Archive | July, 2012

Tears on the sleeve of a man; Don’t want to be a boy today…

26 Jul

I’ve written.  Rewritten.  Deleted. And sat staring at the blank screen with tears in my eyes.

I just can’t seem to get this post together.

My. Heart. Hurts.

I heard from a friend yesterday.  We’d not spoken in a while, so I didn’t even realize all this was going on.  Her son is really having a hard go at life right now.  As we talked last night, chills ran down my spine – it’s like he’s living the pages of my life’s journal.  Same problems.  Same missteps.  Same struggles.  While we were on the phone, it was everything I could do to hold it together.  I wanted to shout “no!” – I wanted to cry.  I wanted to rewind everything I’d done – and everything he was doing.  Everything he is about to do.  I, as a distant friend, feel so helpless.  There’s nothing I can do.  I’ve never met her son – he’s 15 years my junior.  But I just want to do something.  And all I can do is scream at the make-believe…

For years, people have told me that I should tell my story.  That it was worth telling.  I could never see the worth in it.  But through the night last night, I have been remembering every broken stumble of that journey and I came to wonder, what if I had known my story then? What if I had some revelation that the personal hell I was experiencing and putting myself – and everyone else around me – was not some fucked up unique punishment for unknown crimes doled out from and even more fucked up universe?  What if there’d been someone in the same battered combat boots wandered down the same desolate highways to unknown busstops in the middle of countless nights?  Would I have cared?  Would it have helped? Would it have made a difference?

It harkens back to abnother post I wrote recently. What would Me now tell Me then? In a way, this is exactly what this is… My demons tell me that I am just being self important.  That it would not, in fact, have matter a nevermind one.  But another voice, faint and unfamiliar, persists with – what if it DOES help?  What if it reaches ONE kid – and that ONE maybe takes a left instead of a right?

And it’s a new set of what ifs that are not those of my closets armed with daggers and doubt.  It’s a what if of hope.

I think, maybe, it’s time to talk.

Keep my friend and her son in your thoughts.  They need all the help and love and light they can get.