A New Beginning

It is 7:50 on a Friday morning. I am standing at the edge of my art room, wondering what gift I can offer my fifth graders today.

They are loud. The loudest group of children I have ever known. A storm of voices. Somehow joyful. Somehow held together. I am not sure I am as ready as they are. And here they’re coming cruised the soccer field splitting into a dozen Usain Bolt

Sleep never came last night. My father arrived like a stranger wearing his face. He stayed awake, chasing shadows, convinced that a zombie was waiting for him with a net. My mother and my sisters prayed through the darkness. Their whispers clung to the walls.

I lay still. Trying to disappear into sleep. I watched him. I wondered whether madness had found him or whether he was acting out some fear of his own. Maybe both.

Either way, it was not a scene meant for two o'clock in the morning. The night pressed down on me. And with every passing hour, my need to escape became heavier. I cannot keep fixing what is broken.

My soul is tired. I need somewhere inside myself where the noise cannot follow. But where is that place? I don't know anymore. At the end of the day, I ask myself what I have done. And what it was for.

These days, the answers don't come. Only confusion sits beside me, quiet and unresolved. Too much was happening then. Inside the house. Inside my head. Around me.

All at once.

Later that week, I left my father at the bus station. His bag was light. His journey was heavy. I was afraid he was traveling sick. Afraid he might not return.

And still, somewhere inside that fear, I knew there was another possibility. Maybe he would finally find rest. Maybe he would be far enough away from the devil's bottle.

I have been there. Call it drugs. Alcohol. Beer. Spirit

Getting high. Getting stoned. The names change. The feeling doesn't. The list goes on.

I know I am not alone. Many people have been there before me. Many are there now. So tell me how it was.

I already know. Does that mean I know everything? No. It only means I was there.

I used to love it. That was the vibe. The mask. The marionette. The feeling that I was somehow controlling the thing that was controlling me.

But damn— It isn't fun anymore. The mental gymnastics aren't worth it. The pretending. The explanation. The recovery.

Starting over. I don't have the energy for all of that anymore. So, I made a promise to myself: Don't waste time on what I already know. If I don't know, I`ll ask, then:

Move. Act. Breathe.

There is something liberating about admitting that you don't know. Maybe that is where growing up begins. A child is adorable. An adult becomes honorable. Only time decides which one we become.

An extract from the book, Inside A Blackhead by Julio Desmont