Taking a look back 1.(How to move forward.)

Hello and good morning folks. After posting my blog last Monday, I had this overwhelming feeling that I should do a bit more. I felt like I was being a bit elusive in the blog and was itching to explain more of that story. I also felt like I put most of my reasons for my lack of success on my daughter and that was never the intention. My family and her in particular have been the rays of light that I need in this otherwise dark life that I live. 

So, to relieve the nagging pressure of telling you guys a bit about me, I am writing this post today. The words that I put down here are all real and I believe one of the root issues that impacted my life. Please understand, this story is one I have not been able to write or talk about to many. Hell, only my wife and immediate family probably know this story. I’m not going to start with the day I was born, that is a great story but it’s not the one for today. I don’t think many of my extended family and friends know the story I am going to write but let’s get into it. This will be long, so I think I’m going to do two post for this one. I hope you guys enjoy it.


At the tender age of twelve, a few months before the often sought after age of thirteen, my younger siblings and I were kidnapped. Now, I know you’re saying or may be saying “What?! Are you serious?” If you are, yes, I am. We were snatched from our home and taken to another state entirely. It happened fast. The thing with me is, I could never really grasp what was happening. I thought we were going on a trip and would be back in the blink of an eye. I did not realize the extent of the situation until we changed vehicles, then the cold truth of what was happening dawned on me. After that, the question “Why are you doing this?” repeated in my mind until our abductors got us to their location. 

My mother, being a drug addict, was unable to go to the authorities, so she instead attempted to deal with the kidnapper on her own. That did not go too well and in the end, it took determination and some covert action from my little sister to get us out of the situation.Because of my sister’s quick thinking and secretive ways we were able to run away from our abductor and make it back to our home. It took a lot of hard work and I honestly feared for our life every moment, until we reached home. 


It was a few months from my fifteenth birthday when I stepped off the bus and hugged the mother I hadn’t seen in, what felt like, an eternity to me. I held onto her as if my life depended on it. Crying the entire time, I watched my mom hug my little sister and brother and say words that I’d been begging to hear “Let’s go home.” Writing this now, causes me to choke up. That was a hard time for my family and just thinking about the pain created during that time still has the power to floor me. 

We went home but the crazy thing is, I’d never left the prison that we’d been subjected to. The pain, fear, confusion and rage had become a part of me. I wanted to not only destroy my abductors, I wanted to burn down the world. I was mad at everything and everyone and felt the world owed me something. 

In my previous blog, I wrote about my inspiration and desire to be a renaissance man and how I lost them. Going through this is what I believe started it. I’d come back broken. Before I left, at the age of twelve, I’d started my first job; that was back when the country believe it took a village to raise a child. I was doing good in school and my many forms of artistic expression were being recognized. Upon my return, I was a sullen child, blaming everyone for my misfortune and ready to be petulant until I was compensated for my pain and suffering. 

It didn’t take long for me to become the horror that parents fear their kids becoming. After returning home, I registered for my first year of high school, again, something that they allowed back in the day. My first year did not go well. I was always a person who could make friends and I made many but the anger…the rage, it could not be denied. If you know stories, then I’m sure you can guess what happened next. I became a violent person at school. The fights were numerous and I was slowly gaining a reputation as a person of trouble at the school; something I never planned on being but could not stop myself from becoming. 


Fist fights, hacking school property, lack of motivation and many other terrible acts, were my standard MO, by the time I reached my senior year in high school. I could care less about my own success and often did things that would hinder any progression towards a good life in the world that awaited me. I was a lost soul and happy to be one. I didn’t want to do anything but fuck girls and play video games. Those things still sound fun to me today but I am older and know a little bit more about the world. 

I’d pretty much burned most of the bridges available to me by this time but I didn’t care. I was doing what I wanted to do and thanks to some creative thinking on my part, I was getting enough money to take care of myself. The funny thing is, I was only seventeen. I look back now and think, what the hell was I thinking? My answer to that, I wasn’t. I was doing exactly what I wanted at the time, which was nothing.

After high school, I…let me just interject here right quick. Before the kidnapping, I had this idea that I would become an architect that wrote poetry, books and cartoons, with B.S degrees in architecture and literature from USC. After high school, I got what was my third job in life. I did not want the dream of the young me. Being a man of the renaissance type was no longer my dream. Just being able to have more money than what I had, excited me, so I focused on that. Sure I could have went to college and I did much later in life, but at that time, the money was the important thing to me. So I followed it to a job working at McDonalds in the Meadows Mall in Las Vegas. I could tell then that the job held no true promise for me but the money, which I thought was a lot at the time, was calling to me. 

I’m going to cut it here. This blog is more an four thousand words and I decided to parse it out to you guys. PPlease let me know what you think and thanks for reading. 


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