CHAPTER 13—WHEN THE WORLD TURNS ITS BACK

NOTE:  At this time period I had just dropped out of school at 14. My dad had given up on me enough to just let me do my own thing, so I worked during the day in a restaurant and partied each night. No one really knew where I was at after work, if I told them where I would be, it probably wasn’t true. Looking back on it, I probably spent a lot of nights on the streets that I really didn’t have to, but chose to, just to be away from everyone else. Most of the ugly things that I was learning to live with were brought on by myself, not forced on me. I just had no idea how lost I was. There were several people that I had told about Richard controlling a part of my life, but I don’t think I had told anyone just how much he was still with me. I do know that I didn’t want anyone to take his presence away from me. We were coming into year two A.D. and no part of this mess is easier, even though I’m getting into a pretty good survival routine. So here we go with another unedited chapter of Bonded a Brother’s Love.                                                               

CHAPTER 13:  WHEN THE WORLD TURNS ITS BACK

I went straight to work. Washing dishes for one dollar per hour is not the most enjoyable thing I have ever done. But pot is only ten dollars per ounce, Coors is only sixty-nine cents a quart and drowning in our sorrows alone is easy to do. We don’t need anything, or anyone else in our life to make it.

The restaurant I work at lets me eat there. We don’t have to show up for work until almost noon, can get away with smoking a joint right before work and get off work in plenty of time to party every night. Party to us is one or two friends smoking pot and drinking ourselves into a stupor.

Oh, if only those so-called normal school kids knew what they were missing. Wasting their life day after day in the same old class setting. Learning junk that will never really help them in life. At least not in a real life like mine. Those kids will never know how to spot the best person to buy your alcohol, where to buy the

best smoke, and when you can’t go home at night, where the safest places to sleep are.

On the streets you learn quickly that not all park benches or restroom floors in parks are safe areas to sleep. Sometimes even though you are alone it is much better and safer to get into the back of an enclosed U-Haul trailer at a rental yard or gas station. Most of the highway over-passes around here have about a four-foot wide flat spot just at the top of the underside. Not many people have found the over-pass area yet. The bridges usually have no one else around and they make a good shelter from the wind and rain.

My favorite spot was being lucky enough to find an unlocked mobile home at the mobile home sales lot, usually no furniture but at least there was carpet to lay my head on. Next favorite spot would have been an unlocked car on a used car lot. You would never have to worry about being caught there in the morning when people were opening up. The nights were always so miserable that you were up and gone before anyone would arrive. I always tried to find a spot away from everyone else, that way there was a whole lot less chance of being hassled by the pedophiles.

Anyway, I really never minded the nights I couldn’t go home and had to literally stay on the streets. It gave me more time to spend with my favorite person, myself. I’ve grown not to trust anyone. Not the mother that left us when we were very small. Not the dad who lost himself in his own sorrow of a divorce, then the tragic loss of his first-born son, and especially not the old men of the streets that just wanted to offer you a warm place to spend the night.

Joe and I didn’t need or trust anyone other than ourself. As the second year of my death progressed, Joe was learning to accept my presence and use my strengths. He had finally admitted to himself that I was there and going to be a permanent part of his life. His willingness to accept me being there did not help make the feeling of our head exploding or the sound of the shot any easier to take during the few months surrounding the anniversary time of year number two.

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**Reach out to me at any time. 

I am not only willing, but I also look forward to taking a share of your pain. Email: David@bondedabrotherslove.com. You will get a caring same day response.

Nothing scripted. 

You are not alone, and you matter.

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If You’re Struggling

If you or someone you love or know is in a dark place, please know you’re not alone and there is help available. Reaching out is a sign of strength, not weakness. There are people ready to listen, ready to walk with you, and ready to help.

Immediate assistance is available:

National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline  

📞 988

Veterans Crisis Line  

📞 1-800-273-8255 (Press 1) | 📱 Text 838255

Survivor Support / Crisis Group  

🌐 https://www.crisishotline.org  📞 832-416-1177

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💡 If you know someone who needs to hear that they are not alone, share this story. Together, we can create echoes of hope that outlast the pain.

For more than five decades, I carried this story in silence. Silence nearly broke me, but telling it is what keeps hope alive.

Bonded: A Brother’s Love : One Bullet. A Thousand Echoes my hope is that it offers understanding, connection, and even a reason to hold on when life feels unbearable.

📖 Order your copy today and join me in breaking the silence. Together we can spread hope, honor the lost, and change the future.