I can say this is an ode to those
who put me down
or to those who told me
don’t even think about it
or that as hard as I try
I’d be fortunate to be average
or to be anything special;
I’d be lucky because
either I was not from their club
or tribe
or that someone who looks
like “me” or speaks the way I do,
with a New York accent, somewhat
obvious and a so-called “way”
about me, I remember being told
that perhaps, at best,
I’d be more suitable for jails . . .
Do you want to know something?
That hurt me . . .
So did the person who told me
but that is neither here nor there.
My point is –
this is an ode to those
who either degraded me
or told me that I would
never amount to anything.
This is my repayment to those
who said
nobody likes you
or has anything good to say about you
and this is my way of saying,
that may be so, to you,
but I know the truth
behind you and that mirror
you deflect from.
And more,
this is my written retaliation
and celebration to which
I realize that I have to fall back in order
and get back to where I belong.
It’s time to address the fact
that I have to recognize
what I said when I started this journey:
My redemption
has nothing to do
with your response.
This means
that it’s on me now . . .
I have to circle back to the beginning
and realize
what makes me tick
or stops my clock
when I need to move on.
For example:
I was in a roomful of people
and each person
was someone with a learned experience
and each person
had some kind of qualification
or a series of letters after their name
as if to qualify them as an expert.
But not me. . .
Who are you, they asked me.
I’m Ben, I told them
and I could see people rolling their eyes.
as if to say, “oh, he’s the one ‘they’ chose.”
More to the point,
this was a way of saying, “not welcome”
or “come back when you’ve reached my level.”
I had the minimal credentials
or the so-called training,
but not a diploma.
No, I was only a person
with lived experience
who saw different things
or experienced a different life, yet
I sat there, listening to people
discuss the lives of others
as if their words were a better
or more educated authority
than mine.
I thought to myself . . .
I don’t belong here.
Why am I here?
I thought about the different versions
of intimidation
or my fears when it comes to
credentials and educational snobbery.
I fed back into an old loop.
I gave in to an old way of thinking
and somehow, I believed
that almost convincingly,
everyone else in that room
was either better or more suited than me
and that as a result,
they were all better than me
to benefit the mental health world,
or more accurately,
to benefit the initiative that I was included in.
This was my first police initiative
in the fight against overdoses
and the so-called opiate epidemic.
I was told to stay in my lane.
I was told to leave the real work
to the professionals and that,
if anything, I am simply an additive,
or someone for the flashbulbs of the press
or some kind of adaptive peer to which,
somehow, my role was more commercialized
and that my part was only a political ploy
as if to grab the attention of an otherwise
media driven world,
and say hey . . .
look over here.
Look at what we’re doing . . .
We’re saving the world
but wait
hold up,
let me doctor the statistics
so the report
can look better
and we can secure funding for
the next year or two.
I realized something . . .
The public sector is fake and plastic
or more accurately,
when it comes to some of these “organizations”
or foundations –
they’re all about the paycheck
or the spotlight
and in most cases—it is both
the money and the spotlight.
But not me.
I am not an organization or a foundation.
I didn’t come for the press or the news
or the social media rants and raves.
I wasn’t there for that.
Nope . . .
I wasn’t there for the food and friends either.
And speaking of, it amazed me that
with all the credentials
and the uppity nature of some of the clinicians,
or with all the talk about their precious lives
and how important they “are” or were
it amazed me how poorly they fed a group of people
to the point
where I started to bring in food—and I mean real food,
because first, I need to eat, and secondly
or to be honest, the spread was embarrassing
and unappetizing at best.
Either way—
I am someone who has lived with
educational and positional fears
or better yet,
I am someone who
has submitted to intimidations
which forced me to think as though
I was somehow less-than
or less capable or better yet,
that I would always be somehow
less-impactful in this world
because I was uneducated
or stupid.
Put simply . . .
This is not true.
I did my job, so-to-speak.
I followed the rules,
but not the intimidations.
I was told to stay in my lane
and to keep my focus
on why I was there, which again
this was more of some political announcement.
This was a ploy
on how people with a bad past
can help others with a bad past
come together
and perhaps this way,
we can create a better future.
I do not deny this can be true.
However, I reject the ideas and the statements
and the notions that somehow,
one person is better than another
and furthermore,
the fight against emotional disease
or social illnesses and the discussions
of avoidable and preventable deaths
from overdoses, or self-inflicted damages,
self-harm, and suicide is a fight
which takes place from all angles.
Therefore, we cannot fight this fight
by ways of social snobbery
or intellectual arrogance.
This is war
and no war is fair.
I was told that I could only be minimally effective
yet, all the professionals in the room
and all the people with their degrees on the wall
or their high-priced education
were there in the same fight as me
and none of them were requested or acknowledged
or impactful.
But me . . . I was not only acknowledged,
but I was on the front page of the newspaper
and on the news.
I am a fan of truth
and the truth is
we are all so incredibly valuable
and that no one is above another.
However, while I do acknowledge the need
for professional credentialing
and the importance of training,
I am a fan of humility
and modesty.
If I need help . . .
I am going to a person who can help me,
and at no point
am I going to be spoken down to
or preached to or browbeaten by someone
simply because they have a degree on the wall.
If someone told me
that I would be
flown across the country for this
or that I would be doing lectures
in college classrooms
or that something I write
would be used for advanced psyche courses –
I would have never believed them.
Then again,
if I listened to all the intimidations in my head,
or to the anger or the insults
which come with the intention
of hurting me or causing pain,
then I would still be small
and shrinking in the vague silhouette
or fading in the contrast
of an otherwise educated world,
and submitting to the physical beauty
or the social or economic snobs
who can’t figure out a good way
to feed a room of people.
By the way, I was asked why I fed the room.
I said, “because food is love.”
Also, I did because I like to eat,
and sure, one could say
I did this to bring a sense of favor to me,
but also, I was joining a fight
against mental illness
and opiate overdoses.
This is a real battle
and me . .
I don’t go into battles on an empty stomach.
There are people in my life
who taught me to believe in myself.
And I have to admit this –
had it not been for them,
I would have never known
that I am capable of great things
educated or not
degrees or not,
insults and intimidations
and all –
I can say that hey,
I made a mark
and I can say
that I’m not done either,
at least I hope not.
The Written Addiction 
Just brilliant!!