Moonlight’s Shadow February 23, 2012

An empty shell is what remains

Darkened and numb

In a never ending tunnel

I see no end, I see no sun

 

Life’s breath still passes through

Only a shadow of what was

A vessel no longer used

Present, although I see not what it does

 

Blank stares from eyes fixed beyond

Eyes glazed over

But, appearing as though nothing is wrong

 

Living no more

In a world in which we see

Somewhere beyond

Is where they long to be

 

In a state of hereafter

With the living and the dead

Present perhaps in both

As we lay them in their bed

 

Will they awake this night?

Is not for us to know

 

As the moon looks on

Each night that passes unto day

Guarding them peacefully

And showing them on their way

 

With clarity of sight

And the last strength of breath

We remember them always

In life and in death

 

The Abyss February 1, 2011

It has been so long since I have written. Amazingly I put off my words, my writings and sentiments that bring me comfort. I feel I could explode with emotion sometimes. Always feeling overwhelmed by gratitude and love from others but a direct polar feeling for myself. Some type of self loathing that wishes nothing for me. No hopes, no dreams.  Only day dreams trying to negate reality, my reality is much better then what my mind’s eye sees. My mind’s eye only sees a tainted world. One still holding on to the abandonment of a father, a man that should have walked over oceans to see me, but would not even pick up a phone to hear my voice. My mind’s eye only wishes to see a shattered past, one of longing, one of hurting. It lingers there. It sees not the loveliness I have experienced, the love others feel for me. I need that for myself. This self hatred needs to be abolished. I don’t wish to stare into the abyss any longer. I am not this abyss that calls to me. That tries to cradle me in my flaws, and disappointments. It always whispers so gently but there is nothing but whispers in this abyss. Whispers of despair, no true reflection only darkness. I cry out but no one hears me. I cannot even hear myself. I ignore my own cries as if they do not exist. Perhaps they do not anymore. I have lost sight of what the cries are about. I have silenced myself, only numbness and sadness remains here. I want to get out. I need to get out.

It’s Been A While October 1, 2010

It has been a while since my last entry. Not that I have abandoned the blog, or the concept of being a prodigal. I actually took it upon myself to see a professional in regards to my issues involving former religious organization entanglements. It has been quite the process, including night terrors overtaking my sleep as I rehash the negativity which I have buried within. I was unaware of how certain encounters had so tremendously forged their negative effects to the very core of my being.

At first I felt very defeated by this occurrence. The first year after leaving the organization I let defeat resonate throughout my outlook. My confidence was gone, my ability to be around people, and any inkling of having hope for my future had dissipated. I wanted to curl up in a dark corner free from anyone who would require anything from me. I was angry. Too many people wanted too many things for too long. Hurt mixed with anger set in. Hurt due to the fact that I thought of these people as family, and close friends. People who would really consider me and my well being before demanding everything, and casting aside my efforts with gestures of ungratefulness. It took a long time to get from utter defeat to hurt, and anger. My therapist tells me that hurt and sadness keeps us feeling defeated, but once we feel anger we can begin to mobilize. Not mobilizing us to act in vengeance although it might appear appealing. There has been many a day dream of me dancing outside the building as it burns to the ground. It may seem harsh, but do not judge me I did not go through with it. I did have a dream though that the leader of this organization experienced the end of his little empire. In my dream I was able to be witness to this happening. I was not an active part in creating his demise, but I saw it happen. I saw him loose everything material, and financial that seems to be so dear to his heart.  He does not seem to be the type that values, family or friends. He has thrown many of them aside en route to his material “success”. I do not know if this dream will become reality, but I realized that it does not matter. It felt like a message though, a message of equalization. A message of what Christian’s call sowing and reaping, or what many believe to be Karma. You know the saying “you’ve made your bed now you have to lie in it” it seems to apply to it as well. In my dream I was not ecstatic at his demise either, merely aware of it. I woke up that day feeling peaceful, as if there was calm over the whole world. I had witnessed what should be, or perhaps an alternate universe. It was so very real to me, as if it had actually occurred, and its affect on me were real. Peace, the kind of peace that calms a deep rooted anger. The kind of peace that whispers to you “no matter what the outcome, you are ok” and I am ok.

It is things like this that the therapy brings up. Sometimes like a painful stomach bug that almost cripples you until you fight through it and have to face its disgusting remnants again. More painful then when it went down, as I just took it all in. To look back at first would cause me such sadness. I would think about how I allowed it to happen in the first place. How could I have been so naive and trusting? How could I simply follow so blindly? How could I have been so brainwashed? How many others feel the same as I do? How many have been hurt, and taken advantage of? Why do people keep falling for the same lies? Where was my trust in myself? It was seriously lacking.

These last couple years have been me picking up the pieces that remain, and making the best of the life before me. Even though my emotions and mentality have not caught up yet my life now is far better than before. A life that I can be in control of, and take responsibility for a life where I can make strategic decisions for my life and see a positive outcome. No longer able to lay blame on the past or to wish it harm. Although it was a beautiful scene as I watched a representing symbol burn to the ground. The flames danced to the whistling of the wind while the embers sparkled like the stars in the night sky. However whether the situation is equalized in my lifetime and I get to be witness to it, or not there is calm in my life. A peace that allows me to move on past the burning building into a bright future that exists beyond what had occurred within those walls.

Not a Waste May 26, 2010

Some bad choices do not evoke a wasted life.

Some days seem to amount to that, when I begin to pile on the bad choices I have made. The neglect I have shown myself and my life. Neglect to plan, and pursue something worth having or doing. I continue to pile my regret, and false independence. Independence which I squandered away just as I had done with my savings, and my education. When I continue to bury myself in all my own self loathing, what is it that truly remains? Me – I do not know what that is some days, or what that can amount to in the future.

The pile ends up burying me. Until I cannot see out, as if numb in my tomb which I have helped build. With life’s challenges which are inevitable and the bad choices I have made I find myself in a fog, haze of sorts which allows me to vaguely see ahead.  Ahead down the road and ahead to the future. Without seeing ahead I panic, I make short ended decisions. Short ended decisions perhaps bad decisions. I feel this depression may blind me forever.

Perhaps I will be a gypsy of sorts marred by life’s pain. Touched by many beliefs, and lives, that have helped shape me into the cynical elderly person I become. One who encourages others with fear and mystery, the uncertainty of what lays ahead, a misguidance through haze.

Perhaps we will all be hurt, that is but certain. But to wander alone to never become part of anything that is worse than the hurt we will heal from. A wound of flesh or soul will heal, it may take many years but tourniquet of life will help it heal. The same life that allows us to hurt will help us to heal.

Better to become committed to something, to love, bond with a cause or an individual, to hope in yourself in others, and in the future, to believe in something greater then oneself. Life can be much less hazy with these things.

Perhaps this prodigal need not be enveloped by the nomadic lonesome life that I feel.

Perhaps I am ready to take action, to embrace the changes in my life, and in fact start some changes of my own instead of becoming and remaining victim to all the inevitable changes that have all ready occurred.

To choose life is better. A life without depression is perhaps attainable. Either way the haze need not blur the journey.

A private note May 18, 2010

It has been a while since my last hand written note to you. I know you never read it, I never meant for you to, but writing to you helps.

As I told you before our falling out, I have never met anyone as deplorable as you. I did not realize you existed. All your hurt and hatred built up inside and spouting onto those around you. It is as if you have venom that pumps through your veins. Over the years it has poisoned you. It comes out of your mouth most often to those who are closest to you. Those people are few now. It is you who has secluded yourself away from society, and perhaps even humanity, your actions are so often inhumane. I do not know how you live with yourself. Where does your volatile anger come from? I have been told that no one ever loved you, so you morphed into a being beyond love. As if some grotesque mutant, that lives on the underbelly of society. You paint your face and try to walk among the people but I believe I see you for who you truly are. A poisonous creature, who is trying to harm the last few human beings who still have hope in you. What will become of you? Some say you will shrivel up and die in your loneliness and hatred. Some say there is still hope for you that there will be a happily ever after as in a fairy tale ending. I am not certain if those occur anymore. Society is jaded and hopeless for the most part. Made up of agnostics, atheists, and crazy fanatical people; where has sanity gone? Where are the innocent, the hopeful? When I look around I see no hope for society.

What do you see? I cannot imagine how you view this world. I have seen you eat your young for your own satisfaction as certain members of the wild kingdom do. It is unbelievable. I tried to cut you out of my life. If you were wondering why we have not spoken or you have not seen me. It is not me it is you. I cannot risk your venom seeping into my pores, I just cannot risk it. Whatever it is that you are I never wish to be.  Loneliness is a terrible disease, but I do not think it is one you had. It developed from all your other illnesses, all your mental disorders, your volatile personality, your hurtful ways, and your selfish ambition. Your skewed view of reality has brought you to today. Even your children dread having to see you.  Be careful what bed you make, your poison might just kill you.

Perhaps I am wrong about you, but I highly doubt it. I have given much thought, and have observed you over the years.  Your behaviour is astonishing. I used to work with children, and even the most misbehaved child with some sort of disability never behaved as childishly as you. Perhaps you never really grew up. Some days I wish I could write you off and pretend we never met, pretend you have no place in my life. But in some ways you do, albeit small but it still scratches at the back of my mind.  Just to be around you angers me. Like a blaze in my mind.

Some people have learned to compartmentalise you. They say that you and your illness are not the same. Those people still have compassion for you.  They are those who hope, hope for a better end. One where your disease is gone and you can become who perhaps you were always supposed to be.  Maybe there is still good in you. I do not know. I hope not for you, but for those who have hope in you, that their mind would be at rest. I hope that your venom will never flow through them.

Lost Identity. April 22, 2010

Losing one’s identity…

Depending on what one uses to determine their identity…

I didn’t realise but as I was becoming a young adult, my faith which I mistook to go hand in hand with religion began to shape my life. Most small and major choices were affected by my religious views.  I thought this was my faith too. My “faith” was making me see what was right and wrong, and what was seen as holy and unholy. I thought it was my faith that justified the judgement I would pass on others because they were doing something that was wrong, or unholy.  Or the judgement I would pass on myself. I am my worst enemy, as most of us are.

Since I was building a life out of choices which were based on my religion which was being mistaken for my faith that meant my identity was based on my religion. Very dangerous allowing a movement, to control my destiny by controlling my decisions, and letting myself believe that what the organization says my destiny can be.

When I lost “faith” (no pun intended) in the religious organization I was a part of, it started spilling into other areas of my life, and my identity. I thought that everything the organization stood for that I also stood for. I felt as though my identity was interwoven with the organization. Now that I was severing my ties with the organization it seemed as though I was tearing at myself.  Pulling at pieces that were so tightly knit that to sever them felt like the death of me, or a large part of me. The part of me that steered the ship up until that point, the part that guided my daily choices and activities, as if I without that part was not whole.

It has taken time to rebuild the parts of me that were broken. Parts that I allowed to break by building on someone else’s foundation rather than my own, when did stop thinking for myself? Whenever I stopped does not matter now, all I can be grateful for is the opportunity to start over again, building a firm foundation knowing that I can indeed think for myself. That I am no longer part of some second string cult masquerading itself as a religious organization. But run by one individual directing all of his congregates to perform duties that see his vision fulfilled by weaving it into what seems as the religious right way. That all we do to represent him, also represents our divine being and therefore allowing us to fulfill our calling, as if we should be honoured to be giving of our time, talents, and money to support this.

Looking back how could I have been so daft? How could I not have seen through these eyes that I know now to be my own? I could keep leaning on the how, but I must move forward, being grateful for the opportunity to hopefully have long life ahead of me with new decisions.

For so long I felt like I was losing my identity. That it was left behind at that place. How could I know anything now after being so blinded to reality? How could I for so long have been part of something that hurts more people then it helps? Did I not have the right motivation? Was I not giving my life to servant hood? Why did those who left before, leave us behind? Again so many unanswered questions that add no help to the matter of moving on.

I must move on. I am moving on.

With a new identity, perhaps I never lost my identity, but realized I was a part of something that I did not want to have any reflection of.  A place and an organization that had no more of me then I allowed it to.

I can hate that place and the man, but it does nothing for me. Perhaps what happened to me and so many others is not right, or not fair. Life is not always fair, but we move forward unloading the pieces that weigh us down and are unnecessary.  The pieces that have helped mould who we are, but are not pieces we wish to build our future with.

We move on…

Making better choices today than we did yesterday, holding on to who we are who we truly are. Our identity is our own.  No matter what we might go through, what tragedy we endure, what large portion of our life might end, or be severed. We can still move forward through the pain, and end up on the other side identity intact.

wallowing… April 10, 2010

Life is full of so many expectations.

Each day, not knowing what will occur. The end of a significant bond or relationship can lead to the realization of something ground breaking in one’s life. It can open a wound, but at the same time open a door. To a future that was locked, hesitant to step through into more of what is unknown. I remain for a moment in wonder of what has been invested. Not wanting to count my loses and move forward. Wishing to remain, to go back or perhaps be transported down the road where a heart has healed and a new vibrant season ensues. Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately this is not life. I, we are to continue each day no matter what the circumstance. Whatever matter of the heart must be dealt with. Life is not an instrument in which we pick and choose what it is we are and ought to experience. Life is that wonderful terrible phenomenon in which we have no choice but to take each moment as it comes, and then within each moment choose how we will live. Whether wounded or of full strength we go forward. Experiencing-enjoying or loathing each moment. Maximizing or wasting each moment. This is life.

Journal – June 30, 2007

This was a journal entry from almost three years ago. How time flies, but I seem to keep trying to give myself the same advice. I am certain I have given in the past and give the advice to others. But there are just some days that I cannot seem to grasp it myself. I live in the past. Sometimes quite angry, I do not know if that awful victim mentality is going around, but I seem to catch it like the common cold. I am certain that we have all been cheated, disappointed, lonely, hurt, or disrespected perhaps by people we admire or love. I notice I will carry these grudges like a heavy load it does nothing for me physically except give me raging headaches.

I noticed in a few instances I felt as though I had lost respect for people and felt so beguiled that the thought of their demise would cause me intrigue. Not good, just contemplating how their personal empire would fall. As if they were the evil tyrant in my story, and I of course the great hero. As the hero is it my job to confront this enemy? Should I be the brave soul who attempts to act as my version of a mirror image for them? Should I tell them meticulously ever rancid character trait they contain? I am certain I would love for whoever thinks I am their enemy to do that to me. Not exactly, I would fold like a pretzel into the fettle position for days trying to bandage my emotional scars.

They however move on with their life, as I cradle myself in a corner. Instead of planning my life I waste it perhaps waiting for revenge to come. As if revenge was a person who would visit.  I never thought I would be someone who thought that way, who wasted anytime. Yet here I wallow in my pit from time to time. When I feel begrudged, when I stare at the clock thinking perhaps this will be the hour.

The Alchemist April 8, 2010

After just finishing Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist” I have to say that it is quite possibly one of my favourite books.  It was a brief rendition of a long journey filled with parables of wisdom that the main character Santiago took to heart.

I so needed to read this book. It was recommended to me from a few different sources, and I am so glad I did. I do not want to give the whole story away here, because I hope if you have not read it yet, that you will check it out.

I could relate to some of Santiago’s challenges, and the emotional effects that life’s challenges can erupt within us.

One of many portions of the story that affected me was as follows:

He was in a foreign land, did not speak the language, but found someone who spoke his dialect, and because of that common ground he trusted him, or perhaps had no choice but to hope he could trust him. This person snuck off with all of Santiago’s money. Santiago had just sold all he had worked for, for that money. It was all he had.  That portion actually brought me to tears when thinking about it. Santiago had everything of financial value taken from him. He was left with nothing, and for a moment he wanted to never trust anyone again. He was angry and hurt. I’ve been there, just wanting to hate the person, or thing that you feel has taken all of what you have as valuable.  He thought for a moment why am I on this journey, I shouldn’t even have been here. I have been there too. Why did I make this stupid choice to be here? But often times it is not stupidity that leads us somewhere, but our heart. Perhaps at times they are two and the same.

Sometimes we feel we can trust friends, and family, but perhaps they are not who we think they are. So many children nowadays grow up without fathers single mothers everywhere struggle to do what is right for their children.  Many mothers end up feeling guilty for having raised them alone, but that is not necessarily their fault. In many cases children are better off without the influence of certain family members. I heard once that family is not predominately by blood, but more so by choice.

I know for myself growing up without a father did not seem like the end of the world. I had a wonderful mother who loved me more then I think is humanly possible, it is a love that I still do not fully understand. Her answer to me when I ask how is it that you love me so much is simply that I am hers. But I was his too, and he never had to sense to understand what that meant, how could I expect that he would act out of love if he did not understand? Perhaps in his way he loves me, but I have been hurt for too many years. Perhaps subconsciously hoping for a “real” dad, whatever that meant. A man who would love me no matter what I did or became. Who would be proud of my achievements, and perhaps disappointed at my bad choices a man who would be a father. He was never there for me, or my mother. He never even had a chance to know who I was, over the span of his life and our short shallow conversations he never knew me.

I only hope that the hurt inside does not linger, that hate does not grow. Life is too short to give the power of my future to someone who was never there for me to begin with. Not to ever make the wonderful woman who poured her life into mine as though she did anything but the best for me.  Even if I could have handpicked my own mother I would not have been able to pick a more extraordinary woman.

This entry was supposed to be about the prodigal, and it is. The book affected me on so many levels. It made me think about my family, my choices, my journey in life, my dreams, my strengths, the things that have hurt me. It made me think of the stupidity that religion so obviously prescribes sometimes. I think I could make a list of all my stupid choices, but what would that help? I do not know. Sometimes it helps to talk about the thinks that hurt us, so we can let it go move on with our lives sans the pain, the guilt, the depression.

I feel like I want to read the book again. Read the end again, although I already went back and read the end a second time. Perhaps I did not fully understand the book, or how it ended, but I know that it helped me. I know that it is definitely one of the best books I have read in a long time.  Perhaps I will write more about it later.  If you are reading this and you have read the book send me your thoughts about it.

I think I feel a little more vulnerable since reading it, as if my heart is right at the surface, perhaps trying to speak to me like Santiago’s spoke to him. Unlike Santiago I do not think that I know how to understand the voice of the Soul of the World. I used to think I did, the older I get the more I think that I do not understand much. I was told that is what happens, but never really thought it would happen to me. I guess I am ok with it.

Either way, read “The Alchemist”

Sincerely,

The Prodigal

Pick up the Alchemist here

Challenges March 17, 2010

Sometimes the challenges of life are not met with our best foot forward. There will be times we want to retreat and hide, perhaps from past mistakes that come back to haunt us.  At times it feels overwhelming especially in a low season.

Some things that would never have fazed me otherwise become overwhelming. I cannot see past the struggle at hand so I look back, trying to lay blame on the root. What things brought me here? Using my 20/20 hindsight to stay in my pit of wallow, trying to not take responsibility for my present because it is the fault of my past therefore I cannot move forward. Tears seem to medicate momentarily but do not heal, and do not lead to a solution. My reasoning is blurred I can make sense of nothing. But the depression it knows what to do. Stay down play dead as if life’s challenges are like a wild bear. But the government is not like a wild bear, nor are our employers, banks, credit card companies or anyone else who wants your money, time, etc.

The infrastructure of life at times seems like bull shit. We work jobs we don’t like for the majority of our waking week to make not enough money to buy the things we want, but manage on the necessities of life. It takes a lifetime to get ahead and own things and hope that you have provided for your family. You hope to make connections with people worth knowing, rather than some of the creeps you just happen to have to deal with on a day to day basis.  If you happen to get a day off you might want to enjoy yourself at home, but I can almost guarantee that your day will be interrupted by a knock on the door from some religious brainwashed nuts who want you to join their cult, and then your life will be better. It won’t be.

You give your life to different employers, and organizations that rape you of your time, dignity, sanity, and try to leave you with as little as possible so they can get ahead.

Does my pessimistic view show? I really am not a pessimist. I was always a hopeful, cheerful optimist. I thought I saw the best in many things. I was young and encourage able, whatever hopeful hoopla I was fed was swallowed happily. Not even thinking of how the choices I made when I was young would affect me down the road. Not thinking that eating crap lead to deteriorating health, or investing in a sinking ship sinks your money with it. I really am not a pessimist though, just more easily annoyed by bull shit lately. My bullshit radar has gone up, while by bull shit tolerance level has gone way down.

Certainly I have been hurt by life, by people, by work, by organizations, etc. But we all have and it is not an excuse to become a cynical elderly person.  Or a cynical middle aged person, it is easy to complain, to do nothing. Not so easy to take control of what I want my life to be. I am afraid that I will make the same mistakes and afraid that I will not succeed at anything, but failing at something does not make us a failure at everything. My biggest failure is perhaps not asking for help. I become so proud that I must appear to have all the answers, when really I do not have many.

Not having answers to faith when I thought I should. I guided others in faith in using faith to chart their lives. Sometimes my negative run in with religion seems to deter my faith. Perhaps it is not my faith that is deterred but my certainty.  My certainty in having an ultimate answer for anything, I do not wish to pretend that I am anyone to be followed.

I do not think I have the answers to life’s questions or the formula for overcoming its challenges. Life is so complex, two of the same scenarios in two different people’s lives are absolutely not the same, and probably do not have the same solution. I am not referring to the common cold or childbirth there are some things that can only be dealt with in a few ways. But matters of our soul effect of differently.  Two pregnant women are ready to give birth one has been planning for this baby for years, the name is picked out and the baby’s room is waiting at home. The other pregnant woman is young. A teenager who was not instructed about sex and its cause and effect, she is frightened and ashamed. Her family has not been supportive in fact they have all but shunned her.  Thankfully she has found an adoptive family who is ready and waiting. Two pregnancies, but two very different scenarios, we never know what is really going on in another person’s life. I do not even understand what is going on in my own sometimes.

I am not a wandering vagabond who spends my time contemplating life’s great journey.  I am living every day trying to accept and overcome the challenges I must face. I did wonder for a long time if after my negative religious encounter if my life was indeed real, if what I was originally sanctioned to do was indeed still relevant.  I am still figuring it out. I am learning that not all people are bad or good, that I am neither but yet capable of both. Life is very interesting, and I think I am becoming stronger even though there are days that I feel helpless. I am trying to learn more and feeling as though I understand nothing. I am grateful for the good people, and good things in my life.  Challenges will come and go,but I remain. How I remain might be the only thing I have a choice in, and that choice can possibly affect the other aspects of my life. Beforehand my religious beliefs were what dictated my life, my work, my relationships, and every aspect in between. Now that I cannot blame religion for where I am I must go forward not allowing it to dictate any aspect of my life. But faith that seems to be very different from religion, and I think it is a good thing.

Sincerely,

The Prodigal

My Depression March 9, 2010

Oddly enough I originally wrote this for my own therapy exactly a year ago. Struggling with depression at that time and only beginning to see the light of day and the light of life again. Part of that journey has brought me to where I am now. As if the spring of my life is starting to melt some of the winter in my soul. There are some days though that it still holds me. But nothing compared to how it was.

Out of the overcast that has hazed my sight,

Gripping at straws I struggled for light.

Darkness around unseen and unheard,

Comprehended or not my vision was blurred.

As if in a coma I had known all along,

It would come to an end, although I knew not how to remain strong.

Support all around I struggled in stride,

Attempting to move on with existence although it would suffer my pride.

Each moment lighter and brighter at last

Has it come to an end have I passed the test?

For the moment a battle within comes to a close

I know it is true, and to look in the mirror it shows.

Although it may come again

I wish not to live in fear until then.

What is it I speak of, darkness unknown?

Does it have a face, or a life of its own?

It came in like a bandit and took all that was me

All but unrecognizable is what I see.

No one could detect the emptiness inside

The vast pain of numbness I could no longer hide.

Giving up on all is what seemed right

I did not even believe my life was worth the fight.

What was I fighting, could I even win?

A separation from self, from truth, and from kin.

On the other end not less of myself

What is truly important has become my wealth

I think I can see, breath and feel

I did not know I was slipping from what was real.

Imagination and reality combined in a web

Sometimes this causes others to end up dead.

Here I am, and no longer alone

Realizing I have all that is me, not needing a loan.

I feel I can separate what is real and what I see

For the first time since I can remember I begin to feel free.

Not that the darkness had passed for all time

But from here on in I wish not to waste what is mine.

I still wake up not always knowing how it will be. It has gradually become better. Perhaps it is the medication, change of scenery, or lifestyle change, etc. I cannot pinpoint what the cure could be. Only time will tell. Some great people throughout history have dealt with depression. Actually it is far more common then we realize. Some people deal with it over the entire course of their years, while others for a shorter period. Life is hard and it is not surprising that the stress and sadness can affect us in lasting ways.

At first I found it difficult to admit that I was depressed. I thought it was like a terminal illness. It is not, but even if it was there is nothing to be embarrassed about. Others have been there and there is help.  It does not mean I am week.  I am quite strong, and surprisingly can handle a lot. The panic attacks have all but disappeared. I am certain a year from now will be even better, perhaps the medication will be unnecessary.

A personal battle and aspect of my journey that I wanted to share.

Sincerely,

The Prodigal