So, it's May 5th, 2014. May is that month. Eight years ago, it was the month of hell that tore all semblance of organization and future from my life. It's probably silly, but it was the month I broke. Waitaminute - before I go on, I know how corny that sounds. Other people live through much worse than I did and they move on. Other people have broken much worse in their lives than I did as well. I agree. In the grand scheme of things, the events of that month weren't all that much and taken individually they should have led to no more than me being sad for a few weeks or months.
But, I'm not other people. Those events didn't happen individually. I broke and I never moved on. I'm not blaming anyone or begging for anything. It was never about a single person or event but rather that everything happened all at the same time until I cracked.
I've moved on a bit, sort of. Instead of moving along on the road of life, I took a detour and ended up on a dead-end street. I'm here, but little more than that.
This post was never meant to be about me, only about background, yet here I am. Sorry about that. Today isn't the anniversary of the Month of Hell, today marks eight years after my brother passed away. I miss you Mike. RIP.