It’s not part of my memory, but a part of my learning. Dad was a brilliant man, having read voraciously throughout his lifetime. He had a hunger and thrust for knowledge which eventually took him as far as a full PhD in educational research at a university. That thirst of Dad’s turned out to be a basic subject which, in round about terms, has benefited me greatly over the years.

He was became research associate for a certain board.

I have always wondered how it was that Dad became so violent. Turns out that it was a bi-product of his first breakdown, or a bi-product of the electroshock therapy. Dad was not naturally violent, according to Auntie. Mom and Dad were friends as children, but Dad used to insist on inviting Auntie in on their childish games. Auntie was Mother’s sister. She was there too.

If it weren’t for the research people, I would not have the medications Dad lacked in his day and time. Dad was initially a gentleman and a scholar, which was not simply an expression in his case, but was an accurate summation of my father’s character. The very idea of it is somewhat of a foreign concept to me. It was Auntie who told me of the initial character of my father in childhood.

Besides, I’ve heard of electroshock therapy. I think it’s what ruined Dad. It effected his character. He was thoughtful, gentle and kind as a child. Dad even achieved an ordination as a Methodist Minister, and practiced that profession until I was about eleven. Reconciling his violence with his ministry is something Dad never even attempted to do that I know of.

His ministry, his elegant vocabulary and emphatic manner of speaking, I found electrifying, as well as confusing. I have struggled for a lifetime to make my peace with God. In the final analysis, I ultimately prayed once for sobriety, and God did the rest. All I ever did beyond that one prayer for sobriety, was remain faithful to what it was that God asked me to do, which was stay sober.

I’ve found the church to be resistant to my attendance, mistaking some of my behavior for something other than it was. I decided the last time there was a break between me and the church, that I wasn’t going try to go back. It doesn’t matter what the issue was, because I know it was not mine. I consider myself to be a man of God, and when I call on His Holy Name, He comes to me.

Mother gave me the information about Dad’s breakdown after I was an adult, that it was back when I was in the womb that Dad had that initial nervous breakdown of his. He had gotten so angry he had broken down the front door of the place where we lived, because he found he didn’t have a key to get in. He was violent and irrational. Mother had to lock him out out of fear of him.

Mother was apologizing to me for her fear in my own adulthood, poor dear.

Mother had been steadfast to me throughout the worst of my own chemical imbalance and drunkenness. I would always be in a state hospital again, Mother would promise to visit me at a certain time on a certain day, and she was never late. She would always be there. Mother was the human rock in my world, and only her own health would some day cause her to falter and pass away.

When it finally did, I was there for her every day until she found her end.

I wondered aloud in front of Mother, and she gave me information. Mother had a lot of fear for my safety, in my unborn state, and could not avert her fear to help my fetus. Please forgive her, she said. I have marveled at Mother’s contrite heart, every day since. She was always ministering to my needs in my adulthood. My siblings had all moved on, fairly quickly after high school.

I stayed home with Mother and Auntie when my siblings moved on.

Breaking away from Mother and Auntie was difficult for me. With my own chemical imbalance, it was almost impossible for me to support myself, much less support a family of my own. The progression of my development could not consummate, because I was frequently starving, left to my own devices. It was a matter of not having an adequate income.

The other thing was that I had an alcohol and drug problem from very early on. I was a young adult when there were hippies and flower children, and there was always at least one other person to fan the fire of my addictions with some sort of recreational chemical. I was not one to understand addictions or know how to conquer them on my own. I starved for ordinary food a lot.

God ultimately came to me when I prayed about addictions, and helped me recover sobriety. He found that there were many issues in my psyche needing attention. He came to my heart many times after I put the plug in the jug. The Lord did a lot to deliver me from my unrest and confusion. I learned the concept of a rigorous honesty, and have practiced that principle ever since.

I don’t know how far along Mom was, when Dad had his breakdown, but my fetus was dosed with all the fear Mother suffered, because Mother could not avoid feeling fear. I learned fear that day in the womb, and have never been successful at shaking it since. My special, innate fear of threats and of violence, have always stood by me, as a barometer for my own impulse control.

I was almost always afraid to act out when I got angry. Fear has always stood by me. I learned that my own instincts are my friend, there to help me. Those feelings have always kept me out of trouble, and have always stood me in good stead. The couple of times I ignored my instincts, and gave into my impulses when I was young, acting out got me beat up worse than you can imagine.

Those injuries only had the effect of a further commitment on my part, to avoid ignoring my instincts, and make more of an effort to practice non-violence and passivity. I’ve become a man of peace, craving tranquility. We had such unrest at home, the few times I was in attendance in my father’s house, that by now I recoil to any noise in my environment whatsoever.

To put it another way, I got good and hopping mad a couple of times, and tried to act like John Wayne, but the results were always disastrous. The disasters only stood to get me hurt, and reinforced my dedication to non-violence. I have generally not let go of that policy since. There was only one time God directed me into sticking up for myself with violence that worked out alright.

Dad’s Achilles heal was always his rage, and God always helped me with that.

Dad’s violence wasn’t fair to us, but what could we do? Dad took the door down, fixture and all, way situation. Apparently, Dad just walked right in as if it was nothing wrong. Maybe he even sat down? My older brothers, who were only toddlers, and Mother with me, but all remained unharmed.

It’s a mystery to me, how it was we survived to face a lifetime.

Dad went to a laughing academy temporarily. Grandpa him put in there for medical treatment. My big brother speaks reverently of my father, with the idea that it was safe to be around the man. It seems preposterous to me to think that my father wouldn’t hurt us. He always strapped me with his belt. I still can’t remember Dad being safe to be around. Dad was a monster.

He was always doing violent things at home.

When I was about two years old, Mom took me out of Sunday School for screaming, and took me to my bedroom in the parsonage. Though I did not have the vocabulary to say this at the time, my message was, “Mother! I don’t care if he is a minister. Dad’s a monster. Get us all away from that man before we get hurt.” It took Dad deserting us when we were all in our teens to make the break.

Auntie got a phone call, and came to take us to Grandma’s. Otherwise we would have starved.

Dad had to submit to taking major tranquilizers and electroshock therapy while at the hospital, wherever Grandpa put him, when I was on the way. Psychiatry and Psychology were both young sciences then, and Dad didn’t have to be told the fact. He was one of the many geniuses in our family, very knowledgeable and erudite. He understood the limits of the psychiatry of his day by intuition.

Finally out of the hospital, Dad immediately threw out his medication’s, surrendering himself to a lifetime of an untreated chemical imbalance. When I had my initial breakdown, at twenty years old, all the doctors had, to give me were major tranquilizers. Those drugs were not any picnic. They made a person question their perceptions and convictions worse than LSD.

When I was a young adult, when eventually my breakdown became like Dad’s breakdown, without a doctor’s explanation, even though I practiced non-violence, by enlarge, I spent time in a laughing academy too, just as Dad did. The only thing I did not have to endure was the electroshock therapy. When I broke up with my girl, I had visions of my parents’ marriage on my mind.

Mother and I were so upset in the womb, I might have chosen to abort, were it not for the Lord my God speaking my name to me in the womb, right then and there. I asked the Lord when I was in early sobriety, in my adulthood, when the Lord and I were talking daily in my heart, having conversations regularly, how I could know He would take me home?

What the Lord our God said to me was, “George Stanley Geisinger, I have called your name from the Place where Souls are Made.” It took me awhile to figure out what the Lord was telling me. Later, I realized the Lord was referring to my mother’s womb. You see, a woman’s womb is a sacred place in the eyes of our God, since the body is the Temple of God.

There is a great profaning of the Temple of God in these days. There are a lot of people taking their own lives today, who will never receive what they’re looking for in death. God is telling us to look in his Word, if they’ll only look. He told me as much when I was about to go jump off a bridge. People clutter their bodies with chemicals, and wonder what’s wrong with them.

God gave me the gift of sobriety, and next, had to turn around and save me all over again, from my own hand. It wasn’t as if He fished me out of the Chesapeake Bay, or was likely to. He came to my heart when I was doing something else, and gave me a personal message I needed to hear. I know these things because my initial trauma has effected my entire lifetime.

This is a sign of the end times.

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Your Company

Let me tell you how I enjoy your company the most

When it is the most rare of all flowers

When you choose to provide yourself of your own volition

You happen to be the most lovely

When you give way to being bright and cheerful

Spontaneous as a surprise sunrise

And birds rising on at the flap of a wing

When you choose to appear

When you choose to speak

You are as a deer in the forest

As nesting creatures preparing for their young

As the leaves of the trees clapping their hands

When your intellect is so obviously at beckon call

Joy is so spontaneous as this unique moment in time between us

These things render you the most thoroughly beautiful

These things appeal to the heart of one most lost and lonely

Long acquainted with contemplation apart from all object of delight

Perched starving on a city park bench

Where beauty seldom goes

Your clothing is as delicate as your refreshing frame

Your gate as disarming as the approach or recession

Of your radiant person

Return fair creature return

George S Geisinger

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Memory Disorder

 I demand of myself to fight for every memory of my own life I can identify, to write it all down for when I’m an old, forgetful man, and take responsibility for it all. I’m in assisted living, and am here to stay. Why is it such an issue with me, you’d like to know? I’ve spent much of my life, sitting within four walls trying to forget my life, I’ve finally institutionalized myself.

I’ve built my own trap. I got to be here. That’s what killed Brooks, Brooks, in Shawshank Redemption, was institutionalization. If he could have only found a way back to Shawshank, he would have been alright, but he was too much of an old man to commit another felony. That’s the truth. Even Red needed Andy’s help to survive. That’s why Red went the whole way to Mexico.

My choice is was what it was. I fess up to it right here and now. Needing the group gathering at meal times, someone to cook and clean up, it’s part of the process of the whole I need. Needing others to clean up for me and physically help me to take a shower, because I am an extreme fall risk, is what institutionalization is. This paper is referred to as an inventory step.

I do another thorough inventory step, right here and now, call it what you may.

The institutions I refer to were state and private mental hospitals, where I regularly sought asylum throughout my days in young adulthood, whether my emergencies were real or imagined, I had them all by myself at times. The hospitals didn’t come get me, I went to them. I mean isolation chambers sometimes too. Between that and TV blaring, in at least one room all day.

I suffer from a chronic chemical imbalance in my brain.

Believe you me, I’ve been suffering a long time. A long term masochist. I was in an ER one time, and the MD woke me up on the gurney, demanding to know what I was doing in His ER? My condition has frequently been unmistakable like that. That man was a good doctor, knew his business. This darned chemical imbalance requires medication adjustment regularly.

He was just being as smart-Alec. Have been diagnosed with a memory disorder recently, cowers me. I consider the epilepsy and the chronic schizo-affective disorder, I can piece my life together tolerably, but I never knew my brain damage was going to catch up to me so young, the way it has. I’m going to have to accept this right along with the rest of it.

Took enough of some very dangerous recreational chemicals in my flower child days, got trouble to look forward to, and some significant memory issues degenerating in my speech, already started. I didn’t realize it would sneak up on me like this. I’ve mistreated my own body and mind very badly, till I finally quit doing so. That smart mouth doctor thought me a bum.

Doctors tell me the condition I have now will only get worse. My speech will only become more confused, because I’ll only remember a long time ago in my life. I’ll have no recent memories. That bites the rind, to think I won’t be qualified to answer doctor’s background questions about me. The probably suspect memory issues from the get go.

I was a drinker and user of recreational chemicals, not to mention a compulsive chain smoker.

I didn’t get loaded because of the Young People’s Movement of the 60’s, 70’s. I wanted to forget a trauma from childhood. I’d tell you the story, but it would get me in a bad mood all day. Haven’t had breakfast yet. Getting wasted was my own weapon against that memory. I can remember that trauma any ole time now. Now that I’m straight long enough.

I get a few childhood and young adulthood memories, that’s about it. I have trouble keeping track of what I’m trying to tell someone verbally, which is one of the reasons I enjoy writing so much. When I’ve got it all down in my text editor, I can always look back or forward. Can’t do that whenever I’m talking. Some tell me my memory issues are transparent, but I don’t know.

My wonderful baby sister ran away to Oregon, because she couldn’t stand to watch the way I was destroying myself. She loves me that much. She made a life for herself out there, got a husband, stepchild, granddaughters. She dug in deep the West Coast, to get away from me trying to destroy myself. She says it was too painful to stay home. Wrenches my heart out.

By the time I stopped doing all that to myself, she was already dug in.

I’m responsible myself, for loosing my baby sister. I did that, like I did brain damage. I drove recklessly enough to hit several windshields with my own skull. I took mind-destroying chemicals on purpose and with intent. It’s my responsibility. I fess up. I take responsibility for my own illness and my own recovery, whatever recovery is possible at this late date.

No one took me to an institution half as much as I took myself. Not my brother or anyone. I’m institutionalized, and need to be in assisted living or some place institutional, because it’s the only place I understand. This place has rules, whatever they are. I don’t know, but I understand the polarity between staff and residents. I don’t need to be told, because my heart tells me.

I’m responsible to God for my temple, which I am responsible for this eye condition, by my own hand. Nobody put me in this position but me. I did this to myself, trying to neutralize my memory, being too lazy to light up the room when I used the computer. It’s understandable to me, but that does not negate my state of responsibility for my own actions.

Hopefully, more of my memory will come back to me, I don’t know the prognosis.

If no one wants to read what I write, well OK. I have too much noise in my head to shut up my writing. Do I want to sell my writing, well OK, but I’m not writing for that. I must drivel out of my own thinking, till I have what it says, written down on virtual paper, like any writer does. Besides, I can concentrate in writing better that I can in Life.

There are other new diagnoses. Epilepsy. Osteoporosis. I have fallen twice, once in 2010, and then twice in 2013. I turned up with too much brain damage, to ultimately expect temporary memory loss, as I age, in 2013. Moreover, I have a problem with my walking, due to falling and braking bones, from malnutrition as a child. The malnutrition in childhood was my decision too.

Can’t blame all this on my mother or father.

She cooked. I stayed away. How do I like them apples? Merry Christmas. Why on earth? Mom tried, you know. Dad was a monster. His chemical imbalance produced violence when I was a kid. It is a genetically inherited disorder. Mom thought she was obligated to stay with the monster, while we all got beaten, even her.

We left after Dad deserted us. Went to Grandma’s. I was thirteen. I’m trying to tell you why I’m crazy, ma’am. I inherited schizophrenia from Dad genetically, like all three of my siblings. Two of them function OK. Lee and I are totally nuzoid. I’m never going to pass on schizo-affective disorder to my own kids, Robynn. I take responsibility for that much.

That poor girl in NC’s named Mary. She rocked my world too, like you’ve done. There was only that one other time I knew without looking that a woman, that she was one of my great ones. I wasn’t looking, because I was in an institution, half way out of my mind on mescaline. I’ve never met you, Robynn, but I can tell all this about you. Yes, my sister told me to get to know you.

Maybe people don’t like to read someone else’s life. This is a gift to one, wonderful lady. You tell me you live in Wyoming, that you’ve got a husband. OK. You can think about giving me your phone number some time. Women never use them, but you can reach me at 757.466.5154. I’ll never remember that number, Ma’am. Leave a message, I’m screening.

Maybe there are those who cannot appreciate what I have to say. God bless you, and may you recall regularly, what you had for lunch, in the evening, for many years into your future. I cannot. I remember what I’m writing, with more alacrity for a shorter period. I am likely to be talking, and forget where I am in what I’m saying, as well as where I am geographically.

I can recall university as a young man, and I’m hoping my traumatic childhood will become more immediate for me, in general, as my MD suggests. Why do I want to remember trauma, you ask? There was a long time I tried, with a will and intent, to kill my memory, overwhelming myself with recreational chemicals. Now, there are all the helpers I need.

I am not afraid to remember anymore. My own life has sanctity enough to me now, and a with long term abstinence and facing what I can. I have embraced my memory, now wishing my history to return. Whether it can, or will, or not, I have no clue. In college, where I finally got my degree, I was taught to seek publication. Here I am, with a will and a way.

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Ode to Beauty

Sometimes I see so much beauty in one place it confuses me

I don’t know what to do or what to say as a response

As if I’m compelled to do or say something to enhance the object of my admiration

I’m referring to the long haired pine tree outside our window at the dining room here where we eat

I’m referring to the obvious as well as to the obscure

My breath is caught I have seen so much beauty

George S Geisinger

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My frame coped for a long time

Remember how I passed out

Passing out in my youth

I did not know

The doctors did not know

In my youth


It was inevitable

My appointment with pain

Spent my voice screaming


Sumptuous screaming

Oh the pain of falling

The upper ball-joint

Of my femur splintered

Falling violently

Oh so violently

On a cement/hardwood


Oh bitter agony

While my elders

Looked on

Tacit respectful

Of my screaming

Only the elderly

Could understand

A surgeon gave me

A new hip joint

It took four hours

Under the surgeon’s knife

It was an epileptic seizure

A violent fall

It took almost four years

To complete physical therapy

To be able to walk again

I will need a rollator

The rest of my life

George S Geisinger

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Great Sequoia

A privilege to breath your air great tree

You’ve permitted a few bushes and shrubs

To gather at your feet along with the likes of me

I crave to know your thoughts oh great one

I am but mortal as well you know

I’ve heard a few thoughts

From such as thee sir tree

If I might be so bold as to articulate

You are accurate sir tree

A man envies you foolishly.

George S Geisinger

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White Noise

Listen to the white noise

Of white water

If you can only be a friend

Name the man

Who stands in our way

I deserve to know that much

Unicorn fairy princess

I need a man’s name desperately

Do I dare open my sore eyes

To see you now my beloved

The beating of my heart

I’ve learned to walk again

Twice in my own adulthood

Daring to take first steps alone

Craving withheld assurance

No arms reassured me

While I vainly craved reassurance

Not so long before we met

I’ve already admired you

I’ve loved you with a pure heart

Like a blind man loves

With a child man’s heart trusting

From an entire nation apart trusting

Come to my threshold dear

Unicorn fairy princess darling

George S Geisinger

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