The Crackerhead Chronicles: The Eighteenth Crumb

The Eighteenth Crumb

Not Alone

I cannot say for sure just exactly when, but I can tell you that I started seeing things long before I ever heard of such a thing as ephedrine.  For I can remember seeing patterns on surfaces back while I was still in high school, and I have a feeling that it has been going on all around me since the time I took my first breath out of the womb.

Of course, denial goes hand in hand with drug abuse, I know, and in all fairness, there is evidence to suggest a connection.  For the more ephedrine I took, the more things I would see, but since I would often see stuff that made absolutely no sense to me at the time, I do not believe that the pills had all that much to do with it.

Yes, I am quite sure that pink elephants do not make a whole lot of sense to most alcoholics.  For neither the color variant, nor the animal itself, would be symbolic of anything about themselves, nor their lives (I would think).

On the other hand, is it wise to always assume that the seeing of things that others cannot see is most likely the result of some sort of a chemical imbalance in the brain?  For in my case, I would sometimes see things like the great wheel of Ometecutli (an Aztec god), as well as different battlefield scenes, full of the dead and dying, when I had not been anywhere near a book, nor anything else, that would have had anything to do with things like that in years.

Yes, much of the other stuff was sexually explicit.  For that was what I wanted to see at the time, but since none of it was necessarily what I would have specified, nor was anything familiar from my past, I would think that one would be hard-pressed to prove that it was all just a figment of my imagination.

No, I never saw any pink elephants.  For the things I saw were strictly in black and white, along with shades of gray.  That is, except for eyes that would sometimes take on hues of yellow or red.

The images would change shape at times, but their movements were never fluid.  For they would generally look like a negative of a photograph when they would first appear on a surface of something, and then a repetitive frame by frame slide show would commence.

There were other exceptions to the apparent rules.  For what I would usually see would almost always appear at night in two-dimensional form, but every once in a while, the three-dimensional form of a person could be seen in dust particles floating in the air even during daylight hours.

There was also one day, when I was traveling south on U.S. 83 just south of Garden City, Kansas (around 70 miles north of Liberal) that I had to slam on my brakes in order to avoid running into the back of an empty car-hauler several times.  For they were notoriously slow and underpowered (the kind that generally delivered new vehicles from the plant to the dealers—not the privately-contracted ones) and I would not catch sight of the truck until after I had topped one of the rolling hills around there.

Finally, the road flattened out, and I lost sight of the rolling roadblock, altogether.  Why then?  I do not know.  For it was never there to start with.

No, that was not a truck-driver's story, but it does remind me of one (I suspect).  For it was first told to me by a driver who would rather make up something even when the truth would do quite nicely.

Anyway, the story was about a convoy of five trucks with the same company I was still driving for that had a driver (who was well known for seeing things that did not really exist) running the front-door as they sneaked their way across the Mohave Desert on a back-road to avoid too much scrutiny from the authorities.  So, the rest of the bunch did not believe him when he would slam on his brakes and claim that there was a large boat on the road ahead of them.  They were, after all, in the middle of the Mohave Desert, and none of them had seen a thing but the smoke from his scorching brakes and skidding tires.

To make a long story somewhat shorter, he decided to quit trying to avoid a collision after the verbal abuse coming from the others became just too much to take, and a few minutes later, wood of all shapes and sizes littered the road.  For he was unable to stop his truck until after it had plowed through over half of the length of the rather large boat being pulled by a rather small truck, which had been hidden from the sight of the beleaguered front-door of the convoy.

Believe it or not, he did not land in any trouble with the authorities.  For adding insult to injury, the transporter of the boat was held liable for all of the damage done, as well as for all of the highway clean-up involved, because of failing to have a rear escort vehicle in place.  Nothing was said about whether or not the authorities had any questions about why the truckers were out there on that back-road in the first place.

Entertaining—was it not?  Perhaps a little too entertaining to be true, but after seeing all that I have, I am rather reluctant to dismiss it as being merely a work of fiction out of hand.

Oh yes, there is more to my story, as well.  For I have become much more sympathetic to claims made by people about not recognizing a loved one before killing them in their own place of residence.  For the very same thing happened to me once.

No, I have not killed any of my loved ones in their own home, but I have been confused about the identity of my mom.  For she was standing less than ten feet away from me in a well-lit hallway one night, and I had no idea who she was.

Thankfully, my confusion only lasted for a few seconds, and I made no move against her.  For I believed I was seeing a spirit of some kind, which meant that there was nothing I could do about the situation.

Yes, there are those who would beg to differ, and there was a time when I would have pursued such knowledge.  For I was once told by a practicing witch that I had great power that could be used for good or evil.

No, it was not my idea to go see such a person, but I must admit that I found the experience most intriguing.  For when the group I was with entered her house, she focused all of her attention upon me for at least 15-20 seconds, and when I asked her about it during my turn to spend some time alone with her, she told me that the brightness of my aura (a glow of light coming from a person that only certain people can supposedly see) completely overwhelmed the light from everyone else’s aura—including her own.

Yes, it sounds like a good set up for a scam, but she refused to accept all that was offered for her time.  Besides, she did not tell anyone else in the group anything like that.

Weird, I know, and my trips into the twilight zone get weirder.  For not all of my experiences were limited to just seeing things.

There was one night when I should have been all alone while I was hooking onto an empty trailer that needed to be exchanged for a loaded one at the George’s plant in Butterfield, Missouri (around 5 miles north of Cassville) that needed to be dropped off at their main plant in Springdale, Arkansas (around 60 miles to the south) but I could feel someone near.  The more I looked, the more hysterical I became, and before it was all over with, I was nearly as nuts as I was at Camp Arrowhead years before.

What made it even weirder is that I was convinced that it was the son of the boss, who was tormenting me.  Why?  I do not remember, but it did not stop me from having a hatchet in my hand as ran all over the yard screaming at him to just go away.

No, I had nothing against the boy.  In fact, I actually loved him like a little brother, but there is not a doubt in my mind that I would have struck first and looked later, if he had of jumped out from shadows at me.

I was finally able to finish hooking onto the empty and leave the yard, but the feeling was still there.  I first thought that he had to be hiding in the sleeper behind me, and when I saw that no one was back there, I became convinced that he was hanging onto the back of sleeper, between it and the front of the trailer, on the outside of the truck.

Since I did not want him to be hurt, I pulled into the parking lot of a café a mile or so away.  I waited a few minutes, and then I left the cab to see if I could see him anywhere.  When I did not, I climbed back into the truck, and the feeling was gone.

Yes, I felt like a complete idiot, but a couple of days later, some vindication came my way.  For he walked up to me in the middle of the shop with a big grin on his face and asked if I really would have killed him, and all I could do was nod my head, yes.

Speaking of having feelings, on two different occasions I have awoken gasping for air, with the feeling of two hands around my neck.  When I called out, “Lord, save me,” the attack stopped.

Yes, after being diagnosed with sleep apnea (a medical condition where a person stops breathing in their sleep) a couple of years later, I thought about it being an explanation for feeling like I was being choked, but in what way would my diagnosis have anything to do with what had happened to my mom on a number of occasions?  For after telling her about the hands, she told me about her experiences with a mysterious cat.

As with me, what happened to her seemed to be oh so very real.  For she would feel like she was paralyzed.  Then she would hear a cat (when none were in the house) coming down the hallway and enter her bedroom.  After that, she would feel the cat jump onto the foot of her bed and walk up the length of her body.  The next thing to happen would be the cat laying down across her face, and just before smothering to death, my mom would become able to move again.  The cat would then disappear, and after a lengthy series of rather violent sneezes expelled the apparent cat fur from her nose, my mom would be able to go back to sleep without any further interruption.

No, I have not experienced the like, but I have felt something walking across my bed on a number of occasions, when there should not have been anything around.  Sometimes, it felt like a cat or a small dog, and at other times, it would feel like a much larger animal with four feet.  A time or two, it even felt like a person (or at least something walking on two feet).

Out of all that I have experienced in the past, one of the most memorable things involved what is commonly referred to as being an out-of-body (or near-death) event in certain circles.  For I could actually feel my soul rising out of my body while laying on my back, and after silently crying out that I was not ready to go yet when I reached the ceiling of the sleeper, my soul instantly returned to my body.

There is, however, a difference between what I actually experienced and what I have heard about.  For other out-of-body experiences have generally occurred during times when someone was sound asleep or unconscious. Whereas, mine occurred while I was wide awake, and there was no bright light to be seen at the end of any long tunnel.

Yes, I am quite sure of being awake at the time.  For it happened just a few minutes after crawling into bed while parked at the Shell Truck-Stop in Holbrook, Arizona (around 90 miles east of Flagstaff on I-40), and I was not tired enough to just pass out immediately.

No, I have no idea what may have really triggered such an event.  For it would be another two years or so before I would become fast-friends with ephedrine, but at the time, I suspected that being in close proximity to the Painted Desert region may have had much to do with it.  For the area is considered as being sacred ground by several tribes of Indians/Native Americans.

Oh yeah, I am reminded of another experience that doesn't really have anything to with any of this, but it should be still included.  For it involved Sam's father telling me to give him a copper penny for each wart on my hands and then forget about them.

A couple of days later, I discovered that I should have given him 52 copper pennies, instead of just 51.  For there was still one wart remaining.

When I asked him about it, there was little that he could tell me.  For he said that the ability would be lost if too much was revealed.

Nonetheless, he could tell me that it was a Spiritual gift from God that was to be passed down to a member of the opposite sex in each generation.  In other words, a mother would give their gift to one of her sons, and then he would pass it on to one of his daughters when it was time to do so.

No, the gift did not have to go to the first-born of either sex, and it was not limited to just the removal of warts.  For he told me about his mother also having the ability to heal even extremely severe burns.

He went on to tell me that sometime during the 1930s, a toddler of a very poor young couple received third-degree burns over most of his body after falling into the fireplace of their home.  The young couple then took their son to his mother, and left him with her overnight (as instructed).  On their return the next morning, they were devastated to see that he was still wrapped up in the dirty sheets they had used for bandages, but when they unwrapped him, they were amazed to see no evidence of the burns on any part of their son's body.

Such were some of the thoughts swirling around in my head while I sat in a house without electricity, water and phone service for a solid month.  For I wanted to believe that something was going on, but I did not have a clue of what it might be.

I considered the possibility of my experiences being the hand of God at work, but that was dismissed without much trouble.  For I had been taught that we are pretty much on our own in this fallen world.

Yes, He was supposedly right there with me, but His righteousness prevented Him from coming to my rescue until I cleaned up my act enough, which meant that I was screwed.  For not only did I have no idea how to do that—I did not believe that I had the strength to do it even if I did.

On the other hand, something had to give, and it needed to be quick.  For I did not want to spend another second in the depths of such misery.

Staying true to the script, thoughts of suicide were most definitely dancing up a storm in my head.  It was an Irish River Dance, if I remember right.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you think that you have heard it all before, but this time I even went as far as to go get my trusty Remington 870 Wingmaster 12-gauge shotgun from my mom.  For I wanted to make sure.

The trouble was that I had absolutely no confidence in my ability to do anything right, and the thought of leaving myself in some sort of vegetated state, while still being fully conscious of my surroundings, was even more terrifying to me than remaining in my current condition.  Woe was I.

Yes, there were a couple of thoughts swirling around in there about me killing myself possibly breaching the contract that had been made when I accepted Christ Jesus as being my own personal Lord and Savior so very long ago, but they were not taken very seriously.  For I was still very confident in my belief of going to Heaven after my time as a part of this world came to an end, albeit by my own hand.  After all, everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved [Romans 10:13] and I had called upon His name—several times, in fact.

Then I lost even that.  For I awoke one morning with it being all too painfully clear to me that it was utter nonsense to think that the Lord God Almighty could ever accept someone like me as being one of His children by faith, and since I had no hope of ever making myself pleasing in His sight, I would surely be no worse off seeking the favor of the devil while I still had time to do so.  After all, it might not be so bad spending all of eternity in Hell if one made friends with Satan first?

So, I offered my services to the devil in exchange for making me rich, powerful, healthy, and irresistible to very attractive women, with the part about being irresistible to women being the most important.  For that was where my head was at.

Yeah, I was a really sick puppy.  For who in their right mind would want to trade eternal joy for temporary satisfaction, but I could not see where I had much of a choice.  For I had become convinced that my Heavenly Father no longer wanted to have anything to do with me.