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TOSSED FLOWERS

jeremiah

TOSSED FLOWERS

(a short amateur story inspired by the flowers photographed above)

We met in San Sebastian along the Bay of Biscay, it was September of 1993. He emitted souvenir scents of rave packed days and XTC pores gasping for oxygen. A season of repose and exploration had depleted his stained and worn cargo pockets of nearly every last peseta. Intensive days panhandling while squatting patiently awaiting an inbound Western Union reply from home. Had begun to reveal a temporarily strained wear over his twenty two year old vitality.

I made the assumption that in the eyes of many his charms where juvenile desperate and manipulative. I found them, gently magnetic, easily attractive and convenient.

I cleared space in my nothingness for this youthful stick of wondering flesh. Admittedly, for a moment he brought this aging heart to a flitter all for my self serving reasons. An un-proclaimed desire for emotional power ran through me. This was not about mentorship or a mythical cinematic notion of a sage American tourist offering rescue to an adventurous youth in need. A youth lost abroad after a Euro-backpack summer experience had rolled on after a few to many rave-capades. Leaving his bankroll anything but liquid with family and friends financially in a state of disownment.

I decided to move in for my thrill, comfortable with the evident temporary chance of detachment. Twenty minutes later he insisted on telling me his name, Jeremiah something, a lad from Kentucky. He spoke of his dreams and his two years at the University at Tulane and the pleasures to be had, lost in Luisiana charm. There was something genuinely sweet about the boy. Something beneath the grease and tweak. A docile moxie that stripped away seventy-six years of my own crust and jade in quick swipes and flashes.

Fear prevented me from trusting my own intimate reveal. Just as it had detoured me from embracing an innocent human connection. This time due to my own ego driven projections put upon the innocent, a youthful heart who in fact never requested of me a single favor. Not a dime, not even affection, only perspectives and references in regards to the costal area and suggestions on returning home without the assistance of family.

On a return from a recess the boy handed me a bouquet of street blooms. I tossed them harshly, through parted cafe curtains, onto the pavement below. A gesture of internal premature self defense. Over the years my own lessons in affection became entangled in crisis and resentment. I have always been aware that my discernible lack of emotional repair has never been attractive. Especially when put upon those perceived as less experienced in life or the weak. Over time I had convinced myself that I was offering affordable crash courses in defensive living. Just one of the many lies I’ve learned to convincingly live with.

Ever since that day, each time I pass a bundle of wilds laying astray, or a ragged toss uprooted by a child at play, I think of Jeremiah. I recall that September and our encounter on the shores of San Sebastian. I wonder with mixed feeling, is it to late, is it ever to late for a man who had often shielded himself with finance and protective walls of knowledge to kill all possibilities of true intimacy.

Have I laggard so, I wondered can an exploration inward in these last remaining months be at all within my seeking grasp? The one excursion I have yet to embark on is the one that requires no physical travel or fee? I’m feeling a bit waggish, now that segments of my body are fully out of function. Friends have passed and I have enjoyed all that I have had to enjoy. For the first time since the ages of two or three I feel a spark of excitement. Remembering Jeremiah, humble bouquets, the scent of the sea and elements of innocence. I have finally broken free, this is the sentimental me, I venture inward before my body sets me free. It’s never to late to be free, it is never to late, I just wish to be.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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Uncategorized

THE LIGHT THIEVES

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THE LIGHT THIEVES
(a bash back)

SUMMER 2016 marked a significant shift in my trauma healing. The rips, bends and shreds of both my waking and nightmare’s had begun to take a vicious turn. This has turned out to be a remarkably good thing, an unexpected mend. Although I never thought I’d feel the warmth at the end of my psychological trauma noose.

I have come to a place, mentally and spiritually of allowing, a slow awakening. A process of continuous slow cycles, I believe I have been preparing myself subconsciously to face my demons my mind has been increasingly in a slow spin pace for a very long time. Now I have reached my ready point for change.

My increasing waking and sleep terror’s have been erupting in my mind allowing more and more sensory explosions to occur. So much so that I may once again feel myself becoming whole, I have become internally undone in order to become one. I may now become the man I had yet to fully allow myself to be. The great hold up of the the Light Thieves that have held on to me captive since November of 2011 has finally begun to shift. May we all find our path to our truth temples and created destinies.

FOR THE NEW READER
After being gang raped in November 2011 by 11 men I lived in addiction and denial. It took all the love, light and patience that I could slowly muster to survive. A great deal of personal compassion and intuition was needed to move me ever so slowly on this journey. If I did not believe in some form of greater good, purpose or energy I most certainly would gone mad, lived in a state of continual suicidal mode or would have been arrested for homicide by now. Or the obvious option #black, found alone dead which is preferable to being trapped in an endless dark addiction spiral of destructive living, but here I am.

I am graciously grateful for the 10,000 opportunistic movements of personal, social and spiritual growth that this conglomerate of experiences has allotted me. But do not get me wrong, it fucking sucked and detoured my life perfectly and disproportionately.

SWEET AND LOOSE
The sweet reward of all of these night mares has been the recent rush of finally winning. I went from November of 2011 to March 2015 before I began to understand how deeply effected I was by my “Hall of Mares.” Very few had I remembered, generally partners, dates or roommates would fill me in on the screams, tears, and boxing matches on the day or night after a good round with the boy’s. Fighting it out in my subconscious, literally to death.

March 2015 was one of the first major waking terrors that lasted on and off for 3 days’s. All of my terrors had all been loosing battles of rape, bashing, thieving, and life threats up until these last few weeks when something unusual had taken place.

I had enough, I simply had enough, I had been ill and in a deep exhaustive sleep. One night while in a cold coma an attack thick and heavy crept in around me. In my safe non safe space (until you heal there are no safe spaces of the mind) one of my 11 attackers came for me in my dreams. I saw his face in perfect detail, beautiful young, cocoa and flawless with little boy ears. Short cropped hair, innocent eyes breathing warm and sensual danger in my face with the encouragment of his evil mentor. His body tight smooth, narrow shouldered … God! I could cry for him, this was a kid… he was a 22 year old child, just a lost child of the night. (sorry I digress)

What makes this dream different from my other terrors are the details. I never remembered the intensity of any of their eyes, or how fragile many of them where until this particular dream. All of my real life attackers in my dreams always remained faceless up until this night. Whenever I had flashbacks, no matter how real, awake or asleep, no matter where they took place, on the street, in a store or in bed. In general I only remembered or “flashed” to the sensations and the words used during the rape. The sensations I recalled in my horrors where the penetrations and the brute violence, the fear, of the event, never any exact details of the faces or bodies. The terror blocks it out, the electric blast of my brain created a protective white noise screen protector over the memory pane.

I only could remember the pain, the force, the blood dripping, the breath, the smells, the ripping of my flesh, never any faces. The darkness, the choking, the restraints, and my screaming, never any faces. I’d remember the sensations of the rape, not the faces, never ever the faces although the rape went on for hours with the lights on.

Denial is so beautiful, a protective blanket soft and luxe. I know that I am ready now to move forward, now that I am able to remember some of these eyes, mouths, bodies and textures.

On the night of December 22, 2016 I awoke the next morning with a room looking as if an exorcism had just taken place. My bed frame broken in two, a lamp laying stacked across my face, and a chocker neckless clutch in my hand. Surrounded by clouds of tear soaked tissues and my usual balled comforter and sheets. A few lingering memories, most sketchy and that was all. I had finally begum to bash back the Light Thieves, my rapist and the winner is finally me. I remember one thing, I fought back and I won!

I recall waking seeing one of my attackers with a “slave” collar around his neck. I grabbed the necklace hanging off of my nightstand lamp in real time. While pulling the necklace in my subconscious state I thinking it was his collar. I ended up pulling the lamp onto myself. I remember screaming with voice finally. NOT THIS TIME MOTHER FUCKER, GET THE FUCK OUT. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT GET FUCK OUT NOW.

This was the beginning of the release of my rapist, my light thieves. My subconscious had at last become empowered to say NO and finally bash back my bashers. In my dream state world I would no longer be a victim, no longer attacked and loosing. Now I was the victor and changing the game plan. This is huge, these are now my rules, finally a breakthrough that is worth noting.

The dream world can be powerful tool, foretelling the truth a possibilities in ones active waking hours. Now that I have finally taken ownership of my power over these imaginary attacks I am able to move forward with out fear or inner corruption.

*an update, as of August 9th 2017 I have yet to have a rape night-mare that I am consciously been aware of or a day-mare….knock on wood. Hang in there, hope… there is always tremendous hope. We humans are wonderfully resilient.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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addiction, adult male rape, trauma

AN ABSOLUTION/raw

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AN ABSOLUTION
Tuesday, October 25, 2016

I have to release this absolution, I have to do this process again, I have to rework this forgiveness of self one more time, it has been over a year since my first formal attempt. I will do this as many times as needed, I thought doing this process once was enough. I don’t know why, I would never suggest doing it once to another going through this same living procedure.

I must acknowledge where I have progressed from, where I am advancing to and I will enjoy a moment in between hopefully while embracing a breath of clarity on this journey. Reminding myself one more time to softly appreciate all that arises within me and all that is, for that it is. For now all that is churning is pure, murky and forceful, here in this very moment I harness it the best that I can. This eruption is designed to keep me alive, it is pure fight or flight no different than that night. I need to survive and express what is rupturing forth through every cell of my body.

My anger is bigger than I am, my regret is monumental, MY REGRET EATS ME ALIVE EVERY DAY. I must forgive myself, I must see this for what it really is I must see beyond and bigger than this is I must take off my earth lens. This human experience is far to limited, it is killing me it is unnatural, it is causing a spiritual hemorrhage from within. A stomach cancer rupturing up through my solar plexus on a daily basis. My core black cancerous energy reflex wrestle daily is beyond the recommended daily allowance. If I do not take steps today I will surly be on a direct rode of permanent discord.

I absolutely take the time right now right here to understand again what was taking place during the time I met Bernard. I wanted Fun, Adventure, Security, Danger, even sabotage… But I did not want what took place, I did not want what had happened to have happen to me or anyone on this planet. I did not want what took place not on a conscious level. I did not want to loose my life so completely, and even if I did I no longer choose to.

On the night of the (gang) rape I did not arrive expecting there to be such a disturbing event. I did not know there where going to be 10 or more rotating hustlers in and out throughout the evening to day break. I did not know this “man” was going to be a crazed freak, I did not know foreign objects of flesh destruction where going to be forced inside of me against the will of mine. Only to be surgically removed followed by a weeks hospital stay. I did not know that situations where going escalate as they had.

I did not know it was going to be the beginning of the end of a period of my life where I had some idea of control, if I had any up until this point living. I did not know that this was the beginning of the unraveling of my my living. Of a fairly reliable human being, colorful yet reliable and responsible.

I must forgive myself for being with Bernard, I chose to be with  him, I even loved him in a weird way, I did deep inside and still do I can’t escape the bond we had. Our bond was primarily stacked over drugs, manipulation and co-dependent abuse. I know this to be true, I know it was not a love of heart and soul. I understand the stronger I was emotionally the more empowered he felt to bring me “down”, I know there was a deliberate pattern of drug use put upon me when I would show strength and manipulation and needles came into play. And those words “know one will ever love you like I do, you are a defective, destroyed, junkie boy.” “But you have me always….” and I’d stay.

I forgive myself for letting myself be a part of this. I forgive myself for inviting it, I forgive myself for creating it, I forgive myself for being a deliberate hunter, once I was pulled into the meth pool. I have to cut myself some slack letting meth take control for this period. I know how easy it is to become a meth “addict”, I don’t know if I can forgive myself for loosing my job, I don’t know if I can forgive myself for loosing my apartment. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for leaving and loosing my beloved New York and my beloved sense of HOME and TEMPLE, but I am willing to try. I don’t think I can do and honest absolution but I can make an honest attempt to try.

Every day is a reminder of what I lost, everyday is a reminder of how low I have gone. Every day is a reminder of my failures, every day is a reminder of my removal from self, society, career, home, self, humor, love and truth… Not a reflection of triumphs everyday, I see the anger not the joy, often when I sit in this place (no matter where this place may be) I choke on the the past, present, and future, the noise is unbearable there is no silence (within my heart and mind).  I know these are only feelings… they are brutal feelings with a fierce lasting echo…

This THIRD YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF BEING IN CHICAGO IS KILLING ME. FIVE YEARS AFTER THE EVENT AND STARTING METH IS NOTHING, BEING IN LIMBO AND WAKING IN THIS ROOM EVERYDAY TO A LIVING VOID IS KILLING ME…. EVERYDAY FOR THREE YEARS HAS BEEN AN OXOGYN TENT OF DEATH. With slow pricks of light, I cling to each needle of light glorifying each to grand magnification in hopes of realization. Doing the work, waking each day, plugging away only to remain skin deep in me. Less memory, true there is less fear, more insight but very little forward movement and questionable hope.

I forgive myself for my lack of genuine appreciation, I forgive myself for trying and failing, I forgive myself for being so hard on myself. I forgive myself for not seeing the brilliance of my journey, I forgive myself for the tears and sorrow. I forgive myself for the lock down, I forgive myself for the seclusion, I for give myself for the clutter, I forgive myself for the my forgetful mind, I forgive myself for not having sex, I forgive myself for jerking off only to slam videos. I forgive myself for now living in a way I normally would consider intolerable and unimaginable.

I forgive myself for over spending or shopping to much to compensate for the INFINITE VOID. I forgive myself for all my insecure doubt projecting onto others my own flaws. I forgive myself for not being able reach my goals as fast or as clearly I demand. I forgive myself for fucking being stuck. I FORGIVE MYSELF FOR FUCKING BEING ANGRY ALL OF THE TIME, I FUCKING FORGIVE MYSELF FOR FAILING….GOD DAM IT FUCKING LOST IT ALL AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE SPACE WHERE I CAN LET ANYTHING OUT. I DON’T HAVE SAFE SPACE.

I can’t write an absolution because my life does not exist (feeling not a reality)—- I may return to this for now it does not mean much other than a rant. there was no proper purpose to this…3:33pm

7:55 PM
I return to re read you my rambling page with the understanding that – this is how I feel, and this is ok. 

This has been a raw edit direct from my private notes…this is what we experience sometimes every moment of the day…. it gets exhausting.

Love and Light Always
Runt

 

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trauma

Helping Another

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Out of nowhere it seems, an almost forgotten sense of peace has entered my heart. A steadying of nerves without invitation brought my mind and body back to a near lost state of existence. Stuttering words have once again begun to calm and my stream of thoughts float in logical harmony, free of jagged distraction. I again am coasting down stream in a river of gentle ease.

What events could of have taken place to softly and radically bring me back from the doorsteps of chaos and internal clutter. When only hours earlier I had been gasping for breath as gut and brain relived fractured recall of hallucinatory decay without notice from one unpredictable moment to the next? Simple, a forgotten joy that I dropped somewhere over these past few whenever’s was reactivate.

The actions leading to this shift are no great secret, helping another in spirit by supporting them in a genuine way is all it took. By stepping out of the center of my justified self-indulgent pity. To highlight the love, light and growth that has evolved out of an situation of challenge in someone else’s path of living buffered my own core tarnish. How wonderful to be able to help another human being to recognize their own beauty, strength, power, passion and growth. In return, with out expectation I experienced a spike in my own life current.

Through this action of self abandon and genuine guidance, to point out the positive glow via a life challenge is an absolute natural high for me. It has a multi dimensional flow effect on all and restorative for all parties involved. I have forgotten the pure magic and the force that there is behind the action of helping another. This one small action has done more than a thousand meditations, I thank you my friend for this moment. Last night was my first night without traumatic nightmares in months. At least that I can recall, I thank you again.

The power of supporting one other in even the smallest of ways is a powerful way to uplift every vibration upon this planet. It is so easy at least for me to forget this. Today I am grateful to wake with joy, to wake with calm, to wake with a renewed sense of possibility and knowing. It has been sometime since I have felt “good” in my core, the importance of having the good is so that I have something to compare the “bad” to. For so long I have been stuck on only the bad I forgotten about the good feelings…  My inner compass has been reset, last night has given me a return to personal navigation. Today I am grateful… It is still a journey… I do not know what tomorrow brings, but I am grateful for today…

Love and Light Always

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adult male rape, Selfportraits, trauma, Uncategorized

THE MOST DANGEROUS THING

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Unfiltered, here I am, naked, no decorative words, no room for flounce, not now, not within the womb of this cool circumstance. Raw and writing, it is we, it is he, Fernando along with the others which equal the new entirety of me.

I’ve decided no longer does it matter if there is an audience for my words or images. I now write because I need to write, I create my art because it is not only an essential part of my creative expression. It is a necessary segment of the healing equation, I still fall back on these words “art saved my life”.  Now I write with a slant on the unfiltered, just me and my selves. If another is helped as I stagger on my current path of wonder and stumble all the more glorious. Perhaps the flow of these writings will read more organically without the hindrance of self-criticism of thought, word, art and tongue.

I am afraid I am finally facing the raw fact that my trauma has become one bitch of a battle. It is increasing in bite and fervor. Sobriety has been a song and one I don’t give much of a shake about, even with all my trauma bullshit I have not thought once about drugs to deal with it. The trauma however is rupturing, ripping, splitting and soaring through the roof of my being. I am not sure who is winning in this wrestling match of wills. I do know I am not happy with the feelings beating me up each day, leaving me exhausted, bruised and raw.

Most days my thoughts are so tangled that I make no sense speaking. When I do manage to speak I often trip up my vocals. I mutilate simple sentences for example, ga-ga-ga-goo-goood goood morning. For a normally fairly grounded intelligent sounding person it becomes a bit humiliating. I often rock back and forth when I am alone typing, channeling my never existent autistic youth.

Yesterday, despite my gut intuition, I met with a therapist for the second time. It took me almost five years to reach a point where I was capable of receiving “professional” help. I understand fully that he has not been trained in trauma recovery, and may not even be queer sensitive. But surely he has a degree, and I assume based on his appearance he is of the human species. I also hope he had entered this field with an empathic heart, he does not seem old enough to be jaded and over his profession, or is he?

Aside from him being late for the second appointment in a row (note both appointments). Cutting me off, not hearing my needs then telling me to ignore my feelings. He then instructed to “Move on” “get over my past” to “get my old job back full time” please note I can barley function in my current part time position. I was instructed to “change my thoughts”  again. I explained this is something I do all day through many spiritual and personal teachings, meditations and techniques I have even developed along my personal journey.  I explain what someone in trauma goes through. I explained that I/we need tools to move forward and heal, I explained that I/we would like to learn how to cope with the subconscious thoughts that strike in the middle of night. Example: when I/we wake tossed on the floor in the middle of the night. Living out a rape, how do I/we move past that… I am enraged right now simply thinking of this session… yet I am moving forward I can not even finish this paragraph. _ RAW WRITING.

A bad therapist is the next worst thing to the actual traumatic event itself. I can not imagine anyone speaking these same words to someone who has just comeback from a tour of duty or lost their family to some horrific action of violence. I suppose a gang rape to faggot is just another disposable crime even in the eyes of a therapist. (please note the wrong therapist I know the majority are absolutely brilliant)

An average day for me, requires about 3 hours of meditation just to make out the door. Before I can go to my humble semi-stress free part time job. About once or twice a week I have at least one severe flash back during my waking hours. Two weeks ago, while walking down my block I hallucinated a full on rape, asshole ripping open, choking, suffocation, blood, restrained arms up against a fence the full nine yards. That was a pretty average scenario as of late. The week after the same situation took place while I was writing while sitting on a bench in the local park looking at trees. Boom out of the blue, restrained, suffocation, notebook on ground etc…. but this is my current unreality. “don’t think about it” he says. Again I say… seriously?

Last night three nightmares woke me up, usually I do not much of them, only the fighting, sweats, screams etc. But they are becoming more vivid as of late. Today I had to leave a simple task job after only an hour, because I freaked the F*@K out. My 10 minute walk home took about an hour, I was in a trance state the entire time. I crashed from exhaustion upon my arrival home (rather where I stay). More daymares, physical fighting and screaming and kicking. And he tells me “change your thoughts” “move on” I think to my self again, sarcastically, seriously?…I sorry I just forget to come out of trance states and nightmares to say “get happy” “get over it” Move On”….

Yes “change your thoughts” I agree completely, I do it all day everyday, minute by minute. This roller coster practice is enough to drive any normal person insane. I gently participate in many meditation techniques and lovingly embrace every fricking letting go method there is. But I can not delete reality, when something has never been dealt with it has to come out somewhere. Fact? or Fiction?

The most dangerous thing to a person in trauma recovery is… and I will say this again and again. Is having an unqualified person sitting opposite them on the other side of a desk when you are in therapy. This is not only dangerous it is negligent and can even be lethal. Last evening I felt so hopeless, lower than I have been, and closer to ending my life than and period in recent history. But I am as stubborn man, I will make it through this. Salt stains and all, I may not have much say during this period of my life that is up lifting. My core self is still in here somewhere, and it will come to the surface again. Until then, however long that takes be well be kind and be loving the best you can.

Thank you-

 

 

 

 

 

 

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addiction, adult male rape

MEETING CLARITY

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In time comes clarity, jumbling, stumbling, bumbling through every sensory awakening soft bright and abrupt. Oh this thing called clarity, I foolishly thought I had met you, 10,000 clones before. Nothing could prepare me for this present interpretation and layered manipulation. You are almost to much for me to bear, yet I stand before you with weighted feet. It has been co-decided that I am ready to face you. Now I am awake, I have been prepared for what I am willing to face. Lets move forward, lets get on with this-

Like a child learning to crawl or gurgling words for the very first time, so is this fresh awkward revival of  perspective. The human mind is the kindest of all tools within this filtering machine, this contraption of flesh. With the passing of time and shedding of outer escapes the emergence of memories have brought my past to present on regular rotations. Details spared for the faint of heart-

The terror is quite real, although hallucinatory, some call it a flashback. I call them living theater of the dark and deadly. I am ready to finally face these memories, I thought I already had many times over and over again. They now appear upon my daily walks, I understand this is not unusual, they are far to real. My breathing halts, with hands restrained, sweat begins, sensory blood drips, and the choking is consistent, boom black out. Before I know it, books and phone drop to side-walk for 5 to 10 until I can escape. With jaw dropped open vacant empty screams hover over flaccid lips. I pull it together once more and enter the realm of the real, and continue my stroll. I remind myself that this is a temporary normal, this is what has finally come to the surface. Perhaps drugs where not such a bad thing, maybe denial and madness saves lives. But you can not move forward with a life of denial, my core self is a survivor, enough said

I have chosen to face this at all cost, I have chosen to ride this out. I have decided that I am ready to once and for all face the UGLY of it all. Even what I have yet to remember of that night in November 2011. I am not stopping until this is done. I will never be able to help myself or another human being if I do not take care of this. I grateful that this experience is coming to a head. For all of those who may be working through trauma, I know it is a tough challenge. I am also confident deep in my heart that it is worth it, truly these experiences allow us to enrich our personal human condition. This is our classroom for living, when the moment is right, when our personal light is re-lit we are able to understand and carry on for another. That’s what this journey is about…

Love and Light
The Empowered Runt

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addiction, Uncategorized

ONE YEAR RESTING

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It has now been a little over a year since my last drug use. I share no pride nor surprise about this news, it just is what it is. It came about in a dramatic ending in a masterful collaboration between the forces that be and me. I attracted the situation that led to an overdose and the rest is history. I have never had a serious desire to step back into the meth death pool to date.

Addiction, a word I have never cared to use, and respectfully encourage limited use of with others. “Addiction”not my issue, my theories surrounding addiction continue to be supported time and time again. Addiction is not the root of the “problem” it is the result of an inner issue, a deeper issue, not the cause. I’d like to take a moment at this time to encourage anyone who is working on “addiction” issues. If comfortable, to let go of terms such as disease, addiction, or defective along with a few others used in traditional 12 step program (not a dis). And for a few moments refocus on some positive concepts.

First I would like to state there are no defective human beings. Many of us have been exposed to some tough experiences in our younger years, have had learning issues, specifically on the autism spectrum or started using in our teens or twenties. In some cases we may have experienced or witnessed a trauma of some sort or experienced great loss.

The majority of heavy substance use or other acting out behavior. Is in fact based not so much on “addiction” rather as behavior patterns. An inside reaction to an outside occurrence, love yourself enough to care correctly for yourself. LISTEN TO YOUR GUT!

No one in my eyes can get healthy from any situation in life based on being told they are defective. Or told daily that they are an addict and always will be. This is like trying to go to school to get an education and being told you are stupid everyday.

This of course is only my opinion based on my amazing little journey in life. But I have seen a lot of shit, I have been to hell and back a few times. I believe we are all good people, we are simply learning, living, healing and being. I believe that love is what heals, there are many methods of support, there are many ways to heal and move forward. If you can’t find a way, make one up, it worked for me.  I have found that many people have very good intentions based on the intentions of those before them. But it does not mean that they have a clue to what you are going through.

Find your quiet space in your heart, let it guide you to the right place should you need outside guidance, help or even medical.

If  you are insanely over the edge as I once was, hang in there, remain open, trusting and honest. Meth is tricky, and it messes with your head, if you are still in the messy zone you have to trust another until you have clarity… enough said. I leave my words resting here.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

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