The price of dreams

Hello. It’s me. Been a while. This feels awkward. You know, same as seeing an ex at a party or a social gathering and you never knew they gonna be there now you are in a situation to talk after few months? Yea… How you’ve been? All jokes aside it is good once again to write a few lines, even though as I do, I am struggling to find my way around words that need to be said and want to be written. I always had my patches of absence, so to speak, but now I stand in front of you, with my head bowed down in shame, as I have been away for some time. What was it this time? What excuse could I possibly possess that would make my actions of absence valid you might ask? Was it depression again? In part yes, even if I feel sick of using it again and again as my crutch whenever I go away. Was I busy? Most definitely, as my day job took me away more then it has in the past few years, working all day every day even after summer which never happened. But truth be told, as I am standing now in front of you, the few that reads these lines, I have no excuse. I fell in a hole, a familiar place of darkness that felt oh so comfortable, so well known, as it embraced me in its arms, I felt my dark thoughts weeping with me. A familiar friend, from a familiar life I never could escape. But it’s not all that grim. These past few months came with moments of joy, moments of happiness that I was not accustomed to. It is still a strange sensation, to feel good things happening to me. You can not shake that corrosive emotion that with every good deed, every benevolent moment you experience, that you are owing it to someone, as a debt of a loan shark, your mind never stops trembling in fear that someone will come to collect what it’s due. But disregard the ill feeling of dread, ignore the depression that always hangs with me in the corner of my mind, you would have to admit that at the end of the day I left. No matter how valid an excuse, the fact is I need one, means I failed, mostly myself.

So many paths, so many roads to take



That’s how I felt. Like I see roads and paths that stretch as far as the eye can see, me with my confused and dazed expression not knowing which one to take, as the night, heavy as iron, was slowly but surely coming down, warning my soul and lost heart to make up my mind, as I could not stand there forever pondering on the choice that needed to be made. I always felt in some sort of way in that situation, but now it was different. The stakes, the risks, even life itself, started to feel real. Each choice that could brush life, that could strike the heart, be it with joy or terror, lost its allure of romantic slumber that a dream carried and now I found myself in reality of life. That reality slowly chipped my heart away…

I tried a lot of things in life. As a piece of puzzle, I looked for my place to fit in. Years of rejection and trying passed by, until I remembered a passion of a childhood, until my mind became heavy with dark thoughts that seeped through and cracked my brain, leaving permanent scars. It’s been now maybe 4 or 5 years give or take when I attempted to write, a journey in which perhaps I do not have much to show for, but looking back now I, for the first time in my life with certainty and calm heart can say, found my place, my purpose, my fate. In 4 years I written 3 books, hundreds of poems and shit ton of post, mostly talking about my experience with mental health and life that reached hundreds and found themselves in my words and experience. Should I be proud on the progress I made? Surely, and I am, I’ve proven countless of times that I am more then capable of doing this. But generally? I doubt. And how could I not? I worked for almost 10 years jobs that drained my soul, broke my back and mind thinking I was worthless and with the life I lived I tried to live it convincing myself it was true, that that’s the best life can get and that I do not deserve anything better. It took years and lot of talk to convince myself that I can and should do better. In life, as a person. The struggle was real and it’s still ongoing. But now, perhaps more then ever, it’s reaching a pinnacle. Even though I made enough, as I would like to put it, in my 4 years as a writer, still it is not enough for me to keep doing only what I love. I am at a crossroads. Switching countries means I need to find a steady source of income, even if it is putting myself in that position I was for almost 10 years. For the majority of my life I lacked ambition, be it from a mind that prevented and prohibited me to feel joy and satisfaction as I thought I was not worthy of it, be it from a surrounding that I grew up in that made me feel like I had it good where I was and should not strive for more as I might be disappointed, I’ve always struggled to find a path in life and convincing myself I was worthy of it. But writing, ignited a passion that was lost, that I never thought I possessed. It was so much more then just a career path I wished to actually fight for. It was an escape from depression, a ladder that made me climb out of that dark pit I dug out myself, it was belief and hope that I could actually be something and someone more then I was, a way to offer something to the world that would make me worthy of living. And with that new found hope, came fear. After finding something I never thought to gain, came the realisation of what if I am not good enough, what if I was fooling myself into thinking I could actually do this, as perhaps this was just one of my many foolish and failed attempts that would end up in only one way.

Now I stand before you, the few of my many, with a small comeback to these lands of the written word, perhaps no stronger then ever, but more eager to prove my worth. After 8 long years, I will be quitting my job, moving away and will try my best to grab that piece of happiness everyone is mumbling about how good it is. I am curious myself to see if there is some left for me. It has been so long since I dared. Since I made myself live life. I mustered the strength to find out, am I really worth living. As I know, better then most, staying in one place, satisfying yourself with the bare minimum, is not living. As your soul slowly grows dark and the hope and ambitions become a distant wish and memory, you find staying, is just a slow death.

Stagnation is the great life killer.

Worthy of the word



What really defines our own worth? That’s the question I keep asking myself. Is it the deeds we do? Or perhaps how good of a life we live? For most of my life, looking at the mirror I do not recognise the reflection gazing back at me. I do not know the name of that man who’s eyes look like mine, as he feels familiar, yet unknown. I know who I want to be, what I want to do, yet the path of how to do it is unclear. After every major project I make, the first thing that sets in are not the high five’s of well done, neither are the words of encouragement, but thoughts of doubt as why did I make it in the first place, or did I just create a thing no one would even see. To most of you, who dare to create, the natural thought occurs if it will be liked or hated perhaps, while in my mind a single fear exists – to be forgotten. Even now, while the sun is about to rise, writing these words to you, I ask myself, to what end? Do these words matter, do they reach any lone hearts such as mine? Sure, you would say as long as it matters to you, and I understand that premise all so well. But my dear reader, I’ve spent my life talking, masking common words with pretentious lies, cloaked into cheep clothes of intelligence. I, which is weird for a writer, am done with words. Not in a sense of writing, creating, no. But out of fear that whatever I say may be born as an excuse. So what is left? I ask myself the very question, fighting each and every thought that dares to rise, making my mind well awake for days, as sleep is not yet deserved. To take that leap of faith? To jump and trust my instincts, not the rationality of fear? How good it sounds, simple yet complex, as I stand on the crossroads of time, not knowing is my fate right or left.



I admit, I wanted to come here, write something, anything. But with fear that my mind carries too heavy of a burden right now, I stayed back, looking from a distance, wishing for an opportunity. It is this, the lack of dream, that brings me towards you. Broken? As always. Dismayed? Oh please, that’s my natural state, if nothing is wrong I worry why it isn’t. Defeated? Well, no. No. I have been defeated before. Broken time and time again, by my foolish choices, by the depression that held me and the anxiety that shouted I can not do more or better. As a man who lost not all, put plenty, before, now I stand in front of you and ask how can I be defeated? For I wished death before, cursed life to end, now wanting to live, I find it hard living. I have my vision. What to do, what I want to achieve. Perhaps it is not in my destiny, to become more then I was, perhaps I too shall fade, with this new found dawn that I now wait, maybe obscurity is what waits down there in the end. But what can I do? I poured my life, my soul and beating heart to the pieces that were created, few have seen and I still do not know what to think of what am I capable to do. Maybe it is doubt, the all living shadow, that brings me down, or perhaps I think too much, one thing is certain. Defeat, until the heart beats, is an illusion. As long there is breath in my lungs, there will be the will to fight.

For now I retreat, for now I rest, as the dawn rises, I shall greet her properly. And then once again, lay my head down, hoping, that somehow I still am invited to the land of dreams.

For you, the few, yet the many, thank you. For the support here and in general, I hope I muster enough strength to continue to come back quickly, hoping this hiatus was just an anomaly. Till then, keep your head up high, your heart beating true. And never give up on what was dreamt.


Your forever dreamer,
Harry.

POW: The red pill of sight

We all saw the Matrix, right? Neo gets offered two pills, one let’s him stay in this world, sleeping the sweet somber dream of illusion that was installed, never the wiser of what goes above. But take the red pill and all the illusions shall be shattered, the eyes that were deep asleep shall be wide open and he will be granted the sight to see the world for what it truly is. Recently, as I embark on a life changing journey, trying to move countries and jobs, I started to realise and see things. For the longest time I felt worthless, as in my years I achieved almost nothing, the environment always saw me as incapable and clumsy, constantly reminding me that I can’t do the most simplest of tasks. But as I plan and prepare to leave, I am starting to see that environment I was brought up in. In this case that same environment will be my family, especially my old man who always had an advice even when I would do something good, but as soon as I saw something that he did that is not in any sense good, I was chewed up as what do I know. My family made mistakes, whole lot of them, leaving us in financial ruin. I don’t hold that against them, we all make some bad decisions during our life. But what I do hold, is their incapability of change. Even after what was done, no one can move from the past as they put it, they don’t have any regret. So it beggs the question, the nature versus nurture, as I slowly started rolling the film backwards, how much does our environment affect our upbringing or even more so what does it take to rise above the toxicity of constant strain of thought that is pushed on to us that we are just simply worthless?

To rise above the tide



We all at least once get into contact with it. Be it our own family, friends or even a stranger, the walls that are around us can be brought up. If we are told constantly, with every action we take, that we are worthless and insignificant, can we really rise above the words we hear every day? One thing I found was you can simply sit down with yourself and realise that the people who speak such things are not important, their opinions are invalid, but the sad truth of it is hearing it every day makes it harder for us to attach some insignificance to their muffled insults. But as I said, I am more and more thinking about the past, ever so willing to change for the better, I start to realise one big thing. Those people who speak such vile things never accept change, they are adamant to stay in their lane, never truly accepting that they are capable of being wrong or even worse, they are proud of the mistakes made. Slowly you will realise that over the course of their life, they never amounted to anything, making their frustrations that they pull on you seem even more miserable. I am starting to see, the opinions of people who don’t dare to admit that their hearts were at a wrong place should not hold any value when it comes to words, as they are just that, empty words and promises, people who don’t dare to take actions as they see themselves as better. I talked about the human condition a lot, the toxicity of ego and the nature of narcissism, but I grew up with it, making me a keen observer of how it can ruin a man. Words are words, hurtful, shameful and piercing. But without actions to hold them, you start to see their emptiness. More times then I can count I said I am done with this world, as I was constantly sitting in an toxic environment, making me feel that small little circle is all there is to it. But step out and see, you will find eternity awaiting. A whole new world who can be as hurtful as that small circle, but healing and positive as well. So, when you spent so long in the circle, how can you be afraid of that whole new world as it can only be an improvement. It is hard to know your own self worth, as there are so many people who would be more then happy to tell it for yourself, rather then let you find it out. For the longest time I was confused, not knowing was I worthy enough even to live, not knowing what kind of person I was good or bad, as people around me always had an opinion so mine must been invalid. I am starting to see, slowly but surely, that all opinion should be heard and considered, but that counts your own as well. At the end of the day, when you walk in your room, you are left with only your mind and heart. Not the others who constantly had a word in who you are. So sit down and listen, because no one but you can tell you who you really are.

Success is made in attempts of defeat



And it’s true. More they try to break what you build, more it holds value. More they mock, it just means it is worth something. As if you had nothing, made nothing or achieved nothing, you think they would care enough to see it brought down? Our life is our own, our success, our failure, as at the end of the day the sad truth is everyone wants to ravel in your success and everyone wants to mock your failure. Not everyone I know, but you get my point. It is hard to accept we are not the product of who brought us up, we even are not the conclusion of the life we lived. We are our own person, complex, beautiful and faulty. That’s the beauty in humanity, that major imperfection that we stumble, crap every plan we have and make mistakes, but we get up, try numerous times as we find we deserve better and should strive to be better. So who are we to say to anyone who they are, what they can or can not do or how worthy are they? In the simplicity of life the line always goes that there will be failure and faults, but success as well. At the end of the day we walk the path, alone or not, it is our strength and will that makes us go forward. Your worth is determined by how happy you are with yourself. And if you aren’t? So what? The road for self belief and self discovery is a long one, if you look today in the mirror and don’t recognise the person staring back that doesn’t mean tomorrow you won’t. We don’t know life. We don’t know time. The only thing we can hope is that tomorrow will come and that we will do better then yesterday. And for all of us, that should make us enough. We are only human. We are trying. And that is enough. Stagnation is the great life killer, not failure.

The proficient expert of failure



I feel like if I have a degree, that would be it. A worthy title of an unworthy son, who somehow botched success that was never ment for him. It took me a life time to understand that I have my own pace, my own life and my own worth. No one can say it’s wrong or invalid, unworthy, only the individual who walks his own life path can determine that. I failed so many times, more then I can count, that it should probably come as a surprise to myself if I succeed. But after all that was said and done, after all that failure, I feel serenity. And it confuses me. Where after so many wasted attempts I should feel doubt and sorrow, it is all substituted by confidence. Why? Perhaps when you get to know failure so many times, hope is etched deep in your mind, as that is the only thing remaining to be discovered, aspired and yearned for. Success. Perhaps tomorrow will come and I will not make it, but I must try for another day. Not to prove the ill mannered voices wrong, not to break the chains of toxic nature or nurture, not even to ease the suffering heart that beats in my chest. No. I must for the same reason we all have to. Worthiness is not determined by how many attempts it took us to make it, it is determined by how long we stood our ground while life threw bricks at our head. I must to prove, that after all I am still standing and I am still worthy of life.

I write this with shame and pride

Even though I am fighting against the heat, alongside the heavy hours of my day job, yearning for a day off that I haven’t seen for four weeks now, I feel like this post was meant to be written. The other day, while contemplating what should I write for this weeks “Process of writing” I stumble on a peculiar notification from my WordPress. “Congrats on the two year anniversary of the Word Den!” . I was shocked a bit, not really knowing the precise date when it all started and surely not being aware it’s been already two years. Time is for certain the silent killer, one that slips through even our mind’s grasp, but seeing that notification made me happy, prideful and yet it filled my heart with such sorrow I couldn’t even imagine.

The confession of a writer



It’s been two years since the Word Den was created. And it’s been two more since I started this whole journey, creating my first book “The Lonesome Road” which came out few months ago. So four, if not more, years passed and looking back at my achievements I couldn’t but feel shame. What have I accomplished? What did I do? Do I feel happy looking back on all these years as a writer? I thought by now I will do more, that by now I will be more. But now, even after all the misery experienced, my life remains the same. Every year I make big promises, saying I am going abroad, trying my hand in something else, that next year I won’t do a shitty job like I do now. And every year I fail, staying at the same place, working the same job, fighting with the thoughts that I am not worthy of my life. And today, while sitting at my break at work, a thought came to my mind. Perhaps I am really not worthy of this life, perhaps I merely withheld a potential, as maybe if someone esle had an opportunity to live it, they would do a better job. Dark thoughts I know, as lately all I am having are dark thoughts. Truth be told even this year I thought I would fail, not even making the promises of progress that I make to myself and others and just stay in place. But life throws unforseen paths, so now I will have to risk it all, and as time approaches for me to move somewhere else, I am scared. Few days ago I saw an old friend I rarely see now. He asked am I going abroad and I said yea next year, to which he answered you tell me that every year. Hearing those words broke my already cracked heart. Am I really that to my friends, a lost soul that seeks something he can never truly grasp? And now, seeing that it is the two year anniversary of the Den, I dropped deeper in the rabbit hole of thought and despair. I know I don’t do as much as I should for this to become my career. Even after writing three books I am not sure I still have what it takes to do this. As writers we are taught by our fellow colleagues that whatever you write, write for yourself as in that case it ensures quality, a book, a story you would want to read would get recognised. But yet, we the ones who pull our soul into the written letter, we strive for validation. After all I’ve done, I still do not know is it good, is it bad, without a solid critique I feel like I am merely drifting into obscurity just to be eaten away by the darkens of the void my mind creates. Even knowing how stupid that sounds, doubt is the current currency in which my mind deals. I know, time will only show, I need to be patient and trust my skills and instinct and yet all my life I felt like a man without time. As if all my achievements should have occurred earlier and now I am lacking, in life, in personality, in soul. Is it because of the society that told me my time is wasting away that I feel so soulless, empty? Or is it perhaps my own dumb quest of putting myself out there in a different place that keeps me from reaching the sorely missed potential? Five years or so have passed since I started writing. Do I have anything to show for it? A blog that has thousands of views, three books that even after I pulled a piece of my soul in each I still feel lacking to call myself a writer. After this prolonged thought, a question remains… What is a writer? How is a writer’s creed and quality measured? Is it the recognition we so foolishly seek, wanting nothing more then pedestals to be put on, that our name is sung and praised for eternity as it is sung of many greats that came before? Or is it perhaps a smile? An intrigue raised in the eyes of the beholder, making the one that holds the written pages, grasping them ever so tightly, wanting more? Is it perhaps that our purpose is to inspire, to motivate, to bring the satisfaction of mind that not all can provide nor obtain?

For what is worth, the attempt counts



I realise this was a bit out of the blue. I go missing for weeks, perhaps now when more then ever I should be here present with all of you, my book practically came out and yet I went away. To be honest, I do possess a good excuse, working everyday for 10 hours without a day off, but frankly I am sick and tired of excuses. I know I can and I am “willing” to write, put out content weekly, other then me pouring out my soul like this to you guys once a week. Ever since I became a writer, hell even before that, I encountered the infamous imposter syndrome. But now is different, I can’t explain it, as if the syndrome consumed my daily life and feelings, spilling itself from my writing counterpart. I doubt not just my writing, but my existence as a whole. I made so many mistakes in life, took so many turns that resulted in too many “Tomorrow I will change” that just vanished away. As always I am perhaps too harsh on myself, as always I need to realise this is a grind and I should keep my head up and get back to the trenches. Even a start of a thing is admirable. And I feel like I did more then just start, I feel like I did more then just wish for a better tomorrow and stood in one place. But it breaks a man, those many attempts that resulted in nothingness, how many times can one rise until he decides enough is enough, what’s the point? With all my troubles, with all my scars and the heavy burden I carry, I wonder, does this all count as a mere attempt, just another shot of mine at something or is it my true redemption, my true calling, proving to myself I am something more then what people saw me for?

I am not quitting



Sometimes it feels like I am. As obligations get the better of me, as the bills need to be paid and relationships need to be mended, I set aside this endeavour of mine for quite some time. But it calls, it beckons, like a sweet tune of a song, it never goes away from my mind. Am I really good enough to do it? Perhaps. Is my life destined for something far less then the greatness of the written word? Maybe. But I won’t quit. I can’t. Because if I do I am betraying all I fought for, every redemption I worked for, as this is much more then writing. This is a chance to prove to myself, to all, that I am not worthless, that my life means something, that I have something to offer to the world. A written word of my suffering that might come as comfort to some, guidance to others and resolution to many. Perhaps I won’t ever get my shot, but if I do, I know, my mind has to rest easy. As this is my path of life, the path of self worth, the path of my own glory. Perhaps I drift into the obscurity of the void, only remembered by my failed attempts, known only as the one who never truly tried or was able to make it, a man made of mere wishes, never out of actions or decisions. Whatever fate has in store for me, wherever this path may take me, I know I must feel the pride of my ways, after taking so many wrongs ones, I need to trust this is the right one. Perhaps I am just a man without time, a lost soul who has wronged his life beyond repair that any attempt of salvation is futile. But does that mean I should not try? Even if I do not know will my effort be worth it, I know this. When it comes to not doing anything, staying in the hole of misery with your own thoughts or attempting to do anything, no matter how slight or insignificant it may be, I will always chose to move forward. I have seen what staying in one place, wallowing in my own self pity brings and it scares me. Because of that fear I shall always move on, go forward and do something, anything, knowing well what doing nothing and giving up brings. As even if the void swallows me whole, let it be known, I too have tried, I too made an effort, I too kept walking forward. Be it a leap, a single step or even crawling, please do know I too tried to move forward.

Process of Writing- Losing the will, finding the way

I have disappeared for a few weeks, trying so hard to find my way back and to get at least this post to you. I am aware that every post, every poem is valuable and shouldn’t be rushed, yet still I am left with this feeling of inadequacy, the sorrowful hand of not being worthy. Writing is my passion, my dream, my desire and yet I am fighting with the outside forces to keep going. I take it seriously, or at least I tend to, making it my responsibility. Being as it is, I do have a responsibility not just to myself to keep on writing, but the responsibility to improve myself, promote my book and so on. But I find myself carrying a heavy boulder of time that drains me. Right now, as any summer, I lost my days off, working around 70 hours a week and I feel drained. Not exhausted, no, but drained of will power, but not inspiration. As I am moving next year I need every coin I can muster up, so I don’t have the ability to complain much, yet I feel my dream suffers, as guilt takes me whole, feeling I sacrificed a part of me at least for now for the sake of the future. But, with the never ending depression, combined by stress and exhaustion, I became a time bomb.

To walk a Path

We all have dreams, aspirations, hopes, right? But the question is not do we have them, but rather can we abide to them, hold and never let go of our dreams. To dream is to yearn, and to yearn is to live. So it does not come as a surprise that we are afraid to lose the dream we cultivated for so much, as it would feel close to death. What is a man without a dream, without hope? Just an empty husk, a mere tear of rain going down a leaf, without purpose, without intent, pointlessly falling down. But there is something that we fear more then losing that precious dream of ours. The fear of false pretense. What if we worked for a dream that we were never able to achieve? Yes, yes to love and lose the love is better then to never love at all, I get it. But is it the same in this case? Is it really better to fight for something even if in the end it was never yours to fight for in the first place? Perhaps it is better to live with the fire in your heart then lie with the stiffness of the soul. But it makes me wonder, it makes me afraid… What if we are inadequate to live up to our dreams, what if it was merely a fools hope? For most of my life, I can not shake the feeling of dread that I might not be capable of doing what I love, but considering the darkness of the alternative, is giving up even an option?

The flow of time, the string of heart

Time tells all tales. Stories that came before and those that will happen. Only time will tell will our efforts be fruitful. We can only do our best. I use this site as my personal shrink, to open up my thoughts that probably only few will read. But to you, the mighty few I present this question, do we want to know? Do we want to know if the dream of our hope and future is ours to make a reality? Is it better to know the truth or live in hope as even then maybe we prove our worth and even make the impossible possible, with great effort and sacrifice even the unworthy can make their dream a reality. I stand before you, as someone who spent his life shrouded in the darkness of his own mistakes and heart, broken and misunderstood I stand the tallest of my capabilities, knowing well what stands behind, I am going to continue to walk forward. The shadows our mind casts will always be tall and heavy, but they, same as the heavy burden of our hope, are our own creations. We, the mighty few, who create the burden, are capable to carry it.

Live and learn

I admit, I don’t know much. I have still plenty to learn. But I am willing. I do not know if my tales, the stories I pull from my heart and put on pages will be read, will they be loved or hated, only time will tell. For me, all that remains is to do my best, knowing well I can not go back to the darkness that awaits behind. Doubt and despair hold me down, with everything in my life I don’t know will I ever feel worthy of being worthy. But I know this. Even in this brief post, just thinking about the hope that resides in me for the future, I know it is worth it. We the few, us the many, must stand taller then the shadows of our mind, shine brighter then the darkness of our heart, as the dark is everlasting, eternal and immortal. It is up to us, to be the shining beacon of hope for the future that is still wished for.

To my few, to all the many, stand prideful and tall,

Harry.

Remember the message, spread awareness (P.O.W.)

It is the last day of May. I know I spent the last few days, weeks even talking about “The Lonesome Road” but don’t think I have forgotten this rather important month. Even if my book has an important message, I couldn’t just let this last day go by without stating the obvious. We have months like these to remember, to make the unaware aware, to speak up to those who know less and yet there is a certain problem I have with these kind of things. As if it makes us use that one month to speak about certain issues, with such passion, with such numbers, and as time passes by so do the thoughts that were put on such issues. But time passes, it awaits for no one, yet these struggles stay. So let us not forget, let us remember, not just in May, but in June, August and December, through out the year, that we shouldn’t be afraid to speak up about our burdens, our struggles and we should not shun, but help, not forget, bur rally, not blame, but understand.

The message stands

Why is it so hard to care? Is it because the world is filled with enough problems, so we just choose on which one to focus our mind on? Or is it perhaps the question of some problems are just bigger then other? Whatever it may be, one thing is for sure, we should never forget. Forget how to be humans, how to be friends, brothers and sisters. We shouldn’t forget how to care, how to understand. Because I believe there it is hidden, the solution of all problems, no matter which one specifically we choose to fight for. Just remember to be human. As I said, May might be over, but as with a lot of these months were we choose to spread the awareness, we should never forget to care. This world can be much sometimes. Our environment can be harsh and unforgiving, but it is up to us to carry the message, to hold the banner and speak up, every month, every year and every day. Let us never forget to be there for others, creating a safe haven to speak, to talk, to show we do want to understand. The sad truth is one man can not change the world. But one man can make it a bit better. And isn’t that the whole point? If we all attempt to do it, if we all try, in the end there will not be just one, but many. And who knows, we might just change the damn world after all.

Be human

Mental health issues will perhaps one day be accepted as that, problems we don’t need to hide. As many problems, there is always a certain amount of distrust, or the lack of trust, when we try to open up, when we try to speak up. We often tend to think what the person who is about to receive that information will think. Will they judge? Will they just shrug their shoulders and say its nothing, man up? We create the environment we live in. We create the world we inhabit. It is dangerously reckless to claim we can’t do anything about it when we all have the power to make a difference. But it takes a step. A leap of faith that at first seems so insignificant, so small, as in why would I even do it, what difference would it make? To the world? Perhaps none. To one person? It can be life changing. Like I said, perhaps one individual can not change the world, but pulled together, we as a society, we can damn well do some damage. But we can not think that small, one step is meaningless. As if we all take one step forward, it is no longer a single step, but a jump, a leap inside of an ocean that could create a tidal wave. But, to do that, we must remember, stay human. Don’t let ego make your decisions. Every action matters, everything we do affects someone, we can not think so highly that we are alone in this universe, in this world, just look around and you shall see. Sometimes we all just need a hand, to stand up. Be it a tough life, a crappy day or just a bad luck weekend, offer that hand to someone who is down, and who knows? You just might make a difference.

To those who fell

I keep on repeating myself, I know. Sometimes I just can’t help it. But I felt how you are feeling and I still do. Everyday is a struggle. Everyday you feel like you need to find a reason, no matter how big or small, just to get through to the night. I know. Believe me. Sometimes you just try no to think about it, go on to work, out, just shoving your emotions in a corner, because it’s easier to deal with them when they come crushing back when you get home later, alone on the floor of your room, trying to deal with the crap you tried to just for one day, forget. This life, my beautiful people, is just a trial of run and error. We make mistakes. We all do. It is just human nature, no one is perfect. We all carry scars, just some of us have bigger ones. But even if we make mistakes today, no one guarantees us we will make new ones tomorrow. Trial of error and run. Your run this life, doing best you could, making mistakes, until one time you get it right. And even if now or sometimes feels like you can’t get it right, you will. You have the strength to stand right now, today. You made it this far. Through all the pain and suffering, standing today against the odds. You will make it through tomorrow. It is hard to trust. We look at humanity with open eyes and sometimes we want to cry. But we can not judge it whole with prejudice. Open your mind and your heart and who knows? Humanity might just surprise you.

And for the rest? Don’t judge. Extend your hand, make and effort to understand. It is already hard for us to speak about it as when we do, we speak with fear. Make us hope, as hope is what we need, to show that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, the sun might shine just a tad bit more brightly.

Speak the message throughout the year. Break the stigma. Break the prejudice. Open your minds and heart. Understand. And be human.

New dawn of life

For a time I was lost,
For a place I mourn the most,
Where the soul meets my mind,
Where I knew love to find.

For a second I had doubt,
I held my mind, shamed, never proud,
Broken I saw the cracks,
Under my fingers I felt the marks.

Now, I stand alone,
Afraid with the world to atone,
Sins heavy and no time to rest,
I have to put my words to a test.

Redemption never comes too cheap,
Doubt will never stop to creep,
In my world I might be alone,
In my final hour, I might now know,
For every life there is a chance,
For every sinner a new hope to advance.

The Lonesome Road(AMA)- Meet the Wanderer

The Wanderer himself is a representation of one’s lost mind, one whole piece what we all possess. There is a reason why the Wanderer is faceless, practically nameless for a reason. To make a blank looking character, with the problems of many, was my intention in the first place for one specific reason. So each and every one of you who read the story can easily put themselves in his place, as all who struggle with depression, lost identity and the anxious feeling of carrying the burden that crushes our soul, will find it easy to connect with such character.

I walked alone. Through the shadows that the tall buildings cast, like giants watching over the once vivid and song-full city, but now just as a reminder of some past times, they stand tall, relics of an ancient order, such as I am myself. Those buildings and the entire world which surrounded me felt new yet familiar. I couldn’t feel a cold breeze on my skin. No winds moved the hollow now trees, stripped bare of its leaves, as once not so long ago did. The jungle of concrete and metal once felt like an anthill, buzzing of life, souls rushing on, minding only the empty task of the day they had. But now, no sound can be heard but the eternal silence that fills these streets, flowing throughout my veins, which pump that sorrowful blood all the way up to the heart, leaving it feeling bare, alone, stripped, and wasted. I march on, in search of laughter, shout, even a slight remark of a whisper which I grew to miss so dearly. I have been walking for so long; time seems to have stopped, pulling everything in one place, even myself in one way or another. I have been walking for so long, missing things I have held for granted. The simple hello from a stranger, a warm embrace of a loved one, or even just a sight of a curious passerby. One fearful thought keeps on rushing through my brain even though I quickly dismiss her. Thinking of some better times, I find myself faced with the ugly truth…I might be the last one.
No one knows or remembers what happened exactly. Maybe we neglected the home we were given, and our mother finally rebelled against us, punishing us for our misbehaving and sins done over the last long years to her. Or perhaps we were betrayed by our own greed and fear, looking over our shoulder, valuing the life of our fellow man less and less, until we decided to grasp for something that wasn’t ours for the taking and putting the final stroke on our neighbor. No one knows what exactly happened. All that matters now is that the world fell silent so long ago, the song of billions that sang in many different tunes can’t be heard anymore, the night ceiling that connected us seems to swallow the once peaceful place, and the fire that warmed us, not just around, but also in our hearts, seems to be extinguished by none other than ourselves. Who knows what happened, but one thing is certain, we brought this misfortune upon ourselves, a band of mortal man, when did we think of ourselves as gods?” (The Lonesome Road, Chapter 1- The Lone Wanderer)


Ridden of all memory, he starts his journey. Even if he has no recollection of the events that unfolded, leaving this world barren and without human life, he feels the emptiness inside, a reflection of the world that surrounds him. But one thing is for sure, there are eyes on our broken protagonist. One night, seeking shelter, the last man gets a knock on a door. Behind it, stands destiny, a woman he does not recognise, yet like a friend not seen in ages, she feels familiar. But hesitation came up, holding his heart, as the woman’s motives became bit more clear, our hero must decide is she really the benevolent good she claims to be, or is the evil that resides in this world the same as the woman?




“All things that begin must have an ending to them…”
I tried my best to put out some words of comfort.
“It’s simply the law of life, time. But that does not mean we have to live in constant fear and worry about the end, knowing it’s life’s only certainty. It’s destiny.”
I stayed in my sitting position, not breaking the gaze from the fire, but could hear the old bed move under her as she changed position, probably to stand even closer to me.
“What do you mean it’s destiny? Now you’re talking nonsense. How can the fact that being OK with dying and making your peace with it be destiny?”
Her voice changed as well as her position. It didn’t resemble the sweet, soft, mellow voice she usually had, even in fear and under pressure. Now it began to sound edgier, tense as if she was annoyed with my words and the view I had at the world. “It is destiny,” I answered back coldly,
“You see people see destiny as a path that branches up from one to a million, thousand… A force that constantly intervenes, depriving us of our fundamental right to choose. How many times have you wanted to do something, and during or at the end of it, it goes wrong, and you figure out it was destiny that made you fail or end up there where you didn’t want or think you would end up in the first place? People often use it as an excuse for their failures or as an excuse for a weight that keeps them in one place for too long. Talking and saying it must have been destiny that wanted them to fail or stay at the bottom of the barrel for too long. It’s not destiny that keeps them from going forward. It’s themselves. And all of it is nothing more than an excuse for their own miserable failures.” (The Lonesome Road, Chapter 3- The Road Ahead)

Destiny. Are we that afraid of a concept that an invisible hand guides our life, that our choices never mattered? Or do they? What if destiny is like a river, with multiple paths and every decision we make takes us to a different destination? What if our choices mattered and there never was one destiny that was predetermined for one being? As what can we do, but believe in our Path, jump in that river and hope the destination is as comfortable as it gets. This book explores the human nature, our understanding of life, fate, destiny and balance.

The Lonesome Road is out tomorrow, you can get it, the link will be below. If you have any questions for me, please do ask, even if it’s just to say hi. I am excited to bring you this book, I hope everyone finds something for themselves in it.

I’ll answer any questions you may have, looking forward for tomorrow, love to you all!

“The Lonesome Road” is out on the 24th of May 2022. But for those eager to get it a bit earlier you can preorder it from the 5310publishing site :
https://www.5310publishing.com/book/thelonesomeroad

For more information follow and check out 5310 Publishing:

5310 Publishing website: https://www.5310publishing.com/

5310 Publishing Twitter: https://twitter.com/5310Publishing?t=xOuOEzNP3Ci96_5C9QaBug&s=09

5310 Publishing Instagram: https://instagram.com/5310publishing?utm_medium=copy_link

Process of Writing: When we lose our mind

And the heart follows… Isn’t that the saying? In the vastness of the world, we are left alone, with one old rule that this Earth never let’s us forget. The world owes us nothing and nothing in return it shall give.



Welcome, this week’s P.O.W., we are continuing the countdown to the Road, with 2 days to go.

In my mind, I was always alone. Misunderstood. Broken. When I looked over, I saw people who had at least part of their life fixed. It worked, you know? And mine? My life was nothing but a series of unfortunate events that I had only my own stupid head to blame. We all make mistakes, right? It’s on our human nature, we fall, we break things, mostly ourselves. But in that path of wrecking our own life and happiness there is one constant. One thing we wish the most. For someone to see, for someone to offer us a hand. To help us out to stand even when we see no way to do so. But our mind breaks and our heart follows as we witness people walking by, leaving us on the curb as some beggars, with our hands extended, begging to be held. And in our fall, tumbling down to the endless darkness we ask ourselves, is there such thing as human kindness?



We all have our Path



In “The Lonesome Road” our protagonist walks the Path, not just the physical representation of his journey but his spiritual transcending of his sins and mistakes in hopes he can mend his broken heart and fix his shattered mind, making amends with his mistakes of the past. He is left alone, in a world he knows little about, even if it is abandoned, it makes little difference as he was always alone, even when it was buzzing. Tempted by two sides, he must stay strong and true to himself, as the pain in his own heart must be firstly understood by himself.

And there is the truth. No matter if we extend our hand, we don’t ask for the help to be guided. No. We ask for understanding. It is us who firstly need to mend the scars that barely hold the mind as it is broken into million pieces. Help comes, in different forms and shapes. But it is our own hand we need to accept first and foremost, to start the process of healing.

We often deny our own strength, feeling like we have none. But the mind that suffered for so long has the strength to pull itself up. As a friend told me recently, we came so far, so whats few more steps?

We are all on a different Path. But we walk it, never alone. Even if it feels like that sometimes. The thoughts we possess and the burden we carry is something we need to acknowledge, accept and face. It is in our power to mend our mind or break it.

They say the burden we possess is not heavier then our capability to carry it. It is true. We doubt our strength, our fire, our capabilities, as it is easy to do so, to fall under the pressure our own head creates, it is so common to crumble under the words of the world which seeks mostly to mock. But why do we forget one crucial fact? We already walked a way of our Path, today we stand here, we had the strength to come this far, so what’s few more steps? No one knows how long the Path is, but take it day by day, one step at the time and who knows, we might just surprise ourselves…



In what do we trust? In who do we believe?



“The feeling of wanting and hoping for the better filled my broken heart, mending it just for a second. It was sorrow that brought me to my knees, but hope was the thing that pulled my tears out. Hope is a funny thing. A light in this endless night, a glimmer that we hold on to so blindly, mostly because, after that heavy load of sorrow, we look for something to help us carry the burden. We blindly turn to her, not asking its price, not thinking about its volatility. But hope can be a treacherous thing. It was for these people. I can feel them. Thousands of them. Holding and reaching their hand towards the wall, in unison crying and begging as if the Wall owes anything to them. To return their loved ones, to guide them wherever they are. I can hear their voices, feel their weeps, them calling. I can feel their burden. My tears as a memento to their suffering, my broken heart for theirs.”

(“The Lonesome Road”, chapter 2, The Weeping Wall)





Hope. It is a treacherous thing. It makes people comfortable, even in their deepest nights of despair, they sit and wait for salvation. Hope we misunderstand, blaming it for our downfall. But it is merely part of the solution, not its entirety. If we sit tight and do nothing, hope as all things, becomes meaningless. Our broken mind, our scared heart, contains so much strength unexplored. Rise, take the power of self belief you thought so strongly it was lost. Rise you broken, as the world is for us all. We deserve happiness, we deserve glory in its full potential. Rise, seize the day!


The truth shall set you free!



We lie. To others, to ourselves. Why? Because the truth is harsh, unforgiving and real. For that reason we choose to run away, towards the sweet embrace of lie. But live in lie for so long, wear faces that are not your own, soon enough you will start believing it. Soon enough you will find your humanity lost, as your head crumbles piece by piece. The past is always there. Sooner we accept our mistakes, sooner we can make new connections, sooner we can give our life back some meaning.

I am enjoying the Countdown to the Road, and now we are 2 days away! With this P.O.W done, it leaves us only tomorrow for content day before the launch. Tomorrow I will be taking questions on all social platforms, here, Instagram and Twitter, so if there are any who wish to ask me anything, please do so or even if you want to come and say hi I would be delighted! Wishing you a great end of the weekend and love to you all!


“The Lonesome Road” is out on the 24th of May 2022. But for those eager to get it a bit earlier you can preorder it from the 5310publishing site :
https://www.5310publishing.com/book/thelonesomeroad

For more information follow and check out 5310 Publishing:

5310 Publishing website: https://www.5310publishing.com/

5310 Publishing Twitter:  https://twitter.com/5310Publishing?t=xOuOEzNP3Ci96_5C9QaBug&s=09

5310 Publishing Instagram: https://instagram.com/5310publishing?utm_medium=copy_link

Announcement: “Countdown to the Road”

I know I know, I promised the new P.O.W and it’s coming I swear. On Sunday you are getting a new and “profound” view of life’s given problems, in a different format then what it usually is. What am I talking about? Well in the upcoming week, I will introduce something I call “The countdown to the Road”.

As some of you may know, my first book let’s call it (as it is really my first written book) is coming out next week. That’s right “The Lonesome Road” is out on May 24th. 4 days to go my friends. So every day for the next few days, counting on the release date and beyond, I will be releasing content about my book daily. Boring you might say? No my friend, on the contrary. There is still so much I’ve got to reveal about the book, so many hidden meanings, the reason why it came to be, the journey taken and so on…

Trust me when I say, it fits perfectly with the ongoing series that is the Process of writing. And there will be more. On Saturday I will announce a giveaway, you the few who are willing, will be getting few copies of the book to enjoy.

So the schedule is as follows:

-Today, Friday the 20th you get the announcement of the so called “Countdown to the Road”, with yours truly blabbering about it

-Saturday 21st, the giveaway, few lucky people will get the copy of my upcoming novel “The Lonesome Road ” (the giveaway will be on my Twitter links are below or just click the Twitter icon on the main page of The Word Den) 3 one here on ig in twitter

My Twitter: https://twitter.com/HarissonShaws

-Sunday 22nd, The new Process of Writing segment is coming out, talking about some issues I touch on in “The Lonesome Road”

As some of you know it is a dystopian fantasy novel, fill with thrills, adventure and all sorts of twists and turns. But it also speaks about some important issues which are used as a catalyst to push our protagonist down the path he takes, such as depression, loneliness and fighting against the world who judges far too quickly for mere entertainment. Being May, the mental health awareness month, I feel driven more than usual to talk about such things.

-Monday the 23rd, I will share few quotes and what not from the book, giving you a sneak peak to what you might expect in “The Lonesome Road”

I will as well answer all questions posted here on the Word Den, my Twitter and Instagram. So if you want to know anything about the book or just want to say hi, please do so, I cherish any opportunity to connect with you guys. I am excited and nervous for that, so be on the lookout!

-Tuesday the 24th, book release day, what to say but that we are going to celebrate the novel that started this journey,  my journey. I am happy, no matter the doubt I have constantly, that I decided to sit down every day, put my emotions into these pages, creating a good story with big issues residing behind it. This book is so much more then the inciting tale that stands before you and I am happy to share it with you all.

The next few days after the release I will

post different content, daily for all to enjoy!

This is big. For any writer, but for me I feel so overwhelmed. For so long I felt like nothing, as if I didn’t have purpose other the fail. But now, I belong. With so many like minded individuals who I have an honour calling my fellow writers. It’s been a journey, a long and dark one and I am here to stay. A special thanks to all who gave me the kind words that pushed me forward,  my publisher 5310publishing, be sure to check them, their links will be below.

And now, let’s start this journey!

“The Lonesome Road” is out on the 24th of May 2022. But for those eager to get it a bit earlier you can preorder it from the 5310publishing site :
https://www.5310publishing.com/book/thelonesomeroad

For more information follow and check out 5310 Publishing:

5310 Publishing website: https://www.5310publishing.com/

5310 Publishing Twitter:  https://twitter.com/5310Publishing?t=xOuOEzNP3Ci96_5C9QaBug&s=09

5310 Publishing Instagram: https://instagram.com/5310publishing?utm_medium=copy_link

Broken mask of my thoughts

For who do I carry my broken mask?
Piece by piece I put it back,
As it crumbles on my twisted mind,
They don’t see my tears I hide,
Why show something that they mock?

Alone, I take it away,
Staring at the face,
That looks back in the broken glass,
I see a stranger crying down.
Laughing through the tears,
I kneel down for my fears,
Begging for the light to find,
For someone to help,
With the burden unconfined.

But I stop the dark creeping in,
I hold my soul deep within,
Deep inside it still exists,
My hope, my love,
The strength to give.

The world turns,
Cares for none,
I will wait,
For a new dawn to come.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑