Deep Breaths

I do not know where I left off. But for me it is better off. I have touched very few people, but I hope my story will reach many as it unfolds. My last few posts took a lot for my to write. I got some things off my chest that I’ve been holding in for… a lifetime. In the simple action of typing it out, it has provided a sort of closure, at least for what has been revealed thus far. As far as me, life is going great now, and I am building up the desire and bravery required to continue my story. Thanks to anyone who has read… and to anyone at all… who has glanced upon these simple words. –JC

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Personal Identification

Continued from yesterday, my life took a drastic turn after my family split up.  Being the youngest child, I was the most confused.  My older brothers had moved out and I was the one child that was there to really see my mothers suffering.  A child seeing that kind of pain from a parent is not natural, in my opinion at least.  I didn’t know who I was anymore.  It was as if I was living in some sort of dream, that couldn’t possibly be real.  Confusion entered my life, at alarming rates.  I didn’t know who I was.  I didn’t know how to express how I felt, to anyone.  And so I was in limbo.  I am a musician, by this time I had been playing guitar for many years, so music became my outlet.  I listened to melancholy music and related to it on many levels.  Growing up in the 90s, a lot of the music I listened to quite relatable in my life.  Acts such as Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Alice and Chains. Their words somehow related to me the most.  And looking back at it… it almost makes perfect sense as to what kind of pain I was enduring.  Kurt Cobain committed suicide.  The lead singer of Alice n Chains died of an overdose.  And this was the music I could relate to.  Is this coincidence?  I don’t think so.  When Kurt Cobain died, his suicide note was released, and I printed it off.  I had to of read it 100 times.  Somehow committing suicide seemed to make sense to me.  I remember writing my own suicide notes.  As if I were to do so and leave them behind for my loved ones.  But I never did actually plan to kill myself, nor did I have the “courage” to carry out such a foolish act.  But the fact remains that suicide was in my frame of mind.  I simply did not feel like I fit in anywhere.  I began to act out, perhaps as a way to express the chaos in my life.  I began stealing.  Small things.  I stole from school, friends, family… siblings.  Snooping and stealing somehow provided a sort of gratification for me.  Even if it was something as small as a paper clip from my teachers desk.  That made me feel good.  To this day I don’t know why.  But this is where things get really confusing.  I became so enthralled in the music that I listened to that the lyrics mesmerized me.  I felt like I needed to replicate this, to convert my true emotions into words that others would read.  I wanted to touch and move people.  But I could not do that.  I am a fairly artistic person, but what I wrote could not replicate what I was reading from my musical idols.  Perhaps it was because I am my own worst critic, but this simple struggle takes a twist.  Since I could not replicate my emotions into anything close to what I believed to be “moving”, I began to plagiarize.  This was about the time the internet was exploding.  AOL disks were everywhere.  I began talking to strangers online, and passed out others peoples words as my own.  I would copy lyrics, poems etc. and convince others that they were mine.  This also provided great gratification.  Reading the response of others, “wow you really wrote this”  Yes, I replied.  It was all a lie.  I began to act outside of my own mental being.  I didn’t want to be myself, I wanted to be someone else.  I did things like this to impress others, I even lied to friends to convince them that I “knew people” that I didn’t.  Anything to get attention.  But it wasn’t all about attention.  In the end, It provided me with an escape.  A route which I could travel that would hide the “truth”  And that truth was that I was a very conflicted, mentally unstable young man…who knew?

To be continued….

Can you relate?  Comment and let’s heal together.

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How did it begin?

     How did it begin?  This question in itself is a loaded one.  How can someone reach into the depths of their memory and dissect it, deciding which and what traumatic experience triggered the mentality to “erase the pain”?  For me, trauma is where it began.  First and foremost, as a young boy, one of my best friends from my small neighborhood, who was older than me, sexually abused me.  This is something that I have put into the vaults of my memory to never open.  I have told no one.  But now I am at a point in my life where I must recognize what happened, and realize how such an experience could impact me further down the road in my life.  This is something that I personally cannot go into extreme depth, as it is an experience I am still struggling to wrap my head around.  But the fact is, that experience led to a darker issue.  Much further down the road than I had expected.  Sometimes things happen and you equate it to childhood foolishness, but as you grow older you are more able to differentiate right from wrong, and what was done to me was wrong.  I am almost 30 years old and am just now recognizing this as difficult as that may seem to understand, but it is undeniably true.  This is the first traumatic experience that set the wheels in motion.

     My family was what kept me happy.  My brothers… father…mother.  As a boy it all seemed perfect.  But as I grew older, my father was away more often.  He would be gone for weeks at a time, only to return for a weekend, and be gone again by Monday.  I put no blame on him for his frequent absence, as he was doing so to put food on the table.  He was a union man, and worked where there was work.  I always pleaded with him to go wherever he was going.  To allow me, his youngest son, to tag along so I could see where he was going and most of all simply BE with him.  I remember long nights of crying myself to sleep because I missed my father so much.  I’ll never forget one particular night.  I was absolutely a wreck, and keep in mind I was just a child, maybe 8, I can’t be certain.  But on this night I missed my father so much, that I prayed to God for the first time in my life.  I asked God to please…. please bring my father home.  A few hours, my father walked into my room and wrapped his strong arms around me.  I recognized this as a miracle.  I prayed to God, and he delivered.  I admired and still do admire my father more than any other figure in my life, after all, he is my father, and I am his youngest son.  Still to this day, I strive to be like him.  But touching base on my earlier comments.  My father was gone a lot, and when he came home, my mother and him fought and argued the whole time.  My room was right next to theirs, so I heard every word.  I simply heard ev-ery-thing.  I believe that access brought me to my knees and I understood the severity of the problem more than my older brothers, who unlike me, had rooms far from my parents bedroom, and I can be sure they did not hear what I heard.  I love my father more than anything, and my mother as well, but as the trend seemed to pick up steam, divorce also struck my family.  At the time I simply did not understand.  I did not know what it meant.  However, moving forward in my life, this was the singular most difficult thing I ever had to deal with.  I know many children go through the same as I did.  But what I went through afterwards can only be described as hell.

To be continued….

Can you relate?  Comment below.  Let’s heal together

 

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we-are-all-addicted

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.” – Hunter S. Thompson

Ever been in this place?  That place where your bad habits become such common place….that you condone it? All the while, truly believing you cannot go on without them?  This void swallows you whole, and you’ve no clue as to how to climb out, where to begin, or if it’s even a feasible option.  This mentality can last months, years and in most cases an entire lifetime.  The beautiful thing is that with moments such as disparity, when you’ve been humbled beyond the extent of any imaginable belief, the hope for rebirth is possible and can be obtained.  Only one thing is required.  One.  Your mind.  Enter mine as I tell you my story and how my healing process has evolved and formed who I am today.  My tale is unique, but a million plot lines fall into my experience.  The path is there, beyond the marsh.  Let’s push the foliage aside, and journey together.

“Buy a ticket, take the ride”

Starting Over

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