You never know how much you love something until it is stripped away from you. Since beginning this blog, there has been a bit of confusion about which mountains are my home. It is my hope after reading today’s piece appearing on The Good Men Project, you will know exactly which mountains I call home.
My home and heart reside in Appalachia. I haven’t traveled much. The farthest west I’ve been is Indiana, the farthest north I’ve traveled is to Maine, and the most southern point I’ve seen is Florida. Each time I left, my country roads called me home.
Today, I hope to convey a message. My home isn’t mine anymore. The place I call ‘home’ isn’t the same. I see people I don’t recognize, and I’m not angry at them. I bear no ill will to the addicts, I understand your plight. I do harbor resentment and anger to the scum who invaded my town, and brought death to it. My rage is aimed at the dealers who reside here only for profit. We are not your Moneyton.
Our mountains are hiding us. I have not enough words to express my gratitude towards The Good Men Project for publishing this piece, for bringing my home the attention it deserves. Thank you, Good Men Project.
And to Huntington, I am sorry I wanted to run. I am sorry there are days I still want to run. I don’t have the answers. But, I will stand with you at whatever you decide to do. Please know, I mean no harm or embarrassment at exposing our troubles. I only want solutions. I want to walk our streets, and not find used syringes. I want to feel safe again. I want my home back.