The one thing that I figured out in my late fifties is that youth is wasted on the young. If I knew then what I know now I would have been a much happier teen-ager; for example, I would have looked in the mirror at my zit covered face and instead of letting my self-esteem go all to hell, I would tell myself how good looking I would be as an adult. As for my weight, I would tell myself, So what if the pretty girls ignored me or made fun of me, I would just date the fat and ugly ones, they were probably nicer anyway.
The main things that I would tell that thin or fat Dyslexic kid is to believe in yourself at all cost, and find your passion and work your ass off to get it, you are going to have to work harder than everyone else, so you might as well work hard toward your dream.
And finally, never believe the negative bullshit you will get from friends and family, you’re not stupid, you’re not slow and if you work at it the weight will come off.
I was raised in the Southern Baptist church, and I hated it. I don’t know who I was rebelling against, My parents, or God? I attended church until my mom died then I quit going. Time went on and I forgot why I quit going in the first place. One day I was alone in my trailer and I prayed the first prayer that I had prayed in years. ” God, if you want me to go back to church, send me a Christian woman to marry”.
Two years later, I’m in a homeless shelter in a long distance relationship with a Christian woman, a woman that happens to be African-American. I kept my word, I started going to her church, soon to be our church when I moved to South Carolina to be with her. We were married in that church.
I love the church and everyone in it. I was accepted immediately without a reservation. Every Sunday I learn something new. And the music is awesome. I couldn’t be happier, and I’m sure that if my mom were alive, that she would be pleased.
When I was in Minneapolis I was referred by my Psychotherapist to have Neuro-psychological testing. The testing was supposed to last all day, but it was cut short because I got too stressed out. When I went to my Psychotherapist to get the results I didn’t know what to think.
In one way it was a relief, I now had a reason for some, not all of my failures in life. The report stated that My brain was underdeveloped in some areas but in other areas it was highly developed.
I had a problem with some of the findings though. It was suggested that I be placed in a group home or some other controlled environment because it was doubtful that I could take care of myself. I didn’t want to accept this, but maybe it was true. I sure as Hell didn’t handle things after my uncle/ roommate died.
I do know that I struggle with things that other adults seem to handle with ease, I refuse to quit though. I will continue to dream and write and live my life as best as I can. I will never give up.
Before we got married my wife encouraged me to apply for Disability, I was reticent about doing that, I always was a worker from a family that valued hard work. I finally applied for it and months later it was awarded to me.
And it sucks. I know I’m really not mentally able to work without my patient wife’s help I wouldn’t be functioning at all. I know this to be true but, I can’t stand it. I never have the money I need to do what I want to do, and I hate being dependent on anyone.
My dad spent most of his adult life in the military, two years in the Army and over twenty years in the Airforce. His Mode of service required him to be deployed a lot of the time, and when he was home he needed to assert his authority. my siblings and my mom wouldn’t have that. This resulted in my dad wrongfully being viewed as the enemy. My dad didn’t learn to understand or talk to each other until my mom died when I was in my mid forties.
And it wasn’t always pretty, we were very much alike, but our differences were enough to cause us to lock horns on many occasions. we learned though, and we built a very strong relationship the twelve years after my mom died.
My dad was diagnosed with cancer in 2006. A lifelong smoker, it started in his lungs but metastasized to every cell in his body. In less than six weeks he was gone.
I felt like I had been robbed. My dad and I finally learned to understand and talk to each other and he dies when he was sixty-nine years old. To this day I imagine the conversations we could have had. He never got to see me find someone and get married, he was so concerned about that. So many things we both missed.
If I could wish anything for whoever is reading this, it would be, make peace with your parents if you can, I am so grateful that my dad and I made peace and learned how to show love to each other. I just wish we had more time.
In my old life, I worked as a Security Guard, and I worked several posts where it was my main job to run Homeless people off the property. After awhile of dealing with these people I quit seeing them as people. They were just booze and drug-addicted problems that I had to repeatedly run off whatever Site I was working. I had no Empathy for these folks at all until I became homeless myself.
The next time that you turn your nose up and ignore that scruffy looking Homeless man or woman signing just remember that they most likely couldn’t keep a job if they found one and that they are probably barely functional, and they are not all Drug or alcohol abusers, I wasn’t. Homelessness can happen to anyone, just think about that before you ignore them and walk away.
I lived with my parents the first part of my Adult life, I tried to get out on my own when I was nineteen and failed miserably. I didn’t get out on my own until my father died when I was in my late forties. It’s not that I didn’t try; but, having trouble learning skills and jobs due to my learning disability and other issues kept me in my parent’s house.
I was 46 years old when my father died, other then car and Insurance payments and credit card payments, I never had any real financial responsibilties at all. When my father died I had to pay the Mortgage and the bills for the house and immediately asfter his death I had to handle family and Estate issues. Ther was a lot I had to learn and do; but, as the months went on I gained more confidence and eventually I moved into a more affordable place and handled my life like an adult.
My uncle and I lived in the trailer for a number of years, then I had a stroke and lost my job. while I was recovering from the stroke my uncle passed away suddenly. I hung on for almost a year without his help with the Lot Rent before I was evicted.
Long story short: I ended up Homeless in Minnesota where I started talking to Olivia
online at the Library. We have been married almost two years now. I now attend church, something I thought I would never do again, I never would have met her if I hadn’t been lonely and depressed in Minnesota.
If anyone is reading this and going through something, all I can tell you is never give up, keep on truckin and never lose hope. You will get to the other side.
Where do ideas come from? I can go weeks at a time and crank out the stories, I then hit a dry spell and have nothing. I think what I’ll do is print the stories I wrote for class and rewrite them and then submit them. The funny thing, once I get a primise and a plot nailed down everything else comes pretty easily. Writing stories is so hard but, it’s the only thing I want to do. I still have time, I’m only 59 years old.
I look back at the last four years in wonder and amazement. Four years ago I was in a Homeless Shelter in Minnesota fighting sickness and despair and mental illness, alone and lonely. Today I am living in Columbia S.C where it is much warmer, and I’m married to a wonderful and patient wife.
When I was homeless I was surrounded by people that had gave up. I seldom heard anyone talk about their hopes or dreams for the future. I refused to give up. The main reason I didn’t quit was because I met a woman online that I talked to constantly. For some reason she cared about me enough to arrange for me to leave Minnesota and fly to South Carolina to be with her. This past September we celebrated or first year wedding anniversary.
The point is, never give up, keep on trucking until you get through it. The darkness never last.
I envy writers like Neil Gaiman and Stephen King. Where do they come up with their ideas? Writing for me is hard, but once I get an idea I can come up with a plot and characters. Prolific writers fascinate me. I would love to sit down with them with a notepad and a pot of coffee and pick their brains.
I keep a dream journal, rarely do stories come from my dreams, not anything that I want to share publicly anyway. Maybe I should lurk at Bus Terminals and Libraries, take notes and make up stories about the people I observe. That might not be a bad idea, come to think of it.
I just keep plugging away, I will be a published writer some day.