I don't want to write

I have all the time in the world right now and the last thing I want to do is write. I want to surf the Internet for hours accomplishing nothing. I want to jack off. I want to fucking get out of my body! I want some fucking escape!!!

I'm in Arkansas in the middle of nowhere. Sitting in my hotel room with nothing to do. Work was canceled.

Great! I'll work on my screenplay, which I haven't started. No.

Huge panic attack hits me. What the fuck body? I'm alone in a safe neighborhood in a safe room. (It's a pretty nice Holiday inn actually) What the fuck is up with my body? I get depressed when I get a panic attack. Isn't that weird? Getting depressed when your anxiety kicks in.

Panic attacks make you're body believe it is in a life or death situation. Your body thinks you are about to die!! At any second!!

I don't know about you but I don't like my body telling me we are about to die.

When I was young, age 15, I first started getting these attacks. I had attacks at three different periods when I was 15 and I can't remember which one was the first but I think it was this one.

I had a best friend that lived three houses up from me named Jason. We used to hang out every day from 1st grade till 6th grade. We stopped hanging out as much when I started smoking pot and he didn't. We would still hang a little after junior high but it was becoming less and less. (I'm not sure how this is pertinent to the story but fuck you) Another unimportant thing that I'm remembering right now is when we were in maybe 3rd grade I remember noticing that it was me that called him everyday. He never called me. I remember asking him why he never called me and I don't think he really gave me an answer. (once again, doesn't really matter to the story but fuck you anyways)

When I was 15 I heard that if you hyperventilate while moving your body very quickly up and down and then have your friend choke you, you can pass out. So one day we were doing the "Let's make each other pass out game".

This, by the way, was after I had fallen in love with LSD and after I was arrested for it.

So I thought it would be similar to tripping if we made each other pass out while listening to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the moon. So I turn on the music, we're in my bedroom, and I start hyperventilating. Jason chokes me and I pass out onto the bed. I come back and I'm feeling a little out of it. I'm trying to get into my body like when you trip on acid. I'm listening to Pink Floyd. I'm thinking this is awesome!

I'm perfectly relaxed and then out of the blue my body is slammed with a rush of adrenaline. My heart starts racing and I'm turning white. I jump out of bed and I see the devil next to the wall. I tell Jason, "I think the devil is trying to enter me."

Keep in mind that I'm fucked up on religion. My Dad died when I was twelve, I'm fucked up from that and I'm obsessed with the fucking devil.

I tell Jason, "I have to tell my Mom." He's begging me not to. I run into her room, she's half asleep and I back down from telling her that the devil is trying to take me over and just spit out something along the lines of, "Uh....I don't feel well." I think she just told me to rest.

I come back in my room and I'm still freaking out. I turn off the music. All of a sudden in my mind the music is evil. The fucking church imprinted the gnarliest fear of evil into the core of my being.

By the way when I was in 9th grade me and my friends were into conjuring up spirits. We used to go around the corner of the lunch hall and play light as a feather, stiff as a board. Supposedly you were getting spirits to help lift someone up and you could lift them with your finger. I remember tripping out as a 15 yr old when we would lift up one of our bigger friends with our fingers and it just felt easy.

Then somehow, and I don't know how I'm remembering this because I haven't ever really gave it much thought, we got a hold of some which craft spells or Satan spells or something that was supposed to allow us to connect with the dark side so we could get stuff that we wanted.

One day a friend of mine took me aside and told me to stop messing with that stuff. We were at a catholic school and we were young so I guess most of us just accepted that there were spirits or demons or basically weird shit out there. My friend said, "If you get too close to the dog he might bite you."

So here I am, after making myself faint and getting attacked by Satan, thinking of my friends words, "The dog might bite."

Fuck, he's biting me!

I went on vacation with two friends to Hawaii when I was fifteen. I started having panic attacks and I was sure that I was having acid flashbacks, or the devil was fucking with me. I remember telling my friends about it and we were keeping it a secret from the adults. We were in a skyscraper and I was having panic attacks every time I got in the elevator. It was the beginning of my mind trying to make sense of this and I was trying to avoid whatever was causing these attacks. I began to build up a fear of elevators. Then I started attacks while surfing. I developed a fear of the ocean.

They lasted for maybe 4 days and eventually went away.

I went to church youth camp and they kicked in again. I thought for sure the devil was fucking with me. I remember having them during the tug of war game, during the canoeing, and during the group picture. I had myself documented during a panic attack. I told my self that I wasn't having them whenever I was in the church and I sort of made that my place where I felt comfortable. I went to accept Jesus in my heart because I wanted these fucking acid flashbacks/devil getting me episodes to stop. They lasted the whole week.

Panic attacks were gone for a year. I forgot about them.

I ran for class president the following year and the activities director rigged the elections. My school revolted and a re vote was demanded. I won but the school faculty hated me. This is an entire ten blog story for another time.

At the same time I went to another church retreat in the mountains skiing.

When I was 16 I had been masturbating already for 5 years. I did it all the time but I never spoke of it and neither did anyone I knew. People were ridiculed for it at that age, that was something you would be made fun of for life if anyone found out. One of the friends at church camp got us all to admit we jacked off and we just talked about masturbation for the entire weekend. I remember how relieving it was to find out everyone did it.

When I masturbated (I know this is too much information) I would be able to start and finish in like 20 seconds. I could do it fast.

So I remember my friend telling me that he would masturbate for like 20 minutes. I couldn't believe it but when I got home I tried it. Maybe ten minutes in I started having a panic attack. I quit masturbation of a year.

That's how gnarly panic attacks were and are for me. I quit masturbation for a year!

So now I'm 37, I'm in a hotel in Arkansas, and I'm having panic attacks. When I was younger and had attacks I would lock myself in my room for a week, but after a week they were gone. When I got in a relationship with Les I had them for three months straight. When I started a talk show I had them for 6 months straight and on and off for over 2 years.

So when I get one now I can't think to myself, "Don't worry this will be over in a week." And that's why I get depressed. I don't know if the next week or the next year is going to be ruined.

On the bright side, when they get bad enough I seem to get motivation to do whatever I know I should be doing in life. Maybe focusing on spirituality, maybe exercise, or just getting out of my procrastinating ways that hold me back from being creative.

This blog is my new creative outlet as is my comedy. I'm also taking up a home yoga practice.

OK enough of the ramble, my work here today is done.