused my attention back on the conversation at hand. Apparently whomever Rhonda was dating would beat her with a dog chain. She was involved in a large black coven; (not to describe racial identity but rather it's nature) and stated she wanted out of it and certain people threatened to kill her if she left. I didn't quite understand all this at the time but apparently members of this group were also blood kin and were involved in the police force as well. (Now I'm really stepping out on a limb here so just bide with me; especially if any of you are in law enforcement.) Rhonda's father was a 38 year veteran cop in Dayton. At the time, he was the President of the FOP.

Her mother was ill and died at a young age. Her aunt and uncle provided most of Rhonda's attention while growing up. Both of whom were officially the Grand mistress and Master of this 70 member coven. Aunt Pat worked on the force, as well as two brothers, and a sister. This seemed to be a family pride issue. Her father trained them all to be cops. Rhonda's family faith was rather weird. Her dad was an atheist; her mother was Lutheran, and apparently on her dad's side of the family; the occult history was passed from generation to generation all the way back from Wales, England in the 17th century!

Rhonda was an adept for the priesthood and was to take over the coven when her aunt died. {For those of you in Wicca; this was not Wicca. This was a sect of the Order of Nine Angles. Recognized by the late Anton LaVey.)

We got her a place to stay temporarily. But for the sake of time; I will skip the great detail in what led her to her conversion to Christianity and the bizarre details involved. Rhonda was also quite a gifted musician. She earned the name "Iron Lips" from her outstanding ability to play trumpet for hours on end. While Rhonda worked in law enforcement; her mother instilled in her the pursuit of her musical talents since youth. Rhonda played with Doc Severson, Chuck Manjonie ( or however you spell it) He taught her trumpet while attending the Cincinnati Conservatory of Music. On a given weekend; Rhonda played non-stop for hours at a Jewish wedding and left with 2000 bucks for her efforts! I have seen her do it! She was not your average run of the mill person to meet. I had a great interest in her. Nine months later; we were engaged to be married.

August 23 of 1985, Rhonda and I were to be married. We planned it at the Park of Roses. This is the world's largest rose park. Acres of roses. We were to be wed in a gazebo surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers. But on August 5th, all those plans were destroyed. A real blow to Rhonda's esteem... and the first trial of our relationship.It was a hot sunny afternoon on August 5th, I had just got out of summer classes and was on my way home. I tucked my feet into the same familiar toe clips and unlike most days forgot to wear my bike helmet. I had a twelve mile ride ahead of me. Long distance cycling was my talent and I was particularly careful to wear a helmet most days. But for some reason I forgot it. I was almost two blocks from my destination. I was riding down a hill on a four lane road. There were no sidewalks but I was on the emergency lane on the side of the road anyway. I wasn't alarmed, I didn't notice any danger till it was too late. I saw the metal bumper about six inches from my back tire. It was too late... I knew he was going to hit me... I don't remember anything till I hit the ground. Apparently I was hit by a drunk driver at 3 in the afternoon. He wasn't just drunk! He was point 52 (.52%)! That's over five times the legal limit folks. Three patrol cars were following him. They said they saw me and waited to turn on their lights till he passed me out of concern that he would have swerved to the right to get off the road in response to their signals. But this guy swerved to the right and hit me anyway; then tried to run for it!Witnesses say that I almost went under the front right tire of the truck, but that I some how pulled myself off the speeding truck. When I hit the ground some 300 feet away; I hit with such force that the clothes ripped from my body! I don't recall this, but I did get to see those clothes later; they were bloody and torn up.

I was lying face down on the ground. I was unable to move. A police officer on the scene tried to talk to me to keep me awake. My ears were ringing so loud! "Where do you live? Who is your next of kin?" he asked. I told him that my closest relative was Rhonda my fiancée. He learned that Rhonda's father was his boss. It seemed we were there a while. The warm pavement started pooling with my salty blood.

The ambulance arrived. They had difficulty putting me on a stretcher. They said that they didn't know how to lay me due to so many injuries. I heard them rattle off those injuries on their radio. Five multiple fractures of my left femur, three of my right hip, massive internal bleeding... it was at that point that I became aware of the fractures and the pain. I guess all that time I was in shock. I was screaming in agony. I passed out from the pain.

I woke up in the hospital. I had tubes going down my throat and nose. I had all these machines connected to me. My arms had so many lines going in them it looked like spaghetti. I kept screaming inside my head that I was thirsty. But no one could hear me because they had me on a drug called "Pavulon". For those who don't know; Pavulon is used to paralyze you body so you can't move. I was only able to move my eyelids and fingertips. Rhonda was in the room. I slipped in and out of consciousness. Finally Rhonda came up with an idea how to communicate with me. She would go through the alphabet and when she hit the right letter, I would blink. She would then right that letter down on a pad. She then told the nurse that I was thirsty. She apparently was surprised by Rhonda's ingenuity but told her that I could not have any water because the reason I was thirsty had to do with the internal bleeding. Rhonda would spoon chips of ice to me, which greatly relieved some of the thirst.

Three days later, Dr Wright called Rhonda and told her that I was not expected to make it through the night and that she better call my family and let them know of my accident. She had already done this but they told her to keep them posted of my condition since they lived 80 miles away. She apparently notified them of my condition and they said they would try to make it that night. She also called my pastor and Mike King (My most trusted friend) to come here and give last rites. I woke up that night, surprised to have company. I still did not know how I was doing; but I learned through the attitudes of my mother that it was not good. "She came running in the room screaming, "My baby! My baby!" Apparently she was specifically instructed to be self controlled because the staff did not want me to be tipped off about my condition. But, it was then that I knew something was wrong. My parents would never made the trip here if they didn't think something was seriously wrong.In the wee hours of the morning I woke from my slumber. I couldn't breathe! No one was in the room! I tried to push a button on my bed to alert them but my arms would not move! I saw a pool of blood flow from my chest to the bed to the floor below! What was happening! Just before I passed out I saw the nurses rush in...

They told me later that my body rejected the respirator tubes. They said that my lungs were 92% filled with pulmonary emboli. (Bone marrow was being captured in the small capillaries of my lungs from all the fractures) I was told that I was receiving the maximum amount of oxygen at the time and the tubes came up somehow. Now here is the mystery... they said that the reason they came into the room was that my heart had stopped and it set off an alarm at the nurses station. They could not understand how it was that I was able to see them all! When I went under... I dreamt a dream... only, it was real! I was dying! Outside in the waiting room, Rhonda prayed... she saw all the commotion and wanted to know what was happening... but no one would tell her anything! A few minutes later a doctor came out and told her that I had died. She told me later that she bowed her head and gave me to God to do as He wished.A nurse was cleaning up the mess in my room. She saw my brainwaves start back up again! She called for help. This time they revived me. The reason they failed the last time was that they had to clear all the blood from my lungs first and were not able to help me this time... but this time they got me breathing again. But they decided to cut some gashes in my arms and circuit the blood through a machine to enrich it with oxygen outside of my lungs. For the meantime I was back. But they told Rhonda that to never expect me to ever wake up because I have been deprived of oxygen for four and a half minutes. They said I was comatose and was not expected to wake up. Rhonda waited day after day at my bedside, praying... and waiting... she said my body was rigid and my eyes would stare up at the ceiling... I was comatose quite a while...

I'll describe what death feels like. It feels like holding your breath underwater too long. You intensely struggle to surface and gasp for air. But the difference is that in death, your body doesn't move like your mind tells it to. You scream for help mentally but your lips do not move. I think the fear was the worse part. The few moments without oxygen feels like forever. But then you pass out... and then it's like going to sleep.

I dreamed I was going through a large tunnel. It was miles wide and very long with a misty white light at the end. I felt so at peace there, I didn't want to leave. I was not alone in there. I could not see anyone because it was very dark in this tunnel. Yet someone was there with me. I was not afraid. We spoke to each other. Not with lips and speech, it was like telepathy. We could understand what each was thinking and answer spontaneously. I was asked a question. "Are you ready to die now?" I hesitated. I somehow was able to peer down and see Rhonda crying in the waiting room. I immediately responded, "No! She needs me!" And then I woke up! Well not like the way it seemed. I was comatose for 22 days. I was clinically dead three times while comatose per the docs. Clinical death is not the same as actual death. It's when the monitors are no longer able to detect brainwaves or heart activity. Yet brain waves came and went. The day before I woke up, I could hear muffled voices. I felt Rhonda's hand on mine. I felt a cool liquid on my head. And then just like waking up from a deep sleep, I woke up. A coma is like going to sleep at night real tired and then waking up the next morning wondering how time passed so quickly. I didn't believe at first I was out for so long. I wanted to get out of bed and go home. But I still could not move! Pavulon is an amazing drug. But there is a twist in this story. That cool liquid I felt was my pastor anointing my head with oil apparently. Rhonda swears that I woke up shortly after he left. It startled some of the staff and spooked my Jewish roommate; whom I had the privilege of getting to know later on.

After I awoke, they wheeled me down to get some tests and an ultrasound. Ultrasound is where they would use a probe and through vibrations, can make a picture inside your body. I was able to see some of this later and thought it was real cool! I learned that my fractures had not been set yet. The staff was too afraid that I would die in surgery if they attempted it while comatose. I went into surgery that day, I think. Only, I was too out of it to know the results till days later. I was then told by Rhonda that my surgery failed. My femur was too badly fractured to repair with pins. They were going to try a new technique and have a team of surgeons fly in and see if they can fix it. If not, they said they would take the leg.

My second surgery was a success. The docs inserted a "Snyder" rod from hip to knew through the center of my femur. They put a coil over the femur to hold the pieces together. The rod was barbed on both ends to firmly ground it into my joints and severely limited my range of motion for years afterwards. I was not out of the woods yet. I was awake afterwards. They gave me a local and drilled a bit through both legs while a laid in bed watching the blood splatter all over the place. I could not feel the pain but I was sickened by the vibrations of the bit going through. Next they stuck a metal pin through each leg that protruded out from each side about a half an inch. They coated the ends with iodine and some sort of jelly. They connected cables to the rods and suspended my legs in traction for the next eight weeks. I can not describe the pain I felt during that period of time. But I need to tell you about this because I have never told this to anyone else before.For the first few weeks I was on Demerol, morphine, and valium. I was in la, la land. I was receiving a shot every other hour for pain. The physical anguish came around noon. I had to have the sheets changed daily. About eight people lifted me up while others changed the sheets. I screamed ten counts that could be heard way down the hall apparently. Thousand one, Thousand two! And so one. This was a daily routine.

Then comes the emotional shame. I could not urinate in private anymore. I couldn't take a crap without some staff member taking a sample to test in a lab somewhere! I had to have someone help clean me up as well. I was so humiliated and ashamed. But what could I do.

A Pentecostal person came into the room one day and started preaching from Psalms that God was chastising me by breaking both my legs. He showed me a verse somewhere about how some fool drew near the gates of death and had his legs broken for some reason. I lied on my back for weeks wondering if God was angry with me for sleeping with Rhonda before we actually married. I thought if God was behind all this then surely He could have gotten my attention some other way. But I pondered on this quite a while... what else can you do while laying in bed staring up at the ceiling with a respirator down your throat?

My parents were thrown out of the hospital twice. They came into my room one day demanding to hand over every stitch of clothing they ever gave me. Mom had an itemized list in her hand. Rhonda refused to comply without my permission. I could not speak to them. They were cruelly dividing my possessions in front of me like I was going to die or something. It caused my heart monitors to race. That's why they were kicked out. In all, I spent 4 1/2 months in ICU. By the time I was out of traction, I was so stiff, I could not move period. It took six weeks just to bend my arms and legs. Six weeks of coughing all that bone marrow out of my lungs too. During the stay at Good Samaritan Hospital, I had received over 200 shots of Heparin in my stomach, not to mention all the pills and painkillers I had pumped in through an iv line.

The day I was finally released from the hospital was too soon. Rhonda wheeled me to a McDonalds and I had a Big Mac Attack! For Real! Apparently, it never occurred to the staff to check for internal bleeding before releasing me! The burger caused a reaction that put me in cardiac arrest! Next thing you know, I'm in a different hospital! ICU for the next thirty days. And then some.

Rhonda did not stay in Columbus that long. She had a busy career and future ahead of her. We really hit it off and she would come up here on weekends to spend time with me. Mike King and others tried to tell me that we were rushing into this relationship too quickly; but we didn't understand or listen to them. We enjoyed each others company and I wondered about marriage at the time. Each weekend she departed we wept for each other. We had so many things in common and yet we were both very needy inside and could not see that marriage doesn't fill that hole in one's heart! We depended on each other for self fulfillment and happiness. And for a while; it seemed picture perfect.

It was Friday, the 23rd of April, 1983; The first Indiana Jones movie was being seen in the theaters. I took Rhonda to a theater overlooking the Olentangy River. The moon was full and made the shadowy waters glisten under it's awesome majestic luminance. We sat outside the theater on a bench talking... through one showing.... the next showing... and then, I gently took her hand and knelt on one knee, gazing into her eyes, and said "Rhonda... will you marry me?"

SHE SAID "YES"! I immediately jumped up and ran to the nearest payphone and called my parents collect and exclaimed, "Guess What? I am getting married?" "YOU"RE WHAT?! YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN TO GET MARRIED!" mom screamed. It was a sudden blow to the gut. My joy turned into shame. I hung up the phone and walked back to Rhonda and told her what happened.

It was rash on my part to tell them that! I never even let Rhonda meet them yet! We figured that after a few meetings that they would agree to this. After all! We were in love!

I spent three years in and out of hospitals. The amount of time gave me a deep understanding for those in wheelchairs. I was told that I was the second person to ever live from an accident like mine and the first to ever walk away from one!

The drunk driver was a five time offender. He got cited for four felonies and misdemeanor . He received ten days and was in & out of jail long before I woke up from the coma. After killing an 8 yr old girl, two years earlier; you would have thought he learned something! I was not as upset with his sentence as I was at the judge! My fiancée attended the hearing. She asked for just one request and that was that he see what he did to me. His attorney stated it was against his constitutional rights to see me. The judge agreed. All four felonies were dropped on the grounds that he was too intoxicated to know what he was doing... so I was told.

For years I thought of killing him. But I couldn't see going to jail the rest of my life for getting revenge against what he got away with. I even had offers from others to do him in. But as a Christian, I knew that if I killed him, I would still have to one day answer for my actions. One day he will have to answer for his too. It just was not my place to do it. Though I envied the thought!

We managed to stay clear of trouble for the next four and a half months. We moved into a third floor apartment over looking the Olentangy River here in Columbus. Across the river was a park. The Columbus Symphony would play there sometimes. About three months into our marriage, I felt strong enough to go back to work. Rhonda supported me those days. But we had to start paying off the bills from the wedding that we prized in our hearts. No honeymoon. We had little left over. But we never begrudged our parents. We had long ago accepted this and were prepared to move forward.

The day before Easter in March of 1986, we had a fire. Rhonda and I were asleep in bed at the time. It was about ten in the morning when a lady out walking her dog noticed smoke rising from the eaves of our roof. She ran inside and banged on everyone's doors. But no one believed her because we didn't see any smoke. I thought she was a kook and went back to bed.

I woke up about twenty minutes later to the sound of our front door crashing in! I ran out of my bedroom in my underwear screaming; "What the hell is going on man!" The fireman yelled, "Get you pants on and go!" I got dressed and fled barefoot leaving Rhonda asleep in bed. (Rhonda has always been a deep sleeper) The dude woke Rhonda up and helped her get dressed. Rhonda noticed flaming pieces of the roof falling past her bedroom window and was worried that her plants might get burned. She took the liberty to remove them from the window sill and place them on the floor. She calmly gets dressed, gets my wallet, shoes and our wedding rings and walks to the down the stairs. Meanwhile the roof collapsed over 12 apartments, catching all of them on fire! Rhonda was still not out of the building yet! I was terrified!

I saw her and she ran to me and hugged me. She looked back and watched every memory of her late mother go up in flames. She cried and said that she guessed this was real and not just a dream! Together, with 126 homeless people, we watched 30 apartments go up in flames. It was a four alarm fire. Hoses were spread from a mile away. There simply was not enough water pressure. A fire truck got stuck in the river bed and pumped river water on it. In ten minutes there was nothing left! Nothing but the clothes on our backs. No money in the bank! Not even to stay in a motel for the night.

The building smoldered for three days. The landlord was gracious to pay for everyone's lodging for one night only. We got three because we knew how the fire started and he was afraid of us. He did a bad thing and we had evidence to prove it. The next day, the fire marshal "Tom Maxwell" allowed us to return to search our units before he was going to raze the building to the city dump. We arrived to the blackened shell that remained. As mentioned earlier, we lived on the third floor. The floors were cement. The stairs were still intact. The second floor burned from the melting steel reinforcements from the floor above. The first floor had water flowing through the windows from all the water pumped inside. Everyone suffered loss. Yet no one died. Today is Easter Sunday, and most would return from their families by tomorrow morning with nothing left.

Outside were fire trucks, heavy duty ambulances, the Red Cross, TV camera's from places as far away as Houston, Texas. Vultures, ready to gobble up every drop of news that they could film. They interviewed victims. I watched an old lady weep as the firemen brought out a safe full of money. When opened, the paper was still smoldering. Neighborhood kids tried to steal what remained. But were quickly pushed away. Rhonda and I nervously stepped up the scarred stairwells. Fearful of whether they would support our weight. We made it to what remained of our two bedroom apartment. At the time, we had a guest stay there. Kim; Rhonda's sister also lost everything as well. She was staying with us while looking for work. Now we were homeless. We knew we were in big trouble; we hoped that our church would help us out. But they did not. They told us that this was the will of God for marrying despite my parents wishes. Honor your parents; they claimed. We married despite them and now God was punishing us. We looked to other churches such as World Harvest; with Pastor Parsley. A five thousand member church with a fat wallet. We were turned away there as well. We did not fit into their benevolence budget because we were not regular attendee's there.

But despite these hardships there was a silver lining in these dark times. When we entered under the twisted frame of our door; there stood a tilted crucifix from Rhonda's mother's casket, sticking up in the ashes. We moved slowly about. The ash was about three feet deep. We had to remove the fallen embers of the roof before examining what remained. We tossed the wood and ash over the side of where our windows used to be.

Once we reached bottom; we were surprised at what we found. Rhonda and Kim had many books; they all burned; except the bibles. We thought that was odd. Granted they were damaged; but since this fire was hot enough to melt our porcelain bathtub and my craftsman tools together, these should have burned! All my tapes melted; except those by Keith Green. The freon in the fridge exploded the door off the hinges. Our tv looked like a bowling ball, bed springs were all that was left of our king-sized bed. Yet the lyrics of Rhonda's songs survived. They were sitting next to a deformed plastic bottle of kerosene! This gave Rhonda inspiration to search for her treasured musical instruments. She was thrilled to find the lead case to her prized trumpets intact. She could not open the case for it had melted shut. We managed to pry it open and found her 18 karat Shilke trumpets intact! Rhonda was so thrilled!

She climbed up to the highest pinnacle of the building; and cheerfully played "Taps" for the miserable people below! This was the highlight of our lives back then. Everyone was shocked! The TV vultures wanted to interview her. CNN was there. They got to her first! While that was going on; the trumpets were put in our car. I walked up to her side and listened to the questions. "What do you plan to do now?" Rhonda said, "Go to church!" They asked, "don't you plan to seek a place to live instead?" She replied; "I am going to praise God for allowing us to live! God will take care of us!" That's "Iron Lips"! Such wit and courage! I was pleased with her response.

Meanwhile a few kids were seen breaking into our car. They stole the trumpets and fled into the woods nearby. No one did anything to stop them! "It was none of their business", they said!

After the fire we were staying at the Red Roof Inn for three days. We were still stunned by it all. Our clothes stank with the acidic smoke from the fire. Little survived that fire. We had put off renter's insurance... a stupid mistake. We were still reeling from the last calamity. We were struggling with the bills from our recent marriage. We were newly weds, at a very vulnerable time in our marriage. We believed we were going to make it! Then this gut-wrenching blow hits! My faith in God started to falter. The firm foundation I was resting upon was shaken down to it's roots. We sought aid from those whom we trusted. All born-again Christians! We were shocked when we were rejected. I cursed God that day and vowed to never step foot in another church again.

But we were not without hope. We owe our lives to the Red Cross! They donated the first month's rent and deposit into a new apartment! This kept us off the streets! The Red Cross also loaned us five hundred dollars to help us buy clothes to wear to work and food to eat.

Some unchurched people had more mercy than the time honored Christians we've ever known. Many gave food, small monetary donations, even an old couch and black & white tv was appreciated. Domino's Pizza provided free pizza for us on occasion. Somehow through the gifts from others Rhonda's eyes were lifted. As for myself, I was bitterly angry. This has been the second time I was betrayed. Both times I was told that God was behind these calamities. Both times these pious Christians were wrong! Seems the ones that are closest to you are the ones who stab you in the back and twist the knife! I was angry at God! In bitter hate I raised my fist and dared Him to strike me down. Unlike Job, I blamed God for these troubles. I wondered why it is that evil people can go unpunished while we get slammed twice! I wondered if there really was a God out there at all! And I vowed that from that day forwards, I was going to strike back in retaliation against God and anyone who dared to stand in my way! I failed to see that though others abandoned us, many did not. We survived... but I couldn't see past my anger to recognize that.

In our new apartment, we slept on the floor together for months. We still believed in doing the right thing and try to pay our bills on time. All tenants from the past units including ourselves were sued by Warner-Amex and AT&T. Warner-Amex claimed that we were responsible for not removing the cable boxes when we fled! AT&T sued for the losses to the wiring that occurred in each unit that had a phone hooked up! Finally, the IRS came along and cited us with the failure to send in our April 15th documentation on time! We couldn't because everything burned in the fire. But they couldn't see things that way. They thought we were lying to them. We had to support our story through testimonies from the fire marshal and chief engineer. They wanted $5000.00 for their services! Of the 126 people homeless in this fire only 2 had insurance! Shocking!

We sought legal counseling. We went to two attorneys and were turned away. "We only lost $26,000! There are bigger fish in this pond!" one attorney quipped. We were told our case was not worthy of their time. The third attorney was young. He told us how these cases can take years to challenge in court. He said that the power is in the hands of the wealthy owners of this building and that we would place them in the position of "defendants" and may be required to pay for their defense if we lost. He explained that he would take our case if we filed class action. This was impossible because the landlord was the only one in possession of that info and he was not going to give that info to us without a court order. So there you see... legal advice in this matter was out of the question!

Our young apprentice did help us in some ways though. He did do some background searching on his own. Through him, we learned that the fire resulted from a leaking roof that apparently had been leaking for years! The landlord did not want to pay the money to fix it so he poured tar over the cracks on his own. I have no problem with this if it had occurred in a warmer climate. But here in the snow belt of Ohio, pouring tar to repair a roof it foolhardy! Did he not consider that tar cracks in the cold? The roof apparently caught fire as the result of melting snow seeping through the tarred crack! It corroded the electrical wiring in the kitchen of our unit. We never realized this when we moved in. We noticed paint stains on the wall where water streaked it once. But we moved in in the late fall and it rarely rains in the winter here. So when the snow melted, the roof caught fire! We had plenty of support in this issue. The fire marshal agreed with us on this. The chief engineer did not. He was the one requesting most of the five grand for "witness" fees. He also was receiving a paycheck from the landlord!

As for Warner-Amex; we learned that they had already had insurance on their cable boxes and were trying to collect twice! We found a loophole in our contract with them. It stated that we were to return the cable boxes to them upon leaving the units; it didn't say in what condition! So we returned their boxes and demanded a handwritten receipt. They balked! But in the end we won! I set my molten heap on their front desk and left a satisfied man. Our young attorney also helped us write a strongly worded letter to AT&T. We told them that we are intending to go to the press about the harassment of innocent fire victims and would splatter their name all over the airwaves if they did not drop their suit immediately. In 48 hours, they dropped it. Wonder why???

For the next three years we struggled to get by. Both of us were pulling two jobs to make ends meet. With no emotional support... we grew weary. I started drinking. Rhonda would spend long hours in the bathroom praying for me. I would heckle her and say God doesn't hear prayers. During those three years, we stopped going to church. No one missed us anyway. Rhonda and I would argue over the smallest details. We were both frustrated and at the end of our wits. Before we knew it, we were screaming at each other. I started putting my fist through doors and walls when things got out of hand. One day I tore the cabinet doors off the hinges. Another day, I picked up the tv and threw it across the room. Rhonda was afraid of me. I became a monster. One day we argued again... that time she screamed, "What are you going to break now? There is nothing left to break!" I turned around and clocked her. She had to go to the hospital for a concussion. She lied to protect me. I never forgave myself.

That night, she called me on the phone. It was late... She told me that she flew to Boston to stay with some friends. She said she was afraid of me and wasn't coming back. She worried if one day I might kill her. Funny how those you love the most get hurt the worse.

When I hung up the phone; I felt strangely numb. I went to the supermarket and bought two bottles of Nytol. I went out to my car and drove around... eventually I parked in a lonely parking lot and swallowed 52 pills. An hour passed... I was getting sleepy. I turned on the radio and listened to a Christian station. They were playing heavy metal that night and I liked to listen to them. I prayed in the car and ended up crying a lot. I sobered up and called the radio station.

"WCVO" the dude answered. "I got a Christian friend of mine who is suicidal. Would he go to hell if he killed himself?" I said. There was a long pause. "Where are you?" Rich asked. I responded, "I need to know so please tell me soon!" "WHERE ARE YOU?" Rich said sternly. I tried to control the slurred speech... but I realized he already knew. I said, please tell me?" He screamed, "Where are you now!" I heard someone praying in the background. I dropped the phone. I reached down to pick it up and started seeing triple. "I am sooo sleepy." I said. "Talk to me! Let me help you!" He screamed. I felt a shiver go down my spine. I thought this is real, your going to die if you don't tell him. I feared I'd go to hell if I were to die...(Today, I know better) I labored to breathe... I could barely hold the receiver to my face. I told him where I was. I dropped the phone again. I slumped in my seat and was passing in and out of consciousness. I saw the flashing light and fell into a coma.

I woke up in the ER of St. Ann's Hospital. The familiar plastic tubes ran through my mouth and nose. I carefully pulled the tubes out. A doctor yelled at me to leave them alone, but it was too late. The staff strapped my arms down. I fell back to sleep.

I woke up the next morning around 9 am. An ambulance crew picked me up and carried me out of the hospital on a stretcher. I asked them where I was going but no one spoke to me. They looked away and stared out the windows. I tried to humor the place a little by calling the ambulance a "Twinkie Twuck". The silence was starting to scare me.

We pulled up to a series of plan brick buildings surrounded by woods and trees. One of the paramedics spoke to me and said, "Son, you need a religious experience." I almost burst in laughter! "If she only knew" I thought.

I was wheeled into triage. I was screened with a battery of tests. For the next three days, I slept. I did not wake to even get a bite to eat. On the fourth day, I weakly stumbled into a kitchen. I still did not know where I was. I noticed bars on all windows and doors. I feared that I was either in a jail or a hospital. Then it dawned on me... an insane asylum! I now wish I never survived! I dreaded the thought that I would spend the rest of my life here with crazy people! The movie "Midnight Run" clearly etched in my mind what happens in these places. I decided to plan my next attempt. "Better to die than remain here" I thought!

After I was released I started working for Domino's Pizza.

One night, a few months later, while working late for Domino's, a slender man pulled up in a brown convertible asking if I was the husband of Rhonda. I said yes and then asked if he knew where she was. He said he did and said Rhonda was in trouble. I was deeply concerned but I told him that I would like to speak to him at the end of my shift.

When that time arrived, the man was outside waiting on me and identified himself as Scott Moll. Scott offered me a ride in his car and offered to take me out for breakfast that morning. I didn't know him but I chose not to refuse since I very much wanted to learn where Rhonda was. Scott told me that Rhonda wasn't the same character she used to be in and has been involved in a drug ring with himself dealing crack. I had a hard time believing how an ex-cop can sink to that level but I told him to go on. He said that two night earlier Rhonda and himself mixed baking soda with crack and tried to cheat a eastside gang on a drug deal. It apparently went sour. Scott said he killed a man and had him in the trunk of the car that I was riding in. I wanted out. Scott said that Rhonda bragged about the story to some people in a bar the night before. Scott claimed that Rhonda was running for her life because the gang thought she was his woman and decided to "whack" her. I was angry and did not believe him till he took me to a house across the street from Watkins Printing and watched him give someone 400 dollars to dispose of the body. I watched them life what appeared to be a body (it was very dark) out of the trunk. I could not believe my eyes and was very scared. That night I learned that Rhonda was being held as a hostage in Cross Country Inn on the north side of town. She was being held for 7000 dollars ransom in exchange for the drugs this gang was apparently cheated from. Scott told me that if I did not come up with the money they were going to kill her! I asked to see her and make sure she was alright.

I met several members of this gang and was escorted to her room. Rhonda was very scared. She told me that she was dating Scott for about a year and did not know he was using her apartment as a front to deal drugs. I couldn't believe what I had just heard. I felt sick to my stomach. She said that Scott was her friend and was pregnant with his child. She said that I should do whatever they wanted and to not go to the police because she considered herself an accomplice to Scott's drug dealings.That week I sold my car (at a greatly reduced amount) borrowed as much money as I could and fell short of the $7000 she needed. I was so stupid for falling for this because later I learned that Scott was the mastermind of this group and tried to appear to be the good guy all the while paying these people to kidnap her. Have I confused you yet??? But I fell for it too. Scott was good. He covered his tracks well. There was a missing person's report out for the man described by Rhonda and Scott he murdered. Rhonda gave me his name... but I forgot who he is now. Scott went over to Rhonda's sister's house and threatened her family as well as other relatives if they didn't give him money. They refused. That weekend I went to the FBI to get advice.

Scott and Rhonda had a relationship going on. I put up approximately 3000 and friends loaned me 2000.00. When Rhonda was released she was badly shaken. At that time, she trusted Scott more so than me. That really hurt. Scott suggested to Rhonda that they pack their bags and move to San Diego, Ca. I was strongly against that idea because Rhonda had family and strong work ties here. Scott had hoped that if he could get Rhonda away from here; I would not be a influence or threat to him. Rhonda was intent on moving. I begged her not to go, but she decided to go anyway. In the end, Rhonda agreed to allow me to come along for the ride to make sure she got there safely. I would then fly back.

The ride was terrifying. Rhonda just quit her job and abandoned all her possessions i her apartment and garage. I think she wanted away from those people who kidnapped her so bad that she was willing to do anything to get out of here. She looked to Scott for having "saved" her life. What she did not know is that Scott used that money to buy cocaine with it. Rhonda allowed Scott to drive her car at speeds of over 100 mph through the Rockies on I-70. Scott was crazy. He claimed to be a navy seal and did have a good grasp of martial arts. I was protective of Rhonda but Scott was easily provoked to anger by my presence there. When we got into Utah, the 96 Chevy Cavalier developed car troubles. The cv joint on the driver's side was going bad. (Should I wonder why?) We were 600 miles from any decent city. We changed course to making a stop in Las Vegas to get the car repaired there. By the time we got there the grease from the joint was completely burned up. It was my understanding that the axle melted and broke. I don't know much about cars but Scott did bring us a work order from a mechanic while we stayed at the Sahara Hotel at the time. What I learned later is that Rhonda had money from a 401k still in the bank. Despite my pleading, she pulled the money out and gave Scott another 7000 dollars to allow him to get the repairs and purchase a down payment on a condo once she got to San Diego.

But that never happened. And I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. I was totally disgusted and furious but it was her money and she could not understand that Scott was using her. She kept saying I was her enemy and that I was just greedy. I came to the conclusion that your relationship was not salvageable. I went up to the 22nd floor of the Sahara and stepped out onto a landing. I wanted to jump but instead I cried my eyes out.The next day, Scott was no where to be found. He got the car back and stole it. We were left stranded in Vegas with no money and no transportation. Worse, my friends and family were no longer a resource to be relied upon. They thought we were nuts. We were nuts.

I used the knowledge I learned in probability and statistics coursework from college to gamble the few dollars we had in hope of finding a way to hold on. For the next six weeks, we played the tables. I did well. So well that other's gathered around me to watch me play. Little did they know that my stomach was tied in knots. We gained and lost money for six weeks. Then our fortune went dry. We pawned our wedding rings and continued to Roseville Ca. instead. Alex was a college student out there at the time. We wanted to take temporary refuge with him. When we got there, he refused to believe us saying that mom told him that we were nothing but a bunch of liars out to take advantage of him. He had the police remove us from his property. And for the first time in a very long time, we slept on the streets. Rhonda was terrified. She clung to me and looked to me to help survive. It was cold that night. We wrapped ourselves in newspapers to stay warm.With the help of other street people, we hitchhiked to a Salvation Army project the next morning and told them of our plight. I knew of a friend named "Carla" in Santa Ana, Ca. I was given permission to call her and she let us stay at her apartment for 2 weeks. The Salvation Army fed us and provided vouchers to Greyhound to LA. A six hour trek.

We stayed at Carla's and earnestly looked for work. Both of us immediately took on temporary jobs to bring in desperately needed money. We slept on the floor but we were grateful to just have a roof over our heads.

We moved into an apartment in Tustin and slept on the floor for two months. I was so depressed. It was hard to find permanent work. Unlike Ohio, there were plenty of Mexicans there willing to work for lower pay. So finding a job, any job was difficult. We were in trouble. Our insurance company would not pay on the car reported stolen until it was either recovered or until they had completed their investigation. We impatiently waited for their results. We have come a long way in those two weeks. But there is more.

Rhonda and I did not have any insurance. We were not yet residents of California so state funding was out of the question. As previously mentioned in an earlier message, Rhonda is full-blooded Celtic. Anyone who knows much of this linage knows how extremely fair-skinned they are! Rhonda could not tan. She'd burn. The hot sunrays of California burned her face from walking the hot streets looking for permanent work. Rhonda came down with a fast moving skin cancer. It looked like a one inch gaping wound on her face, just below her right eye. It started small but would double in size every few weeks. Occasionally it would bleed profusely. I was worried. We took her to Tustin Memorial Hospital. The doctor referred her to a specialist in Newport Beach. We explained our predicament with him. He said that surgery was urgent. The cancer had attached itself to an artery that feeds the blood to her right eye. He said that she would go blind in a month if we waited. The doctor compassionately provided the surgery at no charge but that we would have to pay for the hospital room regardless. He set up payment arrangements.

While Rhonda was recovering, we were in dire straits. We could not make rent the next month and was handed a three day eviction notice. We waited the three days then took what little we had and moved into Sea Breeze Motel in Cost Mesa. There we stayed month to month for the next two years.

It took four and a half months to get enough money together to get a cheap car. Once we had wheels I went to work for Domino's Pizza. The tips greatly aided us in our survival. Rhonda landed a great job with the Auto Club of Southern California. While there... she started seeing a guy she met on the bus to and from work. His name was Ledo Ortega. They hit it off almost right away. I never learned of it till months later.In February of 1996, Rhonda and I agreed to move back to Ohio. Rhonda would stay behind to support me while I got everything ready for her in Columbus. By the middle of March, I had a two bedroom apartment and a job with Domino's in Columbus. I called her but the phone just rang off the hook. Through a security guard at her place of work, I learned Rhonda was having another affair. I blamed myself. “I shouldn't have left her alone in California“, I thought.

I got suicidal and went out and drove my car recklessly through the neighborhood. Daring anyone to get in my way. I wanted to crash the car into a bridge pillar. But I figured it would probably not kill me. I thought about getting hit by a train... but the wait was too unbearable as it bore down on me. Eventually, I agreed to go into a private hospital. While there I threatened to kill myself there. I had a deep distrust of anyone in authority. The staff put me on Xanax and Darvon for my bursitis. Great combination! It would sedate me almost all day. I started hiding pills under my tongue and then horde them. How stupid they were I thought!

I took off my shirt and tied a sleeve to a pipe above the false ceiling over my bed and tied the other sleeve around my neck and jumped off the bed. I woke up on the floor. I pulled the pipe down with my weight! The fire alarm went off and I set off the sprinkler in my room. I knew I was in trouble. But when I came too, I looked into the eyes of three nurses standing over my swollen head with tears streaming down their cheeks. I could not believe that anyone cared about me... but these people did. In the next two weeks, I learned to slowly trust again. And I learned so much at that hospital that I began to have hope again. Before leaving, the staff passed the hat and gave me some money to help me get back on my feet again. I was deeply moved. But after a few months I got depressed again. The cycle of suicidal anguish would continue for many years to come. I wrote many journals, cried many tears, and even carved bloody messages on my arms to send people a message that I was serious about my suicidal intentions. Each time I get suicidal, I'd carve a letter. I decided that I would die when I reached the last letter in my message. I carved the words "DEAD ALIVE". People thought I was crazy; but I knew what I was doing.

Some of you don't understand why people carve. I carved when the internal anguish is so great that turning to physical pain dulls the internal pain. I learned that the reason I do this is because of the ritualistic abuse I seen as a child. If no one is there to punish us; we punish ourselves. It's a form of self-hatred. Carving feels better because the mind can really hold a lot of internal grief. The mind has synapses that regulate the stress that our minds can handle. When over-bearing stresses are testing those synapses, they become dull and eventually stop producing the Serotonin that suppresses the internal anguish, Serotonin is like morphine. It's the biochemical antidote for releasing the stress in our lives. When we experience ongoing trauma; our biological minds can not keep up. This is what brings the chemical imbalances in our brains. Like war vets; I have seen a different kind of war. Yet in many ways were have much in common. Major depression is anger turned inwards. It's like burying your feelings cause you don't want people to know you are hurting. An analogy might be that of someone who sweeps dirt under a carpet. Eventually that dirt bleeds through. So it is with our lives. We can hold it in for only so long; everyone has a thresh-hold. Eventually we all get to a point of fail-safe. And when we do; look out! We just come apart at the seams.

I believe in a higher power... but like Job; I cry out in pain. Too many Christians out there lie and say that being a Christian is like walking in happiness and glory. That's crap! Because life isn't like a bed of roses there are thorns too. But I tell you this... if I did not believe in a higher power I would have ended this miserable life ages ago. I am very intelligent and have studied biophysics and astrophysics intensely. I can "prove" life isn't here by chance as many Darwinists would have you believe. And it was the pain in my life that had drawn me to search for those answers. I am here on this planet to comfort others as I have been comforted. To listen and learn from other's wisdom like iron sharpening iron... so we sharpen each other's wit! Ever read Ecclesiastes? If you haven't you should. It's about life... about the core of every thing that has any meaning... and it's spelled out like it really is. It's like a rose with thorns... life is vain and has no value unless there is a hope for tomorrow. It is that hope that gives me courage... There is victory and glory for those who patiently hold on despite the pain! Hold On! Because there will be someone out there who will need you to be a lifesaver for them. And who would be able to reach others than someone who has tread the trail as they have. The night may be dark, but tomorrow is a new day. There is a God! There is hope! Only through suffering can wisdom be learned! In due time... you will lead because you have been tested and purified through the fires of affliction! For a fire lasts longer when embers burn together. A flame dies quickly when an ember is apart! So it is with friends.