Mr. I don’t know What Your Story is..

by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: Stories 

Have you ever heard that before?

I have.. and it wasn’t always put in a positive light.

When I was eight-going-on-nine, my life shifted from so-so to horrific. For me, it was hell on Earth, for others
it looked like life as usual.

Nice well-behaved kid, nice loving family yada,
yada, yada…

Well, behind closed doors, there’s a life that’s
never seen by anyone outside the nuclear family unit.

What happens in the family stays in the family.
Nothing controversial is to be shared
outside of the family. We kept to ourselves.

Does any of this (any of it) sound familiar? If so,
pay attention… it’s important you hear this.

As a child of hispanic origin it was quite normal to be
a child of an alcoholic. As such, there are many disturbing
accounts that occur in such an environment.

So many, they have become the lifeblood of my current
trade as a writer.

As I picked up much of the traits of my parents, it became
apparent to authority figures I simply had a problem.

What that problem was, wasn’t their concern. They only knew
I was the only one that had to change it. Change it?

How the hell was I supposed to change living in fear?

How was I supposed to know whether I was going to see
the light of day after I went to sleep? I never knew
what was going to come through that door at 6PM.

Having to explain the bruises and marks on my face to
teachers always left me screaming inside “PLEASE HELP ME!”

But all I could say when approached was “I slipped,” or, “I’m
just clumsy I guess.”

One night, I was told to get on my knees and face the wall
and if I moved I was going to be killed. I believed it.
I believed it so much, I told my brother who was next to me
I loved him and to never forget me….

And I passed out from the fear.

I later went through my own bout with the disease of
addiction and got into as much trouble as possible.

I think by the time I was thirteen, I disowned my own family.
I rarely went home and when I did it was
after everyone was asleep, and I was gone
before everyone was awake.

After a final battle which sent my father flying down a
concrete stairwell, I wound up in the Queens General Hospital
psyche ward, where they told my parents I probably wasn’t
going to ever be released, and they should make
appropriate arrangements.

Fast forward some twenty-odd years later.

I’m twenty years “sober” or “clean” or whatever
you care to call it. I’ve two beautiful daughters from two
disastrous relationships. And I’m writing for several arenas
as clients allow… Life is good.

It wasn’t always such but I survived.

That’s just one story. Albeit a short one…but its mine.

Do you have a story?
Of course you do.

Every story impacts another person’s life. And yours
has the ability to do the same. We need these stories to
help each other connect with one another, and heal
one another and let each other know that we are not alone…

Let us help you tell your story. Come listen to some amazing
stories and see how YOU can use them to help
build or EXPLODE the life you want to live.

It’s easy, just follow the link below and we’ll
show you how. Just hop on over for this Free Series Today:

http://www.thankgodi.com/cmd.php?Clk=4313323

Stay Focused,
Dan Lopez

PS. Listen to some amazing people Like
Self-Help Legend, John DeMartini:
(his secret past may suprise you)

Best Seller Maker, Warren Whitlock:
(who unlocks the secrets of bestseller status)

Internet Marketing Legend, Willie Crawford:
(Willie completely drops his guard and tells all)

To listen to these and more click the link now
before they decide this information is (TOO Telling)
and ask us to pull it down…

http://www.thankgodi.com/cmd.php?Clk=4313323

Incoming search terms:

I was in big trouble

by · Leave a Comment
Filed under: Stories 

I was starving and stoned… Under the guise of the usual hay-fever allergy sufferer, I managed to get away with the red eyes my getting high produced…

Today? Heh Heh… Today, this day some decades ago, would prove to be a huge challenge…

Sitting slacker style at the dining room table doing, what I remember to be, my homework, I was completely oblivious to what I had started only minutes ago..

My brother and sister sat quietly opposite me and my father was on the living room couch mindless as usual watching some newscaster ramble on about the state of things at the time…

That’s when I heard it, I wasn’t quite sure what I was hearing but it wasn’t normal. That’s what I kept telling myself, (that can’t be normal.) But I had no idea what it was until I looked up and my heart dropped a thousand feet.. Black smoke was pouring out of the kitchen as the crackling sound became louder and louder…

I jumped from my seat and bolted into the kitchen to see my poor chicken patties had blazed from their pan of oil, roasting the entire stove area..

The range was a black melted mess the clock on the wall was dripping streak of plastic and the ceiling… The ceiling was nowhere to be seen, hidden by the majestic black cloud of smoke and soot heralded by the eight foot flame still roaring from the pan I had absentmindedly placed there only minutes ago.

Pushing passed my fear, knowing I was about to get my ass whipped for this one for sure… I ran to the pan and grabbed the handle, lifted it off the stove while it still roared violently, flames engulfed my face and I put the pan on the linoleum floor fast as I could…

Can you just picture the floor melting from the heat?

I tried 2 more times to get the pan under control but it was just too much for me and had to be placed on the floor a few more times before I made it to the sink..

Where I, like the genius I am, proceeded to run water into the pan to squelch the flames… Of course, that did what you might expect and I got even more scorched in the process as the flaming oil leaped out with the greatest nasty hiss I’ve ever heard in my life… This time I could not only feel but smell the stench of burning flesh as my mind raced to come to some conclusion of the insanity I had created.

In what seemed like a flash my father was in the kitchen with me and threw a towel over the pan and stopped the flames… If I hadn’t been burned all over, I think he would have killed me on the spot…



I look back jokingly, on the occasion today… I healed pretty quickly and the scars did a good job of blending in to my natural skin tone…

But the thing is….

My mother hated that kitchen and to this day Thanks God I destroyed it and gave her the excuse to give it a much needed overhaul.

Incoming search terms: