Me

Don't let the title of this post lead you to the wrong conclusion. I have no intention of producing a narcissistic sentiment about my person, I simply have no other word that would correctly encapsulate all of what this post will do.

I don't remember a time in my life when I wasn't broken. Maybe it is the nature of things, you know, the fact that humans seem to crack all over the surfaces of their souls. I don't know many people who claim "wholeness" when it comes to their cosmetic moral makeup. In fact I don't know any, so maybe it is the cynic inside of me that assumes imperfection of self-assurance as being inevitable. My kind of "broken" is impossible to describe in a blog post, so I suppose only droplets of my story's cup will trickle on to this website.

I remember my childhood well. This might be due to the simple fact that it was the most colorful time in my life. I think it might be that way for most people. The innocence of our eyes, the softness of our love, the gentleness of our intentions. The sheer purpose of our day, filled with nothing but free spirits and hopes of more to join. I remember these days well, but this comes mostly from the fact that the days to follow them would be grey - both in color and clarity.

I tell the same story every time I describe what I went through growing up. The truth is, I don't remember anymore. Maybe the story changed so many times in my mind, somewhere along the line I started to convince myself that everything I believed was true. I know two absolutes: my parents were divorced and, as a result, my life was infinitely altered. To say the origination of my turbulence was the day my father left because of a sincere argument with my mother would be the most accurate statement I could make. Yet, somehow, that is no excuse for the path on which I have chosen to walk. Looking back, I have never known where my footsteps were leading me. I simply, walked.

First day of Middle School. I don't know when my parents officially split - though I claim to know this whenever someone asks - but my most vivid memory of the aftermath was on this day. I remember being very excited about two things: people, and a new locker. Lockers were a commodity back then; I was now able to store things, add my own flavor of decor, and have something that was completely mine. When you lose everything as a child, or rather everything you knew to be true, a simple thing like locker space can prove a useful ally. I had an area to store not only books, but I could store my emotions there. It was my sanctuary, that locker. Number 298, tenth in from the right of the end of the hallway, outside my History teacher's room.

Homeroom. I'm awkward, quiet, unsure of what to expect, and only look either forward or down since any other direction might prove intimidating. The last thing I needed was people. I knew destruction of relationships, not stability. But, as any child does, I developed friendships. I developed one in particular that I have maintained to this day. He is my best friend in the world. Someone who has known me longer than most everyone else. My life was beginning again, somewhat.

Eighth grade. By this point I shifted my persona so many times that I can't clearly remember who I even was. I didn't even know at the time. I knew only one thing by that point, and that was to avoid responsibility because, well, that word just sucks. I was a rebel, but a quiet one. I was the kind of rebel who made life hard on one person: myself. These are the people who sit in a room on St. Patrick's day wearing all red, making fun of all those in green while threatening to end the lives of any who attempt to pinch their skin as a result of their "faulty attire." I was a social menace, making life difficult for everyone around me - including myself. Homework sounded unpleasant, so I thought the neglect of simple work would overcome the consequences. I would learn many times in my life that I was very wrong about that.

High school. Where do I even begin? It's the most meaningful time of my life, those four years. Filled with multiple aspirations, both dying and rising. The replacement of one hope with another made the act of hoping a helpful distraction. It seemed my mind could never quite bend far enough to break, so it kept finding new ways to travel. One day I thought I would be the future creator of the greatest video game of all time. The next I would be Elvis Presley in training, just waiting for that big break I knew was coming. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I decided to be a choir director. Soon after that I was failing three classes, in danger of not graduating, and time had passed by so quickly that I didn't know where it went. I was eighteen with no guidance. I was a fool.

I managed to get into college, by the Grace of God, believe me. The first year there was amazing. I met people, altered my attitude, formed new relationships, was heartbroken, broke a heart, and found a new light in music. I was on top of the world. I didn't want it to end...ever.

It always does.

Sophomore year was when it all began, the problem that led me to writing a blog post at 2:45 a.m. in a room I don't pay to be in. I decided to be a responsible man. I was going to live off campus, pay my own bills like a man should, and I was going to prove to my father that I was damn near capable of doing anything. Never mind my intentions being completely derivative of societal conventions, that didn't matter to me. What mattered most was that I could do it.

After only three months I didn't have enough money to buy gasoline. I was barely eating some days, others I wasn't at all. My roommates knew nothing of it, as I would never relinquish my position of weakness. It was my issue, not theirs.

What would any good hearted, hopeful American do in a time like this you ask? Quite simple: obtain a credit card.

Suddenly I was eating ribs like I had a full time job at a corporate position. I was attending movies, purchasing video games, and boy was I enjoying my time at the arcade on Hall road. I was rolling in the dough. The fake kind, that is. The exact computer on which I type right this second was purchased with a credit card. I was addicted, starved for things. I could never have enough, but soon I reached my limit.

Soon after that, I was in debt over four thousand dollars. Imagine this: a kid playing adult in a house he can't afford, eating ribs, pizza, and savoring the sweet taste of media entertainment with money he had no means of repaying. It scares me to think that others do this too, and with ease. I had no clue what to do, so I did what any sensible person does: I got a loan.

Understand my sarcasm. I paid debt with debt. Literally. I swapped a problem with an issue. I was a fool, a child, an ignorant punk that thought he could yet again buy his way out. I was instead buying time. Unfortunately, time always moves.

So what is the point of this post? I'm getting there, bear with me.

I bought my way out of debt, purchased a new car (brilliant), and put a down payment on an apartment for $1600. I spent $15,000 in the course of a few weeks. Incredible.

But, suddenly, I gained a newfound sense of fiscal responsibility. I budgeted, I planned, I threw out my cards, and most importantly I was happy.

This is the cusp of the climax kids, hang on.

Here I was, exactly one year ago from this very month, in the best spot I can remember myself in. I was in no immediate debt, no trouble, no stress, I was in love and I had it all. But, when you build an empire made entirely out of how great you are, the fall is so much harder. In the course of one week my world fell apart around me. My nephew died, my soon-to-be fiance ended things, the relationship with my roommate was in great turmoil, and I was numb to the core. I decided to deal with it. I decided not to get drunk, not to get high, not to get laid, no I decided none of those things. I decided to buy my way out of sadness.

Four credit cards, three months later and I was back in the hole. Same hole I was in before, only more. To this day I have been trying to crawl out of it, but my hands are numb. I can't even see the surface above it anymore. All I see is my failure, the cause of what I thought were inequities, building and crushing me further into the core of my mistakes. I feel walled in, suffocated.

I have fallen very far. I'm a mess. I'm not okay. I can't tell my father out of fear. I can't tell my friends out of shame. I can't pray to God without feeling like a beggar. I can't go to myself out of doubt. I feel I have no real way out, yet every second I remain inside I grow more weary. It is not escape I wish, but rather I aim for redemption.

In the last thirty six hours the financial hole I'm in has increased by almost two thousand dollars. To alleviate some of this, I went to the computer lab at the school and made some phone calls. I was doing this to make plea deals with places so I could gain some favorable advantage in my situation. Nothing worked.

As I got off my phone for the last time, I heard a voice behind me.

"I'm sorry, but, I couldn't help but hear you talkin," a black woman, seemingly in her early thirties, pierced my eyes with her meaningful gaze, "but are you a christian?"

Unsure of how to speak without breaking down in tears, I painfully muttered, "Yes."

"May we pray?" she reached her hands out to me. I grabbed them and stood, silent and in complete arrest at the powerful nature of the moment.

"Here," she reaches in her pockets and pulls out some paper, a pack of gum, and crumpled up dollar bills.

"Don't,"I muttered through shivering lips and broken eyes, begging her to stop. "You really don't have to do this. I'll be fine."

"Son, God spoke to me today. Read this," as she shuffled through more of her belongings she handed me a piece of paper. I will post the opening, as it made my heart sink when I read it.

For we, as people of God, know that His kingdom is built on grace, on His word. We as people cannot be within the things we carry, but we must live through the things we carry. God's money is not miser's money to spend and cherish, it is meant to be given. It pleases the Lord when his example is put into the circulation of our lives.

That email was sent to her thirty minutes before we met. Twenty minutes later we were at a gas station, filling my gas tank halfway. She didn't give me gas money because she felt good about it, she did it because she believed it was Grace, flowing freely through the circulation of our pockets.

"God loves you. His money will get you home. His money will feed you, as one day He will use you to feed others. God loves you. He loves you. God loves you." She kept saying it as if it were as real as the fabric of my shirt, soaking up my tears.

God is amazing.

I am in a lot of trouble, I can't lie. I need a lot of money and fast. I have no way of obtaining it, nor would I ever ask anyone for it unless I knew I could pay it back. I'm a man of pride, and possibly to a fault. My pride got me in the problem I'm facing right now.

Since the first day of middle school, I have been broken. Once by family, then by ignorance, followed by faulty aspiration, and finally by heartbreak. From a child, to a young man, to the man I am today, I have never quite grasped the pure power of time. I have tried, even blogged about my reverential attitude about it. Yet somehow I still fail. I still do the same stupid things that get me in trouble. I'm technically homeless, barely have a job, and am scared more and more every day.

God is amazing.

I am fine, although all evidence would argue against that. See, I have a new favorite verse I discovered. Before I close and share it, I want to leave you with this: life is too wonderful, too precious to buy. Don't buy happiness, don't spend money because of things, put your money into the circulation of Grace. Lead your faith by the most powerful hand our world knows: currency. If you spend fervently on people rather than what people want, great things will happen. Eight dollars in crumpled up dollar bills and a half-filled gas tank changed my life. It meant the world to me. I will always remember it, and forever change my ways because of it.

For those concerned, just pray. I love you. Doesn't matter who you are, where you are, what you believe or where you want to go. I love you. One day I will look back and laugh. One day.

God is amazing:

1 Peter 5: 6-11

⁶Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. ⁷Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

⁸Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. ⁹Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings.

¹⁰And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. ¹¹To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.

New Beginnings to Old Endings

Things are rapidly changing. Oh how rapidly things are changing. Three years ago I had a best friend, a girlfriend, and another best friend that shared their daily evenings with me at a round table in the lobby of a college campus - all for the sake of a spades game. We would laugh, sometimes scream; occasionally, we would lose sight of the fact that we were alive and well, and that we were - most importantly - together. It was in those quiet minutes after a petty argument that, for a moment, we would all look around the table and mentally burn the image of each other into our immediate memory for later use. Brenden, Fish, and Holly: I miss you all terribly.

A sophomore terrified of sudden change, my palms were sweating as if I had just finished running ten miles to class. Enter Tom Golden. A man with the poise of a giant, his humility poured out more vibrantly than even his opening words: Class, today we learn. They rang in my ears as if the inside of my head was hollow. The echoing sound of those words would cause my mind to ruminate on the very foundation of why I decided to go to school in the first place: knowledge. Word after word dropped out like trickling liquid, replenishing my ever-growing thirst for intelligent growth. The nourishment was too much to handle, causing me to stand abruptly and leave the room; one of my classmates shared a common goal as I noticed their route would lead them to the same water fountain I had envisioned during Mr. Golden's lesson. I allowed her first entry to the world of watery wonder, but as she bent down to sip the newly formed ark of water I realized something beautiful.

Forward two years. My life crumbles, I lose sight of everything I thought I wanted; I disown my own moral ambiguity so strongly that I replaced it with sexual endeavors and procrastinated actions. I don't see the light in Holly's eyes quite the same way, and any semblance of unity has been broken and replaced with our bodily dependencies. Muscles becoming weaker, food becoming shelter and credit cards becoming the foundation, my life began spiraling. This is not to paint the same cliche that so many artists have formulated over the years past; but, rather, I am insisting my time spent during this era of my life was that of a dizzying ride. I was unsure of how I could move on from anything when I had nothing to move on to. Still, as I look back I know I was seeing something beautiful.

Enter God.

"Clay, Blake's dead..." my brother's voice was haunting. His child of eight was dead, and in turn I lost a nephew.

"Ryan," what do I say?

"It's okay man. I love you," he clicked the end button, abruptly finishing the last conversation I would have with my brother - at least to this day.

I lay on my couch at five a.m. and wonder more wonders than my mind ever wondered before. A failed near-engagement, a lost nephew and a missing sense of self, it was safe to say I was at an all-time low. My self-awareness was so low that I forgot time; I didn't have my phone on for three days and had no clock set to the right hour. I became a ghostly visage of the once-known Clay Hargrave. I was a mess, but I realized something beautiful.

Remain God. Enter: my awareness of Him.

Only six months later and I am on top of the world. I have realized some things that are more beautiful than I ever thought of before. To depict these thoughts would be difficult, but I will use what little articulation I can in order to attempt this.

I have realized, above all else, that I cannot fight time. It bends, churns, shifts, changes, and runs its course with or without my approval. It observes, realizes, predicts and understands everything more delicately than a father knows his own son. I say this because I am done living in fear of the future. Can time not help me, rather than inflict fear? If I understand this precious resource, can I not achieve anything? Can I not travel, fall in love, raise a family, write and perform music; can I not do anything my mind has been able to formulate through dreams? I believe I can, with the right amount of time.

The beauty found in all of my times over the last three years was what I call "the moment." I remember that day at the water fountain so well I can tell you the color shirt the blonde girl of about five feet three inches wore that day. I can tell you the amount of stars in the sky that I could see through the living room window a year ago. I can relay to you the exact time my brother called me six months ago. The answers are red, six, and 4:43 a.m. Why? It's simple: I chose to be aware of time during those moments.

I am, from now on, going to live like this. I can't let time fight me, I have to coerce it into becoming allies with me. I must grasp its hands and walk, steadily, along my provided path. Should I make a wrong turn, time will be with me as I understand it as being present. I will no longer let it get away.

Things are rapidly changing, sure, but I am going to remember every second possible.

Some Life Crisis or...Something

Today I became a fifth-year senior at my respective college of choice. It has been a long, strenuous journey - both academically and emotionally - and the culmination of everything has begun to surmount on my shoulders. The most convenient of resting places, this ball of mystical material, comprised of many tear-skewed memories coupled with laughter and regret, seems to move and shift everytime I go to point my arms in a new direction. Noticing mental stability, it does everything in its power to break the balance of my psyche which causes new stresses to evolve and take up base in various places in my mind.

I'm really confused, that's all.

A man in my position has no place in a college, except for the pre-concieved notions of what a fifth-year is to do. I'm suppose to be that guy that goes to his classes, has part-time jobs and takes regular sips of coffee in the morning for good measure. My presence on the campus is to be that of the quiet kind, being cautious in my guise so I don't disturb the imbalanced spirit of the fresh souls recently rooted into the dorm halls. I must remain diligent in my quest for the degree, focusing all of my energies on the prize rather than the road I travel to reach it.

I don't want to be that guy.

I can't form a logical thought about all of this, so I will finish later. I just had to update this site for once; and I had to empty that kernel of sadness so it wouldn't keep me from sleeping tonight. I'll expound soon.

Is it true that when you can't think straight, you're incapable of thought? I don't know, but I might be experiencing something very similar at the moment. Cloudy visions blur my sight as my mind takes me, continually, back to the days that led up to the current one. I don't know why it is so hard to forget the things that haunt us, but I can't seem to even live them down at times. Why, in all of my stress, am I fine then? Why am I smiling, why am I happy; what within this fucked up structure that I currently have makes me feel like everything will be okay?

Is it because everything has always turned out okay? Maybe it is because most of the problems I have ever had, I inadvertently created through irresponsible actions.

I'm not even sure what I'm typing right now, but I know that my purpose tonight is to withdraw from hesitation while taking a leap forward in a new direction - regardless of how right it may be. I have a lot of skeletons in my closet, but the more cryptic and fucked up thing is that I'm in there with them. I have been wrestling with my past while re-living it through a more refined way of tactful placement when it comes to my decisions.

A good example of this can be found in my handling of currency. I don't really respect the amount of money I own, but mostly because I don't really respect the actions that are required to obtain it.

I hope I wake up tomorrow and understand anything I'm trying to articulate right now, but maybe the point is to not articulate, but rather meditate. I talk too damn much.

The night air gripped us, stealing any air that flew from our lips; causing our eyes to focus more tightly on the stares they produced. Her arm reached around my back, gripping onto its muscles tightly, and with a poisonous kiss she numbed my body. My eyes opened and she was gone, away from this place, but the evidence of her poison rested on my chapped lips. Fallen to the floor, my knees crackle as exaustion takes them over, filling them with blissful memories of when they supported my stance. From deep within I started scarring, and the liquid that poured from the internally opened wounds began seeping through my eyes. With nothing to hold, I grab my legs and begin squeezing as if the pressure applied would ease the pain of my heart while transferring it to my body. But as true as the night her vile gift touched my soul, my heart became disconnected with the very organic being it sustained. Floating in front of my swollen face, I see the air lifting my pain high above me so it could rain back down, creating a cycle through the room from which I could not escape. Dwelling here I felt the assurance of time, reminding me of its infallible presence as it shifted the sky outside my window. 

"Goodbye."

A single whisper breaks the room apart, causing its structure to crack and shatter, ridding the area of pain. Wading through the fallen pieces of what my poisoned breath made, my lungs created clean air to mix with it as my steps took me far away.

Within this soul you may find, a room looking bare and ready to be taken;

But know its tenants, bound by ropes of time,

Left it behind them, without trace of weakness.

To show the meadow, they are not broken.

Possible Project

So, as most everyone knows, I have recently undergone a crazy emotional change lately and the only way I knew how to handle it was by accepting it and writing about it.

My friend, Chase, has also had a lot going on in his emotional stature in life and when he saw my blog, we started talking happy things. I need feedback.

How many people would come to a website in a fairly consistent manner if Chase and I posted on it? We would do various things: duo-blogs, movie reviews, rants, poems, etc. If people would be interested, I will pay for a domain name and we would begin. 

This would do a lot of good things for me. It would not only get my writing skills going even more, but it would get experience under my belt for future job applications for various media outlets. If I had a website that I could refer them to, it would help immensely if they realized I had a consistently updated site with plenty of reference material on me, my skills, and my strengths within those skills.

But if no one will come to it, screw it. I'll just keep blogging and do my own thing; I don't feel like paying monthly for something that won't become of use. 

So let me know, because the more feedback I get the more willing I will be to create the site. Thank you again to everyone who has been there for me, I look forward to the future. God Bless.

Ahh!!!

Okay, seriously, screw emotions.

At first, when this decision of hers was made, I was like, "Damn, whatever. I'm done with this." But no, my heart decided to be an ass.

I am so tired of crying the last few days from wishing things were the way I wanted them to be, I'm not even sure how I have water left inside my body. I have never in my entire life been this miserable, and I hate the fact that it is basically inevitable; that I am going to have to go through this so I can get over the person I thought would be the love of my life.

Man, I hate this stupid love thing. I tried avoiding it when I was younger, and all of this crap is reminding me why; there is a tiny part of me that wishes I never fell in love with anyone, let alone two people at two different times that ended with the same one conclusion: Clay is fail, girl needs time away from Clay-fail.

Seriously, what is it about me that seems to be such a detterent? I do my best to give everything I have and while I do make mistakes, I seem to always watch as the love I poured into a cup just seeps out the crack that was in the bottom of it, unknowingly to me as I kept pouring, thinking it was the right thing to do. Then, eventually, I am so tired of the cup still not being full that I run out of energy, and the person finally tells me, "Oh by the way, I'm not thirsty."

Damn!

Is it stupid that I really am so in love that the thought of her not being near me anymore makes my body shiver? Is it stupid that at work today I saw a cover of the new movie Marley and Me and cried when I thought, "She would do that adorable baby voice and say this is cute." Is it absolutely pathetic of me to not go an hour without breaking down and crying at least for a minute?

Why am I THIS torn up? Why am I THIS beaten right now? I don't get it! If she wants to be alone, or even with someone else, why can't my heart just suck it up and say, "Alright, let's go elsewhere." Is it so hard to accept the fact that one female in my entire life got away before I could experience what it was like for her to want to stay? That was a wordy sentence, but I don't care.

I guess this is me venting my emotional state through frustrated persistence to get better. I'm not ignoring it or drowning it away with alcohol; I'm facing this and swallowing it like a man, saturating myself in every drop of pain that it creates so that once I finally get through it, there won't be any more pain to feel. It sure does make it a lot harder, and damn do I hate crying.

For whoever reads this, just pray will ya? I really, really need prayers.

Don't pray, "God help Clay and give him strength to..." blah blah, just say this for me, "God, don't let Clay be alone right now." That's it, nothing more. That statement is all I want God to remember, to always have someone - whether it be Him or a friend or a ferret - by my side to remind me why smiling is a better experience than crying.

I just can't seem to stop the latter.