There are two reasons why I write about my past and my addiction. The first reason is to raise awareness and bring an understanding to a misunderstood sickness. I write for those who feel they are alone and for those who cannot understand why someone would behave as an addict or alcoholic.
The second reason is so that I see exactly who I was. I write about who I was to detail where I came from. This is important to remember the facts of my story because they not only show the span of my growth; they also value Continue reading
Back when I was a little kid, The Old Man told me,
“All that television you watch is gonna rot your brain.”
At the time he told me this, I was in the den watching cartoons.
He told me, “I never watched television when I was your age.”
And by mistake, my less than smart words left my mouth before I had time to think about them. “That’s because they didn’t have television back when you were my age, Pop.”
The Old Man’s eyebrows folded down with his left eyebrow raised slightly above his right. The crunched lines on his forehead expressed the anger which was about to become painfully obvious as he screamed the famous words that come from an angry parent.
He shouted, “GO TO YOUR ROOM!” and as ordered, I retreated to my bedroom with the door closed, and of course, the small, black and white television that sat near my bed was turned off.
And by black and white, I feel I should explain to some of my younger readers that the television set, itself, was not black and white. The television set was gray . . . it was the picture that was black and white.
(This is what we watched before they invented that thing we call color)
My Old Man was Continue reading
“Don’t go,” she said.
“Stay,” she told him.
“What for,” he asked.
“There’s nothing left for us to talk about.”
Marie stood from the love seat in her small studio apartment. The lights were dim and she was dressed comfortably. The curtains were halfway opened at the only window in her apartment that hung above a small round table that sat against the wall at the edge of a little, eat-in kitchen.
There were four Continue reading
I spent most of the day and all of my money on little plastic capsules that contained tiny white boulders and a terrible addiction. The sun had been gone for quite some time and the roads were wet from a cold winter’s rain.
The streetlamps and occasional headlights from passing cars glistened against the black pavement and across the yellow dividing lines on the street.
When the wind came, the traffic lights swayed with the colors of red, yellow, or green reflecting against the slick pavement near Green Avenue and Front Street.
Front Street is somewhat of a main road in my small Long Island town, but the traffic was few at that hour. The street is lined with modest, single family homes—most of them are one-story in height, and because of the late hour, all of the homes were mostly dark with the exception of a few scattered Continue reading