Let’s jump in the “way back machine.” Well I hate the plot line of anything that starts with “X time earlier.” Yet now I understand this ,so, I’m taking this blog back to the beginning—because I wasn’t always the person I am today. In the last two entries, you’ve read about the events that triggered a dramatic shift in my life. But truthfully, what’s happened to me recently is anything but ordinary. And yet, looking back, maybe the signs that life wouldn’t follow a normal path were there from the start.

 

One of my earliest memories of the world not being safe or simple happened in kindergarten. A boy who went to my school came home one day to find his entire family brutally murdered. It was later believed to be one of the first—if not the first—killings by the BTK. As a five-year-old, I couldn’t comprehend that level of violence or the idea that someone could do something so horrific. The concept that life could shatter like that—so suddenly, so violently—was completely beyond my understanding. But that moment planted something in me: the awareness that life isn’t always fair or safe. Still, I tucked that awareness away and went on being a kid.

 

And I was a good kid (if you know me don’t laugh). I followed the rules, did what I was told, and genuinely didn’t understand why anyone wouldn’t. In my mind, if you broke the rules, bad things happened—simple as that. I grew up believing that if you got sent to the principal’s office, you were going to get a spanking. That was just how it worked. The idea of disobeying teachers or disrespecting authority filled me with anxiety, not rebellion. I believed that if you did the right things, played by the rules, and stayed in line, life would be fair to you in return.

 

So the thought of breaking the law? Using drugs? Throwing away a future? It wasn’t just foreign to me—it was unthinkable. I was naive. But that naivety came from a real belief that life was orderly, predictable, and just.

 

 

 

 

If you had told that same little boy—growing up in Wichita, Kansas, attending Sunnyside Elementary—that one day he’d join the Army, see both cold and hot wars, marry a man, become a healthcare professional, develop a substance use problem, lose his license, and eventually retire after a stroke—I would’ve laughed in disbelief. That sounded more like an episode of The Twilight Zone than a possible future.

 

But here I am. And that naive little kid I once was? He’s long gone, but I still carry him with me. Sometimes I mourn his innocence. Other times, I envy it.

 

This story I’m telling isn’t just about the events of my life. It’s about how a person changes—how life, with all its chaos and cruelty, can reshape everything you thought you knew about yourself and the world. If there’s value in this story, I hope it’s in the honesty. In the willingness to talk about the things that aren’t easy to face.

 

More of it is coming. Some of it will be raw. Some of it will be difficult. But it’s all true—and maybe that truth will mean something to someone.

 

I also want to be upfront about something: this story won’t always be told in a straight line. Sometimes, it will skip around—because to understand how I got here, I need to contrast the person I was with who I became. There are moments from my childhood that only make sense in light of what happened later. And there are parts of my adulthood that are impossible to grasp without knowing where I came from. So expect the timeline to bend and fold a bit. That’s how memory works. That’s how healing works.

Remember to be the person your dog and you mother hope you are.