Only An Ominous Lapping, While The Wind Whines Overhead, Cats Curl

I’m sitting here with Nancy and three pets. The dog, Annie, and Panther and Ghost, both cats are nearby. They’re cute and sleeping. Cats do sleep well, they conjure it effortlessly, and as they snooze they coil in such a way as to create a furry spiral that creates a hypnotic effect in the mind of anyone who takes the time to watch and contemplate. The eye just catches it and that’s it, it wanders in a declining circle, retiring somewhere between the nose and the back feel or tail. Some captivating and delightful examples to follow. The hypnotic spiral of cuteness.



You get the idea. It’s pretty impressive, or it just looks comfortable. Corkscrew cute. Not all cats do the circumvoluted coil. Some just look as if they fell off a building. But the sleep, it comes so easily. And it’s deep, but the cats are easily roused. Who could help but admire them.

My mind is all over the place tonight. If I want you to keep reading, I need to offer up some sex and/or violence. Conflict. Some fighting and people who clearly wanted to hurt me come to mind. Partially because they were cops, and the police substation down the street is packed with police officers, for nebulous reasons; very little criminal activity happens here. We don’t need them, but it’s possible that the little building they have isn’t used to protect us. No, it could be used for chess, checkers, mutual masturbation, staring contests, who knows. It’s not that I don’t care, I just don’t know. I’m curious.

That could be said about me in general. He cared, but he didn’t know. He was curious.

A little about incarceration.

Recently, I was arrested for reasons that are unimportant here. That’s an awfully large matzo ball to have hanging out there, not saying why I was arrested, but I’ll keep it as a mystery as it was to me for most of my brief incarceration. That’s the truth. I just didn’t know what I did. Have you ever done something terrible, of that you’re certain, but not know what you did? It’s disquieting, and upsetting. Yes, it’s that among other things. What happened is that I got drunk, which wasn’t good when mixed with Lyrica, something I’m on for nerve pain.

I did something, and was arrested.

So there I was, in my pajamas with no underwear on and a T-shirt that was a size or two too small. The cell was freezing, and they gave me a mat that is usually used to put under a rug to keep it from sliding around. Yeah, a scratchy, awful “blanket.” There are countless details to relate here, some things I would like to say to you as a human that would turn your hair grey. After finding out that I blacked-out and did the terrible, awful thing, I definitely considered suicide, which would have been hard in that cell with that camera on me. Plus, I was barely clothed, with nothing to hang myself, although I tried. Smashing my head on the toilet or something was an option, I suppose, but it’s not my style, to the extent that I have a style. What I decided to do instead was to explore some horror in some of the things in my mind that I knew to be true. To find the outer border, the meat, and the center of the meaning of certain words, words with substance and a definite meaning, right? The word I explored, in every way possible, while I sat alone in that jail cell without a window or a clock for almost 48 hours, is displayed below. You certainly know what I’m talking about, as you’re old enough to be reading this ‘blog. A human doesn’t grow old enough to read and maneuver around the world, including the Internet, without having had moments full of…

FEAR – a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc.,whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid. In my situation, my fear was most certainly not imagined. I was at the mercy of other people. Of mostly men. Cops. Some were kind, most were indifferent, some were a bit mean.

I caused fear in others during my 12 hours of drunken mayhem. Try considering that, over and over and over and over. It’s, um…compelling. It made me cry. Am I spineless? I’m never worried about weakness, I always assume I’m weak. Who cares? A line of spit where my spine should be.

Also, there was anxiety, self-loathing, terror, astonishment, consternation, and hate. I reserved the hatred for myself. While in the cell, I took off my pajama bottoms and stood naked, trying to figure a way to hang myself. Surprisingly, it wasn’t possible. There were no bars, just a door with a hole in it, a camera on me, a toilet, and a shelf that doubled as a bed.

I put my pants back on. Apparently, nobody was watching me via the camera.

Fear governed. When “they” came to take me to court, something I waited and waited and waited for, they had me move to the back of the cell like Hannibal Lecter. I was shackled from hands to feet. In the van, there were no windows, no seat belts, nothing but metal benches. As I was pushed in, I got this advice, “Use the back or the front.”

I didn’t know what that meant. I found out, though. As I was driven to court, we went around rotaries and corners and as we did I went flying inside the van. I discovered that, “Use the back or the front,” meant for leaning. So I leaned against the back in terror, fighting the G-forces. Yes, those cops were assholes.

Long story short, but brother saved me, as did my attorney, who went to the same school at the same time (pre-law) as I did. We had the same professors. So her words were the first kind words I heard.

Just hangin' with the Boston police.


These experiences, at age 42, are withering. Enough is enough. Peace. I need peace.

The part I happily miss.


If anyone is interested, I’ll write about electro-convulsive therapy soon. The hope is that I’ll be free of depression, but also be free in general. I’ve had 11 sessions. It’s working, so there’s that.

So you’ve read this post. That’s interesting, as my writing isn’t easy to read. I write in an odd way. More is coming, and it will be about ECT. It’s quite an experience.

Where most of this happens.

Where most of this happens.

And as far as ECT goes, my pursuit of normalcy and a modicum of peace, it happens here, just inside and down the elevator…


The next entry will be all about it. That’s all for now.




About Darren W. Lyle

I'm certifiably insane (I have the paperwork), collect old typewriters (got one?) and am 45 years old. I've 3 pets, of course, and have thoughts. Some aren't good, some are. some are funny, some are just there, but I'll post them when I'm of a mind to.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, cats, depression, electro-convulsive therapy, life, love, Mental Illness, seizure, sex and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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