It’s time to be clear.
No one ever said this is going to be easy.
Do you know what?
It’s not going to be easy.
Not at all.
But that doesn’t mean everything has to be hard.
No, not even close.
No one ever told you this won’t hurt.
And it will.
Life hurts. Life is hard.
No one ever told you that you won’t face adversity.
No one said you won’t be tested.
No one ever told you that you’ll come out of this without a scratch.
Look in the mirror.
What do you see?
I see my imperfections all too clearly.
I see eyes that are shaped differently.
I see one of my ears as crooked,.
I see ugly teeth, chipped from the damage of my youth.
No one gets out of life alive.
No, we all have our own bumps and bruises.
We all have scars.
And yes, some of the worst scars are the scars that no one sees
— except for me, of course.
This is why I flinch.
This is why I can be tender to the touch.
Please . . .
don’t touch me.
This is why I have been afraid.
If we think about the inner child
or when I think about the years of outdated trauma,
I can feel the presence of a touch that is long gone,
— but still, I remember.
I can hear the unwanted laughter
or feel the brunt of cruelty (at my expense)
and dig –
I know what it’s like to “find out.”
Do you know what I mean?
I know what it’s like to hear the talk behind my back
or hear that I am ugly
or unwanted . . .
Learning can be easy.
I agree.
Some might believe that learning can be fun.
But I limit this to say, learning to fly
or how to catch fish for the first time.
Ah, life.
Ah, this place, which I call Project Earth.
The world. Yes.
She is beautiful.
I agree.
Nothing in the world is like “her.”
Not to me.
But as for “her” or as for life, well?
She does not come with or without warning.
Her roses do not come without thorns.
Her nectar does not come without poison.
I know.
Her sweetness does not come without bitterness.
She is unattached to our reasons.
She is unemotional to the outcomes we face.
She is life.
She is the ultimate teacher.
Like any good teacher —
If you do something wrong,
the teacher makes you do it again
until you get it right.
You know?
I am done with the years of detention.
I am done with staying late, after school.
I’m done with the punishments and unfinished lessons.
I’m done with this.
I’m done with the fights and bouts that never get settled.
I promise to be a good boy from now on.
I love her.
In fact, I have always loved her.
I always will too.
I just needed to learn more.
No one ever said that life isn’t tough.
And here, I’ll be the first to say it –
Life hurts.
So does pain.
Words hurt too.
Sometimes, words hurt more than a bullet.
Words can cut deeper than a sword.
Words can leave a man from his own heart.
And yes –
Words can linger, long after they are delivered.
I have been told that hurt people are the ones who hurt people the most.
But this is no excuse.
I have been told that trauma can form bonds, and bullying can be passed down like a torch from generation to generation.
Yes, it’s not the initial insult that hurts.
No, the insult itself is the shock that comes when you see yourself cut by the scalpel.
The words are the slice, sharp as ever.
This is when you see the meat of our flesh as it opens and butterflies. But wait, this is not the painful part.
No. The pain begins after you realize the incision.
This is when awareness takes place.
Then you’re like “Holy Shit!”
This is the pause before the pain.
This is the minute of realization.
This is like the eeriness to the calm before the storm.
This is the moment before we scream.
This is what it’s like when words detonate above the target, exhausting the air from our lungs — and leaving us breathless.
I know.
I have woken up to more than one aftermath.
I have lost. I have been hurt.
I have passed the torch as well.
This makes me just as guilty—if not more.
And I say more because I know what pain is.
Thus, I am more guilty than the ignorant one who inflicted this.
I knew better or at least I should have.
Or like it was in the case of The Son, and “the word.”
It was said “I have come to give sight to the blind, and to take from those who can see.”
Since I was able to see, therefore, it was me who had sinned more than anyone else.
I have no excuses.
No one is going to be more truthful with you than this.
Right here and right now.
I sit across from you in all humility, guilty as charged, and with true sorrow for my sins.
I cannot undo or unsay anything.
But I can let go.
I can walk away.
I can start over, and I can heal.
I can improve.
Okay?
No one can stop me from being better.
There might be people who will not believe in me.
Some might never forgive me.
But they cannot stop me.
There might be those who root against me and cheer for my downfalls.
Okay, so be it.
Some people might have an appetite.
Maybe they are hungry for my misery
or maybe they are hungry for revenge.
Some might be thirsty for blood
(and they’ll stay hungry for more).
But I cannot hold myself to the fire
just for them.
No one ever told you that everything will work out.
Things go wrong.
But that’s okay.
And trust me:
it’s fine not to be okay.
Really . . . it is.
Fuck it.
Scream. I do it all the time.
Cry. There’s nothing wrong with it.
Feel. Don’t let this ruin your life.
Get up. Move.
Go. Be. And do!
I went to kneel before the statue of our Blessed Mother yesterday.
I saw Her, Holy Mary, the Mother of God.
I asked her to pray for us, now and at the hour of our death.
(amen)
Or would you like to know what I asked for?
I offered a seashell. This was a colorful scallop. Small and beautiful but not perfect, and not without flaws.
But such is life.
There was a small hole, but the shell was beautiful nonetheless.
I offered this as a small but heartfelt and meaningful gesture at the feet of Our Blessed Mother in exchange for hope.
This is a symbol or a sign, because as we have said, “Every shell has a story.”
Let her forget.
Let her heal.
Let her smile like she never wept.
Let my apologies be heard.
Let my heartfelt sorrow be true enough to end my starvation.
Blessed Mother,
Let me be hungry again.
Let me find rest.
Let us find each other in a better light.
Let our past be in the past.
Let our hearts seek the future.
Let our spirit be free
so our soul finds redemption
let this be . . .
like yesterday never happened
and let this come to pass
so that tomorrow makes sense
. . . and all is revealed.
The Written Addiction 