Life As I Know It

      The last eighteen months of my life have been some of the most rocky, rough, and near-murderous that I've ever had to face. All insecurities I've had and continue to face led me to things I never saw myself doing. I've built more walls in my heart than I knew could be built. I've put on more masks than I knew existed. In the last four of those months. I've had to come face to face with demons that have haunted me for most of my life. I nearly lost the battle more times than I can count. I've won more than I'd ever give myself credit for. It's time to come clean, I feel.

      When I was thirteen, I was about to enter a period of my life that I still struggle to come to grips with. At thirteen, I was a very antisocial, awkward, gullible mass of life. The first part of my life was too easy, and that year, life as I knew it changed entirely. I grew up in a family where my siblings were both quite older than I. I was home-schooled. On Sundays, we went to a church called Jubilee. It was a small-town church where some of the best and worst memories I have took place. All the friends I had went to church there, and I was quite content with the way life was progressing.

      Through the course of that year, many relationships I thought of as life-long slipped through my grasp before I had a chance to try to grab at them. The first to go, of course, was a girl. I was crazy for her, and everybody seemed to know, except her. I was, and still am, horrible at communication on any sort of personal, having to be open and intimate about your feelings sorta way. So I never told her. I've always thought of my life as a horribly written Disney movie. And as we all know, Disney movies ended happy, and so would mine. I never thought that there would be a time in my life where I wouldn't be around these people. I never had a good grasp of time. The last time I talked to her was when she told me they were moving. The last thing I said to her was something along the lines of, "You're oblivious to everything around you!". She never told me they moved. For reasons that, for the life of me, I cannot remember, I felt depressed that whole year. I think it was because I wanted to be depressed. I think that I thought that would make me cool. I've always wanted to be one of those dark, brooding, mysterious guys, that always is hurt over something. I'm not sure why. I blame society. The only thing that made me happy was her. And having your only source of joy taken away from you is horribly difficult to deal with, especially for a kid. I've always struggled with getting over things. I think it's because I think things over way too much. I was devastated. I never told her how I felt... 

      On top of that barrel of molasses, my pastor, who I had grown quite used to having around, and his family announced that they would be leaving. Great! Anything else to throw at me? Why, yes. Yes there is.

      I had finally come around to enjoy the idea of our church to have some fresh blood. I was, obviously, involved in the music at church, and was very excited about the possibility of doing some updating and progressing to a more modern sound. I had built up so many expectations for the poor guy and so many ideas of ways we need to be more up to date that I had given myself no quarter to the possibility that my ideas and dreams wouldn't happen. They didn't.

      While I wanted to bring things into the twenty-first century. Big, loud guitars, synths, big drums, ballsy rock n roll. What I had failed to notice, was that, us being a relatively small church, we didn't have the manpower to ever make the sounds I heard in my head come to fruition. Nor did I have the talent to play the parts I wanted to hear from a guitar. That's always been a problem. My head is a much better musician than my fingers can account for. I told you, I think too much.

   
      We fought consistently for the short time I remained there, and that tension made my relationships with my parents start to suffer. I was a punk, who had pipe dreams of being a rock star for Jesus, and screw everybody that got in my way. That way of thinking is currently coming back to bite me right in the face. So when I got frustrated that I couldn't have a praise and worship band that had Nikki Sixx from Motley Crue's bass sounds, Billy Joe Armstrong's rhythm guitar sound, Dave Grohl's drums, Kirk Hammet's lead guitar, and Kurt Cobain's vocals, my parents would try to reason that if I remained patient, perhaps we could start moving in a more modern direction. Patience, another thing I lacked. The last straw for me there came when an argument arose between myself and the pastor. I'm not really sure what it was about anymore. Probably my guitar's gritty, nasty distortion that I was convinced was what you heard when Christ spoke. He wanted a scaled back, acoustic set. And I was a punk rocker. I don't remember what I said to him, but my mother has told me that I told him exactly how I felt, and where he could go. I was a jerk. Probably still am.

     
      That summer, I started attending youth services at Believers', a place that is now like my second home. I wanted so badly to start going on Sundays as well. My father entertained no thoughts of that sort. I still have no idea why. After the first two months, I was ready to die. The girl I loved left me to rot in Batesville without any joy. My best friend started smoking pot, and there was no way I would've ever tried that. I saw what drugs do to a family, and I'm not going to put mine through that. So, our friendship was over, because drugs are, I guess, cooler than me, which is almost believable, I'm a pretty boring guy. I remember thinking, "I can't kill myself, my mother would never be able to get my brains out of the carpet, and I don't want them to have to buy new carpet." Then, in a burst of suicidal genius, I remembered. We have a tarp! My thought was, I could shoot myself in my room after putting the tarp down, and all they would have to do is take the tarp to the back yard and wash my brains off it. So, one day when I was at the house alone, I set the tarp up in my room, Grabbed a gun from my dad's gun cabinet, watched a video on youtube about how to load a gun, loaded said gun with knowledge gathered from said youtube video, and rested my forehead on the barrel. It's the most surreal moment I've ever experienced. All my life, almost fifteen years of it, could just be ended with not even ten pounds of pressure on a trigger.

      Then, thankfully, God intervened. I heard my text tone go off, and, as most of you know, I hate not responding to texts. So, I put the gun down, ran over, and read what I thought was going to be the last conversation I ever had. It was from my youth pastor, Joe Insell. He asked me how to do something stupid that I know he had to have known how to do. I responded, and waited for a thank you reply. I'm not going out without getting my due credit. His text read as follows: "Thank's, man. I'm glad to have you around. You've helped me do a lot of stuff that would be a pain to have to deal with by myself." He screwed me out of dying, or saved me, however you want to look at it.

      Over the next few months, I tried twice more to end it all. Both attempts were met with the exact ending as the first. Joe had done more for me in four months than I could ever repay. That won't stop me from trying, though.

      My father, after a conversation I still know nothing about took place between my mother and him, conceded. I just remember he was pissed and she was crying. She came downstairs, and told me, "You go to church wherever you want." My dad didn't say more than three words to me for almost half of the next year. I had just turned fourteen, or maybe fifteen. I honestly don't know. Don't believe anything I've said about my age or dates in this, because I'm horrible with them.

      My life seemed to finally take a turn for the best. I was where I thought God wanted me to be. After going through hell to arrive, I thought I had finally made it to the promised land. But I never reaffirmed my faith. I never grounded myself on my own beliefs and convictions. I didn't go to church with mommy and daddy anymore, I had to start thinking for myself, and I didn't.

       In the years to come, everything started deteriorating. My moods, my happiness, my faith, my health. I found myself getting bitter and angry. I felt like I was owed something, but I had no idea what it was. I was finally getting things I dreamed about for years. A band that played heavy, leaders who were ok with me playing as if I were Mick Mars, and respect. But, I was too pissed off to do anything good with it, or even return the favor. I wasn't satisfied, I wanted more, and, I would get it one way or the other.

      I started to compromise morals I had made for myself years before on an alter at BCC, where I cried and told God that I wanted him to have my heart and soul, that he would do better with them than what I could. I started to drink. I was so miserable everyday, the only way I saw out of it, was to not remember it. I've burnt more bridges, and made current Brock have more sorrow and atonement, than I ever would've thought imaginable. In a fit of rage, I decided that I wanted nothing to do with church anymore. I quit every responsibility I had. The rage only lasted a moment, but the damage was done. The next day, as I was assessing my life situation and how I might improve it, I heard God. It was the only time I've ever heard an audible voice like this, but it brought me to my knees. All He said was, "Jordan, I forgive you". I cried for the rest of the day. When I awoke on Friday, I went to talk to Joe and sort through all my crap to find a plan of action.

      I stopped drinking, got into the bible, and prayed more in a few months than I ever did before. I grew more in the next ninety days than I had in the preceding eighteen years. I started trying to repair the damage I caused. I'm still working on most of those bridges. I hope to fix them all.

      I would like to apologize for some of my more stupid, hurtful wrongdoings.

First, to my sister, Jessica:

      I've always locked you out of my life and not allowed a relationship to ever happen between us. I'm not even sure what I held against you. I'm sorry for it, though. I hope in time you can forgive me and we can finally get to know each other.

To Tony Hammack:

      I was a total jerk to you. I had built up hopes for you in my head that were unrealistic and foolish to assume. No matter what circumstances surrounded it, I handled everything very poorly. I was immature. I have no excuse. Please forgive me.

To my BCC worship family:

      You all gave me chance after chance, and I feel like I spat in a lot of your faces. I'm truly sorry. I hope you know, that, unlike all the other stupid stuff I did, my intentions were nothing but good. I just wanted us all to progress. All the steps I took, however, made me out to be very arrogant, immature, rude, condesending, and pretty much a huge jerk. I hope that you can all forgive me, and that maybe someday we can all worship together again. 

One word of thanks I feel is necessary, is to my friend, Joe Insell:

      When our relationship began, I was a thirteen year old boy looking for a father figure and somebody to help me come into my own. I was horribly awkward and probably very annoying, Without all that you've done for me, I would never be where I am today, I wouldn't even be alive. Thank you for allowing God to use you to save me, and thank you for helping me come into my own in ministry. I hope to work with you for as long as time allows, and am forever in your debt. You're my favorite person I know in real life. 

I love you all, and thank you for putting up with me through all the times we've shared. I thank you all for your influences, both good and bad, for they helped me become who I am right now. I hope I can make you all proud someday. I will never stop trying.

Love, Respect, Peace, Happiness

Brock