Heeding The Write Call

I am sitting by the side of an Interstate as I write this. Not the
most inspirational of places, but as you know, when the muse calls, it
will keep on ringing until it is answered.

I wanted to share something with you all. It is a little hard for me to
write about certain times in my life. But this is something where I
know that many of you will be able to relate to at least some of it. So
I'll try and get to the point, by cutting a very long story
short.

As are thousands and thousands of children around the world, I was born
into a very dysfunctional family. (Please don't get me wrong, it is not
sympathy or pity I am asking for here. I have heard stories much more
horrific than mine, and as it is, the outcome has been wonderful. But I
will continue..) My father, although a brilliant and kind man, was an
alcoholic, and when drunk would become a very different person. It is
hard for me to give a description of my mother, as though we are
considered `close' (as close as you can be, while living on separate
continents), which seems to satisfy her at least. I really don't know
her at all.

My family memories are speckled with huge amounts of violence, abuse,
humiliation, confusion, pain and incredible loneliness. School wasn't
much better. I simply didn't fit in. Growing up in a rich area, you
weren't accepted unless you wore the right labels, hung out in the
right places, and had the right name on the bag in which you put your
gym clothes. I wanted to be outdoors, happy to be in ragged clothes,
stained with sweat from the horses I was lucky enough to keep. School
holidays were bliss- an entire summer in the great outdoors. While
school days were hell. A jumble of sarcastic comments, and humiliation.
I needed to learn of life, of people, not numbers and dates. The
lessons were useless to me back then.

Life at home got progressively worse. To the point where I began
begging my parents to divorce. Not wanting to be at home, and not
wanting to be at school, I dropped out of both, and found myself living
on the streets.

By now, the value of life meant little. Careless with both myself, and
the wonderful people that magically crossed my path, at just the right
moments (of course, I wasn't aware of this until much later), and tired
of always attempting to avoid the pain, and be someone I wasn't. I
wished only to be drunk, thin or dead.

Alcohol does not numb the pain permanently. Neither does being thin. On
the times that I would let myself sleep (pass out), I was overwhelmed
with vivid and terrifying flashbacks, visions, dreams, and as my
unconscious life became so turbulent, I in turn tried to increase the
control on my `normal' life. If I was just thinner, everything would be
o.k.

Hearing that amphetamines supposedly speed up the metabolism, thus
making you thinner, I started to absorb them in unbelievable
quantities- until the relief that I had been waiting for came. I
overdosed and put myself into a coma.

Ironic that when the moment I had been longing for all this time,
finally came. I was to fight desperately against it. Somewhere in the
midst of the struggle between this world and the other, I heard a voice
so vivid, and determined; Find the rose, and give it to others. And on
that, I was back.

Now I'd really like to say that after this, everything miraculously
became `roses'. Yes, in the long run, this has proved so, but at the
time I was taken back into the exact same world, albeit equipped with a
different attitude. It wasn't easy. It never is. I was lucky enough to
find the people that would support and help me, to face the fears that
kept me locked into my misery, work through the murky past and beliefs,
and look towards the future with hope.

It was a long, long journey. At times it seemed much easier to slip
back into the old patterns, than take on these alien new ones. But the
rewards for the climb are many. I have been touched by people (several
of them through Themestream), places, and situations that never would
have gotten through to me before. My life is richer than I ever thought
possible, and I know of a peace that I had thought only existed in
books or in the movies. I am one very lucky person.

Which brings me to this moment, as I am lazily stretched out among the
pine cones, on the side of this mountain, that is sliced in two by the
interstate running beside us. My thoughts are this;

I have found `the rose', (my happiness, thank God) and in turn, it is
now my turn, to show it to others. I believe (and always have) that
this would be through writing. Though as with all of us, there are many
things to tempt us from this path. Keeping up with the Jones' (or in my
case, the Levy's) has been a major component so far. As are sifting
through the millions of thoughts and situations that we are exposed to
each day, to find the one that I am `supposed' to write of. If I trust
in God, to show me the right way, very often I am so caught up in
everyday bull***t, that the creative urge goes unnoticed.

I am not a saint. I am short tempered, can be selfish, and have a huge
ego I just want to give back, what so many people were generous enough
to show me (and still do), while on my journey.

As writers we are spokes-people. Every time that someone reads our
work, we have the chance to touch peoples' lives, in so many different
ways. What better gift than to sometimes do so, in a way that will
bring benefit to others? If any one person finds something of benefit
to them in my work, then I am doing my `job'. I am so, so lucky to be
where I am at today. And to those that have guided me here- thank
you.