Having had no contact with my parents in two years -a long story regarding sabotage and betrayal- I was thrust back into it. How else could trauma be transformed?

Before I begin sharing this story, I want to first acknowledge the fact that my writing may come off as if I am stuck within a victimhood complex, that I am incapable of taking responsibility for my own part in things, and that I must be doing this in order to clear my corrupted conscious in order to “shape the narrative.” I recognize this might be a possibility in the minds of some.

I wish for you to recognize that this is a tedious and exhaustive process for me due to the fact that there are a tremendous amount of details, nuance, and context within this entire situation. After all, I am who I am, and perhaps one of the reasons I am to bring about a genuine return to simplicity within the human condition is the fact that my personal experience has been deeply complex and layered, and so I crave to experience simplicity in my own life.

With these words shared, I would like for you to remember these outlined elements within the story to follow:

• This all was occurring at the onset of the Covid-19 crisis.

• My parents, in their attempt to reform me back into Catholicism, lured me into a trap 2017-2018 which ultimately led to me losing virtually all of my possessions (except for a backpack and a dufflebag of things). My parents, before the end of 2018, had to undergo surgical procedures to have their reproductive organs removed; my father has to live with a catheter for the rest of his life. I believe this is karmically tied.

• My mother and I were having movements and breakthroughs within our relationship as I was rehabbing from my injuries (2020); my father was obviously abusing drugs, but being the fact that he was on 12+ prescribed medications, it was not clear what was really going on with him. But it was fine, because, doctor.

• My mother began to establish her own boundaries around the neediness of my father; she began to exercise, lose weight, and step into more confidence.

• I had attempted to arrange for an “Intervention” for my father with my siblings (3 sisters + 2 brothers) as well as the nieces and nephews within the family, many of which are either in college now or beyond it.

• Instead of having a proper intervention (where we all come together to confront him and hold him accountable to his word) my mother and oldest sister thought that it would be best if everyone just did it one-on-one with him…but that I do not talk with him or do it personally. This happened the last week of June.

• Although it was not entirely clear to me, it came to light that my father was using heroin regularly in the basement of the house- and at times would be overdosing. My mother would find him down there, slumped over himself and snoring. Two weeks after I was pushed out (just around my birthday), my father had such a severe overdose that my mother had to call an ambulance; the court forced my father into rehab.

• My mother did not share this with me until early January 2021, but that is a different story at that point.

When I was spending time with Travis and partially-living out of his (greenhouse) clay studio, he asked me for somebody’s phone number in my life just in case something was to happen to me. Although my relationship with my brother is shaky at best (long story behind this, but it will come up again), I decided to give Travis my brother’s phone number.

When the January 25th accident happened, my friend connected with Travis who shared with her my brother’s phone number. My brother, being a very busy influence-whore (selling himself for product marketing via social media), relayed the message to my parents- despite him being aware of what had happened in 2017-2018. Again, long story regarding sabotage and betrayal from my parents because of the fact that I was not willing to conform to the idea of what “growing up” means within their delusional mythology.

I wasn’t able to walk at that point, and I was having a bit of a separation between my thoughts and my capacity to communicate them; the hospital simply informed me that my parents were flying out to meet me immediately, and would be there in a few days.

Seeing as I had only $45, I no longer had a car (or any of the belongings within it, turns out), and was truly desiring to understand my family trauma by means of deepening my practice with meditation at Green Gulch- I chose to interpret this experience in my life as a blessing, a priceless opportunity to return to my relationship with my parents. People can change, right? They can learn and grow from their own experiences, recognizing their own mistakes as a way to grow into new wisdom and understanding- right?

And besides, I did not have any health insurance, did not have anywhere to live, and was not willing to try and put that on any of the people who were in my live in Santa Cruz. I would need the space to heal and rehabilitate, to relearn how to walk and to strengthen my muscles once again. I had broken my left hip/pelvis, leg, some ribs, some vertebrae, and had some arm + shoulder complications.

My parents wanted to restart and have a new base for our relationship, focused on love, respect, and transparency. On getting to know each other, spending time together, and moving forward with whatever life is wanting to present to us- trusting that God is directing it all.

Would you believe that by the 4th of July my father was capable of turning my mother against me by means of paranoia, generating a narrative in which I was emotionally manipulating her for the sake of my own benefit? That my father had been overdosing on heroin in the basement, and that it had become so bad that he told me I was not allowed out of my “bedroom” at any time while he was awake? That it was his house, and they were his rules? That new dictate was decreed in April; I had come to land there at the end of February.

On the 4th of July my mother confronted me with a nonsensical accusation, the type of reasoning that you would expect from the mind of a heroin-addicted-detective. This accusation was so unbelievably blindsiding, I was dumbfounded; as it goes with situations such as these, in her eyes this was some admission of guilt. All the while my father was eavesdropping from above, effectively filling the role of puppet master and succeeding in his ambush strategy.

Thankfully I had given him a hybrid bicycle (road + mountain bike) back in 2018 which he had never rode once over the years, and it was in pretty good condition (all things considered) in his shed. Realizing that this “interrogation” from my mother was going to be the breaking point any way I looked at it, I chose to pack up what I believed would be a sensible change of clothes + all of my artwork + some water, put it in a backpack, and began to ride his (my) bike westward.

From Northeast Philadelphia I was able to make it to Gettysburg to watch some fireworks over the historic battlefield that night; all along, different family members were calling me- telling me how much they loved me, how much I meant to them, how much I needed to think about what I’m doing and how it is going to effect Mom and Dad. How many times do you think I saw them while I was back “home?”

Through all of these phone calls and conversations, it was eventually agreed upon that my oldest sister was going to drive out to pick me up near Gettysburg, and take me into the city where my brother lived- down on South Street.

When I got down there, it was what you would expect in the City of Brotherly Love on the 4th of July- a tremendous amount of explosions, loud music, drunk people, and helicopters. My brother had a pretty cool apartment and his high school friend was renting the “penthouse suite” of the small building, so he had rooftop access.

We all went up there and- despite the fact of all which had just come to pass, not even taking into consideration the reasons why I was even in this situation in the first place- drank some whiskey and played some games together.

In the morning I was feeling relieved and refreshed; I believed that all of the pains were going to be transformed into vindication, that I would feel some sense of being acknowledged for all which I have tried to endlessly do for our family-

but instead am denied the ability to follow through, and then I am seen as incompetent before the chance is even given to me to fail, or I am seen as a “Monday Morning Quarterback” and judgmental asshole for calling out the fact that these outcomes were entirely avoidable.

I was awake early and simply doing my thing with a journal and some lemon water. My brother came out and left to go for a cup of coffee at a cafe nearby. He didn’t seem to be in good spirits or in a good mind, but maybe it was because it was so early and perhaps he is effected by the attritional effects of drinking alcohol routinely- even if that means once a week. I hadn’t had one drink in over 2 years at that point- not because I was a recovering alcoholic or anything, I just value the state of mind which I have cultivated.

Anyway! So my brother returned and his partner had emerged from their bedroom. We began to talk, and it began to build into what was relevant between me and my brother. I didn’t know his partner very well at that point; it seemed that they get along well enough, but it doesn’t sit right with me when my brother breaks up with his first-and-only-girlfriend of 10 years to then slip into a relationship in less than two months with a girl who is 7 years younger than him, meeting while out at a bar with friends he tells me that he doesn’t really like.

But my brother asked me if I would be comfortable with her being present for our conversation, and I saw it as a potential opportunity to enrich the connection between us all and breathe new life into the family which was all but dead to me [all but is a very strange idiom when you think about it].

If you guessed that I would be back on my bike with a now broken shifter, shattered reflectors, and ~250 miles behind where I otherwise would have been at that point in the journey- you would be correct!

When talking with my brother, I notice that there is an interesting element of telekinesis which exists between us. I can sense when he is doubting something, or wanting to challenge something; when this happens, I clarify the things which I am saying in order to factor in these considerations to (hopefully) ensure that we are genuinely on the same page- while avoiding endless circular dialogue which appears to be moving but in reality is just looping.

Admittedly, I do forget the exact talking point which was at hand when I had said something to the effect of:

“Now I know that what I am about to say may sound as if my agenda was _________, but in truth my intentions were genuinely to do ________.”

It was a particularly sensitive talking point, and with all of the buildup over all of these months- not forgetting the fact that I had rode that bike over a hundred-and-something miles the day before- I should have recognized that there was undercurrent tension within my life, especially when it is considered that I have been functioning without any semblance of a support structure for a very long time.

So, my brother took a long pause, and then said: “well, Matt, it sounds like you were (the point I specifically mentioned).” Astounded, I said: “I specifically just said that was what I was avoiding.” I then turned to his partner who was sitting right there to simply clarify with her, to which she claimed that she didn’t really hear me say that.

Feeling overwhelmingly frustrated and at my personal limit, I reactively stood up and grabbed my metal water bottle as if I was going to smash my brother’s head with it. Instead, I said, “I can’t stay here with you, I’m going back out west on my bike.”

It almost seems as if there is an endless attempt by my family to induce a rage state within me in order to justify and rationalize all of the reasons for which I am the problem, and that all of their past actions towards me are nullified- that I was all along the perpetrator, and that God does not love me.

I turned my back on my brother, to then put my backpack over my shoulder and walk towards the door. He stood up in a quick rage, not to be shamed in front of his partner, and made sure that he made his point. He ran to the door, opened it, grabbed my bike and threw it all the way down the stairs.

He then turned towards me to square up. He threw a punch, I threw a punch; he tackled me to the ground and I then held him in a headlock. His partner was hysterical, and call down Steve to rectify the mess. It was very obvious based on the energy who was in control, and who was still trying to be in control.

Steve said- “Matt, just let him go.”

To which I replied- “Steve, you should be telling that to Dan.”

Just like that, it was resolved in some sense. Dan and his partner went up to Steve’s loft space and Steve stayed to watch over me while I was trying to do what I wanted to do in the first place. I shattered a few pieces of art that I made for Dan, and then simply went on my way.

Soon after my mother called me and said that my father, in his generous and noble spirit, was willing to give me $4000 and allow for me to stay at their house for three days. I went on Craigslist, bought a Honda Fit for $3000, and then was on my way in two days.

During that time, I was working on the “Death of the Seed” drawing. As is very obvious within the original artwork, the Sunflower was terribly rushed. I took about two weeks from the day that I had left- July 7th- to get out to Oregon and begin a WOOFing position with my friend, Abby. During this time I was finalizing the art.

I arrived on my birthday, July 20th. When we woke the next morning, the property owner forgot to close the sheep’s pen the night prior because he drank too much wine- and a wolf had killed one of his flock.

You guessed it- less than one week of me living there was I back on the road. And that is where the story will continue.

Let’s take a pause- how do you think this progresses forward?

With that said, I will challenge myself to keep this as brief as reasonable. To follow are galleries containing the artwork which I created during this period. In closing, I include a “Moral to the Story” section.