Truth Is . . .

Most of my Facebook friends don't know the truth about me.  They know what I post or what they remember.  

Truth is, I'm a drug addict. I'm a womanizer. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a thief. I'm a convict. I'm an asshole. I'm not a good person. I've dealt with death, child abuse, fires, homelessness, & much more. 

Don't you dare feel bad for me. I'm a man that has lived life! 

Truth is, I'm a dad. I'm giving. I'm loving. I'm honest. I'm loyal. I'm trustworthy. I show up on time. 

See we are judged by the things we have done yet those actions don't always define us. Just because you knew me then doesn't mean you know me now. 

Once an addict always an addict.  True. But that doesn't mean I'm not a good person. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, yet more that I am. 

I thought there was no way out. Now I can't imagine going back. 

Every door seems closed, until you open it. I can't believe how things can be. I never thought there was another way. 

Just because you struggle today doesn't mean tomorrow is just another day!

Written & Shared by the courageous Bobby White.

Loss Lines

“How much tragedy has to happen before I split wide open?” 
– Alisa Mullen

I can feel the fault lines trembling and quaking....but I haven't split yet.

Or maybe I have and I'm in denial.  Or delusional.  Or incapable of knowing that I'm broken, haphazardly down the middle.

Edges sharp like blades.  Others frayed like wire.  Some sections dull, void of any threat.

I am exhausted.  

Too tired to blame.  Too unsteady to play host to anger.  Too sad to do anything but shed salty tears.

My little brother is gone.  Lost.  Lifted to his eternal home.

He slipped through our grip....yet my fist is still clenched.  Knuckles still white.  Muscles aching.

Letting go, even after he has gone, feels impossible.

Heroin took him.  It was not the other way around.

Tara Mazzeo Jackson

Co-Founder of Storytellers:  The Collective, 

Curator for Bohemian Living, Owner/Artist of Bungalow Wilde 

and Blogger at Bits & Pieces.

Tara is a lover of yoga, bleeder of words and a bohemian city-kid who has a knack for rescuing stray animals.  

She has a mean case of wanderlust and you’d be hard pressed to find her without these things:

a journal in her bag, a camera in-hand and sun kissed shoulders.

Tara writes from experience, pain, truth, triumph and that place, 

deep down, where the words simmer in emotion.