Lost Angels

Lost Angels, a work of flash writing, is an important part of my writing journey. The title is a reference to an amazing 1989 film about a troubled youth portrayed by Adam Horovitz (Beastie Boys) and his psychiatrist, portrayed by Donald Sutherland. The film resonated with me. I identified with the protagonist, Tim Doolan. I had anger issues as a teen and was abducted by the police at school and committed to West Oaks Psychiatric Hospital in 1985 on the drug rehab unit. My psychiatrist was nowhere near as cool as his, but the film captured the feeling of rehab. I first saw Lost Angels at the drive-in and then bought the LaserDisc. I did not realize it at the time, but seeing the film with my friend Mike in my dark blue chill room, Pioneer stereo cranked, was a milestone of the era before the car wreck that changed our lives.

The aimlessness and hidden pain are something that affected not only my youth but also followed me throughout my life in different ways.

Years later, I wrote about how a different near-death experience influenced my creativity in the following piece I titled after the film.

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LOST ANGELS

Lost in my thirties, I wanted to forget my age, and in reliving my fading youth, I became careless. Life swirled around me in tornadic fury as I eagerly chased my mistakes with abandon. Feeling invincible, I quit taking my meds. Bit by bit, I found it harder to breathe in the chaos and had a scare with a sudden bout of pneumonia, which hospitalized me for a month. I thought I was going to die, but life went on like it does.

Released and sent home all alone, I was so weak I could barely get up off the couch in my tiny efficiency apartment. The darkness of depression crept in with the ghosts of the past. In the sweaty nights, fever dreams of angels and demons came to me. Hope seemed sparse, and thoughts of me deserving my fate drove nails into my soul. Mentally, it was difficult to break out of the doldrums, but I knew I needed to focus on an escape, so I turned to writing.

In my delirium, I wrote pieces of fiction. The stories transported me away from the dire moment of my harsh reality, with each scratch of the pen feverishly creating tales in my notebook. I had written before, but it felt different, imbued with a spark of life. The stories were rough and imperfect, yet some mystical alchemy occurred in writing them down. My feelings of rage and fear abated in a newfound serenity. Writing changed me and saved me from the abyss. My journey began with the discovery of light through horror, and I have banished the darkness and found my lost angels.

Dean Cade

Dean Cade