Meet Rodger, an Australian Art Director & Graphic Designer in Amsterdam, dealing with Grief & Chronic Pain.
Update coming soon.
Well done mate. Very courageous and skilfully written.
Wow… I’m so impressed by your story. You’ve told me bits and pieces in LA and also about this platform and what it means for you. I’m so f-ing proud of you that you’ve pulled it off so soon! It looks amazing, the content is fantastic and so is the woman on your side 🙂
What an amazing read and journey. So lovely to see an Australian man opening up his emotions to the world. Congrats Roger and what a beautiful writer you are. Good luck with this amazing initiative and thanks for telling Australian mem that its OK not to be OK. You’re one in a million mate?
Beautiful. Incredible. Inspiring.
What a story of survival… And the inevitable survivor’s guilt. I had no idea that it was ever this serious. Congrats on coming through, and thanks for sharing your story with us. Rodger, you are a brave man.
This was an eerie read for me. Not so much the physical injuries (Jesus Christ, I know you told me car accident, but I didn’t realize the extent), but the losing of a friend at a young age.
I lost two friends. Jeremy was the first. He died at 14. One comment you made is the same one I make- We, his friends, aged over night. Death wasn’t puttering around a senior center. He also occasionally poked young teens with his scythe.
Another comment you made is also one I make- I think of everything he missed out on- The drunken nights, the girlfriends, the traveling, the books, the art, the music, the food, the jobs, the cars, all of life’s simplest delights from the meditative sound of walking through the woods to a mere cup of tea while reading international news headlines. He got none of it. He’s dead. 12 years later, it’s still surreal. Still heartbreaking.
My other friend, Wilbur died 3 years ago at the age of 24. Following a seizure. I hate him. Because it’s impossible to grieve. You think I’M funny? I’m nothing compared to who he was. In his honor, I’ll share a few memories. I hate to presume but I’m 99.9% sure they’ll make you laugh.
* We met in Graphic Design. Sat next to each other. Our classroom was the school’s largest. It doubled as a photo lab and the lab you’d go to to have your Student ID picture taken. One morning some kid wandered in. The photographer wasn’t there. The kid didn’t know this. He kept wandering, looking confused. Wilbur called out “Hey, can I help you?” Kid said nothing. “Can I help you?” Kid still said nothing. Wilbur lost his patience. “What? ARE YOU FUCKIN’ DEAF?” Long story short, the kid was actually deaf.
* He had epilepsy and took strong medication. One morning he came up to me and said “Dude, my mom told me the weirdest thing this mornin’…” “Yeah?” “Apparently them pills I been takin’ for my seizures cause excessive hair growth. ON. MY. ASS.”
* Last memory. He was a huge pot head. Smoked weed all the time. He showed up to class high. He went to the vending machine and came back with cookies.
I dared him to throw one up and catch it with his mouth. His response? “FUCK YOU!” “Whoa, why?” “You’re just tryin’ to make fun of my ass, aren’t you? I’m tired of you guys’ shit!” So I turned to my assignment and worked on it. Two minutes later, I hear him hysterically giggling. “What is it?” “DUDE! I did it! I fuckin’ caught it!” He snagged the cookie after all. So you see, it’s hard to grieve this shit.
But I’m amazed at your story. You’re a brilliant writer. You capture and transmit images and emotions so well. I’m happy you’re alive. And I’m happy you’re here for me to tell you it’s an honor knowing you, good sir!
Hi there, the whole thing is going nicely here and
ofcourse every one is sharing facts, that’s genuinely good, keep up writing.