I know what to means to be hungry. More to the point, I understand what it means to want or to need or to have desire, so great and so huge, or to have dreams that I can see, yet I can’t touch them.
But I want to.
I know what it feels like to be at the bottom of the hill, looking up, and seeing the climb ahead of me.
Who doesn’t?
I can tell you that I have a clear understanding of intimidation. I know about doubt. I understand the heavy chains of disbelief which weigh us down; furthermore, I have found myself drifting away, as if to be moving in slow motion and there I am, watching my dreams evaporate before my eyes. Life passes me by, like an unwilling participant who willingly gave up on a goal, simply because I never believed the goal could be achieved.
Do you know what this makes me?
This makes me human.
I am a simple, complex, normal and everyday dysfunctional human being, which makes me no different from the rest of the world.
However, I understand there is more to life and that there is more to me than this. I understand there is an equation or a simple mathematic solution that I miss; or perhaps I forget to take the basic steps that we learned in grade school.
Do you remember basic math before the schools came up with the so-called “new” math?
I believe this applies to life as well.
Sometimes, I forget to do the steps or to add what needs to be added or subtract what needs to be taken away. Put simply, I am not a mathematician. No.
That’s not me.
I never did well in math class to begin with, let alone become someone who understands how to find the missing numbers or the so-called coefficient of X or Y.
I never knew how to do these things.
And to some, well . . .
I suppose that some people would call me uneducated. Maybe some would assume that I am too challenged to understand how to improve or how to advance—or perhaps the truth is I allowed myself to become the sum of the predictions or the assumptions of my downfalls.
Where did these come from?
However –
I think it is more important to understand the basic value of, say, the number one, which is me.
Perhaps it is more important to understand the value of one, as in the value of one person, as opposed to the masses or the crowds, and perhaps; maybe if we were to understand the true value of one, and this is not the number one, itself, but to understand the value of one person, in particular—perhaps we would understand more about our own value and the worth that someone adds to our life.
Maybe we would be more apt to understand the benefits of our interpersonal value and how one person can literally change our life, just by walking into a room.
It is said that you don’t know what you have, until it’s gone.
I agree.
It is said that perhaps absence makes the heart grow fonder. However, if I am to understand the value of me, or my personal worth, and if I am to understand the value of another person whose value to me is more than insurmountable or unstoppable, then I would understand that their value to me is immeasurable. Therefore, a loss of their time or their attention, or a loss of their love and their affection, which happened as a result of my careless regard, or when in fact, when (or if) I overlooked the simple acts of awareness and love, or when we disregard or take the presence of someone for granted—I find that this happens as the result of an unknown value.
How can anyone be worth something or become “everything” if we fail to recognize our own value; and therefore, or as it stands with me, I can see how my self-fulfilled prophecies came true.
I failed to understand the value of one.
Namely me, which affected others or more namely-
You . . .
I have dreams too.
You know?
I have wants and needs.
I have visions and fantasies and hopes and aspirations.
I have a hand to hold and a heart to share and I have all of this and more, but to what avail, or to what measure would I use to understand this if I have no clue as to what any of this is worth?
I admit to my crazy self-sabotages and my self-induced tragedies.
What does this make me?
Aside from human, I assume this makes me a person who is unaware of their worth. Better yet, I assume this is a prelude to my old assumptions which I used to invest in the remedies of my failures before the preparing for the commencement of my success.
I always wondered, “What now?”
What’s going to happen next?
When is the other shoe going to drop or when will the next thing go wrong?
I have to ask myself, as well as report this here, for transparency’s sake; where did this come from?
I say this now and I have said this before; only, there are times when I have forgotten this rule.
Be careful who you listen to.
Be mindful of the predictions which determine your failure.
Be mindful of the misdirected voice in your head and beware of the misperceptions which assume the worst and that you are capable of the least.
Be aware of who we listen to, who we speak with, and who we share our time with, and more, beware of the inaccurate teachers who predict your downfalls so that you never advance more than they have.
Trust me . . .
I used to believe in my labels.
I still do, at times, but this only happens when I forget myself.
I used to believe that I could never be anyone better than someone who was labeled or diagnosed with a learning disability.
I always thought that maybe “they” were right about me.
Maybe I am stupid.
I never assumed I would be anything more than the contents of my unfortunate and misled youth.
I used to believe in the stigmas which surround different emotional challenges and yes, I subscribed to them, as if to always assume and predict my own failure because, of course, I always underestimated myself.
I never gave myself the time or the attention that I deserved nor did I allow myself the dedication to improve, due to a belief that this is it . . . this is the best I could possibly be—and why?
It’s because I was told, or because I assumed, or because I heard people degrade others who live with certain difficulties.
Maybe I was betrayed or maybe someone I loved the most showed me their love the least.
I remember a teacher who told me that I would be dead before I reached the age of 19.
To be honest, I survived, but this wasn’t for a lack of trying.
No, I assumed this person was right about me.
But was he?
Was I?
Is anyone who is unaware of their own worth or anyone who predicts their life to be a string of failures—and is anyone who sees their imperfections over their gifts aware of who they really are?
Life in the poor assumption of self leads to the manifestation of our sad predictions.
Now what?
What now?
Back in the saddle again . . .
Is that it?
We know that this is a problem with our own personal math.
But this isn’t like fractions, and this isn’t like algebra. Let’s face it, it’s not always so easy to find a good tutor like we did back in grade school.
But there are teachers.
Trust me.
There is a question, which I have been asked more times than I can count.
Why do you write about this stuff?
No one cares.
No one wants to read about this.
Maybe –
I’ve had people tell me that I am amateurish at best and that my journal entries can be off-putting and sure, of course, I get that.
I had someone tell me that my subjects are depressing and, of course, this was a comment regarding my first book which was called, Operation Depression.
Of course, I asked, “What did you expect the book to be about?”
It’s called Operation Depression . . .
And no, I’m not liked by the literary Nazis, and I’m sure the grammar police would love to take me away and make me serve time.
But who cares?
Therefore, to answer the question –
Why do I write about this stuff?
My answer is simple. This is my What Now?
This is how I answer that question.
This is my way to combat the lies in my head.
And more, this is how I get back to my knees (at least) so that I can find what it takes to stand up and walk another day.
Not every friend is so friendly and not every enemy is so threatening.
I understand this more now than ever before.
But more, I understand that not every prediction is true, and not every math problem comes with an obvious or easy solution—I guess sometimes, we have to find the value of one.
That’s why I write. This is why I continue.
It’s not because I think about the best seller’s list or anything like that.
No, my right to be resilient and my right to resolve and endure cannot be taken away,
at least not unless I give it away.
I have to give my mind (and my heart) something to do and this is it!
This is my outlet and my art and my way to convey, release, or to relieve myself.
This is how I get rid of the doubts and essentially, as I type, this my way of letting them wash from my body—so that I can be clean and make it through another day.
Just for the record:
I used to believe that “someone like me” could only go so far, and in a way, this can be true.
Unless I decide to defy this and further, I can defy my predictions and change my assumptions by giving myself an action.
I can give myself something to do to become my own best hero instead because this sure as hell beats being my own worst enemy.
This is why I keep going.
This is why I write every day and each morning, this is why I keep to my word.
I come here.
Even if my worth is low or my understanding of the value of “one” is off, or off-putting, at least I started my day with one success.
I started with a plan or one achievement, and because I have, I am one step closer to living in a solution instead of living in my problems.
Perhaps I might never make it to anyone’s best seller’s list.
But I have made some major successes.
Had you not been there to teach me that I can do this or that I am worth more, perhaps I might not have ever known that my value is worth more than I ever believed.
And I love you for this.
I really do.
And as a side note—
No matter how good or bad or judged or criticized my entries are, there is a feeling I have when I allow them to post and escape into the atmosphere and hence, the Universe takes over, which means this all out of my hands.
That’s perfect because at least I anteed up.
At least I dared and played my hand.
Some people never have the sack to try.
Some people just talk about their dreams.
And some wait for their dreams to come true.
But not me.
Not anymore.
No, I’m chasing them down like a predator stalks their prey.
I have to because time moves faster than we think.
The last thing I want to do is die hungry
(or alone).
That’s why I still come here,
even if no one else does,
to stay alive
or stay focused
or at a minimum
to find peace among the unrest of a normal, everyday life.
The Written Addiction 