I know how to heal third degree burns of character in myself, and I can help improve the image of others, but if you are not right in the head, you need to step up your mental. I can make you shine, but it may not last if it is not an authentic change. Staying present with your shame takes far more courage than converting it into aggression. Neither indulging in your shame nor avoiding it furthers the authentic warrior in you, the one who can step into the fire of deep challenge and remain present, without numbing himself or emotionally disconnecting.

Being present with your shame takes guts. It also deepens your capacity for vulnerability and compassion, and therefore also your capacity for being in truly intimate relationship. I experienced an overwhelmingly painful relations and it brought me to my knees with such pronounced impact, fracturing my spine and emotional armor, leaving lumps the size of golf balls on my head, and busted knees and elbow.

However, I knew I had to change, so I started to invoke the very tenderness and softness that I had so desperately fled as a boy, rediscovering my heartland, finding and gradually embodying a power that served something deeper than my egocentric ambitions. Being in pain and having your life ruined before you even get your first job is not easy, and then trying to rebuild your image by expressing yourself so people can know me, not these short stories and skits they hear.

Being vulnerable is scary, but at the same time it makes me feel more alive and connected to the community, opening doors that had been closed tightly since I was a boy. And thought my armoring did not disappear, I still found myself crying on the inside, “I wish my dad was here,” however, I have learned to appreciate the people who are in my life, and even start to dislike him more and more every day. My dad is ceasing to be my go to strategy whenever pain arises, and I am sure that is what he wants, he wants me to ignore him and totally push him out of my life.

I grew up with the understanding that being a man meant working hard, providing for your family, and keeping a good image. Men were supposed to usually be nice to everyone and show everyone respect. Television reporters where heroes to me, especially the ones who would stick to the script, but have some thoughtful commentary with the story they were presenting. Sam Shane was always one of my favorites. With those big blue eyes and that platinum blonde hair, and his smooth voice, I always knew he was telling the truth.

Since moving on from Mr. Shane, I have a few other favorites like Dale Schornack, and many more. The news was as exciting to me as a Western starring Marshal Matt Dillon. I would sit back, at the start of each episode, with my flat screen color television, my prepubescent legs clinched tightly together, my eyes wide open, and my note book writing down everything the reporters said, then posting it on Myspace and Twitter. This was good information, stuff I could not find in any textbook.

Sometimes I would stand up before the screen and talk to Matt, but of course he could not really hear me. My mother sometimes remarked that my father resembled Matt Dillion. However, my main hero was Rebecca Jarvis. Again and again, she captured those economic reports, after a mighty struggle, and made them so interesting. I even began to learn more core information about the meteorologist reports.

For instance, when low pressure moves in, the air usually cools down and temperature reduce. High pressure usually means it is going to be hot. And when one coast has low pressure, the heat generally moves to the other coast. Also, low pressure systems usually, in the right season, produce rain. I turned these reporters into superheroes , I even expressed that some of them had powers, so be careful what you say about them, they just might here you.

As I got older, I found out that many of these reporters are not simply journalist, some of them also work for the FBI and CIA, and that is how they get such privileged information, they are highly skilled investigators. However, there are some who are trouble makers, and actually just reporters, and this information was confirmed by  Luis Falcon III CIA Technical Advisor.

I never really wanted to be a reporter, but I feel like it is in my blood, with my name and all. One of the nation’s lead reporters, and often credited with birthing the news was William Randolph Hearst, a media mogul and amazing architect, he also wants me to express that he was a nice guy. I have a lot in common with Mr. Hearst and am very proud of my name. As I got older, and experienced life, I noticed that many of the bad guys are actually good and secretly began cheering for them because they are stoic and invulnerable, more tough than many of the good guys.

I also looked up to men like Pablo Escobar, Al Capone, and Machine Gun Kelly, those men did not play around. I was concerned about the morality of what was going on, and how so many people took advantage of others, and put the police in the cross hairs, and it opened my eyes, many people who frequently call the police are the real trouble makers. The raw power being demonstrated by these bad guys was seductive, and my desire to overcome or overpower my father was starring to surface more and more insistently. I started to look at him as wimp.

There is an ape man, who loves to harass me, actually serval of them, so I figured that my father is dead. He must have had to face unscrupulous hunters who carried guns. How could my dad just sit back and let these ape men attack me? Still, I clung to what he epitomized, setting excessively high standards for myself, losing myself in the excesses of news, and it brought on some very unwanted attention. Now, I feel like a kid, trying to save himself, calling on a father, who I feel is actually using me, so I consider him dead. I do not suppose you could just assume I manifested his mausoleum. Through him, I not only contacted my dormant courage but also made a virtue out of invulnerability.

I am still trying to conquer my environment, block my father out, and even stop calling on him telepathically.  Why bother with a man who is not there when help is required? I am infusing myself with more sophisticated versions of my superman dad, and trying to be a father and counselor to men and women, some who are even older than me. Other boys, their fathers found them government jobs, but I feel like mine likes to taunt me.  Having a job I could do, which would work with my schedule and not bring me physical pain is what I require. However, even typing these stories, although they bring me joy, causes substantial pain. I am so tired of trying to be a man, wish someone would save me, because no one should have to experience this much pain every day.