Category: Ambition of the Heart – Chapters

Here we are! I’m gonna try and refrain from writing like I’m some inspirational twenty-something now because, daggum, I did that way too much there. But hey! It’s present day Hank now, a lot has happened since writing that back in July 2020 and there’s much towards the end that I left out because I hadn’t fully processed yet.

When I sat down with pen and paper to write everything, I didn’t know how long It’d take or if I’d even finish. For weeks, I’d been drinking myself to sleep every night not knowing what to do about this confusion and anxiety in my life. A week of writing and 160 notebook pages later, I found that writing helped make sense of who I was and the guy I’d spent so much energy trying to hide. Having the pages in front of me showed how up and down my feelings actually were and helped further a process of reflection and healing. I spent a few days after writing everything to contact some of the friends and others in those stories, who I felt I’d done wrong or had been unkind to during those times, to apologize.

What I did hide though, is that during that time in July of 2020, my walk in Christ took a step backward. I was unsure of God. COVID had stopped my Church attendance and I made no effort to return once services started opening back up around that same time. Part of me wanted to know, I wanted some kind of affirmation that what I had spent so much time believing in was true, but I also wanted to know if I was missing out on anything in doing so. Curiosity will surely be my downfall and, in this instance, was the fuel for why I chose to stop going to Church in the first place. At no point had I stopped believing in God, I knew he was there, but I wanted to know if there was anything I could do in place of him. 

I lived the rest of that year in Columbia, Josiah had moved out the week before COVID began and I’d returned in late March from Brevard. I lived alone in that duplex until I moved out that December. I would write about stuff that happened during those last months but there’s not much to be said, it was a lot of video games and some work with the car company. A few months before moving out, a friend of mine I knew from my time at Carolina Point reached out, he and I decided to move into a place in Asheville that December.

We moved into our apartment December 10, 2020. We lived on the third floor of a complex in Arden, about an hour from my parents in Brevard. I had a little contract job lined up with an aftermarket car company near there but a few days after move in, the owner decided to back out. Luckily, I had a fair chunk of cash from some recent jobs that would be more than enough to hold me over through 2021. My move to Asheville was a little strange, I didn’t feel like I’d fully gone into my post-grad life yet, partly from not having a real graduation due to COVID but also from a weird feeling that something still wasn’t right in my life. I wanted things to make sense, I wanted some kind of assurance that what I’d done moving there was the right decision, but at the time none was found. 

New years 2021 was a few days away, my new years resolution went alongside that curiosity about God. I wanted to know if I was missing out on anything, if there was anything I could do to make myself happy on my own. So I decided I’d spend the length of my lease, 8 months, doing whatever I wanted. My ambitions weren’t high, I wanted to use my time the way I wanted. I’d spent the last four years in school, work and Young Life, so I wanted to take my time and use it in whatever way I saw fit. In January 2021 I decided to build a PC, Call of Duty: Cold War had come out a few months prior and I wanted to up my gaming setup so I spent a few thousand to build my own PC. I’d made friends with some competitive players and a few Twitch streamers just before that, so I spent a lot of time online with them playing in tournaments on their streams. I averaged around twelve to fourteen hours of play-time a day with them and I enjoyed it a lot.

January passed and the more time I spent online, the more I got to know those guys, a few from different countries and a few of them were my age and a little younger. This went on for a few months, all I wanted was to stay home in my space. Clay and I spent little time together but we were still good friends and roommates to one another, we never really had any bad moments. We were both going through different things at the beginning of our living there but we still understood one another, I liked living with Clay. We’d wake up Sunday mornings to watch Formula 1 and would have roommate time playing Call of Duty together and smoking Marlboro Reds on the bed of my red truck.

February continued, still spending just as much time on video games, but the fun in it had died and my competitive side had taken over. I was playing with and against people who did this for a living and my desire to keep up faded pretty quickly when it came to that. But gaming was all I really knew here? I didn’t know what else I could do to be happy at the time so I talked to a few girls instead. Never really anything serious, but the idea that I was desirable became paramount. I would hit up a few different girls during this time but nothing ever came of it since I was afraid to really leave my apartment for anything. More often than not I’d spend a few days at a time inside, door dashing most of my meals and only going out to grocery shop. Depression set in by the end of February, this was nothing new to me and I kinda just chalked it up to my current situation, though I did nothing to change it.

March began and I had moved my PC out of my room into our living room where there was an empty space near the windows. I didn’t want to play games, they made me feel frustrated and angry. I never felt good after turning the PC off either, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’d drive to Mom and Dads house every once in a while too, though I feared that because I knew Dad would just want to talk about job stuff. I didn’t know what my next steps were so I had no desire to really interact with anyone during that time. After a week or so of not turning the PC on, the longest time in about two years not playing games, Josh, John and Wes coaxed me into getting on for a few games. I had a lot I wanted to talk about so I obliged. It was fun with them! I had been joking for a while about moving to Tampa since that’s where they lived and, to me, they were some of my best friends. John called my bluff so I planned a trip there in April.

The anticipation for the trip to Tampa ate through me once April started, I had been in the area for Spring Break ’97 and knew I loved it down there. And in the back of my mind I knew I wanted to end up there, so I started looking for jobs. I got the contact for a few different places and had an interview lined up during my trip. When the time came, I road-tripped down, picking Dan up on the way. We stayed at John’s that weekend, and from the moment I was there, something felt right. Maybe it was the feeling of being away or the feeling of seeing Bayshore Boulevard for the first time, I’m not sure, but I knew I wanted to move there as soon as possible. I interviewed with some car people but really had no desire to work in media anymore, I only set up the interview because I knew I’d need a job once I moved, and media was what I could make money with. That weekend was a fun one with the boys, meeting their friends, going around town and even talking with Josh about potentially moving in together in June. 

The drive back to Asheville is where the brainstorming started. I had been suppressing a lot of my uncertainties over the last few months while living on my own time and desires, so the idea of moving to Tampa seemed like a good option if I wanted to try and run away from all that. A few weeks later I lined up another job interview in Tampa after having a phone interview with a real estate agent who was looking for a media guy, I flew down and was offered the job shortly after I got back to Asheville. I felt excited but the uncertainty was still there. Was I really about to move again after only 6 months of living in Asheville? I hadn’t solved any of my problems, nor had I discovered anything through my “living on my time” lifestyle that had only caused me to gain weight and grow a hatred of video games. But hey! Bottle it all up and one day you’ll die, right? 

Clay was sad to see me go and I was sad to have not spent more time with him, I had turned down a lot of his offers to hang out outside our apartment because I truly feared leaving my space while I lived there, I feared the uncertainty more than anything. But the move to Tampa was an exception. I headed down to Tampa at the beginning of June with my truck packed to the ceiling with my stuff. Josh and I had found a place in South Tampa at a new apartment complex and we moved in on June 10, 2021. The day after, I had my first day on the new job. A job is an overstatement because the guy who’d hired me had no real clue what he was wanting to do, he just knew he wanted content. We interviewed someone about a fancy condo complex that was still under construction, not too far from where my apartment was, and I hated it. I had lost the desire to work with cameras and in media before I even moved to Asheville.

I had this desire to work with my hands but felt like as if there was no other profession I could go into at that point. A few days later we had a meeting about plans for content and ideas and there were no true goals in sight. My gut feeling was telling me to get the hell out of it, so I did. I told the guy who hired me that I wasn’t going to work for him just four days after starting. 

Mom and Dad weren’t too thrilled on this decision but they were supportive, with the exception that I’d find a job, any job, as soon as possible. I spent a few days looking for anything and was about to take a job as a package handler with UPS, but just before responding to the acceptance email, I decided to go on a drive to decompress and talk to God for a little while. I pulled out of my complex knowing good and well that God and I hadn’t been on good terms for over a year now. I prayed a frustrated prayer just asking God for some kind of sign, and before I even made it to the end of my road, I looked to see a little “Mechanic Wanted” sign on a fence with a phone number attached. I turned around pretty quickly and headed back to my apartment to look up who the company was. It was a little industrial air compressor and Honda generator shop and, from what I could tell, was a better option than working for UPS. So the next day I threw on my job interview clothes to walk in and ask for a job. Conveniently, this company that had been started back in the 80’s had just been sold to a larger corporate air compressor company, so one of the corporate owners was there to meet me. I got his number and an application to fill out that I brought back the same day. A few days later I was asked back for a formal interview with another one of the corporate owners. An older guy who was easy to talk to, he said he respected my coming in face-to-face to ask for an application considering the fact I had no prior experience in the field other than my schooling in Mechatronics. The interview couldn’t have gone better and he offered me a grunt job in the shop, I accepted it immediately. I took to social media to give a little life update and to tell family about my job decision and this is what I wrote… 

Well, after a few weeks in Tampa, I left the job that I came for!

A lot of y’all have been asking so I’ve a little explaining to do & figured this would be the easiest way.

I’ve been unhappy for the last few years with my work in general, it’s a negativity that’s bled into my daily life and has effected my work ethic, relationships and health. I figured moving to a new place and working with new people as I continued doing media work would rekindle my liking for the profession. However, after my brief stay in Asheville, I still had a restlessness about my choice of work, so I took a job in Tampa hoping that’d be the spark. 

Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.

I’ve always loved to work with my hands and fixing things, no matter what it was I always enjoyed it, even if some of it was working with mom & dad on their projects! But don’t tell them that because they’ll want me to come home and do more. Either way, it’s what always made sense to me. That sense of accomplishment when something is done right and the satisfaction of helping someone in the process is why I loved working with my hands in the first place. Yeah I had my own little projects in between but I was far more excited when someone called and needed a handyman or just a tip on how to do something. 

So last week I chose to end on good terms the job I originally came to Tampa for, knowing I wanted to work with my hands instead. 

Coincidentally, just down the street from my new apartment, there’s a sign on the side of an industrial air compressor and Honda generator shop with “Mech. Wanted” written on it. So I threw on my job interview clothes, walked in and asked for an application. They were all incredibly kind and were very understanding when I explained the position I was in. Thankfully, after turning in my application, they had me back for an interview. And to my surprise, they offered me a job. 

I couldn’t have said yes fast enough. 

It may not be the flashiest or coolest of jobs but it’s somewhere I can learn, grow, work hard, and use my hands. It’s an opportunity I’m grateful to have and I truly believe I’ll be happier down this path. Lord knows what’ll happen though, guess we’ll just have to wait and find out. 

And as Dad likes to quote, I want to “Pursue meaning, not happiness.”

Love y’all and I hope you have a great day.

p.s. if you read this far and still have questions please feel free to call.

Definitely not my best writing, but it did the job communicating to my friends and family. My parents were elated when I told them I’d been offered the job and Dad was hopeful that it’d be a good fit for me. I was just glad I’d have some consistency now. Dad was right though! The job couldn’t have been a better fit. The days were hot and sweaty and my body ached at the end of every day, but being in that space made me happy. I didn’t know much about what I was doing but was learning a lot as I swept the floors and moved heavy things around. First I learned the Honda engines, then some about the air compressors, and during that I made friends with the other employees there. The respect I have for my boss hiring me is beyond what I can write here and the patience he’s had is beyond mine. But this job brought some consistency in my life that was much needed. 

It wasn’t long after the new job where I started making friends with new people, Josh had introduced me to a lot of people in the first few weeks and I struggled to remember all their names. They were so much fun to be around and the excitement of getting to know them overshadowed the other uncertainties I had brought with me to Tampa. Josh invited me to church with him pretty soon too, I dodged the invite the first few weeks. I went back to NC to get my old red truck, but agreed to go with him eventually. I was scared to go back to Church since I hadn’t been since the beginning of 2020. I didn’t want to confront God and felt unworthy to go back, but I went anyway.

Going back was much easier than anticipated and knew after that week I wanted to find a church that fit well. Josh recommended another Church that some other friends went to called South Tampa Fellowship and gave me the number of one of my new friends who went there. I texted her about going and met her and her roommate there the following Sunday. We sat in the balcony where there weren’t a lot of people. My feelings towards church were still back and fourth, but everything here felt like home. It wasn’t long into the service when two parents and their little boy sat in front of us. A cute little kid with all the energy in the world, he was jumping around and dancing during the worship as his parents danced and laughed along too. They didn’t act like the other parents I’d seen in church, those that reprimanded their kids for being kids. Instead, they shared in his joy right in front of us, disruptive or not. I teared up when I saw the joy the kids Dad had on his face, it felt like home in this church. It’s funny to think my uncertainty of returning to Church was turned on its head by a little kid of all things, the simplicity of his joy and the love his parents shared by his side was evidence of a love that I’d turned away from. I wanted to be here, I wanted to love God and felt like I was home. I hope one day I can tell the parents. 

After church Melissa and her roommate Mikaela, the two friends I’d gone with, asked if I wanted to go to the beach with them. I offered to drive the truck and they were all for it. We spent the afternoon on the beach hanging out and getting to know one another and we quickly became friends. I felt welcomed by them and was glad to be around. Mikaela was a nurse so her hours were a little weird, so Mel and I hung out a little more. It didn’t take long for the others in our friend group to question wether or not something was going on between Mel and I based off the amount of time we were spending together. We liked hanging out with each other but there were no feelings. Though we did go on a date, we quickly said that we just wanted to be friends. Those first few weeks after returning to Church were perfect.

August was almost in the books when my anxiety came back. It came out of nowhere and was stronger than I remembered at previous times. It really pissed me off because everything seemed to be going right. It came from nowhere and didn’t go away after a few days as it usually did. Depressive thoughts and feelings began to stem from it and the ensuing anxiety had me angry and confused as to why the thoughts and feelings were there. I was adamant about not allowing those thoughts in, so I did the only thing I knew to ignore it, drank.

I drank a bottle and a half of wine before the first sword fight of Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl started. I mean I was DRUNK, but the anxiety went away with this. When the movie ended the second bottle was empty. The sudden silence in the living room prompted me to start talking.

When I used to drink myself to sleep back in Columbia, I would usually drunk talk to God or to myself about my problems, adopting a kind of alternate personality who would speak from a drunk perspective, I did the same here. I made a voice memo when I did it, but didn’t find it until months later, I’m going to give it to you here.

After a few hours passed out on the couch, Josh had come home and brought me some Chick-fil-a after finding me blacked out with two empty wine bottles and Mary Poppins playing on the TV. He didn’t know what was going on but I vaguely remember telling him I was all good. The next morning was Sunday and I woke up completely fine. I had no recollection of making that recording and got up to go to church. After church we kept to our regular beach on Sundays routine and hopped in the truck, it was August 22, 2021. Everything was perfect this day. The anxiety was still there, but something about it was peaceful. Maybe it was the words of drunk Hank speaking into my heart, but whatever it was, I felt peace in this little mess. I wrote the date on the ceiling of the truck, next to the names of my friends who’d also signed up there. 

The following weeks went off without a hitch while I met and made new friends with people in my Church small group. I knew I wanted a good community and wouldn’t let it slip by while I waited for someone else to act on it. So for a few weeks I hit up some guys in the group to hang out and go to lunch a few weekends in a row to try and get to know them. I had nothing to hide in these times and was sure to make that clear. A few of these guys and I quickly became close. My personality started to change a lot over those few months and I began to find joy in hanging out with my new friends, becoming extroverted to an extent. Telling stories and being a little louder than I should’ve, I had a small feeling that this personality wouldn’t last and that, eventually, my anti-social self would return. I even told people in my small group that this version of Hank was a once in a blue moon kind of Hank and that I’d crawl back into my shell after a few weeks. 

When October rolled around, this Hank was still there. With each passing week I waited for my heart to change back but it didn’t. One night in particular, I grabbed my keys and hopped in the truck to go out for a drive, the only real place I can think unobstructed. The thought and question of wondering where this happiness was coming from prompted me to have a little heart to heart with God. As I drove I turned the music up and talked aloud so other drivers wouldn’t notice too much what I was doing. I started talking, the talking turned to singing along with the radio and the singing turned to uncontrollable laughter. I drove down Bayshore, the sun had gone down, and every laugh grew my smile bigger and tears with each. Joyful tears had come from the realization that I’d been given a gift of love that I didn’t deserve, I didn’t understand it, though it filled me anyways. This confused yet thankful prayer turned to a belly laughing, tear-filled joy. It felt like God’s way of saying, “You’re gonna be ok kid.” There was love in my heart, love with no explanation. It was a gift, one I’m certainly undeserving of, but a gift nonetheless.

Mine and Gods relationship had changed to this point and felt more natural than it had ever been, not this authoritarian figure who I wanted to be good for, but a father. A heartfelt relationship filled with mercy, teaching me to love in ways I’m still trying to navigate and doubt I’ll ever truly understand. A few days after collecting my thoughts I wrote about it, here it is…

10-23-2021

Processing Love 

Growing up around my middle school/high school years, I had one pretty consistent prayer that preceded most others. 

“God I just want one good friend.” 

I probably prayed that hundreds, maybe thousands of times before it kinda just faded away. It was a prayer that has been repeatedly answered throughout my life and continues to be fulfilled, but every once in a while I find myself saying that little prayer. I don’t do it because I don’t have good friends, that of which I’m certain I have an abundance of. I think I pray it in hopes that I’ll be able to find out why God answered the prayer in the first place. 

Now I don’t intend to write this in hopes of receiving affirmation or response, nor is this an attempt to draw sympathy as there’s no cause to bring it. This is simply me processing and shouting praise to a mercy that I don’t deserve but have been given nonetheless. 

About halfway through college I started having doubts regarding my own self-worth and ability to care for others. By this point I’d been battling internally with some mental health issues that had consistently been pushed under the rug and seldom talked about with anyone close to me, so as you’d imagine, both of these factors fed off one another fairly well. One of the biggest problems that came up was me questioning how I could be loved. There came an absence of joy when these ideas started in. It made no sense! The idea of love, that is. This vacancy in my heart had crept in and made me question my own believing life. 

“Am I doing enough?” I thought. 

I figured I felt this way because I hadn’t put in enough effort into loving others and reciprocating the love God had shown in my life. But throwing myself into work, pursuing relationships and ministry only seemed to widen the hole that had crept its way into my heart. 

“I guess I’m just broken.” 

We’d passed the point of reminiscing on better days and accepted this as the new normal, I could tell that my friends didn’t want this version of Hank around and rightfully so. I carried a bitterness around that only others could taste, followed by a self-righteous anger that fed off the negativity I felt towards the people I wanted to love me the most. 

“Why don’t they want me around?” 

Eventually I started to disassociate completely, the new normal had set in and the belief that I was unworthy of love had made itself known. Not only did it make itself known, it shouted it from the crown of my head deep into my chest. Emotionally, I felt like a failure and became so confused as to why I didn’t care anymore. I wanted nothing more than to care for and about others, but all I could muster was a helping hand and a smile. 

“I don’t have feelings!” I told myself and others jokingly 

After college, all I wanted to do was stay home, in my safe space, behind my screens. There, I felt like I had purpose and others who cared about me, up until the moment the screens turned off. I didn’t want to leave the apartment, I was afraid of facing the world. I didn’t want to be seen and I most certainly did not want to be heard, there seemed nothing good to tell. But I still wanted nothing more than to love and to be loved. 

“Keep running from the problem.” I said, moving to Tampa. 

It didn’t take long for it to catch up. A new place, job and friends who are one in a million and those feelings caught up so quickly. 

“God whats happening?” 

I sat scrambled for a few days because I couldn’t help but question my worthiness to be loved in any capacity. How could God love me? I don’t even love me? That was it! My own capacity to love and to be loved had been shrouded by this feeling in my heart that I was undeserving of love. An idea that had rooted itself in my own self hatred and quite frankly, an animosity towards what I felt had been a subpar life when it came to caring for others. The roots of these feelings had been watered by my own mistakes over the years that I held as my reasoning behind why I felt those ways. But the true issue had made itself known as being these lies ridden across my subconscious. 

I’ve been surrounded by love, love abounding in ways I could never explain here and hope I can try to show next time I see you. I’m learning to love more and more as the days go on, but boy has God shown me how. It’s impossible to explain without knowing mercy. Mercy to forgive, mercy to love myself again, mercy I’m shown after running away, mercy for all the things I wish I could do-over. But most importantly, mercy knowing that I am forgiven of all I’ve ever done, do or will do. 

So here’s to living in Love, a good friend, and our merciful God. 

The following months, filled with excitement for this new Hank, flew by. Before I knew it, I was headed home for Christmas and back again for New Years with my friends. A new personality had sprouted over these months since moving to Tampa, as the fear of losing it had all but disappeared whilst 2022 rang in with the same joy. 

It’s June 28th now, my 24th birthday. That same joy and love is being built upon with every passing day. I wish I could tell you how it happened but I don’t know how. You’d think after 37,000 words I’d be able to come to some kind of conclusion, but boy I just can’t. It’s hard to communicate feelings, words are easy but no matter how many times I repeat them, I can’t explain this feeling of joy. It’s not some rollercoaster high of emotions, that I’m sure of, but it’s been sitting quietly in the pit of my chest. The love takes me as the time goes, I love to be around people. Something I never thought I’d be again was an extrovert, but hey here we are, can’t complain. But whatever it may be, I know the Lord is at the center of it. And no matter where the feelings may go, I trust Him with it all.

I wish I could give you a good one liner to end on but it seems kinda wrong for me to end now, considering my life feels like its only just begun. So I guess all I can say is thanks!

Thanks for reading and thanks for caring!

I love you,

Hank

Theres things that I know many of us have carried subconsciously since our childhood. Big ones that would for sure bring back memories for me is the intro to Disneys “That’s So Raven” or the classic movie intros and trailers from the early-mid 2000s. But I imagine we all have our own that are more specific. Mine was always the sound the TV made when it turned on. That high pitched dog whistle kind of sound, and the static crackles when it turned off. Whichever it was, it always brought excitement.

I say that because some of my more vivid memories from the first house I lived in as a kid tended to be around that sound. Saturday morning Power Rangers and cartoons, the 30 minutes a day on my NES with Super-Mario Bros, and my sneaking at night to the part of the stairs to see the TV after my bedtime, where I’d spy on my parents while they watched movies like Casino Royale. Anything that had a screen, I remember pretty well. Even when my dad tried explaining stocks to me on Moms closet Mac computer where I was really only interested in buying shares in Wal-Mart and Toys R’ Us because I thought that meant I’d be able to get free toys.

In 2007 Mom and Dad built a new house only a mile or so away and we moved there when it was finished. The house was tucked away all by itself in a regular sized neighborhood. We had a long curvy driveway with trees surrounding the property that provided plenty of privacy on the 3 acres we lived on. There was a creek that ran through the property and tunneled underneath the driveway at the mid-point. As a kid I’d always love to run down there to try and catch frogs and lizards but never succeeded too much. The house though, it was much bigger than the first. With a big front porch, yard and lots of windows, I felt like I was moving into a mansion.

Inside, there was a big kitchen that had marble countertops all around with a marble topped island. The sink had a direct view into the front yard and driveway, where Mom would sometimes knock on the windows when she wanted us in or saw something she didn’t like us doing. The kitchen was a large open room that also had a dining table and living space on the other side. Mom also kept her Mac computer at her new desk that sat to the left of the side door to the porch. Walking out of the kitchen you could’ve taken four routes. One was the door to the garage where we kept our cars in the first two bays and dad kept his lawn equipment, tools and bikes cluttered in the third bay. The second was just to the left of that garage door, a glass window door leading to the backyard and patio that was built a few years after we moved in. The third was on the other side of the room, a hallway leading one way to my parents room and another leading to the TV room. Then the fourth was a big doorway to the dining room and into the foyer. Walking upstairs, 23 steps (I think) – 13 straight, then 10 to the right. There were three bedrooms upstairs. At the end of the hall was my sisters room, then mine in the middle then the guest bed which doubled as dads office. My room was the biggest of the three.

As a kid it was great having such a big space to be in. I had so much room for my Lego sets, Nerf guns and lightsabers. What more could a kid want. That year I was starting 4th grade and was getting along pretty well as far as I can remember. The only downside was my teacher. She often yelled at me for doing normal things. I remember her even throwing expo markers and stuff at me for daydreaming. I don’t remember it bothering me though. I figured it was my fault and was normal. But about halfway through the year, Mom and Dad decided to pull me out of school and homeschool me. At the time I wasn’t sure why but I just went with it. Homeschool was boring and I always got dragged along with Mom grocery shopping or to Hobby Lobby. That whole time though, my sister was still in school.

While I was homeschooled, I’d go once a week to this learning facility about 30 minutes from my house where I’d have 1 on 1 learning sessions with this nice lady. I don’t remember her name but she’d always have different quizzes for me to do while she timed me. I always felt pressured when that happened. Though I did always see this one kid in the waiting room when I went. I knew him from church and he was quiet, but he was nice.

Church is something I could talk a while about. I may talk about it and tell a few stories intermittently but all you need to know now is it was a typical Church in the South.

A big change in my life came when I was 9. I think it’s easily said that I’ve been a curious guy my whole life. Wether it was taking apart my RC cars to see how they worked or modifying my Nerf guns to make them shoot faster, I was always curious. But there were some times where curiosity got me in trouble. Like the time I pulled he cigarette lighter out on my Dads F150 while I was waiting to go to school one morning, putting my thumb on the glowing red coils to see what it was. Or my trying to use Mom and Dads tape camcorder to take video of the couch fort I made, only to find out I’d taped over their vacation to St. Lucia. So yeah! My curiosity held some bad sides. But if I could name the worst and most impactful incident, this would be it.

I was 9 years old and it was a Sunday afternoon. Mom, Dad, and my sister were in the TV room watching the Food network like we always did around that time. I was on the couch in the kitchen messing with my digital camera. It was a sunny day and the room was well lit. All of a sudden I realized that my kid self had never seen a girl naked before. So as my curiosity goes I hopped onto Moms computer and typed into the Google search then went to images. As soon as the first pictures popped up I got scared and closed the window. I ran back over to my camera and sat down. Still in my church clothes I felt scared and guilty but didn’t know why. Not a minute went by before I found my way back to the computer. Looking longer this time. I knew I was doing something wrong, but I liked it. And by that point it was too late.

A seed had been planted in my head and going to that computer became all I wanted to do when I got the chance to be alone. I even ended up using my little digital camera to take pictures of the computer screen so I could spend more time looking. I was able to do that for about a year or two before I was caught when Mom checked search history one day. By that time I’d already been doing homeschool and was about 10 or 11, I don’t remember. I do remember though feeling as if I was being interrogated when my parents found out.

Asking why, who showed you, how long, and other things like that. And as a kid it was tear drenched “I don’t knows” that met them as responses. They even called my youth group pastor at the time and had him come to tell me how much of a mistake it was and tried to explain the weight of my sins and hell and whatnot. And to be honest I didn’t really care. As an 11 year old I still wanted to find pleasure. It probably wasn’t 3 or 4 months before I found new ways to search. This time it lasted about a year before I was caught again. But punishment came more in the form of anger this time. I was 12 now and my parents made me pray with them for Jesus to heal me and blah blah blah. I was crying and guilty and wanted to be away from them. So I just nodded and did what they wanted til I could leave. I know my sister was ashamed of me and I think that’s what hurt most at the time.

That had a big effect on my personality for those few years. And wether my parents admit it or not, I think it’s because of my drastic personality change that they sent me to that special learning center for those few years. They knew something was wrong, though it wasn’t in my brain but in my heart.

I went back to public school in the seventh grade. I was excited to get back and see friends I hadn’t seen in a few years. I wasn’t welcomed back in the ways I expected. The guys I knew before didn’t treat me well, calling me names and pushing me around. I wondered if it was because I didn’t have long Nike socks or slides or bright neon shirts and silly bands. But it was more often than not them making fun of my weight calling me fat or chubby. I ended up trying to make new friends around. And after getting pushed out of lunch tables for a while I ended up at an empty seat with the kids in the corner of the cafeteria. They wore mostly black and said words I’d only heard in the movies Mom and Dad watched. But whoever they were, they didn’t push me out.

This new culture I’d come into was one I liked. Where aggression and vulgarity was accepted, I felt like I could say the things I always wanted to. I never felt the need to impress anyone. I tried to start dressing more like them but Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me. My friends had longer hair so I wanted to grow mine out but Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me. My friends cut themselves too. Wether it was in more subtle places on their bodies or more visible spots, there were consistently new scars. Mom and Dad couldn’t stop me from doing that if they didn’t know, so I did it too. Most of the cuts were on my arms where people couldn’t see but there were a few on my hands too. I’d even burn myself sometimes if I didn’t want to cut. I did it because I wanted to fit in but also because I wanted to. I still have some scars.

I did this all throughout seventh and eighth grade. And I, in some ways, adored my friends, but in reality we never treated one another very well, we all just ended up together. I honestly think we treated one another so poorly because we figured it was normal, or maybe because we didn’t know how to process what we were feeling either. Later on in my eighth grade year, 2 of the girls that hung around us died in separate car accidents. It hit everyone hard in my friend group but for some reason it didn’t really bother me. I remember trying to fake cry to not stick out but I didn’t really feel anything. I knew it was a sad and tragic moment but I didn’t feel that. No joy, no sadness, just nothing. It sorta just shut me down.

Summer after eighth grade was lonely, I went to church camp and really only wanted to meet girls, I’m a ladies man at heart what can I say. As I headed into high school, much of that previous friend group came apart. Some moved away, found different friends, or just didn’t want to be around. So those first few months were weird. Every day was the same routine of going to school, getting picked up and having mom or dad ask, “how was school,” or “what’d you do today?” I always hated that.

My first day of ninth grade I had no clue how to get around the school. I saw my sister during a class change and tried to get her help but she was irritated at seeing me, as any older sibling would typically be. She and I never really got along during high school, especially when it came to social events. Mom usually forced her to take me with her on occasion, and a few months into the school year she forced me to go with her to something called Young Life. I didn’t know what it was and thought it was some school thing. When we pulled up to this random house and saw all the people I immediately knew I didn’t want to be there. Not because of the crowd but because the guys from my grade that were there were the “popular” kids. They were the ones that usually made fun of me and pushed me around in previous years. My sister had her friends there and really the only people there were the popular kids. The guys my age were playing at the basketball goal and so I just stood to the side minding my business. A guy came up to me pretty quickly and introduced himself, he said his name and that he was a Young Life leader. He asked my name and I kinda just froze. Partly because I was still processing everything else but mainly because the only people that normally asked my name and introduce themselves like that were older people from church.

He pulled all the guys in my grade together for an impromptu meeting as one of the guys in my grade, who was a twin, called me by name to join the group of them to talk about something called campaigners. I had no clue what was going on and just nodded at everything that was being talked about.

I was still focused on the fact one of them knew my name.

I’ve written a number of times about experiences with Young Life. Many of which were good and happy experiences, a few not so good. Nevertheless, let it be known that I am thankful for the relationships I made during my time in Young Life. However, that will not hold me from expressing the poor experiences that have led me taking a step back from the organization later on in these chapters.

It wasn’t long after my first Young Life club that I started making friends with the guys that went. A few days after the first YL club I mustered the courage to go sit with two of the guys that were there who had an extra seat at their lunch table. It was the two of them and some other girls in our grade. I was nervous to ask but once I did it didn’t seem like a big deal. They were actually happy and welcoming of my weird, socially awkward ass.

You could’ve made a TV show out of that one lunch table. Outside of lunchtime, we all had out respective groups/cliques but we all vibed really well at that table. First up was one of the twins from Young Life. Known as the preppy guy with a little too much arrogance for his own good, both on and off the golf course. Either way, he’d have your back through anything, even if we was the occasional jackass. He sat directly across from me at the 8 seated round table. To his left was a guy I had known since second grade. But because of being homeschooled, he and I didn’t become friends again until then. He was the class clown, always making people laugh and had a mouth that ran wether or not we wanted it to.

He was never one to use criticism as a form of humor and was friends with just about anyone and everyone he met. The three of us guys held a weird dynamic but somehow it worked. The four girls never sat in the same seats but were always there. The first girl was the equivalent of a TikTok star then and was pretty much just a girl version of the class clown guy without the running mouth. She was “famous” on the livestream app called “You-Now” but that was later on in high school. The next two girls were inconsistent but sat there more than half the time. They were best friends, the attractive cheerleader pair that were loud and had a stereotypical ‘Friday Night Lights’ lights kind of attitude. The last girl was a curly haired blonde with a feisty attitude lets call her “S”. In most ways she was just a regular girl but at the time there was something about her I liked. I liked Her.

At this point I could get sidetracked with all the memories I have from that lunch table. But those individual stories aren’t very important. For the first time I felt like I had some real friends who were consistent, even though it was only for 45 minutes a day. That had a big impact on my attitude both socially and mentally. But underneath I was still leading a kind of double-life by myself at home.

This chapter started as my involvement with Young Life and I still intend for it to be. But I feel it’s important to tell you about these personal bits first.

My wholehearted involvement in Young Life didn’t start until my first camp trip to Sharptop Cove. Though I had been consistent in Club and Campaigners, I only cared to go for the social scene, same reasoning for me going to camp. It was a weekend camp and on the way there I expected it to be like the camps I’d gone to before but boy was I wrong. Borderline resort level cabins with our own beds made before we arrived. The game room, snack bar, basketball courts and rides all made for a fun experience, but it was the people that I loved the most. I’d never been around so many people at once. The meals were insane and so was club. If you’ve been to a camp before, I need not explain any of this to you. When it came to club I never cared much for the singing, dancing or club talks. I’d been to church for so long and was tired of it before I ever joined Young Life.

I just stood aside and went along while everyone else sang and danced, only to later doze off during the club talks. Same deal with the cabin times after club, I didn’t like to talk in those. The guys all just figured I was shy about talking. But truth is I was just ashamed of myself. There was no visual proof but this was the case in any kind of church related situation. I knew what I was doing at home alone was wrong but didn’t want to deal with it. So I’d just stay quiet.

It wasn’t until the last night during club when some things started to change. I had payed no mind to the speaker the entire weekend up until he was about to let us go. He caught my attention by telling us he was letting us out but held it for a short while after, asking us to take the next 20 minutes to talk to God. I thought, “Finally! I’ll just go back to the cabin and chill.” But when he let us all go, all the lights on camp were off. Everyone was silent.

Still on a mission to go back to the cabin, I started walking back in the pitch black dark. Funny though that our cabin, named Buckeye Ridge, was the furthest from the club room. Shortly after I started walking, a bunch of thoughts started hitting me. Thoughts telling me what kind of mistake I was. Feelings of guilt and regret flooded my head with memories of past mistakes. What was a 100 yard walk seemed like a mile, each step became heavier and heavier. I finally made it back to the steps of the cabin where I collapsed and sat crying. I asked questions wondering why I was the way I was. I battled with this guilt and shame that had loomed over me for years. This raw uncensored conversation with God became a spiritual therapy session where I struggled to make sense of my own worth. A bell started to ring and the lights across camp came back on. But I still sat with my face in my hands. People began to walk past me on the steps and one group even stood near me talking to themselves wondering wether to not it was ok to walk past me. They eventually did.

Over the next hour or so a few people stopped to talk and pray over me. One guy, from my Campaigner group, stopped first, we’ll call him “K”. He told me it was ok to cry and that God was there for me. I asked him to get my towel from the room to put over my head. I didn’t want people to see me.

This was the first time I’d opened my eyes since the lights came on, I had been crying so much that there was a puddle of tears on the step below, that puddle ran off the side of the step into the dirt. K left me there after praying for a bit. The next was some guy I didn’t know but he did the same as K. The last was an older guy from my school, we’ll call him “G”. He was a year older than me and one of the more popular guys in our school. He came and sat, calling me by name. I remember being surprised he knew my name. He sat and told me about him and some of the mistakes he’d made. He told me about his story going to camp the previous summer and how he decided to start a new life with Christ.

What G said resonated with me a lot. In many ways his story was like mine. He prayed with me too. The way he prayed stood out to me a lot, it sounded genuine and not rehearsed like all the other prayers I’d heard before. There was a sense of peace in the way he prayed over me. I wanted that peace. So after he left I sat for a little while longer wresting with my life. I first felt like God and I had to reach some kind of compromise, but there was also this desire to start over. I didn’t want to feel the way I did. So I gave God my heart, and in return I wanted to begin a new life. At the time I didn’t know the effort it would take or the roads it would lead me down, but I was ready for change.

This whole time, my campaigners group was sitting on the porch at the other side of the cabin behind me. I went and sat with them in the rocking chair they’d saved for me with the towel still draped over my head. My leader was leading the time as he always did so well. They were all going around talking about their stories and when they started their lives with Christ. Quite ironic might I say. But they went around in the circle and finally came down to me. Everyone kind of looked at me, my leader “J” had this little grin on his face, I assumed he knew what was coming. The twins spoke up and asked me when I’d given my life to Christ. I gave a smile and a little tear filled laugh while I looked at the bulky G-shock watch I had on and said, “Well… Right now.”

For a split second everyone sat quietly with some surprised looks on their faces but before I knew it they were all yelling and jumping around celebrating. One went to get G to tell him and he came running out to hug me. This had me crying again but no longer were the tears out of shame. I was so joyful I couldn’t contain it.

There are pictures from the following day before we left. Me and a handful of the guys with our, “Keep Calm and Sharptop,” pink sweatshirts on. A memorable picture with me in the back boasting a genuine smile on my face. A testament to the joy the Lord had begun to bring at a questionable time of my life. And the beginning to the hardest thing I would ever set out to do. Walking with God.

I went home not wanting to tell my parents about the weekend because I assumed they’d either be mad or not believe me since I’d grown up in church. I assumed they would say that my decision was invalid or that I was just chasing attention or emotions. So I chose not to tell them or my sister.

Over the next year or so, J and I worked together on getting into the word and being honest about struggles. It was a peaceful time where my life finally seemed to make sense. S was also excited to hear from the guys what had happened. By this time she had become a closer friend, but didn’t know I liked her. Over that year I would open up more and more to the guys in my campaigner group, telling them about my life and mistakes. At one point we all made a pact where we’d give updates on how we were struggling and came up with ways we could all help one another escape when it was happening. When we all started this we told each other about our history. When it came to my turn to talk and I told them the first time I’d been exposed was when I was 9, this rightfully surprised them. They all collectively assumed I was the goodie church kid of the group who’d never done anything wrong. But to their surprise, I’d been the one with the most baggage when it came to that topic. All of these things combined for a good community system when those tempting feelings came up. But the problem was it only worked when you wanted it to and more often than not, I didn’t want it to.

Into Sophomore year, a handful of the guys in my campaigners group stopped coming. A lot of people had reached the party stage of high school. K was one of them and for some reason that aggravated me more than others. This was a dry season both socially and spiritually. I wanted to keep going with my life as a believer, so I stuck close by J during this time. Almost like a lost puppy, I did my best to bring him anything I was struggling with and he was always happy to be there. There weren’t many people going to Young Life around this time either, on a few occasions my sister and I were the only ones there with the leaders.

This was the first few months of Sophomore year. The remainder of Sophomore year carried no importance and was the most boring year of my life. Jake and I continued to grow our relationship in the absence of Campaigners and Young Life events.

And as more change came, my new life was growing along with it.

Sophomore year of high school is a blur at this point. Not much happened, though it was also the year Mom and Dad bought their first house in Brevard, NC. A fixer-upper they bought either for their mid-life crises or just out of boredom, maybe both. Either way, my sister and I quickly found ourselves at the house multiple times a month doing work with/for them. Some pretty basic renovation work like tearing down walls, scraping wallpaper, and putting new hardwood floors and ceilings in the house became the mood of that year. Once the home was relatively presentable, my sister started inviting her friends up. Which is when I became better friends with two guys from my school “W” and “L”. 

A package deal of best friends, they held kind and fun personalities. W was the younger brother of my sisters friend and you would typically find L with him. I’m not sure how they became friends but they stuck together. W was the mature one who typically got nervous whenever we started doing stupid and dangerous things. L was a child in a teenagers body. Always laughing and making fun out of anything he did. L was the fun soul of the two and they paired like Yin and Yang. It wasn’t long after the three of us became friends that W brought me along to his small group in church. Another group of more popular kids, most of which were from different schools. I enjoyed being in that group a lot. I was still heavily active in Young Life and in that small group, called Forge, so the two went together very well when it came to my walk with Christ. 

Around this time is when my friends and I started driving. Summer 2014 was a lonely one and I spent a majority of my time in Brevard working on the house and fishing in the neighborhood. But just before summer vacation started I made a slick move and got S to go out to lunch with me. A nice little family owned restaurant, I paid on a whim and she was pleasantly surprised. I dropped her at home and everything was great til her stepdad answered the door, it scared the shit out of me. It’s funny because nothing was wrong, I was just instinctually afraid of the man. But it was a nice time even though she and I didn’t talk until the end of the summer.

That same summer I had been chosen to be a part of the school districts team to implement iPads into the school workplace. iSchool is what it was called. Training took a few weeks and I made friends with a handful of kids from other schools. One girl and I talked that summer but I never made any moves. I forget her name, though I think she’s married now. Another girl, named Jade, was part of another schools team. She and I became good friends later on. Long story short, the iSchool program was a joke. We all figured out ways to disable the security locks on the iPads within the first few weeks of school. But Junior year bro, that shit was wack…

The start of Junior year was fast. J got campaigners started back up and we hosted at my house. Young Life was back better than ever and was being hosted at the local Golf Course since second semester of Sophomore year. I was also becoming closer with the group of guys in Forge. One in particular, Blake, was someone I got a lot closer to. Me, Blake, W and L became a close group that did most everything together. Blake was the daredevil of the group. He’d ridden his first dirtbike at 2 and had been full-sending it since. He and I vibed well, mainly from the fact he and I could keep up with one another when it came to cars and also because this is when I was regularly experimenting with over the counter drugs. Blake was an on and off stoner and nobody knew about my drug activity, but I think there was some kind of unspoken attitude between us. It was probably because both of us had a little emptiness we were trying to fill but didn’t really know how. Whatever it was, Junior year was quite the time. 

The obvious embarrassing piece at the beginning of Junior year was S. For some reason I’d just forgotten to talk to her over summer, she was rightfully upset about that. So nothing had come out of our impromptu date at the end of Sophomore year. Fortunately, we had the same friends, so we still saw plenty of each other. At the time the TV show “The Walking Dead” was at its prime and W, along with our other friend “C”, wanted to start getting friends together every week to watch new episodes when they dropped. The normal group was W, L, C, “R” and S; I joined a few episodes into the season and Blake would occasionally join us. R was another girl in our grade, the daughter of the varsity baseball coach and heart sparkle of W (they’re married now). She was the nicest and most gentle of the group. 

That first semester I started my Mechatronics class at the Career Center, otherwise known as CTC. Blake took auto-tech there too so he and I would ride together on occasion, even though we went to different schools. This time of my life was one of the happiest and most peaceful I can remember. Where I’d stayed in the Word consistently, had no worries about girls/relationships, and was genuinely happy. This part of my life is where I started to have a true love for creating and maintaining relationships with people. I loved to sit and listen to my friends talk. Wether it was about good things going on in their lives, fun things, bad things or just random thoughts, I was there to listen. I especially loved meeting new people. It became a special kind of talent and with everyone I met, I made it a personal goal to get to know them as well as I could. I consistently kept up with them if possible. I think I became this way because there was this subconscious part of me that wanted so desperately for someone to do the same for me, I wanted what I was giving out to be reciprocated. My life at the time was a steady walk with Christ and was a social testament to what I believed and knew in my heart to be true. I treated others the way I wished to be treated and I hoped I could fill some of the empty spaces in my heart by trying to fill theirs first. This of course was a job I could never accomplish on my own. But at the time, nobody could’ve convinced me otherwise. 

Mine and S’s relationship hadn’t gone anywhere all year. That is until the time for semi-formal came around. Semi-formal was our version of the homecoming dance, it happened right before Christmas break and was a yearly event. And this year I figured I’d ask her to go. Now I admit I didn’t do it in the best way, I asked her in person just after she had lost the school pageant but she met me with a hesitant “yes” anyways. Later that night she made sure to tell me that she only said yes to not embarrass me in front of my friends but would still go anyways. 

For semiformal, we were set to go to dinner with a big group of friends before with an afterparty at L’s house. As far as semiformal goes, it went well. Dinner before was fine and the dance was as you’d expect a high school dance to be… awkward and sweaty. The afterparty was in L’s home theater. About 20 of us in that room which made seating tight. I sat in the seat I normally would at L’s and up outta nowhere S decides to snuggle in next to me in this little ole recliner. We fit just fine. But BOI! Little 16 year old me was having a mental freak out. Because if you didn’t already notice, your boy had been locked in the friend zone since freshman year. We watched Step Brothers and I couldn’t have told you a thing about the movie after. All we did was a little cuddling and hand holding but to me, who’d barely hugged a girl in my life, it was the best thing that could’ve happened. After the movie I drove her and a few other girls to C’s house where they were staying that night. The sky was cloudless with a full moon. I remember the car thermostat reading “19” and boy was it right. But I dropped her and the girls off expecting a good night kiss or something. I got out to help get her things where she thanked me for the night but told me that we were still just friends. So my ass got in the Jeep and floored it back to L’s where the boys were waiting fervently. They were distraught when I returned and heard what happened, I almost fought the twins because one was constantly pestering me and asking about it. We took a solid loss that night. 

Fortunately though, that’s not where mine and S’s story ends. That next week was the start of Christmas break and even though she’d friendzoned me again, I still texted her. I could obviously tell she was uninterested but I was determined. It was just before Christmas and she and I were having a conversation about our futures and goals, dream jobs, vacations and whatnot. And in a space of vulnerability I spilled my heart on those topics and at some point, not sure exactly where, she changed her mind. I think after she saw past the 16 year old idiot, she saw something she liked. Whatever it was, she was adamant in telling me her feelings. So from then we set a date for December 27th. But irony struck and that day, L accidentally ran over his puppy… yes, his puppy. L’s mom called C saying he needed a pick-me-up so C, S and I went and bought a cookie cake for him after scratching our date plans. S had known I’d never kissed anyone and even made a few jokes about it. I knew that it was coming soon but not that night. After taking C back I drove S home. We got to her house and we walked to her door. I argued with myself in my head going back and fourth saying, “Should I? Shouldn’t I? Do it! Don’t do it!” — All of this ran thru my head up until we made it to her door. She started fumbling her keys and that’s when it hit me. I knew from the movies that was the sign. But really! It’s only like 9:30/10PM who the hell is locking the door on their high-school daughter? Of course it was my sign! But I think I took a little too long because she just looked at me after a second and went in for it. It was a firework moment but also the worst kiss ever since I had no idea how that was supposed to work. Nevertheless, it was a moment to remember and brings joy anytime I tell the story. A few days later we had a new years party to go to, I picked her up for it and we’d agreed to not kiss in front of everyone when the ball dropped because it would’ve been weird around our friends. After the ball dropped I was supposed to drive to my church for a lock-in because I’d promised my lifelong best friend, Jack, that I wouldn’t leave him hanging there. Both S and I walked out to the car so she could get her things since the girls were spending the night at that house. I was expecting a chance for a new years kiss but before I knew it she’d grabbed her stuff and gone inside, leaving me hanging. I drove to my church where Jack was waiting at the door. He knew all about the situation with S and I and asked if I got a new years kiss. I told him, “no” and he was surprisingly upset. His reaction prompted me to turn my ass around, get back in the car and floor it back to where she was. I called her to meet me outside and said nothing else til I got there. She met me outside under the streetlight and with no words I grabbed her and gave her that new years kiss. This one was much better than the first. We laughed and said goodnight, I got back in the car and did 110 back to the church where Jack was waiting with a silent and proud high-five. 

This time of my life, the feelings I had and feelings I felt, is one I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I loved the Lord wholeheartedly, my heart was happy and wether or not it was feelings for S or my first encounter with some kind of romantic emotion, I’ll cherish it as long as I can. And I’d give up everything I have today to have feeling like that again.

I grew up in a small town in the south, I won’t tell you exactly where because I want you to be able to picture it in your own head. Build my scene the way you want.

I have one sister just a few years older, along with mom and dad who provided for us in a regular middle class home in a regular neighborhood. My earliest memories go back to this house, with a big tree in the front yard and a big fenced in back yard.

As a kid, everything seemed alright to me and to this day I still believe it was, nothing really out of the ordinary. My earliest memories are of dad and I playing catch in the back yard. Like any other dad I assume, he wished that I’d become the next great lefty in the MLB. Meanwhile, I was sitting in right field kicking over ant hills, so much for that. Like any kid my age though, I played in most every little league style game there was. Baseball, basketball, soccer, flag-football, tennis (for about five minutes), and even fencing at one point. But I was never much of an athlete. I was a sporadic little kid who was more distracted by my ability to build with legos or making waterslides with a garden hose to care about sports. In the moment I did what was interesting to me and I loved it, as I think anyone would.

From those early times though, early 2000’s to be more specific, there are certain memories that stick out more than others. One for instance was my sister and the random games she’d come up with. Many of which ended in her favor… Weird how they always worked out in her favor. She’s always been an assertive person, a go-getter and will rarely take no as an answer when she wants to do something. Thats why she’s been good at most everything she’s ever done. But don’t get it twisted, I am beyond proud of my sister in what she’s done in her life and how she’s worked to do it.

As far back as I can remember I always seemed to find a way under her wing. Wether it was during my kid days playing made-up games, or in middle school while I wondered what teachers or peers I should or shouldn’t like. Or through high school, wanting to be as popular as her, trying to fit in with the cooler, younger siblings of her friends. I always seemed to find a way, by choice, under her wing.

So from our kid days, she was the loud fun one and I was the quiet and ever so subtly less fun one. And frankly, it worked out pretty well for us. I liked it that way. And looking back, I think that had a lot to do with my imagination as I was growing up.

I’ve always been a dreamer. And I don’t mean that in a sense of ambitions or goals, though that is also true, I mean it in a sense of actual dreams. Wether it was daydreaming or actual dreams at night, whatever it is, I tend to remember those times more than my actual childhood. One of my favorites was the superman dream. It’s kind of self explanatory but in the dream I’d have the powers of Superman and I’d spend the whole dream flying. None of that fighting crime nonsense, just flying. I always loved that. The feeling of waking up after a good dream just wishing I could go back. But that’s what makes a dream, right? I remember consistently getting in trouble in school or with mom and dad because I’d be daydreaming and not paying attention. But being the dreamer boy didn’t come without its downsides. From what I remember, the nightmares were just as frequent. And it’s the nightmares I remember the most.

It’s those nightmares we all have, falling in our sleep or not being able to run from whatever is chasing us, the things we commonly think of when we say, “nightmare.” But I assume that there’s a few of you that have other specific nightmares in mind. The ones that became repetitive, they got names, they got timelines and they stuck with you. I want to tell you some of mine.

For now I’m only going to talk about two of them, for the third one holds a little more value for a later time. And let it be known that I have no timeline as to when I first started having these nightmares. As far as I’m concerned I might as well have been 4 or 5 years old when they started. But anyway, let’s get to it.

The first one is a little on the short side. It always started with me in front of a crowd of people. I never in the dream know who they were but they were always quiet. I’d be standing about chest deep in a skinny pool, about the width of a swimmers lane and not much longer than the checkout at a grocery store. With the people watching and myself elevated almost above them in this small pool, the water would get deeper and deeper until I had to tread on my own. Unable to grab the sides of a wall, as there were none, I’d feel someones hand push the back of my head, putting my face under the water. I’d fight and fight but could never help myself. And at the point of me drowning, the hand would pull me up but I’d still be unable the breathe. This is when I’d wake up.

The second is one that I still fear having today. This being more frequent than the first, scared me the most, and in some cases it would even find its way into my daydreams. There was really no beginning or end to the dream, it’s just there. but it opens with me being small. Much smaller than you’d probably expect, smaller than an ant and each time I’d have the feeling of being totally powerless. Frequently changing locations, the nightmare had be seeing cracks in the floor as caverns, basketballs and baseballs as gargantuan boulder-like structures just waiting to crush me.

The scenarios were always strange to me. They always had someone I knew closely but feared at the same time. Sometimes it was my youth pastor from church, maybe a teacher, a friend and even my dad. But whoever it was they’d always try to crush me. Their feet, large as skyscrapers, had me running for cover in the cracks of the floor and the channels and caverns of the treads in their shoes. I’d always try to run, but then came the fists. Giant fists that hit the ground like asteroids, never effecting the ground around them but always finding a landing place near me.

Eventually I’d be caught, pinned between the fingers, smaller than an ant and only fearing the size of who was before me. Then came the yelling, it shook everything. At some points I feel like I could see the sound itself. But the words were always the same. They were angry at me for being too small and helpless. They knew all my wrongdoing and were there to crush me. I would be unable to speak throughout the nightmare, wether that was to cry for help or to say sorry. And I’d always wake up when I’d be thrown to the ground, looking up helplessly to see a foot coming to crush me.

And then I’d wake up.

Two years ago I sat down and wrote all I could remember about my own life in hopes I could make more sense of who I am and what my personality is. After some thinking, I’ve decided to type up what was written on those notebook pages with the thought that I may decide to let others read it. Throughout these chapters there are details and stories that I haven’t shared outwardly and ask that you not respond in the way you think I’d want you to. Instead I want you to respond honestly. Wether that be with joy, care, anger or reprimand and maybe even with nothing at all. Whichever that may be, thank you for taking your time to read, I love you.

07-07-2020

By the time you read this, Lord knows where I’ll be. Maybe across the country in a studio, working on a project with people I never expected to meet. Maybe near people I love, working a basic job that I’d become content with all due to the fact I’m near people who make me happy. Or maybe I’ll be in the same exact place I’m in now. Lord knows. But nevertheless I do not write this out of my own self-pity or in the reminiscence of memories I wished I’d cherished more or things I should’ve done different. No. Nor do I wish to make myself out to be a victim of any kind, that of which I’m sure I am not.

Truth is, I’m not entirely sure why I’m choosing to write this. I’ve got a lot of things I want to tell people, especially my family, and I’ve got no clue how, this seemed like a good option. On these lines and in these pages I’m going to tell stories about myself. Some might bore you, some may excite you and some may pull you in. Others could make you angry or sad, I have no control over that, I’m just here to try and make sense of myself and search for some kind of emotional freedom.

So reader, I wish to tell you that I am wildly unhappy with my life and hope that in writing, I’d be able to find joy again. And before we begin, thank you for coming along on this journey with me. May we both find a little piece of ourselves along the way.