Showing posts from November, 2017

Begin with a job well done.

This is audio of me reading the story. The speech is at the end.
"Begin with a job well done" is a belief of mine which developed after my addiction to drugs and a couple near death experiences. These experiences were real to me. I wasn't on a table and flat lined. No, not that type. Panic attacks. It's incredibly crazy to me how magnificently magical our minds materialize reality so real, so realistic to the observer inside our body. 
The time of peace
 "3:16 again! Why do I keep noticing this! It's like every time I look at the clock there it is! Obviously it is scripture reference." I would notice this every day. Why did I just happen to look at the time then? Why not at 3:15 or 3:17. Why on the treadmill did I always notice the 3:16 mark as I ran passed it? It seemed like I would see the number multiple times daily?!  "9:11. This too? What's the emergency? Do I need to go to church now? Am I going to die soon so I better reconcile my self with…

Broken femur, Tramdol and a notebook

You know it’s crazy looking back through the looking glass of our lives. Journaling has enabled me to write down how far my mind has been bent during these peak times of stress in my life. One fateful March afternoon destiny struck suddenly like the sound of thunder. Nope, that sound was my femur snapping. That wet March afternoon I fell off Mount Pleasant and my life was catapulted again into a new yet familiar fantasy of pharmaceutical dependency. It was now time to put rehab and my training traumatically to the test. Thankfully the seriousness that I studied shined through, and despite the debilitating effects of temporary handicappedness and cloudy consciousness I came out on top! I have no qualms with sharing these past thoughts of over three years ago. This journal entry really illuminates the struggle I have had with depression, racing thoughts and yes, shame. Enjoy. "I think I am losing my mind sometimes. I’ve become so detached from everything that nothing is real. It’s r…

It's my fault she was addicted at birth.

Coming out of the destruction of addiction the shames we try to dilute are still accumulated and left over after evaporation. I have a couple HUGE ones. One is my overdose with my son in the car. The other, well...

I looked at her helplessly, through the glass in the hallway at the ICU.  I watched the innocence of my daughter being shook by tremendous tremors, and IVs of methadone dripping into her as an effort to control the symptoms. Tubes were going into her throat to help her breathe, and a heat lamp radiating above her to keep her warm. I wanted to leave.

Carbonated emotions bubbled up from the gut of my stomach. Anger at first; "She lied to me. She said she was clean." As I stood there with my head hanging low in the vault of madness as I thought, "Well you weren't out of jail to guide her, it's your fault." The anger dissolved into sadness and the sadness to shame. Our addiction, lack of discipline, selfish…

The robotic frog was real.

It's a bit wondersome when we gaze back into the reflection of our former lives to re-live these memorable moments. Truly in doing so we often can see the Director hard at work. For instance, it wasn't until after I recalled these adventures was I able to see the crossroads which literally, and figuratively were laid before me. Here is the continuing of my memory, which I started last week.


As I sat there on the railroad tie at the crossroads of the alley I was in, the dialogue in my brain was trying to figure out the material world before me. I stood up and walked toward the gate thinking,
"Even if this is true what are you going to do? Knock on the door? Are you going to just walk in there? What if you’re wrong and you’re breaking into the neighbors house of the person that is giving you a place to stay?" 
This motivated me back to the…