Ugh. (Pronounced: uh-kkk)

2010 - what did I ever do to you?

You've been treating me like a red-headed step child. You've erased the two most important females in my life. What do I have to show for it? Bills. Shit loads of weighty bills from living above my means all this time.

Thanks dude.

I can safely tell you all now, that there was a lengthy period of time where I considered veering the car off a ledge. An electric device in the bathtub, perhaps or just a shit load of tylenol. It was a skeleton in my closet. A demon from my past. I personify this emotional bombardment because it helps me picture it. In my mind's eye I can walk up to this assassin and meet it face to face.

In the most crippling of attacks from this assassin, driving to work was next to impossible. I felt the same paralyzing hold when I was sixteen. This was a sequel to a movie that should never have been made. But I'm not reprising my role to complete the trilogy. This has to end for good.

There's an epic war waging in my mind's eye. Until recently, the assassin has had the upper hand. As if his pet zombies were attacking me while he made off with the girl.

Then life changed. And it was like...I was granted spider-powers. Because the zombies got so much easier to beat down. I made some friends and they brought shotguns. Now I can focus on the assassin.

I can't say this war will end anytime soon. But the tide has just turned, and I'm picturing myself webbing this assassin's feet to the ground and calling in Ironman for a rocket powered uppercut.

Once I've defeated him...I'll have a clean slate. A fresh start.

I think I've learned my lesson. Let's do this.

Give Me A Blog

Don't worry.

I won't turn this into another drawn out, nearly painful reading experience. I won't adhere to the oh-so-common business approach of "Hello sir or madam or both, my name is John Whogivesacrap and I'd like to apply for a position with your company as a writer."

I will, however, tell you my name. Adam Jakob Smachylo. The Driver's License may say that I'm 27 years of age, though the onslaught of turmoil and constant challenges at times makes me feel double that.

I've witnessed the closest of my friends' lives hijacked and destroyed by a self-loathing ex-girlfriend, I've had the most dearest of women in my life stolen from me by cancer and their own destructive guilty pleasures, I've felt the agony of a father that chose to run rather than stay and guide his son through life, I've watched as my own relationships crumbled and get swept aside as if nothing had ever happened.

Yet, I've been fortunate enough to have been loved by several young women, I've conquered a staggering fear of heights jumping 11,000 feet from an airplane I couldn't even stand up in, I've caressed the lips of an angel with my own - an angel that still haunts me to this day and I've driven a rusty 2005 Mazda 3 across a country unlike any other.

I'm only 27. What does all this get me? One incredibly unique view of our beautiful, yet sadly unfair world.

In my professional career as a writer, I have been a Creative Writer for radio stations in Thunder Bay, Toronto and Kelowna, and was the Creative Director for Z103.5 for a year. I was a Dean's List student at both Cambrian College in Sudbury for the Print-Journalism program, and at Confederation College for Television Broadcasting.

Writing has always been my passion. I've worked on several novels, posted a number of blogs, written several short stories and continue to write creatively for radio.

2010 - What did I ever do to you?

Holy shit - this is the worst year of my life.

When shit gets this heavy, I always try to tell myself that it's for a reason. Life better have a pretty good reason for this.

But sometimes you sit there and wish for something to happen - then it does.

I made my bed, now I have to sleep in it.

It's tough to say exactly what happened with me, with us and with life. I suppose sometimes love just isn't enough. I hope that we will both come away from this learning a bit more about ourselves and with minimal regrets. If a man's level of freedom is measured by the guilt he shoulders from his past, then I may never actually meet a true free man. I'll certainly never look in the mirror and see one.

I pray to my Mother constantly. I beg her to help me. I beg her for strength, for answers and for a reason to go on. I don't know if she hears me. Sometimes I feel like I've disappointed her or hurt her in someway by how I live my life.

It's so easy to count the horribly disappointing and overwhelmingly stressful things happening in my life. There's just so many of them...how can you enjoy the sight of the ocean with a mountain in the way?

But now at least I can fully focus on getting the help I need emotionally. Cuz ya know...I'm fucked up and all. Or perhaps I'm just not meant to live a certain way.

Either way, it's time to suit up and re-join the mercenaries who answer to one voice only: their own.