Gainesville a love letter in the dark  It was heaven. It was a new world I discovered and it appeared to be a paradise. It was the garden of Eden without the snake. Here I was, a big city boy, having lived in New York for 32 years, and Miami for 11 years. I hated Miami in part because of the driving. I did not have to do that in New York. In Gainesville, driving was actually enjoyable. It was peaceful going up 441 from my apartment on 16th avenue and 15th street. Driving to Walmart was a thing I did when I was anxious. I could also walk to Starbucks. I am sober, a member of AA. I came here April 2014 with my partner of 14 years, with almost two years of sobriety. He got a job as a nurse. I began a career in child welfare working for a CBC under the Partnership for Strong Families umbrella in Gainesville. It was an incredible job. I was truly doing God’s work. My very first case was a doozy. It was a national news story. SIx children were killed by their grandfather. Their blood upsplattered bodies laid on the grass behind the house. The community in Gilchrist County was devastated. There was anger towards DCF. Several investigations had commenced and ended before this tragedy,with no findings. Basically it looked like we dropped the ball hard. We passed the buck. There was so much anger that DCF employees were spit on and threatened. Store owners refused DCF workers service and even told them they could not pump gas. I was sent to the home two days after the massacre. I was representing DCF to this family. They were not happy. They blamed me for the murder of their children. It was made worse that the department demanded ongoing supervision. This meant I had to be there once per week, speak to all the children alone, speak with the caregivers. It was rough, stressful, and moving. I was afraid to go, thought I would be shot to death by the family like their children were. It would be an appropriate revenge for what looked like an evil oversight and lazy work. I was thrown to the wolves, no one else wanted to touch this case. I was new and I pulled the straw.  As hard as it was, and as stressful as it was, the night before my weekly visit I would have incredible stress levels including chest pain and hyper ventilating. Over time, the family saw me for who I was, an empathetic and genuine person who was trying to help and make their life a bit less painful. The trauma was evident in all the children and the elderly grandmother who held the family together. I won their trust. They did all that was needed. The children were placed with the grandmother. I fought for the mother to have visits. I fought for a family member who just got out of prison so he could live on the property. The department said no. I pushed back hard. For the department, they were covering their ass, for me I was trying to be human, real, and supportive for this family. I was in the trenches. I remember right before the case closed I hugged the mother in the case and she cried on my shoulder. I held her there for as long as she needed. During the six month supervision, the family was resilient. I knew what I saw. I understood them because I connected. I became Derek only, not DCF guy. Derek was coming over for a visit. They even offered me food. The department kept trying to implement draconian rules. Again I fought them and won. This is what I did for all my families. So just one of many stories that touched me, and changed me forever. There were no other real times in my professional life where I was more rewarded. The bosses loved me, I won awards. My immediate supervisor once told me he loved me, His boss, the program director told me it was great having me on the team and happy I was there. I had a connection few others had. Then it changed. About five years after that first case I was fired. I was fired for having AIDS. It came on suddenly. There were warnings I did not see. I got shingles that nearly entered my eye. I had two detached retina surgeries spaced a year apart. I was tired. I was losing lots of weight. I was slurring my words. I could not focus on anything. It was unbelievable. All my written work such as Judicial Reviews for court were late, and what I did write was often not my best. And I was falling. I fell at two clients homes, and both called my supervisor and said they never want me to come again. They felt afraid. I should say my appearance can be unsettling I guess to some. It is alternative. I have lots of tattoos, and piercings, including gauges. I am the only one who looked like that at my job. But ,I made it work. My clients loved me. They saw me on their level. Even the older grandmother and grandfather types who did not understand such bizarre fashion adored me because the saw the person within. I wore the tats and piercings like a badge.  One could say we can see God in all of us.  My employers stopped seeing this. It was apparent my health was bad. I later found out the falling was related to a poor gait caused my a brain legion in my brain. It is HIV related. I have to use a cane at times to walk.  I fell in my supervisors office. A remark was made on how skinny I was, but no intervention. At the very least they could have ordered a drug test as it looked like I was using drugs. My friends and family were convinced I was using drugs. There was no intervention but the mood changed. I started getting disciplinary meetings. It started simple and the first couple of meetings were between me and my bosses. The parent organization was not notified. Eventually this worsened and I started getting write ups that went to HQ. A HR rep took the 3 hour drive fromTampa to meet with me and my bosses. It seemed as if they did not want to fire me, or they were covering their bases. I began to be criticized for everything. Even bizarre things. I was told a coworker saw me grabbing my crotch and complained. I was written up. Another co worker said I peed on the toilet seat. Both of those things were strangely false. They did not believe me.  The kicker was the homophonic environment I was thrust in. A few years before a coworker had engaged in vicious homophobic vitriol to me disguised under religious love. It was so demeaning that I cried later with door closed. Told some coworkers and they told me to report it. I did. I did not want her fired, just given training. They did that. A company wide LGBTQ training was created because of me. I avoided that coworker after and did not speak to her beyond a “good morning.” We moved to a new office. I would  no longer have my own private office. I had a cubicle. The space was large enough that you could go a day without seeing certain co workers. We were always busy, putting about 35k miles on our cars per year. But for reasons unknown, they chose to sit that homophobic person next to me, like four feet away. No wall to block me.  It upset me, I did not say a thing because my job felt like it was already in jeopardy. I was so uncomfortable. I starting to smoke pot at night to deal with the stress. On my last official day of work, i grabbed a drug test to test myself. I threw the test in the garbage. I had done with once before with my supervisors blessing because i was eating lots of poppy bagels and wanted to see if I would test positive. I did not. This time, a co worker saw the drug test, and told management. It was the homophobe. In an act of perverse justice I was fired for using company property with no business reason. The firing occurred a day later. It was quick and cold. My supervisor was in the meeting and would not even make eye contact. He was playing on his phone. I was wrecked but also sick and did not know it. I eventually continued to get high in greater volumes. I was hired by a sister organization soon after but was fired for “falling on the job” and my vision was increasingly poor. Had to be pulled out of two ditches with my car. One of the most striking and disturbing parts of this was how my supervisor changed. He went from saying “I love you” to showing me a face of incredible contempt and anger. I will never forget that look. Two days before I was fired. It has stayed with me. The tide had turned. I still see his look as I write this. I did not know I had AIDS till I moved to NY in April. I was shocked. My mom saw me and was horrified with how I looked. I was emaciated, like a holocaust victim. I would have died had I stayed in GNV for another month. My Tcells were 28. Had I not been fired I would have died because no one would have said a thing as my body withered away. This infuriated my mother. She called the management company of my building screaming and asking why no one bothered to help. I was upset. I was approved for medical weed so that helped alot, though i still smoked the cheaper and stronger street weed. I wanted to tell my bosses about what I was going through, so I emailed them and even FB texted them. They ignored me. So I kept writing and I guess I appeared aggressive. I had spoken to HR about this and got no help. I was not believed. I received no empathy. And that is my Gainesville theme. There was no empathy, He told me not to contact them again. I did, hoping they would pay attention. I even wrote silly things like telling them I was always high for court. I was not. I just wanted them to respond. The only response I got was a cease and desist letter threatening legal and criminal action. They told me to stop. I had told my boss in one of the emails that I may be sepaphardic jew. My boss is jewish. I just found this out in the last week. I was excited. The cease and desist letter referenced the word “jew” and basically accused me of antisemitism in so many words. It clearly was not. When I saw that I knew they were never going to take responsibility.  They were circling the wagons. That is what DCF does all the time. They circle the wagons. In addition to this I was rejected by friends for having AIDS. Old friends abandoned me. A former sponsee who I came close with shut me out of his life. He said because I was smoking weed, but he was already mad that I bought a car. I was helping this man clean his home as he had not for about ten years. He was afraid to let anyone see it. I was the only one. The one he trusted. We would clean then go eat at the Clock which he hated. I liked it because it was a NY diner. When I visit Gainesville next, that will be on top of my list. But it ended. I called him to tell him about my AIDS diagnosis. He never called me back.  Also, I had three cats that at the last minute I had to have a cat sitter take. I could not get them in the car and I was pressed for time. I figured they would find homes or we can get them shipped to me in NY, I don’t know what happened to my cats. I heard three different stories including they were killed by the landlord. They found homes. They got lost, etc. The last story with them finding homes made me happy but the person who told me blocked me from calling her and would not respond to facebook messages.  Frankly I think my cats were killed by someone in AA.  I was dying. Rejected by my sponsee and others. My ex roommate GF attacked me for having AIDS and mocked the death of my cats. He stole a television from me and never paid me back for a Nintendo Switch. Again, cruelty.  I was shocked. What happened to my beautiful mecca? The quaint wonders of downtown, Alfred Ring Park, the bagel factory, the tattoo shops, the beauty and total lack of environmental stress? What happened to the city I called my home of homes? I was fired, lost my apartment, car, cats and friends. It happened. And of course my health. The good news is my health has bounced back. I am still skinny but I gained 30 pounds. My t cells jumped to 157. Still AIDS but an improvement. But I am sad over how GNV ended. It was the career ending and the cruelty of people. There is a bigger list in addition to the examples I gave. I have struggled to understand in my mind why I was attacked this year from so many angles. It was sickly humor because it kept getting worse.  And it was Gainesville that did it. I could not believe the dagger in my heart. I did not know what to do. I was ignored by friends and ones who did respond were angry. I only wanted my supervisors to apologize. I wanted to speak to my bosses one last time. I tried so hard but received silence, followed by silence, followed by threats. It was Simon and Garkfunkel with the same sleepy sadness, And I would totally like to be in GNV now, walk to planet fitness, shop at Lucky's, talk to the gas station guy when I pumped gas or got cigs. I lived in the Villa Ravine, a wonderful property. This transplanted NYer with his small expensive apts was treated to a two bedroom town house. Had a nice pool. People hung out by the pool. No drinking was allowed but weed seemed to be a requirement. I loved my building, my block, my AA meetings, my job, and this wonderful city. So filled with magic. But lacking in empathy. The opposite. Intentional wounding. Sharp directed pain. A spit in the face. A kick to the stomach  But I loved GNV and want to return. Go figure. You have a godly vibe. Used for good but also incredible pain  But I love GNV. I think it was wrong. I blame my employer for not pointing out the fact that I looked terrible. I was dying and everyone who saw me during that time told me in straight terms I look terrible Yet for whatever reason the people I work with me for years never intervened. I was isolated outside outside of work. I was content to stay home and smoke pot, watch streaming services. Work was my only social contact until it was taken away. Then it was just me in an apartment covered in cat piss. I was not showering. I urinated on my bed as I was too tired to get up. I just slept on the other bed the next night. When I asked about the lack of intervention, I was told it was for legal reasons that they could not intervene. So if I was smoking crack they would not interfere. This doesn't pass that litmus test. I would hope that social workers like me would be treated with a little bit more respect. The families I visited in Gainesville at 3:00 AM with a threat of removal showed me more kindness than my two bosses. That is a shame. I just wanted someone to acknowledge my pain.  Yes I have thought about legal action but I just want an admission of what they put me through so they could be hyper aware in the future with other employees.  As for my Gainesville friends I don't know why things happen. I don't understand but I do believe in God and I think it's my purpose to love and give help even when I get nothing in return. I wrote this as I know nothing else to do. I figured this may be of interest to GNV sun. I thought about the Herald. They would publish because they love criticizing DCF. But know I want my home paper to take this. I hope people will be helped. Through my pain has come incredible spiritual rebirth despite AIDS induced brain damage. I still hope I speak to the people who maimed me. Maybe they will read this. Do I hope for empathy. I do. I will be disappointed likely but I still believe and I believe in GNV. All of us can and should have empathy. I will continue to have it  in my new life. ReplyForward

The Silly People and the Weed.

We have a silly country. In a recent opinion piece in the NY Post, a “columnist,” if that is what she wants to be called, made a link between the horrific shootings in the US and the smoking of marijuana. Yes, she went there. It is not enough to place the blame on mental illness as we have now moved on to wacky weed. She uses facts she gleaned from a ten-minute search on google, facts that justified her gun humping insanity. 

She is not alone. Sadly, her opinion piece, and others like it, stoke fear and stupidity, and that’s is a dangerous combination that has become quite the fashionable rage as of late. Fifty-five million Americans have used marijuana in the last year, and 35 million are regular users. That’s a lot of shooters The former interim director of a local Miami university, used to smoke marijuana in his office. This writer proudly smokes marijuana and is also prescribed it for medical reasons due to having a compromised immune system. I can assure you I have never shot anyone nor will I, not even the nut who wrote this article.

 With 35 million regular users this means, for the puritanical non-smokers, that people you deal with everyday through work, social engagements, family or even church, actively puff the magic dragon. It is always 420 somewhere. But you do not know this because marijuana users are closeted due to the ridiculous shaming from the squares. They are squares that have screwed up the country’s geometric vibe. They may even call police on a smoker in the chance they walk up to their door and take a big sniff. I have seen this happen.

Not enough room to talk about the medical benefits of marijuana. I have used it for appetite and have gained 30 pounds since I began regular use as I was very skinny and close to death three months ago. Pot sort of saved my life or at the very least sped up the recovery part. There are many people right now who are medicating with a natural and effective medicine as they have done for thousands of years. That was until the end of prohibition when  some government overlords needed to justify their salaries by going after weed. Of course. the majority of users were black and a perfect target. The white people were too busy vomiting on themselves or beating their wives after another bender, then going to church on Sunday.

We have freedom of speech in this country and we see it most strongly on the internet, but that is not always a pleasant thing as hatred and xenophobia are proudly shot from one’s keyboard. Nothing can be done about that, but one would hope a mainstream newspaper would not publish such bad comedy. There is bad comedy everywhere and it involves feckless elected officials who need to appeal to an ignorant and angry base in order to stay in power, doing nothing, but offering hackneyed impact statements that are void of common sense but appeal to emotion, a powerful drug used (badly) everywhere. 

This is one issue I think we can have mass agreement on. With 11 legal states and the District of Columbia having legalized recreational weed and over 60 percent of the country favoring legalization, there is hope and a collective army to fight the puritanical squares. Florida of course is behind the times, perhaps due to conservative voters but the truth is that North Florida is alike a giant marijuana cloud. You have people in Dixie County, which leans far right with 88 percent voting for Trump, openly smoking a spliff in public. I am thinking that cops don’t really care as I recall getting a tattoo and while my artist puffed away, a cop had walked in the shop and said nothing, just waved hello. Now that is freedom my friends. Legalization is coming despite the old guard. Younger people are seizing power. Those health conscious millennials are drinking less and puffing more because they understand that alcohol is the most deadly abused substance in the county at this time.  A good friend of mine who owned a prominent trophy shop in North Miami told me he served two years in prison in 1970. For what I wondered? A nickel bag of marijuana which is for those who do not know, a very small amount you could lift with two fingers. Thankfully it is no longer like that, police have the option to just give you a ticket in South Florida, unless you’re black of course.

It is time that all the smokers rise and come out of the closet. Everyone who smokes needs to be visible and stop the fear from the non-smokers. At 4:20, at a date to be established later, everyone needs to light up and be out and proud. Ideally this could be done daily. Visibility will end the dreadful and dangerous stupidity of those who can send their opinion to mass audiences without fear of reprisal. The reprisal will be the end of us being a silly country.

Smoke up.