No skeletons left in my closet. I’m 44 years old and live with my mother. She very kindly took me in six years ago when I walked, of my own free will as she would attest herself, from a marriage which was irreparable. We remained friends afterwards and things have always remained civil between us. Indeed, my ex-wife will always be a personal hero of mine for the courage she showed when giving birth to our beautiful boy and for the magnificent manner in which she continues to raise him. I made the decision, again of my own free will although this time under considerable duress as the choice was soon to be taken out of my hands, to walk a second time, at least, until I had completed my emotional recovery from a number of traumas that have had me on the ropes. It is eighteen months since I last saw him and that has been the most bitter of all pills I’ve been required to swallow. However, I knew what the situation was doing to me, to my ex-wife, and most critically, to my boy. His wiring has always been a huge priority to both of us and, if something was about to wire him defectively, then I would not stand by and watch that happen. I still hope that, one fine day, we will be reunited. But I know that he is in the very best of care and remains happy and carefree, just the way we both stood united on.
The reason why I still live with my mother at 44, well that’s simple. Just before I had my critical mass meltdown in 2013, I began to write. Back then it was a kind of therapy to me and, having just had six sessions of one-to-one with a particularly skilled mental health practitioner, I was grateful for all the insight this provided. Words just came naturally; after twenty plus years of being tucked away in the part of me that told me “you can’t”. And they have been massively influential with regards to the six-year cognitive rewire that has ensued. She very calmly informed me that I had the tools to rewire my own circuitry, smiled and said “You’re an intelligent being. You’ll work it out”. Will never forget those words. Or regret any word that has spilled from me during my tenure as a scribe. Opinions may have altered, but every last syllable came from the soul at the time of writing, and they are a part of me that I wish to prove my kind legacy.
All I wish to do, for the remainder of my lifetime, is spread belief, goodwill and unconditional love. Naturally, this means I’m not in a position to fly the roost, as artists are historically potless and I appear to be no exception to the rule. The thing is, getting rich isn’t my cunning master plan. Having success and being famed for my art? Fuck yes. Feel that my exertions alone warrant the recognition I am overdue. But this is never conceit, just plain belief that I can help to empower something monumentally positive in this world. Should I ever achieve this goal, then make no mistake, my sole goal will be to change the lives for all those who have believed in me for the greater good. Regardless of any water that has flowed beneath the bridge. We’re all in recovery right? From one thing or another. None of us are perfect, perish the thought. But some of us are true.
I may suffer from PTSD, social anxiety, and depression (situation based, not embedded), but I am not a shivering bundle of nerves as I write this. I am incredibly calm. And this is because I know that I am true. Whether or not others can see this is no longer something I concern myself with; although not on account of being nonchalant. On the contrary, I wish to be seen and loved like the next person. But I must accept that which I cannot change. Or else, I’ll never overcome my own personal demons. The ones who want me dead and have made that abundantly clear by this point. To find peace and finalize the rewire, I have been required to set up a firewall of sorts. To protect the nodes from any further damage going forward. I still very much have a dream for as long as there is breath in my lungs and can see how negative conditioning creates so many of the problems perpetuating through society every day. We all get affected. Take it from me, I’ve made more mistakes in my life due to bogus wiring than I could ever hope to tally. However, I no longer beat myself up over them. For my intentions have always been good. And I will no longer doubt what I knew all along. That I am a good person. With a big heart. Full of love. Most critically, finally, at peace.
I wish everyone exceedingly well. Truly, clearly, forever sincerely. And that is all I wish to share from this point forth. Love. Cutting edge prose is all that I know, as I genuinely believe it can empower inner growth through assisting every one of us in seeing that we can overcome anything and not be left broken. But I have now provided full and final closure to the one sorrowful, yet forever cherished, chapter of my life which has been recently purged through my art and my only wish is to entertain some brains and hopefully witness others rebuild the same way. Has been a long and winding path for sure. Not sure how I made it this far but I know this all happened for a reason. Said reason is that the past six years, for as torrid as they have been, have been true. I have been true to myself. Not always kind to my health, at least physically. But mentally, I’ve been my own little keeper. My therapist was right – I worked it out. The most complex puzzle I have ever faced was simple really. Found the answer in my deepest soul. Was always within. Now it knows how to sing. For I know there are a very special few who truly know and would never question my soul.
Richard Charles Stevens
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