The Pain of Change

Pieces.jpgWe all change, but have you ever gone through an identity crisis? An identity crisis is defined as–“a period of uncertainty and confusion in which a person’s sense of identity becomes insecure, typically due to a change in their expected aims or role in society.” It’s a long, painful, and confusing process in which person changes so much he can hardly recognize his old self anymore. It’s like becoming the opposite of what you were before.

I have a couple of old friends that I am still in touch with. One I’ve known since Jr. High. He’s a very special friend. When I ran away from home, he would sneak me in his room so I could have a warm place to sleep. He eventually talked his parents into taking me in for a while. I have a couple others who I knew when we were in the Marine Corps together. They knew the old Ken. I’m not so sure they know the new Ken. It’s like we are in two different worlds incapable of understanding each other yet we insist on remaining friends at least to some degree.

Then there’s my wife. We’ve been together almost 30 years at this point. I’m sure she knows me better than anyone else on earth, but she doesn’t know that old me. My wife has never seen me drink or smoke a cigarette. The same is true of my children who are now grown. I haven’t been a perfect father, but I’ve always been a sober one.

I’ve going through more than one identity crisis. I suppose I’m still in the process of one right now. I don’t think anyone chooses an identity crisis. It’s forced upon us. Something takes place in our lives that draws our old views into question and there isn’t much turning back from that point. The wilderness of confusion begins.

The first change in identity seems more of a matter of growing up than anything else, but it was much more than that.  As a young child, I was exposed to alcohol and drugs regularly. I started smoking cigarettes in third grade about the time I started sneaking beers out of the fridge. I don’t remember when I first started smoking pot, but I know it was in elementary school as well because I was arrested with a friend for possession of pot and a firearm after I ran away from home the summer before I started Jr. High. By the time I was in High School I was shooting up drugs and trying whatever I could get my hands on.

I will spare the reader all the details, but suffice it to say when you start using at such an early age it becomes all you know. It forms your identity, your friendships, and your lifestyle. It’s not just what you do, it’s who you are and what you live for.

I was an addict at a very early age, but I also turned my back on that lifestyle early too. Two DUI’s and the threat of being kicked out of the Marine Corps, along with all the years of consequences while growing up served as a wake up call. I QUIT!!!

But now what? For me, I found religion. Since I’m a compulsive person by nature, I threw myself into religion with the same zeal I had for alcohol and drugs. I went to college. I studied very hard and eventually even became a preacher: a very passionate and dogmatic preacher. During the 70’s I used to listen to Cheech and Chong as my friends and I sat around getting high. I remember one line vividly in their comedy routine when some guy says, “Ya know, I used to be all messed up on drugs. But since I found the Lord, now I’m all messed up on the Lord.” I recalled these words many times over the years because I knew that is what my old friends would think. I didn’t know that I would consider myself messed up on the Lord, but I was. I also didn’t know my my new identity would have  a crisis of its own.

My undergraduate degree was more of an indoctrination than an education. I knew what conclusions I was supposed to reach before doing my research; therefore, my research was one sided. The Church of Christ that I belonged to was not just a church; it was THE CHURCH. The one the only. You either belonged to it or you were lost. Truth was absolute and simple to understand. Anybody who disagreed with our understanding of  truth was either ignorant, stupid, or immoral. It was all pretty cut and dried, or so I thought. Sure I had several hints along the way that it wasn’t as simple as all that, but for the time being I could just ignore such voices of descent.  They warned us about the people who would gather around the teachers who would say what their itching ears wanted to hear. It’s ironic that that particular passage always refers to people other than ourselves.

Graduate school was a whole new world. It was there that I was taught how to research It didn’t take me long to figure out nothing was cut and dried. Religion is much more complicated than anyone really wants to acknowledge. In graduate school, research was not complete if it didn’t consider opposing views. There was still the underlining concept that your conclusions would be in line with that of the university, but the real emphasis was on research. They were much more open-minded.

This started me down a different path. Instead of just accepting what I was taught, I would also seek out the opposing opinions. I can’t say that this has served me all that well. I haven’t always been able to come up with the correct conclusion. I’m not even convinced that a correct conclusion can be known in many cases with any degree of certainty. The more I learned, the more I realized how little I knew. I became certain that I was uncertain. Not only so, I also saw the shortcomings of certainty. Those who think they already know something cut themselves off from learning and start down the path of arrogance, selfishness, and exclusivism.

Things are not as easily defined as I wish they were. I’m not as convinced of things as I once was, and this bothers people. I’m less inclined to argue, but I’m not comfortable keeping my mouth shut either. Few people ever change their views in an argument. In fact, they just get angry, dig in their heals, and stop listening. Change takes a while.

My wife has been reluctant to follow through the changes. There’s been several of them where she notices my changing views and there is conflict between us. I remember when I was still in school and I started talking about higher criticism and how the books of the Bible developed into canon or (Scripture). She stopped me and said, “I DON’T WANT TO KNOW!” I have to appreciate her honesty. I’m not so sure I wanted to know either. But once your learn something, you can’t just take it back and unlearn it.

A couple years ago, I was fired from my position as a Church of Christ preacher. I don’t blame them for firing me. They were paying me to do a job and I wasn’t doing it. They were paying me to tell them what they wanted to hear.  I’m sure I could have held onto to my job indefinitely if  I did that.  But doing so violated my conscience and I felt compelled to educate them. I wasn’t trying to convince them, change them, or convert them. I simply wanted them to understand what other people thought and why. But they really didn’t want to know. What they wanted was confirmation not proclamation.

An identity crisis is confusing, painful, and uncomfortable, but it also necessary. Knowing you don’t know something is better than thinking you know something when you don’t.  Just like recognizing you’re wrong is better than thinking you’re right when you’re not. Is that confusing? Good! So is life. Maybe we weren’t meant to think we knew all the answers. Maybe God leaves questions unanswered to keeps us humble and to keep us searching. It’s usually when we think we know the answers that we get all screwed up. We start thinking we’re better than those around us. We stop evaluating and we falsely assume that we have arrived very closely to perfection.

Churches of Christ, just like me have gone through several crisis’s of identity. As much as some try to resist change; it’s inevitable and it’s healthy.  I hear people complain, “We’re losing our identity.” My response, “Good, we need to.” Congregations that fail to adjust end up dying off. Everything God creates changes. Can you think of single exception? I can’t.

I still attend a Church of Christ whenever I get a chance for all sorts of reasons. I’ve attended other denominations, but I always come back. They are my spiritual family. I’ve been hurt, and I’ve hurt others, but I can always find forgiveness and reconciliation. It’s kind of like marriage. My wife and I are not the same people we were when we said our vows. We’ve struggled, fought, forgave, and learned. We grow apart, and then back together again.  She’s just as much a part of me as my right arm. At times it seems like we couldn’t be more different. In reality we are still one.

I guess I’ve written all this to say with change comes pain, but it’s not a bad thing. Change leads to growth and growth is good.

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I’m Ken, and I’m a recovering preacher

I was only 22 years old when I went to my first AA meeting. I was in the Marine Corps rehabilitation known as “Phase Three.” It was the most intensive program the military offered for Alcoholics and drug addicts. I had reached the conclusion I was both. In AA and other twelve step programs each person introduces themselves by saying their first name followed by their reason for being there. Like, “I’m Ken and I’m an alcoholic.” This practice has a long history going back to the first members. The reason for this is because the admission of a problem is the first step in recovery.

That was well over 30 years ago, but it worked, or at least something worked. I haven’t drank or used drugs since April of 1987. But Alcohol and drugs are not the only thing people struggle with, so the program has been used by all sorts of groups using some form of a twelves step program to deal with just about every situation under the son. A couple months ago I went to a meeting at the church called “Celebrate Recover.” It was much like AA with similar chants, group hugs, speakers, etc. But people came to share about anything’s from sexual addiction to depression. Some had quite a list.

I was there because I was severely depressed to the point of being suicidal and I was trying to grasp onto anything that might help me to survive the emotional swings I was going through.

The depression has been with me as far back as I can remember, I just didn’t know that’s what it was. But my depression lead me to quitting the drugs. I was convinced and still am that if I kept using I would end up dead. Even at my lowest moments, I have contemplated self medicating, but I haven’t gone that far. I’ve even gone as far as buying a bottle at the liquor store, but I couldn’t drink it. I guess it’s the same thing that keeps me from pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at my head. It’s like the still small voice of God that says, “I know you’re hurting, but stick with me. I have something incredible that I want you to learn. I’m not done with you yet.”

I think all of us are endowed with certain attributes by our creator in order to glorify God and serve our fellow man. But figuring out what those attributes are and how to use them correctly is an on going process. As I left the life of substance abuse, I was convinced God had a purpose for me. So in spite of my lack of education, incredible fear of public speaking, and my anti-social attributes I went from the Marine Corps to a Christian College where I studied to be a preacher.

I’ve never been a strong reader, my grammar skills were nonexistent, and I was so terrified of public speaking that I completely froze up when asked to lead a public prayer. So why would I choose such a career? I was about as certain as I have been about anything that God was calling me into this direction.

I worked for several churches over the years in several different capacities. I had my share of supporters, and I had my share of critics. I had successes as well as failures. But when I was asked to step down, it was difficult to deal with the rejection, and even worse to know what to do next.

Being fired from the ministry is different than being fired from other jobs. Because the ministry is more than a career; it’s a lifestyle; it’s your passion, and in a way it’s your identity. It has become increasingly apparent that I don’t seem capable of carrying out the task I felt God has called me to do. This has lead to all sorts of questions: Did God really call me to be a preacher? Is all this training for something else? Did I fail at the task God gave me to do? Has it all been a delusion of my own creation? Or Am I just giving up to quickly?

I don’t have any trouble believing there is a God. I just have trouble figuring him out. It’s been painful, confusing, and discouraging. But I get the feeling this is all meant to be a learning process. The greatest lessons seem to come through the most intensive pain. Meaning does not come easily; it comes through struggle. It always has.

I have a desire to preach, but I no longer think I have the ability. I feel beat up and let down. Even after several years, I’m still licking my wounds. I’m a recovering preacher. Yet these drives that I have are leading somewhere that is not yet clear. It hasn’t been a waste of time; it’s been a journey. The journey has it’s mountains, valley’s, deserts, and prairies. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m really not all that sure of where I’ve been. But I’m going to put one foot in front of the other, live one day at a time, and enjoy the scenery along the way.

Thanks for reading and letting me share.

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Colt Riley Adams

I haven’t been writing much on my blog, but I must take some time to write about this important event. My second grandchild was born Friday morning June 15, 2018. This my daughter’s second child and I am so glad I was able to be there for the birth. It was a cesarean birth and it was scheduled about 3 weeks early.

I arrived with no time to spare. My wife had spent the night with our daughter Thursday night. After the week I had driving a truck, I was in desperate need of some sleep, so I didn’t go over in the wee hours of the morning. But the c-section was planned for 8:30 am, and I managed to arrive and get checked in at just the right moment. My task was to watch my granddaughter while the surgery was being done.

My wife was able to go into the OR while it was going on, which really meant a lot to us. My daughter was having quite a bit of anxiety, so it was good that her husband and her mother could be there. My wife took the first pictures.

My wife was one of the first ones to hold Colt while still in the OR

This is right after they had him cleaned up a bit.

Colt was already a good-sized baby at 8 lbs. 5 oz. If he would have been allowed another 3 weeks to grow, he would have been over 10. Both of his parents are fairly big people. Shawn, my son-in-law, was happier than I think I’ve ever seen him. He’s a big man himself: a former football player, boxer, security guard; you know, the macho stuff. So I imagine he’s picturing seeing his boy as a tough football player he can cheer on at the football games.

This is not to say that he wasn’t happy with the first child because he loves his daughter, but I think he’s always had his heart set on a son he can wrestle with and throw the ball around.

Big sister, Grace, was also very happy to see her little brother. She also became quite clingy to her mother. In the waiting room, when I when I was watching her, she was playing fine like she always does. But about the time Colt was out, she started crying that she wants her mommy. I was getting a little concerned when they let us in, and from that point on, Grace could not be separated without a fight. She didn’t even want to go to the park or the zoo. When offered she just said, “no thanks.” It would have been better for her to go home with me so others could rest, but Grace simply said, “I can’t go” and became very fidgety at the thought of having to leave. So she stayed.

Her’s momma, daughter and son together.

Colt was hungry right away, and didn’t take much time before he needed to eat. He has a very healthy appetite.

After everyone calmed down from all the excitement, I was finally able to hold the little guy.

It’s been a very exciting past couple of days, but the excitement has had its toll. We are all exhausted.

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Adjusting to the Life on the Road

It’s been over three months since I had to start driving a truck again. I haven’t written much during this time because there hasn’t been much time or desire. I was dreading the return to the road because of the depression I was experiencing before while driving, but periods of severe depression seem to come no matter what my occupation or circumstances are.

To my surprise, the last three months have not been all that bad. Although I’ve had some bouts with depression, it hasn’t lasted too long. Spring is usually a better season for me, and this year is no different. Plus, my wife and I both celebrated our birthdays, my wife found a decent job in April, I was given a substantial pay raise, my wife and I made it through 28 years of marriage, our granddaughter turned 3 and my daughter also had her birthday. All within the last three months.

Trucking has always been a love-hate relationship with me. I love to travel, but I hate not being able to explore where I go. I love to work alone, but I hate being lonely. I love the pay, but I hate sitting in docks and parking lots wasting my time without getting paid. I love the easy work, but I hate the monotony and the danger.

Overall, I’d say that the last 3 months has been much better than the previous 3 months. We are getting on our feet again. We are managing to pay off debt and replenish our savings. I’m gone a lot, but I usually make it back on the weekends.

It’s not the life I envisioned, but it’s not so bad.

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28th Anniversary at Petit Jean Mountain

Today is my wife and I’d 28th Anniversary as a married couple. In honor of this event, I think it was fitting for us to spend this day at a place that we both have loved over the years. Other than Branson, MO, Petit Jean State Park has been a place we have frequented throughout our marriage.

Paula and I moved to Arkansas in the early 90’s when I was hired by a church in Wynne. Our son was born in Forrest City soon after we moved to Wynne and it wasn’t long after that when I learned about Petit Jean.

I can remember when my children were just toddlers when I would carry both of them on the strenuous waterfall trail. I’d have one on my back and the other in my arms. Can’t do that anymore.

I have so many memories here because we stopped by here quite often over the years. When my son Caleb was about 4 or so, he was wanting to climb all over the bluffs which I didn’t mind much, but as he became more adventurous, my fear reached capacity and there were certain rocks I just didn’t want him climbing so I told him, “No, that’s where I draw the line.” He was puzzled by this statement because he was yet acquainted with certain figures of speech. So he ended up asking his mom, “Why does dad draw a line on those rocks?” Every time I have come to this place, I remember that day.

Once when Caleb was still small, we stayed at a little rustic motel off the road a bit. It was cheap and had a pool which was perfect for us with limited funds and for a little boy who just wanted to play in the pool. We had a video camera with us and even though the videos have been misplaced, I still cherish the memories.

We are once again staying in that motel. This is the second weekend in a row we have come here. Last week Caleb came with us, but neither Caleb or my wife recall when we stayed at the motel all those years ago. But I love here. It’s back off the road quite a bit, it quiet, rustic looking, and it is has a fire pit to build a fire. It’s also affordable. My kind of place.

Today, will also mark the homecoming for Southern Christian Children’s Home where we used to work. It will be a little awkward, but we are going to go over. Even though it didn’t work out there, that remains my favorite job before things got bad. Now most of the houseparents I knew have moved on just like us. The children we knew are now gone as well. Life changes.

Life has been full of changes for me; for us. I am hardly the same person at all. But my wife and I continue together through all the uncertainties. Things have not worked out like I anticipated in my younger years. Some of the changes I don’t really like, but overall, I think things are going fairly well. We are employed, we are healthy, we are together.

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James Comey’s New Book

I just finished James Comey’s new book and thought it was really good. As far as his battle with President Trump, there wasn’t much in the book that I didn’t already know. His book only served as confirmation of my own suspicions and concerns about Donald Trump since well before he became president. That was the later part of the book, and by no means his complete message. His interaction with Donald Trump was more like an illustration of a far more superior point: The Cost of Integrity.

Now I know there are a lot of mixed feelings out there about both Donald Trump and James Comey. I believe most of my friends and family support Donald Trump and therefore are quite suspicious of all the opposition he is currently facing including that brought up by James Comey. “FAKE NEWS” seems to be a regular cry out of Donald Trump. I have read two of Donald Trumps books in order to understand him better. But from his own words and the words of others I am about as convinced as I ever have been about any matter that Donald Trump is not a man of integrity.

I haven’t known all that much about James Comey. I know there are many who don’t like him. This is largely due to decisions over the investigation of Hillary Clinton and her emails.

Most of the people I hang within despise Hillary Clinton and would love to see her behind bars. James Comey, in their opinion could have and should have done this. His book spends quite a bit of time addressing this issue and explaining the pressure he was under. Although, I have never experienced opposition at the level he describes, I have my own experience with trying to stand up for what I believe is right in the midst of substantial opposition. I have also been fired for doing that very thing.

Now I won’t pretend to know the inner character of James Comey, only God can know that; but what is written in his book about integrity, loyalty and leadership are rock solid beliefs of my own. I don’t think I have near the courage of this man has demonstrated and I find myself admiring him, or at least the image of him I get from this book.

I have always had a great distaste for bully’s since I was quite young. None of us are immune from being being bullied, but some do get a larger dose than others and the impact differs substantially as well. Standing up to such people will certainly get you hurt. As children, standing up to the bullies meant that you got beat up and humiliated; but standing up to an adult bullies can be much more devastating.

Not only has everyone been bullied, most of us have also played our part in bullying others. I have and so has James Comey. He writes about this and the lasting shame he felt and his determination not to be a part of that behavior again, at least not intentionally. I can relate.

James has been on the prosecuting end of some of the most notorious criminals in our history. Taking on such people won’t just get you hurt, it can get you killed or worse. But that is precisely where true courage and integrity take place. It’s hard to recognize what really happens when mass media gets involved, especially in politics. There is always an opposing side that desire nothing more than to attack any person on the opposing side even for matters that have nothing to do with the particular topic at hand. I have seen this many times, and I am ashamed to say, I have even been apart of it.

The majority of us simply want confirmation of what we already believe. We tend to resist and dismiss anything that challenges our own biases no matter how convincing the opposing views are. Usually any opposition to our current view is quickly dismissed before it can possibly be considered or even slightly understood.

The media is more than happy to confirm our preconceived ideas by favoring one side over the other. Comedians and talk show host make fun of and ridicule those on the opposing side and all we really need to do is make sure we only listen to those in our own camp.

In our world, it is very difficult to be impartial if not impossible. But that is exactly what justice calls for. That is what true integrity calls for. I may not know James Comey’s inner motivations or intentions, but what he writes about integrity and leadership are qualities that I think all of us can agree upon, and his concerns are concerns all of us can agree upon.

People should not be coerced towards violating their values by powerful bullies who can threaten their careers and lifestyle unless they comply. It seems to me that we are in a situation where our faithfulness to a political party will triumph over our own sense of morality.

I believe integrity must rise above biasses of our own religious and political parties. I believe integrity must rise above the pressure of personal loss caused by standing up for what is right. Allowing the majority to determine our morality has always been a dangerous thing. Standing up for what is right has never been a popular thing. Some will say James Comey is not a man of integrity, but that is what his book is about. Therefore, no matter what you think about James Comey personally, I think what he writes about in this book is worth reading.

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My Struggle

Some people have a terminal illness; others may be a terminal illness to themselves. In the first situation, something is going wrong with the body. In the second something is wrong with the mind. Either way, life is threatened and death will result unless a way can be discovered to deal with the situation.

I have Multiple Sclerosis which is a disease where my body’s immune system is apparently attacking my body’s nervous system. This causes scar tissue called Sclerosis to develop around my nerves which prevents them from working right. So far, I’ve been fortunate. Aside from some numbness in my hands and feet and some painful burning sensations periodically in my feet, I get by just fine for now. MS is unpredictable and affects people in different ways. Even though it impacts a person’s quality of life, it is rarely life threatening. I bring it up to introduce to another problem I have which I believe to be much more serious: depression.

To me, depression is a disease like MS, but instead of my immune system attacking my nerves, depression is a disease where my thoughts attack my life. Of course the logical solution is to change my thinking. You know–stop worrying, think happy thoughts, don’t sweat the small stuff, think positively, everything will work out. The clincher is I just can’t seem to do that.

My depression is largely tied to insomnia. Sleep is a regular bodily function. I just can’t seem to do it right. At best, I get a few hours sleep before waking up with racing thoughts and quite often anxiety that is near a state of panic. Can you sleep when you’re panicking? I can’t. So I just get up and go through another long day in state of exhaustion. I’ve tried medications which can put me to sleep, but only for a few hours and the side effects are memory loss, intense depression, and severe suicidal thoughts.

Suicide is one of the leading causes of death in the United States. Overall, it is the 10th leading cause of death and for teenager and certain other groups, it is an even higher cause of death. Suicide is hard to understand even for those who have attempted it and suffer from the thoughts. What’s amazing to me is the types of people are susceptible to it. Just because a person is talented, popular, successful, wealthy, spiritual, beautiful, and by all appearances happy, does not mean he/she won’t kill themselves. Even therapist, psychiatrist, and motivational authors and speakers who have helped so many escape the crutches of suicide can fall victim to it themselves.

People don’t understand it. I don’t understand it. I’ve heard all sorts of incredibly cruel things said about those who commit suicide like its stupid, foolish, cowardly, inconsiderate, etc. Some of the most hurtful things I’ve ever heard muttered come from fellow Christians who seem to gain satisfaction in idea that anybody who commits suicide is committing the ultimate sin and therefore will spend all of eternity in everlasting torment. People seem convinced that those who commit suicide are choosing to do so, but I am not.

I cannot speak for everyone nor will I pretend to. But I can reveal how I feel and what I experience. I don’t want to die, but I have suicidal thoughts on a regular basis. Death is unknown and thereforeI fear it, but perhaps at times I fear life more. As I’m writing this, I have no intentions of committing suicide and even when I have the thoughts, I do my best to fight them off. But I am convinced that depression can alter a person’s thinking to a point that they should not be held responsible for their actions.

I think people are crying out help. Suicide hotlines are overwhelmed. People turn to drugs and alcohol to numb the pains of life in order to hang on another day. Support groups can be found in every town. People turn to the internet, to books, to friends , to hospitals, and anything else they can find in an attempt to stay alive. But sometimes, it’s just not enough and some eventually give up. It’s kind of like we are hanging over the ledge of a very high building. We cry out for help, but some can’t hear the cries and others are not sure what to do. Eventually, strength to hang on runs out.

Will I be one of them? The truth is, I hope not. But I’ve been close to the edge so many times where strong breeze would have pushed me off. I’ve had the gun in my hand. I’ve wailed in pain and felt I couldn’t go on one more minute, but I did. I’m still here. I’m still in the fight. Something or someone always manages to pull me through my darkest moments. But when you face so many battles, you start to wonder if the next one will be the last.

It’s hard to talk about suicide. People get angry and very judgmental. You mention your thoughts to the wrong person, you may find yourself forcefully taken to the hospital. A week later you will be released with the latest and most expensive medications along with a hospital bill that will defiantly make you wish you would have just died. Plus, you’ve just missed a week of work, and now your employer is painfully aware of your shortcomings. If it helps, it may be worth it.

The main thing I got from the hospital was an astronomical bill, medication that I couldn’t possibly afford, and several sessions with a psychiatrist which proved to be no more effective than a visit with a local bartender. To me, psychiatrists have been little more than glamorized drug dealers.

What seems to help me more than anything else is sharing my thoughts. Most of the time this backfires on me and people walk away thinking I’m an idiot. But once in a while, I can find somebody who can and will accept me with all the flaws without looking down on me or trying to fix me. Generally, if somebody is talking about depression and suicidal thoughts its from a past point of view. “I used to be there, but I’ve bettered myself now, so now I can fix you.” I don’t blame them, I’m that way too. But when I’m in the darkness, the last thing I need is somebody trying to tell how to fix myself or to remind me that Jesus loves me. The greatest helpers are those who listen, even though this is really hard to do.

But this is my blog. I want it to be open and honest. I want to be real and invite others to be real as well. I can’t write from the standpoint of having it all figured out. I’m a struggler, and it is the strugglers that I want to hear from the most. There are plenty of those who are in advice mode and that is fine. But what I crave most is acceptance for who and what I am. Depression, suicidal thoughts, insomnia, anxiety, failures, hopelessness, etc., are not in the past for me. I haven’t recovered. I’m in the battle now. I’m trying to do the best I can. And if the day comes when I lose the battle, I hope people will believe I tried with all the strength I had left.

Please don’t misunderstand me. This isn’t a cry for help. If anything, it is a cry for acceptance. It a longing to be known. At the same time, I realize that many of my religious friends will find such acceptance unacceptable and intolerable. I understand how you feel and I don’t blame you. Nevertheless, I am what I am whether I hide it behind the mask or proclaim it to the world. You don’t have to agree with me. I’m not trying to justify what I think; I’m just making known my thoughts and feeling in an honest attempt to deal with life. That is what this blog is all about.

So I’ve shared my thoughts. If you’ve taken the time to read this, I would love to hear from you. If you would like to join my in my journey you can follow the site if you would like. Either way, thank you for stopping by and allowing me to share my thoughts with you. I hope you’ll stop by again and share some comments.

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