I totally understand why anyone that struggles with any kind of mental illness doesn’t want to talk about it. Why they don’t want “others” to know. Once you do, once the genie is out of the bottle, you can’t put it back in. That leaves you vulnerable to judgment by those that don’t understand, or just don’t care to understand. It’s taken years to get to the point that I’m at now, but don’t think that because I blog about my issues that it makes everything o.k.
Some might think that what I write about is brave, or that it gives them a better perspective on the rest of the world outside of their own. There are some that think the topics I touch on are too taboo. They feel that what I speak about is “too much”. That perhaps I’d be better served keeping this to myself, or dialing it down. The very reason I started touching on the topic of mental health is because it does reach everyone. There are just some that refuse to believe that they might struggle themselves. That perhaps they have their own secrets.
Since I’ve started this direction of writing. I’ve had some very positive responses, and have found it’s opened a door for others to explore their own world. That is thrilling to me! I love that perhaps the pain I’ve carried can somehow be of service in the long run. Then there’s the uneasy feeling that when I’ve written something that I’m looked upon differently. A certain sympathy look, or perhaps a look of being dismissed because they know that “you’re not well”. I feel it, trust me.
One of the things that is the most bothersome to me, is when my word is questioned. Growing up with nothing made me painfully aware that the only thing that I do have is my voice. Along with my voice is my memory and the ability to recall anything. As I’ve stated before, I’ve been “trained” to pay attention to details. Why? Because details matter. This is something that I’ve lived by for the better part of my life. Recently I went through an event that challenged all of this. I felt for a minute like I was truly going crazy, that everything I knew to be right, was now wrong.
“How important is it to be right.” This question was posed to me years ago by my sponsor. My answer at that time was, it’s everything. While I may not always voice my opposition, in my brain I know what’s right. I may not challenge the person, or persons at the time, but I’ve already begun my process into evaluating the situation. I also begin to evaluate the person, or persons that are involved. This again, is something that I’ve done for so long, that it’s second nature. In different circumstances, with less savory people, evaluating improperly can cost you everything.
This all then brings trust into question. My evaluation process lets me know what level I can trust a person. If some are willing to blindly follow and never question, I look at them as a “mark”. I align myself with those that have proven to be strong, question things and seek truth. There’s an intersection between the speaking about mental health and truth. I pass through this intersection on a daily basis. I work in an environment that is painful to who and what I am. I feel alone and singled out at times. I’ve been working on making peace with that, but it’s truly a struggle. When you use your voice and know your truth, and it falls on deaf ears, or is discarded, you’re left to question your place in the world. I’m not one for folding up and walking away, so it usually brings about hostility. My anger and hostility is, and will continue to be my main focus with my counselor. I don’t want to feel this way, yet find myself falling into this comfort trap.
Here’s what I’m looking for with this blog. I want everyone to understand that I may be broken, yes, I have damage that needs care. It doesn’t make me less than. It doesn’t mean that I can’t function within society. I don’t want pity. All that I want is what everyone should want, to be heard, to be seen. The other thing is that there are those of us out there that have experienced trauma that perhaps has made us keenly aware of things that others wouldn’t bother to pay attention to. We see the things that others don’t. I was trying to explain this to a co-worker recently. I stated that it’s a curse, and a blessing at the same time. I wish that I’d never gone through the things that I did, but I can’t change that. I can however take the strengths that it has given me and use them appropriately. The positive that came from the negative. I also want to be clear that I’m not perfect, but a truth seeker.
When you’re around me, when you’re speaking with me, know that I’m very genuine. I speak truth, always. The only thing that I have to offer in this world is my voice. The question is, are you willing to hear my voice?
I’ve been in need of purging numerous things from my system. One that I truly feel doesn’t get enough attention, and really needs to is the male psyche. I’ll speak of my own personal experience with this, both of myself, and others around me over the years. The manner in which males have been raised, and many continue to be raised is failing our society. Yes, failing our society. Follow along and I’ll explain some of the deep secrets.
I’ve talked about my childhood, and the relationship that I had with my Father. I’ve also given a glimpse into life that my Father endured. I use the word endured because it’s fitting. He was raised by an “Alpha” male that was an alcoholic. He viewed the world through an angry lens, and took his own frustrations out on those around him. His wife, my Grandmother was the first target. Once children came into the picture, they also suffered his wrath. My Uncle was shown no love or affection by this man. He was so hardened towards his kids that when my Uncle joined the Army and was ready to leave for boot-camp, my Grandfather gave him a ride to the bus station, and proceeded to unload and leave him there. Not well wishes of “please be safe”, or I love you son, no tears, he was dropped off and left with not even a glance in the review mirror. That was the level of anger that this man carried.
Alcohol and rage stayed within the confines of their home. My Grandfather was not a social drinker, he kept everything under wraps. An unspoken dirty secret. One that I’m sure was going on in so many other homes as well. Beatings were a regular thing, and order was to be kept. My Father learned to hide his emotions and maintain order as did my Uncle. My Grandmother did what she could to protect the boys, but had little hope of fending off the attacks. My Father spoke to me about these things at different times throughout my life. You could feel the contempt that he had for his Father. The anger and lack of emotion had carried over into my Father. While he kept from drinking, he had many of the same traits that my Grandfather before him had. He was triggered easily and rage would ensue. There was a touch of softness there thankfully. He had made an agreement with my Mother to keep hands off of myself and my sisters. The more violent beatings that he’d encountered were not a regular thing in our home. I can say that a couple of times he became very unhinged and did some damage to me. As I’ve wrote about in other blogs, I’ve forgiven my Father for things that I, and my sisters went through. He did what he could with what he had. He too was broken and never shown how to behave with empathy, sympathy or feelings in general.
These characteristics of course fell into me. The son that would be “trained” to behave in a certain manner. My job was to never show feelings, feelings equal weakness. Weakness is not acceptable in the male dominated world. You must show that you are the “Alpha” or you’ll be eaten alive. When carrying on in what I refer to as my “past life”. The training continued and became more of a grooming by another strong and angry male. This man ran multiple “businesses” that ran below the law. I found myself in a world of darkness with nothing to grasp onto. This was a pivotal age in my life and the only thing that I understood was that feelings of love and caring are to be discarded, or stuffed away. The proper response to others was to stand tall, be silent, watch and study. Find and exploit weaknesses.
It’s safe to say that there were so many males that I encountered that were broken as well. I became such a good study that I found it easy to spot those that were hiding true feelings. Those that didn’t want to be the “Alpha”, but were doing what they could to survive. I can truly say that even in the hardest of males, there was only a small few that I was truly scared of. You can see death in a person’s eyes if you look close enough. You’ll know when they’ve seen the things that no one should ever see, or in many cases, do things that should never be done. These are the true, and darkest fallen angels. There were times in discussions with some that I found such sadness, it made me wonder what had happened to them in their life to make them this way. They were very closed off and shared very little with me. Enough that I knew, there was true darkness on the other side. The man that groomed me was one of those men.
If you’re wondering about now where this is going and what does it have to do with the male psyche. We as a society raise males to be this way, sometimes without even realizing it. How many times have you heard things like “get up, you’re fine”, “don’t cry or I’ll give you something to cry about”, “wipe those tears away, no one needs to see that”. These are some of the things that were in my early life. With each comment, tight grip and hissing of words in your face, you become more damaged. While you may be compliant, you still harbor feelings. I didn’t realize that I was allowed to be sensitive, caring, empathetic until much later in life. This is something that should be taught from the moment any child comes into this world. Building a soldier with a protective exterior does not make a man. It creates a broken soul. This needs to stop.
I see so many around now that feel the need to put on the show of what they feel is expected of them in society. We have a disconnect somewhere. I’ve also witnessed people looking at some males with disgust because they don’t want to partake in these alpha type rituals. Say perhaps you have a son that has no interest in any kind of sports. Does that make him less of a person? What if he gets picked on or bullied and doesn’t want to fight back? What then? What is it that we feel makes up a man? Do they need to grow as much facial hair as possible and drive the biggest 4-wheel drive truck? Do they have to lift the heaviest weights at the gym? These are some of the small things that go on. Why can’t it just be o.k. to just be? Whatever it is that a boy, young man, or man feels they want to do, or be should be alright, yes? We need to allow men to show feelings, to be confident in themselves regardless of what others might think.
I say all this because I want to see changes in our future. I don’t want to see more damaged people growing up angry. This anger only carries over into their families, whether it’s their girlfriends, wives, kids etc. It’s a cycle that needs to be broken. It’s taken me many years to be alright with actually crying. That is so seriously fucked up that I’ve felt that way for so long. Tears can fall from any human’s eyes, and it should be alright. If we don’t stop this madness, more will suffer.
If you know someone that suffers, that feels that no one understands, talk to them, get them some help. Let them know that it’s alright to show the softer side of a male. In fact doing so could change a relationship entirely. I grew up with all sisters, worked most of my life around women, and I can tell you that they’d prefer to spend time with someone that is confident in who they are, not how manly they act. A man that can show love, sadness, and be vulnerable.
I’m here, sharing all of this in order to find a path to those that have felt the same as myself. To reach loved ones that know a man in their life that needs to find their way. I show my pain in my writing so that others can learn from it. I don’t want anyone to ever feel as I have. To be misguided by the “Alphas”. It’s the wrong path. Truth, forgiveness and vulnerability are now part of my make up. I’m slowly changing what I was, to who I am. I’m still learning to be alright with myself and I think that if I can help others, it could maybe, just maybe help me in return.
Let’s have a chat about people in our lives that we have no control over. Yes, that’s pretty much everyone. As parents we feel that our duties are never ending, and in many cases that’s a true statement. Where do we draw the line on things? When does it need to be removed from our plate? I’ll share more of my own life and struggles and let you all decide from there.
I was in a previous marriage that came with two children. I have no biological children of my own, but I felt that I had good wisdom and life experiences that I could pass onto kids. The sharing of a bloodline really meant nothing to me, they’re kids and kids need love and attention. That was something I was willing to do.
I hit the ground running with one closing in on tween years and the other still very much in diapers. I learned quickly that my life was no longer my own and I’d have to make adjustments in all areas in order to be the best father possible. I found it challenging, but rewarding at the same time. Kids after awhile start to act, or sound like you. Mimic your facial expressions, or say silly sayings that you probably repeated while working around the house. Perhaps even singing the songs that were popular in your home. Music was a regular thing in my house, and still is to this day. So, I’m not surprised that my Son is still a music and movie enthusiast. We shared lots of times watching shows, or movies together, and having discussions about them. We didn’t always agree on whether or not it was a good movie, but it was the time spent that mattered. Music was much the same. Different kinds of heavy metal are still something that he holds onto. He plays guitar, and very well. He does this in his free time and continues to teach himself by listening to songs.
My daughter was very much a girly girl. She liked her pink and purple colors. Found amusement in programs such as Dora the explorer (Swiper no swiping) If you watched the cartoon, you understand…lol! Rugrats were a big hit and Barney. Dear Lord that program made me half crazy! Anyway, she enjoyed listening to music as well. Sang all of the time, talked and sang to her “posse” of stuffed animals. It was all good stuff. I was a very hands on Dad and wanted good things for both of these kids. Worked hard to provide them with a good home, food to eat, safety and security. All things that I desired for myself as a child. If they did something wrong, I wanted to explain what it was they did wrong and why I was not happy. I didn’t believe in screaming at them. I know that I hate when someone yells at me I tend to wall up and hear absolutely nothing. If I was going to get through to them, I had to take a different approach.
With age brought all of the usual issues. Nothing earth shattering, kids stuff. Sneaking food late night, playing games in their bedroom until all hours, you know, things we’d do ourselves. The turn of events came when I parted ways with their Mother. There was a lot of not understanding why things were changing and why their parents would be living in separate homes. I was concerned that they’d take ownership of the problem and blame themselves. I had long conversations with them before the split and it continued afterwards. I never spoke poorly about their mother in front of them as I felt it would just cause more damage. She was still mom, even with the feelings that I harbored towards her. It was not their fault.
As luck would have it, the kids spent a good portion of their time with me in my home. That felt right and I enjoyed having them there. I’d grown accustom to them being in my life and wanted to continue to guide them through their lives. I was very protective of them, and when they were away, I worried about what might happen to them. I didn’t feel that the environment they were being exposed to was proper or healthy. It ate at me on a daily basis, but I had to remember something I was told. “You cannot control what happens outside of your home.” A wise woman told me that once, and I’ve held onto it. Another knowledge nugget is this, the three C’s. (Cause, Cure & Control) Use them in a sentence such as I didn’t cause this problem. I can’t cure this problem. I can’t control this problem. Powerful when you sit back and take that in. I had no control of anything outside of my door. I’d learn that that comes even closer, and will include inside my own home.
My son and I reached a point where I felt he needed to find direction. To decide what he needed to do with himself. By this time I had remarried and he was living in our home, working part time jobs and playing video games…lol! I felt that he isolated too much and should share time, space and energy with the group more often. I also am a big believer that if you live under the roof provided, you partake in work around the house. Do things without having to be told. Small stuff, but important, at least in my eyes. We had a parting of ways once he was over 18 and I asked that if he didn’t want to follow my rules, that he find somewhere else to stay. Was that harsh? Some might think so, but again, the person that I am and what I’ve gone through, I felt it was necessary. If there’s always a safety net waiting for a child, they’ll never step up and learn on their own. You’ll just become a codependent and they’ll learn nothing. I will tell you that after some time apart, my son is part of my life again. We speak about life more now as adults and work through whatever is going on in either of our worlds. He’s taken that leap, and stands on his own two feet now. Was it hard for me to do this? Absolutely! Don’t think for a minute that it didn’t hurt inside, but if I’d left him to just keep going along as he was, I don’t think he would be the man he is today. He works hard, pays his rent, loves his dogs, plays his guitar and listens to his music. He’s capable of living on his own. I could not be more proud.
My daughter had a harder time. She was constantly seeking the attention and approval of her mother. Something that would never come. It was heartbreaking to see her chase after smoke in the air, but I had no words that would make her feel better. As a teen she became more destructive, both to herself and others. Poor life choices started to stack up. We talked about all of this and decided to get her to a counselor to try to work through all of her feelings. It felt like progress was being made, but the demons were always there for her. The ever patient, harmful demons called to her and made her into someone that I wouldn’t know. The cute little girl that I’d shared so much with reached a point that I had to take a step back.
The counselor that I’d been taking her to recognized so many things in me. That’s where the bridge began. I picked up going to the very counselor that I’d been taking my daughter to in order to figure life out. It started with all of the guilt I was feeling about the kids. How could this have happened? What had I done wrong? How could I fix it? I had to learn then that the actions of others was something that was beyond my control. My children were not off limits to this rule. They were actually the ones that I needed to hold these rules in place for the most. They were the closest to me, dear to my heart and I loved them both! The three C’s come back into play here. (Cause, Cure & Control) The demons that my daughter has were not something that I caused. I did my best and offered numerous years of counseling, love and support, so I couldn’t Cure her. Her life choices are her life choices, so I have no control over them. By the time they reach adulthood, those choice can have severe consequences.
There are many that didn’t understand how I could “just walk away”, or “how can you do that to your child?” From the outside looking in, it’s easy to make calls like that, cast judgment on someone for being so “heartless.” My heart is full and has been for these kids from the minute they came into my life. There are some that would have you believe that because you don’t share bloodline, you don’t really understand what it feels like to be a parent. Yes, people have said that, out loud to me. Biological mothers and fathers all over the planet can be some of the worst humans around, so I’d say that I’ve done a pretty damn good job as a “Step-Parent”.
Life is messy sometimes, we all know this. If you follow this blog, you know first hand just how messy my life has been, and how I’ve managed to hold on all these years. Not everything works out the way I’d like it to, and that is the case with my daughter to this day. We’ve parted ways and don’t speak at all. I did everything in my power to help, or assist her in her life. Each time I was met with resistance, and just lack of common decency. The line has to be drawn in the sand. She was told that if she wanted me to be a part of her life, it would have to be on my terms this time. Think about that. It’s powerful. I took my power back and still let her know that I was willing to be in her life. Manipulation is a tool, and a weapon. I see it wheeled all too often in relationships around me. What is it in a person that makes them think, or feel that you yourself owes them something? In this particular case, I did what I was to do. I raised children with everything I had. All the tools that had been passed on, or learned. I supported any adventures they wanted to pursue, but made clear that their choices, their burdens were not mine to carry. There are some things in life that are just too heavy, and that’s one of them.
If you have someone in your life that challenges your dedication to them. Perhaps questions your decisions you make about your relationship with them. Stop and use those three C’s. (Cause, Cure & Control) Ask yourself how that fits into the situation. I believe in stepping back when someone feels that I’m not giving enough. Relationships, all of them require work from everyone involved. There has to be effort made by all parties in order to find common ground. If one party is unwilling or challenges this, perhaps it’s time to step away. You have permission to do so. Sometimes the focus has to be on yourself. In the end, focusing on yourself will help you to see things in a much clearer way. The weight caused by guilt will be lifted and you’ll find balance.
If you ask me today if I’m alright with how I raised my children, I’d tell you that I’ve loved them with everything I am. That is something that has never changed. Regardless of how things have turned out, I have made all my decisions with love.
Employer vs Employee. We’ll do a deep dive and examine things.
Work. Most of us go to work each day with either a sense of purpose or as a means to an end. What drives you inside? Is it your own desire, or is it because your employer places expectation on you? Do you feel valued at work? All questions that I’m sure we’ve pondered at some point. Let’s look into it through the eyes of Zombie.
I’ll reflect back to my upbringing and tell you that I had a Father who was very motivated. He believed in working as hard as possible each and every day. He would regularly tell me how I needed to act at work, that I should make myself as valuable to the employer as possible, and do as you’re told. My Father hopped around when it came to jobs. I think he was always restless as well, but wasn’t sure how to deal with that. Even though he’d always told me to be very dedicated to my employer, he didn’t seem to live by that mantra. He was easily upset by bosses and didn’t like having someone telling him what to do. He had great skills in the automotive industries, so finding other work seemed to happen fairly easily. He never made a lot, but he had work.
After moving about to different dealerships, he decided that it was time to break out on his own, and opened his own body shop. He had the gift of gab and knew many in the industry. This helped to get his start-up moving and then it started to take off. I’d love to tell you that everything went great from there, but while he was a great body man and mechanic, he was terrible at business. Lacked in the accounting area and it would become his downfall. Once he ended his business, things were tough. We struggled quite a bit as a family. He made do with small jobs that he would do in the garage at home. He had a hard time finding work at an established place because of back taxes that he still owed from the failed business. A couple of places took a chance on him, but it fell short quickly when the state and federal government came around wanting to take his pay and harass the business. These were really rough years in my childhood and I still suffer from events through those years.
The big turn around came when he was hired at Jeep Corporation as a supervisor. They were amazed at his knowledge and he quickly became a favorite around the plant. This was the steadiest employment that I remember him having in his life. He enjoyed what he was doing and felt he’d found his purpose. He still struggled with bosses telling him what to do, but decided to keep his head down and toe the line for the sake of his family.
As I’ve stated in numerous other blogs, I’ve been a study of humans for most of my life. I watched quietly and learned from others. I paid attention to everything my Father was saying about working hard and being valuable. He just wasn’t aware that I’d started doing this as part of the underworld. Hard work and paying attention to details does make you valuable. I’ll stay away from that part for now.
When I started working in the “regular” world. I kept my mouth shut and paid attention, worked my hardest to become as valuable as possible. I started to find that even though I was doing all the right things, it didn’t necessarily translate into good things from my employers. While they enjoyed seeing me arrive every day and working my hardest, the reward that came with it was minuscule. Not all bosses enjoyed someone who was good at their job. Numerous bosses through the years would take notice and look for ways to hold me back, or sabotage me in some fashion out of jealousy or concern that I might be coming for their job. Things just weren’t adding up, why wasn’t I able to break through? I was doing everything that I’d been taught. It just didn’t make sense.
In one of my jobs, I’d worked on a night shift, and had quickly moved through the ranks. I’d moved into a management position and was thinking that I’d finally be making headway to a better life. I dedicated myself and many hours to making the department and the company better. Never stepped away from long hours, or call backs after going home for the night. I just knew that if I kept it up, my value would skyrocket and I’d be noticed. In reality, I was taken advantage of. I’d eventually be moved to another department and given the opportunity to either take a pay cut and stay, or end my career. The company was making “moves” and was in a transition, so they needed everyone to be a “team” player and take whatever they offered. The next department was just hell on earth. The hours were 7 p.m. until 4 a.m. and we never got out on time. I already had issues with sleeping, so the change didn’t do my body, or life any favors. The work was tedious, and the people in the department were pretty terrible. I did my best to suck it up but knew that I wasn’t going anywhere and needed to make a change. I talked with my boss to see if I could get back to the pay level that I’d been at prior and he didn’t even slow down when blurting out “NO!” He then added to it, “you should be grateful that you even have a job, this is the best you’ll ever do in your life.” There you have it, there’s the payoff for years of hard work and service. This is the best I’ll ever do? Once those words rolled out of his mouth, I became determined to find other work, and quickly. It was time for change.
I found work at my current employer quickly. I just needed to wait for paperwork and drug testing to be cleared. Once that happened and the offer was made, I was ready to share the news with my boss. This may be cringe worthy to some people but it was one of the defining moments in my work life. I walked into work that night, did my normal job, which was starting to get picked at because I’d asked for the raise. At the end of my shift I went to the H.R. department and asked if I could be paid out for all of the leave that I’d acquired, if I left tonight? They said absolutely and asked if I’d be leaving then. I told them to get the paperwork ready and I’d be right back. I went into my boss’s office and gave him the news that I was leaving. He kind of snickered and leaned back in his chair. At that point, I threw my badge on his desk and told him to fuck himself! I then added that no one would ever tell me what my value is, or that this is the best I’d ever do. I then told him I was going up to H.R. because they had paperwork waiting for me to sign and he should maybe reconsider the next time he decides to take a shit on someone. That was the best, most confident walk I’ve ever had in my life. I strutted like a peacock on full display for the world to see. I learned then that my value is decided by me, not my employer, not by a boss, but me. I put the world on notice that night and changed within.
I’ve spent many years at my current job. I still believe in working hard and doing my best, but it’s more of a self serving thing. I do it because it’s what I want to do, not because I’m being manipulated by others. I know my value and if someone wants me to do the extra, they need to step up and treat me accordingly. It’s not being cocky or arrogant. It’s knowing that as an employee, you can make or break the place that you work at. You trade your life for a paycheck. That’s reality. We’re paid to give up time, to further the cause of a company. Yes, it provides for our life outside of work, but that’s the trade and it should be done fairly. Understand that I appreciate my job and what’s it’s done for my family, but I’m also aware that I’ve given blood, sweat and tears to further their cause. Fairness, that’s what it comes down to.
As a supervisor/manager now, I hold all of these things sacred and I treat my employees accordingly. I know that they all have value and lives, so I let them know that they’re appreciated. Even when they’re in a position that requires them to stay over, and they don’t want to, but have to. I thank them. It’s a simple gesture, but it means something. It means that I take notice of them, and that I appreciate them. That’s not something that I’ve experienced much in my life. I want my workers to know that I’d never ask them to do something that I wouldn’t be willing to do myself. I’m also willing to stand by their side and do the hard work with them, not above. This is the way it should be done in all companies. This is how I want to feel when I arrive to work, that I matter, that I’m important and what I do there is valued. Big bonuses would be great, but I’d take a “thank you” any day of the week…with sincerity.
It comes down to balance and respect. We know that we all need to work in order to provide, but that doesn’t need to be held over our heads. That’s not how you motivate humans…at least not this human. I’m motivated by people who are willing to get into the trenches with me and do the hard work. I’m motivated by a work force that has empathy for one another, understanding that we are all in this game of life together. Balance. Respect. Think it through. What motivates you at work? What is it that you need to maintain your desire to keep showing up? Is it just for the paycheck, or is there satisfaction gained in what you do?
I’m proud of who I’ve become. I’ve found the balance that I speak of. I’ve kept the many things that my Father has taught me and added a bit of my own flavor to it. While I’m coming closer to the end of my career, I still get up and put in a full days work. I owe my employer that. We’ve agreed to exchange money for time, and for the moment, I’m alright with it.
Thanks for taking the time to read through, and I hope that this gives you something to think on.
These very words run through my head on a regular basis. When I’m thinking about relationships in my life, whether it’s with family, friends, co-workers or my spouse. These people have become part of your world. Some by choice, others are just stuck with you. Navigating someone that struggles with their emotions can be tricky, and I’m sure at times, painful. The best piece of advice that I can give to those around me is to try to remember; “it’s not you, it’s me.”
Relationships throughout my life have been both influential, and cumbersome. Sprinkle in with that moments of happiness and love. I take the development of a relationship seriously. This is mostly because of my inability to trust. Trust, itself is not something that I take lightly, it has to be earned in my world. I don’t just hand it over without taking the time to look you over and through you. It may sound harsh, but it’s a reality that I had to maintain for survival. If you give trust, you’re handing over power to another. That power can then be exploited, and used for harm. Harm that can be both mental and physical. As a survivor, I’ve always been cautious and remain so to this day.
When I talk about trust and relationships, a flurry of emotions start to pulse within my body. I become immediately hardened. When someone wants to enter my “circle of trust”, what is it that they bring to it? “What’s the angle?” I’m sure while you’re reading this you’re thinking, wow, just be friends with someone, it can’t be that hard. I beg to differ. If you struggle with mental illness, if you’ve seen people do and say horrible things, or you’ve witnessed what can happen when the wrong person is let in, you’d get it. We’ll call it damage control, or threat assessment.
Let me tell you about when I first met my wife Karla. We chatted on the computer for awhile before we actually met in person. Even then, I met up with her at a park, somewhere I felt safe, comfortable. In fact, it’s the very same park that I turned my life around in. When I was at my lowest point and had no direction, I went to this park to walk and that turned into some 39 years of running, as well as a purpose to keep going. Karla and I met there for a run and got caught in a rain storm. We finished the run, both soaked from head to toe. It was an amazing moment and I felt something then for her, but I remained guarded. We continued dating for some time and even then, I would sit at a distance from her, in my own home! I was reluctant to get close to her even though she seemed wonderful. We talk and joke some about all of this now, but she can also tell you that it’s not been an easy road with me. We married and started our life together, I was thrilled that I’d met someone that seemed so good, so different from others. A part of my wall stayed in place even then. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Years have gone by and once finally seeking counseling, I was able to sit down and tell Karla everything about my past. Who I was, what I know, what I’ve seen. I was terrified to do this, but with the help of my counselor, I’d gained enough strength to finally truly bring Karla into my “circle of trust.” I’d already played out everything in my head a thousand times. How I’d tell her everything and she’d withdraw and run away. Surprisingly, that never happened. She sat and listened intently to everything. Perhaps even shared tears with me. She never walked away, she didn’t judge, and I was shocked. Her words were “this is not who you are now, you are not that same person and have grown into an amazing man.”
Her words stay with me daily. I need that reinforcement in my brain so that I don’t slide backwards. Because as I stated at the beginning, it’s not you/her, it’s me. Karla was not the one with all of the insecurities, it’s me. She’s not the one that has caused harm to me, those people are gone now. Yet I struggle. The good days far outnumber the bad, but I know now that I can get through the bad days. They won’t keep piling up to become an infinitely high wall.
To tell this now feels right. I want people to know that you can be yourself and maneuver around someone that has been broken, or still remains so. I would only ask that you be patient, don’t judge and actively listen when the person wants to talk. I’m a prime example of someone that usually doesn’t want to talk, although I’ve gotten better. My co-workers can all share stories of what it’s like to be around me when things aren’t right in my world. I close up, stay away and don’t feel the need to talk much at all. This can bring about feelings in them that they’ve done something wrong. That perhaps they weren’t doing some task that has made me angry, or not performed as I would expect them to. When really, it’s just me. It’s just me hanging on at that moment to some kind of sanity. Holding onto the belief that I can feel good again, that my day will improve.
“It’s not you, it’s me” is a powerful message I’m sending to the world. I can care for others, I can love like anyone else, but I have been hurt, and broken. I tell this because if you’re like me and feel at times that you’re sitting on the edge, holding people back, get the help that can make things right again. Please don’t take it out on those around you. It can only become more damaging to everyone involved. Think of it like a child that is a witness to violence or hostility. While some think that some kids are too young to understand these events, it does stay with them. My illness cannot be the cause of someone else’s downfall. I don’t want myself or anyone else that struggles to have to carry the burden of harming. Seek the help and turn the page.
In my closing I want to say that for the first time in my life I’ve been able to say aloud that I struggle with mental illness. Taking ownership of that was important. I’ve come to realize that it’s my health and is no different than getting the flu. There are treatments and there is hope! Getting others to understand that is important to me now. For those that suffer themselves, and for those that love us. Breaking barriers and stigmas, one blog entry at a time.
I don’t think I’ve ever really taken the time to talk about my sister Gini. She was taken from us far too early and it’s something that I’ve struggled to process. An amazing human that spent her entire life in service of helping others. I always felt a bit insecure around her because she possessed intelligence, strength and caring that I didn’t see within myself. She, like my eldest sister Leanna was gifted. They were blessed with a focus at a young age. The desire to become nurses, healers and caregivers was always something they’d planned to do. Gini touched both the people that she worked with and those that she came in contact with at her hospital. She had the “it” factor.
The relationship between us was strained at times, but I never saw her as anything but amazing. I feel at times that I didn’t tell her enough just how special she was. At a younger age we had our petty bickering that any siblings would have, but we always looked out for one another. She took the lead on many occasions and I’d gaze upon her and followed willingly. Almost a mother figure when we were young. She led the way to the local pool during the Summer months. She’d walk with you to the bus stop to get to school. When she became of age to drive, she’d give me a lift. It may not have been her favorite thing since having a little brother in your car certainly wasn’t exciting. She did it anyway and made sure that I was where I needed to be. She’d already started being a caretaker.
I think I’ve shared this before, but it’s so worth going back through again. My fondest memories with my sister Gini came about during a summer of prepping to do a marathon together. I’d completed the Dayton Air Force marathon with my other two sisters a few years prior and Gini decided that it was something she wanted to do. She’d set a goal for herself to accomplish a full 26.2 mile marathon. She came to me at the beginning of a year and said that she wanted to do this and asked that I train her to be able to complete the task. I was overjoyed! The idea of sharing miles with someone that meant so much to me was a must.
We began the training in late Spring/early Summer and decided to get together regularly to build up mileage. Small walks turned into longer walks and conversations flowed. We’d spend hours out on the roads in Oregon and Genoa (her home town). Gazing at homes, talking to animals and just having conversations about life. I feel now as though it was just yesterday which makes me smile, but through tears. I miss her.
The goal was to able to go back to Dayton and do the same marathon that I’d completed with my other sisters. She wanted that because it was something that had been shared with them, so she wanted to make her own memories, just the two of us. There were times during the training that she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to get through it. She picked my brain on all of the things she might experience and how to get through mental road blocks. It felt nice and different to have someone that I’d always looked up to asking me what I thought and how I’d do things. I felt that I owed her that, and then some for all the times I’d called her and picked her brain for medical advice about whatever my latest injury or illness was. Damn she was smart!
The day of the marathon was full of nerves. I kept telling her to just trust the training and we’d be fine. Remember, it’s just another walk. We’d trained up to 20 miles together, so I knew she was ready, I just had to make sure she felt as confident as I was. Once the gun went off, everything fell into place just like all the afternoons we’d shared on the road. We were in our element and the miles clicked off just as I knew they would. The day was almost perfect, not too warm and full of sunshine. A few clouds here and there which were very welcome. Once we reached the 20 mile marker (the Wall as it’s called). I knew that we were in the home stretch to get there and we started sharing the excitement. The last miles went off without a hitch and before you knew it, we crossed that finish line together! It was such a great moment in time. Her excitement for completing the race only built my excitement. I looked her in the eyes and said; “Congrats Sis, you are a marathon finisher.” It was a beautiful moment and it runs through my brain all the time.
My sister had struggles doing walks as time went on. She didn’t understand what was happening but said that she was just too tired to get out and keep walking. We continued to meet up here and there as time passed to do walks together. Eventually, she’d reached the point where she just couldn’t go anymore. She was soon diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. She had some other underlying issues as well, but the fibrosis seemed to be aggressive. Her ability to breathe continued to go downhill. I still remember the day we all sat together and she said that she was on a list for a lung transplant. I didn’t even know what to say or how to process it. She’d always been the strong one and it continued even when she was faced with her own mortality. Her strength never wavered. She was going to tackle this head on and do what she felt was necessary. The transplant was not a cure, it just buys you more time. Time that she was quickly losing due to her illness. She even talked of that in a very clinical fashion and was straight up about it. She said, “If I don’t do this, I’m going to die soon, if I get the lungs, it’ll give me another 5-7 years.” She wanted more time to be with everyone she loved and of course, to continue her work as a caregiver.
I have to say that my sister worked every day until she received the call that lungs had arrived at the Cleveland Clinic, and she needed to get there right away. This is who she was. The person that continued to put others first, even when she was faced with death. The surgery was a success and she had been given a new set of lungs to breathe with. I so wish that I had happy things to say about this whole process, but there were so many complications afterwards. She seemed to struggle at every turn. Family events were missed due to illness or hospital trips. All of which were upsetting to Gini. She wanted the time to spend with her family, and was feeling cheated.
We had get togethers at my home, weekend brunch was usually the set up. Fun foods, coffee and conversations were had. Love was shared and time was cherished. I’d sit there and look at her and wonder where she found the strength to do all of this. We discussed end of life and what we all still wanted to accomplish. She made the conversations easy even though they’re such tough things to be talked about. Still the caregiver, even then. Talking about wanting to go back to work, or in what manner she could be of use.
I have discussions with her still while I’m out walking on the roads. Telling her how I miss her so and asking her at times to give me strength. There’s something that feels very wrong to have lost a sibling, especially at such a young age. Someone that was just special, gifted, and loved. Her love and talents still thrive in her family. Her daughter took up the profession that she’d loved for her entire life, a nurse. Probably Gini’s proudest moment was to see her daughter working at the same hospital as her.
A life spent in service of others. That’s who Virginia (Gini) Feller (Neeley) was. She was a champion of many and loved dearly. I owe it to her to continue to strive for better. To make good in my life. I owe her that. She led me at a young age and always looked out for me. She never expected anything from it, just wanted me to reach my highest potential. For so many years I felt that I was a disappointment to her, and hid. I didn’t want her to feel my failures. Spending a summer together changed much of that. We really got to know one another as adults. I was no longer that failing child. I was her equal, if only for a moment. We shared greatness together and that can never be taken away.
I’d ask that anyone who reads this to please take time to work through any petty grievances. Find common ground that you can share. Tell those close to you that you love them, that they are special to you. Hug more, complain less. I continue to work on my feelings and go through the struggles that have damaged my life. I also celebrate the moments that meant the most to me. The smiles and tears of victory I was able to witness first hand when my sister reached a goal she set out to accomplish. They’re forever etched into my brain. Gini, today and always I will celebrate your life. My sister, my protector and my friend. I’ll meet you at the finish line again one day.
Thank you all for taking the time to share in my journey and celebrate the life of my beautiful sister Gini.
What is it about the dark that calls to me? Why do I feel so alive during the hours when virtually no one is around? While I was out on a morning walk/run, this was running through my head. I feel so at ease, safe and dare I say, happy.
I’ve always been drawn to the darker side of things. In this case, it’s a good thing, or at least it feels like a good thing. I walk along and gaze at shadows, lose myself in the stars that flow across the sky. At times when the moon is full and bright, it brings a new sensation to the darkness. A powerful glow that has an energy of its own. It teases you with a glimpse of what things might look like during the daytime hours but remains shadowed and mysterious.
I get excited when we have clear skies and the hour strikes that I roll out the door. My start of the day is always a bit slow. I don’t wake up quickly. When working on a day shift, I have to be in place by 6:30 a.m. My alarm goes off at 3:00 a.m., and I wander out to the living room to begin my rituals. This usually requires a beverage full of caffeine, a dog or two surrounding me, and perhaps some music in the background. Once I feel ready, I grab my chosen pair of shoes for the day and head for the door.
Once outside, it’s like magic! I come alive inside! I never fear for my safety and love to just wander and take everything in that the dark morning sky has to offer. It’s a strange bond, or relationship that I have with this darkness. We understand one another, something that I don’t often find in humans. I can just be and allow the darkness to swallow me up. It’s almost as if I’m walking through time.
I see nocturnal creatures such as skunks, racoons, and even a coyote at one point. We’re no threat to one another, and we all understand that. We’re sharing the darkness, each in our own way. I guess the best way to describe it is kind of a picture show, or movie. I can see everything, yet I’m just a visitor, a voyeur of life on the dark side of things.
I’ve felt this way for the better part of my life. I still carry the nickname “Zombie” to this day and for good reason. Don’t get me wrong, the sun can be wonderful and all, but the night sky, well it’s kind of special. As a young kid, I’d sneak out sometimes and wander the neighborhood with a friend or two. We’d go through neighborhoods, or ride bikes to another side of town, all under the cover of blackness. Even then I felt an attachment to the darkness. I’d talk about living in a world that was like this all of the time. That usually didn’t go over well with some of the guys, but I knew I was different, even then.
Through unsavory times in my life, I still found solace in the darkness. My world had become dark, both figuratively and literally. During this time, I found that others would use the darkness to their advantage. They didn’t respect it the way I did. I felt as though they were using what the darkness offered and exploiting its power. While I understood what was going on and why, inside I felt shame for not honoring the bond I forged.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.comPhoto by Pixabay on Pexels.comPhoto by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Moving forward, I’ve answered the call of the darkness and as I stated, we have a bond once again. I will never allow anyone on my watch to take advantage of such a wonderful gift. I see the darkness for what it is: quiet, uplifting, mysterious and forever changing. I’ll hold fast everything that it shows me each day, and tell others, so that they too can see what my eyes see. All through the eyes of Zombie.
Where does it all come from and when will the well dry up? That’s a question that I keep asking myself. My brain is ultra busy, and on so many levels. It’s as though there are sections, or departments broken up and each functions to handle different forms of chaos. The work section that handles all of my thoughts, feeling and stresses for anything work related. There’s my relationship section that deals with feelings, emotions, love and hurt that have to do with those that I consider closest to me. Then there’s the part that deals with my yesterdays, my past. This section is super busy at times, then silent. Lately, this area has been hogging a bunch of energy and processing it has been draining. I’ve even gone to having nightmares again. I’m grateful it’s not my reoccurring one, that one signals serious trouble.
I was asked to do a “free writing” session with a time cut off of 4 minutes. Homework if you will. For whatever reason I was hesitant to sit still and do this. I’ve done free writing before in a creative writing class that I took in college. It intrigued me and brought about a surprising start of a story that I wrote during this class. The idea is to take pen to paper, set a timer and just let your hand start to move. Clear the mind and let things flow. The object is to tap into the other side of your brain and bring out what could be sitting there. That’s probably why I was so hesitant to do it. I know that I have damage just below the surface and unsure how I’ll process it when it boils over. The 4 minutes that I did happened today. It brought mostly just random words, no complete sentences. I kept my hand moving and just did lines or squiggled lines until something popped into my head. Just for kicks, I’ll list the words: Don’t, I, Quit, Now, Live, Paper, Go, Bad, Where, Fit, Now, Why, Who, Food, Quick, Deep.
I’ll discuss these words and the writing with my counselor during the next appointment. I don’t know what to make of them. I felt uneasy afterwards and was sweating. I was told to keep the writing at 4 minutes only and not to continue to do it, as it could cause harm. I can understand that statement. It was a “strange” feeling indeed. Whatever is hovering under the surface seems to have many faces, yet they seem related.
So, where does it all come from and will this run out one day? I’ve been on a streak with my writing and it seems as though there’s so much to say. I wrote my last two back to back and still felt as though there was a ton just waiting. Like I’m backlogged and just can’t keep up. I’ll continue to sit at my keyboard and hammer away until the brain says, enough! Right now it’s just saying yes, keep going, we have things to get out, and it needs to get out now! I always write these with no intention of anyone caring or reading. I love to share it and if it touches someone, even better. I’d like to be able to help others. Just know that my first desire is to get it out. Whether it’s on paper or sitting at the computer, things just need to be said.
The other homework assignment was to go back to the house that we spent the most time growing up in. Stand before the house and see what feelings come up. I’ve still not been able to do this yet. Odd really, that I’m scared of the house. Like it’s some kind of evil creature. It’s just a house that we spent a portion of our childhood growing up in. Just writing about it again makes me uneasy. I took a picture and posted it to social media recently with a short story. In order to actually take the picture, I just glanced at my phone and kept walking, caught the photo on an angle. I couldn’t actually stop and look directly at the home. Something about it haunts me, and I hope to clear that out at some point. Find out what is buried, dig it up, and process it. For now, it remains a dark mystery.
I’ve been off for a few days now and kept myself busy with walking, working out, doing house chores and watching the Olympics. I won’t lie, I love watching the Olympics! So many feel good stories. Thinking of how much sacrifice had to be traded in order to reach the level that these athletes get to. The thought of the human body doing such amazing things, constantly improving, breaking records, it’s all just spectacular. I feel happy, and kind of supercharged when I watch. Get’s me thinking of what I might challenge myself to do next. What level of fuckery can I take things to? I still love taking the body right to the edge. I’m actively seeking out another Ultra-marathon. I feel like I left something behind when I didn’t move to attempt the 50 miler. It’s still in my brain, can I do it? Will I break? This has been a good training Summer thus far and that makes me think I can still get it done. Stay tuned on that one, it’s on the radar.
I’ll continue to write because it helps me. I feel better every time I do this, and that’s really what matters. My blog, my way. The world according to Zombie…lol! I’ll check back in once I find my way over to the old house from childhood. I’ll share whatever darkness is waiting and it’ll get processed right here. Is there something that you fear? Is there a place you can’t go past for fear of something unknow, or known? Puzzling really, the things that can bother us our entire life. I’ll leave it here for now, let your brain, and all the departments do their work. Hey, perhaps sit down in front of a computer and blog it all out! Whatever it is you choose to do, I hope it heals you. Until we meet again.
I think we’re pretty much all are aware now that I’m Zombie, yes? That being said, my eyes have seen many things. I may view the world a little differently than most. The more I go to counseling, the more I realize that my view of my life and the world was shall we say, skewed. More darkness than light, more evil than good, and trust was a broken word that held no meaning.
While I do reflect on the past, I try to keep forward momentum. I want to see all that this world has to offer in a more positive light. Take the time to enjoy the sights that so many walk past daily without even noticing. I was one of those people, so I know how easy it is to fall into the trap. Lets take a look if you will.
I’ve been running for some 40 years now. It’s become more of a walking thing than running, more because the body just does better when I walk. In plain English, “shit hurts and shit breaks easier now.” When I’m out on the road the feeling of freedom is abundant. My cares and worries tend to subside. I’m left with just raw emotions. I’ve gone over overpasses and gazed out at a sunset shining down on an open field and just stopped with tear filled eyes. Such a simple thing that is taken for granted. The way the lines from the sun can split clouds and lay gently across the green, lush earth. It’s a work of art!
Then there are the manmade things. Seeing a bridge at dawn. Standing tall and strong with the blue morning sky as a backdrop. Sleek and powerful! Watching the daily commuters hustle over, racing for their lives. Perhaps caught up in their daily grind, thinking of the weekend and what things they want to do, or perhaps a car full of children singing to a song on the radio. I see, hear and feel all of these things.
Wildlife is just everywhere. Birds of so many different origins. Their colors, mannerisms, ways of eating or loving one another. Ground dwelling fuzzy little chunks…lol! They’re always a favorite. Dogs of all varieties that I happen across while on my route. I’ve become fast friends with many and look forward to just seeing any or all of them as I make my way through the miles. I find myself looking for them each time I go on each of my designated routes. If they’re not around, I often wonder if they’re alright. They’re a part of my routine and help to make my day something better. We have a saying on walkabouts. Whenever we see creatures wandering, or looking for food, they’re just “on the hustle, trying to make a living.” Just the same as all of us. Trying to find our way through the world, eat, love, and pray our way into a better life.
I will tell you that I also see great sadness. There are times when I see wandering folks, unsure of who they are, or where they’re going. People sleeping on the street, or in a torn up tent at the side of a bridge. Desperation and fear are also a part of our world. What we see and how we see it are what make us different, unique. Some can pass by things like this and feel nothing. Not even so much as a glance in the direction of this broken person. Others stop and offer food, or a bit of change. Empathy is something that I’ve felt has been lost. If not lost, maybe pushed aside at times. We’ve become numb to the ugliness in the world today. Even if you choose not to see it, trust me, it still resides in all areas, all zip codes.
So, when I walk, these are all things that are happening. I’ve had many ask me “what do you do for all those hours out there?” “Don’t you get bored?” That’s easy, I’m never bored. There is too much going on to ever be bored and it’s never the same. Each time I travel there is something more to discover. While I may be walking the same route that I walked the day before, something is always different. I feel as though I’m meant to feel what I see. I don’t understand why yet, but something in me thinks that if I notice these things, it makes them real. If I write about them, others may know then, and it’s validated. Whether it’s the vision of the city, or the clouds in the sky. These things were meant to be noticed, just like each one of us. We have a purpose and a place in this world. Much like the creatures I spoke of earlier. We’re all on the hustle trying to make a living.
I’d like each of you to take a moment in your day to recognize something or someone that you may not normally do. Really take a look around and feel it. That’s the challenge for today. It’s really not asking for much, just a moment from your busy day. Gaze at that sunrise or sunset that I spoke of. Look at all the birds and fuzzy creatures scurrying about. Let your senses run wild! See things through the eyes of Zombie, if only for a moment.
I never thought of myself as much of a writer. This all came about by chance, and some motivation provided by my cousin Marilyn who had already been doing her own blogging. I fell into the world of blogging by deciding one year to raise money for Mobile Meals of Toledo.
My wife had been a long time volunteer who delivered meals to folks who were in need of regular healthy meals but struggled to get this done on their own. I went along with my wife a few times to assist and quickly understood why she was doing this and that this was an amazing organization! They’re great people working on a very tight budget, trying to make sure the most vulnerable would be fed, regardless of income. This touched my soul as I remember as a child what it felt like to be hungry, and longed for regular home cooked meals. I decided I had to do something. I had to find a way to bring attention to Mobile Meals and assist in getting them more funds to keep doing their great work, but what? What could I do?
Being a long time road runner, I decided to challenge myself to run 30 races in a single year. Why 30? Well, it was to celebrate my 30th year of running. I wanted to take something that had saved me personally and turn it into a year long charity event! All the proceeds, donations from everything that I did would be given directly to Mobile Meals of Toledo. So, we got with the folks at Mobile Meals and I pitched my idea. They were all in! I needed to broaden my social medial footprint and perhaps start a blog. The blogging seemed kind of odd to me and I was never very good at talking about myself. Things needed to change so that I could make this a success.
2015 was the year that I took on this challenge and found myself having one of the best running years of my life! The reason it was so great? Because the running was not all about me. It was for others. I felt all of the people that were in need and it just made me run more, faster, happier! I began to sit in front of the computer and try to describe all the details of my races, how I was feeling, how far I had run, where I had traveled to, everything. Each blog entry seemed to get a little easier. I felt at home at the keyboard. I found that I suddenly enjoyed being a story teller and sharing these details began to inspire others. Some would show up at the races and cheer for me, while others would read my blogs and begin their own fitness journey. Positive strives were beginning to happen on all fronts. This was amazing!
My love for running was just easy for me to talk about. It was my home and my comfort zone. I love to tell people about running in different races, the sights that I’d seen along the way, the people cheering, the sounds and smells. It was just a year that I’ll never forget. I will tell you that I did finish all 30 races that I set out to run that year. Some of my best times ever also came during that stretch. Most importantly, I was able to raise thousands of dollars for Mobile Meals of Toledo and that was the greatest part of it all.
I stayed with the blogging after the that year faded. I began looking for other ways to help groups with my running. After awhile, the body started to be uncooperative and I wasn’t sure that I could keep putting myself through so many races. Interest in charities started to fade out a little as well. So, rather than fade away into obscurity, I chose to just stop for awhile and take a break. The call of my blog would remain this constant voice, beckoning me to sit down and do something again.
I truly love to write now. The subjects nowadays have been both positive/uplifting, and dark. I write about my mental health, and the struggles I’ve encountered throughout my life. I also have more plans to write about my vision or feelings of the world as a whole. Life as seen through the eyes of Zombie. For anyone that’s not aware, I’m Zombie. The name I’ve carried now for many a year. Earned by lack of sleep due to odd working hours, night terrors, reoccurring dreams, and fear of what might happen if I close my eyes. These hazel eyes have seen much and now it’s time to share how they view everything.
The idea of writing a book has crossed my mind and I’ve started throwing some things on here, saved for another day. I write mostly by my mood, what I’m feeling, or just something that catches one of my senses. I can hear something, perhaps Spring time birds, or smell a food. The sound of music is always the closest to my soul and can bring about so much. That’s actually what sat me down here tonight, music.
At this point in my life I feel like I have so much to say and not enough time to say it all. I’m unsure why I feel like this, but I’m driven, and inspired. I pour my feelings out onto this keyboard in hopes that it touches someone, anyone. I write for myself, but also for others. Maybe my feelings of never being heard throughout my life are what make me sit here. I feel as though I actually have an audience that hears me. Feels some of the things that I feel and for a moment, we connect.
Writing has become therapy. It helps to unload some of the heavy weight that I’ve carried for far too long. It seems to smooth out the rough edges, and helps me to breathe. I’ve wondered before why this didn’t come about earlier, why now. I feel that it’s my time now, it’s just that simple. I wasn’t in the right space to open up and put things down on paper, or computer screen. I’d locked so much away that now seems to be shaking loose. I’m compelled to write. Compelled to say the things that just maybe make someone smile, or even cry. I tell my sister often that when I sit here and type my blogs, if I cry at the end, I know it’s good. True story.
Photo by Download a pic Donate a buck! ^ on Pexels.com
I’ll keep writing until I feel that all the dark corners are cleared out. I’ll keep writing until I feel that my heart is full. I will keep writing because I’m compelled to do so. I want you all to share this journey with me. There is oh so much more to come! So, sit back, grab your phone, or get in front of your computer, and get ready to view life through the eyes of Zombie.
The zombie file 