It’s 3:15 in the afternoon, and we just had a little flash thunderstorm. But now, some thirty minutes later, it’s back to a warm breeze and partly cloudy skies. Welcome to South Georgia in the summer time. I found me a nice little piece of shade under the sycamore tree. And after a day of disasters, I finally said f*ck it and came outside. But days are what they are. Some good, some bad, but each having a life of its own.
Right now, I’m just breathing out a little bit of the tension I’ve experienced today. Normally I would just lay down under the AC. But with the comfort that it brings, the confinement can become stifling. So here I sit among the twisting leaves, the smell of passing car exhaust, and the ripening figs. Not thinking about much of nothing, just focusing on one word at a time.
A passing ambulance speeds down the highway, a subtle reminder of the many trips I’ve taken. Feeling the stubble across my face, the moments of my life can be measured in the lines across my face. So how do you measure time? As an endless string of days that run one into another? Or in the present moment where leaves shiver under the force of the wind? Either way it’s your time. It’s your choice. So choose wisely, what your day will bring.
It’s only 9:30 in the morning and it’s already 83°. So it looks to be another hot and sweaty one. But that breeze from yesterday, is still blowing out of the southeast. So I have a little faith it won’t be as humid as it could be. I got up around five o’clock this morning, checked my messages, and read my paper. Nothing much going on, other than the patients still running the asylum.
I went into town around seven, picked up a few groceries for the week. Then came home and got two loads of clothes washed. Now I’m sitting under the sycamore tree desperately hiding from the sun. But as the sun rises into the trees, I’m reminded of my construction days running heavy equipment on this island in the Savannah River. We’d get there before dawn, fuel up our equipment, then sit on top of our DJBs while they warmed up, and watch the sunrise.
Looking out across the river the city was just waking up. Container ships were making their way to port, while the lights of the city reflected across the water. Memories are often simple reminders of long forgotten truths. That as hard as the work was, working daylight to dusk. There were still quite satisfactions to be found in the day.
As I feel myself waste away under this relentless heat. I still smell the ripening figs, watch the cat pounce on the leaves, and in the distant hear the noise of a trash truck. All reminding me that this too will eventually become a distant memory. To be locked away and remembered when more troubles come my way.
After a long day of driving in 98° weather and hiding in my room, I’m finally going outside. We got a little breeze blowing out of the southeast and the dew point is at 67°. All day long I’ve been trying to come up with something to say. But after a week of imprisonment in my room, windows blackened, AC and fan blasting; there just ain’t much to say. Sadly, for those of us “at risk” this is the world in which we live.
But as I looked out the bathroom window, I noticed the wind had picked up. So against my better angels, I found some shade and sit outside. It’s only mid-July and the oppressive heat of August has already hit with a vengeance. So while the wind is hot, it’s dry and a welcomed respite from the chilled air in a room with no light. But I got my glass of iced lemon tea with me, and the occasional sweet smell of the petunias.
As the cicadas start to sing, I’m reminded that living in a bubble only leads to isolation and paranoia. With the pandemic and the insane rhetoric of the day being slung around like horseshit against the barn door. It’s no wonder so many live in fear. It’s sad to see how the gift interconnectivity has been defiled to become this instant hate machine, that divides us instead of uniting us. But as I sit here finger touching the keypad, I’m reminded that there’s more to life than just “likes” and “clicks”. That just outside the door is a world that still turns and still breathes as it has for millions of years.
I’ve hit a bit of a dry patch these last few days. My thoughts have been racing in one senseless extreme to another. I’d start to think about something, then as quickly as it came, it’s gone. I suppose that’s a good thing because; it gives me the opportunity to read other writers work, without the hindrance of thinking of my own.
Artist often fear dry spells, but over the years I’ve learned to be at peace with them. Knowing that eventually as quickly as they come, they often fade away. As artist our work often feels like a fire. Sweeping through our brains consuming all the creativity we have. We don’t want to stop. Often, we get upset when we are interrupted. Creating inspiration for others, while at the same time abandoning those we love.
I have no real solution for this, other than to say remain aware. So maybe that’s why we have dry spells. To remind us that life isn’t all self-reflection. But also, about reconnecting with those we know most intimately. To appreciate the sacrifices, they make. Having to live with our creativity.
I checked the weather this morning and this going to be a blistering 97° today. At the moment it’s 73° with the dew point at 69°. For most of you dew points might not mean much. But here in the deep south, it determines hair style, clothing choices, and rather you’re going to leave the house at all. At the moment a few gnats have figured out my location. But a slight breeze is keeping them to a low roar.
Outside I can hear the world cranking up after a hot weekend. Log trucks are rolling down the highway with their first loads of the day. While the lawyers in their expensive cars pass by heading to the courthouse. Most everyone else got to work before I woke up, considering all the ag, prison, and customer service jobs are far out of town. Still life rolls on and people get by as best they can. The sacrifices that have to be made in this “new reality” are hard, but at least big businesses are getting bailed out by the bucket full.
As I sit here and adjust to my new reality, things are moving at warp speed. I’m pushing 60, my kids all but one in their 30’s, and who the hell knows where I’ll be in a few years. But right now, I’m not too worried about that. Because I can hear a barn owl calling from the oaks, the constant clicking of the cicadas in the trees. While in the background I hear the roar of the semis rolling across the highway called life.
When life treats you like you own a lemon farm. It’s hard to handle good fortune without a twinge of doubt. But for the last few months, things have been going pretty well for me, both financially and physically. Contentment is a strange word to me. Especially since I’ve spent the better part of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. So I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but I wasn’t quite sure how I’d tell the story.
When you’ve been called a loser or four-eyed fat boy all your young life. It starts to sink in that maybe they are right. That I am a loser, because I am a four-eyed, left-handed, asthmatic, that can’t do or say anything right. Words hurt and they leave really deep scars. To the point that where even good things in your life start to look like a scam. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve achieved a personal goal, only to be let down by my feelings of inadequacy.
I wish I had some magical truth that could wipe all these emotions out of my brain. But unfortunately, I still deal with this shit every day. All I can tell you is to be aware. When those seeds of doubt come up in your head, let them be heard. Don’t try and squish them out. Because that only pushes the pain even deeper. By giving the pain a voice, you acknowledge the hurt, then you can accept it, then you’re able to forgive others as well as yourself. Maybe it sounds silly or even a little “new agey”. Still it beats the alternative of hating yourself and eventually those around you. So try a little acceptance and forgiveness, you never know what it might do.
It would have been so simple to just stay in the house. My head feels dizzy, my throat’s sore, and eyes ache. Other than that, everything’s peachy. But there is a nice breeze blowing out of the southeast. So given the choice between laying in a dark room or sitting under a canopy of green, I’ll take on the occasional gnat and go outside. In order to live our lives, we usually put up with a lot of shit. And while I do seem to complain a lot, I do appreciate being able to get up each morning and breathe.
I feel like I’ve lived more than one lifetime. I want from idealistic dreamer that thought he could change the world. To a newly married man, living out the American dream. To a broken man stripped to the core of what he thought was love. Back to a believer in love, raising a family. Only to breakdown mentally not knowing which way was up. To end up a stripped-down version of my former self. That learned to treat myself better, despite all the strikes against me.
You’d think that would be enough to fill a book. Well, I’ve written five of them. To say I have a lot of hootspa, maybe an understatement. But much like life I’m ever evolving, seemingly changing with the wind. Some may see that as a bad thing, but if you think about it, change is just a natural part of our evolution. Never stay satisfied with where you are. Don’t be afraid of change, for comfort can also mean complacency when mixed with pride. Do not allow arrogance to steal your compassion. A willingness to change is the engine that drives one towards happiness and understanding.
After running around all morning, I saw some potential in coming outside. There’s just enough of a dry wind out of the West to keep the some of the gnats at bay. So I parked myself under a sycamore and listened as the world drives by. The first load of our daughter’s laundry is done. Just got through mailing off my donation to the state and federal governments. And paid the post office their share of the pie to send them off.
The air still smells of the grass that was cut yesterday. Lisa picked a few ripe figs from the bush/tree, and a little later on I’ll check the tomato vines. The sky is cloudless and the air isn’t humid, damn near perfect weather to get your ass outside. My sons are hidden away in their dark, often smelly rooms. Doing God knows what on their computers and phones. I often ask myself, “are these children actually mine”? But then I remind myself I married into a family of vampires.
Finding our roots, finding our comfort isn’t necessarily a tricky thing. I myself am considered the “oddball” of my family. While I do share many family traits, my views on religion, life, and politics greatly vary from my family peers. But within the scheme of things, does any of that really matter? I mean we all share a bond, a bloodline we certainly cannot deny. I suppose the point is, we all have our shared experiences. We all share human traits beyond the pigment of our skin. Isn’t time to turn off the noise and appreciate who we are… family.
I walked away from the world that I knew. From a life I thought I had built to last forever. To explore a world of the great unknown. But did anything ever really change other than my address? On a trip back home, I went to visit an old friend one last time. Attached to an oxygen tank, a shell of man he used to be. We spoke for a few hours about life and where we were. While we spoke, he mentioned to me, “You know you had to leave in order to find yourself. And now you’ve come home your own man”.
I keep those words in the back of my mind when I’m feeling lost. For so often we lose track of who we are. And for a myriad of reasons, we never seem to be able to find our way back. Like trying to live up to the expectations of others. Or living in consent fear of losing control. Or worse yet, the fear of never reaching an unattainable goal. So much of what the world demands is based on performance and winning. That the art of satisfaction gets lost in the pursuit.
Over the last several years I’ve tempered my expectations. I’ve learned to recognize my limitations and to adjust accordingly. It’s not that I’m lazy, uninspired, or lost hope. Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I feel more productive, creative, and happier than ever. It all comes down to what feels right. Am I happy? Is what I’m doing worth waking up for? Our lives are but a tiny link in a much longer chain. We can either run around completely unaware. Or we can find a path. A path that will eventually lead us home.
Laying here thinking about my current mood, I’m reminded of one my favorite Bill Murray movies, “Stripes”. Within the first five minutes of the film, Murray’s character loses his job, has his car repoed, and his girlfriend dumps him. Murray’s brilliant response to all this was, “And now depression sets in…” After being stuck in the house since Sunday, my ever-cynical mind has come to the same conclusion.
When trying to explain to this to the average person, you either get a “Hope you feel better soon” or worst yet some positive affirmations they saw on a break room wall. I for one am beyond that. No different than a struggling singer in tourist trap bar singing “Margaritaville” for the ten-thousandth time, it all becomes routine. I quit over analyzing these things years ago. And while that may not be the right way to handle it, at the moment it works for me. It gives me a clear path that all this doom and gloom going on in my head will eventually end.
Listen, I’m not down playing the effects of depression and anxiety. I’ve been fighting this shit for well over 20 years. If you want to swap war stories, I got nothing but time. But my goal is to not wallow in my defeats. Instead I prefer to look my pain straight in the eye and give it the attention it deserves. For in my case, while my depression often comes in waves. There is some deeper meaning for its existence. So I use the tools I’ve been given, a keen mind and a cynical heart. To not take myself too seriously and to know, that this too shall pass.
I’ve been lying in bed for hours now. Yawning excessively but still unable to fall asleep. Normally I fall asleep rather quickly only to wake up around three in the morning. But now it’s nearly four am and nearly halfway through listening to a new audiobook. Usually I’d take this time to be creative, but I used all that effort to write “Seeds of Doubt”. Maybe there is something in that confessional that’s haunting me even now.
But this isn’t something that hasn’t happened before. There have been a many a night where sleep has eluded me, leaving me exhausted, and tried the next day. I suppose I could try a little mediation to distract my restlessness mind. But often it’s writing itself that has become my mediation. I do feel my heart palpitating just a bit, my lower abdomen tightening, and my sinuses closing up. Over the years this kind of fear easily triggers the panic waiting just behind the door.
I suppose I should pat myself on the back for taking this otherwise wasted time and putting it to good use. Still I lay here a bit envious of my bride, who quickly fell asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. Why do I find a need in showing such vulnerability, in a world that determines strength by being stoic? But with so much to say in so little time. Fear is my jailer and my salvation at the same time. Allowing to peel away at the parts of myself, that I just assume throw anyway.
All it takes is one seed to plant a forest in your mind. Twenty-one years ago, I walked away from a steady paycheck and good benefits because of one seed. And ever since plans and ambitions have been ruined due to one seed. Over the decades verbal abuse and growing self-hatred planted seed in my soul. Seed that to this very day, ruin plans and cause avoidance for otherwise sound judgement.
None of this came about overnight, it all started with the verbal abuse I endured at the hands of my peers and the ignoring of the problem by my family. Call it being a product of that generation, call it what you will. But telling a child to “suck it up buttercup”, only plants more seeds of self-doubt and low self-esteem. Compound that what cognitive health issues such as low levels of serotonin. And you can see how the seeds of depression and anxiety bloom.
Over the last two decades I’ve spent the better part of my life searching for answers. Using a failing mental health system to just barely function. Being put on one medication, then another, like a lab rat in some nightmarish experiment. But I endured, until I found one qualified psychologist with enough wisdom and patience to put me on a course of medication and therapy that has worked for several years.
Still these are often no more than a bandage on a still open wound. Along with my course of treatment, I have used various forms of mindfulness training to search my issues. Having been raised in an Evangelical Christian home, the answer was to always pray your sin away. Unfortunately, I’ve seen more than my share of friends and family die waiting on those prayers to be answered. Through mindfulness and compassionate listening, I have learned that by giving myself the compassion I so desperately needed as a child, I am slowly becoming whole.
My point in all this is pretty damn simple. Don’t take what you hear as the gospel to be true, especially for yourself. I have spent nearly half of my life searching for relief. And while I may have stumbled upon an answer that works for me. There are still moments, such as now, when those answers aren’t doing a damn thing. You are your own best advocate, don’t give up no matter how bad you want too. There are answers, all it takes is your time, and a damn sharp ax.
Waking up as I normally do, I go through the living room, and into the kitchen, to get to the bathroom. Walking past the open windows I could hear the sound of crickets chirping outside. And for a moment the sound takes me back to a simpler time. When sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer, and watching fireflies dance, was the highlight of my weekend.
I hadn’t had many weekends like that in a good long time. Between struggling to make a paycheck, raising a family, and taking care of my wife; life hasn’t seemed as enjoyable as it used to be. Not that there haven’t been good moments. But when you’re plagued with clinical depression and whatever else. You tend to focus more on the struggles and regrets.
Right now, it’s still early in the morning. I had trouble falling back to sleep. My belly has been reminding me all morning of all the apparent bad choices I made the day before. Which ironically was a variety of fresh vegetables, tea, and very little meat. But it is what it is, and tomorrow I go back to my Gastroenterologist to hopefully get some answers.
Things never stay the same, no matter how hard we try to make it that so. Friends come; friends go. Kids grow up and move away. Loved ones pass and touches of grey begin to appear. But despite all the discomforts that come with time, the moment is still here. Fair or unfair, blessed or cursed; time takes its toll. All we can do is learn to survive, forgive, and enjoy the moments we are given.
Sitting outside listening to the bird’s fuss over squatter's rights, I hear my old buddy the barn owl saying goodnight across the way. Mr. Brown is in the garden picking a few squash, while Boot’s is learning to climb a tree. As for myself, I’m heading back inside, apparently the gnats have won this round. There’s nothing pressing on my mind today. Which means I should keep my mouth shut. Anyway, after pouring the dish water out on the plants, I’m here jabbering on for no particular reason.
While I don’t particularly worry about aging, I often worry about my quality of life. I worry about my wife and oldest son’s future and what kind of legacy I have left for my family. Although I’m pretty sure I’ll be nothing more than a faded memory in a generation or two. It still gives me pause about the legacy we leave others. I am by no means a saint, and neither were my parents. But history often paints a rosier picture then it should.
As I see monuments fall down and history definitely needing a rewrite. We should all bear in mind, no one is perfect. But still the truth should be told, the triumphs celebrated and the injustices learned from. Forgetting the past is allowing it to be reborn. Our lives are often scrutinized and forgotten. But if future generations do not learn from us, that my friend will be a true crime.
Saw my first cardinal in the yard today, it was a female gathering groceries for her young. It’s a little cool outside this morning, if you consider 77° cool. But the humidity is apparently low because I’m not sweating like a pig. But thankfully the gnats haven’t found me yet. So that means I’ll just sit here and enjoy this small taste of decent weather for now.
Life is far too short to dwell on the bullshit we hear every day. I mean it would be easy for me to over obsess about my health or this crazy pandemic situation going on around the world. But at the moment I just want to focus on what I see around me. The call of the birds, the sweet fragrance of the garden flowers, and that determined woodpecker tapping out a winter home behind me. Just being in the moment as nature intended.
Now this isn’t to say we should ignore the pain we see around us. Quite the opposite, this moment should make us more aware of the pain around us. More aware and compassionate towards ourselves and those we see. Life is a crap shoot at best, and to continually focus on the negative or the positive doesn’t create balance. It only creates hostility or worse yet disappointment, especially within ourselves.
Since misery loves company, I might as well tell you, today has not been a good day. My insides are a twisted mess and I am definitely feeling it. But strange enough I’m not overly upset or mad about it. I guess that’s because I realize it is what it is, and despite my discomfort, I am being proactive in finding a solution.
But often we don’t put actions to our words. It’s like we enjoy the complaining more than creating a solution. Frankly, I’d much rather solve a problem than constantly bitch about it. Not to say that I don’t have the occasional rant. But after all the brouhaha, all your left with is frustration and that same problem just sitting there.
If you take a moment and think about it, all of life can be summed up that way. If you’re happy in your current situation, great! Work to maintain the momentum that you’re carrying. But as we all know, life ain’t perfect and problems will arise.
The thing is where do you want to be. With so much anger and stress around us. It’s a wonder we can think clearly at all. In some way you have to find a way to pull away from the stress and frustration. Rather through exercise or simply walking, prayer or mediation, hell maybe just turning off that damn idiot box (TV). Still we all have to eventually face the music and make a choice, to either live with the situation or work to make things better.
I got up feeling alright, but as the day wore on my body’s been finding new ways to bite back. I avoided eating for as long as I could to keep the digestive system at bay. But once I ate all hell broke loose. Which has left me here for hours with a heating pad on my belly and an ice pack on my head.
It’s not like I’m complaining, I mean it’s been like this for over two years. But hopefully within a couple of weeks we’ll finally get a handle on this little mystery is and finally get some definitive treatment. Emotions, fear, and disappointment are aftereffects of a troubled soul. Rather by your own hand or some outside forces, we are all slaves to our conditioning.
For a few of us, breaking the cycle of abuse is a daily thing. No different than addiction each day is a struggle and a victory. There are some days when the victories come easy. But then there are days when victory seems a million miles away. Like I told a dear friend this morning, sometimes all you can do is your best. Well this is my best today. Broken down and struggling just to even make it the bathroom. But it’s okay, because this is the best I got today.
Yesterday morning I had to go through a series of protocols just to step into the hospital for my test. Once inside it looked nearly deserted with only nurses and techs suited up occasionally walking by. Just a few chairs remained in the lobby, while the Fox News Pandemic Deniers Network droned on across the TV screens. There were a few of us spread out across the vast lobby waiting for our appointments.
But even as all the propaganda was pouring out across the screens, reality could plainly be seen around me. People old, young, sick, healthy, all afraid. But then through all this dread came an enchanting sound. A quiet lullaby playing over the intercom. It’s a sound I knew all too well having heard it several times during my stays here. It’s the tune they play announcing the birth of a baby. Beneath my mask I had to smile. Because it reminded me of the times that tune played for my grandkids.
Even though all the panic and fear, life simply moves on. As humans we label things with such question and emotion. Often asking why, and how unfair. And I ort to know, I do it all the damn time. But you know what, life continues to move on. Listen, our emotions have value; our pain has value. But to live in fear or completely denial is stupid. Life continues on and so should you. Don’t let one emotion completely overtake another. Find your balance and just do the best you can.
Apparently, I’m paying for my sins this morning. Over the weekend I treated myself to some fresh boiled peanuts. I know, but I have so few vices left, that the ones I do have can get a little out of control. The logical side of my brain would tell me, you are just compensating for something missing in your life. But my less rational side says, but they are soooo good!
Listen, we all have appetites that are not good for us. Some we proudly admit to and some we would rather not. Life is about finding that happy balance, somewhere between contentment and let’s not go that far. I suppose recently I’ve been heading towards the “let’s not go that far” side. I mean I meditate as much as I can, but the heat and illness have keep me away from my temple. So I’m left listening to the shit coming out of my own head.
The thing is, we all hit bumps in the road. The first step is to recognize what those bumps are. The next thing is to offer ourselves a little forgiveness. But that still doesn’t make you unaccountable for your sins. Listen right now I realize I was stupid gorging down whole bag of boiled beauties. But no one put a gun to my head and forced me to eat them. Understand we all have our faults, learn to forgive yourself, but hold yourself accountable and do better.
Another 3 AM wake up call. Another get up out of the blue for no good reason. Oh, sometimes it’s because of an upset stomach, or a panic attack; hell, even a few times it’s been an actual heart attack. Whatever the reason, here I am just me and the cat and a head full of shit. Tension and stress are my consist companions. Rather they are screaming out loud or being keep to a quiet roar, they’re never far away.
But like most anything you get used to it. Like the consent grinding I do with my teeth. In a way I’m a little like this cat, always on standby. Never far from the panic button. The irony is if you hit that damn button enough, it just gets stuck. For the last several years, every time I’m close to that button, it does a little more and a little more damage. Used too I could recover fairly quickly from a panic attack. But with each passing day, it gets a little harder to turn the volume down.
Oh I have my mediation, my breathing, and my medication. But at some point, the damage is done. Considering all the health issues I’m facing; I’d think one of my medical doctors would have figured this out; and had me checked out by a therapist. But I’ve come to the simple conclusion, that doctors are only human and can only see as far as their training. So what’s the moral of this tale, you ask? How about breathe in and breathe out. Also to be aware. But remember with awareness there needs to be a certain amount of compassion and forgiveness for yourself. For healing is often nothing more than finding peace within yourself.
After a day of fighting with my insides, I return to my outdoor sanctuary. The gnats aren’t too bad today and there’s a slight breeze blowing from the West. Along the way I smell the petunias near the garden. My neighbors at the EMC are particularly quiet this afternoon. Unlike the usual chaos you see from them getting ready for the next day’s work.
Even with the clouds overhead, my skin is hot and dry. Just another unpleasant side effect of my daily medications. But I suffer through for the sake of survival, even in a world gone crazier than a bedbug. While my outward mask presents itself as satirical and calm. My insides often churn like a cauldron of fear and disbelief.
But I have the evening breeze and the call of a distant barn owl to comfort me. I have my personal and virtual friends to rest upon for words of comfort and truth. But what good is any of this if the house is on fire. Can one source of positive energy ever be enough? Still if just one person would reach out to another or better yet ten. How much sweeter would the world be? So, what kind of outlook do you carry? One of selfish survival or one of sanity and a positive voice? Because right now, the world needs you.
It’s after 4 in the afternoon, and I just got outside. Me and Lisa have been running around helping our daughter get their new house set-up. But at least I got out of the moving part, but I will miss out on the drinking beer while moving someone. You see, I’m retired, at least from beer drinking, dope smokin', and chasin' ugly women after the bars close.
I’ve spent 30+ years being a good youngin, raisin’ a family and working hard to pay Uncle Sam. But I did get four pretty decent youngin’s out of the deal. And an old woman that ain’t killed me…at least not yet. But there ain’t no point in her trying, I’ve been doing a pretty good job of that myself for a long time now. That’s because no man is always a saint, and most man aren’t always sinners.
I just do the best I can. Learning from my f*ck-ups and having to live with the consequences. Hopefully I’ve been honest, and at least once I’ll take someone at their word. Now I can’t speak for the rest of the world, but I sure as hell can speak for myself. I’m hell bound and spirit filled, I’m a prophet and a whore, I’m all those things and more. If you don’t like me saying that, well then cast the first stone.
The twists and turns of mental health, complicated by physical limitations. Can cloud ones thinking, elevate already high stress levels, and frankly cripple your soul. Years of self-abuse, as well as, abuse at the hands of my peers. Took a heart and mind more than capable of doing the job and break them into a thousand tiny pieces.
In the quiet and reasonable calm of the night, I listen to what my soul is telling me. That things are not okay. That beneath this veneer of calm lies a terrorized child, afraid of living through the stresses of the day. I am afraid and it shows, in my actions, my speech, and in my isolation.
There are no easy answers to any of this. I’ve spent the better part of 20 years meandering between medication, therapy, and enlightenment to solve this riddle. But through these moments of struggle and literal pain, at least I’m trying. That in itself can be a comforting fact. So as you, I, and millions of others move through this life broken and hidden. The least we can do is try.
Another breeze is blowing from the East, while cotton ball clouds circle above my head. Behind them sits pale blue sky, as the scent of fresh mowed grass fills the air. Last night was sort of a confessional for me, in that I felt the purging of some hidden truths. Hoping no one would feel any less of me, to my surprise the reaction to my words has been positive. I suppose words are all in the eye of the reader. Their interpretations differ from mine or even yours.
I do my best to plant good seed, but despite the sainthood often bestowed on me; I am very much the jackass. Given to fits of verbal rage and indifference to those I’m around. That’s why my preferred medium is the written word. It gives me time to pause, to let words marinate into one another. Instead of hastily being stewing around in a mess of emotion.
For what benefit are kind words if the vessel is untrue. I am not in total control of reactions. I am often impatient and even cruel. But at least I acknowledge that fact, which hopefully will lead to my redemption. So don’t take your words so lightly. The sharpest of blades leave the most lasting scares. Think before you strike. Don’t let your anger ruin your heart. All have of us have emotion baggage and all of us carry emotional scares.
I sit here telling stories that no one really ever reads. Asking questions that no one can answer. Spinning truth into whatever justification I can make. You hear me from a distance, crying the same tears. Hiding behind the same make-up I apply every day.
But where is the justice? When do my good deeds mean something? How much longer must my soul toil beneath these chains? For I want to be selfish. I want to break free. Yet the moments of pain that would inflect are simply too much to bear.
So I keep telling stories, I keep living the lies. For what do I want more than to be true. To build a perfect life, out of shear imperfection. For I am nothing more than that innocent child, that lost boy. Stumbling through love like a bull in a china shop.