My heart is broken to read about the story of Jamey Rodemeyer. It’s all over the local and national news but in case you missed it he was a 14 year old kid who went to Williamsville North High School who killed himself recently due to the deep pain he felt generated by the hate of others. He was bullied since the 5th grade said the reports, which was about at least 4-5 years of hate he suffered until he could no longer endure it. This story and this topic touches me deeply because of the things I went through at exactly the same age Jamey was.
I didn’t have to deal with the same personal issues Jamey did but I had my own. Growing up an interracial kid was often tough. I didn’t know who I was. I’ve touched on it in many of my poems. Was I white? Was I Puerto Rican? I didn’t know many mixed kids. Back then there weren’t many. The white kids would often consider me “dirty” because I was half Hispanic and the Hispanic kids would say things like “you’re not a real Puerto Rican”. Compounding this problem was my inability to speak Spanish which further distanced me from Latin kids. My father never spoke it around me. It’s always something I wished I had asked him about. Because of this most of my friends when I was little were black, white and Native American.
During junior high I got along okay. I was a smart kid but a lazy one. I followed the crowd most of the time and tried really hard to not stick out or be singled out like some of the “nerds” and “geeks”. This lack of effort cost me when it came time for high school. I applied for a good city high school like Hutch Tech but I didn’t make it in. I let my average slip from a 96 in 6th grade to a 78 in 8th grade. I wasn’t trying at all to grow or excel and that was the price I paid to be one of the crowd and be left alone.
Without getting into a “better” high school I had to go to Grover Cleveland High since I lived closest to it. Prior to starting high school my best friend moved to Texas. My other good friend had left a few years earlier to go to California, so there I was, without anyone close and starting life in a whole new world. In Junior high I was in a class with many kids I had known for years, whether we were friends or not. But now, in high school without a friend to follow, without a kliq I knew to emulate I kind of did my own thing. I grew my hair long and wore ripped up jeans and black rock n roll t-shirts. It was the first time in my life where I actually demonstrated any style. Till then, my style was basic jeans and button downs, slacks and polo shirts…all very boring and vanilla. Now I was starting to experiment and I began down the path to figuring out who I was.
Ninth grade was pretty brutal. I was a quiet kid. I didn’t talk to too many people, didn’t make many new friends. The vast majority of Grover was made up of Hispanic and Black kids and they didn’t care for how I looked I guess. To them I looked like a freaky white kid. There were very FEW of those at Grover. I wasn’t allowed to sit with anyone “cool” at lunch. In fact most of the time I sat with the foreign kids who could barely speak any English at all. For several months my lunch neighbors were a pack of kids from Poland and Russia. We never spoke. I tried to move to other tables but was told to get lost all the time, sometimes in a threatening manner. They called me freak, weirdo, queer, Satan worshipper and many other wonderful things. I even tried to befriend the other handful of kids who wore black t-shirts and shredded jeans but they didn’t want anything to do with me either. They wore Megadeth t-shirts and here I was with my Def Leppard one. I wasn’t even cool enough for the outcasts.
By my sophomore year it had gotten so bad that I was absent 60-something times from school. I remember the truant officer advised me to take advantage of my 16th birthday before junior year started and drop out of school. I guess he was sick of having to check up on me. I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t ditch school, I simply faked illness A LOT to get out of it and stayed home. In the meantime my studies were at the lowest point they had ever been. I had about a 68 average. I barely passed 10th grade and I didn’t care. I had no interest in going to classes where people would sabotage my desk so it would fall apart when I sat in it. I didn’t want to sit at a lunch table with foreign kids who wouldn’t give me a simple greeting while having peas thrown at me by the cool kids from their cool table. I never bothered anyone, always kept to myself and all I truly wanted was to be left alone. I was cheating myself out of an education as well because coming to school was so hard.
As 10th grade ended I didn’t care about school, had no friends, couldn’t get a female to even look at me and still didn’t have any clue who I was other than a reject. Things looked pretty bleak and I wondered what the next step would be as I had the summer to figure it out. Thankfully two nice things happened over that summer that changed the course of my life and maybe saved me from being pushed into oblivion. The first was that my good friend came back from Texas so then I had someone to pal around with. I decided that maybe I shouldn’t do my own thing anymore. On the one hand I regressed as I cut my hair and started dressing like everyone else again but on the other I didn’t feel so alone and isolated out there which was obviously not something I was ready for yet.
The other good thing that happened was that I grew a few more inches and suddenly I was 6’2” and 180 pounds. I was long and lanky. I was fast and very athletic. My friend who spent 2 years in Texas and who was indoctrinated into their football society suggested we both try out for the Grover High team. I had been playing pick up football and lightpost football in the street since I could remember so I agreed even though I was scared beyond belief.
I went out in the summer, made the team and watched in awe as almost immediately some people began to treat me differently. There I was on the first day of school, no longer a mutant because I was now a jock. It really was just like the movies. I’d walk down the hall and I’d get a “what’s up Gomez” from people who would have made fun of me a year before. I had successfully rehabilitated my image to some but there were others who might have painted me a dumb jock. One of them was this female I was enamored with. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. She was pretty, smart and quite popular. Just being a football player wasn’t enough to get her to say more than a polite hello to me. She had a negative opinion of football players and with good reason; they were among the biggest dicks in the school. I had to turn it up.
I started going to all my classes and I stopped pretending to be sick to get out of going to school. By the end of the first quarter I had become known for being a tough football player and my average shot up from the upper 60’s of sophomore year to the mid 90’s. Many administrative people at school were very impressed. I now would stop in the hall and have conversations with certain teachers. People saw me in a whole new light. I went from weird, quiet kid that never spoke and was never around to always smiling, always pleasant to everyone. I no longer needed to walk the halls with my head down. I came out of my shell and I thought I left the pain and being pushed around behind.
You’ve probably heard this saying in one shape or form: no matter how cool you think you are, there’s always someone cooler. Perhaps you heard it with smart and smarter, or fast and faster. Regardless, there were still the über-cool at school and those people didn’t accept me because I wasn’t cool to begin with so I wasn’t a “pureblood” and there was still the occasional reject kids who didn’t like me for one reason or another, maybe jealousy because I bypassed them. I had a run-in with a few of them in study hall one time during that junior year and it reminded me both how far I had to go and also that I would never get there.
I still remember the moment vividly. I was sitting alone in a half full study hall and I was flipping through the first college brochure I ever had. Because my grades turned around I actually began to consider the next level. I even dressed better as I often wore button down dress shirts and slacks instead of ratty t-shirts and jeans. I got my hair cut and I even brushed it most days. I was on a whole new path and I was letting myself get intoxicated with it. I was flipping through this book filled with information on hundreds of colleges excited at the prospects now in front of me when something very light and long hit my head. It was still there. I reached up and pulled a lollipop stick from my hair. Thankfully, it didn’t stick too much.
Someone ate a sucker and basically threw the stick at me when they were done. Rage swept over me. The rage I felt was nearly as surprising to me as the incident itself. Who would dare throw this in my hair? Don’t they know who I am now? This was the kind of thing that happened to the old me. I looked over and saw a group of four guys in the back corner of the classroom giggling. With the lollipop stick in my hand I sprung up from my desk and made the quickest route to them, throwing aside empty desks in my wake. I stood before all of them and screamed “WHO DID IT!?!”
These kids were Spanish kids who didn’t speak much English. No one really knew who they were as they stuck to their own little groups and remained mostly invisible at school. They took special classes taught in Spanish and didn’t really cross paths with the majority of students except for at lunch, in gym or in a study hall. I had never said a word to one, nor ever did anything to any of these four kids. They were laughing and feeling good about themselves until I stormed over and called their bluff.
The biggest one of the group got up and started making gestures and acting tough. Without hesitating I threw a thrust kick right at his face and just missed him. He was shocked that I wasn’t there to posture and play games like people did in those times where the majority of the fight was mostly talking and getting in someone’s face rather than actual combat. With his friends watching and I already having thrown the first attack he decided to bum rush and tackle me. He charged and ran right into my midsection and nothing happened. I didn’t fall back and he didn’t move me. He was stuck there vulnerable and foolish. With a keen memory of all the bullying, teasing and harassing I dealt with the past 2 years my rage had made me powerful. I was lashing out now for all the times I didn’t, for all the times I couldn’t. I reached down and grabbed the guy and thrust him up over my head and violently onto the floor behind me. I wrapped my arm around his chin and began pulling on a headlock/chokehold which had my opponent helpless. As my grip on his head and neck tightened my conscious mind rebooted and began operating again. I thought, oh this isn’t good. I let my emotions get the better of me in what wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time it would happen. I decided not to elevate this further so I stopped trying to defeat him. I ceased wrenching on his guy’s neck and basically used just enough force to hold him there until teachers and administrators arrived.
It was only a few more seconds and then 2 teachers and an assistant principal ran in. They told me to release him and I did, putting my two hands up into the air in kind of a “you got me” position. My red-faced foe took the opportunity to punch me in the back of the head as I did that. It angered me but his punch had nothing on it, probably because I almost choked him out. I didn’t even turn around. I walked right into the assistant principal’s office and stated what had happened. I didn’t go with any of the typical juvenile behavior, no lying or making up stuff to seem innocent. I just said he threw a lollipop stick in my hair and I wasn’t going to stand for it. The fact that there wasn’t a teacher or anyone in the room probably enabled these kids to do what they did which caused my reaction to it. So the teacher was at fault because he was elsewhere while this occurred and it was also my fault for escalating it. Because of my excellent turnaround scholastically and my sincerity describing the incident I got less punishment than the other kid. I was 16 years old and that was the last fight I’ve ever been in.
On one hand I was proud I stood up for myself but on the other hand I was both embarrassed and frightened by my actions. Many years of being pushed around and made fun of built an impressive and unfortunate amount of rage inside of me. I am confident in any skirmish but quite frankly I’m also afraid of what I could do if I was pushed too far. That said I still carry a lot of pain from throughout my life within. It seeps out occasionally when I cry at a weird time during a movie, like at a particularly happy moment. My emotions come pouring out of me at times, sometimes very easily so I am glad it takes a lot to make me angry.
I had always scribbled. I drew pictures of things, I wrote little stories. But sometime after that fighting incident I began to write poetry and journals. I thought about how angry I was and how I snapped and unleashed all this bottled up pain. I thought maybe if I began to address the things inside that eat away at me I might be able to rid myself of some if not all of it, plus in the process of writing out things I thought it might be a good way to get acquainted and learn more about myself. It isn’t a cure all but I’d say writing has helped me greatly to better understand myself and my actions. It helps me to vent and release when I run into frustrating things in the world so I can move on to the next moment. Writing helped me to survive it all. Many kids talk about “surviving” their childhood, often in jest but I really feel like I survived mine.
So here I am, all grown up and having lived both sides of it. I was shy and uncool. I was a geek, a freak, a mutant and a nerd. I was also a jock, I was chatty, bright and cool. To this day I am all those things. It took me a long time to figure out a person could be. When you’ve been on both sides of the scope I guess it’s easier to see the target and know what it’s like to aim.
To this day I still hate bullying and making someone feel bad because of who they are, who they aren’t, what they have, what they don’t. What would have happened if I didn’t grow big and tall, play sports and improve my grades? Would I have killed myself? Harmed others? Would I have led a rough and tumble life? I’ve always had a big heart but I’ve also always been passionate, fiery and emotional. I often root for the underdog and if a big guy is pushing a little guy around it pisses me off and a lot of times I say something. I have a strong sense of justice and I deeply hate when evil goes unpunished.
Many of those days and nights long ago when bullies pushed me around I never thought about suicide but I often thought of revenge. I always love to see the bad guy get their comeuppance. I’ve always had revenge fantasies and some of my favorite films are revenge films and vigilante films. My unfinished novel “Tableturning” is all about common guys getting sick of being stepped on and doing something about it. All these strong feelings and deeply embedded impulses exist all because some people pushed me around and made me to feel inferior. I was lucky to get out, get away from the abuse but some people aren’t so lucky. Some can’t escape it and it consumes them. Some like Jamey, can only endure so much hate while others feel the need to inflict pain and suffering on others in order to feel right themselves. There’s a saying about tearing down others to pick yourself up. Don’t do it. Look inside yourselves and figure out what’s wrong with YOU not what is wrong with someone else. Don’t inflict your unhappiness on others. The damage you can do may last a lifetime or even worse shorten one.
I hope Jamey Rodemeyer found peace. In many ways I think I’ve found some level of peace with myself to sustain me in this life but I’ve never found complete peace with the world. There’s a lot of evil and hate out there. It’s sad but it’s the truth. I may have to accept it but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. In this moralistic war I try to use love and kindness as my weapons and I’m aware of what good can do but I’m also well aware of my emotions, my limitations and my short comings. I’m aware of what I am capable of if pushed too hard and too far. I hope no one else ever has to find out. RIP Jamey.
I didn’t have to deal with the same personal issues Jamey did but I had my own. Growing up an interracial kid was often tough. I didn’t know who I was. I’ve touched on it in many of my poems. Was I white? Was I Puerto Rican? I didn’t know many mixed kids. Back then there weren’t many. The white kids would often consider me “dirty” because I was half Hispanic and the Hispanic kids would say things like “you’re not a real Puerto Rican”. Compounding this problem was my inability to speak Spanish which further distanced me from Latin kids. My father never spoke it around me. It’s always something I wished I had asked him about. Because of this most of my friends when I was little were black, white and Native American.
During junior high I got along okay. I was a smart kid but a lazy one. I followed the crowd most of the time and tried really hard to not stick out or be singled out like some of the “nerds” and “geeks”. This lack of effort cost me when it came time for high school. I applied for a good city high school like Hutch Tech but I didn’t make it in. I let my average slip from a 96 in 6th grade to a 78 in 8th grade. I wasn’t trying at all to grow or excel and that was the price I paid to be one of the crowd and be left alone.
Without getting into a “better” high school I had to go to Grover Cleveland High since I lived closest to it. Prior to starting high school my best friend moved to Texas. My other good friend had left a few years earlier to go to California, so there I was, without anyone close and starting life in a whole new world. In Junior high I was in a class with many kids I had known for years, whether we were friends or not. But now, in high school without a friend to follow, without a kliq I knew to emulate I kind of did my own thing. I grew my hair long and wore ripped up jeans and black rock n roll t-shirts. It was the first time in my life where I actually demonstrated any style. Till then, my style was basic jeans and button downs, slacks and polo shirts…all very boring and vanilla. Now I was starting to experiment and I began down the path to figuring out who I was.
Ninth grade was pretty brutal. I was a quiet kid. I didn’t talk to too many people, didn’t make many new friends. The vast majority of Grover was made up of Hispanic and Black kids and they didn’t care for how I looked I guess. To them I looked like a freaky white kid. There were very FEW of those at Grover. I wasn’t allowed to sit with anyone “cool” at lunch. In fact most of the time I sat with the foreign kids who could barely speak any English at all. For several months my lunch neighbors were a pack of kids from Poland and Russia. We never spoke. I tried to move to other tables but was told to get lost all the time, sometimes in a threatening manner. They called me freak, weirdo, queer, Satan worshipper and many other wonderful things. I even tried to befriend the other handful of kids who wore black t-shirts and shredded jeans but they didn’t want anything to do with me either. They wore Megadeth t-shirts and here I was with my Def Leppard one. I wasn’t even cool enough for the outcasts.
By my sophomore year it had gotten so bad that I was absent 60-something times from school. I remember the truant officer advised me to take advantage of my 16th birthday before junior year started and drop out of school. I guess he was sick of having to check up on me. I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t ditch school, I simply faked illness A LOT to get out of it and stayed home. In the meantime my studies were at the lowest point they had ever been. I had about a 68 average. I barely passed 10th grade and I didn’t care. I had no interest in going to classes where people would sabotage my desk so it would fall apart when I sat in it. I didn’t want to sit at a lunch table with foreign kids who wouldn’t give me a simple greeting while having peas thrown at me by the cool kids from their cool table. I never bothered anyone, always kept to myself and all I truly wanted was to be left alone. I was cheating myself out of an education as well because coming to school was so hard.
As 10th grade ended I didn’t care about school, had no friends, couldn’t get a female to even look at me and still didn’t have any clue who I was other than a reject. Things looked pretty bleak and I wondered what the next step would be as I had the summer to figure it out. Thankfully two nice things happened over that summer that changed the course of my life and maybe saved me from being pushed into oblivion. The first was that my good friend came back from Texas so then I had someone to pal around with. I decided that maybe I shouldn’t do my own thing anymore. On the one hand I regressed as I cut my hair and started dressing like everyone else again but on the other I didn’t feel so alone and isolated out there which was obviously not something I was ready for yet.
The other good thing that happened was that I grew a few more inches and suddenly I was 6’2” and 180 pounds. I was long and lanky. I was fast and very athletic. My friend who spent 2 years in Texas and who was indoctrinated into their football society suggested we both try out for the Grover High team. I had been playing pick up football and lightpost football in the street since I could remember so I agreed even though I was scared beyond belief.
I went out in the summer, made the team and watched in awe as almost immediately some people began to treat me differently. There I was on the first day of school, no longer a mutant because I was now a jock. It really was just like the movies. I’d walk down the hall and I’d get a “what’s up Gomez” from people who would have made fun of me a year before. I had successfully rehabilitated my image to some but there were others who might have painted me a dumb jock. One of them was this female I was enamored with. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. She was pretty, smart and quite popular. Just being a football player wasn’t enough to get her to say more than a polite hello to me. She had a negative opinion of football players and with good reason; they were among the biggest dicks in the school. I had to turn it up.
I started going to all my classes and I stopped pretending to be sick to get out of going to school. By the end of the first quarter I had become known for being a tough football player and my average shot up from the upper 60’s of sophomore year to the mid 90’s. Many administrative people at school were very impressed. I now would stop in the hall and have conversations with certain teachers. People saw me in a whole new light. I went from weird, quiet kid that never spoke and was never around to always smiling, always pleasant to everyone. I no longer needed to walk the halls with my head down. I came out of my shell and I thought I left the pain and being pushed around behind.
You’ve probably heard this saying in one shape or form: no matter how cool you think you are, there’s always someone cooler. Perhaps you heard it with smart and smarter, or fast and faster. Regardless, there were still the über-cool at school and those people didn’t accept me because I wasn’t cool to begin with so I wasn’t a “pureblood” and there was still the occasional reject kids who didn’t like me for one reason or another, maybe jealousy because I bypassed them. I had a run-in with a few of them in study hall one time during that junior year and it reminded me both how far I had to go and also that I would never get there.
I still remember the moment vividly. I was sitting alone in a half full study hall and I was flipping through the first college brochure I ever had. Because my grades turned around I actually began to consider the next level. I even dressed better as I often wore button down dress shirts and slacks instead of ratty t-shirts and jeans. I got my hair cut and I even brushed it most days. I was on a whole new path and I was letting myself get intoxicated with it. I was flipping through this book filled with information on hundreds of colleges excited at the prospects now in front of me when something very light and long hit my head. It was still there. I reached up and pulled a lollipop stick from my hair. Thankfully, it didn’t stick too much.
Someone ate a sucker and basically threw the stick at me when they were done. Rage swept over me. The rage I felt was nearly as surprising to me as the incident itself. Who would dare throw this in my hair? Don’t they know who I am now? This was the kind of thing that happened to the old me. I looked over and saw a group of four guys in the back corner of the classroom giggling. With the lollipop stick in my hand I sprung up from my desk and made the quickest route to them, throwing aside empty desks in my wake. I stood before all of them and screamed “WHO DID IT!?!”
These kids were Spanish kids who didn’t speak much English. No one really knew who they were as they stuck to their own little groups and remained mostly invisible at school. They took special classes taught in Spanish and didn’t really cross paths with the majority of students except for at lunch, in gym or in a study hall. I had never said a word to one, nor ever did anything to any of these four kids. They were laughing and feeling good about themselves until I stormed over and called their bluff.
The biggest one of the group got up and started making gestures and acting tough. Without hesitating I threw a thrust kick right at his face and just missed him. He was shocked that I wasn’t there to posture and play games like people did in those times where the majority of the fight was mostly talking and getting in someone’s face rather than actual combat. With his friends watching and I already having thrown the first attack he decided to bum rush and tackle me. He charged and ran right into my midsection and nothing happened. I didn’t fall back and he didn’t move me. He was stuck there vulnerable and foolish. With a keen memory of all the bullying, teasing and harassing I dealt with the past 2 years my rage had made me powerful. I was lashing out now for all the times I didn’t, for all the times I couldn’t. I reached down and grabbed the guy and thrust him up over my head and violently onto the floor behind me. I wrapped my arm around his chin and began pulling on a headlock/chokehold which had my opponent helpless. As my grip on his head and neck tightened my conscious mind rebooted and began operating again. I thought, oh this isn’t good. I let my emotions get the better of me in what wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time it would happen. I decided not to elevate this further so I stopped trying to defeat him. I ceased wrenching on his guy’s neck and basically used just enough force to hold him there until teachers and administrators arrived.
It was only a few more seconds and then 2 teachers and an assistant principal ran in. They told me to release him and I did, putting my two hands up into the air in kind of a “you got me” position. My red-faced foe took the opportunity to punch me in the back of the head as I did that. It angered me but his punch had nothing on it, probably because I almost choked him out. I didn’t even turn around. I walked right into the assistant principal’s office and stated what had happened. I didn’t go with any of the typical juvenile behavior, no lying or making up stuff to seem innocent. I just said he threw a lollipop stick in my hair and I wasn’t going to stand for it. The fact that there wasn’t a teacher or anyone in the room probably enabled these kids to do what they did which caused my reaction to it. So the teacher was at fault because he was elsewhere while this occurred and it was also my fault for escalating it. Because of my excellent turnaround scholastically and my sincerity describing the incident I got less punishment than the other kid. I was 16 years old and that was the last fight I’ve ever been in.
On one hand I was proud I stood up for myself but on the other hand I was both embarrassed and frightened by my actions. Many years of being pushed around and made fun of built an impressive and unfortunate amount of rage inside of me. I am confident in any skirmish but quite frankly I’m also afraid of what I could do if I was pushed too far. That said I still carry a lot of pain from throughout my life within. It seeps out occasionally when I cry at a weird time during a movie, like at a particularly happy moment. My emotions come pouring out of me at times, sometimes very easily so I am glad it takes a lot to make me angry.
I had always scribbled. I drew pictures of things, I wrote little stories. But sometime after that fighting incident I began to write poetry and journals. I thought about how angry I was and how I snapped and unleashed all this bottled up pain. I thought maybe if I began to address the things inside that eat away at me I might be able to rid myself of some if not all of it, plus in the process of writing out things I thought it might be a good way to get acquainted and learn more about myself. It isn’t a cure all but I’d say writing has helped me greatly to better understand myself and my actions. It helps me to vent and release when I run into frustrating things in the world so I can move on to the next moment. Writing helped me to survive it all. Many kids talk about “surviving” their childhood, often in jest but I really feel like I survived mine.
So here I am, all grown up and having lived both sides of it. I was shy and uncool. I was a geek, a freak, a mutant and a nerd. I was also a jock, I was chatty, bright and cool. To this day I am all those things. It took me a long time to figure out a person could be. When you’ve been on both sides of the scope I guess it’s easier to see the target and know what it’s like to aim.
To this day I still hate bullying and making someone feel bad because of who they are, who they aren’t, what they have, what they don’t. What would have happened if I didn’t grow big and tall, play sports and improve my grades? Would I have killed myself? Harmed others? Would I have led a rough and tumble life? I’ve always had a big heart but I’ve also always been passionate, fiery and emotional. I often root for the underdog and if a big guy is pushing a little guy around it pisses me off and a lot of times I say something. I have a strong sense of justice and I deeply hate when evil goes unpunished.
Many of those days and nights long ago when bullies pushed me around I never thought about suicide but I often thought of revenge. I always love to see the bad guy get their comeuppance. I’ve always had revenge fantasies and some of my favorite films are revenge films and vigilante films. My unfinished novel “Tableturning” is all about common guys getting sick of being stepped on and doing something about it. All these strong feelings and deeply embedded impulses exist all because some people pushed me around and made me to feel inferior. I was lucky to get out, get away from the abuse but some people aren’t so lucky. Some can’t escape it and it consumes them. Some like Jamey, can only endure so much hate while others feel the need to inflict pain and suffering on others in order to feel right themselves. There’s a saying about tearing down others to pick yourself up. Don’t do it. Look inside yourselves and figure out what’s wrong with YOU not what is wrong with someone else. Don’t inflict your unhappiness on others. The damage you can do may last a lifetime or even worse shorten one.
I hope Jamey Rodemeyer found peace. In many ways I think I’ve found some level of peace with myself to sustain me in this life but I’ve never found complete peace with the world. There’s a lot of evil and hate out there. It’s sad but it’s the truth. I may have to accept it but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. In this moralistic war I try to use love and kindness as my weapons and I’m aware of what good can do but I’m also well aware of my emotions, my limitations and my short comings. I’m aware of what I am capable of if pushed too hard and too far. I hope no one else ever has to find out. RIP Jamey.
No comments:
Post a Comment