Saying Hello Again, for the First Time

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March 8, 2017 Comments (0) Views: 1202 My Collection of Musings

Uncomfortable Truths Volume 1: Letter to Myself

There has been this persisting idea that’s been stewing in my brain for at least the last, oh I don’t know…10 to 15 years. The idea is that in our lives, we always have those one or two people that, “tell it like it is”, and we adore those people. Yet, I can almost guarantee you you don’t talk to those people on a regular basis. Kudos if you do, but for the majority of us, those uncomfortable truths are usually reserved for extreme measures and awkward encounters.

I bring this up, because it wasn’t that long ago that I got into an argument with my sister about those “uncomfortable truths”. Essentially, there are things we all need to hear that we don’t want to listen to. Again, this is a function of that dirty little monster we call our ego. That voice in our heads that tells us that we have some image that we need to uphold.

Part of me ditching that ego-driven persona I’ve developed over the years is shedding this skin of having to be liked all the time. My whole rant about acceptance and why I crammed myself into a personality shoe that was a size or 3 too small is another blog altogether. For now, I’m going to stick to the topic at hand: uncomfortable truths.

In the argument that I had with my sister, which started over me saying something that offended her (somewhat delicate) sensibilities, lead into a conversation I really hate having, but need to talk about at some point. Not just with her – but with everyone – including myself.

Basically, In September I was given a 50% chance of living more than 5 years.

Yep. This is the first time I am admitting that. Even with all the great things I’ve done, at this point I’m adding months at a time to my life expectancy.

Granted, those months add up to years, and yada-yada, you scrap together a life of of not dying.

The point is, if I am going to stare down my mortality – so are you. You’re going to sit here and squirm a little when I talk about “when I’m gone.”

I’m not a fatalist. Not even close. I’m a realist, and mine and your impeding doom is the reality.

I’m not whining about it. I’m not even upset about it. Death had its chance at me, and I kicked his silly ass right in the dick and woke up asking for weed and apple juice (true story). That’s as much of who I am as my intense, newfound desire to just say what’s on my mind.

So, if I’m going to commit myself to speaking uncomfortable truths at the rate that Taylor Swift sings about breakups, I cannot think of a better place to start than with myself…

And with that in mind, I wrote myself a letter:

Dearest Gammill,

Can we start by saying how awkward it is to take the voice in your head, which admittedly sounds like Toby from Family Guy, and put it into a tangible form that other people can read? Shit yeah, it’s awkward. Your grandmother is going to tell you that you curse too much. You’re going to worry about what your mom thinks. You’re going to read this in 12 hours and probably wish you hadn’t hit the “submit” button on your website.

But, at this point, you’re fucked. We both know you’re going to post this because you’re not a hypocrite. You’re not going to write this whole intro – including a Taylor Swift joke – and not share it with the universe. Simply because you believe in what you’re saying. You feel it in your joints like an old man feels an approaching rainstorm. At this point, this concept you’ve lead up to is as unavoidable as an STD from extended periods of time on Tinder.

You want to sit around and preach about telling the truth, and you’ve chosen to start with telling yourself the truth. Good call, buddy. Let’s do that.

You’re lazy and weak. You’re not miraculous for surviving your surgery – you’re just too stubborn to die. You’re not special. Sure, you say some cute shit every now and again, but the reality is that you’re so hung up on what you want people to see that you’d sacrifice your own personal development for personal validation.

And for what? So people will like you?

People are are a fickle as they are abundant. You’ve seen this. You’ve seen people who you genuinely cared about drop out of your life, simply because you said something that they didn’t want to hear. What’s worse, is that you censored YOURSELF because of their inability to be objective.

You’ve also made it damn-near a personality trait to keep people at arm’s distance to avoid that band-aid peeling sensation of those people exiting your existence.

Guess what, buddy – there are always going to be revolving doors on your life. You’re going to have to get used to people coming and going as they see fit. You know the one person you’re stuck with? The ONE face you have to see every day? YOU.

Quit sitting around and telling people how much they should love life while you still have the taste of gun oil in your mouth from the last time you thought about making yourself a memory…


This life isn’t about making everyone else happy. It’s about making yourself happy and surrounding yourself with people that appreciate that happiness. Scrape off that fucking armor, and wipe off that silly ass war paint. You’re not a commando – you’re a stubborn, mule-headed, silly bastard who just wants to be heard. At this point, you’re singing cover songs because you know they work – instead of breaking out an original in a room of 13 people and hoping that only 12 leave.

Yes. Every single day for you is going to be an uphill struggle in wet sand. Between your naturally jacked up brain chemistry, and a heart that’s trying harder than most to quit beating, you just need to suck it up. Embrace the suck. Jam your foot down as hard as you can onto this wet concrete of life, and leave the deepest, most irreversible boot impression you can.

The clock is ticking, buddy. All of our clocks are ticking. You sit here complaining about your limited time on earth – and meanwhile some guy with a family gets killed in a car wreck on his way to the grocery store in a random accident somewhere in the world.


Take a stranglehold on your life, and squeeze for all your worth. Live to be remembered good or bad instead of simply existing to let people make their own memories of you. You’re a legend in your own right, never forget that.



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