Josiah and I moved into a new place for my Junior year. It was a quaint two bedroom duplex just a few miles from campus. Going from living with four other guys in The Retreat, that summer with nine in The Brew, and then down to us two took a little bit of getting used to. It was definitely much quieter and a hell of a lot cleaner, but held a little sense of loneliness to me.
Within the first few weeks back from Carolina Point I felt like I had told the story from that summer a hundred times, and each time it was just as draining. Every time I told it I figured people were seeing me as a sob story as if I was just trying to play a victim card. At the time I didn’t care because every time I talked about it, I was more talking to myself than I was to whoever asked about it. I kept trying to find the problems, where I could’ve gone wrong or how I could’ve done better, but no matter how much I talked through it, nothing changed. I know my friends got tired of hearing the story when others asked, I didn’t care. A part of me also felt that if I just worked my ass off in everything, that it’d somehow magically go away, so that’s what I did.
One of the first things I did however was sit down and talk with my Young Life team, I made them aware of what had gone on over the summer and how I thought my attitude would change, asking for help through that time. School and Young Life were the ways to get out of my head a little, so I threw myself into both. Most days consisted of me going to class from mornings to the afternoon then immediately getting ready for Young Life club or Campaigners on Mondays and Tuesdays. My free time during the day was usually spent at the Media office where I worked at school. I quit working there a few months later though because there was a lack of work being given to me. I had a goal to outperform everyone I had a chance to compete against. In class I worked to have the best photo and video projects. In Young Life I wanted to meet more high schoolers and bring more than any of my teammates. Socially, I wanted to be wanted and invited more than anyone else. I’d consistently force myself to try and be nice and make friends, in a lot of cases it was obvious. And I think my lack of genuine care was evident to most, and that’s what ended up pushing me away from a lot of them. When the work ran slow or was all finished I would play video games. It seemed like the only thing in my life that had a clear and attainable objective, and I craved that.
Pretty quickly, video games became my safe haven. I didn’t have to search for approval from anyone when the Playstation was on. The achievements were done on my own time and seemed to be endless. I felt safe playing video games. About this same time I started talking to a girl I’d met over the summer. One day shed called asking about what happened. When I told her about it, she had a response which was much different than the others, there was some sense of assurance that she had towards me. Something in her voice and in the way she talked stood out, so we just kept talking. An hour here and there throughout the day, I didn’t feel a need to impress her and there was no immediate fear in talking to her, we just talked and I loved it. Whenever we talked, it was the highlight of my day, more than anything, it brought me peace because I knew someone was listening. She lived in Kentucky and went to UK so this made me hesitant to express feelings since it was long distance. But after a few weeks I ended up telling her how I felt. The night I did it was kinda funny, it was a night after YL club and I’d told my team I was going to do it. They’d all hyped me up and were texting in our group asking for updates. She and I were on the phone for my drive back from club just having our regular random conversation, I wasn’t sure how I was going to bring it up. I’d gotten home and sat in my car talking to her for a while, our conversation came to a halt and that awkward silence set in while I battled with wether or not to tell her. She even said something like, “do you have anything else to tell me?” or something like that, I don’t remember exactly, I was nervous. But whatever it was, I said no, and we hung up. I went inside and started getting ready for bed and texted my team to tell them I chickened out. But the girls on my team weren’t having it and told me to call her and tell her. So I did. I called her and she answered with a confused, “Hello?” wondering why I was calling back. I felt like I was back in middle school talking to my crush when I said, “ok bear with me…” where I told her that I’d loved talking to her over the past few weeks and that I had feelings for her and would love to get to know her better. I don’t remember her exact response, but it was along the lines of, “I’ve loved talking too, I like you too.” If you asked her though she’d tell it much better than I. But either way, we both laughed about it and said goodnight. I went to the living room with some victory air punches to tell Josiah, he was excited for me.
Things had finally seemed to be turning around after the summer, school was going easy and Young Life was growing consistently. That fall break, I made the trip to Kentucky to visit her too. I stayed with some of her guy friends and it was the first time since the summer that she and I had seen each other. We kissed that first night and laid in her room talking til 1 am. It was the first time I’d felt safe in a relationship, especially after the friends with benefits relationship I had with another girl back in Columbia that past year. I didn’t feel the guilt or need to hide anything like I had done before, there were butterflies for this girl and I was more than ready to work towards a relationship with her. That whole weekend I got to meet her friends and began to build those new friendships, but more importantly, the relationship between the two of us. That weekend, she and I solidified our relationship and started dating, I left Kentucky with confidence in being able to build a relationship with her. I had feelings for her and had hopes of growing the head-over-heels feelings that I’d hoped for since high school.
I believed in working towards everything, the idea that with the right amount of work, effort and repetition, anything could be done. This went for my friendships too. Though I was emotionally unavailable for most, I figured with time and acts of service, I’d be able to maintain and grow my relationships. But more often than not, my friendships felt like a chore and in turn, I ended up losing much of the desire I had to be around the people I loved. Over time I spent more and more time alone.
A few months passed with those ideas, Black Ops 4 had dropped and now a majority of my free time was spent on the camo grind (yeah I cringe a little that I said that). By this point in November, I was spending little to no time with my friends, including Josiah. I turned down repeated opportunities to hang out with friends and ignored numerous invites. I felt safer by myself and more secure when I was in control. This continued into December as my YL team dynamic quickly deteriorated along with my attitude towards them. We fought and bickered consistently, and I knowingly hurt feelings with no remorse. I just wanted to feel like I was right. My anger and frustration slowly bled into my friendships and into my relationship. And when Christmas Eve rolled around the girl and I had broken up. I lost my temper with my family while I was home and was careless in my speech to them. Christmas 2018 was an emotional breakout that had been bottled for over a year.
Mom, Dad and my sister left for a wedding in Colorado the day after Christmas and I was left home alone out of my own choice. I knew I needed people around so I asked Josiah, Goose and my YL teammate Nathan to come up and stay in Brevard for a few days. My thinking of accomplishing whatever I wanted through time and effort now had me attempting to confront my emotions with the same mindset. Which of course didn’t work.
The guys came to Brevard to be my temporary therapists, I loved the three of them more than most at this time and they knew I was hurting. But nonetheless we wanted to make those few days as fun as we could. It’d been raining in Brevard for a week or so and wasn’t stopping anytime soon so there was little to do outside. But when the rain would stop we’d go out to adventure a little. We ended up all having a great time and I was able to process some feelings I’d been holding in for a while. When the guys left, I still felt stick with that bottle of feelings. Unready to open that bottle, I took my little sorry ass to New Years at Wingy Gap.
I’d saved up a few hundred bucks to go to Kentucky for New Years and ended up using that money to go to Windy Gap when a few friends hit me up to go. I was still feeling uneasy about Young Life at that point but it was still a safe haven for me and was a place I’d have friends. I only knew a few people that were there and even fewer that I was comfortable talking to. I fully intended to spend those few days decompressing, but was kindly met with a different plan. Two friends that I’d met at video training were there, Reanna and Aliza. We’d chatted a few times over that summer and semester since we’d all gotten along at training. We linked up and all just stuck together that weekend, a few of their friends tagged along and the group of us quickly became friends. I spent that week opening up not only about the feelings from my relationship but also began to process what I’d been bottling up over that past year. It was the first few drops in my bottle that I’d yet to fully open but was more than enough for me at the time. That week was also the first time I’d broken down and talked to God for what seemed like years. I felt the only way I could be a good servant and good Christian was to work hard and achieve some kind of spiritual affirmation through it, I figured since I was emotionally unavailable, the next best thing was my own efforts. This proved quickly to be unreliable and was spiritually draining to a fault, so New Years was the first step in coming to terms with my ignorance. And amid all that confusion, I started to forgive.
I knew for months that there was nothing I could do on my own to fix myself or to get what I wanted emotionally. And when I got back to Columbia it took some serious time and work to try and even get that ball rolling. Towards a healthier life that is. There were a lot of issues that needed addressing and I didn’t know where to start. Slowly but surely I went down my mental list of what I thought were wrongdoings, attempting to make them right. It started with the apology to my Young Life team for me being so negligent to them the previous year, along with a confession and desire to become a family and not just a team. A blessing that would take time, but eventually came. Next was my attempt at mending friendships and my fear of social interaction. My entire demeanor around the people I loved had dramatically changed from the guy they knew sophomore year. I was a different person and I knew that, I knew I couldn’t just turn around to retrace my steps to become the guy I used to be. No, I knew I had to move forward. My life began and continued that semester much like the last one had. Though I was focusing heavily on my attitude, I still chose to spend much of my time alone, especially when Apex legends came out.
One of my friends in Columbia, Dan, hit me up with he saw I was into Apex, asking me to come join he and some of his friends in a squad. It was 6 or 7 guys in a group message that were all on Playstation, none of which were involved in Young Life, but still Christian guys from Columbia. Daniel, Josh, Branson, Taylor and Casey were the consistent ones. And pretty quickly I became close with them. Though I’d only really met Dan, the rest quickly became close to me. The time that I had been spending alone on video games had now become a daily hangout where I could decompress and talk to guys without fear of judgement. Partly from the fact I’d never met most of them but mainly because none of them were in Young Life, so I felt no judgment when I wanted to vent about my problems. They were always supportive, as we all were for one another. We weren’t afraid to tell things how they were and each day I looked forward to joining the party for some late night games. I had established an honest community that I put hope into, though I was still alone when the headset came off. I knew that was an issue, I just didn’t know how to fix it.
In the middle of February 2019, Josiah prompted me and a few others to make some spring break plans to go to St. Petersburg, Florida. He was able to secure a free hotel room from his parents since they were there on his Dads sabbatical and they knew the owners of the hotel. A group of 4 quickly turned to 10 and before I knew it I was booking a hotel room for the other 6 of us. We donned the trip, “Spring Break ’97” and I’m not entirely sure why.
Spring Break ’97 became legend and none of us expected to have the time we had. There came innumerable jokes and wild moments of spontaneity. There are things from that week that have been sworn to secrecy but I’m going to do my best to document as much as I can in the most interesting way possible. So sit back, relax and prepare yourself for the Perrytale of Spring Break ’97.
There were 10 of us total,
Witt Bauknight (room 2) – King of the Junior Mint and fearless Prius Driver
Josiah Cox (room 1) – Head of hotel room 1 and the embodiment of our own Florida man.
Dylan “Joonya” Williams (room 1) – Youngest of the group and leader of the caravan, holder of the radar detector.
Matthew “Goose” Bryant (room 1) – Our gentle bodyguard and sunscreen Prince. Takes no shit from anyone, can smell street art a mile away.
David Reese (room 2) – Itinerary holder, opinion haver, self proclaimed leader and outright cutie boy of the group.
Jordan “Jibber” Williams (room 2) – “The fuck he just say?” Coiner of the term “raw ground” a true comedy king and improv master.
Andruw “Druw” Richardson (room 2) – Aux emperor, Nuketown on full volume, “Yo Druw put your schmeat away.” 803 Fuck Train Gang
Will Lewis (room 1) – If the wind blows too hard he’ll fly away, sarcasm lover and 100% little spoon.
Collins Peck (room 2) – Foundation of all jokes, holder of Junior Mints, chick magnet, only eats chicken nuggets and pizza, swag surfer, drops it low like none other.
Hank “Spank” Johnson (room 2) – Doesn’t wear sunscreen, sunburnt day 1, second guesser, fastest driver, documents everything, morale support and immoral compass.
The morning we set out, we all met up at Andruw and Jordans. Dylan, Witt and I would be driving. The sheer energy and power radiating from the circle of us before we set off on our journey was magnetic. The mood of the voyage became evident from the moment Collins showed up in a stringy wife-beater with a fist full of Junior Mints. Like the prophet he is, Witt spoke profound and cavernous words as he spoke the language of Florida Man, dubbing Dylan as “Joonya” in honor of Collins’ consummation of Junior Mints that had slowly begun to melt softly through his fingers. An almost ritualistic, licking of the fingers, became associated with the speaking of, “Joonya Mints,” arose. David had us in a quick prayer and we set off.
Our first stop was to be at Whataburger in Jacksonville, Florida. However we made a quick stop at a random gas station in what seemed to be the purgatory of the Southeastern United States. A quick fill-up and walk through the voodoo shop later, we set off escaping the boondocks of I-95. With about 20 miles to Whataburger, my Subaru turned the gas light on. Will, Druw and I made an educated decision to power through and go to the gas station near Whataburger. However, we all received a South Carolina public education, our decision was wrong and a few miles from the exit we ran out of gas. By the time we’d pulled over, the other two cars were making it to Whataburger. We called for help and the cutie boy, David, came to our rescue with a gas can. And just 45 minutes after running out of gas we were slopping on some honey butter chicken biscuits.
Our promised land in the sea of humid, sunbaked Jacksonville folk, we were grateful for our quick rest on this journey. With only a few more hours to St. Pete, we set out. The plan for the evening was to get to a campground that we’d found online and would end up staying that night since our hotel was to be ready the following day. We made it to St. Pete before sunset, and thanks to my new friend, Josh, we were able to find and make some dinner plans for the evening.
After a heavenly taco dinner where we all gave the restaurant the same names for our separate orders, we made a quick grocery run and headed to the campground. By the time we made it, we were all ready for some sleep. I had packed an Eno hammock for this as did Dylan and Druw. But the other 7 had to squeeze their way into a tent David had brought. Little did we know, that tent was a portal to another realm, where the mind became Jibberish and the ground, raw. I cannot speak of what took place in this realm, but it was only the first stage of comedy to come, it radiated laughter and anything within earshot was laughing along with us, even the trees seemed to laugh with every quick Witted joke that slid between the nylon of that tent.
The following morning came with sore backs, crusty eyes and delusional voices. The boys that entered the tent arose as men. It was a foggy morning where Chick-fil-a became our homestead in this collective dream state. A few morning dumps and an aggressively clogged toilet later, we set out for hotel 1. Josiah’s parents were waiting to hear of our tireless journey. By the time we had all showered in Josiah, Dylan, Matt and Wills room, we were recharged and ready to hit the beach. Unfortunately our other hotel room wasn’t to be ready until noon, so we planned to hang out on the beach until then. Assuming we’d only be out for an hour, I made the foolish decision to not use sunscreen. It wasn’t until 2:30 that our room was ready, so the sun had struck mine own fair skin, walloping weakness and fragility into my first few days of spring break. Though, during those days I refused to let the suns foul hand strike me into submission. The next day, Josiah, Dylan, Goose and I set out on a great longboard adventure where we explored the depths of St. Pete as we slayed monsters and hit mad grinds and slides. When we returned from our quest of greatness, those of us in room 2 returned to rest. Where I sat in battle with the foul and painful redness of my tender skin. With pain setting in as the aloe dried up, heat radiated from my tired torso as my head lay still on a hotel pillow. The morning came and my sunburn had begun to subside, and with a whole day of adventure ahead, we set out.
We spent some time on the beach and gozzled some glizzies for lunch. I bore witness to Druw and Jordan wrangling wild seahorses, riding them like rodeo bulls. We hit the hotel early to change and explore St. Pete that evening. In the search for grub-time we stumbled upon the St. Pete gran prix racetrack and walked the track as the sky bloomed in golden hour. The setting sun gently caressed the cheeks of Witt in pure grace and elegance. Collins was dropping it low and the spirit of Florida man, and Junior Mint was upon us as we had a night out exploring the town. Cigs and brews on the beach concluded the night.
The following morning my sunburn had made its departure and it was Goose’s birthday. The four of us from before set out on another longboard quest, this time across the city. We battled cougars and evaded the pigs as they tried to catch the 803 Fuck Train Gang lacking. Many miles and challenges later, our quest led us back to the others, where we then set out with Goose in a search for art. We stumbled on many great masterpieces where our infamous, “You are my Sunshine” photos were taken. I also coined my now classic, awkward, thumbs up smile photo. We traveled a great distance on foot in search for the perfect art, discovering favorites in our own respects. We ended such a wonderful night with a casual walk thru the streets of downtown St. Pete and traveled back for a peaceful nights rest. But for room 2, there was a different plan.
The sandman had struck us down that evening, all of room 2 was in deep sleep, all but one. In the wee hours of the morning, Witt was awoken by the jiggle of the door handle. We had already heard some freaky business the night before, but unlike the comical sound of cheeks clappin’, this sound caught Witt by surprise. “Who must that be?” he asked himself as he approached the door. Peering into the peep hole he quietly looked, and there he was, Señor Mint. Only spoken of in ancient Joonya lore, Señior Mint had taken on the persona of an old man who seemed to have gone to the wrong hotel room. Witt, having knowingly bore witness to the spirit of Señior Mint, returned to bed and slept peacefully, knowing he was watching over us. The following morning we were informed of the night visit and were elated of the blessing we’d received as Collins discovered a new box of Junior Mints deep within his bag.
That day, we split up as a group. Some went in search of greater art, but Druw, Will and I set out for greater objectives, food. Tucked away in a little shack, we chomped down on one of the greatest burgers we’d ever tasted. It was almost as if the food itself whispered sweet nothings to us as we ate it. We then took to the abode of some girls from back home, whose castle had us envious. That night we made dinner plans with them and sought out for gator nuggets.
While we stood in wait for a table around the crowded patio area of the restaurant, the DJ had one woman falling in love that night, and Goose it was with. This Siren had snatched our sweet prince from us in attempt to seduce his sweet cheeks! But our fearless king, Collins, came to his rescue, taking Goose by the hand, telling the Siren, “he’s mine ;),” saving him from certain step-fatherhood.
In the midst of subpar tourist seafood, in the presence of those we loved, the boys of Spring Break ’97 solidified a brotherhood never to be forgotten. Swearing events to secrecy, never to be spoken of outside the group.
At the same time I underwent much needed healing within my own heart. Somewhere between the secret jokes, random words and dirty memes, memories were made. As was peace. That week, I’d felt loved by those around me and through that I made peace with the wrong I’d done and the wrong done to me. My heart was being opened yet again and my bottle of feelings, thrown out. And though much of Spring Break ’97 is comical, and the reminiscence brings belly laughs still, I’ll be forever grateful for the gift I was given in that random and sporadic group of guys.
With Spring Break ’97 in the books, the boys and I carried through the semester with ease. That May, they’d all be graduating except for Dylan, Josiah and I. I’d secured a job for the summer, working in video for a performance clutch company. But before that began in July, I took Young Life guys to Windy Gap for summer camp.
I’ll keep the recap of that week short in saying it was the wildest week of camp I’ve ever experienced. With the combination of deep talks, drama, fights and feuds — I can only say that it was the Lord himself helping me through that week.
When I got back, I had a day to prepare for the new job. The first day was good, getting accustomed to the space and the list of projects the intended for me to do over the next month. 18 or so videos, most of which were product promos. And by the end of the first week I had them done. Impressed by the rate I worked, the bothers who own the company were struggling to give me projects to keep me occupied, so a majority of my time was spent on YouTube. I was spending that summer alone, Josiah was interning at Young Life Southwind. I ended up developing some trust issues after feeling like I’d been forgotten by my friends who were still in Columbia that summer. There were group messages I was excluded from and almost every day I’d reach out to friends asking to hang or to see what people were doing with little to no response. An almost daily occurrence, I would see stories and posts of the friends I’d try to hit up, seeing them out hanging with everyone else. I quietly grew anger towards that. I felt forgotten and unwanted.
I didn’t wait long to make that known to my friends, and I tried addressing it head on. Though, not much changed. I started forcing myself to suppress those feelings since the start of senior year was approaching. And as Josiah returned home, I started senior year.
For Young Life this year, I was set to be team leader. A responsibility that I felt unequipped in and one that made me stressed beyond belief from my fear of failure. Nevertheless, the team and I went headfirst into the year. And in the first few months, we saw more growth than much of the previous year.
With the combination of school, Young Life and my newly contracted work with the same company, I had little to no free time during the day. Josiah had stopped leading Young Life and was to graduate in December, so he had a lot of free time on his hands. The combination of my constantly moving and working lifestyle with his 5th year vibe did not mix well. I got consistently irritated with him. We held short tempers and passive aggressive tendencies toward each other.
Not all our time was bad though. We we’re brothers and acted more like siblings than anything. Amongst the bad attitudes, we were still there for each other in those late night talks. I’d also grown friendships with the boys in the Playstation party. Josh, Dan, John and Branson had become close friends to me solely from playing video games and talking in party chat.
I hadn’t spent much time with the Spring Break ’97 boys since most had graduated. So in turn I made closer friends in the Sophomore and Junior classes that were involved with Young Life at USC. I loved being around them, but there was the sense that I was in a completely different stage of life than them and I had this feeling that those friendships wouldn’t last long because of it. I chose to emotionally distance myself from most. The looming fear of graduation and post-grad had me distancing myself from others even more. I wanted to be prepared to leave the people I loved with little to no emotional damage, so I tried to protect myself, keeping my head down, attempting to drown myself with work. Young Life felt like a chore as the routine of club, campaigners and contact work were exhausting me after school and work. I loved the guys that came around and hoped and prayed for them daily, but Young Life itself became a chore. And thanks to some drama late in the semester with some of the students, the team as a whole had to come together more than ever.
I won’t go into detail on the drama as it is not my place to disclose that. But it was the hardest time I’ve ever had as a leader while I had to cope with so many emotions and numerous eyes on my team and I. The stress and anxiety seemed never ending as it just built higher and higher. During this time I expressed a lot of negative feelings I’d had towards myself and my ability to be a good leader along with my ability to have little to no emotional capacity for anyone. I’d completely shut down emotionally with no highs or lows on either side of the spectrum. My area director encouraged me to seek therapy, as he had been since my freshman year, and gave me a recommendation. I was against getting any kind of Psychological help in fear of judgement or that I’d be put on anti-depressants. I knew I had anger issues and that I was depressed along with my anxiety. Therapy was the last thing I wanted.
I tried a few weeks by myself, attempting to battle the raw feelings on my own, but they pretty quickly tore me down. I’d lost all desire to be around people and felt like I was incapable of loving anyone or anything. And during this time I was unable to see that I was surrounded by so many people who cared about me, but instead there was blindness, I felt alone.
I wanted answers and to make sense of the way I felt, so after a few weeks I went to a therapist. I was embarrassed to go and almost walked out of the waiting room because I didn’t want to be seem as a broken record. I went nonetheless. Ken, that was my therapists name. He had a bald head and a kind smile, his voice pierced the silence in the room when we first sat down as he asked why I was there. It was such a wild combination of fear, anger, depression and confusion that I just told him, “I don’t know.” I told him that I had come looking for answers to why I felt the way I felt. That I’d been harboring so much anger and frustration, to a point where I felt unloved, that my depression had reached a breaking point where I couldn’t tell the difference between being happy and just not being depressed. In my shaky voice I held in tears saying, “I just want to be loved man. That’s all I want.”
I started therapy and went every week, Ken promised me we’d try and figure out what the fuck was wrong in my head (my words not his). Over the span of a few months, I told Ken everything I’ve written here and more. We talked about fears and goals, trauma, regret, girls I had crushes on and then some. This was the first time in my life where I’d opened up and talked about many of these things. And through verbalizing much of it, things started to make sense. I was happy to have someone that seemed to finally listen, even though I was paying him to. It was relieving to have a place where my emotions could be validated and healing could begin.
2020 rolled around and I was still going to Ken. Though we’d crossed much of the bridge into my heart, there were still some things I held onto, Ken knew this. But as February ran through, Ken and I reached a stalemate where we both agreed that I’d reached a good place emotionally and that the remainder of my healing would have to be done on my own. He told me he would be there whenever I needed, but that he saw real change and was hopeful in that I would be just fine without him. So I stopped therapy in February.
My life had since calmed down and it was time to start finalizing post-grad plans. And I had my eyes set on Tampa, Florida. Both my friends Josh and John lived there and I was searching for jobs in car culture down there. With spring break of senior year approaching fast, I made plans to head down to Tampa to explore and do some job hunting. But none of us could’ve been prepared for what happened soon after.
We’d heard about Coronavirus a few months before, assuming it to be another freak disease like Ebola. But as it spread across the globe, social panic ensued as schools, sports, stores and job opportunities closed. My parents drove to get my sister from NYC in March since it was Americas hot spot for COVID. They got her, and I went back to Brevard at the same time, fully prepared to stay there for over a year. Dad even gave us an apocalypse talk, claiming that we might need to band together to survive. He said all of this as a joke but there was always a sense of sincerity in his tone. I ended up losing the job opportunities I’d gotten and finished out my senior year with a subpar portfolio that I’m still surprised passed. It was the worst situation for me emotionally, as it was for many others, as I had just begun my emotional healing process. My family and I fought daily.
I’d started talking to a previous girl just before going home, and after a month in quarantine, I went to Georgia to visit her. She’d become an emotional crutch for me, I stayed with her and her family for a few days and it was wonderful. But a few weeks after, she ghosted. This, in combination with COVID stress, unemployment, quarantine loneliness, my car breaking and emotional uncertainty, caused me to fall apart. I refused to spiral down into a hole of depression so I called on anyone I could and within a few weeks I had calmed down. Over the following months I was given much needed time to reflect and assess the previous years, giving thanks for the time I’ve been gifted. Addressing the repeated and obvious notion that all I really wanted this whole time was to love and to be loved.
And now I write to you in present day, July 17th 2020, still trying to make sense of my own mind. Still unemployed and living alone, through this writing I’ve been able to better understand myself, my struggles and my story. I’ve confessed things here that I haven’t shared openly, and for the first time in my life, things are starting to make a little sense. This ongoing desire to love others has entered slowly back into my heart. With every word I’ve written, a drop of life has come along with it. I’ve started daydreaming again, fantasizing of ambitions and ideas. I’ve not breathed as deep as this since my first years walking with Christ, and a desire to love has become evident, shooting out of my heart itself. I’d be lying if I said I’m not fearful of losing it, I am, but I know things won’t always be this way. My life moves forward. Through words and writing I’ve been able to make some sense of the life I’ve lived and my own craziness. Though others may not know this story of mine, I hope that it continues to help me better understand my own life and why I am the way I am.
So in closing, I thank you for taking time to read these words. I don’t know who’s reading this, but I love you. I hoped to find the right words to make it emotional but why do that here? I’m still me, I’m still me and I’m still living my life, I’m still going. I’m crazy in my own respects and I know that better than anyone. So before I move on, I encourage you to be honest. Open up when you’re happy and when you’re sad. The bad times will pass and good ones are on the horizon. I don’t know what to do about this desire to love and to be loved. I urge you to scratch that itch. Take the uncomfortable leap and love someone, spend time with others and ask the hard questions. Stay up late and turn off the phones, make memories while you have time and always understand that your story is unique. You are you for a reason. We’re all imperfect, that’s what makes us lovable.
Here we are! I’m gonna try and refrain from writing like I’m some inspirational twenty-something now because, daggum, I did that way too much there. But hey! It’s present day Hank now, a lot has happened since writing that back in July 2020 and there’s much towards the end that I left out because I hadn’t fully processed yet.
When I sat down with pen and paper to write everything, I didn’t know how long It’d take or if I’d even finish. For weeks, I’d been drinking myself to sleep every night not knowing what to do about this confusion and anxiety in my life. A week of writing and 160 notebook pages later, I found that writing helped make sense of who I was and the guy I’d spent so much energy trying to hide. Having the pages in front of me showed how up and down my feelings actually were and helped further a process of reflection and healing. I spent a few days after writing everything to contact some of the friends and others in those stories, who I felt I’d done wrong or had been unkind to during those times, to apologize.
What I did hide though, is that during that time in July of 2020, my walk in Christ took a step backward. I was unsure of God. COVID had stopped my Church attendance and I made no effort to return once services started opening back up around that same time. Part of me wanted to know, I wanted some kind of affirmation that what I had spent so much time believing in was true, but I also wanted to know if I was missing out on anything in doing so. Curiosity will surely be my downfall and, in this instance, was the fuel for why I chose to stop going to Church in the first place. At no point had I stopped believing in God, I knew he was there, but I wanted to know if there was anything I could do in place of him.
I lived the rest of that year in Columbia, Josiah had moved out the week before COVID began and I’d returned in late March from Brevard. I lived alone in that duplex until I moved out that December. I would write about stuff that happened during those last months but there’s not much to be said, it was a lot of video games and some work with the car company. A few months before moving out, a friend of mine I knew from my time at Carolina Point reached out, he and I decided to move into a place in Asheville that December.
We moved into our apartment December 10, 2020. We lived on the third floor of a complex in Arden, about an hour from my parents in Brevard. I had a little contract job lined up with an aftermarket car company near there but a few days after move in, the owner decided to back out. Luckily, I had a fair chunk of cash from some recent jobs that would be more than enough to hold me over through 2021. My move to Asheville was a little strange, I didn’t feel like I’d fully gone into my post-grad life yet, partly from not having a real graduation due to COVID but also from a weird feeling that something still wasn’t right in my life. I wanted things to make sense, I wanted some kind of assurance that what I’d done moving there was the right decision, but at the time none was found.
New years 2021 was a few days away, my new years resolution went alongside that curiosity about God. I wanted to know if I was missing out on anything, if there was anything I could do to make myself happy on my own. So I decided I’d spend the length of my lease, 8 months, doing whatever I wanted. My ambitions weren’t high, I wanted to use my time the way I wanted. I’d spent the last four years in school, work and Young Life, so I wanted to take my time and use it in whatever way I saw fit. In January 2021 I decided to build a PC, Call of Duty: Cold War had come out a few months prior and I wanted to up my gaming setup so I spent a few thousand to build my own PC. I’d made friends with some competitive players and a few Twitch streamers just before that, so I spent a lot of time online with them playing in tournaments on their streams. I averaged around twelve to fourteen hours of play-time a day with them and I enjoyed it a lot.
January passed and the more time I spent online, the more I got to know those guys, a few from different countries and a few of them were my age and a little younger. This went on for a few months, all I wanted was to stay home in my space. Clay and I spent little time together but we were still good friends and roommates to one another, we never really had any bad moments. We were both going through different things at the beginning of our living there but we still understood one another, I liked living with Clay. We’d wake up Sunday mornings to watch Formula 1 and would have roommate time playing Call of Duty together and smoking Marlboro Reds on the bed of my red truck.
February continued, still spending just as much time on video games, but the fun in it had died and my competitive side had taken over. I was playing with and against people who did this for a living and my desire to keep up faded pretty quickly when it came to that. But gaming was all I really knew here? I didn’t know what else I could do to be happy at the time so I talked to a few girls instead. Never really anything serious, but the idea that I was desirable became paramount. I would hit up a few different girls during this time but nothing ever came of it since I was afraid to really leave my apartment for anything. More often than not I’d spend a few days at a time inside, door dashing most of my meals and only going out to grocery shop. Depression set in by the end of February, this was nothing new to me and I kinda just chalked it up to my current situation, though I did nothing to change it.
March began and I had moved my PC out of my room into our living room where there was an empty space near the windows. I didn’t want to play games, they made me feel frustrated and angry. I never felt good after turning the PC off either, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’d drive to Mom and Dads house every once in a while too, though I feared that because I knew Dad would just want to talk about job stuff. I didn’t know what my next steps were so I had no desire to really interact with anyone during that time. After a week or so of not turning the PC on, the longest time in about two years not playing games, Josh, John and Wes coaxed me into getting on for a few games. I had a lot I wanted to talk about so I obliged. It was fun with them! I had been joking for a while about moving to Tampa since that’s where they lived and, to me, they were some of my best friends. John called my bluff so I planned a trip there in April.
The anticipation for the trip to Tampa ate through me once April started, I had been in the area for Spring Break ’97 and knew I loved it down there. And in the back of my mind I knew I wanted to end up there, so I started looking for jobs. I got the contact for a few different places and had an interview lined up during my trip. When the time came, I road-tripped down, picking Dan up on the way. We stayed at John’s that weekend, and from the moment I was there, something felt right. Maybe it was the feeling of being away or the feeling of seeing Bayshore Boulevard for the first time, I’m not sure, but I knew I wanted to move there as soon as possible. I interviewed with some car people but really had no desire to work in media anymore, I only set up the interview because I knew I’d need a job once I moved, and media was what I could make money with. That weekend was a fun one with the boys, meeting their friends, going around town and even talking with Josh about potentially moving in together in June.
The drive back to Asheville is where the brainstorming started. I had been suppressing a lot of my uncertainties over the last few months while living on my own time and desires, so the idea of moving to Tampa seemed like a good option if I wanted to try and run away from all that. A few weeks later I lined up another job interview in Tampa after having a phone interview with a real estate agent who was looking for a media guy, I flew down and was offered the job shortly after I got back to Asheville. I felt excited but the uncertainty was still there. Was I really about to move again after only 6 months of living in Asheville? I hadn’t solved any of my problems, nor had I discovered anything through my “living on my time” lifestyle that had only caused me to gain weight and grow a hatred of video games. But hey! Bottle it all up and one day you’ll die, right?
Clay was sad to see me go and I was sad to have not spent more time with him, I had turned down a lot of his offers to hang out outside our apartment because I truly feared leaving my space while I lived there, I feared the uncertainty more than anything. But the move to Tampa was an exception. I headed down to Tampa at the beginning of June with my truck packed to the ceiling with my stuff. Josh and I had found a place in South Tampa at a new apartment complex and we moved in on June 10, 2021. The day after, I had my first day on the new job. A job is an overstatement because the guy who’d hired me had no real clue what he was wanting to do, he just knew he wanted content. We interviewed someone about a fancy condo complex that was still under construction, not too far from where my apartment was, and I hated it. I had lost the desire to work with cameras and in media before I even moved to Asheville.
I had this desire to work with my hands but felt like as if there was no other profession I could go into at that point. A few days later we had a meeting about plans for content and ideas and there were no true goals in sight. My gut feeling was telling me to get the hell out of it, so I did. I told the guy who hired me that I wasn’t going to work for him just four days after starting.
Mom and Dad weren’t too thrilled on this decision but they were supportive, with the exception that I’d find a job, any job, as soon as possible. I spent a few days looking for anything and was about to take a job as a package handler with UPS, but just before responding to the acceptance email, I decided to go on a drive to decompress and talk to God for a little while. I pulled out of my complex knowing good and well that God and I hadn’t been on good terms for over a year now. I prayed a frustrated prayer just asking God for some kind of sign, and before I even made it to the end of my road, I looked to see a little “Mechanic Wanted” sign on a fence with a phone number attached. I turned around pretty quickly and headed back to my apartment to look up who the company was. It was a little industrial air compressor and Honda generator shop and, from what I could tell, was a better option than working for UPS. So the next day I threw on my job interview clothes to walk in and ask for a job. Conveniently, this company that had been started back in the 80’s had just been sold to a larger corporate air compressor company, so one of the corporate owners was there to meet me. I got his number and an application to fill out that I brought back the same day. A few days later I was asked back for a formal interview with another one of the corporate owners. An older guy who was easy to talk to, he said he respected my coming in face-to-face to ask for an application considering the fact I had no prior experience in the field other than my schooling in Mechatronics. The interview couldn’t have gone better and he offered me a grunt job in the shop, I accepted it immediately. I took to social media to give a little life update and to tell family about my job decision and this is what I wrote…
Well, after a few weeks in Tampa, I left the job that I came for!
A lot of y’all have been asking so I’ve a little explaining to do & figured this would be the easiest way.
I’ve been unhappy for the last few years with my work in general, it’s a negativity that’s bled into my daily life and has effected my work ethic, relationships and health. I figured moving to a new place and working with new people as I continued doing media work would rekindle my liking for the profession. However, after my brief stay in Asheville, I still had a restlessness about my choice of work, so I took a job in Tampa hoping that’d be the spark.
Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.
I’ve always loved to work with my hands and fixing things, no matter what it was I always enjoyed it, even if some of it was working with mom & dad on their projects! But don’t tell them that because they’ll want me to come home and do more. Either way, it’s what always made sense to me. That sense of accomplishment when something is done right and the satisfaction of helping someone in the process is why I loved working with my hands in the first place. Yeah I had my own little projects in between but I was far more excited when someone called and needed a handyman or just a tip on how to do something.
So last week I chose to end on good terms the job I originally came to Tampa for, knowing I wanted to work with my hands instead.
Coincidentally, just down the street from my new apartment, there’s a sign on the side of an industrial air compressor and Honda generator shop with “Mech. Wanted” written on it. So I threw on my job interview clothes, walked in and asked for an application. They were all incredibly kind and were very understanding when I explained the position I was in. Thankfully, after turning in my application, they had me back for an interview. And to my surprise, they offered me a job.
I couldn’t have said yes fast enough.
It may not be the flashiest or coolest of jobs but it’s somewhere I can learn, grow, work hard, and use my hands. It’s an opportunity I’m grateful to have and I truly believe I’ll be happier down this path. Lord knows what’ll happen though, guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.
And as Dad likes to quote, I want to “Pursue meaning, not happiness.”
Love y’all and I hope you have a great day.
p.s. if you read this far and still have questions please feel free to call.
Definitely not my best writing, but it did the job communicating to my friends and family. My parents were elated when I told them I’d been offered the job and Dad was hopeful that it’d be a good fit for me. I was just glad I’d have some consistency now. Dad was right though! The job couldn’t have been a better fit. The days were hot and sweaty and my body ached at the end of every day, but being in that space made me happy. I didn’t know much about what I was doing but was learning a lot as I swept the floors and moved heavy things around. First I learned the Honda engines, then some about the air compressors, and during that I made friends with the other employees there. The respect I have for my boss hiring me is beyond what I can write here and the patience he’s had is beyond mine. But this job brought some consistency in my life that was much needed.
It wasn’t long after the new job where I started making friends with new people, Josh had introduced me to a lot of people in the first few weeks and I struggled to remember all their names. They were so much fun to be around and the excitement of getting to know them overshadowed the other uncertainties I had brought with me to Tampa. Josh invited me to church with him pretty soon too, I dodged the invite the first few weeks. I went back to NC to get my old red truck, but agreed to go with him eventually. I was scared to go back to Church since I hadn’t been since the beginning of 2020. I didn’t want to confront God and felt unworthy to go back, but I went anyway.
Going back was much easier than anticipated and knew after that week I wanted to find a church that fit well. Josh recommended another Church that some other friends went to called South Tampa Fellowship and gave me the number of one of my new friends who went there. I texted her about going and met her and her roommate there the following Sunday. We sat in the balcony where there weren’t a lot of people. My feelings towards church were still back and fourth, but everything here felt like home. It wasn’t long into the service when two parents and their little boy sat in front of us. A cute little kid with all the energy in the world, he was jumping around and dancing during the worship as his parents danced and laughed along too. They didn’t act like the other parents I’d seen in church, those that reprimanded their kids for being kids. Instead, they shared in his joy right in front of us, disruptive or not. I teared up when I saw the joy the kids Dad had on his face, it felt like home in this church. It’s funny to think my uncertainty of returning to Church was turned on its head by a little kid of all things, the simplicity of his joy and the love his parents shared by his side was evidence of a love that I’d turned away from. I wanted to be here, I wanted to love God and felt like I was home. I hope one day I can tell the parents.
After church Melissa and her roommate Mikaela, the two friends I’d gone with, asked if I wanted to go to the beach with them. I offered to drive the truck and they were all for it. We spent the afternoon on the beach hanging out and getting to know one another and we quickly became friends. I felt welcomed by them and was glad to be around. Mikaela was a nurse so her hours were a little weird, so Mel and I hung out a little more. It didn’t take long for the others in our friend group to question wether or not something was going on between Mel and I based off the amount of time we were spending together. We liked hanging out with each other but there were no feelings. Though we did go on a date, we quickly said that we just wanted to be friends. Those first few weeks after returning to Church were perfect.
August was almost in the books when my anxiety came back. It came out of nowhere and was stronger than I remembered at previous times. It really pissed me off because everything seemed to be going right. It came from nowhere and didn’t go away after a few days as it usually did. Depressive thoughts and feelings began to stem from it and the ensuing anxiety had me angry and confused as to why the thoughts and feelings were there. I was adamant about not allowing those thoughts in, so I did the only thing I knew to ignore it, drank.
I drank a bottle and a half of wine before the first sword fight of Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl started. I mean I was DRUNK, but the anxiety went away with this. When the movie ended the second bottle was empty. The sudden silence in the living room prompted me to start talking.
When I used to drink myself to sleep back in Columbia, I would usually drunk talk to God or to myself about my problems, adopting a kind of alternate personality who would speak from a drunk perspective, I did the same here. I made a voice memo when I did it, but didn’t find it until months later, I’m going to give it to you here.
After a few hours passed out on the couch, Josh had come home and brought me some Chick-fil-a after finding me blacked out with two empty wine bottles and Mary Poppins playing on the TV. He didn’t know what was going on but I vaguely remember telling him I was all good. The next morning was Sunday and I woke up completely fine. I had no recollection of making that recording and got up to go to church. After church we kept to our regular beach on Sundays routine and hopped in the truck, it was August 22, 2021. Everything was perfect this day. The anxiety was still there, but something about it was peaceful. Maybe it was the words of drunk Hank speaking into my heart, but whatever it was, I felt peace in this little mess. I wrote the date on the ceiling of the truck, next to the names of my friends who’d also signed up there.
The following weeks went off without a hitch while I met and made new friends with people in my Church small group. I knew I wanted a good community and wouldn’t let it slip by while I waited for someone else to act on it. So for a few weeks I hit up some guys in the group to hang out and go to lunch a few weekends in a row to try and get to know them. I had nothing to hide in these times and was sure to make that clear. A few of these guys and I quickly became close. My personality started to change a lot over those few months and I began to find joy in hanging out with my new friends, becoming extroverted to an extent. Telling stories and being a little louder than I should’ve, I had a small feeling that this personality wouldn’t last and that, eventually, my anti-social self would return. I even told people in my small group that this version of Hank was a once in a blue moon kind of Hank and that I’d crawl back into my shell after a few weeks.
When October rolled around, this Hank was still there. With each passing week I waited for my heart to change back but it didn’t. One night in particular, I grabbed my keys and hopped in the truck to go out for a drive, the only real place I can think unobstructed. The thought and question of wondering where this happiness was coming from prompted me to have a little heart to heart with God. As I drove I turned the music up and talked aloud so other drivers wouldn’t notice too much what I was doing. I started talking, the talking turned to singing along with the radio and the singing turned to uncontrollable laughter. I drove down Bayshore, the sun had gone down, and every laugh grew my smile bigger and tears with each. Joyful tears had come from the realization that I’d been given a gift of love that I didn’t deserve, I didn’t understand it, though it filled me anyways. This confused yet thankful prayer turned to a belly laughing, tear-filled joy. It felt like God’s way of saying, “You’re gonna be ok kid.” There was love in my heart, love with no explanation. It was a gift, one I’m certainly undeserving of, but a gift nonetheless.
Mine and Gods relationship had changed to this point and felt more natural than it had ever been, not this authoritarian figure who I wanted to be good for, but a father. A heartfelt relationship filled with mercy, teaching me to love in ways I’m still trying to navigate and doubt I’ll ever truly understand. A few days after collecting my thoughts I wrote about it, here it is…
10-23-2021
Processing Love
Growing up around my middle school/high school years, I had one pretty consistent prayer that preceded most others.
“God I just want one good friend.”
I probably prayed that hundreds, maybe thousands of times before it kinda just faded away. It was a prayer that has been repeatedly answered throughout my life and continues to be fulfilled, but every once in a while I find myself saying that little prayer. I don’t do it because I don’t have good friends, that of which I’m certain I have an abundance of. I think I pray it in hopes that I’ll be able to find out why God answered the prayer in the first place.
Now I don’t intend to write this in hopes of receiving affirmation or response, nor is this an attempt to draw sympathy as there’s no cause to bring it. This is simply me processing and shouting praise to a mercy that I don’t deserve but have been given nonetheless.
About halfway through college I started having doubts regarding my own self-worth and ability to care for others. By this point I’d been battling internally with some mental health issues that had consistently been pushed under the rug and seldom talked about with anyone close to me, so as you’d imagine, both of these factors fed off one another fairly well. One of the biggest problems that came up was me questioning how I could be loved. There came an absence of joy when these ideas started in. It made no sense! The idea of love, that is. This vacancy in my heart had crept in and made me question my own believing life.
“Am I doing enough?” I thought.
I figured I felt this way because I hadn’t put in enough effort into loving others and reciprocating the love God had shown in my life. But throwing myself into work, pursuing relationships and ministry only seemed to widen the hole that had crept its way into my heart.
“I guess I’m just broken.”
We’d passed the point of reminiscing on better days and accepted this as the new normal, I could tell that my friends didn’t want this version of Hank around and rightfully so. I carried a bitterness around that only others could taste, followed by a self-righteous anger that fed off the negativity I felt towards the people I wanted to love me the most.
“Why don’t they want me around?”
Eventually I started to disassociate completely, the new normal had set in and the belief that I was unworthy of love had made itself known. Not only did it make itself known, it shouted it from the crown of my head deep into my chest. Emotionally, I felt like a failure and became so confused as to why I didn’t care anymore. I wanted nothing more than to care for and about others, but all I could muster was a helping hand and a smile.
“I don’t have feelings!” I told myself and others jokingly
After college, all I wanted to do was stay home, in my safe space, behind my screens. There, I felt like I had purpose and others who cared about me, up until the moment the screens turned off. I didn’t want to leave the apartment, I was afraid of facing the world. I didn’t want to be seen and I most certainly did not want to be heard, there seemed nothing good to tell. But I still wanted nothing more than to love and to be loved.
“Keep running from the problem.” I said, moving to Tampa.
It didn’t take long for it to catch up. A new place, job and friends who are one in a million and those feelings caught up so quickly.
“God whats happening?”
I sat scrambled for a few days because I couldn’t help but question my worthiness to be loved in any capacity. How could God love me? I don’t even love me? That was it! My own capacity to love and to be loved had been shrouded by this feeling in my heart that I was undeserving of love. An idea that had rooted itself in my own self hatred and quite frankly, an animosity towards what I felt had been a subpar life when it came to caring for others. The roots of these feelings had been watered by my own mistakes over the years that I held as my reasoning behind why I felt those ways. But the true issue had made itself known as being these lies ridden across my subconscious.
I’ve been surrounded by love, love abounding in ways I could never explain here and hope I can try to show next time I see you. I’m learning to love more and more as the days go on, but boy has God shown me how. It’s impossible to explain without knowing mercy. Mercy to forgive, mercy to love myself again, mercy I’m shown after running away, mercy for all the things I wish I could do-over. But most importantly, mercy knowing that I am forgiven of all I’ve ever done, do or will do.
So here’s to living in Love, a good friend, and our merciful God.
The following months, filled with excitement for this new Hank, flew by. Before I knew it, I was headed home for Christmas and back again for New Years with my friends. A new personality had sprouted over these months since moving to Tampa, as the fear of losing it had all but disappeared whilst 2022 rang in with the same joy.
It’s June 28th now, my 24th birthday. That same joy and love is being built upon with every passing day. I wish I could tell you how it happened but I don’t know how. You’d think after 37,000 words I’d be able to come to some kind of conclusion, but boy I just can’t. It’s hard to communicate feelings, words are easy but no matter how many times I repeat them, I can’t explain this feeling of joy. It’s not some rollercoaster high of emotions, that I’m sure of, but it’s been sitting quietly in the pit of my chest. The love takes me as the time goes, I love to be around people. Something I never thought I’d be again was an extrovert, but hey here we are, can’t complain. But whatever it may be, I know the Lord is at the center of it. And no matter where the feelings may go, I trust Him with it all.
I wish I could give you a good one liner to end on but it seems kinda wrong for me to end now, considering my life feels like its only just begun. So I guess all I can say is thanks!
I grew up in a small town in the south, I won’t tell you exactly where because I want you to be able to picture it in your own head. Build my scene the way you want.
I have one sister just a few years older, along with mom and dad who provided for us in a regular middle class home in a regular neighborhood. My earliest memories go back to this house, with a big tree in the front yard and a big fenced in back yard.
As a kid, everything seemed alright to me and to this day I still believe it was, nothing really out of the ordinary. My earliest memories are of dad and I playing catch in the back yard. Like any other dad I assume, he wished that I’d become the next great lefty in the MLB. Meanwhile, I was sitting in right field kicking over ant hills, so much for that. Like any kid my age though, I played in most every little league style game there was. Baseball, basketball, soccer, flag-football, tennis (for about five minutes), and even fencing at one point. But I was never much of an athlete. I was a sporadic little kid who was more distracted by my ability to build with legos or making waterslides with a garden hose to care about sports. In the moment I did what was interesting to me and I loved it, as I think anyone would.
From those early times though, early 2000’s to be more specific, there are certain memories that stick out more than others. One for instance was my sister and the random games she’d come up with. Many of which ended in her favor… Weird how they always worked out in her favor. She’s always been an assertive person, a go-getter and will rarely take no as an answer when she wants to do something. Thats why she’s been good at most everything she’s ever done. But don’t get it twisted, I am beyond proud of my sister in what she’s done in her life and how she’s worked to do it.
As far back as I can remember I always seemed to find a way under her wing. Wether it was during my kid days playing made-up games, or in middle school while I wondered what teachers or peers I should or shouldn’t like. Or through high school, wanting to be as popular as her, trying to fit in with the cooler, younger siblings of her friends. I always seemed to find a way, by choice, under her wing.
So from our kid days, she was the loud fun one and I was the quiet and ever so subtly less fun one. And frankly, it worked out pretty well for us. I liked it that way. And looking back, I think that had a lot to do with my imagination as I was growing up.
I’ve always been a dreamer. And I don’t mean that in a sense of ambitions or goals, though that is also true, I mean it in a sense of actual dreams. Wether it was daydreaming or actual dreams at night, whatever it is, I tend to remember those times more than my actual childhood. One of my favorites was the superman dream. It’s kind of self explanatory but in the dream I’d have the powers of Superman and I’d spend the whole dream flying. None of that fighting crime nonsense, just flying. I always loved that. The feeling of waking up after a good dream just wishing I could go back. But that’s what makes a dream, right? I remember consistently getting in trouble in school or with mom and dad because I’d be daydreaming and not paying attention. But being the dreamer boy didn’t come without its downsides. From what I remember, the nightmares were just as frequent. And it’s the nightmares I remember the most.
It’s those nightmares we all have, falling in our sleep or not being able to run from whatever is chasing us, the things we commonly think of when we say, “nightmare.” But I assume that there’s a few of you that have other specific nightmares in mind. The ones that became repetitive, they got names, they got timelines and they stuck with you. I want to tell you some of mine.
For now I’m only going to talk about two of them, for the third one holds a little more value for a later time. And let it be known that I have no timeline as to when I first started having these nightmares. As far as I’m concerned I might as well have been 4 or 5 years old when they started. But anyway, let’s get to it.
The first one is a little on the short side. It always started with me in front of a crowd of people. I never in the dream know who they were but they were always quiet. I’d be standing about chest deep in a skinny pool, about the width of a swimmers lane and not much longer than the checkout at a grocery store. With the people watching and myself elevated almost above them in this small pool, the water would get deeper and deeper until I had to tread on my own. Unable to grab the sides of a wall, as there were none, I’d feel someones hand push the back of my head, putting my face under the water. I’d fight and fight but could never help myself. And at the point of me drowning, the hand would pull me up but I’d still be unable the breathe. This is when I’d wake up.
The second is one that I still fear having today. This being more frequent than the first, scared me the most, and in some cases it would even find its way into my daydreams. There was really no beginning or end to the dream, it’s just there. but it opens with me being small. Much smaller than you’d probably expect, smaller than an ant and each time I’d have the feeling of being totally powerless. Frequently changing locations, the nightmare had be seeing cracks in the floor as caverns, basketballs and baseballs as gargantuan boulder-like structures just waiting to crush me.
The scenarios were always strange to me. They always had someone I knew closely but feared at the same time. Sometimes it was my youth pastor from church, maybe a teacher, a friend and even my dad. But whoever it was they’d always try to crush me. Their feet, large as skyscrapers, had me running for cover in the cracks of the floor and the channels and caverns of the treads in their shoes. I’d always try to run, but then came the fists. Giant fists that hit the ground like asteroids, never effecting the ground around them but always finding a landing place near me.
Eventually I’d be caught, pinned between the fingers, smaller than an ant and only fearing the size of who was before me. Then came the yelling, it shook everything. At some points I feel like I could see the sound itself. But the words were always the same. They were angry at me for being too small and helpless. They knew all my wrongdoing and were there to crush me. I would be unable to speak throughout the nightmare, wether that was to cry for help or to say sorry. And I’d always wake up when I’d be thrown to the ground, looking up helplessly to see a foot coming to crush me.
Two years ago I sat down and wrote all I could remember about my own life in hopes I could make more sense of who I am and what my personality is. After some thinking, I’ve decided to type up what was written on those notebook pages with the thought that I may decide to let others read it. Throughout these chapters there are details and stories that I haven’t shared outwardly and ask that you not respond in the way you think I’d want you to. Instead I want you to respond honestly. Wether that be with joy, care, anger or reprimand and maybe even with nothing at all. Whichever that may be, thank you for taking your time to read, I love you.
07-07-2020
By the time you read this, Lord knows where I’ll be. Maybe across the country in a studio, working on a project with people I never expected to meet. Maybe near people I love, working a basic job that I’d become content with all due to the fact I’m near people who make me happy. Or maybe I’ll be in the same exact place I’m in now. Lord knows. But nevertheless I do not write this out of my own self-pity or in the reminiscence of memories I wished I’d cherished more or things I should’ve done different. No. Nor do I wish to make myself out to be a victim of any kind, that of which I’m sure I am not.
Truth is, I’m not entirely sure why I’m choosing to write this. I’ve got a lot of things I want to tell people, especially my family, and I’ve got no clue how, this seemed like a good option. On these lines and in these pages I’m going to tell stories about myself. Some might bore you, some may excite you and some may pull you in. Others could make you angry or sad, I have no control over that, I’m just here to try and make sense of myself and search for some kind of emotional freedom.
So reader, I wish to tell you that I am wildly unhappy with my life and hope that in writing, I’d be able to find joy again. And before we begin, thank you for coming along on this journey with me. May we both find a little piece of ourselves along the way.