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A Nation at War

Today is January 25th. The year is 2021.  And I am an enemy of the people.  A “domestic terrorist”.  A “white supremast”.  An “insurgent”.  I am not alone.  There are millions of us.  We are your neighbors, your soldiers, your husbands and wives.  We are your children, your students, your babysitters.  We are your business owners, your politicians, your friends.  We are your fellow Americans.  What’s happening in our country, in my country, is appalling.  And if it doesn’t scare you- it should. 

The media and the current administration will have you believe that it was the “attack” on our Nation’s capital that incited this war.  Yes war.  They blame our 45th President Donald J. Trump for the outrage of millions of Americans.    

“He is a criminal!” They scream.  “He must be stopped!” They cry. 

You trust in the integrity of your elected officials.  They swore under oath.  You base your truth on the words of journalists and reporters.  They expose the truth.  This is America.  A country that thrives on individualism and freedom of expression.  Surely they would never lie.  Surely they would never manipulate us or exploit our empathy for their own gain.  Some of the smartest, bravest people we know believe them.  Surely they would not fall victim to indoctrination and brainwashing.  So we believe them.  Follow blindly like sheep.  Regurgitating the rhetoric spewed from the mouths of evil.  We were lied to.  Don’t feel too bad.  They’ve been herding us for years.  Our parents too.

 It’s easy to say that what happened in Washington D.C. on January 6th was an insurrection.  It’s even easier to claim that the people involved should be treated like domestic terrorists.  One could easily assume that the former President is responsible for “inciting violence”.  The hard part comes in taking a step back and looking at the events that took place prior.  It seems no one ever realizes there’s a problem until shit hits the fan.  By then it’s too late.

Imagine you’re a business owner.  You’re fairly successful.  A dozen employees, a couple of kids, decent credit.  You pay your taxes, don’t cut corners.  Then the coronavirus hits and you have to shut your doors.  It’s just for two weeks.  You tell yourself.  But that two weeks turns into a month.  Then two months.  Your doors are still shut.  Your kids haven’t been to school for months.  It’s now your responsibility to ensure that they are still getting proper education via the internet.  The school provided one laptop.  But you’ve got three kids in grade school.

Finally, you’re told you can re-open.  So long as you do it safely and operate at twenty-five percent capacity.  You’ve been open one day.  You close up, go home and let out a much needed sigh of relief.  But all is not well.  People are rioting on the streets over the death of a criminal who resisted arrest.  You try to get some sleep but end up tossing and turning all night.  After about six hours of this, you decide;  Maybe I’ll just go in early.

Upon your arrival, you are greeted by the local news and a handful of concerned citizens.  There’s glass everywhere.  Your cash register as well as the safe you keep in the back are gone.  The TV as well as the security cameras inside are gone.  They even smashed the gumball machine that your dad gave you so that they could get to the quarters.  Written across the wall with red spray paint are the words “BLACK LIVES MATTER”.  You dumped your entire life savings into that place.  The only hope you have is your insurance.  But here’s the thing.  Insurance doesn’t cover terrorism, riots or war.  At no fault of your own, you have to close your doors permanently.

While the world is locking down to combat a virus with a 99% survival rate, you’re trying to figure out how to put food on the table.  The only comfort you find is in the words of a President who has not forgotten about what you’re going through.  Despite the scrutiny, backlash and blatant disrespect he receives, President Trump continued to fight for you.  When no one seemed to be listening, he stood proudly and told you he heard you.  He issued tax credits, paycheck protection programs, deferred mortgage and credit card payments, and lifted restrictions that would prevent tax paying citizens like you from getting financial relief quickly.  These measures were far from perfect.  Everyone knew that.  But you were able to feed your family.

Fast forward six more months.  You’re still shut down.  Kids are still home.  The coronavirus is still running rampant.  But it’s election day.  You stood in line for nearly two hours at your polling station to cast that vote.  Then you rushed home to watch the count begin.  For the next few hours you watch the poll numbers nervously.  Suddenly, the count stops.  No one seems to have any idea what’s happening.  After what feels like an hour of watching news casters scratch their heads you turn the TV off and go to sleep, confident in the re-election of President Trump.  But that confidence is about to be stripped from you.

It appears that while you were sleeping, President Trump lost his lead.  Hundreds of thousands of ballots were said to have flooded polling stations in the dead of night.  

“Mail-in ballots.” They claim.  

Election results have always been called at 8:00pm, November 3rd.  But it was November 4th and ballots are still being counted.  Some states decided to allow mail-in ballots to be counted for another two days so long as the date was postmarked November 3rd or prior.  It is then announced that the election will not be called until the following week.  Ultimately, Trump loses the election.

You, along with 74million other American citizens, are outraged.  People from all over the country are coming forward with claims of fraud.  Sworn testimonies, videos, statistical analysis, shredded ballots in trash bags, forensic audits, all presented in front of judiciary committees only to be turned away.  Half the country joined together to file a lawsuit against the atrocities that had just taken place during this election.  No one.  Not a single judge had the courage or the consideration to listen to voices of concerned citizens.  You’ve lost everything.  The one thing you still had that no one could take from you was your vote.  It’s the only thing in this country that will always be free.  The only thing that truly matters.

The issue at this point was not whether or not fraud occurred.  Because, it did.  The issue was that half the people who voted were questioning the integrity of their Presidential Election.  Instead of being heard, you were ignored.  Not only were you ignored, you were silenced.  Not only were you silenced, you were called crazy.  Now tell me what happened at the White House was an insurrection committed by domestic terrorists.  

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Love Yourself: But Not Too Much or You’re A Narcissist!

narcissism nahr-suh-siz-em ]

noun

inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.

Psychoanalysis. erotic gratification derived from admiration of one’s own physical or mental attributes, being a normal condition at the infantile level of personality development.

narcissist nahr-suh-sist ]

noun

a person who is overly self-involved, and often vain and selfish.

Psychoanalysis. a person who suffers from narcissism, deriving erotic gratification from admiration of his or her own physical or mental attributes.

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The Black Sheep in a Circle of Wolves

Today is Thanksgiving. A day for families to come together and share joy and memories. And give thanks for all the blessings we receive in life. My cousin has been hosting the Thanksgiving festivities at her house for a while now, going there has become tradition. I couldn’t tell you what its like. I’ve never been invited. So while my family enjoys turkey, ham, stuffing, alcohol and togetherness, I sit here. Alone. In my bedroom. For I am the Black Sheep of the family.

It wasn’t always this way. Growing up I was the baby amongst my cousins and without a doubt the favorite. I never had any brothers or sisters so I guess you could say I was spoiled. On Thanksgiving, (which was always at our house), my mom would make us all write our name on a small piece of paper and fold it up. Then she’d take the pieces, throw them into a hat and make us each pull out one. The name on it would be the person we were supposed to get a Christmas gift for. I guess she did this for everyone else because she always made sure to get a gift for everyone and everyone always got an extra one for me.

As I got older, my interests began to change. I discovered boys and sex. Then after a bad break-up, I discovered drugs- and booze. My parents did everything they could but nothing helped. Before I finished my freshman year in high school, I was a drug addict. And that Christmas, everyone would know it.

Its funny how no one ever acknowledges the person who is aware of the signs. I had been able to fool my parents. But once my family arrived, the cat was out of the bag. My cousin’s husband was the first to say something. A “former” addict and forever alcoholic. I use the term “former” loosely because looking back I realize he was telling the truth about being drug free about as well as I was. Still seeking approval from my family he saw an opportunity to take the spotlight off himself and shine it on someone else. A fifteen year old girl. Swell.

I should probably mention at this point that at this time, I was not the only active drug user in my family. I was just the only one that hadn’t mastered the art of hiding it. How disappointed everyone must’ve been. I bet they talked about it the whole time they were getting loaded in my bedroom. The shame they must of felt when they discovered I was not of the same high moral standards.

Years went by. People pretended to get sober, myself included. Eventually we stopped having Thanksgiving at our house and my cousin took it over. My parents say it got too expensive having both holidays at our house but I’m pretty sure they got tired of being judged as well. After all, it is their fault for not being able to see the signs.

Funny how no one ever mentions the abortion my parents paid for. Not mine of course. But the daughter of one of my perfect family members. Who at the time was fifteen. They never mention the lying, cheating, violence. And why would they? Maybe I just don’t get it. I’ve never stepped on that moral high ground they all walk on. I’ve never been invited.

See my parents, raised me to be loving and tolerant. To use the gift my dad gave me. Which was the ability to read people. To use that as a tool needed only for protection. He showed me how to listen to my instincts. How to use caution when dealing with strangers. But never, NEVER, stick your nose up. He taught me that humility was the only way to ensure that when the tables turn, (and I promise you they will), I have a seat on the right side.

My mother. She is a beautiful person. The epitome of a strong woman. Her unconditional love and loyalty was the only thing that got me through some days. Of course I didn’t realize it until later on in life. When the entire world had given up on me and everyone else in our family had their nose up, she was there. And when I cried to her because I wasn’t invited to my cousins she said:

“That’s ok. We didn’t really want to go.”

True Confessions: Entry One

It happens in an instant.  I wish it came with a warning.  Even if it did, would I heed?  Probably not.  I’d probably just gravitate toward it more.  Scratch that.  Fuck the warning.  I guess if I’m being honest it’s kind of always there.  Sometimes I think it’s a schizophrenic thing.  Other times I think it’s a psychopath thing.  It’s definitely a narcissist thing.  That I can be 100% certain of.  Whatever it is, there’s a shift.  Kind of like a switch I guess.  I don’t know what turns it off and on.  Fuck, I wish had a remote.  Fuck, I wish he had a remote.  Scratch that.  He gets no remote.  He wouldn’t need that mother fucker anyways.  Then again, maybe he would.  Sometimes I think it’s out of his control.  Like there are moments when he tries to warn me.  Moments of realization.  Moments of conviction.  Maybe he does need a remote.  Maybe he is just as afraid as I am.  Maybe he’s powerless.  Fuck that.  He knows.  But does he?  Sometimes I think the guilt of all the fucked up he does has manifested itself into a fucking monster that he has zero control of.  It has consumed him.  The shit that he is capable of.  Is he even aware?  I hope not.  For his sake.  If only I was as lucky.  

The axe forgets but the tree remembers.  Who wrote that?  Fuck.  I think it might be one of the most prolific sentences I’ve ever read.  How do people do that?  Tell an entire story in a single sentence.  Like during Regan’s speech when he was talking about the Cuban immigrant.  What did he say?  Fuck.  I lost my train of thought.  I can’t remember.  Anyways, back to the monster.  Oh shit, the Cuban said “I had somewhere to escape to.” Damn, I wish I had somewhere to escape to.  Lucky mother fucker.  Maybe my mom was right, we’re just fucking cursed.   My poor mother.  Bless her heart for her loyalty.  I am without a doubt cursed.  

Here it comes.  That moment.  Fuck, I need a remote.  Can I order one?  Amazon prime that mother fucker.  What would it even be called?  How would I even search for it?  God the SEO on that mother fucker would be impossible to generate.  No wonder those mother fuckers make so much money.  Target audience:  people searching for a remote to turn off the maybe schizophrenic, perhaps psychotic, but definitely a narcissist, setting on their partner.  God marketing that would be a nightmare.  I bet a lot of people would purchase it though.  Amazon Prime Now that mother fucker for sure.  Need it.  Yesterday.  SOS!!!  

Sometimes I want to feel bad.  The empath in me feels anguish in my heart for what he must be going through internally.  The constant conflict between the decency left within you and the monster trying to consume it.  Ugh…. it would drive anyone mad.  But then I remember that it’s your own guilt that brought you to this point.  Guilt from the lies, manipulation, and all the disrespectful things you’ve done has evolved into a monster that you have no control of.  That’s what you get mother fucker.  Fuck.  I wish I could be heartless like that.  My life would be so much easier.  Maybe I need a remote too.  Could use one of those right now.

How do I search for that?  Oh shit, I probably don’t even need to do any searching.  Amazon’s fucking predictive A.I. bullshit probably already has one saved in my wishlist.  Fucking A.I.  Thanks Besos, Bezos.  I don’t know.  The amazon guy.  And Musk.  Not sure why but I’m sure he’s got something to do with the technology that allows amazon to do their voodoo shit.  

Strange to me that you lied about your “cousin” who isn’t really your cousin, just some bitch related to you through some marriage somewhere, coming over.   You didn’t fuck her right?  Yet the pillow was strategically placed in front of the fan and the blinds were resting on that little ledge.  Why is that important?  Well, according to you it’s important because of the noise they make when you’re fucking.  The wood piece that we always have to fuck with when we’re fucking was also strategically placed on the floor at the foot of the bed.  If i didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fucking her.  For sure.  If not her, who?  Someone for sure.  

Fuck.  He must think I’m a straight moron.  Or maybe he doesn’t think that which is why intimidation is the only option.  Or, he just doesn’t fucking care.  Whatever his thoughts.  Intimidation is the tactic to control mine.  Maybe not my thoughts.  Can’t control those.  Although I bet he wished he could you greedy mother fucker.  My thoughts are the only thing you can’t bully your way out of.  God you’re an asshole.  It’s bad enough you were fucking your “cousin”, but if I even so much as mention you’ll just beat me up until I submit and drop it all together.  Fuck I hate you.  How can you be so fucking cruel?

   Damn.  Reality fucking sucks……  Just making a deposit my ass.  We’ll see how long you’re gone.  I wish you still wanted me.  Someone is fulfilling those needs.  There’s no fucking way you can convince me otherwise.  But you know that.  That’s why intimidation is the only thing that works.  Fuck.  It always works.  You know I’m too afraid to call you out on any of the fucked up shit you’re doing to me so you just keep fucking doing it.  With no conviction.

You truly are a monster.  How you can tell me you love me is beyond me.  No it’s not.  He’s a fucking monster.  That’s how he can be so cruel and tell me he loves me.   That’s how he can let you walk in the rain.  That’s how he can spit on you for calling him out on his bullshit.  That’s how he can lay beside you in the same bed he just fucked someone else in without even changing the sheets.  Fuck.  You don’t even do that anymore.  That’s how little respect you have for me.  You won’t even change the bedding.  You’ll let me fall asleep in the juices of another woman.  Jesus.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  This emotional masochism bullshit has really gotten out of control.

I know better.  I can see all the signs.  I see this shit for what it is and still I fucking stay.  Still I let you force me into thinking I’m the crazy one.  Got me feeling a way for the bullshit you do to me with no remorse.  I call it EVERY FUCKING TIME!!  You know it too.  That’s why you’re only fucking tactic is too bully me into a corner and make sure I’m too afraid to bring it up. 

Some Thoughts On The 1st Amendment

Before I begin, I want to make it very clear that the following content is going to piss some of you off. Consider this my ONLY trigger warning.

Ahhhh. The 1st Amendment. Isn’t is great? It is the foundation of everything this country stands for and one of the only things that keeps us “free”. It’s in the hearts of every single one of us and it’s in the air we breathe. An no one, NO ONE, can ever take it away from us. Under the United States Constitution we are protected, our voices will be heard. Right? Well…..

-Only if it doesn’t offend anyone. And only if it conforms to the demands of “marginalized” groups. Oh! And only if it is politically correct. Shit! I almost forgot- it has to be inclusive.

So what can I say?
-Anything you want as long as you follow the rules.
What rules?
-The rules just stated in the block above.
What if I’m white?
-Oh. You don’t get a voice. Because you’re racist and your thoughts on social issues are always wrong. In fact there are Universities that will teach you how to act right. Find out if your Institution has Whiteness Studies. Then come back and see us.

Since we’re on the topic of white people, how come I don’t get to have ethnicity?
-Because we don’t care. If you’re caucasian in America, you’re just white. And probably a racist. Let’s not forget what those white men did before any of us here now were born. You should be ashamed of yourself.

But doesn’t self-identifying as anything other than American re-establish previously blurred lines?
-Maybe. But you drew them white person. We’re just making sure everyone sees it so they all know what you did over 200 years ago.

What can I do if I disag—
-Shhhhhh. You don’t get that option. And saying the word “American” is politically incorrect!
I’m sorry. What was I supposed to say?
-U.S. Citizen or Resident of the United States. Since we’re on the subject, here’s some other things you shouldn’t say:

  • Homeless
  • Perverted
  • Prostitute
  • Bisexual Prostitute
  • Dishonest
  • Illegal Immigrant
  • Right wing protest
  • Insult
  • Drunk
  • Terrorist
  • Poor
  • Criminal
  • Global warming
  • Housewife
  • Fat
  • Criminal
  • Jungle
  • Tramp
  • Husband
  • Wife
  • ANYTHING with the word “man” in it
  • Christmas
  • Lies
  • Blacksheep
  • Basically, just don’t say anything.

But doesn’t that violate my 1st Amendment right?
-Nope.
Why not?
-Because these words make people sad.

But isn’t the 1st Amendment that gives you the right to protest in the name of change, inclusiveness and equality the same one that gives them the right to say offensive shit?
-NO
Why?
-Because it hurts our feelings when people disagree or say mean things. And BECAUSE WE SAY SO.

I hope all of this sounds as ridiculous to you as it does to me. Being offended by the opinions of others is a luxury many people will never have. If you don’t want to see it, don’t watch. If you don’t want to hear it, don’t listen. There will NEVER be a society where no one is offended by anything EVER. Freedom of speech and expression is a double edged sword. We as a society should respect the opinions of those who disagree, embrace the conflict. Learn from the criticism. Grow. When you bashed the KKK group for their beliefs and pushed comedians off stages in the middle of their performances, you became the bully.

Silence is not the answer. Tolerance, respect and acceptance are. You do not get to demand those things if you are not willing to give them. Unless everyone has a voice, no one has a voice!

Your Lalique

I am the mirror in your bedroom. The one that sits on your foor, leaned up against the wall. When you were little I hung majestically right above your
desk. You weren’t tall enough to see yourself unless you stood on the bed, which you did often. Everyday you climbed on the bed, stood up and would jump until someone made you stop, laughing the entire time.

But as you got older, your use for me changed. Make up and vanity, pimples and panty lines, far more important than silly faces and leg lifts. You decorated me with stickers, and a few pictures of friends. There’s even a phone number written in lip liner with a
heart around it in my upper left corner.

I remember my first crack, that one hurt the most. Dad said he would
take you somewhere and forgot. You were crushed, crying on the bed. He knocked on the door and you told him to go. You were so angry. As he slowly started to open the door you hurled your phone at him. But it never hit him, it hit me. The next one caused far more damage but didn’t hurt nearly as bad. The boy you gave your heart too, threw it in the trash. You ran down the hall and into your room. You slammed that door with all your might and with it I fell too. Cracked all over but still intact, you leaned me back against the wall. With every day that passed it got a little worse. Until one day your refection looked like a kaleidoscope and I was of no use anymore.

What you failed to realize was my value or my worth. I’m made of Lilaque crystal, the finest in the world. But how were you to know that someone spent a
fortune, thousands, about thirty of them? We all look the same hanging from a wall, or covered in make up and stickers. Now I sit, broken, unable to be fixed or replaced.
I am the mirror in your bedroom. I am trust.

Slow Leak

I am the slow leak in your ceiling. The one you chose to ignore. For a while it was manageable, the dripping. You just put a small pot on the floor to catch the water and walk away. After a few days it would fill up and you’d just dump it out and put it back. Eventually you didn’t even have to look up to see where the leak was because the pot had left a perfect circle on the tile in the exact place it needed to be. So clever you are. A natural in adaptation and resourcefulness.

Consumed by your newly found skillset you became unaware and negligent. While you were cutting corners and improving your time management you were forgetting to look up. If you had, even just once, you would have quickly noticed the water stain that was getting bigger above you and the damage that was getting progressively worse. But you didn’t look up. Instead you ignored me and underestimated what I am capable of. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Dumping out the water from the slow leak became part of your routine. Life was as it was and all was normal– until it wasn’t.

The day you realized what you had really done was the day you came home to a caved in ceiling. The smell was horrid, months of ignored mildew, a handful of different colored molds. All your negligence now soaking up the floor at your feet.

I am the slow leak in your ceiling. I am your white lies.

The One That Got Away

It’s been 134 days since I’ve seen him

My story is not unlike many others. A journey down a far too familiar road. Anyone who has walked it knows that every day can become a challenge. One day at a time I suppose– or at least that’s what they keep telling me. It’s been 134 days since I’ve seen him, my world, my all, my one true love. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him or think about him often. Not a day goes by that I don’t remember what it was like. What it was like before I let my one true love go.

Some people will never get to experience this type of love. Which, to be honest, is for the best because in the end, a love like this does more harm than good. Its kind of like scratching a mosquito bite until it bleeds, or popping that same pimple multiple times. I know I should just leave it be but I can’t– its so painfully gratifying. His presence haunts me. I can still smell him. His strong scent is unmistakable, like that of gasoline or sour milk. The pungent aroma hits my nose, like sniffing a line of ground pepper that burns going down my throat. When it’s over I’m left with a foul taste in my mouth for what feels like eternity. I know he’s no good for me and I know he’s disgusting. But still I yearn for him. How quickly I forget these things when I think of him now.

I remember when our love affair started. I had just had my heart broken by a guy I really thought I loved. The pain was unbearable. They’ve always told me that if I love something, let it go. A concept far easier said than done. Nothing more than candy coated bullshit. Those people are probably the same people who never part with anything. Telling someone to let go of that which they love is like telling them to perform open heart surgery, on themselves, standing in front of a mirror, with no anesthetic or anything for the pain. No one in their right mind would ever consider doing something so absurd. But sometimes it becomes absolutely necessary and out of desperation we find ourselves standing there with a marker in one hand and a table of surgical tools at our side. I never understood why people were willing to go through such lengths for love until I experienced it for myself. I put the cold knife up to my chest, pressed it against the dotted line I had drawn on my bare skin only a moment prior and just before I made the first cut– he appeared.

His love was unlike anything I had ever felt. The kind of love that could pull someone from a burning car to save their life. At a time when I was on the verge of giving up, he came to me. His warm embrace would sooth my sadness, ease my pain. An embrace so warm that it could start a fire in a violent blizzard and stay lit in the middle of the ocean. I found such comfort in knowing that even in the darkest of days, he’d be there, shining a light. It was as if nothing else mattered anymore. My world began to revolve around him.

His love was unlike anything I’d ever felt

We went everywhere together. On those rare occasions we didn’t, I knew he’d already be there, waiting for me– all dressed in black. His elegant attire made him damn near impossible to resist. It didn’t matter how many times I had seen him before, I always got a little excited. Especially when he would start to sweat. Despite his horrible smell, nothing made me desire him more than when I looked over at him and a single bead of sweat had begun to slowly drip down his neck– I needed him. I wasn’t the only one. He was the object of many people’s affection, I knew that and It would’ve been foolish to assume otherwise. Normally this would bother me, but given the circumstances, I knew I didn’t have a choice– my need for him far exceeded my need to be the only one. He was no good for me but it was too late. I let things go to far. He had consumed me just as much as I consumed him.

Like many love affairs, our relationship began to grow cold, I began to grow bored. His love was not enough, I needed more. I began exploring other options hoping that one of them would be able to make me feel as he did in the beginning. I yearned for that feeling so bad. I became desperate. It wasn’t long before I began involving his friends into our affairs, but this only made my need stronger. Everyone saw it– everyone but me. He was going to lead me into an untimely demise, him and all his friends. I became powerless. Powerless against the vice like grip he had on me. No longer was able to hide my shame, my defeat, my desperation.

It took him less than one year to tear down what I had spent years building up. I lost everything. At one point I didn’t even know who I was anymore. The aching hole in my heart combined with my guilt, my shame and the embarrassment I felt, had became unbearable. I’d let my entire life slip through the cracks and into my glass. And just like that, it was gone. Gone before it could even melt the ice. How I missed my life before him. I would’ve given anything for it back but I knew it would never be the same. I Just had to accept it, accept the monster I had become. There was no escaping it.

Gone before it could even melt the ice

I had just about given up and then I felt it. That little strand of hope that had been hiding in the back of my mind was now dangling right in front of my face. It tickled my nose as the faint wind pushed it around, much like that of a feather or the loose fur of a long haired cat. It was there only briefly before that same wind blew it away– but it was enough. I suddenly remembered all that I had given up for him. Clouded memories of the things I had walked away from became vividly clear and I realized what I’d done. Tears streamed down my face and crashed onto the ground like a hole in a well built dam. The weight of my sorrow brought me to my knees. It was in this moment that I knew change was possible, or so I thought. I needed him, now more than ever.

As I sat there wallowing in the misery of my life, I began to realize that it wasn’t that he made me feel good, it was that he made me numb– and that was just as gratifying. Everything inside of me was mangled and torn to pieces. Whatever was left in tact needed to be preserved and protected if I were to survive. So once again I built my wall, this one stronger than the last. That wall had been torn down so many times that it was hard to tell it’s pieces from the pieces of my broken heart. The only fragments that were the slightest bit recognizable were the tiny pieces of my mind. Like shards of shattered glass, they glistened. Even the dimmest of light would bounce off of them and reflect against the darkness that was my soul. I couldn’t afford to lose anymore of myself and if I was going to avoid anymore sadness I would have to give up joy. Numb was the only option.

Despite everything I continued to see him, sometimes his friends too. It felt different, I felt different– I felt. All the numbness he had coated me with no longer worked. Panic and anxiety rushed over me. Suddenly I felt like the ninth inning batter, full count and a tied score. There was nothing anyone or anything could do to help me through this, it was all riding on me. The only way I was going to win was if I knocked the ball out of the park. If I didn’t I’d lose the game. My entire team was counting on me, depending on me to lead them to victory. I couldn’t live with myself if I let them down– again. The only option I had was to pick up my bat and swing.

Life gives us very few true “fight or flight” moments. What we chose will define the next chapter in our life. I knew that if I didn’t take that swing I would regret forever. My heart began pounding and my hands started to sweat. I couldn’t help but worry that the bat was going to slip from my hands after I swung. All I could hope for was that no one got hurt. Even if I struck out, I knew that they would see my efforts and I found comfort in that. So I took a deep breath, mounted the plate and lifted my bat. Once again I felt it, that little strand of hope. Only this time it wasn’t so little, and with it were strands of confidence and a fixed determination to succeed. I watched the ball as it flew towards me at blazing speed and without hesitation I swung – crack! The bat cracked and the ball flew, far. Victory had become mine.

Everything changed that day. No longer would I be controlled by the man all dressed in black– he was going to have to find another victim. Shouldn’t be hard for him, after all, he is Jack Daniels. People everywhere line up for the opportunity to be in his presence; he won’t even notice that I’m gone.

He is Jack Daniels
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