We are all warriors in these stressful times, one side or the other, right or left! Says this centrist ever pushed more left as I remain anchored in who I am while the right slithers further and further right. So let’s be frank.
Things got bad during Covid in early 2020. Super bad. The worst ever. Thousands dying everyday. Trump robbing America blind and making noises about never leaving office. People freaking out about wearing a simple mask. An insurrection. The loss of a great New Age friends who were for Trump. Well, to be honest, fellow warriors. I thought of suicide more than once. But fortunately I learned in 1991 that it’s OK to feel your feelings of sorrow as long as you don’t get carried away and take irreversible action or hurt loved ones sharing too much of your sorrow.
We all have limits and we’re all coping with a lot. America’s tough but nothing is not this tough. People are literally going nuts. I mean lingering Covid that could erupt again any fucking day, the GOP totally gone Nazi, and more and more. It’s lot to fucking handle. Tossing on too much to a loved one about your death fantasies could be the proverbial one straw too many.
You see, we’re kinda on our own, all of us Covid survivors of the right, left and center. And if we are honest none of is will truly ever be who we were before we all lost a million fellow Americans in about two years. It fucking hurts! We rage on Social media like twitter and telegram where it’s cool to cuss. But sometimes that’s not enough so I make a movie.
Any who, back to 1991 as I ramble like all Boomers do. BTW, Joe has made me proud to be a Boomer again. OK, OK, I ramble. Flashback to 1991: I lose it all in a real estate disaster that wrecks my business and destroys my marriage. The double whammy makes me think of suicide for the first time since I was teen, for reasons that are not important to this blog tonight.
And so I stood there on an icy Chicago pier starring into the freezing waters of Lake Michicago one January 1992 night, thinking of the long sleep. But instead of jumping to my doom I stiffened my back and shouted to the wind, “The old Ken dies here tonight! A new me, a me who does as he pleases, follows his artistic dreams is born! And the sorrow about my old life dies with the old me! I am a new Ken!”
Well, it worked for me. That and some good therapy. Dear reader, there’s no shame in getting help when you have too many suicidal thoughts and have fallen into depression. Catch it early. I did it in 91 and I am still in the great counseling I began during Covid. It’s been a life saver.
The number for the Suicide Hotline is 800-273-8255 if you’re not lucky enough to know a good shrink.
Take care, dear reader of the left or right. My fans left, who enjoy my centrist thinking and frankness, you’re important to me, fan or not. – Ken Sheetz, Filmmaker, writer, skyscraper builder, broker, artist, entrepreneur.
PS. I want to get this blog back on track for soothing meditation. My anger with Trump will dominate this blog no longer. All Trump Fever Dream posts are moving off this blog to TrumpsFeverDream.com by end of the year. I’d do it faster but I have to earn a living despite what rich assholes like Ron Johnson think they know what senior life is like for ordinary people. 5 chapters with audio plus up there already.