Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
The other night, after we both took back-to back-potty runs at 1 AM, my wife Alison and I settled back in bed. As I expected, she immediately fell asleep to her usual nightmare of annoyances: grunting, snorting, scratching and drooling. As for me, I was wide awake and deep in Read more
I admit it; it’s true. I’m far too sensitive for a grown man. At any given moment, I could easily find myself whimpering, sniffling or flat-out weeping about something emotional. Besides experiencing unexpected emo-break downs, I often self-induce my emotional triggers, just for fun. To get my fix, I fanatically Read more
I have a love-hate relationship with the movies, especially romantic comedies. When I was a teenager, the passion-power of chick flicks captivated me into a deep trance of starry-eyed fantasies. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to realize sappy movies were nothing but a Hollywood-crafted facade. I learned this unfortunate fact Read more
By the world’s standards, I was a good kid: I didn’t smoke, I didn’t drink, I didn’t do drugs, and I didn’t get into trouble with the law. In fact, I was so squeaky-clean I was still a virgin. Without delay, however, I was counseled by church elders and advised I wasn’t a good kid by Jehovah’s Witnesses standards: I had shoulder-length hair, I attended rock concerts, I had worldly girlfriends, and I possessed a questionable record collection that included music by Stevie Nicks and Led Zeppelin.
The raw emotions continue to be painful. I’m still spazzing. I’m still distraught. I’m still frantic and furious. I’m working hard to shed this baggage and the image that has been branded upon me. Meanwhile, I am damaged. Mentally and physically, I am unable to cope on my own. I need support. I need help. I need an advocate.
I finally understand what it means to be a survivor. I must find my footing, pave my way, and mow over the resistance. Even if I’m all alone, I fully intend to fight for my self-worth for as long as it takes.
Decades ago, when I was in elementary school, I did have a few genuine friends. However, the so-called cool kids swiftly kicked us to the bottom of the totem pole and successfully labeled us as faggots to the entire school. When I moved to Florida in 1979, my world did improve. However, because of my grade-school trauma, it wasn’t easy to make real friends. In High School, I was acquainted with dozens of kids from every social group, but I didn’t have the phone number of one friend to rely upon if my car broke down.
It’s not a secret anymore. Women make me nervous. On any given day, it would be easier for me to jump naked into a pit of venomous snakes, freeze my tongue on a streetlight post for an entire winter, or consume a five-course meal of double-edged razor blades than to Read more
Raise your hand. Who’s had a perfect childhood? Who has perfect parents? Who has the perfect family? Unfortunately, most of us experienced a less than perfect childhood. Most of use have a less than perfect family. Most of us have less than perfect parents. After decades of being angry, disappointed, Read more