They said to write inspiration.

So I wrote until writing hurt. I wrote my story and my soul until there was only skin left to give.

So I gave it.

I wrote until my bones held my pencil and the only thing keeping me going was the next thought that needed to be written.

So I gritted my teeth and kept writing.

I kept writing while they chatted, while they talked, while they whispered. I wrote through the pain and the tears surrounding me, around me, needing me. I wrote while the world cried and the innocent died. I wrote while the world disappeared before my eyes…

Because writing is the only thing I know how to do and at least I can do that.

So I do that.

-Opinionated Man



Cherry Bomb by: Susan Cushman

As many of you know my mom is also a blogger who got me started in it and she is newly published! If you want to check out her book here it is. I’ll leave the link to it below and her blog. If you visit her blog be nice.

Jason Cushman

-Opinionated Man




You Are Not Alone

Remember that you are not alone and it is almost impossible to feel a new feeling. Someone has felt what you feel, has wanted what you want…

Someone else has felt so alone that they didn’t see the smiling faces before their eyes. Instead all they saw each day was a hope to die. A hope they cried from crying eyes.

It is hard to remember you are not alone when you feel alone inside. An emptiness that can’t be filled, that can’t be hidden.

You drink until you can’t drink anymore and your lips spit back your attempts. You smoke till you are higher than life. Till you are so high that your problems have become too small to see.

But now you are all alone because to escape from your problems means you must also hide from your friends. So you hide.

I have hidden parts of me until I am a walking shadow. A human struggle that strives to ignore the conflict and just live… but you can’t live until you have faced the night.

So you face that night.

You scream and yell until the world hears your presence. Until you don’t feel alone anymore.



Depression Settles at the Bottom

I don’t view depression as waves, at least not for me. My depression feels like white flakes in a snow globe and are activated when something shakes me to my core. I become the center and the space around me becomes my world, a world I cannot see. While blinded I feel my swinging mood aiming for me like a gauntlet and I am the fool that has entered into it blind. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot escape.

It has been 17 years since I found out about my birth mom and my sister. It has been 12 years since I tried to kill myself the first time. It has been 9 years  since I found happiness again. Through those transitions I have relearned my depression. Through those years I have grown to accept it and myself.

People always want to fix things. Fix your smile so it looks just right, fix your attitude so it fits your new smile, and while we are at it let’s fix your past so you can finally move on. Depression? Take these meds, a few more pills. Lay back down on this couch… aren’t you comfortable yet? Tell me about your problems so I can tell you why they aren’t really issues. Let me know all your concerns so I can explain how you created them. Men and women in white coats scribbling your life away in a second. Trying to find the answers when we don’t even know the question.

Depression settles at the bottom. It never goes away. It never “finally leaves.” When happiness slams the door who is the first to notice and peep their head from waiting closet? Who knows just the right words to whisper in your ear so that you question the answers you once had?

Feelings come like a shaking sun and all you can do is stand there in your crystal prison and wait.

Waiting for depression to settle once more.

-Opinionated Man

Jason C. Cushman


Cultural Sensitivity

Governor’s school was a program which accepted grade schoolers into a Summer program that was intended to focus on some science or art. Well I hated art at the time and science was boring so I applied for the Governor’s school of international studies. I was astonished when I was accepted, but when I reflect upon it now… perhaps my acceptance was given once they realized my nationality. I probably had to fulfill that portion of the pie graph, but regardless the reason I was accepted into this highly selective program. I’m obviously a genius.

The program, other than the fact it was during the Summer, was actually a lot of fun. That would account for the reason why at the age of 36 I still remember the memories I made there. I can’t help but remember one incident that stood out and is the cause of my title “cultural sensitivity.” It was during this program that I learned how sensitive some people could be and I can now firmly attribute that to culture. And unless you spend time living in each and every single culture, you’ll never get why those people feel that way. And yes, I said “those people” because all of you ARE those people to me.

The group was excited because we were going to a baseball game in Memphis and it was a chance for some of the attendees from around the state to see our lovely city. I snickered when they said “lovely city” during the morning announcements, but held my tongue about what I really thought of M town. This was a hard thing to do for a tenth grader, but I was learning that sometimes it wasn’t always the wisest thing to open your mouth. Besides, the evening out would allow me to talk to her or her. The Summer had been eventful so far!

As everyone got onto the buses and filled in the rows, I looked for Jay and found him holding a seat for me near the back. The baseball field wasn’t far and even though I wasn’t overly fond of baseball, it was good to be out of the dorms of U of M campus. It had been fun living away from home for the Summer, but the rules and nightly curfew were annoying. So was the director. I noticed he seemed to be pretty lame about everything and I think he noticed me noticing him. I wasn’t sure if our mutual notice was a good thing or not.

The game went about as planned. Baseball games tend to do that. There was a first inning and after that a second one. Surprisingly a third followed. I was utterly bored by the fourth and wondered why anyone even invented this stupid game when Jay touched my arm and motioned for me to follow him and a group of our friends who had started heading towards the food stands. We were having a good time eating some great food, I was drinking a slurpee and chatting with someone cute when Jay turned around a noticed a couple rides setup. We started walking towards them when I noticed the No Food sign.

I wanted to go for a ride as well, but I had my drink and it still had some ice at the bottom that I wanted to finish. I turned around and saw one of the instructors of the Summer program, a guy I actually had spoken to a few times and felt was on good terms with. I asked him if he would hold my cup and he said “yes,” nodding his head in understanding. He wasn’t American, but it was clear we understood each other so I ran off to get on the ride with the group. I quickly forgot about the cup and became focused solely on the good time we were having.

As the groups were beginning to get on the bus and I was standing in line with my friends, I suddenly felt a hand grab my neck. It jerked me backward by the shoulder and I was suddenly face to face with the director and he was angry!

“What did you say to Andy!” he yelled at me as I tried to process what was going on and what he was even asking me. I felt and heard my friends also confused coming up to see what was going on.

“Dude… what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to Andy!” I half yelled back, but because I was in the tenth grade and my voice was still maturing it kind of came out as a squeak. It sounded like a roar to me though!

“He said you gave him some trash. You need to go apologize to him!” he yelled as he half pushed half shoved me towards a waiting Andy near the end of the line.

I began walking towards him…

“Hey Andy, I am sorry for whatever I did! … What did I do?” I immediately asked when I saw him.

“You gave me trash and then you just run off!” Andy retorted angrily.

I was a little shocked and stuttered a second before replying “well it wasn’t trash, I meant to come back and get it. I’m sorry again!”

Andy and I weren’t friends for the rest of the Summer. The director never liked me either and I learned a valuable lesson about cultural sensitivity, asking for favors, not forgetting about cups, how distracting friends can be, and that baseball does indeed truly suck. I would also like to note that it is possible when that director jerked my shoulder it ruined any chance I had of becoming a professional baseball pitcher even if I had and will never pitch a game in my life.

-Opinionated Man



Writing Advice

Sometimes people email me for writing advice and I don’t give it. The reason is because my writing is very poor and I have been known to post anything. There are many bloggers that write perfect posts weekly. They spend time editing, editing again, and re-editing the editing they’ve done and I applaud that. We need great posts out there!

Then there is me.

I use my blog as a sounding board for what I am doing, thinking, or considering to think or do in the moment. It is my twitter, my facebook, my Myspace (hahaha), and my blog. I treat it that way and because of that I turn readers off daily who are looking for a professional blog. Some explanation for why my numbers are what they are.

People judge your blog off one post. You have one post to impress upon them what you are trying to accomplish not only in the blogosphere, but in life period. Go.

Depending on what post you land on with my blog… you might have incredibly different impressions of me. One post I am a pathetic, grieving adoptee that might jump off a cliff one day. Another post I am an arrogant jerkoff that is really annoyed his fries were cold because he paid the extra $0.75 to super size them. That is blogging though and we all live under that same pressure and requirement when it comes to new readers or readers in general.

I don’t write for perfection here. Sometimes I flex and try new things, but that was mainly during my graveyard shifts when I was really, really, truly really bored. I am not bored right now. I am super fucking busy with my day job and everything lately either seems to be great or really fucking awful! But that is life.

When I was in elementary I tested for advanced English classes and was put into that program early. Because we were such geniuses no one taught us how to use commas properly or where the fuck this symbol ; goes in a sentence. I am pretty sure it has something to do with the number of words on each side and a need to balance the sentence out…

I don’t know how to write well. I only know how to write and we all know how to write.

Just write. If you want to learn proper punctuation or grammar take some classes. Don’t ask me, spellcheck just told me grammer is spelled grammar. I will say that when it comes to the creative writing courses I’ve taken I have grown wary of the advice of too many people. Sometimes we have to retain a little bit of ourselves, that rawness that makes our writing our own. Sometimes those rules, those restrictions that can so easily be broken by the power of a blog, are meant to be broken to allow us a voice.

At least I hope that is true because that is what I live by daily here.

-Opinionated Man