Two Years of Finding My Way. Two Years of Finding Myself. Two Years of Never Giving Up.

Here I am, writing to you as a better man, a better father, and from much better circumstances than I was in two years ago.  I am working as a Mental Health Clinician, attending an accelerated nursing program to earn my second bachelors degree, and being the best father I can be to my three year old daughter.  I just celebrated my 30th birthday this past week, but still feel like I am 20.  So, life is going well.  But, about six months ago, things weren't looking so well.  I was underemployed, not even making enough money to pay my bills, and I had no clue where life was taking me.  So, as I write, I can't help but reflect upon these past two years.

My life September 2011.

Two years ago this month, my wife at the time decided that the military and marriage wasn't what she wanted.  When she left, she took my daughter and pretty much cleared the apartment, leaving me with a chair, an inflatable mattress, the washer/dryer, and the television (as you can see from the photo.  I keep this photo on my phone to always remind of how far I have come).  My apartment was much like my heart, empty.  I hated myself, angry at the world.  Needless to say, things between my daughter's mother and I did not get better over time.  The only way I could cope with the madness and the absence of my daughter was by running, and Run Ranger Run took form.

After I got home, I had a hard time getting oriented to the new life.  I was living with my parents, and struggling to move past the anger from the process of divorce.  I became disassociated from everyone except from my daughter, which I still am a little bit to this day.  Finally, I was able to move out.  I remember how excited I was when I bought a couch.  I had bought everything for my daughters room, but for the longest time it was the only piece of furniture of mine in the apartment.  A few months after moving in, I lost my job and didn't have a pot to piss in.  I was collecting unemployment and was ashamed of it.

But, I didn't give up.  Just this past weekend, I finally got a real bed. One that doesn't sit a foot off the ground. And you bet your ass it's a king size.  It was a present from my parents for my birthday.  Sure, its only a bed, but it is more than a place to rest my head at night.  The headboard is about six feet high, and the thing barely fits in my room.  But for me, it puts a large part of my past to rest, and I can move forward knowing that things are starting to come together.

So, two years down the road, I have a couch, a bed, and a mission to complete.  And as corny as this may sound, I actually shed a few tears today, with a smile on my face as I was making my bed. Two years of finding my way.  Two years of finding myself.  Two years of never giving up.