I don’t want to be sad or depressed, but that’s where I am. There’s no point in sugar-coating it or lying to myself. I grew up in a world of denial, where if you had enough faith, you could pray your way through. Funny, I suppose I never had enough faith. I went through my entire young adult life never measuring up to my own standards.
Through fatherhood I was determined to be a better parent. But even then, the ghost of my painful past kept telling me I was no good. But my loud boisterous mask kept shining through. With the tough guy persona that nothing ever bothered me. But it did, it did a lot. Living in poverty in a rundown shotgun shack, I struggled, my kids struggled. To the point where I couldn’t blame them from wanting to get as far away as they could.
I guess my first come to Jesus moment came in 2015, with my first major heart attack. That’s when I was pretty sure I was going to final meet the guy face to face. Shake his hand, then I’d take the escalator straight to hell. But you know what? My life wasn’t done. My mindset changed, I changed. And surely, but slowly I have grown to understand. Life isn’t so much about goals, it’s about living. Which brings me too here.
The past few years and especially the past few months, have brought about a lot of physical change. To the point that I don’t recognize this body anymore. The emotions and physical pain have made me weary, tired, and just plain angry. I’m back to questioning my own judgement. I’m pissed at my medical team. I’m home bound tied to a life too embarrassing to discuss in polite conversation. Folks I’m tired of letting go. I’m tired of these chains. I’m trying to be proactive and in charge. But at the moment it doesn’t feel like enough.
Through fatherhood I was determined to be a better parent. But even then, the ghost of my painful past kept telling me I was no good. But my loud boisterous mask kept shining through. With the tough guy persona that nothing ever bothered me. But it did, it did a lot. Living in poverty in a rundown shotgun shack, I struggled, my kids struggled. To the point where I couldn’t blame them from wanting to get as far away as they could.
I guess my first come to Jesus moment came in 2015, with my first major heart attack. That’s when I was pretty sure I was going to final meet the guy face to face. Shake his hand, then I’d take the escalator straight to hell. But you know what? My life wasn’t done. My mindset changed, I changed. And surely, but slowly I have grown to understand. Life isn’t so much about goals, it’s about living. Which brings me too here.
The past few years and especially the past few months, have brought about a lot of physical change. To the point that I don’t recognize this body anymore. The emotions and physical pain have made me weary, tired, and just plain angry. I’m back to questioning my own judgement. I’m pissed at my medical team. I’m home bound tied to a life too embarrassing to discuss in polite conversation. Folks I’m tired of letting go. I’m tired of these chains. I’m trying to be proactive and in charge. But at the moment it doesn’t feel like enough.
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