Archive for January, 2013

I had some serious doubts about posting this, but…anyway here it goes.

          “Have you ever had a dream, that you were so sure was real? What if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the dream world and the real world?” – 1999s “The Matrix”

              For the longest time I had thought this was simply an interesting quote, written by a pair of very talented writers. Even though for as long as I can remember I’ve always dreamt in color and my dreams, have always been incredibly vivid and surreal. I have to admit usually when I dream; I very rarely ever dream that I’m myself. Instead I usually dream of stories, where I find myself in the shoes of the very characters I create. So for the longest time, it has been my dreams that have been my inspiration and is why I now keep a dream journal, jotting down whatever dream I have at the very moment I awake. Later I often go back and reference the page or pages that I had written and discover a story worth writing within the context of whatever it was I dreamt.

Without a doubt,

 I need your help,

 because I can’t figure this out,

And there’s so many things I want to say,

But there’s too many things still in the way.

And I’m just now beginning to see what it was all about.

Last night however was different. First being that as a sufferer of insomnia, I tend to be a night owl, who stays up late pecking away on my computer keys, sometimes I’m working on writing new pages for my story, or going back and editing the chapters I’ve already written, sometimes adding to, or taking out whatever didn’t fit, or properly work.

                 But last night as I sat down at my computer, ready and energized to get to work, I had that moment of absolute clarity we writers tend to get, when everything seems clear and you’re completely focused on your writing. In times like these, your fingers can barely keep up with your thoughts. Unfortunately for me, this is also when my eyelids felt incredibly heavy and after taking a moment to stare despairingly at the clock and seeing it flash 9:30 pm. I couldn’t believe it, because I usually have to force myself to fall asleep, which usually isn’t till 2, or 3:00 am. Then the more I tried to fight sleep, the more tired I felt, until I couldn’t shake it anymore and I ended up climbing into bed by ten.

                I didn’t think a bed could ever feel so comfortable, a pillow so soft and cool and as I closed my eyes I out like a light. The dream I had still haunts me even now, giving me goose bumps whenever I think, or talk about it. It was so real to me; even in my dream I began to believe it was real and I was me. I was outside and it was snowing, I could feel the freezing winds whipping against my clothes, cutting right through me, chilling me to my very core. I could even feel the snow falling and melting against my face and it was in this moment that I became self-aware in my dream and began questioning my own sanity. I had climbed into the passenger seat of a jeep that my cousin was driving. Immediately I could feel the shift in temperature, it was warm inside the cabin and after closing the door I could feel the warmth thawing my still freezing face. Rubbing my hands together to get feeling back into them, I bring my hands to my cheeks, feeling the warmth of my hands against my face. I vaguely remember going to bed and waking up with my throat feeling parched and getting a glass of water. But as I looked around the interior of the jeep and ran my hand along the rough and cracked dash I realized I wasn’t dreaming, ( Even though I was) and that I had stayed up late the night before the world ended. It had only been half a day since the end began and we had already left another human being to die and I could feel my conscious was eating away at my soul

It started out simple enough; I was out with some friends many were from the new church I started attending when something happened, a pulse of sorts managed to knock out every electrical device and as near as any of us could tell it happened all over the world and all at once. Nothing worked, watches died, cellphones became paperweights and most cars simply became lawn ordainments. No one really knew how or why this happened all we knew was that it happened and it happened in the middle of winter, making survival that much more of a struggle. At first however most people came together during this time, believing whatever happened was temporary at most; many believing it were a solar flare, or some other accident, with many believing it to be a simple blackout. Then people began disappearing, several from my group vanished without a trace and seemingly into thin air.

 It was during this that a realization hit me, that the tide of men would change and fear would win out to reason and the goodwill people were at first sharing with one another. Now I never was much of a public speaker and less of a leader. At most I would say I’m more of a loner, but I somehow found the tongue to stand up and speak up. To my surprise when I spoke, people listened (granted most were my friends and members of my church, but still) and I managed to pull everyone together. Working together we managed to find a few vehicles that could still start and we formed a convoy and began heading out of town, in search for a less populated place. It wasn’t long however until we discovered that people all over had been disappearing and the vanishings never happened all at once, which bred only more fear amongst us that remained because we never knew who would be next, or really even why. But I found myself driven to find a place for my group to bed down and to try and survive whatever it was that awaited us.

End of Part 1.


The Scars of who we are part III

The Scars of Who We Are Part III

Part 3. Pull back the curtain and tell me what you see and tell me who is it you’re trying to be and how they compare to the person that you are? So take my hand and hold it tight, I promise not to lie to you tonight, for tonight is only the beginning, when we rediscover and find out who it is, we really are.

I actually meant to have this up last week; unfortunately I came down with the flue and bronchitis, which as you can imagine pretty much wiped me out. Granted I tried to write a little on my novel but couldn’t get very far. I also attempted to work on my blog, which became difficult when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep (I’ll spare you the other details.) I also want to apologize to the community boards I’m a part of, I really want to be more active on the boards, but while I was sick, I lacked focus. But with the help from my doctor and some good friends I’m finally better and find myself able to sit down and really write.
I’ve always been a firm believer in dreams, there’s enough automatons in the world, who are those who simply give up, or surrender their dreams, often becoming bitter, resentful and pessimistic. What the world needs, what it really needs, are dreamers. It was Robin S. Sharma who once said “Dreamers are mocked as impractical. The truth is they are the most practical, as their innovations lead to progress and a better way of life for all of us,”

Dreamers are the ones who inspire us with their works, awe us by their creations or move us by their words. I’m sure we’ve all seen one movie, or read a book that inspired you to do more, or to make more out of your life. Almost always it makes you feel like you’ve been sleep walking through life this whole time and that now you’re finally awake and seeing things clearly for the first time. Seeing just how different the world really is, but change can be difficult, but sometimes it the change that you need.

I know people look down on me and I know it’s because they sometimes see me as a dreamer, who’s head is always lost in the clouds. But it’s my dreams that me strong and it’s my dreams that kept me young at heart. Because of my dreams I learned perspective. I can see beyond and past myself and all my insecurities, I can see a world where anything is possible. A world filled with incredible joy, happiness and wonder. I see this world whenever I close my eyes, I see what we as a people can really do, I see our potential and I see it in everyone. This is why I write, because it’s my dream to do so and say what you will about my dreams, I believe that my dreams, along with yours are given to us directly from the hand of God himself, who puts those dreams within us.

Now following and believing in your dreams rarely comes easy, like all talents or gifts, they must be nurtured, given time to grow. They need to grow as I had in my earliest of years, when my mom had left home with my older brother Dominic, leaving me behind for my father to later find and rescue.

We are the fallen,
Who tear down the world,
We are the broken,
Who are lost,
We are the weary,
Who lost our way
Yet we’re looking forward to a better day,
Looking forward to a better day.

Unfortunately, I have seen proof of this, in old home videos that my dad had on rare occasion let me watch. On them, I see myself a young boy playing with my toys on my grandma’s couch. In the background I hear my grandma asking my dad about me. I hear his tale as I had heard him tell it over a dozen times before. Only this time I think it was his first time telling anyone of his account. There’s a note of disbelief in tone, and I hear his voice breaking. My dad rarely ever shows his pain, I think I only seen and heard him cry twice in my entire life. This being one of them, where I hear my father crying and from what I was told and from the numerous home videos they had me. Videos of other family who came to visit me, I know I was with my dad for over a week before my mother had the courtesy to finally call and check up on me.

Listening to stories of my parents converging has never been easy and I find the retelling incredibly difficult, (So bear with me, a lot of this I put together on my own because my mother told only part of the story, enough of which to make herself into the hero, while my dad had been more forthright.) Looking back always leaves me wondering, what if things worked out differently?

Something you need to understand my mother, she’s a masterful manipulator, I can speak from experience, she can spin a lie so fanciful and beautiful, fill it with endless depths she could make you believe you’re right handed instead of left, or that ice was really hot instead of cold. She can spin any lie and tell it with such conviction you can’t help but believe it to be the truth. She was incredible to watch, because she could feign any emotion, anger, great sadness, she could even go so far as openly weep, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a snot bubble in her nose, the sight of which will always leave you with your chest swelling with pity. I say this, because years later she once struck me so hard and so repeatedly, she caused permanent nerve damage to my right eye. Then had be convinced it my fault and had me scared to death to tell anyone the truth. When even now I still can’t control how my right eye twitches, usually when I eat, but I’ve learned to live with it.

But the truth about my mother is this, she was the greatest actress I ever seen and even in so knowing all this, my love for her was still boundless and all I ever wanted was for her to love me. (So when she manages to get my dad on the phone, this is who he’s dealing with)

She cried, begged and eventually talked him into bringing me over to her mom’s house. My Grandma Agnes, lived with her elderly mother Aida at the time, so my dad figured it’d be a safe as a meet as any. When he shows up, my dad tells me she’s super sweet, kind and very complacent. (So naturally my dad is suspicious that something is up) However, no one save myself is truly immune to her charms and that took me practically twenty two years of my life to develop, so my dad didn’t have a chance.

   We are the beaten and the downtrodden
Searching for answers in a life gone wrong,
Picking up the pieces of what’s already gone,
Living in the past,
And Standing in the midst the broken glass.
Believing we’re the lost and forgotten.
Because the flowers had yet to blossom,
But the pain is going to end,
And the sun will rise again

Before he knew it, she had talked him into bringing me into the house, showing off all the new things that her and her sister Terry S, had gotten me. One of which being a new carrier, that she kept trying to talk my dad into letting me try out. Which he reluctantly he permits, letting her put me in the new carrier. Then she attempts to talk him into putting my diaper bag down which he adamantly refuses. (Thank God my dad has some limits) So she decides to try another tactic, by convincing my dad she needed to talk to him privately upstairs and convincing him into letting my grandma Agnes watch me. Now my dad liked her enough to trust her, in his eyes she was good church going woman and she was old. So he lets himself be talked into letting her watch me, while him and my go upstairs to talk. Again she tries to slip my baby bag from my father’s shoulder, insisting that her mom may need it while they were upstairs, but my dad refuses, insisting that it’s staying on him. (Another win for the good guys…for now at least)

Somewhat defeated, but not completely out of the game yet, my mom takes my dad upstairs into Agnes’s room, which is right next to my great grandmother Aida’s room. Once alone in Agnes’s room, my mom begins telling my dad how much she missed him, apologizing to him for everything she’s done, kissing on him as she tells him how much she loves him, needs him.

My dad resisted for a bit, but his resolve begins falter, (Hey, the poor guy is only human; give him a break and now my least favorite part of the story.) My mom proceeds in her attempts of seducing my father…he tries to resists, keeps telling her no and freaking out that her mom was right downstairs and that her grandma was probably next room. But she ignored him and pressed her advantage, waving off his concerns of her mother or grandmother walking in. She begins taking off his belt and pulling down his pants and my dad tries to resist. But she manages to distract him just enough to get his pants down around his ankles.

This is when the cobra chose to strike, she rips my baby bag from my dad’s shoulder, shoves him down onto the bed, turns and races out of the room. My dad realizing that this clearly was a setup is back on his feet in no time, pulling on his pants and giving chase. He already knows she intends on taking me back, why he had no idea, but he couldn’t risk letting her having my life back in her hands. So my dad explodes out of the bedroom after her and she’s already down the stairs, he hears her shouting to her mom and my dad’s heart sinks. He walked right into a setup and he bolts to the stairs in hopes of catching my mother before she could escape with me.
Now, did I mention my mom immorality? Because as my dad reaches the stairs he hears my mom sending my great grandma Aida up the stairs, costing my father precious time as he tries to quickly push past her without sending her spilling down the stairs, or causing her any harm. By the time he gets past her, my mom is already outside with me.

“How can you let her do this?” My father asks, looking to my grandma Aida, sickened before he races out of the house just in time to see my mother pulling away.
Determined to get me back, my dad races to his truck and floors it all in hopes of getting me back. (My dad tells this part slightly more colorfully with how he’d swore he was going to kill her for abandoning me, then stealing me) So then begins the car chase, out of a subdivision, onto a freeway, then a highway, all the way up to Cincinnati Ohio, back to Kentucky, then back up to Ohio because my mom was trying desperately to lose him. She hadn’t expected my father to be chasing her, never thought he’d enter a high speed car chase in order to rescue me. She wanted me in Ohio, because that’s where her sister Terry S lives up that way, which she figured it’d be safe since her husband was truly loaded, mansion and all. (Seriously her house was literally a mansion; every home I grew up in could fit inside) My mom almost makes it there, when she gets pulled over for speeding and erratic driving.
Thinking quickly and knowing this cop was costing her valuable time, my mom leaps out of the car, crying. Balling, with great big tears streaming down her face, making her breath catch in her throat as she races up to the now alarmed police officer who’s not quite sure what to make of the theatrics. She proceeds to tell the cop, that her husband just found out she was leaving him and that he was crazy, having threatened to kill her,

(Now imagine two things if you will. One your deranged spouse just kidnapped your kid who she tried to kill a few times before, not to mention had abandoned. Now imagine how angry you’d be, how mad you’d look. Now I want you think of a cop who hears that you’re crazy and trying to murder said spouse, which let’s be honest you’re probably considering. So in case you’re wondering yeah, it’s not looking too good for my father) almost like clockwork, my dad pulls up behind the cop thinking that he finally had her and there was no way she could continue her escape now that a cop was involved. Then my dad’s heart sinks as the cops sends my mother on her way.

The officer and my old man end up exchanging some heated words, (Which doesn’t help his case) and the end results in him being forced to turn around and return home, defeated.

The days grow shorter,

The nights ever longer,

As I grow endlessly colder….

But clinging ever so tightly,

To this little light of mine.

The Scars of who we are, part 2

The scars of who we are Part 2
Part 2. Where are you when you can’t be found?

For what it’s worth, I think I was a pretty happy kid and no matter how dark the world around me grew, I couldn’t shake this feeling I had, that I was special, unique in some way I couldn’t quite described. I had always felt as if I was meant for something more, something greater than myself. Now this could be, that when I was born I was born both upside down and backwards, forcing the doctors to perform an emergency C-section in order to save my life. Something I don’t think my mother had ever really forgiven me for, because before then she was one of those models you’d see on T.V or magazines.

But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Because my first struggles had started before I was even born. This I know, I know from the stories my farther had often shared with me while I was growing up, stories I’ve always kept to myself until the day I graduated High school and my mother confirmed everything he told me was true. By telling me, how useless and pathetic I was and how she tried having a miscarriage and get an abortion.

I know not exactly something you want to tell your son, or a kid, but I grew up with both parents telling me how much the other didn’t love me. In truth, I secretly hoped that they were both wrong.

Now my dad tells me, that my mother wasn’t particularly an easy person to live with, nor was she exactly thrilled with having another kid, because she had already had a son from a previous marriage, my older brother Dominic. But my dad can be quite insistent and managed to convince her try, because he wanted a kid of his own. He wanted someone to carry on his legacy and if you ever seen my dad, you’ll see that he’s really good with kids, because he sincerely loves them. (Partially because he’s really a big kid at heart)

But for a while it would seem that fate was against them, for after a whole year of trying, they had failed to ever conceive. It wasn’t until they gave up trying which was when I was finally conceived. During which time my dad tells me my mother was becoming increasingly hard to live with, always wanting to start a fight with him whenever he came home from work, which lead to him working double and triple shifts just to stay away from her. But during this time, my dad tells me that when they would fight, she would get angry and sometimes throw herself down on our steps and slide down on her belly in attempt to get even with him and to cause some irreparable harm to myself while I was still in her womb. Once she even got so angry amidst an augment she would begin beating on her stomach, in attempt to kill or harm me while I was still in the womb, something that would always break my dad’s heart and drive him to tears and sometimes unparalleled fits of anger. Causing him to throw her down, straddle her chest and began slapping her face with fingers all the while asking her how it felt and if she liked that, then threatened of she ever did anything like that again, he’d kill her. (I can’t say I condone his actions, I don’t think a man should ever strike a woman, but in truth I don’t know how I feel about it in this kind of situation)
But on this peculiar situation, her brother, my uncle Mike who had just gotten out of prison had decided to show up at house and see my mom. (I know what you’re thinking, how much more dysfunctional can we get, but it’s true) My dad sees the marks he had left on my mother’s face and tells her not to answer the door, knowing that if her brother took one good look at her face, he would do what my father would do and try to kill the guy who did it. However my mom insists on answering the door, because it is her brother after all. So my father responds with getting a baseball bat and stands at the top of the stairs, telling my mom that if he came in and tried to attack him, he would beat him away with the bat. They were at an impasse, as nuts as my mother may have and still is, she didn’t want to see any harm come to her brother, so she agreed to send him away, which she does. The stalemate resulted in my protection and my eventual birth. (Thank God right? And see, life is a miracle within itself. I mean the mere fact I managed to make it to term is miracle within itself. My mom was also a bit into drugs and had told me once she smoked pot a few times while pregnant with me and she hinted to doing a few other drugs while carrying me. So the fact that I’m even alive and I don’t look like Sloth from “The Goonies,” I’m not eating paste, or sitting in a room gluing macaroni to paper plates is nothing short of amazing. Every day I’m surprised that I am who I am, I’m healthy, fairly intelligent and physically fit. Although I can’t help but wonder how smart I would have been if my mother wasn’t my mother, you know what I mean?)

 “We are the fallen,
Who tear down the world,
We are the broken,
Who are lost,
We are the weary,
Who lost our way,
Yet we’re looking forward to a better day.”

I was a little more fifteen months old the day my mother abandoned me. Her and my dad were on the outs, fighting all the time and so my dad often worked double shifts. Because that way, he’d be too tired to fight and could go right to sleep whenever he got home. Making what my mother did, all the more horrific. My mother had taken my older brother, packed up both her and his things and left me. She left me sleeping in my carrier, at the top of the stairs, apparently she hadn’t even bothered to strap me in.

My dad was on his way home from working a double, dreading going home. It was late in the day and he knew my mother would be up and would most likely start in on him as soon as he walked in the door. So he was debating rather he should go home, or go his mothers. On his way to his mom’s, my dad heard a voice speaking to him. (Now I can’t vouch for this, but part is every bit my father’s story. I’m a Christian, like my father before me and most of my family. I wasn’t around for this part of the story, believe it or not, it’s up to you)

The voice told my father to go home. My father, without question believes it was God and is every bit as stubborn as me, so I’m not surprised when he told me he said “No,”

“I said go home,” God ordered,

“No,” My dad snaps, “If I go home she’s going to be there and I can’t take it anymore!” My dad shouts to his windshield.

“I don’t care, I said go home,” countered God.

“Alright fine, I’ll go home,” My dad relented, “but I’m just going there to take a shower and grab some clothes, does that make you happy?” My dad asked, hearing nothing but his radio and silence. Afraid to disobey and risk the voice returning my dad turned around and headed back home.

Once home he discovers that my mom is gone. At first he Believes that she took my older brother and me somewhere and left. Yet further investigation would prove otherwise, for it doesn’t take him long to discover me asleep atop the stairs. My dad couldn’t describe all the emotions that went through him as he discovered my mother had left the house, abandoning me to my own devises. He was angry, heartbroken, astounded, he couldn’t believe she really left there. So he gathers my few belongings along with his and takes me to my grandmothers.
(Sorry folks, I’m going to wrap this up here, in part III, my mother devises a plan to kidnap me from my father, which leads to a car chase as my dad races to catch up with her in hopes of rescuing me)

The scars of who we are, Part 1.

The scars of who we are, part 1.

Intro. Life is often like our dreams, where nothing is ever quite as what it seems.
~J Cooper

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by someone else, I don’t know. All I know for certain is that some will read this thinking I’m just playing the victim, when I’m not, I’m just sharing the truth as I know it.  So if you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were too busy fighting to really take a moment to just stop and get to know me.

But that isn’t how I’ll like to begin, even though if you’re reading this now, I had just finished writing the final installment to this series, about my life, telling it as honestly as I know it. it took me a year to sum up most of my life in 17 chapters. My intention wasn’t to focus on my family, but the struggles of dealing with abuse at home and going to school and facing down the bullies that were there. But as I wrote, I found all these memories and emotions inside of me, with the story of me and my family just wanting to get out of me, so without intending to do so, it all just came pouring out.

It all started in late December of last year, when a friend heard a little of what I went through and she told a friend of her’s Shane Pergrem of True Artist Studios, check them out here Who does  a lot of documentaries and had called me in for an interview. I never realized until I started talking about everything that I went through growing up about how much I needed it, needed to just talk about it. I was always afraid of being a burden, or that I would come off as a whining victim, or risk people accusing me of being a liar. When pressed I would sometimes open up and give people a few snippets of growing up with my bi-polar and my more or less schizophrenic mother. But despite everything I’ve been through, suffered, I’m still alive, I’m still standing, so I’m going to share my story with you, so that you know that things do get better, even when it feels like you’ve hit rock bottom, with no no hope of getting out, because you can. It won’t be easy, it’ll be he hardest, longest and toughest battle you’ll ever face. You may get tired or fall along the way, which we all do, but what’s important is to keep getting back up. No matter what life throws at you, you have to keep pressing forward, never stop reaching out and always, always believe in magic.

Because, that’s what I believe in. I’m a Christian who firmly believes that when God created this world, he did so with a little magic, magic that he placed in you. Because we  all start off knowing magic when we’re young. We’re born with fire, storms and comets inside us. Even when I was a boy, I would step outside myself and see a world of endless possibilities, I believed in magic, heroes, dragons and that all animals secretly had the power to speak and all we had to do was be patient and listen. talk. But not everybody could see it, that web of magic we all lived in, connected my those silver filaments of chance and circumstance, but I knew it all along. The world was my magic lantern and with it  I unlocked the secrets of the past, adventured in the present and explored the far future. When we’re kids, we don’t discriminate, beat ourselves up, or make excuses, we live in the moment, day by day, capable of seeing our destinies on tiny grains of sand and the power to sing to birds.

But as we grow older, we develop fears, doubts and become consumed by the opinions of others, becoming afraid to say what’s on our minds, our heads and in our hearts. We worry about what others might think, or do and we forget the magic that’s been imprinted, like fingerprints onto our very souls. We often take for granted the moment we feel that magic pool residing within our souls, when you finally get the chance to sit and talk to your crush and how you experience this incredible moment where time just stops and it lasts much longer than just moment. We forget to look up and see the world around us and the beauty we once saw in the clouds when we were young, staring up at the sky in awe, wondering what it would be like to fly up and sail through the very clouds we watched from the ground.

Many lose their way, we stumble and fall and forget sometimes the magic within their hearts. But the wonder and the magic of this world can often be found in the silver filaments of our dreams. But like all things,  once you get so far from it, it gradually fades away, like a long forgotten well that eventually dries up, becoming lost in the sands of time. And we fall in line with chance and circumstance, forgetting about the dreams where we can fly, or fearlessly exploring a lost cavern with nothing to light our way but the fading glow from the lantern we carry along in our trembling hands.

But me, I’m a dreamer and as a dreamer I believe  there’s a certain kind of magic locked deep within our souls and its called imagination and imagination is what keeps us young. (Or keeps me young at heart to say the least)

Of course growing up we do tend to get away from it, we stop believing in fairy-tales, the knights in shining armor, and the damsels in distress. Often with it goes our sense of chivalry and honor,  no longer do we believe in the magic of a moment which settles and hovers there in the air, and becomes much more than a moment, once sound stops and movement ceases for much, much more than a moment. Like when your hands brush against that of your one true love right before you share your first kiss and you can actually feel the electricity in the air, as your heart flutters and feels like it’s about to beat right out of your chest, making you feel weak, strong and lighter all at once.

But we often drift away from this feeling of magic, wonder and the daring to wish and hope upon a star, and every day thereafter it becomes that much harder to believe in both magic and the dreams that guide us. Which is odd to me, since we spend almost as much time dreaming as we do being awake.

But even if you lose that spark, all is not lost, believe me. Loss sometimes marks a larger return, being a writer I often lose several pages or entire chapters that I had spent half the night working on, or maybe an entire month of writing, honing, editing making it perfect, just to lose it. ( which tends to make you want to throw said computer out the window.)  Then after I finish shouting to the heavens and bashing my head against my desk and pacing the floors, I take a breath and mutter a few swears and other nonsense, before taking a another breath. Then I crack my knuckles and sit back down and start all over again, much like life. Sometimes you may lose a job, or a spouse, a save file, flash drive, or a loved one. No matter what it is you’ve lost, you eventually have to pull yourself back together and start over. Which can be daunting I know, I had to start over and rebuild my own life a few times over and it’s something that never gets any easier and it was never easy to begin with. But you do it, because you have too, because quitting and giving up isn’t an option, I survived and been through too much to have it kill me right there at the end. Besides, if you quit, I’ll never know how close I’ve came to achieving everything I set out to do.

With that said and remembering all those things I’ve said so long ago, many may call me a failure. But to me, failing is something that only happens once you’ve given up. I may not have achieved much of what I set out to do and had hoped to have done at this point in my life. But I’ve gained more than I could have have ever hoped for, I discovered that family is what you say it is, not what it should be. A stranger can become a friend, that friend can later become like a brother, who then becomes family.

I do all this because I have all these stories inside of me, characters who long to live, waiting patiently for me to tell their story. I learned a long time ago that you can never let little setbacks derail you, or become a roadblock. It happens, even to the best of us and with that I say, never lose that spark, that so irreplaceable spark, that animates and connects us all to everything. Remember your dreams, remember the simply joys you had as a child, when you were jumping from one couch to another to avoid the lava.

Even when we get so far away from the magic and the songs within us, I believe that whenever a song stirs a memory, or when you’re sitting in a darkened theater watching a moving that stirs your feelings, or moves you in a particular way.  For people like me, the people who have picked up a book and decided to just read again, this happens whenever you nose is buried in a book and you feel your heart racing as you immerse yourself in the world the author had created and you’re living the story as much as you are reading it, watching it all unfold before you as if you were there.

It is within these rare moments that you become connected with the swirling pool of magic residing in your very own heart. When you’re accompanying these characters on their journey, with your heart racing as you inch ever closer to the climax, just to breathe a sigh of relief as you reach the conclusion, for whatever it may be. Leaving you with the resolution, which sometimes brings closure, or contempt, sometimes great sadness or joy, even on the rare occasion it brings great displeasure. Because for a few minutes, these characters, these words written on a page have become real.

For better or for worse, I grew up in a magic time, in a magic world which helped save me from the darker side of life, which is why I decided to write this. The few people who have heard about my life and my childhood tell me how inspirational my life is, because I didn’t let the darkness encroach around my heart and soul, didn’t let it define me. Even in the times when it threatened to swallow me whole.

Now this may sound clique, but my story is my own. It may not be for everyone and I may be writing for you, just you, because this isn’t going to be a story all about sunshine and rainbows. It’s about my life and my struggles with growing up in a broken home, with an abusive mother and only being able to see my father every other weekend, which became the only thing for me to look forward too. My father saved my life and helped salvaged what little childhood I had and made it worth living. I love my father, despite his flaws and short comings. I know he did his best and he still tries to always be there and support me when he can. It’s not possible to admire someone more than I do my own father.
Now I ran a bit long here so, you’ll have to wait until The Scars of who we are Part II, where I’ll actually dive into my childhood and how I actually survived my own abortion or so speak. But before I go, I would just like to inform my readers, that despite everything I been through, I survived. Even my suicide attempt I survived (obviously) but more than that, I persevered and overcame my demons and all my troubles. I’m fairly well-adjusted and my life has greatly improved and my only complaint is that there isn’t enough time in the day to do everything I want to do. But I look forward to each new day with enthusiasm, curiously, wonder, and grace. So keep reading and keep living.