Wm. Steven artist
"Life isn't always pretty, you can avert your eyes, but the reality is still there."
This man is real and after several conversations, encouraged me to paint his portrait so that others may have hope.
Let's call him Joshua, he's a veteran of the Iraq "war". He has scars from his experience, but you can't see them. What you do see is the result of a virus laiden mosquito bite upon a man who at that point didn't care whether he lived or died.
Joshua now understands that he suffered from PTSD. After he returned home, he felt like a stranger in his own land and within his own family. He felt deeply ashamed for what he'd seen and done, even though he had done nothing wrong. He had served his nation admirably. Coping with real horror can never be underestimated. When helping our veterans, there should be no limits.
I saw him by the roadside and sensed the sincerity in his eyes. I read his sign and saw the truth of his words. His posture, as he shielded his face and as he bit his fingernails pulled me out of my car to talk with him. I had to know his story.
An alien to his surroundings and desperate for mental relief, Joshua fell to crack cocain rather than a bullet. For years he lived in the streets, gutters and alley ways of Houston seeking only crack for his medication as the virus overtook his body. Under the influence, he felt no pain as he medicated his mind and body with the drug.
As the virus progressed from his feet and upward his breath became shorter and the pain intensified to the point that the crack simply wasn't enough. Every nerve ending was alive with intense, unknowable excruciating pain.
One night as he found himself struggling to pull himself up from a downtown gutter the extreme pain of every nerve in his body screamed, not only in pain, but also as a jolting realization about the truth of his condition. He once again wanted to live.
Joshua was once again alive again and living amongst us. That felt strangely familiar to him and he graciously accepted the help that so many had offered before. He overcame the drug habit just in time. Doctors told him that the virus had progressed to the point that he would no longer be able to breathe within 60~90 days.
His carboard sign was true and when we last spoke he was scheduled to go through 11-12 surgeries to both, save his life and free him from the constraints of the wheelchair. His best outlook is a life of conscious sobriety and crutches, but he's truly alive once more and grateful for a second chance.
This man is real and after several conversations, encouraged me to paint his portrait so that others may have hope.
Let's call him Joshua, he's a veteran of the Iraq "war". He has scars from his experience, but you can't see them. What you do see is the result of a virus laiden mosquito bite upon a man who at that point didn't care whether he lived or died.
Joshua now understands that he suffered from PTSD. After he returned home, he felt like a stranger in his own land and within his own family. He felt deeply ashamed for what he'd seen and done, even though he had done nothing wrong. He had served his nation admirably. Coping with real horror can never be underestimated. When helping our veterans, there should be no limits.
I saw him by the roadside and sensed the sincerity in his eyes. I read his sign and saw the truth of his words. His posture, as he shielded his face and as he bit his fingernails pulled me out of my car to talk with him. I had to know his story.
An alien to his surroundings and desperate for mental relief, Joshua fell to crack cocain rather than a bullet. For years he lived in the streets, gutters and alley ways of Houston seeking only crack for his medication as the virus overtook his body. Under the influence, he felt no pain as he medicated his mind and body with the drug.
As the virus progressed from his feet and upward his breath became shorter and the pain intensified to the point that the crack simply wasn't enough. Every nerve ending was alive with intense, unknowable excruciating pain.
One night as he found himself struggling to pull himself up from a downtown gutter the extreme pain of every nerve in his body screamed, not only in pain, but also as a jolting realization about the truth of his condition. He once again wanted to live.
Joshua was once again alive again and living amongst us. That felt strangely familiar to him and he graciously accepted the help that so many had offered before. He overcame the drug habit just in time. Doctors told him that the virus had progressed to the point that he would no longer be able to breathe within 60~90 days.
His carboard sign was true and when we last spoke he was scheduled to go through 11-12 surgeries to both, save his life and free him from the constraints of the wheelchair. His best outlook is a life of conscious sobriety and crutches, but he's truly alive once more and grateful for a second chance.
