Day sixteen: A tale of 2 Grandfathers. (forward thinking post)

       I come from a long line of working class people. It is in my blood. Both of my grandfathers worked with their hands, My dad's dad worked the same farm as far back as I can remember. When it was harvest time he would let me "drive" the combine through the field, by this I mean that I sat on his lap and held the steering wheel, never having any real control, but when you are only 4 or 5, it feels like you are running the world.
      He was a happy man from what I could gather in the short time that I knew him. He was strong and always had a smile or a funny story to tell. His hands where thick and meaty, they where so calloused he could pick up a pot of boiling water ( I am not sure if this is actually true but I have heard my dad tell stories enough times that the image got stuck in my mind.) By the time I came along, they no longer lived on the farm, but he owned the land, and that made his life much more comfortable till the end. He was also a tough old bastard, it took 3 heart attacks before he threw in the towel,
       He was on the way to the casino with his wife, my grandma, when the third on hit him. Miles away from home, and going into cardiac arrest, he calmly turned the car around and drove all the way back to the hospital, walked in told them what was happening, all as calmly as a Hindu cow, He was from a small rural community, but they had a helicopter, he was life flighted to a larger hospital. He coded a couple of times on the way, but made it. Unfortunately his heart could not take the damage and he passed a little over a week later. I will miss the man, and I can't wait to meet him again, just to see if he approved of the life I have led. ( I am sure there will be parts that he wont...) At that young age though, he instilled something in me, a love for the out doors and the need to work with my hands, he taught me that outside of my mind, they are my greatest tools and for that I will be forever grateful.
      My mom's father was the same way, just a little rougher around the edges. He came from a large dutch family that worked a farm as well. He grew up working, cause that is what the Dutch did, had kids so they didn't have to hire laborers. And why not...? You don't have to pay them, there are no interviews, you get to train them however you see fit, and making them is kinda fun.
       He was coming of age as World War II was in full swing. He saw it as his duty to fight for his country and enlisted. When we dropped the bombs, he was sent over to pick up the pieces. I can not imagine what he saw, he never talked about it, and I never asked, I did see the scars he carried and have more respect for that man, then I have for most. One of my biggest regrets in life is not being able to tell him, again because I was to young when he passed to understand the things that he had done.
       Crusty is the wrong way to describe him, and at the same time it is almost perfect. I mean no disrespect by it. He came back from the war and started a family, spawning 6 kids all together. He crisscrossed the country with the family in tow, constantly looking for work. He was a hired hand and was most comfortable breaking horses, and working on livestock farms.
       By the time I met him, he was retired and living with my grandma in a small trailer. Let me paint a picture. When we visited we would walk in through the garage. The door opened into a small, but comfortable dining room, just big enough for a table and some chairs. To the right was a living room, with his recliner a couch and a couple of chairs. If you went left, you would pass the kitchen and farther back there were  bedrooms and a bathroom.
       He would either be at the table, chain smoking or in his recliner, also chain smoking, I never saw him sit anywhere else. He was a larger man, his hair was always combed over, there wasn't much left but he made sure ever hair was in place, even if there were only six of them. He always wore Dickies, and I am talking, button shirt tucked into pants, with boots. I don't think that I ever saw him in anything else. They were always tan, no other color, He must have had twelve pairs of pants, and twelve matching shirts, all the same.
       He had a deep raspy voice from smoking for so many years, He started when he was twelve, and he was in his sixties by the time I met him. He laughed a lot, but for some reason I was scared of him at first. He had thick black glasses, the kind you get from the military, and he had no teeth. When he got back from the war they pulled every last one out of his mouth. They thought in their infinite wisdom, that radiation stayed in the teeth, so anyone that went to Hiroshima or Nagasaki got a free trip to the dentist as soon as they got home. He hated dentures so he never wore them. His gums where so calloused that he could bite into an apple... with no teeth. He could also lick his own eyeball, Do you know what that can do to a four year old, it leaves deep physiological scars, believe that...
       I was scared of him until I was five and I pushed my brother onto a bumble bee outside of his trailer. The bee stung him and we both ran inside crying. I felt guilty, and Marcus was wailing in pain. My grandpa got up quietly and went outside. I thought it was because he didn't want to be around a couple of crying little boys, I was wrong.
      He came back inside a couple of minutes later and sat down, he had something in his hands. He got out a piece of paper and taped something to it. I was curious so I inched closer so i could see. On the sticky note there was a bee... He had gone out and caught a bee... with his bare hands... He looked at my brother as my mom tried to dig the stinger out, and with a smile asked if he wanted revenge. Through the tears Marcus nodded yes.
       The old man smiled and took out a cigarette, slowly lighting it and taking a drag. The cherry had a red glow as he lowered it to the piece of paper, burning of one bee's wings off, it sizzled and smoke rose to the ceiling. The tears lessened. He took another drag, the toothless smile growing, as he lowered it again and burned off the other wing, the sizzle was accompanied by a smell this time, the smell of vengeance. Sobs subsided into silence, as he continued. He tortured that poor bee, burning off each of its legs until there was nothing left but a black and yellow body. We were not crying anymore. He took on last long drag with a smile and snuffed the cigarette out along with the bee. His revenge had been served, and his grandson avenged. Again, crusty is the wrong word, but there was a hardness about him. Life had not been easy for him, jading him, but underneath that gruff surface was a kind and caring man.
      It is important to know what kind of stock you come from, it is for me anyways. It tells me something about myself. What I am capable of. I am sure I have made decisions that neither one of these men would understand, and probably done some things that would make them ashamed. All that aside, I would like to think that I have done some things that would make them proud. The both passed their work ethic down. I watched both my parents work hard my entire life, and that had to come from somewhere. It is the one trait that I am the most grateful for, and one I hope I will be able to pass to my son.
      I look around these days and see a lack of ambition, one could even call it a disease of laziness. My generation was told that we had to go to college to get a good job. That if we worked in the blue collar trades we were not going to make it. This is a lie. I have nothing against college, but I have never met two people who were exactly the same. College is just not for some people. It amasses mountains of debt, and shapes young minds the way it sees fit, under the guise of free thinking. I prefer to have dirt under my finger nails, and being so worn out by the end of the day that I can hardly move. It keeps my mind sharp, and my body fit, it is the ultimate win win scenario.
      I learn at least one new thing a day for free, and I am proud to be a skilled laborer. There is a reason they call it skilled. It has taken me ten years to get the experience I needed to make a decent living doing what I do, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. At the end of the day I can see the progress I have made. I get to build things and make them pretty, and there is certainly no shame in that. Neither one of my grand fathers made it past the 8th grade, and they seemed to be happy with the lives they worked so hard to create. Where there days that they hated their jobs? I am sure, but that is true with any kind of work. It's not going to be perfect everyday, Most days though, I get to be outside, earning the respect of the tools that I use everyday. I get to get better everyday, and eventually I will earn the title of craftsman, and I think that would make my grand fathers pretty proud. At the end of the day, I couldn't ask for anything more.



-Micah

Day number fifteen: My buddy Alex (hero Post)

       I was going to write about a job that I had. I was going to write about the bad lands in North Dakota, and how they took my breath away. About how I got the chance to see a rattle snake in the wild ( I was terrified in the back seat of a truck while a park ranger brushed it off the road.... with his hat... ballsy)  I was going to tell of another betrayal that led to me decide to go out on my own, and owning that choice,,,
       I, however, am not going to do that. I got distracted. I got distracted because I have the chance to hang out with my buddy Alex this week. Alex is one of my personal hero's. It is impossible to be depressed around Alex, his smile is infections. His demeanor is one of grace, there is no other word to describe it. Life has thrown Alex a few curve balls, he has taken the hits in stride and continues to thrive. There is nothing that can hold him down or hold him back. The strength that he holds in his mind, spirit, and character are unmatched and make him the strongest person I know.
        I have know Alex for some time. We actually met because he dated someone I was dating. We met at a Homecoming dance, of all places. He was nice enough, but I was threatened. He was from another town and I was sure I would never see him again.
        Fate had other plans. Months later my brother and I would open the board shop. We started  meeting people from around the area, Alex was in the circle of friends that I was most drawn to. We started hanging out at the same parties. I was no longer with the girl we had both dated, so I was no longer threatened, and she quickly became a reason to bond. He started coming to the shop to hang out. We would play video games in the back, or go long boarding along the beach. The summer ended and he went off to college, but we stayed in touch. when he would come home he would get a hold of me. It felt like true friendship. He always wanted to catch up, insisting to know everything that was new in my life. It was and is hard to lie to Alex, and he was not, and is not, afraid to tell me where I am making or have made a mess of my life. He doesn't do this to judge, he does it because he cares.
        Ten years ago something happened that would change Alex's life forever. It is a night, that I am sure, he thinks about everyday. It was not a small change, it was a life shattering, change everything you thought you knew, have to learn everything over, kind of change. He was on a dock and his hat blew into the water. Being familiar with the lake, and being a ways out on the dock he dove in after it... we had not gotten a lot of rain that year, and the lake was low. He went head first into less than 20 inches of water, breaking his neck instantly.
         He had a friend with him, who jumped in and pulled him back to shore, without a doubt saving his life. An ambulance was called and he was rushed to the hospital. The news was not good, He was quickly transferred to a larger, more capable hospital, and eventually ended up in a hospital out in Colorado that specialized in spinal injuries. His recovery took months. He ended up being paralyzed from the chest down.
        I can assure you, that if this had happened to me, I would have given up. I would have screamed out to God, enraged at the hand I had been dealt. I would have been swallowed by self pity, and probably would have drawn into myself, I imagine I would live in a dark room, never wanting to come back out into the light.
        This is why Alex is my hero. I remember seeing him when he got back from Colorado. He was all smiles. We sat in his parents garage with some other friends and played cards all night. I think he knew on some level that we were unsure as to what to say to him. It could have been an incredibly awkward night. Alex didn't let that happen. He encouraged us to talk about it, and answered all of our questions with patience and understanding. He even dubbed himself the Quad Father.
         Over the years I have watched Alex shoot for the stars. He went back to college, joined a frat, and got involved on campus. He graduated towards the top of his class, and went on to get his masters in mediation. Articles have been written him in Times magazine. As if that was not enough he continued on to an internship out in Washington D,C.
         The kid sets goals and just goes for it, without any fear. Holding nothing back he will step into the ring with anyone or anything. I have spent many long nights in that ring, around a fire, or a poker table, discussing life, all aspects. We talk about girls, we talk about God, but our favorite thing to discuss is politics.
         We don't enjoy these conversations because we share the same opinions, in fact it is the exact opposite. If you know me, you know know that I am an "independent" but in that independence, I lean pretty far to the right, some might use the word "conservative", There is no doubt that Alex is a red blooded democrat. He believes in the democratic ideals down to his very core. He spends the time to research what he believes in. He gets involved in the political process. He doesn't just swallow information, he analyzes it from all sides, and makes a rational decision. It is a scary prospect to get into one of these debates, because I know going into it that there is a 60% chance that I will lose the argument.
           In 2012 he worked on the Obama campaign, and was a large part of the reason that his county went democratic for the first time in years. It was quite the accomplishment. Alex knows what it is to work. As I type this he is running for his county's board of supervisor's, while working full time for the college that he graduated from and loves.
          I don't live in his district, but if I did he would have my vote, and I don't take that lightly. Ideologically we disagree about almost everything, Alex is humble but firm in his opinions. He is willing to listen, and not afraid to concede a point, that is something that demands my respect especially in this day and age, where it seems people just want to fight.
         What happened to him all those years ago was terrible, there is no other way to describe it. Like I said, I could not imagine spending one day in his shoes, they are far to big for me to fill. Through everything though, Alex continues to smile. There is wisdom in his eyes, he knows what he is capable of, and that is anything he sets his mind to. In a twisted way, losing his body, freed his mind.
         I aspire to be like my buddy Alex. I am sure that he will go on to do great things, in fact I don't think the Presidency is to far out of reach. When he is on the cover of every political magazine, or has published multiple books, or helped countless kids through college, or actually becomes President, I will be honored to say that I knew him. To say that I had the opportunity to bask in his light. The absolute best thing about Alex is this though: If all that does happen, if he does become President, I will always know that he is just phone call away, because above all else, Alex knows how to be a friend, and I am lucky enough to call him one of mine.



-Micah


P.S. If you live in Woodbury County make sure you go vote Nov. 4th. Watters for Woodbury.

Day number fourteen: The fear of succeeding, part 2 of 3 (backwards thinking post)

        I have a tendency to trust people more than I should. This has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion. The Bakery was a bar, that me and three other people started together. I thought I had learned something from the board shop, and I had, but the voice started whispering, greed turned us against each other, and the whole thing ended going up in flames. I lost more than one friend in the whole ordeal, but learned a thing or two about loyalty.
        It all started as a pipe dream. The idea was brought to my attention by a guy that I had tattooed, (I will not name names, but imagine a weasel that walks upright and you will have a good picture of whom I am talking about,) He knew the owner of the building, that was his way in. He had a very large friend that followed him around, kind of like a body guard. He reminded me of a neanderthal, the way his brow hung over his eyes, His lower jay jutting up and out into the world, causing a sever under bite, and he wasn't to bright.Some how this guy got involved, he had nothing to offer other than the fact that he was friends with the weasel. That fact alone should have been a red flag, but the voice in my head was screaming, COME ON DUDE YOU COULD OWN A BAR!!! Sirens where sounding, it was dream come true.
       I live in a bar town, There is nothing else to do, I mean there is, but nothing as entertaining. Bars are also a cash business, basically it is a recipe for success, and all I saw where dollar signs. The weasel and lurch approached me because they thought I had money, and could back their little endeavor. I, however, had no cash, but have a talent for asking for it. That was my way in, it would be my job to secure the capital.
       I didn't know many people with the kind of money that we were going to need, but I knew a few, so I made some calls and arranged a sit down. It would require a drive, so I invited a friend to ride along. He agreed to come, on the way we discussed the plan, how I would phrase things, what and how much I was going to ask for... We arrived, I went in and had a nice little chat, but in the end I was turned down. I had figured it was a long shot, so I was not disappointed, I was in no hurry to be in debt again, and was not sure about the weasel and the proof of evolution. The way i saw it, I had tried, it didn't work, it was not a big deal.
       My buddy was kind of quite for the first part of the ride home. When he did finally speak up, it was to offer the money I had just been denied. The request shocked me a little, in fact I tried talking him out of it. I knew that his family would not be a fan. He would have to put his car up for collateral at the bank, and technically he didn't own it. He said he would talk to his banker, and try to keep his parents out of it. We parted ways at my apartment. He had to return to his life hours away. Before he left told me he would call me in a couple of days to tell me what the bank had to say.
        I tried not to focus on it to much but that phone call consumed my thoughts. It finally happened four days later, it was good news, the bank had approved his loan request, we where in business. He  told me he would be up the following day to get the ball rolling. I made one phone call to the weasel and told him we would need a meeting with building owner.
       He set it up and the following night we were looking at the bar and the lease. We came to terms, signed the papers and started cleaning, painting, getting signage, setting up bank accounts, liquor licence, just a whirlwind, and I loved it, I have always worked well under pressure, and we only had two weeks to get up and running. We opened in the middle of the winter, which is a horrible time, all the tourists are gone, but there is a strong local crowd and if you can win their favor, you can make it to the halfway point. At the end of January there is a massive weekend long party on the frozen lake. Thousands of people flood back to town and they are there to do one thing, and one thing only... drink.
       We managed to get everything done and opened just before Christmas, this was a good soft opening, because all the college kids come back for Christmas, and many of them stay through New Year's. Luckily our gamble paid off. We didn't make a huge amount of money. but we made enough to make through to the end of January. We had all agreed that none of us would get paid until we had made it through to February, just to see what we were dealing with.
       The weasel was older than I was by quite a bit, so for some reason he made the argument that he should hang onto the check book. I said alright, but I shouldn't have. This is where I trusted blindly. If there is one thing I know about myself, it is that I am great with money. This arrangement worked for me, because if I didn't have it, I could not be accused of using it improperly, unfortunately it also meant I could not keep a close eye on it.
       January came to an end, and it was a blow out, I had never seen so much cash in my entire life. The weekend came to an end and I knew how much money we were supposed to have in bank th following Monday. I was anxious to get paid after all the bills the bar where taken care of, we where looking at a four way split, it was so close I cold taste it and I had my own bills stacking up.
      I got to the bank and over half of the money was missing... Angry is not a strong enough word... I immediately called my partner and told him what was going on. I got a copy of every check that had been written over the past month, and sat down to figure out what was happening. What I found was both eye opening and devastating.
      The weasel had been paying all his bills out of our account. I mean everything, rent, cable, new car payment, settling old debt, it was ridiculous. It took me a couple of hours to comb through everything, but as soon as I was done I called my partner, and told him we needed to kick the weasel and the gorilla out, they could not be trusted. I was told that it was my fault, and was accused of stealing it myself. I was shocked, I had done everything I could to keep my integrity intact. I told him I could prove that it wasn't me. He told me to go meet his dad and plead my case.
       Armed with the truth I met with him. He was not a fan of me, he held me responsible for getting his 25 year old boy involved. I understood this, but didn't have the time to deal with it. I showed him what I had found and was redeemed, we spent the next two weeks pouring over the books, and trying to get the weasel and the thing gone. We changed the locks, took his name off the accounts, reapplied for our liquor licence, it was a hassle. Not to mention the fact that we had become the talk of the town, and not in a good way. People started drifting away.
       Legally there was nothing we could do about the lost money. In the end we had to buy the weasel and lurch out, I made some noise about this, but ultimately there was nothing we could do. We paid him and decided to incorporate. The Day before we were supposed to sign the papers, my "buddy" turned on me as well and cut me out completely.  Part of me saw it coming, but the rejection still stung,
       I dove into the pool with out checking to see if there was any water. I was again blinded by the possibility of success, but I rushed in without checking my surroundings. I had learned to keep track of my bank account after the board shop, but I was so focused on the money, that I excused or ignored what was going on. I can say that I was not the only one that was blinded by greed. We all became ugly. I had been friends my partner for years, never had a bad memory with him, and now I have no desire to ever see him again. I wish him no ill will, but that doesn't mean I have to invite him back in my life.
       I will always be driven to success. I have not made it yet, but it took Edison 2000 tries to get the light bulb right. I know I got a few more tries in me, The prospect of making money is my blind spot. Not just making money but making it fast. This thought gives that voice power. It drives me to make rash decisions. Controlling this part of my life is crucial, and somewhere that I need to rely heavily on God, I need to take a step back and trust that he will take care of me, he always has.


North Dakota for part 3 and day fifteen.


-Micah

Day number thirteen: The fear of succeeding, part 1 of 3 (backwards thinking post)

       I am, with out a doubt, my biggest critic, nothing is ever good enough. I carry this into every aspect of my life. I took it with me to school, I take it into every relationship, I carry it into work. There is a voice in my head that just gnaws away at whatever I am doing. This voice motivates me, as well as terrifies me. It is not a logical voice, but rather an emotional on. It is not driven by reason, it runs on hopes and fears, anger and joy, it bounces all over the place, and the truth is I need to stop listening to it so much.
       There are three times in the last ten years that this voice has been a huge detriment, urging me to go forward, when I knew I shouldn't have. Building up my confidence before stripping me back down to nothing. Each time the voice was a little louder than the last, and each time getting up has been a little bit harder.
        For the first real failure I have to go back a little more than a decade. I graduated high school early, along with my brother. I was so ready to be done, I never really felt like I fit it, and I was ready to start making money. I had poured concrete with a large contractor the summer before, I didn't necessarily enjoy the work at the time, but I worked hard and conversely my body had become hard from the work. As soon as we graduated we got our jobs back.
        We left school on good terms in January, not a great time to pour concrete. I remember it being especially cold that year and by April I was ready to try something new. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life, college was out, it was too expensive, plus I had just finished up twelve years of school. I needed a break, and I wanted to see what I was made of.
         We lived near a cozy little lake town, and had learned how to wake board the summer before.  We had gone almost every night that summer, It was a painful and somewhat expensive hobby. I had dreams of going pro.. I wore the right clothes, I talked the right talk, and I was willing to try things that where way to advanced, often leaving me bruised or broken for a short period of time, but I always got back up. I was young and my body was quick to forgive me.
         So back to April, both my brother and I were ready for a change. there was a small board shop at the lake, and we both thought that would be the best summer job in the world, work in the shop during the day, ride all night. We drove down on a Saturday, just to see if they were hiring. We knew that we had to apply fast, the season at the lake started memorial day, and if we waited till then it would be to late. We drove by multiple times and saw no activity, but we where determined to stick around until we got the chance to talk to someone.
         After and hour and a half of driving in circles someone finally showed up. We parked and made our way to the shop. A man came out to greet us. We introduced ourselves and asked if he owned the shop. He told us he did, but that he was looking to sell it so he wasn't sure if he was going to be hiring anyone. A light bulb went off in both of our brains.
        My brother quickly asked how much he was asking. He gave us a number and we headed back to the car, giddy with excitement, The voice started to whisper.
         We raced home, eager to tell our parents about the opportunity. For the cost of a nice car we could be business owners. It seemed like a flawless plan, it was cheaper than college, and instead of just spending money, we were going to be making money. The voice telling me that I was going to be a millionaire before I hit twenty five, the thought made my mouth water.
         My parents were very supportive, but told us that they did not have the money to get us started. It was a depressing blow, but it was not going to hold us back. We were only seventeen at the time, but with some help we put together a business plan and started calling banks set up appointments to see if we could get a loan. The first three banks laughed at us and all but told us to get out. With each no, the light of our dream seemed to fade, but there was no way we were going to give up. There was one more bank on the list, and we were determined to push forward until we couldn't anymore.
         We had started these meetings on a Monday and by the time we got to the last one it was Friday. We both woke up with a sense of urgency, the meeting was in the mid morning, so we both showered and got dressed up. (dressed up for a seventeen year old is just jeans, and untucked dress shirt with loose tie around the neck, using a paperclip as a tie clip,,, so classy.) This was it, it was go time.
        We arrived at the bank, nervous, but firm in our resolve. Through the course of the week we hadgiven the presentation a couple of time, and we had it down pretty good, Both of us knowing what part we had to play. It was like watching poetry in motion the way the words rolled off our tongues. We knew the questions that were going to come our way, and we were prepared with answers.
        The bankers door opened and we walked in, The plan was presented while he sat there quietly, listening to our math, We had decided that we would need twenty two thousand dollars to do it right. part of that would be for stocking the store, part would be for paying rent, and part would be for the actual purchase of the business.
       We wrapped up our little show, and waited for him to react. He sat there for a couple of minutes in silence. His lips pursed, hands clasped together, both of his index fingers resting on his chin. I could tell he was thinking, but couldn't tell about what. I started to think that we were looking down the barrel of another no, my heart started to sink at the prospect, but I kept my poker face on, just in case.
       He finally lifted his head, and smiled. He told us that he loved the plan, but asked if we had any collateral. We were seventeen, the only thing we owned was a 1986 Buick Le Saber (which is french for the sword.... just in case you didn't know.) and that was not going to get us to the twenty two grand that we so desperately needed. He told us that if we could come up with fifteen thousand for the bank to hold, he would be alright giving us the loan.
      We left, it was not a no, but it was certainly not a very solid yes. Fifteen thousand dollars is not a huge amount of money, but when you are seventeen and broke, it might as well be a million. We took a step back and reevaluated our situation. Hope was fading, but we were determined to make it happen. The voice telling me that it was better to burn out that to fade away, We pressed on.
       We decided to hit the phones. We called anyone we thought would be willing to help us out. The initial plan was to get three investors, we would ask each for five thousand dollars. Late in the afternoon we made our first call and set up a meeting for the next day. We arrived and made our pitch. The first investor said they could not give us five, but the could give us three, and we where off. The weekend was a blur but by the end of it we had raised thirteen thousand five hundred dollars.
        We had a meeting with the bank that Monday, we knew that they wanted fifteen, but we were so close we decided to go for it and see what happened. Half way through the meeting we got a call, telling us there was someone that was interested in our little plan. We cut the meeting short and headed out. We sat down with the potential investor, and an hour later walked out with a check for fifteen hundred dollars, we had made it. We drove back to the bank, our heads in the clouds, I started dreaming of the success ahead, failure was not an option, the voice filling my head with ideas of endless bank accounts and private jets. Telling me that the work was almost done, and the fun was right around the corner.
     We were a week away from our birthday, and only five weeks away from memorial day. We had a lot of work to do and not much time to do it. Once the money was in the account we started spending it. We took control of the lease, ordered what we thought we would need, and bought some advertising, even leased the nicest boat we could find. Things where falling into place.
      Then the voice started to speak, it was no longer whispering. We had worked hard reach the goal, and for the first time, people where starting to take notice. We were young business owners. We deserved to have fun. I thought that the getting the money together was impressive, and it was, I also thought that maybe it was time to coast. That the business would run itself, so I listened to that voice, as it told me to shut the shop down early and go ride. It told me that it was ok to sleep in, I was my own boss, the shop would open when I got there. My sense of entitlement grew each day. I was the master of my own destiny, and popularity was more important than making sure the business was headed down the right path. I stop working, and started having fun, because I deserved it. I stopped keeping track of the money, and things went down hill quickly.
       In a vacation town you have three maybe four months to make enough money to carry you through the year. This did not happen the first year of the shop, so as we closed the doors, it was time to go back to pouring concrete. It was a tough winter, but I made it through, determined to make the shop work. That second summer we took on a silent partner, or so we thought. I did a better job watching the books and keeping the store in order, but money kept disappearing. I had to take a closer look when we bounced a sizable check for some merchandise that we needed oh so badly.
       I dug into the books, confused and angry. As it turned out, our silent partner had a gambling problem and had drained our account. We made it to the end of the season, but after that we were dead in the water. Success had slipped though my fingers, because I had focused on the fun and not the work. I had listened to that voice telling me that I deserved the fun, and had relaxed when the battle was just beginning. It was sobering, being 19 and staring at a mountain of debt. I had no idea where to even start, so back to concrete I went. It would take a couple years to get another "wonderful" idea, and with the idea, the voice returned.

Part two: the bakery, will be up tonight.



-Micah
     

Day number twelve: What is love...(baby don't hurt me post)

     What is love? Is it a chain of chemical reactions, a natural release of endorphin's...? Can it be boiled down to brain chemistry and physiology? That seems a little simple to me... Call me old fashion, but I believe in soul mates. A hopeless romantic, I search for my other half everyday. I can feel her calling my name, and when I find her I will know. I have never been so ready.
       As far back as I can remember all I have ever wanted is to get married. I have not been sitting around planning my wedding or anything, but I have been thinking about the future Mrs, Bruggom every day for the last twenty-eight years. I don't know what she looks like but I can imagine the sound of her laughter. I don't know what color her eyes will be, but I know how they will look at me. I don't know if she will be tall or short, but I know that won't matter. I don't know if she will have glasses, but I know I will want to see the world through her eyes.
      Somewhere along the way I got confused. I got hurt, and put up walls. I became scared of the thing that I wanted most of all. In that confusion I hurt the one that cared for me more than anyone. The breakups that matter are the ones that leave you broken, feeling like you can't go on. The ones that leave you gasping for air. The ones you never really get over, you just learn to live with yourself, knowing that things will never go back to how they where. The ones where you would give anything and everything to get that person back. Your only hope, is that maybe, you learned something that you can take to the next relationship, if you have the courage to get back in the saddle.
        My first heartbreak was terrible, but I also learned the most basic of lessons. Don't cheat, it's not worth the pain and shame. It is also difficult to keep the lie going. It was a hard, but valuable lesson to learn. To this day, even years later, I am still disgusted with myself.
         My second heartbreak was full of smaller, more complex lessons. We kept the relationship alive through the most stressful time in my life. We were young, trying to make it on our own. We met by accident. but I took one look into her eyes, and she had me. I would have followed her to the end of the earth. I remember telling her that she was out of my league. I didn't have much, but I knew how to work with what I had.
       I was a tattoo artist at the time, and love it or hate it, I was kind of a rock star. I lived in a small house in a tiny town, miles away from the bar, one of my favorite hang outs. I liked being at there, at the bar, so much that I got a job as a door guy at one of my favorite haunts. This will forever be one of my favorite jobs. I love to people watch and being a door guy, you see all kinds. More importantly, though, if I had not worked there, I never would have met her.
       She was gorgeous, and she knew it. Knowing how to work a smile, talking with her eyes. She was not cold and distant, as some people are, instead she was soft and warm. She was very easy to talk to, almost inviting. She came out to smoke once every 10 minutes, admitting she was just looking for a reason to talk to me, and I obliged her. It was strange to me, I had recently lost over 100 pounds, and was not used to being noticed.
       After that night we started hanging out pretty regularly, I would take her on dates to the amusement park. I could feel myself falling hard. I would find excuses to stay and sleep with her, both cuddled up on a love seat that was so small we had to recline it to fit. It was so uncomfortable but neither one of us wanted to move. Days turned into weeks. Weeks grew into months, time flew by. We had some speed bumps. but it felt like nothing could break us, and with each day my feelings grew deeper.
       We became best friends. I enjoyed watching a\ movies and hanging out on the couch, as much as, if not more than going out. She made me laugh and I made her laugh, we didn't have much, but I felt like we were building something together.
        Eventually though, things took a turn. Drama surrounded the tattoo shop, there was a lot of back stabbing and rumors of a personal nature started to circulate, I was no longer happy doing what I loved. I had been thinking of taking a step back for some time, something happened on my birthday that solidified the thought. I was in Oklahoma visiting my brother when I got a call telling me to look up a page on Facebook, it was a group someone had started called "no more Micah tattoos".
      I was panicked, unsure what the future held, but also knowing that I was probably done tattooing, a daunting thought. I had grown close to the people that I worked with and leaving the establishment was a heartbreaking endeavor. She was the first person I called. She was calm, cool, and collect on the other end of the phone.Her voice soothing the pain I  was feeling. We decided that it was time to move on.
      I had known for a while that she wanted to move, so without thinking I sprang into action. I called the University of Iowa on a Friday, visited the campus the following Monday, and was accepted that same day. I was so excited I could barely hold it in as I called her.
     She picked up and I started talking and couldn't stop until I had spit it all out. I was expecting her to be happy and excited, she was not. I had forgotten one very important step in my excitement, and that was talking to her... about any of it. I assumed that she would jump at the chance to follow my lead, and let me drag her away. I had not considered her feelings one bit. She pleaded with me all summer, Telling me it was a bad idea, but I was blinded by the possibilities that the future held, how could anything go wrong?
      She tried to warn me, that it was not good timing, that we needed to plan it out. There were nights that I would twist her words and make her the bad guy. At times making her cry with my words. Playing the perfect victim I took shots at her. Partly because I was doing a poor job dealing with the rejection I felt from the tattoo shop and surrounding community, I couldn't wait to leave, to run from my problem. She knew this, and I should have listened.
      I made some life long friends while I was there, but the only thing I learned in college, was how to do cocaine. I wanted so desperately to do well in school, but I was scared of failing again and old habits slithered back in. I hid all of this from her. I stropped communicating, and started lashing out. Throwing all the anger I felt towards myself, right in her face. She took as much as she could, but a person can only take so much. and eventually I pushed her right out the door.
       She left, but was not ready for it to be over. She still saw some thing in me, even after all the abuse, still wanting to mend the relationship. I was so lost in my own self pity that I didn't see what I was doing to her. I had neglected her beauty, I forgot that I was supposed take care of her, not the other way around.
        I went into a downward spiral after we broke up, diving into the bottle, going to class even less, doing more drugs. I just wanted to be numb, to everything and every one. I was failing and broke, I needed my mommy.
        Over spring break I went home to see my family. She had moved back and I knew I would see her. I was so desperate to feel alive with  her again that I came at her hard, trying to mask all the pain I had been hiding. I couldn't contain it and by the end of the week I had burned anything that was left of a bridge. I had also decided, that maybe, just maybe, it was time to go to rehab. I wasn't going make it much longer if I kept down the same path.
        Rehab was one of the best decisions I have ever made. I sobered up and faced some things, I met some great people, and for the first time, looked forward to taking a drug test. I came out with a clear mind and a plan. I moved back home and got a job. I knew she would be around, and I knew that we would not be able to resist each other, no matter what happened.
       We were drawn back together, and it did not take me long to fall into the same patterns, I started taking her for granted, acting like she owed me something... We pushed through, got a house, we had two dogs, but things where never like they were at first. there was to much history and not enough time to heal in between. I pushed her away, and this time she was ready to go.
        I know exactly when I pounded the last nail into the coffin of our relationship. She was standing at the door, bags packed, holding back tears. She had come to visit, hoping against hope that I had changed, and once again I let her down. Her eyes where begging me to tell her to stay, as I sat in my chair, which felt more like a thrown, coldly staring at the tv. My jaw clenched, just  pointing at the door. She left, it was months before we talked again.
        I left a big part of my heart with that girl, and it will always be hers. She accepted everything  about me, and I that is why I loved her so much, I didn't have to hide anything. She was not perfect, but for a small amount of time, she was mine. I can not thank her enough for everything she taught me, They are lessons that I carry with me everyday, I don't know if we will ever get back together,(I very much doubt that will ever happen) but she will be, and has been the comparison for every relationship since,
        Years later I still feel the sting, but with every relationship since I have applied new practices, I try not to ignore when she spends hours getting ready, just to hear that she is beautiful. I send flowers for no reason. I pay for dinner, but I always try to make them laugh, if not just to hear an echo of her's.
        That love will be my guiding light. The kind of love where cuddling on the couch trumps going out into the world, because she is the world, I just didn't know how to tell her. A kind of love that is quiet and listens. The kind of love the is unafraid to tell me what I don't want to hear. Seeing the worst parts in me, and still pulling me in for a kiss. These are the things that I look for.

I know you are out there, and I can't wait to find you.



-Micah

Day number eleven:Walking into the light (choices part two post)

        If I choose to be bad then, logically I can choose to be good. I know this, but for some reason I always run the other way. I have to question why this is. I was raised right, with a firm moral code. Raised to believe that everyone deserves respect, including myself. Raised to think before I act and speak. Raised to believe in compassion. So why have I railed against these beliefs so hard. Why have I broken down and given into the temptations...?
        I have racked my brain and all I can come up with is that it is easier. It is the simplest answer to a complex question. It is a shortsightedness I am working to overcome, because in the long run it only makes things worse. It is always the selfish or prideful choice that becomes my down fall. It is a pattern that I have failed to see until now. I am not saying that I should never watch my own back, but I find that I am the most happy when I am helping people, instead of hurting them. I am no saint, that much is clear, but most days if I have something to give, I try to give it as freely as possible.
        This is the part of me that I like, the side that I am at peace with, most of the time. This is the side that I hope to feed, in order to chase out the dark. At the risk of sounding repetitive, I will say it again, the light terrifies me. I can see my scars, and so can everyone else. I fear that I will become transparent in the light, that you will see right through me. I have worked hard to make sure that no one turns their gaze towards me, and if they do, I have worked even harder to hide what I don't want anyone to see.
       This is where the dark has power over me. It knows my shame, and lords it over me, threatening to reveal those secrets. So what do I do? I choose to keep them secret. I would like to say that I am dragged back into black, or that I am simply swallowed, but every time I return it is of my own accord.
        The battle that rages on inside my soul is only visible to the people closest to me. I can't hide it from them, it just takes to much work. I lash out at them, spewing the ugliness that I feel at them. It is a terrible habit and one that I need to correct. (that whole work in progress thing.)
        So what factors into the choices I make one way or the other? I have narrowed it down to three things. There are, of course, many more, but these are the main three for me, and they go as follows: environment (outside forces i.e, where I have lived,how I was raised, how people have reacted to choices I have made, how other people's decisions have effected me, pier pressure etc...), how past choices have played out (cause and effect), and finally hope and fear of how the choice will effect my future.
        The first, environment, is the hardest for me to control. Yes I can pick where I live, but that is about as far as that one goes. I can not, nor do I want too, control how other people treat me. I know that not everyone is going to like every decision that I make or agree with everything I have to say. That is their choice, and it would be foolish of me to say that these interactions don't influence my every day choices. In the past I have allowed these outside forces to dictate my every move. That has gotten me nowhere. These are the things that unlock the cage and release the beast. I give them to much power. Fact of the matter is, I have enough voices in my head, I don't need anymore telling me what to do. So maybe the first step is shut these outside voices off for the time being. I will never be truly able to shut them out, but putting less focus on them is within the realm of possibility and a good place to start.
       The second, is like the Ghost of Christmas Past, It is also the most cloudy of the three. I have spent a lot of time and energy to keep it that way. If I cant clearly remember how a choice played out then I am bound to repeat it, and for me that has worked out pretty well. Again very short sighted. Einstein defined crazy as doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results each time. My logic here is that if I cant remember the results, its like the first time every time. For some reason I, as in me, trick myself into making the wrong choice. Looking back, disappointed with how I handled certain situations, sometimes it is easier to forget.
      ... And finally my hopes and fears regarding each choice. This is me trying to predict the future. This is the last analysis I make before deciding what to do. Some times this takes seconds, for instance: I wake up in the middle of the night, having to go to the bathroom, my hope is that I make it, my fear is that I won't... it doesn't take long to decide. Other times I will take months to move from thought to action. Laying out a plan, obsessing over it, trying to see every angle, replaying it over and over again in my mind. I can get lost in it, thinking so much about the future that I leave the now in the past.
        I can't say that the darkness will ever leave me, but if I chose to shine light on it it will run, it has to. The big question has always been this; is that a choice that I am willing to make...?


-Micah



 
     

Day Ten: Staring into the dark (choice post part 1)

        I have always maintained that choice is what defines us as human beings. Everything, in my mind, can be traced back the choices I make. Even action is motivated by what you choose to do, because in order to do anything first you have to make the choice. That is the great thing about being human, we get the chance to chose who and what we are to become,choices from the past, shadow the choices I will make in the future. It is my hope that with every choice I learn something new, carve out a new path. It has turned into an up hill battle. One full of heart ache and sorrow. A torturous journey. Strength is born from struggle though, and if I am ever able to reach the summit, I pray that I will be able to bear the weight.
    I am late getting this post up because I was forced to evaluate some of my past decisions this weekend. I know I didn't make all the right ones, but I did gain some valuable insight into why I make those choices, so once more down the rabbit hole I go...
        There has always been a darkness welling up in the corners of my mind. It whispers in the nigh, filling my mind with things that I should not do. I like to compare it to a beast, always scratching right under the surface waiting to be unleasahed. I can feel it watching me when I close my eyes, and I fight to keep it under control. Sometimes I win the fight, and sometimes I lose, but I continue fighting.
       The worst part of this darkness, is that it is part of me, it is that part that I am most comfortable with.,. When the scratching becomes unbearable, I choose to peel back my skin and let the monster out. Once that choice is made I can feel myself relaxing, Sinking into the shadows, I bear my teeth and start hunting. This is also a choice. I can sense the dark in other people, I can feel the pain they are masking, because it is the same pain I feel, a buried anger someone is hiding with a smile. The loneliness one feels in a crowded room... I can sense it. These things feed that beast, Not satisfied until the misery is accommodated and accompanied.
        Paul said that the things he desired to do he did not do, and the things he didn't want to do are the things that he did. I can relate to this sentiment whole heatedly. There is something twisted in my brain that drives me to that dark. I can spend weeks living the way I know I should, but it is a struggle, and that struggle is real. Strangely I crave the destruction. I am so used to failing that I feel more secure when I am losing.
       I can pin point the second I make the decision to release the beast every time it happens. An idea will pop into my head, when it forms, I instantly know it is not a good idea, and I do mean instantly. I will dismiss it, but once the seed is planted it is almost to late, I say almost because there are times that I win the fight, but that is rare. It sits there and percolates, growing from a whisper into a scream that resembles a siren, blocking out any other noise. It takes over my thoughts, lying to me telling me it will be so much fun, bringing up the one time that it was actually fun. 9 times out of 10 it turns out just the way I think it will, not fun, ending in shame or guilt, but I constantly reminded of the one time that it all seemed worth it. I embellish that one memory, until it is so real, I am convinced that that one time was actually all 10 times, It is not till the fog is lifted, that i realize the consequences and weight of my actions.
     I usually wake up drenched in guilt. barely able to look at myself in the mirror, It doesn't matter if the choice I made was one related to drugs, alcohol, or another person, my hypocrisy is the only thing in the mirror. Usually I have punished my body in some way, and wake up feeling the effects. I crave this as much as the depravity I enacted earlier. In some twisted way I feel closer to God when I have knocked myself down. The pain, whether physical or mental, is my penitence, a deserved punishment.
    The best part of all this(heavy sarcasm), is again that I chose it. Realizing this had been hard for me. No one wants to admit they chose to live in filth, but I do on a daily basis. I hide it well. Everything you see about me is a lie. The way I look is tailored to hide that darkness. An intricate illusion, designed to draw you in. Blind you to what you really see. My cloths appear expensive, my walk portrays confidence, my wallet is full and ready to be spent (even if it is every penny I have to my name), because to me, if I appear successful you will like me, if only for a night.
     This darkness has a hold on me, it is the first voice I hear in the morning, it is the last one I hear at night. It fuels my doubt, and tells me that I will never be good enough. It tells me that I don't deserve love. It drives me to violence. If I am bloodied on the outside, it alleviates the ugliness I feel on the inside, bringing the fight outside of my mind. In my head it allows a glimpse of the truth, it allows a peak behind the curtain, it is a cry for help that is often unseen, and even if it is, shrugged off and covered up.
     Facing this hypocrisy is also a choice. The dark is most dangerous when I am living the way I know I should, and the times I fall are always proceeded  pride. I start to think that I am untouchable. Arrogance creeps in, telling me that God would be proud of me. It is some what of an oxymoron, taking pride in humility. When this happens I justify my trips back to the shadows, telling myself that I deserve to get fucked up, or having sex one time is five months is acceptable. If I only do cocaine once a year, I don't have a problem. If I smoke that bowl I will be able to laugh. If I have sex with that person, I will get a taste of love, even if it is a bitter one..
    This is the life that I have chosen in the past. I have never truly taken responsibility for these choices. I have always blamed it on the darkness. What I have failed to realize it that this darkness is not outside of myself, it is part of me, intertwined with my being. It is in my very nature. That doesn't mean it has to win. It just means I need to work up the courage to step into the light... It might be time to invest in a good pair of sunglasses , cause its about to get bright.


-Micah


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Day number nine: My love, hate relationship with weed. (drug post)

     If sex is my first addiction, weed is a close second. I love it, the taste, the smell, the way it burns the back of my throat. I like watching the smoke pour out of my mouth, I even enjoy coughing after taking a good long hit. If, and nowadays, I should say when, it becomes legal, I would smoke it everyday. It has been a part of my life for the better part of a decade now, and I would be lying if I said that I didn't think about getting high at least once a day. Outside of my family it is the the longest relationship I have sustained... but she is a fickle bitch.
     This is a touchy subject in our country right now, with two states making the leap to full recreational legalization, I feel the rest of the country can't be far behind. Once that train has left the station it will be a hard one to stop. It is not as controversial as gay marriage, so it wont  be as hard to get people on board. Lets face it my generation is behind it, but it also has the backing of older generations. There is also no clear party line, I have smoked with Republicans and Democrats, Independents and everyone in between. I have smoke with incredibly smart people, and incredibly dumb people. The tax revenue it is generating out in Colorado is already in the millions, and once the federal government gets a taste of  that it is over. It is coming.
   
     That is not what this post is about though (there might be one in the future, this week is about my vices, not my politics.) This post is about what the reefer has done, or not done, for me in my life.

     I was fifteen the first time I got high. I was always raised to believe that grass was the devil. That if I where to get high my life would fall into a downward spiral. I would become either an after school special, or one of those stupid commercials you see, ya know the ones where the kid is all deflated on the couch, his friends in the back round saying he never does anything anymore... you know the one.
     I remember the day very clearly. It was a Wednesday, a very pivotal Wednesday, and we had gotten out of school early that day. One of my good friends was back from college so my brother and I went to have lunch with him, while catching up he asked if we wanted to get high. The prospect scared me, but I also trusted the kid, which made it easier to say yes. I knew that he smoked and drank but he had gotten into a good school, nothing terrible had happened to him, So I figured why not, plus I wanted to impress him. We had to go back to school, but told him we would meet up with him after. We made planned the rendezvous for  around 4:30. I had to work after school and all I could do was watch the clock.
      4:30 came and I practically sprinted out the door into the parking lot.He was waiting just like he said he would be. I was nervous and had no idea what I was doing, but there was a part of me that felt  more alive than i ever had. Before that day I had never had done a drug, taken a drink, smoked a cigarette, My body was clean and healthy, my mind was clear. I was so desperate for acceptance that I was willing to sacrifice my innocence if it meant that someone liked me.
      We pulled out of the parking lot and headed out of town. He quickly pulled out an atlas and set it on my lap. I wasn't sure if he needed directions and threw him a puzzled look, he laughed and told me to hang on. He dug around the back seat and pulled out a large zip lock bag full of dirt weed. I had never seen good old Mary Jane before so I was taken back. It didn't look like what I thought it should.
     He broke off a chunk and put it on the atlas and promptly told me to pick out all the seeds and stems, he then handed me a pipe. My hands where shaking the whole time. It took me longer than it should have, but I finally had enough clean to load the pipe. He handed me a lighter and told me to light it up. Still shaking I brought it to my lips and lit it, sucking slowly at first. The smoke burned as it filled my mouth. It took everything I had not to gag as I coughed and coughed. Tears burned my eyes as I looked over at my friend. He was laughing. We smoked three bowls before he finally put it away.
      I have heard many people say they never got high their first time. I.... Got..... Super.... High. Everything became slow and fast at the same time. Colors popped, music sounded better, everything I had been worried about faded into the background. My give a fuck was officially broken, and I liked it.
     We drove around for a little bit before he dropped me back off at work, just in time for my mom to pick me and my brother up. I didn't say much on the way home, and as soon as we got there I made some excuse about having home work and went straight to my room, where I stayed the remainder of the night.
     It took a couple of years for it to really get its hooks into me, but it had not destroyed my life like I had been told it would. I went on to finish high school, graduating with honors, My brother and I started a business before we turned 18. I got high occasionally and noticed that it helped my social skills. I didn't really like beer at the time, so I stuck with what I knew. I wasn't afraid when I was high. It made me funny, and often the life of the party. It didn't didn't give me a hang over and allowed me to connect with people I never thought I would.
    As time went on myself a couple of buddies started selling it, mostly so we didn't have to pay for it. Only problem was, we got good at it. We became the people to know, my phone would blow up at all hours, day or night, and for the first time in my life I felt as though i was truly being accepted,that became a drug of its own. I had never seen so much cash in my life, and I was having fun. I was lying to my family, and losing friends I had had for years, but I was having fun, and making money, it was a win win in my book.
    There were some close calls with the cops. There was more than one fight, Guns where pointed at me. But I was having fun. I was still the guy to know. I was like the guy in prison that can get anything you need. I had power because I had knowledge, and I wielded that power, slowly becoming arrogant. I became a slave to my pleasure. If something didn't go my way I had to get high, just so i could forget. I started having trouble holding down a job, and paying the rent. Bills started to pile up along with stress. The more stressed I got, the higher I got. I could be on the verge of tears, but if you handed me a lighter and a loaded bowl I could be laughing in minutes. It was not longer fun, but a necessity.
    My life had become the after school special I never thought it would... I was blind to it. In my eyes I still had everything under control, so I turned to other things I had been warned about. My logic was if I could handle weed, I could handle anything, It started with alcohol, then coke, then a little bit of E, mushrooms... the list goes on, but the fact is it all started with weed.
       So do I love weed? Yes and no. It helps me see things differently, I can create when I am high, Some of the best art work I have ever done was created when I was high. I wrote an entire book, like literally a novel, and I was high for a good part of it. If I wasn't high while writing it I was high when searching for ideas. My mind seems to work better when its fueled by a little thc, at least I like to think it does, so I  can not whole heatedly say that I hate it. It turns the volume down enough for me to focus.
        My problem is that I use it as a crutch. I sometimes feel that I can't create unless I am high, and that is the lie that I tell myself, that is also why I need to be careful around it and with it. It gives me a fake confidence, and what I need to learn is that that confidence is in there, somewhere in the recesses of my mind. I do know for a fact, if I can do it high, i sure as shit can do it sober. The talent is in there, I just need to realize that I am the key, not the weed.
       

-Micah


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Day number eight: Let's talk about sex baby. ( X-rated post)

       This is a hard subject for me to talk about. Sex is my drug of choice, and I have done a lot of drugs. Nothing gets me higher than another human being, I have taken the most beautiful thing in the world and twisted it to the point that I am not sure that I even know how to do it right anymore. It is the act of physical love, but I lost the love part somewhere along the line, confusing lust for love. When I was younger I thought the world was going to end before I got the chance to see what the big deal was, so I made it my mission to find out. If there is one choice in my life I could take back, it would be that night, and I have tried meth.
      I wish I had know the weight of the action before I took it upon myself to try it. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, that is a natural law. My reaction was craving more and more of it. It has ruined every relationship I have ever been in. Not because sex is a bad thing, in fact it is quite the opposite, but because I didn't understand the repercussions it would have on me and my unknowing victims. It is like a child playing with a loaded gun, sooner or later it is going to blow up in your face. For the most part, I have been lucky, and even when there where consequences, (my son), God used it as a blessing, I have never gotten a disease and never been a home wrecker, at least to my knowledge.
     As far as emotional pain goes I am a wreck. I have been in love two times in my life, and both times the relationships failed because of sex. The first time I was 18, she was 24 and I was head over heals. She was truly my first love, the one that I will never forget. We spent an entire summer together, side by side. She was my everything, all I thought about.
    We used to sit around, just the two of us and play a game that we called the best friend game. It wasn't really even a game. I would ask her five questions about myself, and then she would do the same, Whomever got the most questions about the other person right won the game. I knew everything I could about her, and she new everything about me. We were inseparable. The best part is we never had sex, there was a lot of kissing, and some pretty heavy petting, but no sex, the genitals were off limits, and we were both ok with that be cause we didn't need sex to define the relationship.
     Summer ended and she had to leave town one weekend. My friends, at the time were pretty excited about this, because they had not seen me all summer. If I had a spare moment I was with her. My buddy had a party that weekend. I should have known better. Every one of my friends knew that we were not "doing it", it was funny to them, we were all young and they were all busy sowing their seed, Cause everyone knows that is how teenage boys become "men."
      I was not much of a drinker back then so after about 4 beers I was feeling pretty good, of course I didn't stop at 4, and by the end of the night I was shitfaced, like barely knew my own name shitfaced. I went upstairs to pass out, but before I did I said something to one of the girls that was in attendance. I have never been Rico Suave, and I can only imagine what i sounded like as drunk as I was.
     I stumble up the steps and fell into the bed, never thinking in a million years that what I had said would work. I don't know for sure how long I laid there before she came in. One thing led to another and before I knew it the whole thing was over. I was sober almost instantly. I instantly felt dirty. I had to leave the room. I went outside, and just started pacing. It was four o'clock in the morning, I wanted to call the girl I loved so much, so bad;y, but I didn't want to wake her up, I was so considerate. I know I shouldn't have now, but I got in my car an just started driving around, every ditch looked inviting, I didn't want to be alive anymore.
     I drove around for an hour and a half, I couldn't take it anymore. I called her, it felt like the phone rang forever... she didn't pick up, I instantly hit redial. Ring... Ring...Rin "Hello?"
     I could tell she had been sleeping, she sounded happy to hear from me. I tried as hard as i could to stop myself but the words came pouring out of my mouth before I could, I told her everything and begged for forgiveness. I hoped against hope, but I also knew the rules. She was crying as she told me she never wanted to talk to me again, and to this day she has kept her word. It destroyed me. Breathing hurt, I crawled into a hole for a year, doing nothing but going to work and right home, it was a struggle to stay alive.
      By the time I met the second woman that I would fall in love with I was considerably more "experienced". I had become quite the pick up artist, not caring who I slept with, just trying to find some kind of connection, even if it only lasted a night.She caught my eye right away, she was stunning and we hit it off. I decided I wanted to take it slow with her, so we waited a whole week before we went for it. Things were great for the first six months, but then we started using sex as a crutch, trying to prop up a sinking ship, we would fight, and instead of solving the problem we went to the bed room. This only masked the problem and 2 or 3 days later we were at it again, eventually it became a weapon that we would use against each other, something it was never intended to be. We were always great in the bed room, it was the rest of the relationship that we couldn't figure out. By the end of it we all but hated each other.
     These are just 2 examples and there are many more. With each encounter I took something from my partner, and they took something from me. These are parts that I can and will never get back. I will carry the memories with me for the rest of my life, but now I fear that I will never be able to enjoy sex the way it was supposed to be enjoyed, between one man and one women. It will take a very special woman to over look my past and I hope I find her one day. The flip side of that coin is that I will be able to over look any past she has, seeing as I have absolutely no room to judge. I do believe that God put the desire to be married in my heart and I have faith that my future bride is out there waiting for me to find her. It has been a hard lesson to learn, but I think i am finally starting to get it.


-Micah


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Day number seven: My biggest fear ( courage post)

       Fear is a powerful thing, so hard to define at times. Is it just a feeling? Franklin Roosevelt told us that the only thing to fear is fear itself, as I sit hear trying to figure out what I want to say, I find that I am terrified of so many things. I worry about bills I have to pay. I fret about finding enough work. I question whether or not I am a good father, a good son, a good brother. I wonder if anyone feels the same way I do... I resent past mistakes, that have taken me down roads I never thought I would venture down. I constantly doubt myself and regret the pain I have caused, and all of this adds up to the thing I fear more the most... being alone.
         I don't think this is an uncommon fear. No one likes to be alone, but why? Today we are bombarded with information and social media, but as we hide behind computer screens, tweeting and updating facebook statuses are we missing out? Deep down I just want to know that someone likes me, that someone is willing to have my back, like I am willing to have theirs. Is that wrong? I hope not.
      This fear is so deeply ingrained in me that I have willing sold my soul for acceptance. I can tell you for a fact that if I was truly ok with being alone, I would have never tried silencing the voices in my head with drugs or alcohol. I wouldn't have slept with countless women, trying to mask the pain with one night of pleasure, that inevitably lead to more pain, not just for me. I preyed on the same pain I was feeling, seeking it out and exploiting it.
     It is a vicious cycle, one that is hard to escape. I was so scared of being trapped in my own head, that for a long time I sacrifice the future on the alter of the now. Many  of the choices I have made, and still make, where and are driven by that fear. It made me selfish. I excused it as self preservation. Slowly I became numb to the pain that I was causing, caring only about myself. The thing about this behavior is that it brought about what i feared the most. I sought out other selfish people, it helped me justify what I was doing, I would often be shocked that there was no loyalty. We were in the business of stealing souls, and business was good, but there is no honor among thieves, and these relationships would fall apart, sometimes it would only take days, other times months, and until recently years.
     I am not saying that I have been a terrible person my entire life, but I have misplaced loyalties, and that is fact. The thing about fear is it is rooted in hate. For years I had a deep seeded self hatred, and I allowed that to poison every part of my life. It spread like a virus, making it easy to see myself as the victim and feel sorry for myself. Like a disease in my soul, Making me doubt everything, making it hard to trust anyone or anything. Slowly it gained momentum destroying almost every relationship I have ever been in, romantic or otherwise. It would be easy to blame every person that has ever wronged me, but if I am painfully honest with myself, I have to admit, that I played some part in every one of those failures. Sometimes it was a small part, other times the blame lands on me and only me.
    In recent months I have had to take a hard look at my life and who was in it, and for the first time I am trying to make some changes for the positive. Am I perfect? Of course not, I would like to think that I am a work in progress. To tell the truth I am still terrified that no one will like me, or hear what I have to say. I constantly fight the guilt of the past. I have inflicted some serious wounds on my own psyche, and I will no doubt carry those scars for the rest of my life. To some extent I am ok with that, those scars serve as a reminder as too what I am capable of, and my hope is that they will deter me from making the same mistakes. Only time will tell.
    I have spent a lot of time running from what I knew to be right. The brutal truth, is I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was lost. I knew that I was hurting people, and more than anything I knew that I was afraid, but I never addressed the problem. As painful as it is for me to admit all of this, the only way to defeat fear is to confront it, head on. The only way to find my way out of the dark is to shine a light into the shadows, knowing full and well that I will not always like what I find.
    I don't want to be fueled by hate anymore. I want to change things up. Love is the heart of hope, and I desperately want hope in my life, and that starts with me, I have to make that choice. I have to stand up and say enough is enough. I have started the process, and it is painful. I have had to cut people, that I counted as friends, out of my life. I have had to deal with feelings of rejection, and of rejecting.
    Doubt still clouds my mind, but for the first time in a long time, hope is starting to crack that iron curtain. I can see a light, and it is humbling. There are so many people I need to apologize to, so if you are one of those people, please consider this a start. It would be easy for me to say the isolation I feel at this point is because of other people, but the simple fact is this, I cant control what anyone else does. My first responsibility is to myself... and I am SICK of being afraid. The dawn is on the horizon, so I press on, uncertain, and still afraid, but I no longer feel like I running from something, but instead towards something. For the first time in a long time I feel like I can breath again.

    As the first week of this journey comes to a close I want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this little blog. The encouragement you have given me is wonderful and heart warming. This is like surgery for my soul, and surgery hurts at first, but sometimes it is the only way to heal.

-Micah


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Day number six: The Devil is in the details ( Devil post)

       "The greatest lie the devil ever told is that he did not exist." We have all heard the quote, and I agree with it completely. There is evil in the heart of men, ever since the fall of Adam and Eve, people have been at war with themselves, hellbent on destroying each other. The battle for our souls will rage on until the end of time. (Which, and you can call me crazy if you like, is going to happen sooner than later...)
         In my experience the Devil is seen two ways in this day and age; the first is that he is a fairy tale, a story made up to scare us into behaving, and that hell is his imaginary home cooked up, again to scare us into worshiping a God that may or may not exist. I have often heard people say they can't wait to go to hell, because that is where the party is going to be. It blows my mind. The second is that the Devil is the anti-God, just as powerful, the destroyer to the creator. The Ying to God's Yang. Implying that there is a little evil in God and a little good in the Devil.

        Disclaimer: what follows are my beliefs on the subject.  You are free to believe what ever you would like.

       I have talked about this with pastors that believe both the former and the latter, I have talked to atheists' and agnostics alike, and the prevailing trend is that we as humans are inherently good. I am also asked constantly if God is so good, how could he ever send any one to hell. The argument being that if you are a good person  you will granted access into heaven... Grace is free to all.
       I would make the opposite argument. We as humans are inherently bad. We are born wicked. I know, how can I say babies are wicked? They are so innocent, and to be clear Christ did say that the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the little children, and when David lost his child in the Old Testament, he stopped fasting and said the child was dead, he, David, would go to him, implying the child had gone to heaven, So babies are in the clear, but it does not take us long to grow into our wickedness. If you have ever been around a five year old, you know. They are constantly pushing the limits, learning how to lie, be manipulative, and occasionally cruel. That is why as parents we are charged with raising them right. I am not saying that all five year olds are evil, though I have met a few that toe the line...
        I am also not saying that we as humans do not have a capacity for good, History is full of great examples of selfless, loving people i.e.: Mother Theresa, Gondi, Abraham Lincoln (the President, not the vampire hunter), Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King Jr.... the list goes on. These people are sadly in the minority, To the tell the truth I struggled to come up with that list, it is easier for me to see evil in the world , because lets face it, we live in an evil world.
       I know some will be turned off by this thought, but just watch the news for five minutes. Today we face the threat of terrorism everyday, the fact that that word even exist proves my point, and it is worldwide. ISIS makes 3 million dollars a day on oil and is actively recruiting, and they are not recruiting with love, they are selling hate, and their numbers grow everyday.
       Over in Hong Kong, the leaders of the country told protesters that they would use any means necessary to make them disperse, They didn't come right out and say they would start shooting into the crowd, but then again they didn't really have to.
       If you look at the middle east, specifically Israel and Palestine, they have been killing each other for generations, literally thousands of years. Over in Russia Vladimir Putin is grabbing land, and no one is doing anything to stop him. Not to far away both Iran and North Korea are developing Nuclear Weapons, I personally don't think they are planning on using them for self defense.
       It is not just recent events either, look at the history of the world: Cold war, Vietnam War, World War I, World War II, The WHOLE world was literally at war... at once... TWICE. Its not just war though, there is slavery of all kinds, rape, murder, theft, lying, cheating and these things happen everyday all around us. We barely bat an eye.
      So where does all this evil come from? Some say God, except God is incapable of evil, Does he allow evil, yes. Why does he allow evil? Because we are not robots, we have free will... and here is the kicker... we chose it. Christ was tempted in the desert for 40 days, Satan was unsuccessful because Christ was perfect and could not be tempted. I however am tempted everyday, and I fail to be perfect everyday. I also know that I am a work in progress, and that if I ask for it, I will be forgiven.
      So again where does the evil come from? I chose to believe the devil. Do I put him on the same level as God? The Devil can't even hold a candle to God. The Devil is and was a created being, originally an angle, the most beautiful angel of all, but angels where not given free will like humans and that made Lucifer mad, so he tried to over throw his creator, and talked a third of the armies of heaven into helping him, as punishment God cast them out of heaven, they fell, never to return, and since that time there has been a battle for the souls that inhabit this planet.
      Some of you are probably thinking I am a crack pot at this point, and you know what, I am ok with that, Satan is more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy, he doesn't like it when he is pointed out. We as a culture have turned him into a cartoon, or something scary to put in movies. We celebrate him on Halloween, We have become altogether numb to him, and I am sure he loves it, because if there were no consequences for our actions (Hell) then Grace becomes a nice word. We would not need to be redeemed. We would not need to fall to our knees and repent, because there would be no sin.... and that is the lie that we have been sold, and whats worse we have bought it.
      So do I believe that the "Dark Prince" has the power to make me do bad things? Am I just using him as a patsy so I can do whatever I want and just blame it on him? No, because again I get to choose, but being aware of him helps inform my choices. I love the light but that does not mean that I should forget about the dark, because that is how it creeps in, it starts as a shadow, and before you know it you are engulfed by something so dark you are convinced it is light.
      In closing, do I think that the Devil exists, I most certainly do, Do I think that he has any kind of power over me? None at all, he only has the power I give him. Will he win some battles? Yes, he most certainly will, but I am more worried about the war, and I am pretty sure I am on the winning side.

-Micah



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Day Five: Learning to move on ( forgiving post)

     On the fifth day of this journey, I am still cleaning out the basement of my mind. The past has shaped me into the person I am today, much like the ocean pounding on a rock, wearing it down changing how the rock interacts with its surroundings, either making it smoother or eventually smashing it to pieces as the weight of the world comes crashing down upon it. Does the Rock win if it is buffed and polished by the water, remaining unmoved and holding up the shore, or does it gain something by becoming the pebbles that make up the beach? Only time can tell...
      I was 9 years old when we moved from the town in South Dakota, It was time for change, after what had happened with David there were to many bad memories. We stayed so my mom could finish college, but once that was done, there was nothing for us. At least that is what i was told. it is hard to understand such things when you are 9, but I had no choice. Clearly God had a plan for us because our house sold ten hours after it hit the market. We packed up a Uhaul and headed out. I shed a couple of tears as the kids in our neighborhood gathered to send us off.
     My dad had landed his dream job at a small market radio station, so back to northwest Iowa we went. My parents had found a house in a quite rural town not to far from the radio station but had already closed on the previous house and we had to wait a month to move into the new one. Luckily my old man hand an aunt that lived on a lake, also not far from the radio station and she let us stay there while we waited. It was a good way to adjust to the move.
      Ten days after we moved we started school. I was excited. It was a fresh start, which meant new friends, and with everyday that passed I was thinking less and less about what had happened with David. The deep wound had scabbed over, and slowly a scar had formed. Slowly my faith in humanity had been restored.
       The town that we moved to was the smallest that I had ever lived in. From kindergarten to third grade me and my brother had always been in separate classes, we had our own friends on the playground, it allowed us to have our own identities, it was healthy.
        This new school was not big enough to have separate classes, in fact the entire fourth grade was comprised of 18 kids, and that was counting us. 15 of my class mates where related to the teacher. To say it was a tight knit community would be an understatement. I have never been so greatful for my brother. Going in at least i knew I would have one friend.
       He has always been the more confident of the two. He has the ability to read people and doesn't really have a tolerance for taking shit. He just knows how to talk to people. It is a skill that i often been jealous of. I, on the other hand, have a hard time not saying exactly what I am thinking. My mouth has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion. I have always used sarcasm as a defensive measure. It hides how awkward I feel in new and social situations.
       As I walked into the classroom for the first time fear had a tight grip on me. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I had been well liked at my old school, but i had never been the new kid before. The teacher made us introduce ourselves to the class and pointed to our desks.
        The thing about being a twin is this: it makes you competitive, people are always pitting you against each other. One of you has to be the smart one, one has to be funny, one has to be better at sports, one has to be better looking, soon it just becomes a way of life, it becomes ingrained. Ironically people also assume that you are the same person, and it becomes easy to lose your own identity.
       This competitive streak started to show through during recess and in the classroom. Things started to change about 2 weeks into school. Nobody wanted to play with us any more. Kids can be cruel. The first six months we lived in our new home we visited the emergency room six times. Things got physical.
        We only lived a block away from school, so we would ride our bikes, some of the older kids would see us coming and lock arms so we couldn't get by, if we tried to go around they would chase us down, drag us off our bikes and beat us to teach us a "lesson" and some "respect".
        Once again my faith in humanity was starting to wain. By the time I got to fifth grade I was sure that there was something wrong with me. I didn't know what, but i also didn't know why I had no friends. It got to the point that we would walk to school, wait for our parents to leave for work and walk back home. Any confidence I had was destroyed.
       By the end of that year my parents decided it would be best to pull us out of school and home school us. They both had full time jobs so we would have lessons at night and do our home work the next day. To this day I have trouble doing long division and multiplication, because i cheated my way through the sixth grade.
       My parents finally caught on and that was the end of school at home. We were open enrolled to a larger school district for seventh grade. By this point I didn't know what confidence was. I had no friends, besides my brother, I had gained weight over the previous year because all I did was eat and watch soap operas. My family did not have a great deal of money, so my clothes where second hand, and definitely not name brand... I would have rather jumped into a tank full of hungry sharks than start at a new school again, however it was my own poor choices placed me into the predicament, so once again i started over.
         I kept to myself for most of that year. It was difficult to make friends because we lived miles and miles away. Work was the only reason we could stay in town so I got a job as soon as i could working at the local YMCA, me and my brother actually got the volunteer of the year award, it came with a hat and a t-shirt.
         High school came, and with that experimentation with drugs and alcohol (mostly drugs, i will talk about that later...) and girls (I will also talk more about that later...). I was so desperate to fit in I was willing to try almost anything, and i did.
         So why is all of this relevant? Because, I had to forgive each and everyone of those people. 19 years after that first day in school, it is still painful to think about it. I still question why those kids never learned to like me. For the longest time i thought that there was something wrong with me. There had to be... It happened time and time again, and still does, I am the only common denominator, so it had to be or has to be me... Right?
        Wrong. It is 100% their problem. As i have gotten older and grown into my own skin, i realize that i am pretty great. I am intelligent, well spoken, have been described as "uber" attractive (that one I dont see...), I have a good sense of humor and i work hard. Many people have come up to me and asked: how can you believe in a God that would allow such cruelty? My answer is this, what the devil intends for evil, God will use for the good. Did it suck all those years ago? Of course. Was I mad about it? Pissed, but what good was that doing me. I can remember the day I decided to "let go and let God" as they say in rehab, it was one of the most liberating days of my life.
        In closing i would like say thank you to every person who was nasty to me. It showed me exactly what I don't want to become. Those people where and are probably dealing with some kind of pain that I will never understand. They don't need me holding grudges or standing in judgment of them. They gave me a thick skin and taught me about compassion in some ass backward kind of way. So, if by chance you stumble across this blog, (you know who you are, just) know that I owe you a debt of gratitude, and all is forgiven.


-Micah


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Day Four: The ties that bind (family history post)

      I have to start this by saying that I love my family. When the day comes and I am lying on my death bed, they will be the ones that surround me. They are the ones that loved me when it seemed like no one else did. Family goes far beyond blood, but for this post I will be talking about my immediate family.
      I am one of three, I have a twin brother and an older sister. We are all unique and "special in our own ways, we are also the same in many ways (a fact that is more painful than we would like to admit.) I would like to think that what separates us, also brings us together. I am also lucky enough to come from a family with two parents. I can not tell you how much respect I have for all the parents out there that are doing it on their own. It takes work to raise a family, and i have only begun to realize what it takes to rear three children.
      Six years ago, I was blessed with a son, I was 22 and terrified. Me and his mother are not, nor have we ever been, together, but my son is well mannered, is kind hearted, and respectful. I can not take any credit for this, she deserves it all. I have dropped the ball on more than one occasion with him, but i have learned and have gotten better... I would like to think. My only hope for him is that he will turn out better than me, and he is well on his way.
       Looking back, especially to the earlier years, I worshiped my parents, even to this day they are the ones I turn to for advice and guidance. They are by no means perfect, but that is part of being human. I  think that we have moved from the parent/child relationship, into a relationship that looks more like a friendship. (Granted it is hard to ground a 28 year old, or to tell him that he has a bed time and needs to turn off the cartoons.)
      I say all of this because shit is about to get real... The story that I am about to tell was and still is one of the defining moments of my young life. It shifted where i was headed and changed everything I thought I knew, it almost destroyed our young family and after shocks can still be felt to this day, it wasn't until much that I was able to forgive, however i will never be able to forget.
       Life has a funny way of throwing curve balls. When i was 4 we moved from the cozy little town in northwest Iowa to a town in South Dakota. My dad was a nurse and we moved so he could be closer to work. My mom had been a stay at home mom, tending to her young flock, when we moved she decided to go back to school at the age of 43 years young. She started college the day me and my brother started kindergarten. For me life was care free. Me and my brother rode our bikes all over that town, made new friends, and played all day long. My dad sometimes worked the night shift, so when we were not in school, we were often ushered outside so he could sleep. My parents didn't believe in cable or video games so we spent our days climbing trees, or going to the swimming pool, these truly where the best days of my life. So naive and innocent. Even back then my faith was strong. I can remember sitting in the sun making up songs, songs that praised God. I truly had faith like a child. Little did i know my whole world was going to come crashing down around me.
      God has always been and will always be important to my family. My dad is one of the most intelligent men I have ever met He has more degrees than i can count, one of them being a masters in religious education. He is logical, almost to a fault and chooses his words carefully. If you combine these things he can seem distant, but the man has a heart of gold. He has a hard time relating to people, or maybe it is the other way around, but it is hard for him to make friends, so the ones he has he cherishes.
         We would always eat at the dinner table, the meal was always proceeded by a prayer and a Bible story. It was never forced on us and always made clear that there are no grandchildren in heaven, the choice was ours to make.
       My mom is truly one of my best friends. The women has wisdom and such a capacity for compassion and understanding, I am often left speechless. She is also very intelligent, she went on to graduate from college with the highest honors possible and a 4.0 GPA. This all leads me to question... what the fuck happened with me, I had such potential.
         Back to the story... my dad was an R.N. at a hospital not to far from where we lived. He worked with a man named David. David was his best friend. David also had a young family. Our family would baby sit for his and vice versa, we went to church with them, they were our family in this particular town. I loved David, and always looked forward to going to his house.
        Then one night all of that changed. We had been living in our home for about two years, we were settled. I remember, we were all sitting in the basement watching tv and the phone rang. It was getting kind of late (for a six year old) but I paid it no mind, My mom was gone so my dad answered, i don't remember the show we were watching but i do remember what happened next. My dad came out, he looked like he was in shock. He took us back into the laundry room and set me and my brother on the deep freeze, my sister close behind.
       He was holding back tears as he told us that we would not be seeing David anymore. Both me and my brother asked why. How do you tell a six year old one of their idols is dead, while dealing with the loss of a best friend. I don't clearly remember much after that. I know that there was a lot of crying on my part, and my brothers. I didn't understand suicide at the time. To be honest I still don't...
     I would later find out the details. Apparently my dad and David had gotten into an argument weeks earlier, the details are not important, but how David handled that argument and other conflicts in his life have left a lasting impression, specifically on my Father.
      You see David was also an R.N., which meant that he had keys to the narcotics cabinet, he opened that cabinet and took a vile of morphine out, left work, drove out into the country, climbed a tree and pumped 100 milligrams into his veins. He then fell from the tree, smashing his face to pieces on a log below.

      In the note that he so considerably left he blamed two people, his mother, and my father...

     I know that my world was shattered the second the I found out, I can only imagine what it did to my dad. Things changed after that. We, of course, were not invited to the funeral. I cant tell you how long it took for us as a family to laugh again. My dad sank farther into himself. The wound was so deep and the fear of losing someone else that he cared about became almost unbearable. He lashed out, not knowing how to deal with the feelings of anger, remorse, confusion, and regret.
     Trying to protect us from himself he pushed us away, and I cant say that I blame him. Our whole paradigm shifted. My faith in humanity had been destroyed, and so had my brothers, we made a pact that we would be the only family we would ever need, not knowing how much pain that would cause in the future to the rest of our family. My mom became the care taker, she often tells me that for months after she would find me hiding and crying, i have blocked these memories, maybe for better, maybe for worse. I don't miss them.
     A family that went to church religiously, stopped going altogether. I stopped making up songs. All I wanted was the approval of my father, but it was something that he was unable to give. Through the years the tension grew. I started to push back against everything i was taught to believe. I was mad for years, but I learned to hide it, determined to never feel that kind of rejection again. Covering the pain any way I could. Embracing the darkest parts of me i could find. The way i saw it, if I was covered in darkness, no one would see the scars of my past.
    By the time i was fifteen, I was consumed with hatred and self pity. My favorite quote was " if our fathers are our models for God, what does that tell you about God." I took it to heart and started lashing out at the people that were lost in the same pain. I told my parents I hated everything they stood for and that there was no God. This behavior lasted well into my twenties.
    Despite what I said, I could always feel God in the back round, telling me it was ok to be mad at him, He could take it, and he constantly reminded me of the songs I used to sing for him. I would try and silence him with drugs, and when that didnt work I would hit the bottle and if he was being really loud, I would mix the two. I was running a losing race. A fact that only one of us was aware of, and it was not me.
     By the time i hit 24 I was mentally exhausted, and couldn't hold onto the hate anymore, i started trying to find the answers i claimed to be looking for, and the answer was my family. I put every one of them through some shit, and through it all, my brother, my sister, my mom, and my dad have all been there for me, even when i was being a spoiled little turd, and for that I can not thank them enough. They are the ones that call me out on my bullshit, and cheer for my success. I owe them all a debt that I know that I cant repay, but that is what family is all about. I am bound to them, and they to me, THEY are the place where I am free to just be me.


-Micah


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