Story Time

I just got a copy of my background report for the Home Depot job. I know they don’t call on weekends, so I’m expecting a call after Labor Day. But as I flipped through it, something hit me, every single charge on my record has one thing in common: women. Ex-girlfriends, to be exact. And I remember every one of those situations like it happened yesterday and I'm like damn dude I sure have a habit of picking the "perfect" woman don't I! I was thinking with the wrong head at the time.

Positive outcome though it's been almost a decade since my last charge and I ended up moving up to Pottstown years later and actually miss the damn area, it grew on me.

So, pull up a chair, grab a drink, and let me tell you the story of how three women managed to get me booked. Each one had its own chaos, its own drama, and somehow, a little bit of me thinking I was smarter than I really was.

April 2008, age 25 – Dade City, Florida: Grand Theft Auto. A buddy of mine hits me up and says, “Hey, your girl Amanda’s in Florida visiting her family, want to pop in and surprise her? Have some fun in the sun?” I said, “Yeah, but how are we getting down there?” He goes, “I got a car.” I thought nothing of it, he had the keys and even the insurance card. So we drove all the way to Florida. Had our little fun in the sun. Two weeks later, we got pulled over and that’s when I found out the car was stolen. That was my first arrest. All because I wanted to surprise a girl who, honestly, was probably the worst thing in my life at that time.

August 2016, age 33 – Pottstown, Montgomery County: I went up to visit Jessica and her family. She has always been a weakness of mine since I first met her anyway I'm up there for a few days and then we decided to hit a bar for a couple drinks, we are in the bar for maybe 15 minutes and some drunk dude starts arguing with me over a seat. I tried to de-escalate, but he kept running his mouth. I went to walk away, and he hit me with, “That’s what I thought.” I turned back, told him not to say that again he won't like the outcome, he pushed me, I hit him, and then I left. (More on that later.)

July 2017, age 34 – Roxborough: By this time I was dating a girl named Lauren, who I got with after Jess and I broke up the first time. We’d been together about 8 months, living in her apartment that her daddy paid for. One day we got into a shouting match in her apartment complex over something so small I can’t even remember it now. Cops got called. She put on the show like I was threatening her, and I got booked for “terroristic threats.” Her dad owned a beer distributor in Jersey, had money and connections, so of course I got the short end. I took 3 years of probation just to get her and the whole situation out of my life.

But right after that, I found out I had a warrant back in Montgomery County from that Pottstown bar fight. Turns out the guy I hit was an off-duty cop. They extradited me back, charged me with aggravated assault. Luckily, Judge O’Neil heard me out, brought the cop in, and the cop surprisingly was honest. They dropped it to disorderly conduct with a year of non-reporting probation. I’ll take that over an aggravated assault any day.

So, to sum it up:

1. GTA in Florida, visiting a girl.

2. Disorderly conduct in Pottstown, visiting a girl.

3. Terroristic threats in Roxborough, living with a girl.

You know I'm starting to think that everybody is actually right when they tell me my life is a goddamn movie. It is what it is, c'est la vie.

West Virginia

Man, it’s crazy how you see something on Facebook and it pulls a memory straight out of the vault. I just saw that post about someone dropping everything to go on a random trip, and instantly it reminded me of one of the wildest times in my 20s.

So, back around 2005, Chuck hits me up like, “Yo Don, what are you doing?” I was just chilling, watching some TV. He was like you wanna go to West Virginia? I'm like why would I want to go to West Virginia? He says there’s this female I’m going to try out, she’s got friends for you to try out too, and I heard they got some good food down there. A couple hours later we were in the car, hopped up on “enhancements” and driving from Philly to West Virginia on a whim, all this when we could’ve just went up the Ave for a hooker and down South Philly for a cheesesteak. 😂 But nah, not us. We needed the adventure.

Now here’s where it gets wild, every time we cross into a new state, I’d pull out my piece and shoot at the “Welcome to” signs. Yeah, I know, reckless as hell, but that was my life back then. Eventually Chuck gets pulled over, his face caked like a powdered donut, I got my situation under my lap, and he’s mouthing off to the cop. I’m sitting there thinking, Bro, shut the fuck up, I am NOT going to jail out here in the sticks. Then Chuck looks in the mirror, realizes what his face looks like, and he goes ghost white, whiter than he already was. The cop comes back, looks us over, and just says, get out of here. I told him GO before Chuck could even put the car in drive. To this day I still don’t know how we skated on that one.

But the trip wasn’t done with us yet. Later, driving through the mountains, we both got sick as hell and had to pull over. Another cop pulls up behind us like, what’s going on? I told him, Officer, I’m lightheaded, nauseous feel like I'm going to pass out. He goes, it's the change in altitude. Happens all the time to people not from here. I saw your PA plates and figured that’s what it was. Super cool dude, no issues at all.

Meanwhile, Chuck’s flying down mountain roads at 100 mph, steering with his knee while doing lines. Holy shit, man. Looking back, I can’t even believe that was real life. But that’s the thing for most people, this would be the craziest story they ever tell. For me? Back then… that was just a Tuesday. 🤷‍♂️

The post that sparked this memory. 

BORN TO FLY

Upon the sky, a monarch soars, the eagle vast, whose spirit roars. A shadow streaks, a jealous cry, the brazen crow who dares to fly, and land upon that regal spine a pecking pest, a desperate sign.

It squawks and claws with petty might, to drag the noble bird from flight. But wisdom’s path the eagle knows: beyond the pain, beyond the blows. It does not turn, it does not fight, it climbs toward the sun’s great light.

Higher, higher, through silent blue, where winds grow thin, where skies are new. The air turns cold, the breath runs short, the crow’s weak effort comes to naught. With one last gasp, it starts to fall unnoticed by the eagle, all.

So let them peck, those envious souls who cannot reach your soaring goals. Don’t waste your strength in useless strife, on the petty battles of their life. Just rise above, and find your peace; let all their noise and malice cease.

For you were born to chase the sun, not wrestle with a squawking one. The sky is vast, the peak is high, and you, my friend, were born to fly.

9 Months Away

Palazzo Collona, Rome, Italy

The Creed of Knowing

Know LOVE 💜 † NO loneliness 🥺

Embody love and compassion, rather than loneliness and isolation.

Know JOY 😊 † NO sadness 😢 

Choose joy and happiness, rather than sadness and despair.

Know LIGHT 💡 † NO darkness ⚫

Seek light and understanding, rather than darkness and ignorance.

Know WHOLENESS 👌🏻 † NO emptiness 😔

Cultivate wholeness and integration, rather than emptiness and disconnection.

Know NOW 🔮 † NO past 🙁

Live in the present moment, rather than dwelling on the past.

Know TRUTH 😊 † NO lies 🚫

Embrace truth and authenticity, rather than lies and deception.

Know STRENGTH 💪🏻 † NO weakness 😦

Develop inner strength and resilience, rather than weakness and vulnerability.

Know 🇮🇹 SELF 🇷🇺 † NO other 🖕🏻

Focus on self-awareness and personal growth, rather than seeking external validation.

Madalina

Actually think I might be in love 😘 

The Day the Rain Got Personal

I should’ve known something was up when the clouds started looking at me funny. I had procrastinated all afternoon, debating whether I should walk to the store. Finally, I decided yes, now is the moment. I got dressed, opened the door, and took one single step outside. The sky must’ve hit a big red “GO” button, because instantly plop, plop, plop, raindrops. No warning. No drizzle warm-up. Just an immediate “and we’re live” downpour.

Fine, I thought. I’ll tough it out. But as I walked toward the store, the rain decided tough love wasn’t enought went full power mode. My shirt was sticking to me like I owed it money. When I finally got to the store, the rain politely let up. It was like it just wanted me soggy enough to squeak with each step. I came back outside, bags in hand, and guess what? Yep! Storm round two. The rain apparently didn’t feel its work was complete without a dramatic closing scene. I made it home drenched, staring at the now-clear sky. I swear I heard the clouds laughing.

Lake Garda (Italy) (Lisa Fernandoz)

 

Blackheart DMD

🖕🏻🫵🏻

Hit Hard

This picture stopped me in my tracks today. My Aunt Toni Beideman sent it over, one of the last photos ever taken of my dad. I’ll be honest seeing it hit me hard. There’s something about a final image that carries a weight no other picture can. It’s not just a face, it’s the last chapter of a whole story. A story filled with laughter, stubbornness, lessons, and love.

This picture isn’t polished. His hair’s a little messy, his body tired. But that’s him. That’s my dad. Even here, he’s looking straight at the camera with those same eyes that saw me grow from a boy into a man. The same eyes that taught me, without words, how to be strong even when you’re not feeling strong.

Grief doesn’t fade it just changes shape. And today, this picture brought all those memories and emotions rushing back. I miss you, Dad. Every day. I’ll carry you with me in every meal I cook, every lesson I pass down, every moment I stand tall. Until we meet again.

Only Dead Fish Go With the Flow

I’m not the type to just drift wherever life’s current decides to drag me. Nah. That’s for the ones who gave up, the ones who stopped kicking, the ones who let the world carry them without a fight. You ever see a fish floating down a river belly-up? Yeah — it’s dead. And that’s exactly how I see it when someone tells me they “just go with the flow.” I told my boy the other day, “Only dead fish go with the flow.” He laughed, but he knew I meant it.

Life’s got this way of trying to pull you under, keep you in the same place, or push you into waters you don’t belong in. The current is strong, but so am I. I’ve been swimming upstream my whole damn life — against poverty, against addiction, against every bad hand I’ve been dealt. And I’m still here. Still kicking. Still breathing. Still moving against the current.

I remember one time — and trust me, there’ve been a lot — when life tried to pull me under for good. It wasn’t some Hollywood moment with dramatic music and a rescue boat. It was real life. Bills stacked like bricks on my chest, people I loved turning their backs, and the streets whispering my name like they missed me. That’s the thing about the current — it’ll disguise itself as comfort. It’ll make you think, Just stop fighting. Just let go. Just float.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Because I’ve seen what happens when you stop swimming — your eyes go dull, your dreams sink to the bottom, and you’re just another body carried away. So I kicked harder. I pushed against everything telling me to quit. Every stroke hurt, every breath burned, but I kept moving upstream.

That day, I didn’t just survive the current. I learned to spit in its face.

Minor Reflection

I haven’t watched TV in almost 3 months. Haven’t touched my PlayStation either. I am seriously considering selling both my PS4 and PS5. Not because I’m too busy I just honestly don’t care for it anymore. TV feels like reruns recycled noise. Whatever’s on, I’ve probably already seen it. And even if I haven’t, it just doesn’t pull me in.

Audiobooks? Nah. Not my thing. I’d rather hold a real book in my hands. Feel the weight of it. Smell the paper. Turn the page. Let the story live how it was meant to be slow and real. The funny thing is, I forgot how much I love reading. Not scrolling. Not skimming. Reading. But the truth is my real go-to? Music. Always has been. I throw in my headphones, open Spotify, and get lost in the sound. That’s where I find peace. That’s where I feel most like me.

Maybe I’m changing. Maybe I’m just tired of all the noise. Maybe I’m craving stillness. Something deeper. Whatever it is I don’t miss the screen. Not even a little. Has anyone else been feeling this lately?

#Growth #PeaceOfMind #MusicIsLife #UnplugToReconnect #BookOverScreen #StillnessOverNoise

Robot

FIVE YEARS SOBER: A Letter to My Demons

My name is Donald Miykhoel Di Giacomo — but everyone calls me Donny.

I was born on April 9, 1982, in Luzzi, Calabria, Italy — a fact that surprises most people. I was raised in the heart of Philly, but life had other plans when my mother, five and a half months pregnant, ended up grounded in Italy during what was supposed to be a quick family trip. So, I entered this world somewhere between continents, between stories — and maybe that’s fitting. I’ve always lived in the in-between.

I’m a chef by trade, a father by blood and soul, a former undefeated amateur boxer (36-0, 20 KOs) who was on his way to going pro — until the first motorcycle accident changed the course of everything. But I’ll get to that.

Because today, I need to say something louder than I’ve ever said it before:

In two months, I’ll be celebrating FIVE YEARS CLEAN — no heroin, no cocaine, no relapses.

No shortcuts.

No handouts.

Just grit, pain, and a quiet, stubborn refusal to die before I truly lived.

People love to romanticize rock bottom, like it’s a one-time fall. I never hit bottom. I fell into an abyss — an endless drop, no floor in sight. But I clawed my way out and used it as a launchpad.

Now, I walk past the ghosts that used to own me — and they don’t even recognize the man I’ve become. That’s not luck. That’s warrior work.

It hasn’t been easy. I’ve stared relapse in the face more times than I care to count — especially recently. But I’ve come too far to go back. I’ve been through too much to start over.

Let me explain.

I grew up in Kensington — not the version they film for documentaries, but the one you survive in. By 17, I’d already been shot three times. I survived two motorcycle wrecks that should’ve killed me. I’ve been stabbed in the face with an ice pick. I’ve overdosed enough to know what dying feels like. I’ve buried friends. I buried my mom on New Year’s Eve 2010. My dad followed in 2019.

And yet — I’m still here.

I used to think all that pain was punishment. Now I know it was preparation.

Getting shot taught me to stay alert.

Getting stabbed taught me to stay aware.

Overdosing taught me that drugs are a slow suicide.

The crashes taught me that life curves fast, and you better hold tight.

Losing my parents taught me to love people while they’re still breathing.

For a long time, I wore masks. I performed. I tried to be who I thought people wanted. Arrogant. Untouchable. But the truth is, I was afraid to be seen. I wanted to be loved — but didn’t know how to love myself.

But I’ve always had a big heart. Always loved hard. And now? Now, I love myself too.

I’m a father to five. My oldest, Mearea, is 23 — and we’re rebuilding what I once broke. My youngest, Destiny Marie, is 7 — and she’s my light in a world that once felt like nothing but shadows. They are my anchors. My reminders. My reasons.

I collect toy cars the way some people collect regrets. Mine are memories in miniature. I still love old gangster flicks and Hollywood’s golden age. I’m an Aries through and through: bold, honest, stubborn as hell.

But more than anything, I’m this:

An In Between.

Not quite an angel.

Not quite a devil.

Somewhere between heaven and hell.

I’ve brought a little hell into the world. But I’ve learned how to offer a little heaven, too.

I’ve walked through fire — and came out forged, not burned.

Today, I don’t glamorize my past — but I don’t hide from it either. I’ve made peace with it.

And five years clean? That’s not a trend. That’s not a fluke.

That’s earned. Every damn day.

So yeah — I say it with my chest:

I’m not just surviving.

I’m thriving.

And I’m doing it clean.

#FiveYearsStrong

#SoberNotSorry

#BuiltDifferent

#InBetween

#SurvivingAndThriving

My Carry On

Time Flies

I just realized that in two months, I’ll be celebrating FIVE YEARS SOBER from heroin and cocaine. No relapses. No shortcuts. Just resilience, self-respect, and a refusal to die before I lived.

People love to talk about rock bottom which I never said I had, mine was more like an abyss a never ending bottom, but people talk about it like it’s a death sentence. I used it as a launchpad. Now I walk past the ghosts that used to own me and smile because they no longer recognize the man I have become.

Now don't get me wrong it hasn't been easy and there have been a lot of situations where relapsing crossed my mind especially recently but I've come too far to start over. 

This isn’t luck. This isn’t chance. This is warrior work. And I earned every scar and every second of this life I’m building. So yeah, I say it with my chest I’m not just surviving. I’m thriving. And I am doing it CLEAN.

#FiveYearsStrong

#SoberNotSorry

#BuiltDifferent

#Durviving

Damn Skippy

You Can’t Sell Me Dreams

You can’t sell dreams to someone who’s danced with demons in their sleep.

There’s a certain kind of pain you don’t heal from, you just learn to carry it differently. I've had nights where I didn’t sleep, not because I couldn’t, but because I refused to close my eyes and meet the things waiting for me there.

I’ve made a bed out of broken glass

and still rose, bleeding, with a smile.

People talk about survival like it’s some noble, poetic thing. But they don’t tell you how ugly it gets. They don’t tell you about waking up and wishing you hadn’t, or putting on a face for the world while silently screaming inside.

Don't whisper fantasies in my ear

when I’ve heard screams echo through silence. See, I’ve known silence that isn’t peaceful, the kind of silence that’s heavy, suffocating,

the kind that holds your head underwater while your heart begs for a breath.

Your dreams are soft. Mine were ripped from me. And I kept walking.

You ever lost something that wasn’t physical? Not a person. Not a place.

But something in you, the kind of loss that shifts your whole internal gravity? That’s the kind of grief people can’t see, so they assume you’re fine. And maybe you are. But not in the way they think.

I don’t chase the light. I am the shadow that learned to survive without it. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not here to inspire. I’m just speaking for the ones who are still carrying broken pieces but somehow manage to keep moving anyway.

So no, don’t sell me dreams. I walked through my nightmares and made it out the other side. I didn’t find peace. I became it. And I’ll never let anyone take that from me again.