Why am I private?

Its been awhile since I have written, by choice. Sometimes I am uncertain of what or why I write. I am unsure if anyone cares about what I write or if I even should concern myself with what others think. I started writing this blog really to open myself up, to document, record things that effect me or interest, inspire me. I wanted to create a bridge a place where others could find refuge and I know this happens through the personal messages I receive from you. Everyday I experience something that inspires me to write and share here. This at times is my journal, a look into myself. 

I have recently been spending time contemplating myself and my role in this world. I am complex at times and am uncertain of the path I have chosen to walk. I try at all times to remain humble and self evaluate. I try to protect myself from the true vulnerability I experience on a daily basis. I work at removing the instinctual barriers I display with others. I try to be myself and allow myself to feel a wide range of emotions. These are hard things for me to do but I continue to push myself because I believe this is where I continue to grow. I challenge myself to get out of my comfort zone and experience nervousness and excitement. I continue to engage in speaking opportunities which really makes me feel inadequate and vulnerable. Standing in front of others and speaking is a scary thing for me to do, yet I push myself to grow. 

I don't know why I am scared of what anyone thinks of me, but I am

I don’t know what Im doing…I just keep doing.

Thank You for taking a minute to read this, I am always amazed that anyone cares.

B

Chris Hoke- Wanted

Finished this book last week (5 days of reading) and it is absolutely great! Chris puts into words many of the emotions and thoughts I routinely have doing my work. I would encourage you to take moment to learn more about Chris and the work he is involved in!
http://chris-hoke.com/info/
http://coffee.newearthworks.org/
https://www.facebook.com/chris.hoke.988

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If Normal were a color- An open letter to young readers

Painting a picture of normal 

If normal were a color it would have many profound shades. Many struggle with the palette of normal and believe to their core they are not. However who claims normal to be a pure consistent hue of certainty? We know young people struggle with personal identification and normalcy. We know many adults model what they believe to be a normal persona in thought and action. Young people are particularly susceptible to decision making which may have an immediate effect on their current situation. Most who suffer from behavioral health issues seek a life of pure consistent normalcy. This innate drive is fostered by internal and external factors alike. Young people want to feel, be normal to others. They seek concrete reinforcement form their immediate surroundings. I was never comfortable with myself as an adolescent. I never felt as though I fit in. I surrounded myself with others who didn't fit in. I engaged in behaviors which made me numb to the uncomfortableness. I felt lost, trapped, hopeless. I put myself in the position to allow others to define me, my character. No matter how hard I tried I could not find normal…or at least what I thought normal should be. As I have grown older I still struggle with the socially acceptable “normal”. I still do not know what that means and I somehow have found comfort in understanding that there are many shades of normal. 

In my painting of normal there are many colors and shades, on most days my painting looks completely different then it did the day before. And I find comfort in that.

if you struggle with normal please know you are not alone, if you cannot find someone to talk to out of fear of judgement, please know I understand. 

B

being scared

That day in 1988, the last time I used drugs, I was scared. I didn't understand what I was doing or what I was going to do. I knew and had learned that being in hand cuffs and living in jail cells was something I didn't want to continue doing. I literally had nothing except some drawings, some letters and a few photographs others had sent me. There is very little more demoralizing than being treated like an animal. I hated every second of it. I despised the world and wondered every minute what others where doing. I knew I wanted to try something different and made no promises to anyone. I wanted to disappear from my life. I wanted to start again. I wanted take control of writing the story of my life. I was sick to my stomach listening and reading what others had authored about my character. I had made a plethora of terrible decisions but I wanted to believe I was not a terrible person. I wanted to change my life so people would leave me alone and stop saying negative things about me; I had no clue what that meant or how I was going to do that. 

I have the opportunity to speak to many about recovery, change, and motivation. I get to re-live this moment. To go to a place deep inside myself and remember the fear, the uncomfortableness of my life. I get to feel humbled about my journey. Its easy with the business of my daily life to forget how vulnerable, scared, and fragile I feel at times. I still feel uncomfortable with the world and myself at times. I have come a long way from that person in 1988. And it has not been without mistakes, there has never been any perfection in any of this. I continue to author the story of my life. I am continually surprised when  others say nice things about me. 

I hope this story is a good one for someone to read…

B

“it's harder to make the glass than break the glass"

this week was filled with me making speaking to others. I was invited for my rotation at a prison where I conducted 5 groups with 40-50 inmates in each. that’s a lot of guys, and a lot of me talking. I spoke about learning, listening, coping skills, utilizing skills learned while in prison to have a life in recovery, a life free of the consequences of addiction and institutions…FREE. I was asked dozens of questions of how to make it, how did I make it. People looking for an answer, the answer. Unfortunately answers that a person must find on their own path. Generally I fond most people want the straight, honest answer even when it hurts. Somehow I have been blessed with the opportunity to be the bearer of this type of truth. A truth that means it’s hard, it hurts, it’s hard work. I don't believe that others don't know this, I believe that we want the easier softer way to deal with ourselves and the world.  Some people in prisons want the easier softer way, they want the answer, the fix. 

I ended my week speaking to a group of high school students about my life. That’s always a personal challenge, a place to grow. During that presentation I have to scrape the dirt off of graves I dug many years ago, expose my imperfections, admit my faults, stand in front of strangers and tell some of my secrets. Honestly admit that I am imperfect. Acknowledge my blessings and the belief that I don't know why. I loved speaking with the high school kids and they asked great questions…some of which I had no answer…which is okay.

In both speaking situations I was humbled, I admitted I do not have the answers, but I explained that the it’s harder to make the glass that break the glass…this is my life.

B

Everyone has a story...

I have several speaking engagements coming up and sometimes I am amazed anyone would want to hear me talk. I never considered myself a “public” speaker and really have spent much of my life very shy and somewhat reserved. I learned that to accomplish anything I would need to step out of my comfort zone and engage others. I was asked several years ago to tell “my story” at a private luncheon and I had never spoken open and honestly with a room of strangers about the person who I used to be and the journey I have been on. I believed my recovery, my story were things I should be ashamed of, to hide, to only share in the company of others with similar stories. I have challenged myself to make my recovery, my journey a source of pride. If I were a survivor of any other disease I would wear my pride on my sleeve. There are many things I don't understand about myself, but I have faith and hope. I don't understand why I have been blessed with the opportunity to have an audience to listen to me. My story is not that different than others’, but it’s my story…everyone has story.
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1988- Journal entry

I wrote this when I was early in my recovery and still trying to figure out what was going on around me and within me. I was 18 years old...

Life is a mirror, look at what you see.
The crowd behind you begins to flee.
The rage you feel begins to surge
you clinch your fists, you feel the urge
Shatter your life, break the mirror
feel the pain, the pain is fear.
your all alone, no one around
the thoughts in your head are the only sound

it really sucks, its always the same.
the life I lived was a no win game.
Try and be happy I know I should.
Try so hard...I wish I could.
To end it all I think I would.
All I did was fucking cry.
I never had the nerve to die.
Every thing's the same, nothing new.
What am I suppose to do?

It's my desicion
I'll decide.
to take the ride
or run and hide.

B

Thanksgiving- the act of giving thanks

“You cannot do a kindness too soon because you never know how soon it will be too late”. Ralph Waldo Emerson

This week is thanksgiving and many people will gather with family and others to share a meal and time together. Many will travel great distances to be with others, physically and emotionally. For me this is the holiday specific to being grateful, kind, and thankful. I try to acknowledge my gratitude daily. If you are a reader of this blog or you know me personally, you know that I have much to be grateful for. Our daily schedules sometimes supersede our ability to reflect and be grateful. I spend time every day looking into the sky. I enjoy the beauty of the clouds. I find comfort in looking to them, acknowledging them, watching as they change. This is something I am grateful for; they represent something much larger than myself and my life.

I will take my children on thanksgiving to a local food pantry and work, serving those in need. This is practicing gratitude. This is teaching my children to be thankful. This is teaching my children that the needs of others are more important. This teaches my children to understand the practice of thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving- the act of giving thanks

During the holiday take a moment to live in the moment, be silent, listen, look, be grateful, and say thank you!
B

A light that shines from within

“We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.” Buddha

I recently had the privilege to spend some time with someone new to recovery. A humbling experience for me to see her joy, her excitement, her undeniable happiness. She discussed the early parts of her journey, her desires, her plan, her commitment. She talked about her challenges, the hard parts. And joy flowed from her like a light shining from her soul. A light which will continue to grow, be stronger, and brighter. 

And as I reflect on our conversation I begin to understand why I need her. I need to be reminded that I am no different, that my light continues to shine. That I deserve joy and happiness. She is a version of myself. A version that is easily forgotten. It becomes easy to obsess over the defects. It’s hard sometimes to sit back and take in everything, to let that light shine...and I am blessed that she reminded me of this!

Thank You N!
B

Why I went to the woods

“what is joy without sorrow? what is success without failure? what is a win without a loss? what is health without illness? you have to experience each if you are to appreciate the other. there is always going to be suffering. it’s how you look at your suffering, how you deal with it, that will define you.” ― Mark Twain

The past week has been very difficult for me to navigate. Things have been very out of balance, very overwhelming, and very hard to keep myself on course. I have been subject to some highly stressful situations and at times wanted to scream, cry, and disappear. Luckily I know how my cycle feels and I have different techniques to help myself. I am able to work through, to stay the course. But what is the cost? I want the world to pause for a minute. To let me catch my breath. I considered a self-imposed time out from the world and this is always an option. But how do I surrender to that? How do I do what needs to be. Knowing helps. Talking to others helps. I have to remember to go into the woods, close my eyes, breath, and be mindful…this too shall pass

B

Secondary Traumatic Stress, When do we quit helping others in need, Four rigs with cocaine residue

This week I have been in several situations where I have been mindful of an underlying conflict, a question, a debate. I have visited someone in jail, participated in a group debate, and helped someone begin to understand. All three situations were very different but contained a question, a desire, resistance, hope, confusion. All three shared a common thought, emotion, and question; when do we quit helping someone in need? What if we encounter someone who has been given every opportunity to make adjustments to their lives, to themselves and they continue to make decisions and behave in a way that is counter to the desired positive outcome? Do we stop helping, do we give up, do we turn away, and do we no longer help? What if the person is incapable of doing what is necessary? What if the person is incapable of seeing? What if they are unable to see themselves in their lives? What if they can’t bear to look at their lives and themselves? What if the guilt and shame are unbearable? Do we give up?

 I have previously written about pain, suffering, compassion and empathy and I don’t want to restate something that I have already touched on in previous post. I want to talk about Secondary Traumatic Stress or “the cost of caring”. I believe the current that runs through all of these questions is a person’s threshold for compassion and empathy. Expressing these can try on a person; they can become a weight on your shoulders, on your mind, your spirit, and your heart. When we experience someone else’s pain we can reach our “limit” and look for an option to break ties. We want that break up to be the other’s fault. We are done, and we shut the door. We want to bury the situation, the person, in a grave of blame filled with shame, disgust, and anger. We are suffering from compassion fatigue. We have reached our limit with the person. This is the easy way out…detachment.

How do we prevent this? Through self-care. We need to relieve our stress; we need to share with others the burden we experience. We need to laugh. We need to feel safe, understood, we need “cosigners”. We need to separate ourselves at times to let go of the attachment, the emotions. We need others to help us. We need to self-reflect. We need to be mindful. We need to seek positive healthy ways to alleviate our stress, our pain.

We need to be reminded that we should not give up on anyone. 

B   

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.-Henri Nouwen

This week I have been reflecting on my understanding of pain. I encounter many people who are experiencing, dealing with, and healing from different forms of pain. I have always thought I could see peoples’ pains through their eyes, and I believed that this is how I am able to share compassion and empathy with others. 

A unified experience of pain. 

This week I spent some time with someone experiencing an amount of pain that he has chosen to alter the course of his life and as we talked I could see the pain in his eyes.   And I acknowledged his pain, I empathized with his pain. It was pain that I can relate to. I told him I cared about his well-being and replied, “I know you do, I can see it in your eyes.” The hard part about pain is that we sometimes think we know how another experiences pain. We imprint our on pain experiences on the person and sometimes believe that what they are experiencing is maybe not the big deal they think it is. We discredit, minimize, and undervalue what the other person is experiencing. Why? I think for many it easier; to not share in another human being’s pain. And maybe this is okay for many. Maybe everyone is incapable of compassion and empathy. At times I am exhausted by practicing my own empathy and compassion. But the more I use these, the more I am able to use these. For a long time I did not want to live my life like this; I didn't want to hear or experience other people’s pain. I had my own to deal with. I had to learn to understand my own pain before I was ready to show empathy to others. I still experience pain; I still have hurt feelings, anger, stress, rejection, poor self-esteem and self-worth. But I am able to  better understand these things and take care of myself.  Please don’t assume you understand another person’s pain…I don't

B

I didn't want to die but I didn't want to live-by request and censored by request

The first time I cut my wrists,
a great light came over me,
not only had I found a way to release my sadness but I also found the perfect way to illustrate my emotions. I had this mark on my body that conveyed a message for all to see. A message that could only be interpreted one way, I was hurting. My self harm was a perfect complement to my substance abuse, I could intoxicate myself, cut on myself to amplify the high, release my sadness, and send a message to those around me that my life was spiraling out of control and that I had deep rooted emotional issues. I wore the cuts on my body like huge billboards, “I’M HURTING”. I never wanted to kill myself but romanticized the idea that I could cut deeper, more, bigger and come close to death. In fact the closer I came, the better it felt.

The more I cut, the better I felt.

What started as an experiment with emotions and pain quickly developed into an obsession.
I cut on myself everyday; designing patterns of marks that somehow exemplified the number of times I had felt pain. The only problem is I didn't have enough skin. I cut on cuts, I cut on scabs, and I cut and cut. The group of people I hung around were impressed with my cutting. Other kids at my high school, with whom I had never spoken, came forward to compare their cutting to mine, an exchange of desires, dreams, and shared pain; a somewhat intimate exchange. Finally they must have thought someone we can relate to and someone who needs us. I never wanted to gain any relationships from my self-harm, only bring attention and resolve to the destructive nature of my own existence. I became obsessed with using different instruments to cut with razor blades, utility knife blades, broken glass, pins, and needles. As the sensation of cutting began to numb, new ways became a last option. I began to burn “blue circles” into my wrists using a cigarette. I would lie in bed and choke myself. I would punch myself repeatedly in the face and stomach. I didn't want to die but I knew I didn't want to live.
B

25 years of change

"If you do not change your direction, you may end up where you are heading" Lao Tzu

This weekend was the summation of an eventful week for me; I attended my 25^th High School reunion. I have never attended one before and had many reservations about being there; I could have easily skipped it. I was asked by a friend and former classmate to attend and after some pandering by him and few others, I got up the courage to go. I was not “popular” in high school, I wasn’t in any clubs, didn’t play sports, and really struggled through the whole process. I was constantly in trouble, multiple suspensions, expelled my junior year, and dropping out my senior year. I was under the care of a psychiatrist beginning my sophomore year for suicidal ideation and self-harm. I was heavily medicated and had developed a severe substance abuse problem. I was involved in the criminal justice system and was constantly in trouble outside of school. The last two years of high school are truly a blur. I remember very little about any of it, by design. I was incarcerated at the age of 17, my senior year of high school. After some time away from the world I made a decision to never return to the place where so much harm existed for me and others. While my classmates finished school and graduated, I was beginning to author a new ending to the story of my life.  I had no idea what this story would read like and was very scared that any moment by book would end. I knew that redefining myself would be a huge undertaking. I call this the “gift and the curse” of recovery. While my classmates walked across the stage receiving their diplomas I intoxicated myself for the last time. While they dreamed of college, families, careers, I dreamed of the same. 
Together we dreamed of our future, our change. 
While we celebrated 25 years since graduation, I carried with me in my pocket, my 25 year coin from Alcoholics Anonymous.  I am glad I attended the event this weekend it was wonderful to see so many people. Many have changed so much, I know I have.
B 

Where is Peace?

Where is peace? I asked myself this simple question multiple times a day and night. I am victim of inner turmoil on a nonstop basis, anxiety, nervousness, worry. At times my mind races at a pace that my heart picks up to keep pace. I have learned many techniques to ease my anxiousness. I look at myself in the mirror every morning and become scared. I don’t know who I have become, what I am supposed to do, how I am to act. I have a clear understanding of what is expected of a productive member of society and what is considered appropriate versus not. I have honed my moral compass to what I believe is an acceptable social level. I believe in the tenets of good values, I practice these and seek others who share similar believes and practices.

As I age and look at myself, I notice the landscape of my physical identity slowly change. My hair is greyer; my skin has begun to take on new identity. I have to remind myself that life, happiness, is not a destination. I must continue to work on myself, to continue to look at myself and push forward. I still have much room to grow, to become a better person. Those of you who knew me previous to this journey you know how far I have come.

I still have many character defects. I still fight with my inner-self constantly. Peace is a journey. I look at myself daily, take a deep breath, and challenge myself to be better person.

B

Fear

I was recently asked why someone in an active addiction cycle cannot abstain from their drug of choice even after they admittedly say they don’t want to continue use. They honestly want to chart a new course for their lives, a course that is drug free; but they can’t. This is perceived by others as an example of dishonesty, a “he doesn't really want to stop”, “she’s just saying that, but doesn't really mean it”, “drug addicts should just stop using drugs”. This week I facilitated a treatment group where we discussed and defined addiction, a complicated task for anyone to achieve. We used and examined the American Society of AddictionMedicine’s definition. Here is the “short” definition:

Addiction is a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry. Dysfunction in these circuits leads to characteristic biological, psychological, social and spiritual manifestations. This is reflected in an individual pathologically pursuing reward and/or relief by substance use and other behaviors.

Addiction is characterized by inability to consistently abstain, impairment in behavioral control, craving, diminished recognition of significant problems with one’s behaviors and interpersonal relationships, and a dysfunctional emotional response. Like other chronic diseases, addiction often involves cycles of relapse and remission. Without treatment or engagement in recovery activities, addiction is progressive and can result in disability or premature death.

As you can see this is a complicated disease. There are many factors that cause an individual to engage in an addiction cycle and the baffling part of the disease is that the brain constantly “plays a trick” on the individual to continue the cycle. There is no way to “fix” the problem. Everyone has different path into addiction and just as complex as the journey into, the journey out is even more complicated. Many attempt, many commit themselves to the journey and become lost. Sometimes death is the only relieve from the suffering. I wish we could solve the complicated mess of addiction. In recovery I know how blessed I am. I am not perfect nor do I try to be, however 25 years ago something happened in the universe, the heavens, and in my life. I began the journey of recovery. I work with others daily in addiction and recovery. I get to share in the pain, the pride, the sadness, the relief, the honest and dishonest, the loneliness, the happiness, the Fear…and for that I am blessed! 

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Twenty Five Years of tree climbing. A Prologue.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion." Henry David Thoreau

Twenty Five years ago I began the process of being a “tree climber”. I had spent years in the dust. I had the breath knocked out of me repeatedly. I gasped for air. The air I breathed in was full of dust, dry and dirty. The view never changed. Others came and lay in the dirt, others bathed in the dust to hide. I gasped for air. I could see the trees. I could see the forest. It seemed unattainable. The tree grows from the dust and reaches for the sky. Twenty five years ago, I slowly rubbed my eyes to remove some of the dust. The sun shined through the trees. The brightness made me want to turn my face away as the sun combined with dust caused my eyes to tear. The tears mixed with dust, the view was magnificent and the most frightening thing I had ever seen. The forest, so large, so overwhelming, the trees stoic, brave, rising from the dust like the phoenix. I cried. I spent years standing at the bottom of the tree. 

I knew tree climbing was dangerous, exhilarating, rewarding, but I did not know what the view was like. I had watched others climb trees which lay horizontal with the dust, trees that had fallen after a great storm, and lay to die, to become dust. That view appeared to be equal to lying on the ground.  

Climbing a tree can be difficult. I had to learn from experienced tree climbers. I watched as others stood on limbs that cracked and popped. I watched as limbs broke and people returned to the dust. I stood and watched. I looked around and saw the bodies pile up around me. I watched as some became exhausted, tired, fatigued, and let go. They chose to fall, they seemed to enjoy the feeling of the fall. Others climbed and climbed. They yelled form the trees how beautiful it was, how the view was amazing, others never wiped the dust from their eyes and their view was dust, they fell, they returned. 

I learned the process of climbing trees. To start at the base, near the trunk. This was the foundation of every tree. To reach for the first branch, to grip it tightly, to shake it, to determine how stable it was. Will it hold my weight? To ask myself, is this a good branch? After taking a deep breath, pulling myself up into the tree the view instantly becomes different, the dust starts become distant. Slowly, methodically, I began climbing the tree. Uncertain, scared of the climb. I tried limbs that looked, felt familiar, realizing too much time spent on these types of branches would not hold my weight. I looked down, seeing others I knew and loved laying on the ground looking up at me. 

I continued to climb unaware of my destination, the view changed with the seasons. 

Every branch I climbed to, another presented itself. 

I continue to climb… 

By Request (2) dko

I was recently asked to write about what books I am reading and why. I attempt to read often and when I was in college (and without 4 children), I was much more disciplined in my reading habit. I enjoy reading and read a range of nonfiction. For the past year I have really focused on books dealing and about substance abuse, spirituality, and recovery. My choice for reading these types of books is varied in selection. I read some for self-improvement, maintenance of myself, strategies and understanding for working with others, and some I read for a ways to improve my own writing. Since I began to write and talk about my own emotions, thoughts and processes, I have found it hard to put into words the range of things I experience. Reading how others write helps…

1. Currently reading this book as it is a first hand account of Depression and the Author William Styron has done an amazing job of putting into words the feelings and thoughts experienced by someone with Depression.

Favorite Excerpt (thus far), "Death, as I have said, was now a daily presence, blowing over me in cold gusts. I had not conceived precisely how my end would come. In short, I was still keeping the idea of suicide at bay. But plainly the possibility was around the corner, I would soon meet it face to face" page 50

Purchase

2. Currently reading this book also. The Author David Kennedy is co founder of "Cease Fire". He has spent decades studying Youth Violence and so far does an amazing job at detailing the complex issues surrounding youth and why they are involved in violence and how to address and possibly change the culture.

Favorite excerpt (thus far), "Nearly all of the worst violence and crime in America's most troubled neighborhoods is driven by a small, super-heated world of gangs and drug crews and drug markets. It is a world with its own rules, its own standards, its own understandings. It is a community, make no mistake; it is a community where men will kill for their brothers, die for their brothers, where being a thug is a good and honorable thing, where thug love means having your brothers' backs, no matter what the cost. It is world in which young men stand against a powerful, malevolent world and say to themselves and to each other, Prison's no big thing; I'm going to be dead by the time I'm twenty-five, so nothing really matters; if a man  is disrespected, he has to return violence or he's not a man; the enemy of my friend is my enemy; I'm a victim, so I'm justified in what I do." page 20

Purchase

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Tear drops of self control

I found myself on the receiving end of a violent tirade this week. The person was so angry he was unwilling and truly unable to hear anything that came from mouth, including an apology for a misunderstanding. He confronted me in an exhibit of pure rage including threats of harm to my wellbeing. I sat in my chair, and without hesitation, didn’t move. My hands placed securely on the arms of the chair, my body relaxed, and my face void of emotion. And I sat, and I received his yelling and threats, and I absorbed his emotion, and I resisted the urge to respond, and I refused to engage, escalate, enrage. And when he finished or maybe realized I was not going to respond, he left. This is the most desirable less likely outcome. This could have had many endings, which no doubt would have included me returning to a version of myself for which I have so worked to control. I understand these situations are as much about myself as they are the perpetrator. The work I have invested into making myself a “kinder gentler” version of myself has been a lifelong process. To understand and adhere to a strict doctrine of conflict resolution that is based on nonviolence. I believe this is part of my destiny, to restore some type of balance in my life and the community.  

After he left I was consumed with emotion. . I took a deep breath and began the process of de-escalating myself.  My hands shook, my face was flush, adrenaline rushed through my body, and tears ran out of the corner of eyes. Tear drops of self control.

 

Have a Blessed week, I have...

B

The person I was...

So I haven’t written in two weeks as I have had a lot going on in my day to day life. Spring brings a whole bunch of projects that have been put off all winter, yard work, etc.

 I had the privilege to read through my probation record, which one of my good friends was able to get out of storage for me to look through. It was hard to read. It tells the story of a young man trying in every way to destroy himself. A story that if read aloud, the narrator and audience would surely believe that the main character would not make it, doomed to either spend his entire life in institutions or death. To read what professionals thought of my wellbeing, my behavior, my attitude, repeated arrests, failed treatment episodes and interventions, to read what people outside of my world tried to put the pieces together of what I can only describe in reflection as pure inner and outer chaos. My prognosis was not good. I was not going to make it. And yet here I am. And if I think about, which I do daily, I don’t understand why. Why did I get so lucky? Why did my higher power pick me to save? I know that I am truly blessed. The majority of those with my background rarely make it. I knew that then. I knew that the odds, statistics, the professionals, didn’t believe I would make it, that I would come out the other side. At the very core of my soul I wanted a different life, I am still motivated by this. I am still working on making myself a better person, and a better life. There is little perfection in this. If I am honest with myself and others I can and am able to recognize when I stray from the course and correct it. I thank God daily for my existence. I hope when this journey comes to end that others will reflect on my life and be proud of where I have come from and what I have achieved. Although I sometimes have to be reminded, I know that I am.

B