Building People Up

I do not get why people are so bent on tearing people down.  We all have enough to worry about.  We do not need to worry about making other people feel as shitty as we do.  No one knows someone else’s full story.  We all keep our secrets, something that is so embarrassing or hurtful that we would rather not relive it.  We all have pain that we have suppressed.  There are certain people that can easily exploit that.  We all have that one person that can rip our heart from our chest while it is still beating.

It is easy to become selfish.  It is easy to only want to do things that make us happy and to hell with everyone else.  We get that way because of the way people tear us down.  I might give into blissful ignorance, but I believe in building people up.  I want someone’s life to be better because of me, not worse.  Since we do not know someone else’s full story, one smile, one nice gesture, or one deserving, but unprovoked, compliment might just turn it around for a person on the brink of giving up.

If I care about you, you will definitely know it.  There will be nothing I will not do for you.  If you are a friend, I will go out of my way to help.  If I do not know you, I will treat you with the respect everyone deserves.  Even if I cannot stand the sight of you because you have wronged me so badly it has caused one of those hurtful moments I would rather not relive, I will still be civil.  It is too easy to tear people down.  It is much harder to help build someone up to help them repair the foundation that so many would rather erode away and destroy.  My parents said I always did things the hard way.  In this case, it is also the right way.

Rivers Cried

I saw a meme last week that stated if duels came back, a lot less people would be offended.  I am sure people have been offended by all kinds of things for a long, long time.  The big difference is that people now think that them being offended matters to everyone else.  It doesn’t.  For some reason, we have given people a protection to voice their offendedness (yes, I made up that word).  It does not matter what it is, if you disagree with someone, you are a racist, bigot, homophobic, evil, or a combination of any number of things.  I guess I am a homophobic racist because I do not agree with someone that the sky is the color gold.  Here is a revelation for everyone: it does not matter what you believe.  It only matters what is.

There are some grey areas.  Things like politics and religion can rarely be proven.  Believing maybe all that there is; however, your belief does not outrank someone else just because you believe it.  Wars have been fought for thousands of years based on that.  For everyone who cries a river just because someone does not believe the same way you do, get over yourselves!  You are being a selfish narcissistic asshole that no one wants to hang out with.  Why do you even give a shit about what I think?  You shouldn’t!  At the very most, you should hear someone else’s opinion just to see how they think.  Analyze it if you want.  Accept or dismiss it.  Getting upset because I am a foul-mouthed, whiskey-drinking, gun-toting, Christian (granted, not a very good one), does not do anyone any good. I don’t care if you are upset by it.  I will continue walking down the street swearing with a (legally permitted) gun in my pocket not giving two shits whether you believe the same way I do.  I will not yell at you for what you believe because I do not care what you believe.  Why you care about what I think is beyond me, but then again, I don’t give a fuck.


Any parent how has a child with any type of disability, I understand.  It as taken me almost 12 years to step back realize some things.

Nothing helps with the reflection process more than feeling like shit, laying on the count, and on several cold medicines that probably should not be taken together while watching a show that sometimes entertains you but annoying the living shit out of you at the same time.  My life is far from normal.  It is not the best, nor is it the worst.

I thought getting married, having a good job, and having kids was the pinnacle of achievements in life.  Fast forward a decade and a half, and I am divorced, my good-paying job eliminated, and I do still have two sons in the teenage years (one is close, but might as well be a teenager).  My rosy picture of life that I had in my early 20s was jumped, stabbed, shot, and so jaded it is afraid of the sunshine.  I have been threatened, sued, stolen from, taken advantage of, etc, but for all the sins committed against me, I have committed my own.

Watching my youngest son almost die multiple times starting from (literally) day one had an undeniable effect me and my relationships with everyone.  Today, he is a happy kid, but he still struggles.  He still has a long way to go.  There are somethings I can do, but I am helpless in many areas.  When they days go great, I am ready to tackle anything.  Every so often, there are days where I don’t want to feel the pain anymore, no clue how I will pick myself up off the floor.

To close this, I will tell of an experience at a Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO) concerted several years back.  They change up the stories every few years.  That year was the first time for this story.  I was not too sure what I was going to think, but it has forever made an impact.  The story is essentially about a man who had a son born with some developmental disabilities.  I cannot remember, but I think the mother died in labor.  Scared, and unable to cope with this son’s disabilities, he left him at an orphanage.  His soul became tortured, hating Christmas and how happy people were.  Throughout the show, something changed in this man.  He found himself at the orphanage where he left his son.  He saw his grown son taking care of babies who were left just like he was.  This song (below) is what they played at that part.  I hardly every shed tears, but this song gets me every single time.  The show reminds me of my son.  It reminds me that I have never given up.  It reminds me there is a long way to go.  Taking care of a child with disabilities, I put my life on hold.  I became numb, and I stopped feeling.  It has been difficult to let the walls crumble.  Feeling is scary, and it hurts.  This story was not about the child.  It was about the father, and the long road to realization, acceptance, and forgiveness.  This line hurts, but inspires.  “Could you be this old, and have your life just begin.”