I am sitting here with you now, alone, in the dark, and writing during the early hours of morning. This is before the day breaks and the sun sets sail. It is cold outside and winter is about to take its place on the main stage.
I noticed the stars last night which means that today’s sky will be clear, at least I hope so.
Then again, I am a fan of the sunrise. I’m a fan of sunsets too.
There’s a reason for this.

There was a friend of mine who used to say, “I am as God made me.”
This means, I am who I am. Or in his case, this means he is who he is.
But this is me and in the version of myself, there are other parts of myself in which I say yes; this is me too. I am a mix of so many things. I am part combination of my past and part a mix of assumptions and perceptions.
I am who I am and though I do not discuss my choice of identity nor do I propose myself as a representative of culture; at the same time, all I know is I am human.
That’s all.
I know what I see. I know where I’ve come from and while I might not know (or understand) what’s in store for me, I know what I want to be.
I want to be happy. I want to be proud of what I see.
I want to look back one day and say to myself with the utmost esteem and say, yeah, I did that.
That was me.

There was a morning, cold as ever in the month of November. I was only about nine years-old at the time and the hour was early. I remember this was a morning at football practice. I remember the frost on the ground and the cold mist was rising up from the icy grass.
I remember the smoke from my breath as it left my mouth.
I remember the jumping jacks and our young little grunts as we counted out the number of jumping jacks and push-ups.
The team was holding a scrimmage because the coach wanted to see us at different positions. This way, the coach would know where to place us when the season started.

I don’t know what you see, at least not really.
I talk about this often but the phenomenon of sight is not provably the same from one eye to another. I cannot say that I know for sure what the color red or blue will look like to someone else. I can’t tell how yellow the dandelions are to someone else nor will I know if my experience with the smell from a honeysuckle bush is the same to anyone else. I bring this up because our associations and our experiences are different. Our views are not the same and neither is our experiences. Yet, we think and we feel and there are times when we assume people think, or see, or feel the same way.
Well, the truth is I don’t know what anyone else sees.
So for the moment, I’d like to offer an explanation of what I see with hopes that you can see your way clear to notice me and see that what I say is true.

I still think about this day, a Sunday morning, when I was back on the farm. I remember this because I had to go home for a day to see him. By him, I mean The Old Man.
I was taken home for a visit after learning that my Father had a heart attack. I was only home for a short amount of time yet I can remember walking back into my bedroom. I can recall standing at the doorway and looking in, as if I was returning to the scene of the crime – or should I say crimes.
It was amazing to me though; the way my bedroom looked. It was as if I was viewing a murder scene. You know the kind?
I mean the type of dramatizations where bodies were outlined in their last and final position. Only in this case, the bodies that were slain were more like the remnants of my past.
I had only been gone for a few months yet it was as if a lifetime went by.
I was different now. Everything was different.

Today’s entry will be about a window that is more current in time. Of course, this window is me; however, this is a version of me that I have been trying to become for almost 50 years. I say this because who I am now is relevant. I’m a man that’s lived on either side of the mental health table for a very long time.
In fact, I have lived this way for as long as I can remember. But even more, to qualify what I am about to show you; I want to start by explaining that above anything else, I am a very real person. I have accomplishments to be proud of. I have bits of shame and regrets from the mistakes I’ve made. Yes, I am most certainly human. Nothing more.

We take you now to a midnight view of what it means to be “awake” when the rest of the world is asleep and peaceful.
It all starts with just one thought. Then it’s two. Then three. Next, you’re awake and you’re lying in bed thinking about things which only serve to keep you up. Meanwhile, it’s late.
The numbers on the alarm clock are bright red and the time keeps ticking away.
You try to figure out how many hours of sleep you could get if you just fell back to sleep. You think about the hour when you have to get up as if this is a deadline; whereas, the day is ahead of you and ready or not – HERE IT COMES!
You’d probably be okay if you could just fall back asleep, right?
The operative word here is “if.”
Meanwhile, the hours are dwindling away before the alarm goes off. Then there’s work to deal with. Then there’s the ideas you have about the work you’ll have to do when you get there. Not to mention the unsettled anxiety which applies to the people who you’ll have to deal with; which again, this information is only something that serves to keep you up.

Ever look at the clouds? Ever notice them and think about their formations?
I figured that since we talked about the secrets of jigsaw puzzles, I might as well tell you about the clouds.
I figured this would be a good time to give you a view from the beaches and explain a little more about a lesson I wished I could remember.
Before I go forward, I want to give a little background as to where this entry is coming from. First, I’d like you to imagine a father and his son, together, walking on the beach. It is wintertime on earth and the northern side of the hemisphere is tilted farthest from the sun.

I suppose my reason for this journal is to give you a view of more than just a typical day in the life of another human being. This is me and I am not the only one in this world who looks and thinks or feels and worries. I am not the only one who sees things that need to be changed and I’m not the only one who fought the good fight (or the bad one).
There is a picture in my head. Or wait. there is more than one yet all of these pictures in my head are a piece of something that I am trying to pull together.
However, there are times when the big picture seems too big and too much work. There are times when I look for the shortcuts and in my effort to save time, I recognize that haste has caused me to compromise the purity of my big picture.

There is a little town about 26.8 miles east of the Midtown Tunnel which leads into New York City. The town is known as East Meadow. This was, is, and will always be my town. This is where I come from.
This is where life happened. I grew up here. I learned here. I saw both awesome and unforgettable things here.
I lived through painful episodes and survived different phases of my young life and more, I have memories here which are both good and bad. In all, I have a story which comes from here, my town.