Sometimes I wish people would ask me why I named this place “Tempests Follow?” It is something in my paper mess here that I wrote long ago. In short it means, with the winds of change, tempests follow. The roughest of seas become calm in time, the smoothest quick to turn rough as well. I am personally smack dab in gale force winds, and the precipitation varies from a mist to basketball sized hail.
As these pages ascribe to, I am a person with a past life, one filled with alcohol and drug addiction, and all of the mental illness aspects of that as well. I never got a baseline developed, I didn’t get an education to fall upon, or a family that could support me after all these years. There is love, just no money, and with that comes a deep apathy born out of uselessness and resentments, promises fully intended, unfulfilled. I wouldn’t have time for me either if I didn’t have this skin. I just don’t have a choice and that is sucking the hope from a life born all too few years ago; A chance at a happy and fulfilling life for once and the caring soul that attached itself to me when life was brighter.
I am not trying to sound so defeated, but in fact I can’t say I have won anything I have tried to achieve. They were just results from doing certain things, not an achievement simply a cause and effect, stop drinking, be sober; Stop doing drugs, be clean. The things that came along with all of that has little to do with what I have done, I am just a petri dish of the residue. There is nothing special, nothing different than the life that I once led, because I cannot seemingly break through that health barrier/Psyche barrier and actually be better. I used to get angry when people would call Russell Wilson a game manager, now I know why?… That is my position in life, not a liver or a QB, just a manager of a failing franchize. One that is increasingly becoming insignificant again; Or Hopeless and unmanageable.
It is not a matter of desire, or want, or willingness. It is simply a matter of time and money that I do not hold, or see a way to. There is no hope for old men after our work is done, that is seemingly our purpose. That is seemingly the end to this story as well, no use going on, if I can’t go on. Without a purpose, without a life. Hard to create when demolition is underway, and even harder when it is nearly done.