I had just lost my employment. And, at the most inconvenient time. The reason I had lost my employment, I had called in sick one day. Because of me being home sick, I was let go after being there a couple months, never being late, working hard and not missing one single day. Yet, that one phone call left me without work. Thus, the most inconvenient time is due to the fact I had recently moved out of my sisters place and moved into my own place. Nothing much to my name, but I moved in and life seemed to show a bit of evidence of stability.

Frustrated over this whole thing, I needed to go and clear my head. Figure out what I was going to do. Heck, I did not really even know where to begin, but as I got up early one wintery morning, I decided to go out and find work the old fashioned way. Not having a computer and relying on the limited time the Library gives you to access the internet was enough to do some resume writing and job searching. It was not until I had gotten on the bus, relaxed my thoughts as much as possible that my cell phone rang.

My father was at the hospital. Apparantly was in an auto accident and no one seemed to know how bad it was.

As quickly as possible, I pulled the signal to stop at the next available bus stop (for I did not have my own means of transportation at that time). I stepped off the bus and waited at the recently updated Casino there in the middle of nowhere. Fifteen minutes passed and my sister had pulled up to pick me up. Mom was there, along with my sisters live in girlfriend.

When we arrived at the hospital, I opted to stay there for the night with my father. It seemed he was doing pretty good and that there seemed to not be alot of physical injuries to him. Still unaware of what happened, I went to sleep that night, worried. Not about me being unemployed and wondering what to do, that was the last thing I felt was of utmost importance at this point. What I was worried about was my father’s health and how my parents were going to be able to manage.

To my, and my family’s surprise, my father was released from the hospital and sent home with some general care instructions. How wrong were we regarding my father’s condition and the nature of the accident.

My father was taken back to the hospital and again, I was called to go with my mother and sister. This time, however, my father was being airlifted to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, Washington. Unfortunately, I found this out while my father was already enroute.

Upon arriving at Harborview, I had packed all that i could possible carry in one backpack, we awaited to see my father as he was being admitted. Not recalling the length of time waiting, we finally were taken to the Intensive Care Unit and there, my father was placed into a drug induce coma due to the extent of the damage.

When I finally asked what was going on, for I at this time was not sure if my family had found out or not, my father had taken the brunt of the impact force to his chest. He was not wearing his seat belt and from what was surmmized, he had struck the steering column with his chest, causing the steering wheel to break in half and the steering column being pushed through the floorboard of the vehicle he was driving. I didn’t believe this, until I recalled the details of what my fathers pick up truck looked like - a 1980 Toyota, small cab. His lungs were bruised to the point that they had swollen and he suffered other internal bleedings.

I, eventually, ended up living at the ICU unit, sleeping on the floor while my family slept in comfortable beds in a local hotel and at a relatives place. I barely ate because of no money, I had run out of funds from my last paycheck. What food I received was mere scraps from other family members dinner. Two months, barely able to maintain any decent personal hygene, lack of sleep, tired and worried, my father finally was released from the hospital. His injuries had subsided and his lungs healed.

It was then that total distitution and wrapped its cold sadistic arms around me. When I walked out of the hospital with my family, I was handed fifty dollars and was told to find work and not to worry about Dad. I was left out in the Cold, middle of December. My birthday had passed, Christmas was spent with visiting my dad in the Hospital and a week after he was released, the cold air bit at me with its nasty teeth.

What the hell was I too do? I knew no one, I had no place to go and suddenly I paniced. Seattle being a two hour drive north of Olympia, I was not about to trek along the I-5 Corridor. I had no choice but to do what I could survive.

Forcing myself to remain awake, having no place to shower, to even use the bathroom, I had to first find work to keep some sustenance in my body. Eventually, because what I was able to scrape together by showing up at the day labor hall in Seattle, Washington, I was able to buy cigarettes, have a cup of coffee and something decent to eat. What was left over was not even enough to pay for a hotel room. A time when I wish i had been more responsible in my child support payments. Because, I barely lived on 25 dollars a day.

Sleep deprivation, dark thoughts and dispair pulled me further and further down when I thought I could sink no lower than where I already was at. I eventually started reasoning within myself that this was how my life will be spent - Alone, Broken and Destituted.

Karma truly swing around and knocked me flat on my back.

Ever sit back and think about all the circumstances you have faced in your life? Wondering how you ever made it through those trying times, contemplating whether you truly made it through on your own or there was some unknown force helping, guiding you along the precipice of dispair? That is where I am at right now.

So much has changed in my life, and I have to say, I am very content with where I am at. Content in that I have established a firm stability of shelter, a committed relationship with a wonderful lady and recommitting my life back to the faith of my youth. While, I admit with much trepidation, there are going to be more challenges and life altering aspects that will swell like the breathing waves of an ocean, the fact is, my life is no longer a bleak hopeless state of existence.

One of the things that I keep returning to is a personal essay I had written back in 2004 regarding the exact nature of how I felt, the deep depression that plagued me and the hopelessness that I have felt. It is entitled My Question - My Being. The more I read this personal reflective piece of writing helped me understand the nature of my depression, the nature of what I had to deal with concerning past hurts and bitterness. The words are simple and powerful.

I will share this with you, the reader, and for me, the words hold just as much power today as it did when I originally penned those words:

My Question - My Being

Nothing.

 

Nothing. I silently reply. Then there is a thought. One simplistic thought that breaches the empty field of my mind. Recalling an immortal phrase coined by one of history’s most renowned play writer:

 

To be or not to be; that is the question. Was what Shakespeare wrote.

 

My question - what is the answer?

 

Like the morning fog that is burns off from the surface of a lake, the sun rises in magnificent splendor. The phrase fades with only emptiness upon my mind. Nothing! I just want to scream, wandering in the dark alleys and shadows of my thoughts that seem to reach out with cold bony fingers, tugging at me to pull me into the suffocated darkness.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing! I shout in the silence of my own thoughts.

 

No answer would come, just my voice echoing off decaying walls of cinder blocks and mortar. Alternatively, maybe it had come and I was preoccupied with the emptiness that leaves me numb. The only thing that is left is a barren wasteland - much like the desert. The scorching heat beating against sandy dunes that remind me of waves on a motionless sea. Some dunes rising high, rolling into valleys with no substance of life. A mysterious beauty all its own. Winds blow relentlessly, shifting sand back and forth, reshaping dunes and valleys of the desert. Maybe they are not motionless waves after all. Maybe, there is some purpose to a desert.

 

Again, the phrase appears in my mind, lingering like an unwanted specter. To be or not to be; that is the question. My soul cries out - “What is the answer?” Nevertheless, there is only silence. The barren desert appears again. The warmth from the day lingers in the twilight hours, long after the sun had descended over the horizon. Now, only the moon glows against the velvet canopy of sky, stars blinking in chorus for some cosmic audience. The desert wind becomes a cold hand - the desert’s only friend is loneliness.

 

Loneliness and nothing.

 

To be or not to be lonely; that is the question. Could this be the answer?

 

To be nothing or not to be nothing; that is the question. Could this be the answer?

 

I am something and I am not lonely - not like the desert. The desert has no friends. Those who traverse it, do so with caution, with speed, and well prepared. To be lost in the desert is utter destruction. It is beauty drawing you in if you are not careful. Am I or am I not something?

 

There is still no answer, only silence. Cold heartless silence that chills me. A fatiguing recollection dances in my mind now. A field of barren hostility. You were something! It chanted. You were not lonely. I can only push the thought into the shadows of a decaying city that my mind seems to wander. Another vision soon comes to view.

 

To be somebody, or not to be somebody; that is the question. I pause, dwelling on the perplexity it proposes. I am somebody. The phrase rises up from the depths of depression. My heart and soul crying in unison from the bondage they are under. I am somebody! I cried out, the statement bouncing off the stillness of my mind. Silence laughed at me.

 

There is still nothing. Only a lonely dreary silence that seems to taunt me.

 

Are you? Silence’s question came. A different question. Shakespeare hovers over his grave. Are you somebody? The question pressed against me, suffocating me. Shakespeare holds a dark cloak against me.

 

Yes, I am somebody. I yelled into the fabric.

 

Who? A different question, Shakespeare is silence, asking me as the heavy cloak peels from my face. Chains bound about me, the metal is cold as they constrict like a boa.

 

Who? I repeated the question.

 

Who are you? A momentary pause. If you are somebody, then who are you? Another question. It felt like a sword put to the flames, slicing through my flesh, melting, burning, and the stench nauseating me as the pain sears through my being. Then there is silence — that cold brooding silence as the wound is now a scar, a reminder.

 

To be or not to be; that is the question. Shakespeare’s ghost appears again. There are no longer chains holding me captive. No cloak in his hand. He is dark but a red rose in one hand and a white rose in another. One for purity and one for love.

 

What is the answer? I asked, the discussion becoming a circular argument of reasoning. The desert floods the landscape of my mind again. The heat is stifling, burning against my flesh; thirst crept into my parched throat.

 

No answer came.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing! I repeated. No one was there as I sighed heavily.

 

No one? However, you were someone, were you not? The question settled upon me like a brooding cloud hanging over the land. Dark and full of anger. No answer came to my lips.

 

I am no one, and I am nothing. I resolved with a heavy sigh. The interrogation flogging me with leather tentacles that have menacing shards of metal and glass. Striking against my back, ripping flesh, as I feel numb, my body craved death.

 

I am nothing and I am no one. I yelled out in pain. Shakespeare and the desert dissipate from my thoughts.

 

Alone, somewhere and yet nowhere at the same time. It was here that I felt the rain.

 

A soft drizzle at first, then my eyes open to a misty grey day. The drizzle giving way to a steady downpour.

 

You are someone. The thought crossed my mind unexpectedly. The words roaring like thunder. Storms. The grey sky brightened in a series of electrified white over the city. Thunder roaring loudly with each flash. A storm was brewing. Are there storms in the desert? I asked myself. There was no answer to my childlike question. The desert had given way to the sea. Rolling and motionless dunes of sand became liquid that rose and fell in waves. The sea was breathing. The waves were black with white caps of foam. They were angry as they rose up and struck the wooden deck. The ship�??s crew had abandoned her. The tall white sails bulged against the protesting wind.

 

Nothing.

 

The ship rose and fell as the sea breached the railings. The wooden vessel groaned in mournful cries. No one is operating the helm of the ship! I protested weakly. Lightening licked across the sky like an angry god, the iridescent flash contrasted against the velvet blackness, illuminating brooding clouds that seem to kiss the rising sea with deadly intimacy. Thunder roared its blood curdling battle cry.

 

You are somebody - to be or not to be; that is your question! Shakespeare’s ghost stands at the bow of the ship.

 

I am nothing, no one. I cried out against another bout of thunder. I am now cowering in the corner of the ship like a scolded abused child. Do you see me? Wide-eyed, scarred and naked. I pull my knees into my chest, my arms hugging them tightly against me.

 

Nothing. Loneliness gives way to fear and dread, death’s breath is on my skin, whispering its eternal dark secret to me.

 

Storms, remember the storms. The voice was no longer ominous, but a soft breeze in my heart. I do remember. Nevertheless, what of the storms? The question unfolded in my thoughts. Storms, remember the storms? The question was persistent, silencing my response.

 

The ship and the dark sea disappearing, vanishing from my vision. Storms the whisper came. Again, the sky flashed and roared angrily, subsiding as the sea was calming itself. Rain started falling from the pregnant clouds that hover over the city.

 

No longer on the ship and the sea, I find myself standing in a spacious field. The meadow stretched before me like a sea of green vegetation. Centered in the field was an ancient oak tree. It stood against the storm, majestic and barren. I could hear it growl in a low grumbling tone. It beckoned me like an old lover.

 

My child, come. It called out within my mind.

 

To be or not to be… Shakespeare again. His spirit stood under the canopy of the oak tree. Her branches swayed against the strong wind. The leaves fluttered like a million butterflies in a whispered chorus. I found myself standing beneath the branches, beneath the leaves. The wind grew stronger, the rain grew heavier, but I was comforted, kept dry and protected. I reached out with trepidation, wanting to touch the Oak Tree. The trunk was ancient, aged and scarred - thicker than I had seen in any tree. Lightening reached down from the angry clouds like a whip, striking the majestic oak tree. The wood crackled as it exploded, echoing within the storm. Fire sparked and engulfed the ancient oak. The rain kissed away the flames, dousing the fire within moments.  Thunder shouted like an angry mythical god displeased with his creation. Yet, I felt safe under the bough of the Oak tree’s comforting arms.

 

Storms. The thought flashed in my mind like that of lightening. I remember.

 

Storms make trees seek deeper roots. I shouted out joyously into the demented night.

 

To be or not to be; that is the question. Shakespeare�??s spirit stood in front of me, smiling.

 

To be or not to be; that is my question, I thoughtfully smiled back at Shakespeare, but his ghost had vanished. So also, the lonely ancient oak tree was nowhere. The field also was no longer a part of my thought.  Even the barren desert no longer plagued me.

 

I found myself back on the ship. Her sails were tattered and torn, but there were no more threatening waves. No more storms. There was a calm wind, not one of bloated viciousness, as it kissed the tattered sails of the ship like an intimate lover kisses his woman.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing, I muttered contently. Waves rose and fell like a woman’s bosom when she breathed. A summer breeze filled the air, carrying the sweet-tangy salt on her wings. An azure blue sky had ostracized the dark evening. I was at the helm of the ship. Up there, on the horizon, do you see it? Shakespeare stands smiling.

 

Answer the question, I thought. To be or not to be; that is my question. I paused, allowing the statement to warm my soul before answering. I am the captain of my own destiny - that is who I am. I am somebody. The answer became my beacon of light as I saw the lighthouse up on the coastal lands, the harbor beckoning me to return safely. I am finding my way home

A heavy thought. And, the more I read this piece of amaturish literature, the more I am baffled at the strength carried within. The embers of hope that refused to die out. Definitely looking back now, seeing all that I have been through, all that I have experienced - I am truly finding my way home. Coming back to the Latter-day Saint Faith, this prodigal is slowly regaining his ground and this story is for those who are still lost in the dispair and darkness of life where there seems to be no hope. It is my story, tragedy, failure turned to success. Inspirational, touching, raw and emotional.