Michael797

He would have been 20 tomorrow. Next week he'll be gone six months. It's not true that there are no words, there are plenty. They all begin with "fuck". So how's things with you?

As sort of promised, here's a sample of the aforementioned work, which has sort of grown to nearly fifty pages now. It's still rough, obviously, but I'm out of smooth edges. Warnings about enjoyment are probably unnecessary. PRE-RAMBLE Time and technology have, in remarkable ways, advanced the cause of helping humans to survive the catastrophic loss of someone close to them. Hordes of books, lists, words of advice, prayers, and other anthologies of consolation are readily available to anyone at the push of a few buttons (provided you can figure out where the buttons are). There are also plenty of places that someone attempting to help a grieving friend or family member can find useful information to assist in recovery. Having said all that, the work that you are reading does NOT provide answers, comfort, or solace in any way, any usefulness of the information that follows to help someone who is mourning a loved one is purely coincidental. So there’s that. Further, the author wishes to warn anyone unfortunate enough to be reading this diatribe that the rants, pathos, bombast, and despair contained herein do NOT intentionally reflect the feelings and thoughts of other bereaved people. It’s a simple fact that if a bereaved person somehow finds something relatable in the pages of this book, it is either an unholy coincidence or a clear sign that they are not doing very well at all. Lucky breaks were hard for me to come by even in those halcyon days of pre-bereavement. I did not lead a charmed life by anyone’s definition. I really only experienced two genuinely positive breaks late in my life; the first was when my son was born. The second was when I met the woman who would become my fiancée. Neither of them are around anymore. Any illusions of recovery from losing my fiancée were snatched away by the death of my son less than three years later. What do you suppose that might do to someone who was already pretty unstable to begin with? A smart person would take this opportunity to shut this book like a cheap window, punch up IHeartRadio on your favorite device, and put “Wind Beneath My Wings” in a repeating queue if they were looking for something resembling comfort. So why does this book exist in the first place? I’ll admit that, with so many people trying to survive genuinely acute and piercing pain, the world really didn’t need an angry, crazy old codger spewing bullshit about how the world and everyone in it was the source of endless horror. I was truly leaning toward just abandoning altogether any idea of a book and spending the rest of my now-few days simply crawling toward an overdue demise. Shortly after I had made the decision to give up the project, I had a conversation with a widowed friend of mine about a cousin of hers who committed suicide. He was in his 20’s and, for all appearances, had a great deal going for him. The suicide came literally out of nowhere. He had taken an apartment in a high-rise development; one day he crawled out of a window and quietly leapt to his death. The family was, as could be expected, in shock and profoundly devastated. Their lives were likewise demolished; no longer able to feel happiness or excitement toward anything that used to be part of their lives, they now simply stumble quietly from moment to moment, likely unwilling or unable to handle anything that might invite further angst. Bereaved folks know that feeling pretty well. It was the stumbling quietly that pushed me over the tipping point. I decided that, like it or fuck it, the world was indeed going to get an angry, crazy old codger spewing bullshit about how the world and everyone in it was the source of endless despair after all. You can ignore me and this book all you wish, of course. For me, this is one final, pointless gesture to serve as a reminder to anyone unfortunate enough to come across this book that life isn’t all Jesus and Disney for everyone. Finally, for anyone who thought that the author deserved, for whatever reasons, to suffer eternal torment for his past actions toward them, I trust you will take satisfaction from knowing that your wishes have been granted. You know who you are; hope you’re happy. For the rest – it’s your world, not mine anymore. Frankly, I don’t really care what you do with it. But people who have suffered such acute loss shouldn’t have to pay my karmic debts. This book is a cautionary tale, nothing more. If you've never felt like this and never want to, good for you. I hope you somehow avoid the hell I found myself in.

Update on the project: Yesterday marked the three-year sadiversary of losing my fiancée, and next week will be the three-month sadiversary of losing my son (kinda interesting how the symmetry sort of happened, ain't it?). It's been a while since my last post, sorry. As so many of you already know, things often get really really worse in the life of a BP, and that's what's been happening here of late. Apologies for lack of responses to PMs as well. This post is an attempt to address my social failures of the past several weeks. My son's mother has made arrangements with his school to provide an annual scholarship for some needy student to be awarded in my son's name. If nobody has any serious objections, I'd like to publish the results of this project on Amazon as an eBook with proceeds going to the scholarship in an attempt to keep my son's candle burning for as long as I can. Acknowledgements are due to Jenni, who has graciously provided me the opportunity to house-sit at her place while she's taking her family on a vacation. As a result of the solitude, I've managed to get twenty-seven pages written for the aforementioned booklet/project. Later on this week, I will attempt to offer up an excerpt to you folks so you can see where the whole thing is headed. Additional thanks to Monique and TS for their contributions, whether intentional or accidental. If any of you three feel you should be entitled to a percentages of the profit (unlikely as the concept of profit may be, given the work), please let me know and I will accommodate. Regardless, I can't help but feel grateful to the community in general for letting me get away with so much bullshit for the past three years. I cannot attempt to do your kindnesses any justice with the crap I'm going to publish; rest assured that I wouldn't dream of speaking for any of you. That's a promise.

For those of you who acknowledged today's two-month sadiversary in one form or another, thank you for remembering.

jgib, sorry for your losses as well. We all know only too well that death happens, but he seems to perform his job with monstrous glee sometimes, doesn't he? I will say this - if one more person thinks that they're helping by insisting I'm still a father, I'm going to start screaming and not stop for a very long time. That's one holiday that doesn't have a shred of meaning anymore. Given your score, I can only guess you're still very much embroiled in the struggle. If it helps, by all means, take whatever light was allotted to me - it appears I won't be needing it anymore in this lifetime. May it serve you better.

Wish you were here. Love always, Dada

Thank you, Bunny, Jen, and Hachi. I'm still very much monitoring the thread, and your suggestions remind me that you all have entirely too much experience with this. Week 6 and I feel like a Ping-Pong ball in a dryer with no idea of how to proceed from here. Knowing that someone out there is paying attention helps. I can tell you that I expect to go through a roomful of therapists before this all plays out. An acquaintance of mine has a friend who claims to be psychic. She's been bugging me with "important news." I finally got a hold of her and she told me her psychic friend wants me to know that she's been in touch with my son and he wants me to know that he loves me. I told her I have a mechanical Elmo in storage who will say the same thing whenever I push his stomach. Long and hard is the way from darkness to light.

Quick update: this project is still alive (so to speak), but rather than a pamphlet, it's probably going to grow into a booklet, with a page for each numbered item. There's still more than enough time to submit suggestions. It's understandable that you might be hesitant to open up old wounds, but if there's something you went through that we're missing, please feel free to add it to our list. It's hard to imagine we've covered everything already. Feel free to PM or post if you'd like to contribute one of your bad experiences with the living. It just seems rude to go mining the other threads for that without permission. I will say that the other day my mother looked me directly in the eyes and hissed "You have no idea what grief really is." Yeah, that wasn't helpful at all, mom.

Listeners: thanks for your responses. To those of you who are moving past, our heartiest congrats. For those of you who are fresh or stuck - well, we get that. We've been off the air of sorts lately. Many of you know why; for those that don't, I'll try to explain. Let's say (Trump forbid) that you had your child (or significant other) with you in a public place. You turn your back for just a second to ask a question or something. You turn back around - they're gone. So you go through the usual shock, disbelief, "This isn't funny, come out right now!" sort of stuff. You look for someone to help you find them. That isn't working; your companion is nowhere to be found. The graphic details of the aftermath are left to your imagination at this point. Let's just say that the first month, you're in complete denial of what's happening. This simply couldn't be your new reality; you hold out hope that this is just some sort of tragic joke and your child (etc.) will be returned to you in the name of justice. By the second month, it's starting to sink in. This isn't a joke at all, it's your new reality. Most folks would agree that after the shock wears off, the unbearable horror sinks in. After the first month it gets way worse. So imagine this scenario, but take away the hope - because you realize you'll never see them again. That's kind of what it's like right now. Now imagine being the mother of that child. You get the idea. So it seems pretty stupid to keep posting updates to that sort of horror. It couldn't possibly be of help to anyone coming to this board looking for answers, could it? That's why we're dark right now - in every conceivable way. Sorry for the static. I'm still doing PMs here and there. Sorry for any delays in them. I hope you understand. But I'm still working on the manifesto in the other thread, in case you still want to contribute. An update to that thread is scheduled for a few minutes from now.

Thank you for the feedback, Monique - I guess you would know. They'll be included, maybe added to, if that's ok.

Listeners, old and new - Radio Hell wants your assistance. We have to take a few days away from the station because life and stuff. But since our little mental hamster wheels never ever stop spinning, we've begun work on a project that, if all goes relatively well, maybe Jess will agree to post in the "Please Read" group or something. Usually bereaved folks don't like to do a lot of talking in the beginning; as a result, non-grievers will become confused as to what they can do to be of help. It might be a nice idea to have sort of a "manifesto" to shove under their noses to clear up the confusion. That's what this project is about, an attempt to create some sort of action plan for those who hope to take care of the bereaved. Be advised that this is a really really really rough draft that lacks the usual polish and pathos that you've come to expect from a RH transmission. That's where you come in. Please either PM or submit suggestions, amendments, deletions, snark-free alternatives (although we hate those, we'll suck it in if necessary), or other comments that would best represent YOUR wishes during this oh-so-delicate time. What do YOU wish people would say or do? What do you wish people would avoid saying or doing? Now's your chance. We'll make a second or third pass through the doc once we get some feedback, then we'll see if a POINT to our grief could actually be made. Thanks in advance for everything. Here it comes: ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So you wanna help someone through the grieving process, do you? Here are a few things you’ll need to know up front: 1. The person you thought you knew has left the building. There’s bits of the old person in there, but they’re currently drowning in grief and are in no position to act like the old “them” right now. They don’t want to have to act for anyone. You may not recognize them; you may even panic about this. You’ll have to get over that for their sake. 2. This is not about you! Actually, nothing about this is about you. Your BP (bereaved person) is dealing with an enormous hole in their life. This is not a good time for you to have any selfish inclinations whatsoever. Their well is dry, and there’s no way of knowing when it will start to fill up again. If that’s a problem, then leave the BP to someone more selfless. Seriously. Do not go into this looking for personal gain or recognition; they don’t have it to give. Do not hope to be the one to “cure” them. Your job will be to listen without judgement. 3. They may shock you with things they say. You have to be ready. You may not recognize the person talking to you. This is not a sign that they’ve turned evil. They're really lost right now and will be for quite a while. 4. Talking about “time” is worthless. A second is a thousand years right now, especially in the first year or two. You will be very mistaken if you think there’s some magical time limit to their grief. Maybe you’re on a schedule, but theirs has been destroyed. You’ll need to accept and respect that. If you can’t, you won’t be helping. 5. It’s a given that if you ask “How are you?” they’ll either lie and say they’re fine, or they’ll tell you the truth. The truth may include a huge meltdown right in front of you. "How they are" is much worse than you can imagine. There really isn't any need to ask. 6. The vast majority of BPs are going to shun the spotlight. This is not a good time to throw a party for them. 7. Anything can trigger them. They’re about as raw as a nerve can get. You may say or suggest something that sets off a memory of the BP’s departed. Tell them you’re sorry and listen to their explanation of why it set them off; there’s a very good chance they’ll forgive you. Forgive them for having a whole bunch of stuff to learn all over again. 9. They may have other reality-based problems to deal with. Their financial and security situations will probably have changed, frequently for the worse. If you can help with that, great; if you can’t, maybe find someone who can. That would be very kind of you.

Um... shit, our cover's blown. Just think of it, TS - what could say "Welcome home!" quite like a house full of pathologically grief-stricken folks playing Uno in your dining room? Fine, we'll wait. It's what we do. Just get home safely, ok?

What the hell, one more. From January 2015 - and this one's interactive! Ten Things You Can Say to Someone Who Thinks You're Spending too Damned Much Time on the Widda Board: 1. I’m doing my best to work through the grief – why don’t you work on sympathy? 2. There’s nearly 1,500 of us here; do you really want to piss that many people off? 3. At least on the board, people actually LISTEN. 4. If you have any ideas on how to beat death, now’s a good time. 5. You’re right – let’s sit around and listen to love songs. 6. Ever wonder what it’s like to drown while other people are swimming circles around you? My life is kinda like that. 7. I think things are going to be about ME for a while; does that not fit in your agenda? 8. At least I’m not as bad as that guy on the Radio Hell thread. 9. No matter what time limit you set, I’m going to need to extend it. 10. Here’s a quiz; why don’t you watch me take it? https://psychcentral.com/quizzes/grief-quiz.htm Maybe we should post our scores like those mattress commercials do. I got a 66.

For Monique and anyone else who's listening. Cobbled together from bits first posted January of 2015: 1. Here’s the problem. You were intending on spending the rest of your life with this person because he or she taught you what love really is; love works best when it’s being transferred back and forth between two people. It’s that constant flow from one to the other that builds up that energy, that euphoria. And you think that now that you’ve found that person to give and receive all of that love with, you’re going to be able to feel that bliss forever and ever and ever…. And then suddenly the other person’s gone. And now you have this huge backup of love that you’ve been collecting and growing… and suddenly you have absolutely nowhere to go with it. And you’re feeling actual physical and emotional pain because it’s so built up inside of you. If you could only, somehow, someway, release some of it - even just a tiny bit of it…. 2. Looking back on those posts from MY perspective, they look like someone was just emptying out the cerebral garbage. It's a mental exhaust pipe spewing out monoxide. It has to get dumped somewhere or it will just pile up. But none of it is changing anything; it's not making me feel better. And that right there is the entire problem. It's not the head that's going to pull me through this. It's the heart. To me, love - understanding - healing - that stuff doesn't happen in a vacuum. It has to be circulated. It cannot simply arise from nothing or just lay there; it has to be spread. So every time someone comes forth and simply says "I get it," or "Thank you," it's like they're taking a teeny piece of their heart - their compassion - and gently handing it over. And then, of course, I immediately go scrambling. "Wait, wait... I know I have a piece left for you, too! Here!" And then I feel better. It's not the head, it's the heart. The transmissions will continue until morale improves, so to speak. But it takes a village to raise an idiot - and THIS idiot is gonna need as much help as he can get. Your replies mean very much to me - and I hope you know why now. Thank you.

For nearly three years now, I've been wishing there was some sort of "halfway house" where wids and other bereaved folks could just be with each other in a safe space until they got their shit together. You've provided the missing piece of the puzzle - your place would be perfect! How soon can all 1,400 of us move in? PS: You might want to run this by TS first. PSS: Truly grateful for your time yesterday, adp. Thank you.

Some bumper stickers from 2015. I still like 7, 7a, 11, & 12. 1. Red, bled, and dead – nobody rides free. 2. My other car is a Hearse. 3. If you can read this, you’re about to meet my spouse. 4. This vehicle stops at all widowbagos. 5. Warning: driver has widow brain 6. 10-4, dead buddy. 7. You have NO idea how fucking lucky you are. 7a. Try raising three honor students by yourself! 8. My baby’s in Heaven, but I went to Hell 9. I brake for hysterical sobbing. 10. Heaven took back the angel it was missing. 11. I have no idea where I’m going. 12. Happy people suck. Bonus stickers: 13. Follow me – to my therapy session. 14. I went through all the grief stages seven times before the first traffic light. 15. This car stereo’s tuned to Radio Hell (shameless promotion) 16. Another morning of mourning. 17. It’s a widow thing – be grateful you don’t understand.

Another, dated 12/07/14. What will YOU do about the holidays? Best to plan ahead. Radio Hell is back with the first of our oh-so-extra-special transmissions for the impending holidays. As you know, it’s been our long-standing policy to discourage folks from coming here; yet those of you who have nothing left to lose still somehow wind up taking that left turn at Albuquerque and landing smack-dab in the center of our frying pan like a flapjack. In the interest of simple human decency, we’re going to try yet again to keep you from ever wanting to come back. In our latest attempt, we take on PSYCHICS. (Yep, the exit’s just up there in the upper-left corner. Thank you for leaving.) Cable channels are packed with shows hosted by people claiming to have exclusive insight into the great beyond. We’ve had everything from Ghost Hunters to the Long Island Medium conveniently delivered into our homes. All of these gifted beings immodestly brag that they can provide the secrets of the afterlife within 42 minutes (with time out for commercials). Yes, it would appear that spirits will pose for pictures and provide sound bites. What are we meant to know about the afterlife? Is it truly possible to punch a hole through the veil to see the other side? Will there be a McDonald’s there? Radio Hell presents – with no joy whatsoever - The Top 10 Things a Psychic Will Say to the Bereaved. 10. I completely understand how you’re feeling. I’m here to help you. 9. Yes, I accept MasterCard. I also give discounts for cash. 8. I sense you’re…. distressed about something. 7. All the others are frauds; I’m the only real one out there who can actually communicate with the departed. 6. I do parties and group events. 5. Your husband’s name was Bob…. No, Jim…. No, David…. Yes, David. 5A. Yes, of course his name was Milton – but he liked to be called David. 4. Perhaps you saw me on Joan Rivers or Jerry Springer. 3. Sessions with me make great gifts. 2. I need you to be completely open to the experience. If you have any skepticism, we will achieve nothing here today. 1. All I need is your full name and birthdate. Yes, I need the year in order to fine-tune the spirits. Special Bonus Item: 1A. For another $50, I can tell you even more. Special Note: At least half of the items above came from websites of actual psychics – including #1. Radio Hell, as always, is truly sorry for your loss; we only ask that you please grieve responsibly. See you next time.

While we're trying to sort out the meaning of life, here's another blast from the past. Originally dated 11/25/14: The Top 10 Perks of Being Newly Widowed 10. ‘Bagos! 9. When someone tells you to “get over it” or “toughen up,” you can look them right in the eye and say “Yeah, that’ll work! 8. You now have so many pillows that the cats are inviting their friends over for parties. 7. You follow more TV shows than the FCC. 6. You can have all the pizza and ice cream you want – and you don’t have to clean up afterwards. 5. You can watch the look of horror come over people’s faces when you tell them. 4. Laundry day is only once a month. 3. You're allowed to chalk damn near anything up to "widow brain." 2. You can choose a screen name for the board like “TheSunWillNeverEverEverShineAgainInABillionYears.” 1. When it happens to someone else, you’ll know exactly what to say to them. Happy Holidays from Radio Hell – dousing your fires and raining on your parades since 2014.

Funny you should say that. I spent last night reading all 25 pages of the "Fuck You" thread. I found it both heart-ripping and inspiring. Here's my list, kept a safe distance from people who actually care about recovering: 1. Fuck today being three weeks and that’s roughly the number of people who still give a fuck that my son is dead. 2. A FUCK of biblical proportions to the fact that he died alone at 4 in the morning. 3. Fuck funeral parlors and all their theatrical bullshit. 4. Fuck the afterlife and all the pointless, stupid, unanswered questions like “If your baby dies, will it still be a baby in Heaven?” 5. Fuck all religions. There are as many churches as there are Chinese restaurants, and every fucking one of them pushes a different god with different rules of who’s worthy and who’s not. Fuck their propaganda and may they vomit into their collection plates. 6. Fuck any minister who owns more than one suit. 7. Fuck FAITH. What’s there to have faith in? 8. Fuck that man has made god in his image instead of the other way around. 9. Fuck the Westboro Baptist Church for all eternity for claiming that they’re doing god’s work when all they do is show up at funerals and sue anyone who denies their “free speech.” Fuck those monsters. 10. Fuck being liberal – where did that get me? My son was more liberal than I was and he’s dead. 11. Fuck-directly-to-hell anyone who would think that my son deserved to die because he actually wanted to care about people and make sure they were educated and fed. 12. Fuck our baboon-in-chief for being the most repulsive, psychotic, ignorant man-child on earth. Fuck anyone who believed his lies just because they wanted some population to be exterminated. Fuck anyone who called him a “successful businessman” even though there isn’t a financial institution in America who would do business with him. Fuck that he’s NEVER EVER suffered. Fuck him for not giving even the most remote of fucks for another single human life. Fuck him and his worshippers. Fuck them forever. 13. Fuck Democrats for not having any sense of direction. How hard could it be to run on a platform of feeding and educating people? Fuck them for fucking it up. 14. FUCK AYN RAND and her “survival of the fittest” bullshit. Fuck anyone who thinks that’s a good idea. 15. Fuck anyone who thinks being ignorant is a career choice. Fuck people who think intelligence is a deformity. 16. Fuck being sixty and worthless. I’m an old white guy – where’s that getting me? I’m excluded from every club. 17. Fuck money! Fuck not being able to even afford going to a homeless shelter. 18. Fuck all of the stuff that I saved of his over the years. Fuck that none of it will ever mean anything again. 19. Fuck my family. Fuck my sisters for waiting around for my mother to die just for a couple of bucks. And fuck my mother for enjoying trying to destroy what’s left of me with the dementia-riddled venom that spews from her mouth whenever I see her. 20. Fuck having nothing to care about anymore. 21. Fuck all the agonizing hours I spent wondering if my son would even survive on this shithole of a planet. Fuck that there are worse things than death in America now. 22. Fuck that nothing brings me pleasure anymore. Fuck that life has lost all its meaning. 23. Fuck people who don’t “get” death. Fuck people who run from it. Fuck people who think two weeks is enough. Fuck happiness – it’s a dream, people! 24. Fuck that people we love are dying and we’re not allowed to know where they went. That’s the stupidest thing ever! 25. A big fat MEGA-FUCK to anyone who claims to see what’s going on “behind the veil” and will tell you for a dollar. FUCK ANYONE who would exploit the bereaved. That is a Trump-level bunch of sick shit. Well, that felt truly horrible - guess it worked.

Today's Horoscope: Pisces "Your day may include a bit of friction, Pisces. You may encounter rude people and frustrating situations. Your day may not go according to plan. Even so, you need to summon your inner warrior in a peaceful way, and react with patience, understanding, tolerance, and compassion. If you do, your day will be much better than it might be otherwise. And it will also pave the way for a sweeter tomorrow. In fact, the reactions you choose today can have a powerful impact on all of your days ahead." LOL! Now that's funny. If there was ever advice that required ripping to shreds, there it is. Let's begin! All day long, people have been texting me with that mind-numbing question, "How are you doing?" Let's see: my son, my reason for living whatever life I had, is a pile of ashes sitting on his mother's mantle. I'm going through storage piling up all the things that he won't inherit. The trees are all weird, ugly colors, there's no point to anything anymore, and there's no way to get any of it back. Of course, all that crap won't fit in a text box, so they're eating static today. Not replying to any of it is about as patient as it's going to get for a VERY LONG TIME. I sure hope tomorrow's horoscope says "You're going to die today and see your son again." How about a little compassion for the bereaved for a change, huh? How about a day where I don't have to lie to or console anyone else? Just one day, maybe? Doesn't work that way, does it? Nope, folks still need to have the old dancing monkey that they thought they knew and loved. Shame he died 2 1/2 weeks ago, too. And, like his son, he's not coming back again ever. We place too much attachment on the body when the only thing worth shit is what's inside. Maybe all of my "friends" can just get together and rip my body apart looking for the other guy. It has the virtue of being a different way to go. Somehow I think they'll be getting static for breakfast tomorrow as well. RH, O&O.

Some background: My son's mother and I lost our only son to a car accident two weeks ago. She has been told by her employer that they would like her to return to work next Monday, which would make it two weeks out. How do you feel about that? We've put this poll in a new thread so as not to get anyone mixed up with the other, creepier thread. You have no business being there anyway, so stay out, ya hear? Stay out! Thank you for your input.

We're back with more bitching. And bitching about bitching. And bitching about that. That's pretty much the inherent problem with anger; it's the most flammable of the emotions. It burns up all your oxygen and just sorta leaves you with a fuse that pathetically fizzles out. And when it's all just a smoldering pile of shit, you're right back where you started - with nothing but that searing pain and those horrible flashbacks. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross - nothing against her personally. I do have to laugh that when you google her name, you get results about how she had second thoughts about the whole five stages thing SHORTLY BEFORE HER DEATH. Wonder which ones she questioned.... Ask any widow - they would tell you that she missed about sixty-seven more stages. What about paralysis? Despair? Loss of meaning? Disorientation? Aversion to sunlight? Jealousy of other, happier people? Thoughts of suicide? You could say the same thing about meth, but at least the effect from meth is temporary. Ah, but I've been here before, and I know this ride's just beginning. Gonna need to do some serious venting somewhere.... Um, oh. Sorry, do carry on.

Bonus Rerun Transmission - because whatever. Original airdate: 10/19/14, sort of modified. Here are the latest transmissions (there’s something REALLY WRONG with that radio): 15. Saw this old, old man, all hunched over and with a cane, hobbling into a restaurant, and thought “lucky bastard.” 16. Where did all my friends go? Do I have the smell of death ON me or something? 17. Is it possible to be octo-polar? 18. You couldn't at least give me the lottery numbers in a dream? 19. I bet she's hanging out with Robin Williams and Joan Rivers. I'm jealous. 20. I wonder if you could get thrown out of a grief group for “bringing everyone down too much.” 21. Here’s the problem. You were intending on spending the rest of your life with this person because he or she taught you what love really is; love works best when it’s being transferred back and forth between two people. It’s that constant flow from one to the other that builds up that energy, that euphoria. And you think that now that you’ve found that person to give and receive all of that love with, you’re going to be able to feel that bliss forever and ever and ever…. And then suddenly the other person’s gone. And now you have this huge backup of love that you’ve been collecting and growing… and suddenly you have absolutely nowhere to go with it.

We're back. Some progress has been made, one might say. I actually got through a night without a nightmare. Given that the past few weeks have consisted of replays of the car crash mixed in with various scenarios where I'm being shot at by SWAT teams, last night might be considered sort of a huge deal. None of this, btw, is meant to scrounge for pity. It's just residual psychic garbage that tends to pile up unless there's a nice big hole to regurgitate it into. This thread is my landfill, and as long as it's here, no pity is required. So let's move forward (or something) and bring up the role of FAMILY in the healing process. Judging by some of the threads popping up here of late, family can be a questionable source of comfort for the bereaved. Many of you have experienced whatever-the-opposite-of-comfort-is at the hands of your blood kin. Impressively, sometimes your family can shock you even when you were convinced that nothing could ever shock you again. There’s an appropriate quote floating out there that says something like “Your friends are the family that you choose for yourself; your family are the strangers that you grew up with.” I’d put my two sisters up against the strangest members of your family any day of the week. Example: I mentioned to my sisters on Mothers’ Day that I had applied for a job at Starbucks. After a solid barrage of comments along the lines of “There are plenty of jobs out there!” (No, there aren’t), “Starbucks doesn’t pay anything.” (Actually, it’s not that terrible and they offer health insurance and college), and “You might as well just go to McDonald’s.” (which is sort of true), they both looked at each other and, in unison, came to the conclusion that it was my destiny to be a Manager at Burger King. Nothing against the hardworking employees of Burger King or the foodstuffs they offer, but I would assume that the franchise would be more likely to hire managers with something resembling managerial experience. But my sisters were undaunted, insisting that Burger King will train anyone to be a manger, including me. They PERSONALLY KNEW A GUY who went through management training at Burger King and is now living a FULFILLED LIFE (at about 36 grand a year). Sounds sweet, doesn’t it? When I left, they were both chanting “Manager at Burger King!” to the tune of “No Wire Hangers!” I got a text from one of them this morning; “Have you checked out Burger King yet?” Folks, with that kind of support, how can you go wrong? No, I didn’t tell them about my nightmares; I’m sure that would convince themselves that all my sleepless nights would be cured with a liberal dose of Whoppers. Let’s end this transmission with one last quote. “All in all, you’re just another brick in the wall.” Better luck to you, dear listeners. Laters from Radio Hell.

Having survived the weekend (barely) and the power outage (someone unplug a cord yesterday morning?) Radio Hell is back, reminding you that things can always get worse. The Japanese have a tradition called Kanreki, which loosely means second childhood. When you turn 60 years old in Japan, you wear a red hat and/or vest to signify that your second life has just begun; you're considered a kid again. Isn't that kinda cool? Here in the states, we honor our children (depending on your political affiliation), but we don't hire them. Suffice it to say that your humble station manager has been income-less since the beginning of the year. That may change with an exciting opportunity to work for the good folks at Starbucks; I'm basically hanging around the phone in the hope that they call by tomorrow as originally promised. All of us here at the station are hoping you'll send some vibes our way so we can land this job and take our shot at Kanreki. Please send your auras in care of Radio Hell - and thanks in advance for the karma. We'll keep you posted. And thanks for the responses to our previous broadcasts; we love us some feedback! If anyone needs us, we'll be at the storage unit looking for shit to sell on eBay. Laters.