Pieces of Me

     I have a working theory, something that's been coalescing in my mind for a long time...until you truly know yourself, you can never really give of yourself to another. How much of yourself can remain fragmented and still allow for a person to have a healthy relationship? Anyway, after John was released and I was transferred to another facility,  I started noticing how people interacted with each other. Sure, I had been people watching and studying human behavior for years, but that was for my own personal gain...this was something entirely different. I started observing people for the purpose of just observing, and really understanding. I started seeing people differently, not as objects or things, but as people with thoughts, dreams, feelings, and desires. I remember making an acquaintance with a guy who had just arrived. He was sentenced to a couple of years and was complaining that he had to do a year before he could go home. At this time, I had been down for five years and had at least four more before I could leave...if I was good.  Admittedly, when I was a few years in I had a similar thing happen, and I got really pissed of at the guy for complaining about how little time he had compared to me. But now it was different. I realized that maybe his one year to him was like nine years for me. I didn't know what he was able to do, or take, and I didn't feel I should compare his situation to myself or anyone else. I also had to accept that the place I had just come from housed a lot of lifers...seriously, at best I could do nine to the door (no parole or probation), and at worst I could do all fifteen years, and I knew guys who had been in at least twenty, so who the hell was I to complain or attack someone else for their personal struggles. On a side note, I met a guy in 2002 who had been down for fourty-six years flat...can you imagine all the changes the world had gone through from when he first was arrested? Kind of puts things in perspective. 

     To recap...I met a priest who taught me about logic, critical thinking, and the benefits of making informed decisions. Then I met John, who challenged me (without challenging me) to try and be the kind of person whom others wanted to be around and "be" better.  This time, it was another John...lets call him John W.  Not only did I meet John W, but I also met a guy named Tom, Oh, and I can't forget Josh. 

     I met John W a few days after I arrived at my new facility. We would meet at a gazebo most evenings after dinner and talk philosophy and religions, and it was John W who taught me how to search for evidence and debate. Generally my idea of a debate up to that point was listening to the other person with the intent to respond, something I was good at with all my relationships (no wonder they ended in fiery crashes), but John W taught me how to listen with the intent to understand. I had to learn to set aside my views on things, my opinions, and listen objectively to what the other person is saying. I learned the importance of having compassion and validating people. Now, I'm sure you're probably questioning how a sociopath can have compassion, validate others, or even empathize...I may struggle with "emotions," but I can have something called "cognitive empathy." In my mind, I think about the social constructs I had learned, the cultural expectations about appropriate behavior, and how I think I would like to be treated if I was in their shoes...and that's how I treat others. Sure, I can be an asshole...direct, abrupt, and crass, if I believe the situation is warranted. I have no problem telling someone the hard truths, but the big stick should only come after the kid gloves. 

     Tom...he was only around for a short while, but he really showed me what it meant to really listen with the intent to understand and not condemn. I would sit and talk with him about things I felt were so trivial and banal, yet he made them seem as though they were the most important things at that moment. I really started to know, for the first time, what it was like to be heard and understood...validated, and how important it is to do the same with other people.

     Then there's Josh. I met Josh on 2000, at the same place I met John W and Tom. Josh was memorable because he had a habit of calling me out on my shit. He was smart, so damned smart...and he could really debate. Josh had an art of really putting my ego in check. I remember a debate he and I were having and he asked me to look at a piece of evidence, to see if it meant what he thought it meant. I had already looked it over and given the context was absolutely certain it did not mean what he said it did...and without even looking at it and giving him the courtesy of possibly being right, I told him he was wrong and it didn't mean what he thought it did. I will never forget his response as long as I live, he responded to my arrogance by saying, "You know, you want people to listen to you and be objective to what you say. But how can you ask anyone to do that if you can't meet people where they are and listen objectively to them?" I got so pissed of at him...not because of what he said or the way he said it, but because he was right. I explained that I'd like to take some time to process what he said and I would get back with him. A few days later (did I mention I'm stubborn?) I went to his room and apologized for my arrogance and asked if it was ok if I looked at the evidence he presented again and said I would make every effort to be objective. So, I spent probably a week looking at things and no matter how objective I was, I could not see how he could come to the conclusion he did.

When I went to his room and mentioned that I looked at the evidence again, he stopped me and stated that it could not mean what he had been taught it to mean. He didn't need a second opinion or anyone telling him what he already knew...he just needed to be heard, validated, and understood. That's when it really dawned on me, you can't change people by manipulation, argument, or any other type of force. All you can do is be open to listening and give options, and ask questions...and let them decide for themselves what is right.

There were many other people who influenced me in one way or another, even after I was released. But these individuals had the most impact on my life and I know I would not be who I am today if it were not for them. I owe them a debt of gratitude that I will never be able to repay, all I can do is live each day and try to honor them. 

     Quick update for anyone who is interested, I am finally no longer driving truck. I left in the beginning of December to pursue a career as a retail trader. We shall see how that progresses.

     Ok, so last I left off, I had talked about coming to the conclusion that my entire belief system was empty and useless...enter John and his subtle ways of challenging me. After that comment in the cafeteria, I really started to think about values and behaviors. Why do we value, as a society, thing like honesty, benevolence, and integrity...or do we? With our cultural shift and gorging on the philosophy of Postmodernism, we have rejected things like objective truth and adopted the ideas that things no longer hold objective meaning and all that matters is what each individual believes is true. But, if things like morality is subjective and relative, how can we decide that what someone else believes is either good or bad? In short, if morality is relative and truth is subjective, then we cannot argue that Hitler's moral values were worse or any different than the values that Mother Theresa espoused. 

     What values and character traits did I admire in others? If I was essentially a blank slate, couldn't I write whatever I wanted and be whomever I wanted to be? To be fair, I do not believe in the Tabula Rasa, nor do I believe we can be whomever we choose. I believe it is up to us to discover who we are and who we are meant to be. I reread my obituaries, analyzed those around me, and concluded that there were, in fact, two main values/beliefs that I wanted to adopt and seven more that I felt summed up who I am...or rather, who I desperately wanted to be. Keep in mind that these are my values, my beliefs, and in no way do I hold anyone else to this standard. I am free to believe what I choose, and you are free to believe what you choose. Ready? 

     The core two values/beliefs that are paramount to me are truth and responsibility. Truth, to me, is not something we create, but something we discover. I believe in absolute truth, and I also believe in subjective truth...the two are not mutually exclusive. I believe that since I did not create objective truth, I am obligated to evaluate my beliefs when challenged, and based on reason and evidence, should change them if I conclude I am wrong. The one thing I am in control of is my actions, hence I am bound to take responsibility for my thoughts, my beliefs, and my behaviors. 

     When a ship is built, the architect must answer three questions: Where did the ship come from, where is the ship going, and how to stop it from running into other ships or sinking?  How do I answer these questions, and how do I live out the core values of truth and responsibility?  In essence, how I answer those questions can be found in the other principles, and with your permission, I would like to share them and how I define each one...for me:

     1. Justice or Rectitude: A belief in right action and the proper time. All points and views should be considered. 

     2. Respect: Show courtesy to everyone, especially in difficult times. Be courteous to yourself. 

     3. Courage: Action not in absence of fear, but in spite of it. Simply doing what is right.

     4. Honor: Action that is consistent with your values. Your only judge is yourself, and you cannot hide from your own actions.

     5. Compassion: Patience. understanding. Help others and try to make a positive impact.

     6. Honesty and Sincerity: Speaking and doing are the same thing. Do not lie. Act from a place of honor and truth.

     7. Duty and loyalty: Fidelity toward other people, especially toward those you care about. 

     These values, I have discovered, are defined differently, depending on who you talk with. Some people define compassion as "being nice and helpful, a constant state of kindness." I would define compassion and being patient and understanding, but at times, being direct and aggressive...sometimes being compassionate is telling hard truths and hurting someone's feelings.  Note: I did not create these values, I have adopted them from various sources of inspiration, ie...twelve steps, martial arts, and people I admired. Am I able to live up to these standards? Not at all, at least not in the way I desire to...but life and personal growth is a process, not a goal. I strive to master myself, continue to develop whatever discipline I have acquired, and to challenge myself to be better.  

     Why my second "mentor" ever decided to befriend me is beyond my comprehension, even now I still don't understand. I met him in the weight room, he looked like he was a tall toothpick trying to break himself by throwing weights around. We started talking and I helped him with his form, and afterwords, he kept talking to me. He was educated and quite intelligent, one of those types that seemed to have been caught up with the wrong thing at the wrong time. He and I were total opposites, he was polite, respectful, never said a cuss word, and kept a positive attitude (granted I think he only had year or so to do), and I was just the opposite. Every other word was, "fuck," and I was angry...fuck me was I angry, and hateful. I was respectful, but I wasn't polite...I was still dismantling Nietzsche and had just written those two damned obituaries. John (this second mentor) pretty much took the same approach as the priest, he listened to me rant and rave like he was trying to understand my thought process. Slowly I opened up about some of my struggles and he just asked probing questions. I knew he was trying to help me figure things out and to think more broadly, but it wasn't something I was used to. 

     Keep in mind the obituaries I wrote. I was in the process of trying to figure out why having integrity, a sense of honor, and being truthful was better than being who I was before (I know, I know, this shit may have come easy for you, but I'm goddamn stubborn and wouldn't accept anything on blind faith anymore...so kiss my ass). Enter "John the Righteous" (joking). John was humble and never acted smug, arrogant, or morally superior to anyone. I remember the tipping point with John and I, and he was so innocent and subtle about it...this is an important part in my story:   When I would cuss or get sarcastic, he would simply comment, "I'm going to have to talk to your mother about your attitude." This would result in me cussing him out and berating him because he was aware of the relationship I had with my mother. But, here's the thing...John and I were eating dinner in the cafeteria and I was cussing and really fucking angry. John put his spork down, looked at me and calmly said, "I know you’re a pretty intelligent guy, I'm pretty sure you can think of better ways to express yourself." Then he calmly picked up his spork and finished eating. I sat there dumbfounded, what did he just say? "Hey John, fuck you too, and fuck you very much, and go fuck yourself" was my reply...and he just smirked. That was around 26 years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. He actually challenged me to believe that I was better than how I was acting...but "better" would imply a stronger sense of morality, wouldn't it? I don't mean moral superiority, I am no better than the worst of the worst in this world. 

     It's a pretty humbling thing when you realize everything you believed in, all the things you held as values were just superficial, selfish, arrogant lies. Everything about me, I concluded was a lie, nothing more than an attempt to cover up my insecurities, my confusion, my lack of self-worth, and my lack of self-understanding. I had bluffed my way through almost 30 years and it finally caught up with me. I was at the lowest point, I think, in my life. I had no foundational values or beliefs to stand on, I had no idea who or what I was (besides a monster), and I had no idea where to turn. Imagine Alice in Wonderland, at the crossroads with the Cheshire Cat: Alice: "Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?" Cheshire Cat: "That depends a great deal on where you want to get to." Alice: "I don't much care where." Cheshire Cat: "Then it doesn't matter which way you go." That was where I was, psychologically...and I deserved every second of it.

     This internal issue, this realization that my beliefs or values were disconnected from my actions, led to the sense that I was separate from myself, it was kind of like I was on the outside of myself, watching a movie of my life and it was quite disconcerting. As I began asking myself questions about my beliefs and values, I tried to look at my current beliefs and ask, "If 'this' belief is not healthy or good, then what is?" The response I came up with was countered with, "Well, how do you know that's better or right?" So...that drove me to begin looking at the fundamentals of Epistemology. I mean, I'm an all or nothing kind of guy...might as well get as far into the weeds as I can. So, I worked through the different ways in which we can and do learn things, how we process things, and how we filter what we learn. It pretty much started with the question of, "If 'this' behavior is wrong, why is it wrong? If there is no good or evil, then there is no right or wrong...right?" 

     The first conclusion I came to is that I had to take responsibility for myself, my behavior, and my growth...from here on out. No matter what, I had to own myself...it was all on me. The second conclusion was that there is such a thing as absolute truth...let me break that down a bit. We have been indoctrinated by Postmodernists that absolute truth, objective truth, does not exist. They argue that only subjective truth, the truth that you create or determine, is the only truth. What I mean by that, is objective truth is/can be defined as, "That which is true, regardless of whether or not a person believes it to be true." For example, the Earth's gravity is true, the sun rises in the general direction of East and sets in the general direction of the West, and that there are some objective moral truths (murder, being defined as the arbitrary taking of a life, for which there was no reason, is morally wrong). On these two conclusions, personal responsibility and the search for truth (either subjective or objective), would hang the rest of my growth process. If you ever doubt whether the idea that absolute truth exists, write this down and ask yourself if you agree, "There is no such thing as absolute truth." If you agree, then you are affirming a logical contradictory statement, and nothing can both be and not be at the same time in the same way. Did I mention that I reread Plato and Aristotle around this time and used the four basic laws of logic as part of my framework? Ya, I tried to strip everything down to it's most basic components...to the point that it was self-evident. 

     It was about this time (around 1997) I met my first "mentor," I think he was a catholic priest or something. He was also an inmate and was teaching a class about critical thinking skills. I was taking classes on anger management (I always argued that I didn't need that damned class, I managed to get angry a lot and didn't need a class on how to do it), relationship building, and I was involved in a 12 step group (ACODF). I thought I had a decent idea of philosophy, but this priest ran circles around me. When we talked, he wasn't obtuse, nor did he generalize things. His attitude wasn't flippant, and he didn't talk to me like whatever I wanted to believe was ok. Nope, when we talked, he challenged my thoughts with questions. He never tried to tell me what to think, but the questions he asked (like he was a student of my thought process) helped me to sharpen my focus on what I was trying to figure out. See, a question serves two purposes; One is to make the questioner look into his own assumptions, and two, it creates a starting point for the conversation...and his questions were sharp. They weren't accusatory or demeaning, they weren't meant to make me feel stupid or less than (which I didn't feel, btw), they were meant to challenge my thought process and help me drill down on what I was trying to resolve. What was I trying to resolve? I had no fucking clue at the time, I just knew I had a lot of questions and uncertainty about who I was, what I believed, and about life in general. 

     I pled guilty to my offense, and I was, but a part of me kept making excuses and justifying my actions. That lasted until mid 1997, when I finally acknowledged to myself that I was truly guilty...no more excuses, no more justifications. Through all of this I was also slowly dismantling Nietzsche's philosophy that I had adopted as my own. Nietzsche was an atheist, and as I read his works,understood him to argue that there was no good or evil, no moral right or wrong...perhaps I read him wrong and he was just foretelling the future and the consequences of the death of God. Anyway, one by one I was discovering his philosophy, the pillars of my beliefs, held no solid foundation and I had nothing to replace it with. For some damned reason, amidst all of this psychological torture (I think this is why I'm a bit of a sadist), I wrote both obituaries...

Continued to Part 3...yep, this is going to be a little long. sorry if it's boring.

     One important lesson I learned while working construction is that when you accept a job remodeling, you have to accept that you no idea what you're getting into. The homeowners may simply want to add another room, take out a wall, or repair a leak...but once you start tearing into the surface, you could find a whole host of issues on the other side. In between my arrest and sentencing, I spent a lot of time reading and trying to understand how I could make the changes in my life that were necessary for me to be "better."
     I had always enjoyed philosophy and psychology, but I read them for the purpose of weaponizing ideas and human behavior to manipulate, to be the hero, in a nutshell. With my incarceration, I found myself not looking at those topics as weapons I could use, but as a way to understand the ideas as they related to me. I realized very quickly that I was an angry person. No, not angry...I was full of hatred and rage. The hatred I felt was toward myself; my failures, my lack of control, and for simply being born. I felt as though I couldn't do anything right, I couldn't even succeed at suicide, even though I thought about it every day and attempted it multiple times.  Little did I know that the remodeling job I was getting ready to undertake was to be more of an entire gutting of the house, leaving just the bare frame, and rebuilding from there.

     If you were to ask me back then who I was, I would have answered that I was a son (reluctantly), a (insert whatever job I had at the time), a friend (if I had any at the moment), and a good guy. My definition of who I was, was determined by the world around me and those I interacted with. I thought people were meant to like and accept me, not for who I was, but for the things I did. I needed to be the guy who had all the answers, who you could come to and talk out your problems (I did value confidentiality back then, too), the guy who was always there if you needed someone. I never liked boasting or bragging, and I hate it even more today.  I didn't, and still don't, take compliments well, I don't care for accolades. But, back then, my value as a person was dependent on being able to fix things and people, and have all the answers...in short, who I was was determined by how good I made other people feel. 

     Please do not mistaken this portion of my blog, Evolution, as me boasting or bragging, or attempting to make myself out to be better than anyone else, that is not my intent, nor my desire.  I have done some really bad things, and i could have done much worse. There are people, who you could say are more reprehensible than me, and I would counter by saying, but by the grace of God I be him, and he be me. There were people put in my life along different stages, who guided and encouraged me, most without even knowing it, challenging me to grow as a person and to continue remodeling.

    There are a couple of theories that helped me make sense myself, both within and in relation to the outside world; the coherence theory and the correspondence theory. To oversimplify things, and for the sake of this writing, the coherence theory is the idea that our set of beliefs can be justified if they are logically consistent and without real contradictions. Although I was not aware of these concepts at the time, I understood that the problem I had was an internal one, a heart issue, my values and beliefs were not consistent...in fact, they were quite contradictory at times. 

To be continued with Part 2...

     I don't like getting stuck. Well, to be correct, I should say I don't like not being able to get unstuck. We all get stuck at one point or another in our lives, we reach a point where we don't know how, or have simply gotten trapped in a cycle and not able to move forward.  What am I talking about? Well, my young flock, if you would indulge me, I will explain. 

     Thirty five years ago I had the distinct pleasure of being on the other side of the cell when the door was closed and locked for the first time. Thirty five years ago I made a decision to change my life, discover who I was, and how I was supposed to exist in this world. A lot of you weren't even born thirty five years ago, which makes me feel really damned old. To put the time I spent in "vacation," let me put it in perspective: Imagine starting your first day in the third grade...got it? Now, imagine yourself graduating high school...K? Think of all the things you did, all the life you lived, all the experiences you had...That's the amount of time I spent behind the razor wire, getting strip searched every time I had a visitor. Don't get me wrong, I'm not crying about it or trying to be some martyr or anything like that, there is a point to this. I had nine years locked up to think, reflect, and challenge my values and beliefs. I didn't have the distractions of the emerging cell phone, the explosion of the dot com era, or anything else that occurred in the "world." Nope, I watched the OJ Simpson verdict in a 5x9 room, cell doors locked, and saw the planes flying into the twin towers while I was working in the basement of the chow hall. The way I see it, that time afforded me the time and freedom from my parent's influence, to be able to discover myself...and it was painful. 

     I learned a tremendous amount during those nine years, and all the years since I was released in 2003...till now. So, getting "stuck" in this sense, means that you/I/we are stuck reliving or at least not moving forward from past traumas, hurts, or any wound that has gone unhealed. Thirty five years, and one might think I should have moved beyond the voices telling me I'm not enough, not good enough, too damaged, and even too far gone, emotionally. I don't know if we ever truly and completely heal from past wounds, and by past wounds I mean wounds caused anytime from when we were born until the moment you read this. One might think I should have my shit together, so to speak...I have had quite a long time to learn and grow and develop healthy coping skills, right? 

     Thing is, when we are faced with a crisis, or an unhealthy situation (job, death of someone close, an unhealthy relationship, moving...really anything traumatic or potentially stressful), we have a habit or tendency to revert to familiar behavior or beliefs. We replay that cycle over and over again because that's what we know, we know what to expect when we exist in that sphere...hence it is familiar. Well, I got stuck. Even after thirty five years of self-growth, I still find myself reverting back to unhealthy beliefs about myself. So, no matter how long I have been working on myself, I need to give grace and remember it's a journey.

     I really am not sure which is more uncomfortable, admitting I got stuck, or talking about growing from it and acknowledging I'm not stuck anymore (at least for now). I think we all, to some degree, find great comfort in languishing in our wounds, rolling around in the mud, and holding on to the hurts and things that wound us. It can be easier at times, because we can use those things as armor, or defensive weapons. See, I think there is a part of us that feels if we allow ourselves to heal or grow, then we shouldn't ever return to those old haunts...I mean, we've healed, right? So, we seem to hold ourselves to a higher expectation that once we heal, it's a done deal. Rather than acknowledging this process is like a two-step dance (two steps forward, one step back), we view it as monopoly; once you pass go, you can collect your 200.00 and keep going forward...to go back is failure.

     But, I think there is something more insidious lurking within us, something with a lot broader implications...it's not necessarily failure or rejection we fear, but acceptance. It's easy to make excuses for people rejecting us due to our imperfections, insecurities, our fuck ups, or anything else that keeps us in the mud. However, if I have issues accepting myself with all my flaws, and someone comes along and accepts me...what does that say about me or that person, in my eyes? I When I get stuck, I forget to relax, I forget to allow myself time to just be and calm my mind. I push in, get aggressive, and in doing so wind up sabotaging what I'm doing. 

    I'm sitting here processing my thoughts, and I'm questioning why I'm putting these things on the internet (are you bored or tired of me yet?). Seriously, I'm sure most of you have heard of all this stuff before. It's not something that is new to me, either. When I get "stuck," I hyperfocus on just doing the things I'm doing and try to resolve how to move forward. I know how I am, I just needed to be reminded that I'm only stuck because I chose to be. The child within needs to heal, and be reminded that he is ok, and it's time to move forward and get on with my life.

Disclaimer: When I say, "We," "us," or speak in the plural, I'm not attempting to lecture anyone, except maybe myself. Everything I talk about, I look within myself first. I'm actually a very private person, introverted, and reserved...sometimes the pressure needs released with all the thoughts running through my head. Thank you for tolerating my writings...just know I'm not done with my tormenting. Maybe I'll write on my thoughts concerning relationships and love (yuck, did I tell you I don't like that word?). 

     If you ever want to really get into a deep understanding of yourself, I would encourage you to write your obituary...actually write two. When I wrote my first one, it was outstanding, phenomenal, probably my greatest work on just how amazing and incredible I was...seriously. I wrote it with what I believed things would be said about me by the many people who showed up at my funeral to pay their respects. They would say things like how I was always willing to help, how selfless I was, how much I cared about others, respected and valued people, carried myself with integrity and honor...and that was just the beginning. I saw myself as this amazing person, through the eyes of all the people whom had the privilege of being around me (yes, that's sarcasm). The problem is that it was all a lie. Sure, that's how I wanted people to see me, how I wanted to see myself. 

     From the time I was a child, I had this idea, this feeling, that if anyone looked at me they would be able to look into my soul and see all the dirty, disgusting, fucked up things that resided there. I felt that I had to "do better," "try harder," "give more," in order to get affection from my parents...ya, that never came. I learned the world was a dangerous place and there is no one who is in your corner, no one to help you, no one to give you a safe place...no one cares about you. I think this point was driven home when I was nine years old, that's when my father broke down our door and my brother and I watched as he stood over her with a phone cord around her neck...she was begging  him not to kill her in front of us. Something inside me died that night. Oh, I found out years (about 35 years) later that him bouncing my mother and us kids off the wall happened pretty much every other night. True story: I have blocked out most of my childhood, but one memory I have is when I was five; it was really dark and I was watching the pretty blue and red lights dance around the walls in our living room, and hearing someone tell my mom that they couldn't arrest my father because he had to be on the property when the police arrived...so, she needed to shoot him and if he landed on the porch, to drag his body in the house and they wouldn't press charges.

     I don't remember really giving a shit what people thought about me, but I do remember setting my worth, my value as "just do a little more," "try a little harder," "give a little more." The irony with that, is when I went to bed at night, I always felt as though I could have done a little more, tried a little harder, and given a little more that day. It was an impossible situation to reconcile, so I did what any normal, whatever age it was I started, person would do...I developed narcissistic traits (yep, I know, that acknowledgment alone won't be in the book, "How to win friends and influence people). I won't make you vomit with all the gross details, suffice it to say I was a real piece of work. I lied, stole, manipulated, used, gaslit...name it, I did it, and I even had myself convinced I had things like honor and integrity, I actually thought of myself as some upstanding person. There was a time when I stood in the firestation, watching a news story about how the state was stripping the inmates of their tv's, weights, and other "comfort" things, and I thought to myself, "Good, those pieces of shit, those worthless dregs of society don't even deserve to breathe. Let them rot in their own choices...fucking garbage." 

      Imagine two weeks after making that statement, you find yourself in a cell. Yep, that was me. Two weeks later I found myself looking around at the grey concrete walls and thinking to myself, "Jesus, what the fuck did you do?" That's right, Bishop is a felon. In fact, I spent nine years in prison for trying to take someone's life. No, they didn't deserve it and it wasn't in self defense. I pled guilty to 15 years, although I was facing a total of three life sentences. It took me three years after I was sentenced to reach acceptance for my actions and two years after that, to admit what kind of fucking monster I was and what I am capable of doing. Why so long? Well, I had to work through all the lies, manipulations, and deceptions I had convinced myself were true. When that cell door closed that first night, I vowed to myself that as fucked up as I was, I would try to become something better than I was in that moment. 

     So, I began my journey of self-discovery. I devoured books on logic, philosophy, psychology, ethics, critical thinking, self-development (I hated those), and really started wrestling with my demons...and I wrote my first obituary. After I wrote that obituary, I realized I needed to write another one. The first one took me about 15 minutes to write, the second took me about three weeks. I vowed in the second to write from the perspective of other people again, but this time as if they had intimate knowledge of my dark places, secrets, and my internal self. In the second, very few people showed up to my funeral, they used words like, "cold, user, manipulator, liar, thief, alcoholic, narcissist, sociopath, selfish," and others to describe me. Don't mistake me, I did not want to write that second obituary, but if I was going to be honest with myself, then I had to. Afterwords, I began developing a set of values, or principles, that I would be able to live by...a code that I felt encompassed the things I truly held as the highest standard for me. I had a lot of training in martial arts, and felt drawn to the discipline and virtues of Bushido.

     I was determined to be reborn, from the inside, and to become someone I could be proud of. Ideas such as honor, integrity, discipline, truth, honesty, benevolence, responsibility, justice...became not just words, but the very foundation in which I would navigate this world. I have swam in the abyss, faced a lot of my demons, and have had many "Dark night(s) of the soul." I have my scars, and believe that the person I used to be has made me into the person I am. I don't say any of this for sympathy, pity, or anything else...I don't want it or need it. See, it's not the things that happened to me that I wrestle with, I refuse to be a victim, it's the things I've done, the decisions I've made that have affected and hurt other people. Somehow I still hold, or did hold, to the idea if I just, "tried a little harder," "gave a little more," "do a little better," or "cared a little more," that it would make a difference. Some days, some moments, I can actually look myself in the mirror and convince myself that I'm not who I used to be, that I'm not him anymore. The idea of trying harder, caring more, doing better, etc...that was my anchor. Those things kept me going, gave me courage and hope. What do you do then your anchor disappears, when you become untethered to that foundation? Most people would say I think to much,or that I feel too much...but, for me, I have to make sense of things, not solve things...but resolve them, for me. 

     I look back on my life and see nothing but a trail of fucked up choices and mistakes, bad decisions and wrong turns. I've always struggled with feeling and thinking I'm not good enough for anything, or worthy enough. Those little whispers, the little questions in the back of my mind, "Are you good enough for this?" have become voices that drown out everything else and remind me how damaged I am. I think It's my time to leave The Cage, this time for good. Things just don't make sense to me anymore, maybe sometimes the demons win. Maybe, just maybe I'm too fucked up, too damaged...maybe I am too far gone. Anyway, after a couple of days I'll close these things out, and delete my account. Thank you for allowing me to share this space and my thoughts and ideas. My apologies for the length of the post.

I know this video is probably going to cause people some heartache…that’s ok. I do not know Teal Swan’s other videos, I see that she’s a pretty divisive person….not my concern. What I do like and feel that she says, quite succinctly, what I’ve been trying to express about a Dominants role toward his submissive. Audience participation is encouraged. Meaning, I would like to hear your thoughts (or anger) about what she says.

     A few years ago I went through a mid-life crisis. I had just lost my job and was struggling with self-identity issues. My daughter got me the above picture as a way of saying she understood and empathized with the things I was going through. I see that picture now and think about how we are fragmented, not only as people, but how our world is fragmented. We are taught so many conflicting and contradictory ideas and beliefs; be polite, don't rock the boat, stand up for yourself; there is no right or wrong, that action was wrong; there is no absolute truth, all language is meaningless...I could go on and on. We try to believe that people are generally good, moral creatures, and then we get hurt...betrayed, lied to, used, deceived, taken for granted, and manipulated.  We find that people who profess to hold certain beliefs and values are only hiding behind a mask, an illusion of how they want the world to perceive them, and not who the really are. We carry secrets, the things deep down within us that we try to hide from everyone around us, because we fell that if we cannot accept these things ourselves (and most of us struggle with this), how can anyone else accept them? So, we go around living our lives like the girl in the picture...fragmented, struggling to make sense of not only ourselves, but of the world around us. 

     I think of the things that I have kept hidden, the deep dark things, the monsters, as things kept in boxes and stored in places that no one could ever reach...not even me. Something kept nagging at me, kept whispering to me that these boxes needed opened, gone through...explored. I needed to be whole, to know myself, to accept myself for who I am and not continue to be fragmented. I know, I know, "But, Bishop" you say, "you can't put a vase back together after it has been cracked or shattered." I agree, my friend, you cannot put it back exactly how it was...but you can make it glorious, a real work of art. Are you familiar with Kintsugi? No, let me share what little I know...it is a Japanese art that repairs broken pottery with gold, which renders the the new piece more beautiful, more exquisite, than it was originally (look it up, I encourage you to). Imagine that, being able to take something that is fragmented, broken, and making it better, more beautiful...more unique.

     I started studying Carl Jung and his philosophy of the Archetypes and shadow work, and how we can integrate the parts of us that are fragmented, the things about us that we are ashamed of (and if you dare tell me that there is nothing within you that makes you feel ashamed or insecure about, I think you are a fool), and I realized that this is possible. Did you know that children are read stories about knights killing dragons aren't a warning that dragons exist? No, these stories are told so that children can learn that dragons can be killed (I heard that analogy from somewhere, cant think of where). We tend to fear the darkness, only because we first learned that what's in the darkness could hurt us (or at least that's what we are told). 

     I learned of dragons, how dangerous secrets are, and how utterly fragmented we can become when I was nine years old. My father was an abusive alcoholic and my parents had split up for the final time. My brother and I were upstairs in bed when my father kicked the front door in, and when my brother and I made it to the center of the stairs we could see the door laying on the floor and my mother in the living room, on her knees, with my father standing behind her...he had the phone cord wrapped around her neck and she was begging him not to kill her in front of us (this image is forever imprinted in my mind. If you ever want to see the look on my father's face, watch the movie, "unhinged" with Russel Crowe. Except in the movie Crowe is choking the little boy and the mother comes to his rescue). I believed at that moment, that some dragons could not be killed.

    What does all this have to do with BDSM and you? Well, maybe nothing...then again, maybe everything. We have these boxes within us that carry all our "garbage," all of our deep, dark secrets...dragons of will. I imagine us, an individuals, carrying around these boxes, big and heavy, and refusing to look inside because the stench, the mold, the stuff itself may be too much to look at. Even if we are able to do the work to integrate these dragons, to look through these boxes and recognize them for what they are, how can we begin to accept them as ourselves? Yep, I was bounced off walls, abused both physically and emotionally, told I was worthless and would never amount to anything...I was a loser. I believed those dragons could not be killed, those monsters could not be tamed...I was wrong. We can go through the painful work of integrating our shadow selves into who we are and become stronger, but until we can stand shoulder to shoulder with someone else, exploring each other's boxes, I would argue we can never know true acceptance. Only then can we allow Kintsugi to happen in our lives. 

     The problem I see with this, is very few people ever want to understand the depth of themselves or someone else. We live in a Nike and Burger King world, "Have it your way, right away," and "Just do it." I fight my monsters everyday, and some days I tell myself I'm winning. Mostly I just get tired, the little bastards don't really die. Maybe that's why I post what I post, if you can see what's in my boxes of garbage, maybe, just maybe we can kill them or learn to embrace our monsters, together. Isn't that what relationships are about?