My ex-wife and I have made amends. I have been in therapy, and had a breakthrough in dealing with my PTSD.
Dear Britt and Mary Ann. I am deeply sorry I abandoned you. Last week I was able to return to Anderson Street where an attempt was made on my life. A female black lab was killed and its blood smeared on the wall. When Eric attacked his mother, I got a bad laceration on my hand when I seperated them. I was taken to emergency after Eric’s father picked him up. I had stiches. When this man said my wife had it coming, I was on my way to Boston. That he was a attorney, and he sent a attorney to question me about my intentions, I am back in court with a lawyer for the Mafia. They wanted us out of the building they just bought and turned off the heat in the January. Judge Boutillini ruled in my favor. When I saw him presiding over the Child Custody case, I went into shock. I believe he was relocated to Oakland due to death threats. He bumped our attorney who was in line for a Judgeship. The Feds must have gotten involved. What are the odds?
When I left my appartment I hung my star and crescent ring on a nail and drew a swastika on a Islamic drawing I was doing. My neighbors were Black Islamic radicalisms who defended a black squatter who raped my friend, a fifteen year old Roanoke Indian in the hall of the building I almost got murdered in. Only later did it occur to me these ex-allies thought the Mafia did away with me. Did they contact the police, and did the Judge hear of this?
Then there is Diva, my female black lab that you loved so much Britt.
I have to stop here and go back to bed. PTSD drains all your energy. This is why I had to go. I was not in my body. I could not express what I was going through. We were in such a crisis. I would only add to the chaos. I was afraid Mary Ann would lose custody.
Judge B kept looking at me from the bench trying to make me. My hair was shorter. There you were Britt with your attorney. You were working hard to – get it right! I felt for you. You were thirteen, and the only innocent one in the courtroom. I took attorney M aside and told him I knew the judge and was involved in a horrible Mafia trial where an attempt was made on my life. He blew a gasket. He was having a huge side battle with Judge B and if this came out – during the trial – it would have made M look bad. He never talked to me. Now he wants to get rid of me. He tells me to keep quiet. When it came time for me to get in the witness chair, I asked M, if I got an annulment, would I have to testify? He produced the papers, and I signed.
I made a video yesterday where I talk about why I felt so ashamed of the death of that puppy. I blamed myself. When the Judge said he was going to issue a bench warrant, and after I testified, he ordered the bailiff to take me upstairs and handcuff me to his desk. A half hour later he comes upstairs and sits on his desk.
“Do we know each other?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You look familiar. Did you ever appear before me?”
Sometime after this I went and got drunk after being sober a year. When you dropped Diva off at my trailer in Oregon, we were so happy to see each other. I felt so bad that I seperated her from you Britt. You had become so close. You lost us both – after your told the Judge you preferred to be with me – rather than with your father. You got hammered. I have never stopped feeling for your plight.
I saw Diva as the puppy who was killed by the Mafia. They did not want any puppy to own that title. They gave up 40 Anderson Street. I will put that video on Youtube.
Diva was aware when I left my body. I drank myself blotto to avoid arriving at where I go now. Coming home from the bar at the Log Cabin Inn I stumbled as I came through the forest. I lie there looking up at the brilliant stars. I wanted off the planet. I felt myself rising up. I did not hold on – but tried to help. Then, Diva came and put her front legs on me. She held me down. She did not want me to leave her.
I have thirty-three years of sobriety. If I had it to do over again I would have told Judge Boutilini the truth. I almost did in the elevator when he told me he had caught two prisoners scaling down from the jail on bed sheets. He told me he went out on the roof with his gun – and captured them! I was afraid he would freak and pull out his gun!
“I used to live at 40 Anderson Street in Boston. I appeared before you. My attorney introduced me to Mayor White who said this as he shook my hand; It took a lot of guts to stand up to those people!”
At this time I was convinced that life, God, and all of humanity was not going to cut me a break. But it did when I came to plant you a vegetable garden. I loved you two dearly, and still do. Perhaps the Judge would have shook my hand as we emerged from the elevator, and bid the court to help me – as a survivor! I wish I had gotten into therapy.
Above is me in 1971. I lived on Beacon Hill in this apartment building. I had unlimited guts. I took on the whole world.
In 1971 my attorney told those who refused to move out of our home on 40 Anderson Street, a four story building on Beacon Hill, to move to the top floor for our safety. I was in a legal battle with the brother-in-law of the head of Boston’s Mafia, and they were losing. This guy was a top-notch attorney. The owner of the grocery store down the street who liked me, said;
“They want their building back. They will hurt you.”
When I heard the door being kicked in on the main floor, I rushed downstairs to find the door to the old managers apartment knocked off its hinges. Then I heard the awful sound of the squatter’s three month old black lab having its throat cut. I shouted;
“Get out there!”
There was silence, and then this question;
“Are you the manager?”
“Yes! Get out!”
“You come in here!”
“We got something for you!” said the second voice.
I found a recent photo of my former wife yesterday, and felt a stirring down below even though she in seventy-six. This is a beautiful and handsome woman, then and now. When you have made beautiful love to a woman, it stays with you – at least with me.
Mary Ann looks like she’s out of central casting. Here is the Celtic, or Nordic Grandmother of the Hero who has good intentions because he has formed a close bond with her after his mother was killed by the Bad Guy. If you did a DNA test of Mary Ann and Rena, you would find them kindred, because my ex descends from Eric the Red – and Oden! We are looking at the Daughters of Oden here, folks!
I have told several of my therapists;
“I have been in the middle of a lot of gun-play in my life.”
“Were any shots fired?”
“No! But, there was a lot of threats.”
One of these threats came from Robert Delano’s good buddy who went on a road trip in my Chrysler Newport, and flipped out. At my mother’s house he found a rifle in the closet, and ordered a young girl to get in my mother’s bedroom so he could rape her. Of course, I was elected by Robert and Keith to go save her.
“It’s your Mom’s house.”
I walked in and found this creep pointing a gun at the girl who was pulling off her jeans.
“You don’t want to do this.” I said calmly. And, he spotted a chess set – all ready to go.
“Do you play chess?” He asked.
“Sure. Do you want to play a game?”
He put the rifle down. The young girl pulled up her pants, and crept quietly into the living room. I had forty minutes to lose this chess game, before my mother came in the door from work to have her lunch – at high noon!
Robert was with us on the Road Trip to Winnemucca, where Rena, Robert, and James became afraid of me, I no longer being perceived as a Hero – as planned!
The strangest gun-play I was ever in, was when the judge in our child custody battle told me he jumped out on the roof of the courthouse to apprehend two criminals trying to escape by climbing down sheets. Boutillini got the drop on them with his revolver. He was my judge in my Mafia case in Boston. One could say I was, and still am ‘The Hippie James Bond’.
There are photos of my brother and I sitting on a horse with Tex Ritter who has his hands raised, because we are pointing a gun at him.
“You’re just a victim of circumstances?” Judge Boutillini said to me as he looked into my eyes, trying to discover what I was concealing.
On the advice of my wife’s attorney, I did not tell the Judge who oversaw the child custody case of Britt Thoraldson that he presided over the case in Boston, when I took the Mafia to court – and won! They lost because they sent two goons to kill me, and – they failed. I was alive, and in a room on Beacon Hill with Mafia attorneys – negotiating a deal. They hated my long hair, and the truth I looked just like Jesus.
Boutillini unlocked the handcuffs that the bailiff had put on me when I was held in contempt of court for not showing up for our last court date. I was trying to conceal from the court I was on Social Security for being mentally unsound, I no table to function properly after I died on LSD, I one of the Guinea Pigs of LSD manufacturer whom I knew personally. I was afraid my wife would lose her thirteen year old daughter who I drove across country in a 1979 Ford Thunderbird. And now it is revealed I am mad, a killer on the road – or something like that! How could this “mother” expose her daughter to a Manson wanna-be? Rather then risk that I asked Maryanne for a divorce. We had known each for a two months before we got married, and after he son Eric attacked my wife in front of me, the six month child custody battle had taken its toll.
In 1987 I returned to McLure’s Beach and climbed the rock I fell on. I was utterly alone. There was no one in the parking lot, and thus no one for miles. I had gone thru the New Hope Program and had a year of sobriety. I had been in hypnotherapy. I had to do this.
I had not climbed but thirty feet, and was heading for the bridge, when I came upon a plaque nailed into the rock.
“6 KNOWN DEATHS”
This plaque was not there in 1967, and the thought that six people who came after me, met their death, was otherworldly. I was entering The Land of the Known Dead. I thought about the collective grief of their families. Their tears had come here. I closed my eyes, took some deep breaths, told myself I can do this, and proceeded.
I do not think Keith and James knew I was going into shock, because they were in shock at seeing me wounded. The powerful dose was incapacitating. We could not walk. Like a heavy gravity we were pinned to the sand. We could only watch and wait until the inital impact subsided.
After James tried to wash my wound, and after I got soaking wet, I told him to leave me be. He went and sat with Keith about fifty feet away. I sat at the edge of the water listening to the strange sound that the gravel made as each wave receded. It sounded like many engines. All of a sudden landing craft were coming out of the ocean, and I was in the a middle of horrendous battle. A young man fell next to me, mortally wounded. When he died, and with his last breath, he uttered his last word;
I believe I was that soldier.
I watch that scene from Saving Private Ryan where the captain goes into a tunnel of silence. The engine of war is grating up and down my backbone. My teeth are chattering. I can not make it stop.
Acute stress reaction (also called acute stress disorder, psychological shock, mental shock, or simply shock) is a psychological condition arising in response to a terrifying or traumatic event. It should not be confused with the unrelated circulatory condition of shock, or the concept of shock value.
Circulatory shock, commonly known simply as shock, is a life-threatening medical condition that occurs due to inadequate substrate for aerobic cellular respiration. In the early stages this is generally an inadequate tissue level of oxygen.
The typical signs of shock are low blood pressure, a rapid heartbeat and signs of poor end-organ perfusion or “decompensation/peripheral shut down” (such as low urine output, confusion or loss of consciousness). There are times that a person’s blood pressure may remain stable, but may still be in circulatory shock, so it is not always a sign.
Circulatory shock is not related to the emotional state of shock. Circulatory shock is a life-threatening medical emergency and one of the most common causes of death for critically ill people. Shock can have a variety of effects, all with similar outcomes, but all relate to a problem with the body’s circulatory system. For example, shock may lead to hypoxemia (a lack of oxygen in arterial blood) or cardiac arrest.
One of the key dangers of shock is that it progresses by a positive feedback mechanism. Once shock begins, it tends to make itself worse, so immediate treatment of shock is critical to the survival of the sufferer.