I know most of you that ever read these blogs, do so to join my adventure and maybe escape your own life for a short while. These blogs give you a deep feeling of what my life is like out here on the ocean, and usually I focus on the sailing adventure. I feel I should give fair warning today, todays blog is personal therapy for me and has very little to do with the sailing adventure. I am stuck… unable to move forward… and fear I might self destruct. I need to find a way forward, to regain hope and some type of vision of a future for myself. Writing is often my only therapy and as I am very alone out on the ocean, I have nobody to talk to anymore.
If you do not like reading about personal and human things… probably you should skip this one.
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Being Crass
It was about ten days ago, I was sitting on Bershert with my close friend Peter, the sun had just set off the stern and the two of us sat side by side in the descending darkness drinking our sundowners. Peter was a very tough guy, a hard man with a soft heart, he told me that people often took advantage of that. Peter could be hard to get along with sometimes, he was typical American, loud obnoxious and certain that all his thoughts and opinions were 100% correct all the time. Sometimes when I offered thoughts and opinions to the conversation that differed from his though… he would tell me why I was wrong… but allow me to be wrong. He gave me that space with him, we could disagree and still be okay, he tolerated my wrongness.
I decided to tell him the story of clay, I felt he needed it. With my background in Psychology and understanding of Neurobiology I had developed a simple way to explain neural plasticity thru the aging cycle by using the story of clay.
When we are born… I tell Peter… our brains are like very soft clay, very easy to make an impression on, and clean smooth and empty, therefore there is lots of room to write on it. Children are so very impressionable and that is why we take such great care nurturing their clay as they grow. As we age however, our clay starts to get full, we begin to run out of room to write new things, learning becomes harder. At some point in life, and this differs for each person, our clay begins to harden. As our clay hardens who we are and what we think and our opinions become stagnant, inflexible, and unable to change, the main symptom becomes our certainty in our truths, and we stop taking in new things. This is the inevitable fate of all old people.
In the darkness I look over at my friend and asked him if he thought maybe his clay had gone hard? Peter was never one to pussy foot around anything but on this, he went quiet for a moment and finally replied… “maybe… I don’t always remember stuff…” his voice trailed off in the wind.
Often when I speak I am working slowly towards a more complicated point and that night I was building to something I wanted to share with my closest friend. Peter broke the flow of my dialogue by breaking in to make us fresh sundowners, he recently discovered coconut rum down here with tonic water and a lime wedge. When he returned he let me continue “so what’s your point?” he throws at me in his direct way.
I opened with Peter you seem very crass sometimes and it is hard for me to deal with. He had previously told me stories about growing up in New York city and if he ever gave money to a homeless person his parents would kick his ass “those people would just use it for drugs or booze” he would tell me. Peter could be very cold towards dirt bags and people he felt were just a waste. He used to give me a hard time for talking nicely to the bums and beggars down here, “Lexi don’t waste you time with these people… just ignore them..” Peter would command me in his dominating way.
After a big sip of my sundowner I continued, I think Peter could tell I had something I wanted to get off my chest. Peter did you ever see the old TV show called Seinfeld? I asked simply. He acknowledged that he had. I said remember how at the end, the whole point of the whole show was that all those characters were completely crass, selfish and self absorbed. In the end they went to jail for lacking any compassion or empathy for that man they watched get mugged. The show represents the state of average people, the way normal people are.
Peter I am exactly opposite of that. I am highly emotional and emotionally sensitive like a child and I like this about myself, it feels more alive to me. When I feel joy at a sunset it is pure joy… isn’t that more alive? I ask him… Peter what do you feel about the sunset… “nothing” he replies flatly. I continue with “I am completely ruled by my compassion and empathy, my love patience and kindness for humanity“. Peter interrupts with “yeah that’s what I like about you Lexi…” with his usual abrupt mannerism. “Peter I cannot walk past homeless people without feeling compassion and empathy for them, without sadness for their fate“, my voice trails off as tears begin to form. I am approaching my point.
Peter and I are sitting on opposite cockpit benches with our backs against the companionway wall, both staring at the yachts astern of us in the darkness, not looking at each other directly. Peter cannot see the tears that have started rolling down my cheeks as I continued. Peter I have been out here so long, and have overcome so much, I fear mother is hardening me inside. Now the avalanche of tears is unrestrained as I continue. Peter I am so afraid that my clay is beginning to harden now and sometimes I fear my softness is slipping away, I fear becoming crass, hard, and insensitive to the terrible things I have found out in the world. I don’t know how to face so much pain and suffering in humanity and remain an angel inside.
Peter can now tell I am silently crying and he turns to peer at me in the darkness “…you are an angel baby….” he says to me “… I could tell that from the first day I met you…” he ads with a soft tone to his voice.
I continue thru my tears, opening to my closest friend, things I could not possibly say to anyone else. Peter I am very afraid inside… the world is such a harsh place…. being a girl Captain having to face the world is very hard for me. I get that I am tough on the outside, I am doing it, I am facing the world, but I fear the cost to my soul. I am terrified of becoming crass but sometimes I can feel it developing in me, as a coping mechanism to facing horrible things.
I fear the price of this adventure is too high for me.
I am sobbing now… Peter is trying to console me but has only platitudes to offer. “Please don’t cry” he begs me. My usually scratchy voice is a squeaky mess now as I continue thru the tears… Peter I think I feel done now… I don’t want to play anymore… I don’t like the world… its such a mess… such a terrible place…. people are so terrible to each other… I cannot handle it…. Peter I think I want out… my voice trails off in a flood of tears…. I am holding my sides rocking back and forth…. Peter I think I want to kill myself.
Peter’s demeanor changes right away, despite the copious amount of alcohol we have both been consuming Peter gets very sober with me very fast… he sits up and turns to me… gently takes my tear streaked face into both his hands, directs my gaze directly into his eyes and says “don’t you dare!… Lexi I am your friend… I will never leave you… we will be friends for a long time… I need you… don’t you dare leave me here alone… you are an angel and the world would be a darker place without you” he says with great conviction in his voice.
I am not trying to elicit sympathy and I dare not open up to anyone else… but inside… I think I don’t want to play anymore… I’d rather go be with God.
Shock
It is three days later and my mood is better and I have pulled myself up out of my darkness enough to function again. Peter and I have been taking care of each other. I have been helping him try and pull up out of his depression and he is helping me with mine.
A week ago today I woke up in the glorious tropical sunshine down here in Antigua and was looking forward to spending the afternoon with my close friend Peter. My crew Brendan has been just wonderful to get along with, but he is my crew, I am his Captain, it is a working relationship. Peter and I are both Captains, friends by choice and bonded by the common life style we share.
I wanted to get some boat chores done that morning as Brendan sat happily out in the cockpit of WildChild. There was no hike for him to go on scheduled for that morning. I needed to knock a few things off my to-do list including getting a YouTube video edited and posted on my YouTube channel for release the next evening.
I saw that Peter had made it home safely from WildChild last night, his dinghy was tied up behind his yacht. He drank a lot the night before so I thought he might be nursing a hang over.
I was texting him throughout the morning but he didn’t reply until around noon. He said he wasn’t feeling well and didn’t feel like talking. This is life… we all go thru this. I suspect nothing at all. I am a bit worried about my friend and by the mid afternoon decide to go over and check in on him, take care of him if he needed it. Still I suspect nothing of the angel of death, not a clue in the world.
I am happy and in a good mood as I dinghy over in the sunshine, I cross the 100 meters between our yachts in short order and tie up to Bershert’s stern as I always do.
Still I suspect nothing. Not a clue in the world.
I am a worrier by nature, my brain naturally always seems to try and forecast any bad things in the future string of causality, yet I have not an inkling that death has visited Peter’s yacht just before my arrival.
I board the boat and call out as I make my way ever forward towards the corpse of my friend yet still I cannot fathom such a thing. Not a clue I am completely oblivious and unsuspecting. I can see him laying in bed and I go over to his dead body and detect no signs of life… still I do not have a clue my friend could possibly be dead.
I simply cannot conceive of it. I cannot imagine it. It cannot occur to me. It is so unthinkable it cannot even enter my brain.
Even after I check his wrist for a pulse, and found none, check his nose and mouth for signs of breathing and found none, checked his neck for a pulse and found none, still I cannot even imagine that I have stumbled upon the body of my dead friend.
Logically it is obvious but emotionally it is inconceivable.
I get on the VHF radio and call my friends for help.
Mark comes in fifteen minutes after my first arrival and I am still thinking Peter seems really sick I think we need to get him to a hospital… what if he had a stroke or something. Goodness Peter must be really sick to be so still…. I need help to get him to a doctor. He needs medicine or something. I will take care of him until he is better, I will help fix my friend.
I am so completely in shock I cannot conceive of what is right in front of me.
I am pacing the salon as Mark goes in to check on Peter. Mark comes out and gets on his phone and says we need ABSAR now to whomever is on the other end. I think great… good idea… we will get some more help for Peter…
Still I cannot imagine that Peter could possibly be dead…. it cannot occur to me.
Mark puts the defibrillator pads on Peters body and the machine checks the patient and comes back with its cold computerized voice “no shock recommended… begin CPR…” Mark begins to get Peter positioned on his back to start the chest compressions…
There are only two reasons for the computer to conclude no shock is recommended… either the person is completely dead… or they are completely fine.
I hear a voice in the distance… a sound from far away…. and I realize its my voice screaming
NOOOOO….
… NO NO NO NO NO …
It hits me like a freight train…. like a powerful impact to the body and soul… it strikes me with such force….
The little voice far suppressed inside me that logically knew Peter was already dead is connected with Mark’s silent conclusion and the mechanical conclusion of the emotionless robot in the room… all click in my head suddenly…. All three distant clues land on me together….
PETER IS ACTUALLY DEAD….! ? ????????????
I cannot process this… cannot compute…. cannot understand…. I am in complete and total utter shock… the deepest and worst shock of my life… a shock that takes days to get thru. This is the source of my PTSD.
Nightmares
This is the source of the nightmares that prevent me from sleeping very long. The loss of my friend was so sudden… so out of the blue for me… so inconceivable to me… so beyond comprehension… it caught me so unprepared. When my parents both died they were sick for a long time… we knew it was coming… we had time to say good-bye and prepare for it.
If my friends could suddenly and so quickly just go… just like the snap of your fingers…
I cannot live with this…
My nightmares every night are about trying to save my friends and family from death… death could come for any of them at any time out of the blue and there is nothing I can do but let them go… but I cannot let go of people I hold close to my heart.
My nightmare is that it took me fifteen minutes to figure out my friend was gone… I must be an extra level of stupid.
Perhaps the cold crassness I see in all the old people around me is a good defense mechanism. Maybe rather than fearing becoming emotionally cold and crass I should embrace it as the best defense mechanism against our own impotence. Embrace the eventual hardening of my own clay and revel in the coldness it brings with it. Have you ever noticed old people seldom shed tears or get giddy with excitement… pretty brilliant huh. I am surrounded by the cold sea of grey hair, why not becometh a member of the clan.
Sell the softness of my angel soul and trade in my angel wings for cold logical unfeeling calculation of mathematics, of pure Boolean logic like a robot, like old people.
Sailing and Thinking
WildChild went sailing today. I thought perhaps time on the ocean could help distract me from the things I fear. I know that I am stuck on a bad path. I desperately need to struggle and find my way back to healthy living again.
I figured out I needed to run away from Peters boat about 3 days ago. I needed to get far away from that horrible moment in my life. WildChild sailed off to Jolly Harbour Saturday. Provisioned yesterday. And sailed off to Barbuda today (Monday March 8th 2021). I figured maybe sailing would help distract me from my thoughts.
I got that wrong… I should know better…. any sailor knows…. hours alone at the helm… on the ocean… lost with nothing but your thoughts… is not a good way to get distracted from your thoughts.
I tried using the opportunity to further my crews sailing education. We had great gentle winds 10-17 knots. I took the time to teach Brendan… to let him play with full sails and watch the reaction of the boat. I spent time connecting in his head the classroom theory I gave him with the practical hands on watch, touch and learn he needs. It did distract me for an hour or two… but eventually…. there is nothing to do but sit… and sail.
I cannot escape my thoughts… and they scare me.
Have you ever seen the movie Forrest Gump…? Remember the scene where lieutenant Dan goes out fishing with Forrest on his boat… and the storm comes… and lieutenant Dan is up in the rigging in the storm and screaming at God to come finish him off…. that’s how I feel now.
I fear I am moving beyond caring about my own life, actually hoping for death. If Peter gets to check out… why can’t I just give up too…? I see no future… no hope… the world is a sucky place right now and we are all at only the beginning of the sucky still yet to come. What kind of future have the selfish babyboomers left for us their grandchildren? All news is all doom and gloom all the time.
I can feel a WILD and dangerous energy beginning to brew in me… FUCK IT… fuck everything…. fuck the stupid rules… who says I cannot just go sail to any island I want? Who says I need to pay each government and get their permission to come and go…. fuck em all. Maybe I do not want to voluntarily submit to the systems of power that hold me down anymore. Maybe I do not feel submissive anymore. Maybe I will sail all the islands and not check in or out anymore. They have very little if any enforcement out on the waters… they would probably never know I was there. If they come to kick my ass… let them… let them steal my boat and imprison my body… I don’t care anymore… I do not fear anymore.
Maybe I will just drop my crew off onshore… point my bow north… and sail straight to Canada alone right now..! Who cares if it is suicidal and dangerous… who cares if I live or die… maybe I don’t care anymore… the world doesn’t care… people only care about themselves… and now even I don’t care about me… maybe I want to pick a fight with everyone everywhere until they kill me.
Maybe I choose not to be afraid of a stupid flu anymore. Bring it on… bring on my 0.007% chance of death and let me hope I am lucky enough to die from Covid. Give me my escape. Maybe I do not want to surrender all my freedoms with nary a whisper and accept total control by governments. Maybe give me liberty or give me death…. let me be free again or fuckin kill me.
My wild spirit longing to be free is beginning to rise up inside of me and I fear it. I am starting to go off the reservation inside and it is dangerous.
We arrived today in Barbuda after a lovely sail, just lovely. Brendan had a splendid time and emphatically told me several times how marvelous it was in that cute British accent of his. This picture was taken of me just a few hours ago sitting alone on the bow lost in my own thoughts. Everyone around us is enjoying the paradise we sit in except me, I cannot get here.
On the day Peter died, my other closest friend Texas Bryan decided to block me on Whatsapp and cut me out of his life, without any explanation he abandoned me on my darkest day. Now I am alone, I lost two of my closest friends in a single day and it has devastated me. I hurt inside.
I am lost and alone with my thoughts… and they are turning dangerously dark….
I don’t know how to get back into the light right now…
how do I stop the nightmares tonight…
Captain Lexi
…. the very lost soul At The Moment… 🙁