The Break Away Experience

Is there a point to this blog? I'd like to hear from you. And yes I mean you. Especially you... Is there a point to my words? You can always reach out if you'd like.  Is there a point in this expression? Or trying to explain? Come say hi. It'd be nice to hear from you.  Are you like me? Are you worried, hopeful, curious, ready? Where are you from? What's your vice? What makes you happy? Sad? Do you like movies? Art? TV dinners? Trampolines?  Do you think the weather is nicer when it gets hot or cold? Did you find me on Reddit? Do you have any questions about homelessness? Or the choices it takes to get there? Ever feel like Breaking Away?  Say hi. The Break Away Experience can't just be me... Or what's the point?  -Butterfly

 I found myself chasing a tweaker yesterday. Oh how this life feels so ridiculous to me. The man was chasing a child right through the park. "Run fat boy. Run!" He flipped me off. I flipped him the bird right back. Yea fuck you too buddy. He then tried to push a bicyclist off of his bike. I called the police. And I never found the child.  My friend was threatened by a tweaker yesterday. The guys pants were falling down and the man was challenging the room. More like the world really. He wanted a fight and he's lucky he didn't get one. My friend is a US Army vet. He's a chill person. Though I wouldn't like to see him snap. I woke up today. That is a good thing right? Sometimes I wonder. Though I was relieved the nightmare I had last night was only a dream, the yelling in the dorm reminded me that reality at times... Is a terrible thing.  Chaos. Dearest Chaos you are so familiar to me. I used to love you so much. You showed me that I am strong when I truly felt ...

 I remember when this started. There was just too much back and forth. Too much dishonesty. Not just from them. But from myself as well. I don't mean to say I remember everything that led up to this. I just remember that crash. That heartbreak. Not a realization, but the seed of such a thing was certainly planted. I knew when I was hanging in my crushed car, The Pal, that if I didn't die in a physical sense in that moment, then surely I would soon be dead if I didn't die in a metaphorical sense.  I still make mistakes, probably more than most men. Though not the worst. I'm not the greatest guy on the planet. Not even close. But I'm not the worst either. I strongly doubt if anybody holds that title actually. The worst? That's heavy. And I held that thought of myself for a long time.  When I crashed my car... I can't even remember if I crawled out of the windshield or if I was pulled from the door by witnesses. Both options hold memories for me. It's weird...

 It's right behind me. I know that it's reaching for me.  Demon. I hear it snicker. It taunts. It pokes. My past sees that I am leaving and I can tell that she misses me already. It plays It's tricks and trys and trys to catch me. Sometimes it fails. Other times it's close. But I am running. I'm running as hard as I can. I'm hoping for the runners high soon. I've had a good job offer get rescinded due to mine and Lillee's history. She's still hurting me after I've left and tried to help her. They don't realize that I was gone once before. The NCO came after I was gone. And when she reached out after the fact, I responded. I should have hung up that phone. Though I loved her so.  At least I think I did. More and more I feel I used her to distract myself... From myself. I was selfish. Maybe I still am. But I can't worry about the past now. And perhaps just by writing this, the past is close to snatching me up. I am so close. And I know once...

 "Freedom Over Comfort". I remember this motto now. Back from the BAE 1.0. Freedom. Freedom. To walk and skip. To joke and flirt. To be me and feel no guilt. To untie the mask and watch it fall.  Ha! Let it shatter! I watch it Break Away into a hundred million pieces and blow with the wind.  Today when I walk I believe it is with purpose. And the only person I need to impress is me. No longer a slave to the opinion of others. Like me or hate me. I.... do.... NOT.... care!  I think often of my motives. My motives now. My motives back not too long ago. And I start to recognize my silliness. Unique? Special? A man on a mission? These were things I portrayed to the world.  But the world never fell for it.  I see my attempts and I wonder. Were they attempts at all? I just filled my life with the easy options. I had no balls. I allowed the world to call me crazy, sick, a fool.  A fool I was.  I allowed this.  Today I have the power in my own hands ...

 I don't claim to be "good". It's just that I no longer believe that I am "bad".  I watched a video yesterday. It was the one where I was dancing with the Armenians. It made me happy, but then I was hit with disgust. Who am I to be happy? Who am I to find contentment.  "Life sucks and then you die." "You're a piece of shit." "You're impotent like your dad.  John! John! John!"  But this is my mother's voice. The screaming doesn't belong to me. I realize this more and more each day. But what I don't know is this.... which voice is mine?  I don't want to live like this anymore. The way I have lived. The way that I have chosen to live. To be. No, I can't live like that. So... I have to reach out to... well, what do I have to reach out to? Who? Maybe something? Maybe 'S'omething.....  But I wonder now, is Something even there? And if so, does this Something hear me? And if Something does hear me, d...