I am a writer. I am a drug addict, but I am currently sober. My name is me, and I am many things and places and times and memories wrapped into my shell of attempted understanding. At this moment in my life, my very young life, I am beginning the daunting task of finding the rest of myself among the wreckage of my **** soaked memories and remembering who I was before...and who I am now in the quake of the aftermath. In regards to what I
write about, I am very selfish but sometimes I will branch out into the world of politics because corruption and disruption of the flow of kindness disturbs me to no end. I suppose one writes on personal experiences because they are what we can comment on effectively and with true emotion; so that is what I am trying to do right now. Understand my own experiences and interactions (and maybe if I can get down far enough inside, my true motivation and intention.) This is me. I'm in an early stage in my current journey (head still reeling almost two years after the drugs from all the things that have happened.) It's safe to say I'm still spun...and I hate it. If I can untangle this web around my flesh maybe I can find the why and the who and the what the hell kind of answers that keep me awake at night.