My name is Paul Easton, I live in Virginia, USA. I was born and raised in Dunfermline, Scotland and moved to the US when I was 24 years old. Seems a lifetime ago now. It was definitely a life ago.

I am not scob.

I’ve been everything from a bank teller, school kitchen worker, security guard, director of security, assistant Vice President at a university, assistant high school basketball coach, head high school basketball coach, and a basketball trainer.

None of these are who I am… not in the slightest.

I’m a father, a son, a brother, a lover, a friend, an enemy, a mentor, a writer, a problem.

Still, none of these are who I am…

The rawness I feel on the very few days that I am able to slow it all down. The moments when I am so exhausted from the over thinking and sleep deprivation that I finally against my will let it all fucking go. Thats when I really feel it. Thats when I know who I truly am.

I’m kind, strong, intelligent, funny, confident, magnetic, creative, thoughtful…

I’m angry, depressed, bipolar, hurt, weak, lonely, scared, creative, jealous…

I am scob.

What do I want from you?

Nothing.

I write to heal my pain. I write as therapy, to self medicate, to hear my own voice… and most importantly spill the over powering abundance of rapid thoughts out of my mind and slowly bleed them onto the paper so I can take a breath, just for a moment until the next tornado of thoughts arrive. I write for me if I’m being brutally honest with you.

However… I’m not completely self serving. I have learned that by sharing these thoughts it has helped many people in my life and even some I have never met. My writings speak to some directly, offer advice, a strong shoulder, inspire, and sometimes just the comfort that they aren’t suffering alone.

Now some others in my life some I know very well do not like this new path of mine. They believe it leaves me vulnerable and exposes weakness. They may be right I don’t know. I respect their opinion, but I just hope they don’t dislike the path because it cuts them the deepest and that it terrifies them to bring it all up and out. Sound familiar?

Life is for living my friend. Do just that.

I am scob.