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
Lessons From A Jigsaw Puzzles: A Metaphor
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
Written For Sessions In The Balcony: Just For Fun
“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
Lying Flat
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
Be Advised
Be advised:
The image you see in the mirror may not seem exactly as you appear.
Know what that’s called?
That’s called insecurity . . .
otherwise known as an inaccurate version of who we are.
What you look like, how you Continue reading
Father’s Day, June 21, 2015
There is a plain white t-shirt I keep in my t-shirt drawer with two, traced out hands that are drawn in two different colors, and above this are the words “Happy Father’s Day,” with each letter written in a different color.
I keep this shirt in my t-shirt drawer, not because I wear it, but because it is a nice surprise to accidentally pull out while trying to rush through the morning and find an undershirt.
This is one of the first father’s day gifts my daughter gave to me. There are more, which like this, are different artistic creations. Some are drawings with clumps of glue and sparkles on colored construction paper. And this too is something I can vaguely remember doing when I was a little boy in some art class somewhere. Probably my last creation like this would have been made in Mrs. Humley’s Continue reading
Irving and the Luncheonette
At the start of eighth grade, I used to work in a small luncheonette with an old man who most people saw as miserable. His name was Irving.
He was always frustrated and his face was wrinkled. His nose was large. His eyes were squinted and angry. His head was bald on top with gray hair on the sides.
Irving wore black-rimmed eyeglasses, which often dangled from a string that hung around his neck. He always wore Continue reading
Sex Prose
She woke as though she never slept. Throughout the night, her mind continued, urging for the man she wished would fill the empty side of her bed. In a crowd of thousands, it could only be him.
Him, the one who brightened an inner light she had not seen glow for way too long. She woke as though her mind, at last, had come to this conclusion—it could only be him. There could be no one else.
Him, the one she dreamt of.
The man who for so long had been faceless was at last reveled and personified. It was him. He would be the one she allowed herself to dare with and love.
She wiped away the excess Continue reading
Mrs. Kimmel’s Baby Boy
After The Old Man passed and after the downwards spiral of emotions; after the funeral, after the tearful goodbyes, and the strange aftermath of energy that comes when someone passes away, I went back to the farm where I stayed, lived, worked and continued on my path of sobriety. Meanwhile, Continue reading
Thought from the Tattooed Minister
I was sitting in the rear pew of an empty Church. I was not there because I believed or because I was saved; I was there because there was no place left for me to go. I was emotionally emptied and bankrupt. The term hope and faith seemed like a far-off glimmer of something I always wanted, but yet, whatever I wanted always seemed just inches beyond my reach.
The Church itself was quiet and the room was cold. Sunlight came through the stained glass windows and brightened my surroundings. There was nothing dark about the room. There was nothing dark at all—except for the hole inside my spirit.
Outside the sky was wintery blue. There were no clouds in the air or leaves on the trees—except for the evergreens. There was no Continue reading
The Written Addiction 