Suicide Ghetto

On April 12th of this year someone committed suicide at the little small-town-crack-head-red-neck-ghetto I used to live in about three months ago.  I had lived there for three years. Alone most of the time except for mom. Plenty of you here know that already who knew me for a long time and some of you were friends of mine YEARS back when I was still married to that Pakistani Northerner but I digress.

It has always been a sad place. Back in 92, (when some of you were toddlers), I lived there when I was in college and in love and in a rage at the injustice of the justice system that sought to wrongly convict an innocent man…even if it WAS his fault for choosing her over me. My mom is friends with an 81 year old woman now whose son lived there at the time. I never met him back then and my mom had not met his mother yet either and the world was still younger and had promise.

I never thought, back then, that I would still be poor enough lo’ those many years later to end up BACK in the same ghetto where I met the greatest love of my life but life is weird that way and after my last divource I did end up back there again and by that time mom was friends with the woman whose son used to live there. As I write this I am having the strangest feeling that…(no not today…not yet)…but anyway she came to see where I lived and was shocked.

Her son had committed suicide in the unit I lived in.

He had hung himself.

She told me about him and how he was  Harley Biker and how a wreck had ruined his life forever. As cripple he could no longer ride and he used to sit outside in the sun and get drunk and fill a fifty gallon grey trash can with beer cans.

Sometimes when I was there I fancied he was ghosting around but he was a harmless sort if he was and, in the oddest stretch of fate, the same place I met met the greatest love of my life was the same place I was living, 20 years later, when I met him again. The same place I thought I lost my best friend of 30 years forever in was the same place I lost him forever again in…Both life and the world go ’round in circles.

I was surprised to read that there was yet ANOTHER suicide-by-hanging there to yet ANOTHER man but at the same time it makes sense.

There was a woman, who lived in back of me next door to the haunted laundry, who worked at Wal Mart. She claimed evil spirits visited her apartment and that they possessed her son. People, from back in the 90’s, who still lived there, said the site was on Sacred Indian Burial Land. Weird how it is that is the last stop, on the way to homelessness, out of town on Rt. 66. That is where the lowest of the society of that town go when there is no where else to go and once upon a time not long ago I lived there. It could be a terrifying place. But even so I had a garden…

…until the Crack-head manager had her lawn guy level it.

They didn’t kill me. I think they liked me but those they possessed tried…

…they really tried.

(See second entry in the listing)

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