WHY DOES GARY KEEP BUGGING ME ABOUT THIS SHIT?
I’m at the “Oh shit it’s my 20th anniversary of graduating high school” moment of life. Close, anyway. I graduated in 2004, but really I left the campus in 2003. While my friends were going to prom and planning their graduation parties, I was in boot camp at MCRD San Diego preparing to go to war as a combat Marine. That was my quest at the time. Before that, my quest was to run away and be a bull rider in the PRCA. Before that, my quest was to become a famous performer and be in front of an audience. That really was my true quest. I was in love with performing on stage because it was the only place where I didn’t feel awkward in my own skin. As a child I had been in some tense situations where I had to take charge and use my voice to keep the peace.
I digress, the point is, I wanted to be on stage more than anything in my life. Then things happened and I became aware of certain details that made me question my masculinity. I also remembered how nice people became regarding you when you were gone. So I left, and subsequently earned the title of United States Marine.
My plan didn’t turn out the way I thought it would. I medically retired from the Marine Corps after being injured in a variety of ways, none of which were suffered in combat. But, again, there were some tense circumstances I had to endure that were outside the norm of business as usual. Regardless, I returned home with my head as high as I could hold it. This was easy to do with a beautiful wife on my arm–Becky.
We started a family (no she wasn’t knocked up already!) and I went to school. I got a degree in Journalism. We had a second child. I kept my job in sales rather than become a journalist fearing that my writing could never pay our bills. I wrote for a trade journal called Undercar Digest. I became a striving novelist. Self-published, self-promoted. I had book signings and did Facebook promotions. I helped my wife get a degree. Along the way she and I developed some illnesses. She grew to be diabetic. I grew to be a severe alcoholic who was also masking anorexia and severe depression. Becky had a major surgery that ended an era of suffering in her life and began a difficult journey of recovery and self discovery and new challenges. She started a career around her doctor’s appointments and health commitments. I took a job as manager of the warehouse I’d been in since I was a child (No exaggeration, since the age of 9. I worked with my mom the whole time. No bullshit). I nosed dived into the E.R. twice, thinking I was having a heart attack. Prior to that I began to have extreme difficulties driving on the highway and around high contrast lights and repeating patterns.
I drank to the point of collapse, and miraculously stopped drinking. Unsurprisingly, everything I drank to forget fell on top of me. I hated my job because I felt like it was a waste of my talent: I stayed because it was safe. I drank so I could eat; when I quit drinking I stopped eating, too. I drank because I’ve been on the frontline of difficult deaths, including my father’s; when I quit I was back at their bedsides. I’ve been put in a lot of uncompromising positions by people I thought were friends and family. I’ve been exploited a time or two. I’ve been in charge of so many lives, including my father’s crazy ass, that when I was tasked with managing 25 more I couldn't do it; I couldn’t be in charge of them and ignore myself anymore. I lost my job because I couldn’t function in a normal way that was conducive to a corporate workplace. I have documented disabilities with which I’ve been struggling that I've never validated.
These compounded issues led me to finally acknowledging the disabilities I've been ignoring for two decades, both physically and more importantly mentally. Mental health issues are real, folks. They are hereditary too. These issues were thrown into the forefront of my perception and now I’ve come to understand better why the majority of my extended family kept me at a safe distance just in case. The crazy-as-hell drugged and drunken portion of the tribe I belong to has long since died or gotten tame as hell (Jimmy…Mom…). The “normals” (aka regular folks) are always a bit skittish around me. I get it now, they sensed something lurking behind the drinking, behind the coping. They sensed something off, something messy. Knowing that hurt quite a bit during my darkest moments…
I decided that since things weren’t meant to be for me in the grander scheme of happiness in life, perhaps it was time to go elsewhere. Ironically my son had made a movie about what I was planning just months before I almost did it.
Here's that movie:
I was sure that I had myself and others fooled that I’d never do such a thing. Everything was pointing me in the direction of a preordained ending. Or maybe a pragmatic ending, like Hemingway figured it to be. Like Willy Loman in Death of A Salesman. But, at the end of the day, I knew I had to stay. Team Allied is an E.S.O.P., hence I did pretty well. If I died my retirement accounts would be made accessible to my family without penalty. I figured, maybe that’s why I worked there so long. In another irony, my president and CEO flew out the morning after I was on the suicide hot line until 3 am in the morning because I had just resigned my job. I quit on him and he flew from Sioux Falls, SD to drive me to my piano teacher’s house so that my best friend Jon could put my safety plan in action. I never asked Darrell Kurth for help once when I should have, long before I collapsed under the stress of my job and pain. Even so he came to my aid unasked, like a true friend. I’m so sorry I left a mess for you, sir. LIFE WASN'T READY TO LET ME EXIT (stage right)
After six days in Porter Adventist Hospital’s Behavioral Health Ward, I came out of intense care with a completely cracked facade. No longer could I keep myself inside myself. I had to begin talking about what I wanted to be and what I lost along the way. To do that, I needed the help of some inspirational men. My brother’s in Journeymen. Scott West visited my warehouse just weeks before I was certain to exit the stage of life. Chase Thomas took a chance on my crazy ass and brought me along to meet a group of authentic people with real scars, and real talent. I made a new best friend in Jobywon. I found a teacher willing to confront my dark spirit in Jay Mysterious. I found a leader that I could respect in Ken Cole. He’s the kind of guy my Commanding Officer D.J. Skuce was. Someone who builds great men. Like my Battery Gunnery Sergeant, Micheal Lilly. The other nuts who come to Journeymen all get the same kind of love from me I got from my fellow Marines in Tango 5/11 and Fox 2/11. Most of these men have been through things even more horrific than I could imagine. But the emotionally wounded know the emotionally wounded. It’s a mutual respect because pain is pain. Really bad things happen to some people, and most will never understand. But then you meet big beautiful men, like Bass and Daniel and Nicholas and Eric, you dance at Rhythm Sanctuary, and you discover there are people who do understand deeply.
Since I went to the hospital I’ve lost people I considered family. We likely will never speak again. I’ve upset my blood relatives and my in-laws. I’ve worried the shit out of my mother once again. After all the hell I’ve put her through. Bull riding. The Marine Corps. My father. Our often heartbreaking and sad moments in life together. It’s okay to say we’ve been somewhere others haven’t been, Mom. You’re right, you are much tougher than I am or will ever be. But I think you really do know how many times I’ve let myself be hurt rather than see others be hurt. I wanted really badly to show you some of the people who have helped me feel ok about some of it. They’ve helped me confront all of it.
Journeymen made me feel like I still had talent and power. That people did view me as different, but that was a good thing. The deepest wound I’ve torn open to re-heal has been a difficult process directed by Father Chris Gama of the Capuchin Fransician Friars. It’s a story I’m not ready to tell yet. Someday though Fr. Chris will be getting a novella. And of course, there’s my Saint B’s family that have shown up when I was down and out. Genni and Michelle, thank you for encouraging my teaching the kids. It was one of the few things I still enjoyed during my darkest days.
And Maryla. Maryla who has done so much to support me. The only way I could thank her is to dedicate my 6th novel to her. That novel is currently arriving at the inboxes of literary agents everywhere. It’s called: A More Perfect Union.
Folks, there are three people that I’m doing all this crazy self exploitation for…My wife and sons. I missed William’s 16th birthday while I was in the hospital. He got an electric guitar. I promised he could go to Mullen High School with his friends whom he missed, just a few months before I went to the hospital. He was miserable at the school I had him in before. The education was great. The staff is amazing. He loved working at the capital and he learned how to be professional with adults, but he was miserable. I flat out didn’t want my son to become me. Sometimes you can have everything look great on paper and be depressed. I had a lot of wonderful things to be proud of even when I hated life and dreaded waking up everyday. I was miserable. It’s a valid feeling that we all have sometimes. The difference is that some of us were taught how to confront fear, pain, failure, and tragedy in a healthy way. Others end up like me. William would not end up like me. If anything else, if I had to die to get him to a school he said he’d be happy in, I’d die. One that has a drama club and jazz band. One that has friends he’s known since elementary school. Friends that make him feel like a rock star. He loves to perform the way I did when I was 16! I’d do anything to help him not be miserable like I was!
And I have been. That’s why I’m saying all this crazy shit. So with pride I’m announcing…
Contrast Crush 2023:
WiLL Johnson
Circles We Draw
This April 22nd, at the Sons of Italy Lodge in Wheat Ridge Colorado, there will be a concert featuring amazing people from my community:
“We hide from absolutes and search for the grey zones…the safe zones. Perhaps instead we must embrace both light and dark as fully expressed realities. We can all coexist boldly without detracting from each other’s inherent values and worth. All you need is a simple cause to care about together.”
Poetry and Sacred Flutes by Scott West??
WiLL Johnson (Special Guest Russell Johnson)
Poetry by Alejandra??
Circles We Draw
Thank you story, read by G.A. Johnson
DJ V (Ecstatic Dance encouraged!)??
WiLL Johnson, unplugged.
MC Ken Cole of Journeymen??
Chair massages and Kava in the lobby with Jobywon
Event Photography by Kristin Spivak
Donation tables set up for Hattie Pearls, Karma Cares, and the Capuchin Fransican Friars.
Featuring the Art Gallery of Russell D. Johnson. A truly gifted and insightful artist of both the musical and visual mediums. Russell pours his raw emotions onto the canvas without fear of reprisal.
With the royal permission and blessings of Princess Becky. The ruler of my heart and soul. The gracious provider of wealth to her kingdom while I’ve been beset with madness. You’re a queen working courageously in new circumstances as your family has needed you now more than ever. My beautiful wife of nearly 18 years. On April 23rd of 2005 you and I met at an underground band party after meeting briefly at Vinaka’s Coffee shop in Carlsbad, CA. I was a crazy Marine dressed like an acid cowboy who loved going to Pow-Wows. You were hotter than Fergie Ferg on the cover of The Dutchess. We eloped after knowing each other for a whole three months. Your mom threw the flowers I gave her into the canal behind your house. My mom never got the letter I wrote her explaining why I had to get married at 19 years old. THANK YOU for giving me two amazing, talented sons. Thank you for putting up with me drunk, pissed, depressed, crazy, jealous, megalomaniac rampaging, and whacked out on happiness and grandiose delusions. Looks like we made it…
Guest of Honor List to BE ANNOUNCED
Brought to you by Cinemafia Productions. A Family Business.
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