Category: Story

New Horizon: Earth Reborn

If you have not read part one, click here

Henry woke to the crackle of fire. He could feel the blood trickle down his face and when he touched his forehead, a bump where metal had met skull. To be honest, Henry was surprised he wasn’t dead.

Vision blurred, Henry shielded his eyes from the blaring sun. And as he stumbled forward, he tripped over what was left of New Horizon. Left foot, right foot. Right foot, left. What difference did it make? And with that thought, Henry tangled his feet and began to slide. Whizzing past him, a half intact escape pod. Hanging from pried metal, a first aid kit. Shit. Henry reached and went head over heel, falling with a crack. As Henry’s vision once again began to fade, he was greeted in the head with what could only be perceived as a flying med kit. And then darkness.

The leaves began to rustle and then howl. Henry drifted in and out of consciousness. He saw the bright light dim and turn a golden crimson, and then, when he finally awoke, a blueish, purple hue the likes of which he had never seen. 

And slowly the stars began to twinkle, each with their own distinct personality, as if dancing in celebration of some event that had never taken place.

Stars. How odd. In all of Henry’s years, the only time he had ever seen the stars was also the last; on the New Horizon. At least the wind was nothing new. Every storm brought sounds of the damned, a howling that quickly rose to a near scream; if one was not indoors during the storm, one might fear being swept away in what were once described Mega Storms, now all too common.

And yet, Henry did not feel the wind as he felt his way through the darkness. Stopping, Henry riffled through the first aid kit and found a flashlight. A few smacks later and it was on. It appeared damaged and flickered in the howling night. Henry saw what looked to be a hand reaching for his. Startled, Henry leaped back, disarming what appeared to be a branch. Stranger still, the branch had leaves.

My God. New Horizon actually worked. The Terraforming had given new life to what was once de… Before Henry could finish his thought, a crack of lighting and the boom of thunder as the tree in front of him burst into flames. God, was it beautiful. Standing what must of been 150 meters tall, a Giant Redwood (if the word giant could ever do it justice). The flames danced from branch to branch, illuminating the darkest night; a brief reprieve from a blanket of shadows.

A branch fell.

Then another.

And another.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry thought he saw movement and a faint glow but when he turned around he was met with only darkness.

“strange, I could’ve sworn I saw movement. Probably nothing.”

Hiking a little ways yonder of the burning the tree, Henry gathered fallen leaves and made a rudimentary bed for the night. Tomorrow, he would brave this New World but tonight he had earned a well deserved rest.

*The wind began to howl even louder and screams turned quickly into shrieks. Henry began to shiver before fading into a deep slumber.*

If you like this content, please share with your friends! Give it a tweet, re-post, or simply a shout out and I’d be a happy man. I’m debating whether to make a part three. I love how the story is shaping up thus far and this is my first continuation of a short story. It just depends on how I want to allocate my time. And as always, if you have thoughts, feel free to leave a comment; I love discussion!

Funds to send Mike to Mars

I love producing content. As I grow as an individual, so does my content. What was once acceptable now isn’t. As such, more time is spent working on each post. I do all edits, research, and content creation. Whether it’s taking photos for a post one day to writing poetry the next, my blog is keeping me busy. Donations are appreciated and are used to invest in creative pursuits whether that be writing classes, art lessons, and anything in-between.

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Journey’s End: My Final Demon

“The best way out is always through.” – Robert Frost

I’ve had many demons throughout my life. None tougher than coming to terms with the fact that my father is an alcoholic. I have never been OK with this fact and never will be. And it’s not so much the drinking I’ve had issues with (which is bad on it’s own) as it is the lies, the manipulation, and blame games that come along with it.

Why write about this?

Ultimately, it comes down to timing. I can either write my story or have it written for me. It is a demon that will haunt me my entire life and unless I summon the courage to fight it now, it will become all consuming. I thought I had dealt with my issues, in truth, I hadn’t. 5 years of work and I find myself exactly where I didn’t want to be.

Relationships are built on openness, trust, and vulnerability. If I can’t allow myself to be open, then my demon will manifest in other forms. Most likely in the forms of rage, sadness, and shame. And perhaps even fear. And I can’t have that. I want to be better.

Why not Journal?

I have, my journal is littered with my thoughts. However, there is a certain liberty in telling others. Over the years I have slowly gotten better at telling my story. It was hard when I truly opened up in private. In fact, I had a bit of a meltdown. It was a little argument over nothing and for no reason at all I brought up my Father. I thought my friends would shun me, but they didn’t.

And if I have so much trouble, even after working through most of my issues, imagine how many are out there who think they are alone, much like I did. It’s not fair and I say enough is enough. Children of Alcoholics deserve better, Families of Alcoholics deserve better… So it might not count for much but I’d like to at least try to provide some comfort for you and myself.

Children of Alcoholics

Perhaps those who suffer the most from a parents drinking. Children aren’t born independent, however, in most families they become independent. In families with alcoholics however, they remain dependent. They try so hard to please a parent who is unresponsive at best and at worst, responsive in all the wrong ways. They begin to blame themselves for problems they can’t control and feel guilty should they try to help the parent who is struggling. They are the ones who have to watch an alcoholic stumble home every night and slowly die. Alcoholism does not kill quickly. More likely than not, an alcoholic can live well into their 70’s or 80’s. And this is a lifetime of torment. What was once love for the parent turns into frustration, then resentment, and then bitterness. And because the alcoholic seemingly does not care, these emotions cause the child to hate themselves. They search for answers and find none.

Why does one become an alcoholic?

There can be numerous reasons as to why one starts drinking and it can be both situational and genetic (aka compulsive and addictive personalities). People drink more during depressions (or recessions), when they lose a job, or simply if they’ve had a stressful week (deadlines to meet, people to please, etc). The reason I believe however, is the simple reason they convince themselves they are unworthy of being loved and in doing so, it becomes prophecy. They believe so much that they don’t deserve love, that they are pitied, that eventually it becomes true even if it was untrue before; it is extremely heartbreaking to see.

It creates a cycle. And instead of receiving help, they play victim. They try to argue the opposite and flip the victim card unto you. Alcoholics have a tough time being vulnerable (don’t we all?) and are often too proud (or afraid) to truly open up. It is them against the world and they will use anything at their disposal to justify their habit.

If you’re wondering what emotion alcoholics feel the most, it’s shame and to the highest degree. Behind the Anger, behind the sadness, behind the fear, there is shame. If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t have seen a pattern in my own Father’s drinking. My Father sought treatment and has been going off and on. And every time I see him I have to wonder if he’s been drinking. However, there are days he is guaranteed to drink. More recently, his birthday. Most recently, Mothers Day. The next day I can almost guarantee will be Father’s Day. Days of celebration turn into days of torment for an alcoholic. Most tend to reflect on these days, whether they realize it or not. And unfortunately, most can’t see past the darkness they create.

The Alcoholism Paradox

It took me years to realize this and as far as I know, this term doesn’t exist. But there is a paradox that comes with drinking and it is this; the more an alcoholic drinks, the less they will remember. So, when one argues with an alcoholic, it becomes almost impossible to reason with them. Why? Because an alcoholic will oftentimes blackout and not remember the evening. And thus creates the paradox. For an alcoholic to truly heal they need to acknowledge and be open with their behavior, however, when confronted, the alcoholic oftentimes thinks the confrontation is an attempt to make them look bad and that they possibly couldn’t have done all the things one claims they have done.

Is Alcoholism a Disease?

In the end, it doesn’t matter so much whether or not alcoholism is classified as a disease. In my personal opinion, it is not. To put alcoholism (also referred to as alcohol abuse) on the same level as someone diagnosed as cancer is less than tasteful. And in the end, it makes no difference. Behavior is behavior. Actions are actions. Alcohol inhibits judgement and simply makes someone more of what they already are (or who they see themselves to be). It is not an excuse for lashing out at others even if it makes it easier to do so.

Is Alcoholism a Moral Failing?

No. Alcoholism is neither good nor evil. It’s easy to paint an alcoholic as a villain, as some being devoid of a soul. However, they are not. If anything alcoholism represents an exaggeration of the human struggle. However, in most cases, most alcoholics never reach redemption. There is no hero’s return and all that could’ve been never was. That’s not to say these statistics can’t change, however, it would take a complete societal overhaul to do so.

Can alcohol abuse be cured?

Yes. The simple answer is yes. How do I know? I’ve seen it and I’ve heard stories. However, it is not how we imagine. Instead of never drinking again, the once alcoholic might have a drink a night (or not at all). They learn to moderate their consumption. It would be great if they never touched a drink again, however, in most cases this is far from realistic.

Ideally, the system would be set up professionally. Instead of going into rehab, an alcoholic should first be diagnosed by a professional (in the field of medicine). Not necessarily for their drinking but rather any underlying conditions they might have, such as depression. Then one might introduce the alcoholic to individual counseling and later on they should gradually reduce the amount they drink through a detox center. Afterwards, they should be introduced to rehab in addition to support groups (groups such as AA, although I wish there were more). The key word being “should”.

Does Rehab work?

No. At least, not in the United States. Rehab in the U.S. has a hefty price tag and does absolutely nothing. It’s a business and everyone suffers for this fact. A lot of programs don’t monitor the patients and try to offer a quick fix for a cure. They take advantage of those who want to get better and it’s a damn shame. Patients get shuffled from clinic to clinic and the only ones who benefit are those who own the clinic. If you’re curious as to how rehab works in the United States, here is some of the limited research I was able to find on the subject:

VICE DOCUMENTARY

JON OLIVER SEGMENT

My Story

How long have I known? Since Elementary School, so well over 15 years. The first instance I can remember is when I wandered upstairs one morning, entered the bathroom, and found about 5 empty wine glasses on the counter. And growing up I remember my Father slept a lot. He worked 12 to 16 hour days (5 in the morning till 5 in the evening) and when the evenings rolled around, he would either be sailing or asleep by 6. On the weekends? Yard-work or sleeping. It was exciting when we would go out as a family, however, excitement eventually turned into disappointment and embarrassment…

In Middle School, I was part of a bowling league. Every Saturday I’d go, and while it was fun, I always felt uncomfortable when my Father would place bets on whether or not I could make tricky shots. More uncomfortable was how he could never let anyone else pay for a meal (we always got breakfast before league) as though he was doing the other parents a favor. In Boy Scouts, he was always involved, however, it always felt like he cared more about the other children than his own. He would constantly be helping out and we were left to our own devices (so long as we didn’t wander too far). If we wanted to walk around our neighborhood? We had walkie talkies.

In High School, the economy crashed and while he had always drunk, it was far more noticeable at this point. And while our financial situation had changed, his spending habits did not. He still sailed and he still had a loving family, so there was very little reason to change. At this point in time, I believe my brother had just graduated High School and was enrolled in College. Also during this period, my Father bought a tractor (that was the day my brother and I stopped mowing the lawn) and as if that weren’t bad enough, drove it down the street to offer his help in mowing our neighbors lawns. As much as I wish I could make this up or add spice to the story, this is literally what happened. I chuckle now but it was quite embarrassing at the time. Anyways, fast forward to my senior year and my brother was forced to drop out of College due to “costs”. I was worried but looked past the situation as I had just been accepted to university. My Father had “promised” I would be taken care of and at this point I still trusted him, despite years of broken promises. During this period we had been to family counseling. My High School counselor was able to identify that something was wrong and while I saw the school psychologist for a bit, it was eventually recommended that we see counseling as a family. I was excited to go. And then my Father turned it into a joke… He truly believed he didn’t need counseling, that there was nothing wrong with him. And then I was off to College.

As a Freshman it was extremely difficult. I tried coming home on the weekends, however, my Father would always be drinking. And once my dog died, I stopped going home altogether. I was angry, ashamed, afraid, and sad. So many times I wanted to give up, yet I kept going. Eventually, after another argument at home over finances, I knew student loans were my only option. My Father made enough to support his family, however, due to his drinking and gambling addictions, we barely had enough money to buy bread. People would see our 3 car garage and think my family was well off when in reality we barely had enough money to keep the electricity going (and not even). When I started taking control of my finances, a miracle happened. I no longer had to join a class 2 or 3 weeks late (classes were 10 weeks for perspective) and when I got a job, I had just enough to get by. And my roommates? They were beyond understanding even if they didn’t know the details. I would not have graduated if it weren’t for great roommates, plain and simple. And my Mom. She worked while I was in College and that extra bit made all the difference. My Father would sporadically help, however, that would only be after arguing with my Mom for God knows how many hours. And I went into extreme budgeting, literally surviving off of eggs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Rent was as cheap as it could get and I never bought textbooks unless I absolutely had to.

Then my Father totaled our jeep… Another drunken escapade. He was forced into rehab and that was the only time I had ever truly seen (actually, more like heard) him sober. He wasn’t happy that his drinking had finally caught up to him and that, after all those years, his license was finally suspended. I took this chance to severe my relationship with my Father. At this point he was an obsession and I knew for myself to survive, I could only focus on myself. The conversation was less than pretty but I said what I needed to say. And from there I began to thrive. I became the person that no one would believe had trust issues and I was happy that I was finally able to break free from co-dependence. I had no one to blame for my actions but myself and I was finally free. If I’m not mistaken, it was around this time I stopped playing victim with my life and began to truly live it.

So come graduation, I decided to be the better man. I invited my Father to graduation and decided to give him one last chance. It was awkward but I felt it was the right thing to do. I wanted to see if we could reconcile, so after graduation I took a break. And for a while my Father was sober. He was going to AA meetings (I had always wanted him to go growing up) and we were having family dinners! It was wonderful and everything I could’ve ever wanted. And given a few more years, we might’ve resembled a family. However, nothing gold can stay. As soon as my Father got his license back, it was like a switch. He was mobile again and went for the nearest bar or liquor store… Did he resist the temptation? I can’t really say. Regardless of his thought process, the outcome remains the same; he is drinking again and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

Where does our relationship stand?

There is no relationship left, there hasn’t been in years. I am proud of myself for giving my Father another chance and while it is my hope that he does stop drinking, I won’t be around to witness the day. I hope he learns to open up about his past and learn to truly trust others, even if they might hurt him. I hope he can be vulnerable, to allow himself to cry and not think himself weak. And I hope he continues to seek help and it saddens me that this is the bridge I must cross, but cross it I must.

A relationship cannot exist without trust. And after a lifetime of broken promises, lies told, and feeling like I didn’t matter, the trust is gone. I can run from reality or I can face it. This is not easy to say let alone hear. However, it is important that I acknowledge the fact.

I will be fine. The goals I’ve set for myself I’ve accomplished and the pain has become bearable. I am independent and it’s time to step forward into the world once more…

And with that, my mental health awareness series comes to a close. A month of writing and many hours spent researching the various topics as well as reflecting on my own life. It feels as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders; I’m glad I was finally able to talk about this difficult subject after so many years. When I wrote my “Journey’s End” series on vulnerability, I mentioned one demon I could not yet tackle and I thought I never would… However, today and here on after I can proudly say I have. Thanks for reading and I hope you’ve found some benefit from my mental health series.

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A thought experiment: Reaching into the void

So I had this idea late at night, went to bed, and still thought it was a great idea when I woke up. Does that make it a great idea? Not at all, but let’s give it a try. So for the last few months I’ve wrote quite a bit but believe it or not, many of my posts have not seen the light of day. So instead of simply discarding the drafts into the trash, I wanted to make a post instead. I took the best lines from each and simply posted them. A few snips here and there and we have a glimpse into my mysterious mind. This is very much what you make of it. The quotes are posted in reverse chronological order so if you want this to be a story, it can. Read it bottom-up or top-down. Or do you find it to be more poetry than story? Really, it’s up to you to decide. I personally am very pleased with how this turned out. so without further ado, enjoy.

As I said earlier, my last week has been nothing but Netflix and chilling. Usually at this point cabin fever starts to set in and the sane start to become insane.  People get guilt tripped into thinking they’re wasting their time. While some experiences may be a waste of time, it all comes down to perspective and how we draw information.

So I’ve been doing some soul searching for the last few months. A lot of big questions with few answers. This idea of knowing who we are, who we will be.

Time. Once gone, it cannot be replaced. No amount of money in the world will buy you more time, another day on this planet. From the day we are born till the day we die we are racing against time.

This is a post about fear, vulnerability, and the future. I am currently unemployed, alone, and still searching for happiness. Happiness can come from fulfilling work, meaningful relationships or any reason in-between.

When I was growing up, the portable cellphone was a novelty and house phones were all too common. That was 1993. Remember floppy disks, then the Walkman, then Zune? The birth of CD’s, the internet as a source of entertainment? Hard to believe that’s all been within the two decades that I’ve been alive.

So I’ve been stumped about a topic for the last week. I keep writing drafts and then shelving those ideas to continue my Netflix spree. I have been home for the last two weeks and forget that my brother and I are yin and yang.

For most of my life it has felt as though something has been missing and every once in a while I’ll get a taste, a flutter of the heart and then an emptiness as the moment passes.

I was terrified of almost everything. Perhaps most so, my future. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what we fear and in the end, how much of a relief it is to face them. I spent a lifetime running from my fears. The one emotion I haven’t been able to conquer is love. Relationships are messy, complicated, and to be honest, don’t seem to be worth the hassle. People are terrified. Do people love because they care or because they are afraid of dying alone?

It’s time to talk about the voice inside the back of our head. The one that leaves words unsaid and gives doubt a field day. Yes, I’m talking about ourselves! As the old adage goes, we are our own worst enemies. We can spend years perfecting who we are only to have our little voice tell us our work isn’t good enough.

Life is made up of little moments and it is in these little moments that we hold our future.

As much as I like to think of myself as a man who has freed himself of his problems, that I have not. For some reason, when life is good, I simply can’t appreciate it. This year I learned to live in the present moment, to appreciate life as it comes. I wanted to be better, so I worked on being vulnerable.

A man of two worlds; the old and the new.

If you like what I write, feel free to share with your friends. And please let me know what you think! The last few months I’ve been playing around with lots of different ideas and so far the reception has been overwhelmingly positive! If you have an idea, comment! And who knows, I might write a post about it. As always, thanks for reading!

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