Bad Days


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My days are coin flips.

If I get a tails, getting out of bed will be a little more difficult on account of the anvil that replaces my heart.

I’ll be less productive at work, but at least I’ll be there. My friends have to wait for the next time the odds favor them.

One would hope that they understand, but I don’t blame them if they don’t. It doesn’t look good when they come to your door and they see you peek through the blinds, but you don’t answer.

I just have a hard time carrying on conversation on bad days due to the hurricane going on in my mind. The thoughts swing by quickly so you have to mind your step when taking a look inside. Careful! You might get hit with the bat my dad hit my mom with…or a cat..

I try to give you every ounce of me, every day…but there just isn’t a lot of me on those bad days. And the more I fail, the less I want to get up to even flip the coin.

Can’t I just stay at home and watch the cartoons from my childhood to remind me of a time when things weren’t this fucked?

…just less fucked.


I Get It Now


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I’ve had trouble putting together concise words to show how I feel over the past week or so, but here goes nothing. Short disclaimer – I’m not saying I have no personal causes, I’ve just usually kept things internalized since late high school. Anything that seems rushed over is just me trying to get my thoughts out without boring you. 
Most feminist posts I’ve seen from friends in the past has been pretty aggressive, and dealt in absolutes (something I really try not to do). As someone who is not vocal about most beliefs/causes, it was off-putting.
I respected these points of view, but let’s be honest…I didn’t GET IT. 

The women of the movie industry coming forward, followed by the social media backlash, followed by the creator of one of my favorite YouTube shows being outed as a predator, followed by all of the “Me too” statuses left me in a really surreal state of realization.

Those aggressive, absolute posts…they were like that for a reason. It’s absolutely happening and women are sick and tired of hearing that it doesn’t happen. They are tired of it being covered up. They are tired of all the double-standard bullshit in society. That is where the aggressiveness comes from.

I’m sorry I didn’t get it before. I’m sorry it took this much pain to snap me out of my blissful ignorance. Last, but not least, I’m sorry that I wasn’t behind you all from day one.

Life Support


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This is a true story from last week. I’ll attempt to keep it concise…

I went to Target to get my fiancé a birthday card. Upon leaving, I found myself in a long line to turn left towards the nearest freeway entrance so I could get home and take her out for sushi.

The car in front of me broke when we could have made the light and I let out a sigh, assuming that she was just a bad driver. I then saw her roll down her window and hand the homeless man on the corner a couple bucks. Immediately I just said to myself, “oh, very cool of her.” In fact, I would have given him a couple bucks, myself, if I had any cash on me.

Behind me came a long honk. I looked into my rear mirror to find some wicked old lady screaming at the people who dared to prevent her from making the light. She wouldn’t have made the light anyways, but whatever. Sure. Let’s say she could.

It takes a special kind of person to get mad about something as small as missing a light. It makes me really think about that guy who slowly got himself up, and limped to the woman’s window for those dollars, only to hear a honk of someone pissed off about it. I wouldn’t be shocked if, with all of the people who pass him without a second glance, or people like that wicked lady, that he thinks humanity has abandoned him.

I’ll make sure to stop and give him a couple dollars. I’m not ever in too much of a rush, that I can’t take a minute to give someone less fortunate something to brighten their day. I need to show at least one person that you shouldn’t give up on believing in humanity. It’s alive, even if it’s on life support.

Another Lonely Sunrise


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A steady stream of headlights

Passing by me under a falling full moon

I drive through a canyon of blackened hills

Not yet kissed by the sun

But as it begins to rise

The world comes alive in full color

It’s beautiful, yet, somber in a way

I don’t have you to share it with me

Being Honest With Myself: Part 1 -Childhood


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If I’m being honest, I’ve been closer to death more times that I care to tell my mom. Not from hanging around the wrong crowd, in fact, not from anyone else’s hand. To clarify, I’ve been close to death because of suicidal thoughts. Since I was young, I’ve been exposed to violence. I watched my mom beaten black and blue for 2 decades.

Let’s start at the beginning.

My earliest memory I can recall is my mom screaming and being dragged around by her hair. She was then tossed on the couch, next to me, and ordered to watch a movie with me. I couldn’t figure out what was happening. I just knew that I was scared. We ended up watching that movie while both sobbing.

It remained like that throughout my childhood, with brief stints of sobriety; which in the grand scheme of things, means nothing.

My dad did a good job of hiding addiction, and abuse from me until around 5th grade. I remember bottles next to my dads chair but not knowing what they were. I just knew that when there were bottles there, he acted different. There was a smell that stuck with me too. The smell of cheap beer makes my skin crawl now. It’s also partially why I’m a craft beer snob now, I’m sure.

There were so many times when things would go south. My little league games, family outings, but the most common was in the middle of the night. We would be in bed and then suddenly there would be a crash and we would all run down and see my dad on top of my mom, who was screaming for help. 

Eventually when that happened, we knew it would be a long night. The cops were called, my dad would be hauled off to jail. Then we would all comfort each other long enough to fall back asleep.

5th and 6th grade were rough. I didn’t realize it at the time, but those years paved the way for my future issues with depression, self-harm, anger, and toxicity. I’ll dive deeper into that in the next installment.

Thanks for reading.

Mr. Hyde


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My father was kind and God-fearing
Until he wasn't
My father didn't raise his voice or strike us
Until he did
My father was sober and present
Until he wasn't
My father never thought we could leave
Until we did