I have told you I write more than just blogs on numerous occasions, have told you of my love affair with the written word. It really is a love affair, nothing more and nothing less. I guess it could have something to do with the fact; I couldn’t read and write as a child, that we found each other when I was fifteen, when I least expected it, that the written word changed my life. My Mother phoned me last night, told me she saw a young, homeless man in town earlier during the day. He was huddled up, desperately searching for warmth on a short flight of icy, stone steps. She said he looked filthy, was freezing and his eyes were red and bloodshot. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. It wasn’t the fact that he was homeless though that caused her to think to phone me and to tell me. It wasn’t the fact that he was freezing, that he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a month or that he was as high as a kite. It was her memory of seeing me in exactly the same situation, was the realization that had I not been saved by the written word, I probably wouldn’t be here today.
This certainly won’t come in one part, more of a mini-series, I think. Anyway, this is where I begin and where I finish…who knows.
I wasn’t a happy child; I was a rebellious, confused, misunderstood and a desperately lonely child. I was curious, ready to try anything new, even the dark side of life. It was almost as if I had spent so many years, holding the lid over a pot of boiling water and suddenly, I was no longer able to take the pressure. My mother has helped me to piece much of my teens together. I am so ashamed of what I was back then, of the things I did, the people I hurt, the tears I caused. On the other hand, it was those terrible things that put me on the road to my love affair. We had nothing in common. She was the answer to all things, the doorway into a better world, the beacon in the night, the backbone of society. And me…well, I was mindless and destructive, on some wacky, hell-bent roller coaster ride toward my own doom and damnation. A young man introduced us though and I can assure you, it was love at first sight.
I was understandably a little afraid of her at first, her beauty and power, forcing me to cower back into the memories of the ones who liked to call me stupid when I was just a child, of the ones who loved to taunt me, to tell me I would never amount to anything. But she was a gentle lover, patient and not at all imposing. I began by writing poems and the more I wrote, the more I wanted to write. She was as addictive to me then, as she is now. I was in a dilemma though, lost somewhere within two worlds. The raw reality of my world had nothing in common with hers. I was involved in some life-threatening situations, was living on the edge in a world that didn’t care if I lived or died. My mother tried to help me, but I was far too gone, in too deep. When I wasn’t on the streets, doing what I did best, at the time, I was in jail, paying for my destructive ways.
Back in two days with more of my story. Until then take care.