I am literally handing the world the scariest and most vulnerable puzzle pieces of myself…. arbitrarily tossing jigsaw pieces out into the world knowing the some will want to put it together and most probably will not care. I have always been available emotionally, probably too much and that’s why I’m not on social media. My relationship with my father is something I still struggle with. Moments in my life that I look back on fondly exist without any sort of attachment. If anything, they’re tethered back to an isolation he was very happy to keep me in. I am tired of being so tired. I used to try to fill up my soul and heart with so many songs, so many drugs, so much alcohol, so much stuff to just forget or forgive I’m not even really sure.
A lot of people joke about social distancing and how they were already experts before a pandemic. I could have been one of those people…but the truth is? Too much solitude be it physical or emotional hurts. That’s probably why I am so obsessed with wanting to share my story and hoping even one person reads it. I want people to know that despite how isolated they might feel because of their family, their mental state, or circumstances…everyone needs tangible and unconditional friend. I am very afraid of what total strangers and old friends will do with the breadcrumbs this book has offered them. At the end of the day? I still have not found myself again. Maybe he exists in this book and that was the whole point of my life. Hurt. Write. Forgive. That has become a mantra of mine but I left out the part where I am supposed to heal…or figure out that this book isn’t going to appeal to everyone and it certainly isn’t going to pay all the bills. So, what do I do next? I am still working on that. I was at the park today with my wife and two sons. My wife and Dylan played while I pushed our youngest around in the stroller totally stuck in introspection. God, what am I supposed to be doing? Are you there? Do you exist? Can you hear me? Did you create me? Because those who created me certainly didn’t care enough to answer me. This book comes out…will it hurt anyone? Will everyone ignore it? Will anyone want to ask questions or maybe see it as a positive thing? I am just so sick of feeling burdened by the weight of what I saw, what I felt, what happened, and what I can’t change. All he had to do that night was tell me he was sorry. Instead he told me I was crying and to call my mother and he hung up. He died the next day. You labeled me. I labeled you. So, I dubbed thee unforgiven.
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AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
September 2021
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