All parents want to teach their children the ways of the world. Guide them through the ambiguities of life showing them with a soft and gentle hand, the lessons that they learnt the hard way. Parents will say things like ‘be careful crossing the road’, ‘remember to say please and thank you’ and ‘follow your dreams’ with the hope that their young will heed their advice. Doing so will hopefully result in their child having the skills to successfully navigate their way through life in a much more secure and painless way. To his credit, Dad was no exception, he did teach me some things.

He taught me how to fight. When I was quite young, I had a bullying issue. In the beginning it wasn’t too serious, just some posturing and the occasional threat. However, over time the threats became real and it often turned physical. To make matters worse the other kids were starting to join in. Once I summoned the courage and told Dad about it, he was visibly saddened. He pulled me aside and showed me how to hold myself in a fight. Told me how to clench my fists, put my guard up and how to throw a punch.

unable to cope
the broken man
hides at home
writing a poetry
about a life
he is too afraid
to live

I don’t know why, but I feel the need to write something down. And then to share it. So I guess you my dear reader are invited to take a journey into the stream of consciousness that is this piece…

I’m not well. I feel fundamentally flawed. Like this world expects more of me than I can give. That in order to fit in and survive, I need to change myself, to alter the very thing that makes me, me.

Medication…

How soon should you disclose your mental illness?

This question is something I tackle every time I’m entering into a new relationship. Share your truth too soon and you scare people off. Attempt to mask and you inevitably watch it crumble. Either way, you risk being left alone…

That poem is the sum output of my day’s experiences. That, as well as this post.

There is no point to this post, other than to chronicle my feelings, namely, just how pointless everything feels….

Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. - J. Robert Oppenheimer

There is a theory of alternate realities that posits that whenever a decision is made, two universes split off and start divergent timelines. In one universe you chose left, and in the other you chose right kind of deal. If you consider this from a singular point of view, accounting for all the decisions you make in just one day, the number of universes you are creating is astronomical. When you multiply that number by all the decisions everyone is making simultaneously, as well as their downstream consequences, the number of possible universes being created according to this theory is basically infinite.

So, what does this have to do with Oppenheimer?

I exercise at least 10 times per week. These sessions involve running, weights or swimming in the mornings and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu at night. I didn’t just start with this exercise routine. I slowly built it up over years, taking time to develop the conditioning and lifestyle needed to support this level of training.

As poets, we are free to use whatever words we like to express emotional intent of a writing.
Remember: our goal is to move the reader emotionally…

It feels like there is a pit of neglect and abuse opening behind me, that I am desperately attempting to sprint away from. I’ve got my children slung over my shoulders and my wife running beside me as we flee somewhere, anywhere, that is safer than where we came from…

This is going to be a controversial post, but it is my truth, and that fact alone validates what I am going to say here…

If you are looking to get rich quick, it is a terrible idea to become a writer. People do buy books, but often it takes many interactions with a new author before they will purchase one, even then the profit on that book will only be a few dollars at best.

Given enough time, life will cause us to suffer in one way or another. We will all become injured or sick at some stage, sometimes quite seriously.

Some of us will suffer significant setbacks, both personally and financially. A large percentage of the population lives with disabilities, mental illness and issues carried over from their past.

The story of ‘that’ tattoo, pride month, and the nature of online discourse…

Attachment theory proposes that the relationship that forms between a parent and a child can significantly influence the dynamics of that child’s long term interpersonal relationships. The infant’s ability to develop trust in their caregivers will influence their relationships for the rest of their life.

Attachment theory further suggests that how an infant is raised will actually change the internal narrative of the child, the way they look at, judge and observe the world. This carries on into adulthood and will colour every interaction and event. How they view connection, love, and life are all skewed based on the narrator that lives within.

Throughout my childhood I would always see things through other people’s eyes. Not in the empathic sense, but in the seemingly literal sense. I would never be truly in my own mind, rather I would 'see myself' from a third person perspective. This was true for most of my memories, dreams, and imaginations. It would even somehow occur in real time. For example, when walking down the street to the local shop, I would not see the goings on from my own perspective. Logically, I would be using my own eyes to navigate and avoid obstacles and the like, but internally, my perception of reality would somehow be simultaneously presented to me from an outside perspective.

It was as if I was constantly observing my life through a television set, watching the characters interact, seeing them move and hearing them talk. Just like when you are watching television, there is little emotional investment in the outcome. You know that it is all just an act and that everyone involved is just pretending. So what if the main character dies, this show is not real. So what if his brother is being bullied, this show is not real. It does not matter that somebody is doing drugs in front of their five-year-old child, this show is not real.

I wrote Wage Slave right after I quit the job for which I attended university.

I was a nervous wreck. Each year I would use all my allocated sick leave on my mental health, and then some…

Before you can properly address a problem, you first need to accept that the problem exists.

This is true for all aspects of life, but in my experience, particularly true for addressing the impact of past trauma, and dealing with mental afflictions…

The morning that I found out that Dad had passed away, I drove over to his house. I knew the process of sorting through his possessions could not wait at all, it had to be done that day.

One of Dad’s neighbours, Jackie, had called to let me know that Dad had passed and that his house had already been robbed. She was distraught. Wailing over the phone, coughing the details out between cascades of sobs. Poor lady, they were so close and now she was stuck living there on her own. She was probably the closest friend that my dad ever had. They would spend hours at each other's house everyday drinking coffee and making art together. Dad of course was her dealer.