4

I've been called delusional by more than one significant other in my life. Primarily because I always did what I wanted and was under a most firm belief that nothing could touch me as a consequence. My negative actions always led to outcomes that either culminated over time or were instantaneous. Neither bothered me all that much. I'd move on to the next thing and forget about it. Or on occassion hold resentment toward someone, or something, that I projected blame on.

It's when I hit rock bottom, found myself utterly alone, that I stopped and took a good, hard look at myself. I'm not invulnerable. I'm not as clever as I think I am. I allowed escape and artificial happiness (or real misery) to kill my motivation to be the best that I could be through alcohol.

"How do I redeem myself to those I love most?"

"How do I get back on top?"

I knew the answers to these questions and more. I've summoned fortitude before and must summon it again.

What's more I learned where this illusion of invincibility (the one that came crashing down around my ears) came from. It went all the way back to a transformation that I went through during childhood.

And it wasn't a good one...

The little boy lived an almost storybook life out there in those woods. Surrounded by a loving family and a beautiful world. It was all he knew now, and he didn't mind it at all.

He didn't know much about change. Just the easygoing life of the country and being the center of attention. Inevitably change would come, though.

And it did. One night his dad brought home a lady that he worked with and had started dating. This new, unfamiliar element was met by immediate suspicion and confusion. Who was this person, this outsider being introduced into his safe world? His father's intentions were very serious concerning her and before long they were married. They would be moving out and living, what seemed like, a million miles away from the only place the boy knew as home. He was plucked from the love and protection he had gotten so used to and taken to live among, what seemed to him, total strangers. He went to a new church, had new family, went to a daycare... He was scared to death of this new life that he had had no say-so in. Fear would eventually turn to resentment, and resentment is a mighty grown-up feeling to have.

So is guilt. The child actually felt guilty for having left his grandparents. He would have to deal with this for years. He felt guilty calling someone else "grandparent" (as wonderful as these new grandparents were). He felt guilty calling someone else "momma" even though the first one wasn't exactly a winner. He found himself openly comparing his new family with the people who had raised him. Not to be mean, but to alleviate some of the emotion. This still bred resentment toward him.

He'd spend weekends out in the country from time to time. When it was time to go home, he would cry and hug everyone because he didn't want to leave. His father didn't know how to deal with this. He was confused and perhaps took it personally. This confusion would turn to anger, sometimes even spanking the boy for not wanting to go. He got a spanking one time for putting change in an envelope to send to his mommaw and pawpaw. He would begin fearing his father too, and they would start drifting apart.

This was the beginning of a world the child would create in which to escape. A world that the child still lived in well into his adulthood

3

"Sit down here"

It was a small brown swivel chair at her kitchen table. Eyes fighting to focus and still a bit wobbly from passing out, I clumsily sat. Then promptly slid right to the floor. She held my arm as I got up and this time I sat more stably.

"I promise you I am not drunk."

"I know."

There was something that instantly attracted me to her. She was gorgeous. And she wasn't kicking me out of her door. That was a plus. Blonde hair, fair skin, lovely features, kind smile, a brilliant intellect, and I noticed, eager for company. We talked for hours about this and that. Telling each other about ourselves. I almost cry to this day thinking back on how perfect that hot June afternoon was (if you exclude the embarrassing bout of unconsciousness).

"I have Tourette Syndrome, by the way."

"I don't care."

I really didn't. I was already smitten.

2

"Do you believe in Karma?" The man was old,wrinkled, weary, but dressed well in a polo shirt he'd been wearing for a couple of days, jeans, and new donated shoes. He was in the same boat as me. Some people spend years wandering the street. I, only a couple of months. You would expect a forlorn sadness to eminate from him. Instead he wore a gentle smile. Even his eyes, that obviously carried years of wisdom and pain, had a  strange contentness about them. The kind of contentness I never intend to find for myself.

The kind that says, "I gave up a long time ago and am now happy with what little I have."

"I believe in Karma," I say, "but not in some mystical sense you might expect. I believe that one reaps what one sews." That's a sort of Karmic philosophy if you think about it. Another is 'What goes around comes around'. Nothing magical there either. It's just how life works.

I've always known these ideas to be true, but never paid much attention to them. I've reaped some terrible things, and some some terrible things have come around. I'd blow these off like they were no big deal. Never really learning anything from my mistakes. My ultimate sad reaping landed me on the streets of one of the most wonderful, but meanest cities in the world. And it cost me someone I love very dearly.

In The Beginning- 1

 Walking the dingy, uneven streets of New Orleans I pass places that I once fondly frequented. Joey K's, Felipe's, Igor's, the sno-ball stand on Magazine, Funrockin', Green Tea... Hell. The list goes on and on. I don't enter these establishments anymore for the simple reason that I have not a penny to spend in them. No General Tsao's chicken, no gigantic burrito, no fried oysters. I haven't been inside a theatre in over a year. I can't even step into a grocery and buy a Diet Coke. And whose fault is it? I'll give you a hint. It's not the cashier's.

 As I stroll past these places to an uncertain destination. After maybe an hour of determined wandering I think to myself, "It feels like that was a different life." A dread sets in that maybe I wont see that not-so-long lost life again. But I do my best to persevere. To madly scramble back to that now alien world of the familiar.

 How did I get here? I know exactly how I got here, and why. It's a story that started a long time ago...

The country can be a magical place. Countless worlds to explore that often go overlooked by an older, more cynical mind. For a child, however, a lake, a forest, or even an old dirt road can present endless possibilities.

There was once a boy who spent his earlier years in just such a place. He had a huge family, and there were always cousins, aunts, and uncles around who doted on him. He was the baby of the baby. He liked drawing, catching bugs with his grandma, fishing, and even preaching the gospel from the front porch. There was never a lack of things to do that would capture his innocent, creative little mind.

He had a loving father, his grandparents were always there for him, he had friends that he would sometimes play with. He had a mother who didn't want him. She could be loving and protective, but she could also be ignorant and harmful. There was many a time when she would choose her wild lifestyle over the well-being of her only son. Doing drugs and being intimate with people he didn't even really know right in front of him despite the crying and the fear. She would eventually leave him and it was perhaps the best thing she ever did in her life. And his.

Things got better from there. The boy and his father moved in with his grandparents. Things became much better. Dad would work, he would spend the day outside being free and running wild, grandma would sit on the porch shelling peas. Everything seemed to have it's place. Church every Sunday, using his tiny hands to help grandpa carry firewood, walking the backwoods with his uncle to catch crawfish. It was a wonderfully simple life he spent with people he truly loved.

His mother never turned back up. He would see her from time to time at the lake with some of her more upstanding friends, and sometimes she would even act happy to see him. He couldn't understand why she would say "Hi" and then go back to her party. His grandmother was his mother now. His grandparents helped raise him and taught him many valuable things that he would forget over the years.

Part One- In The End...

Bang Bang Bang.

"Are you drunk?"

I was lying on her doorstep. Light started creeping back into my field of vision.

"Huh?"

This was the first time I was to meet her. What an impression I had made. I wasn't drunk. It was heatstroke. I had passed out before I could even knock on her door. She helped me in and gave me Gatorade. This was the first (and certainly not the last) time I'd consumed G2 Grape.

For all my efforts and utter failures over the next year, this relationship would not end well.