Stevie's Big Adventure

By Steve Cosmic

An autobiography which is about recovering from an abusive childhood, and overcoming addictions. Perhaps the most readable recovery book yet, simply told, profoundly stirring. A self help book with a hero. Lively, provocative reading, by a hypnotherapist, pilot, and inventor, who has done his own recovery work. With easy to do, effective healing exercises.

Stevie's Big Adventure is proving to be very popular, and it is on it's way to becoming a best seller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Cosmic
• Release date: Sep 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301140787

Steve Cosmic

I am a writer, director, cinematographer, editor and producer. I am a former bushpilot, inventor and hypnotherapist. I am also an addict/alcoholic, who has been clean and sober 27 years. In recent years I started dedicating myself to helping others, through my writings and my film work and online videos.

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Stevie's Big Adventure

A cosmic healing story

by

Steve Cosmic

Copyright Steve Cosmic 2013

Smashwords Edition

Steve Cosmic is the author of the entire contents of this book.

License Notes:

Thank you for downloading this ebook, it’s yours to enjoy – but this ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the ebook store and purchase your own copy.

Everything written here is true. I simply let the words flow onto the page........I felt guided as I wrote, with the words simply coming to me automatically. Feelings and memories surfaced and formed themselves into this book, as if they had to do it. There are parts I wish I'd made up.

This book is not about blaming anyone, including my parents. I know they did the best they could, with the knowledge and experience that they had at the time. But on the other hand, it is vitally important to relate everthing written here, because to deny our past and to try to ignore it without working through the issues, perpetuates enormous problems in our present lives. It was painful to write this book, but I am a sronger and better person because of it.

1

When I Was Younger

When I was 25 I thought I had it made. I owned my second plane, and felt the future would be nothing but fun and excitement. I had mastered the art of picking up women in bars, and thought I knew all the answers to all the world’s problems. I didn’t think I needed to know much else.

I had a great job as a bushpilot with a good outfit, and was treated with respect, by my boss, the people I flew, and people I knew. I was earning much more money than I needed, and spent it freely. I was considered witty and charming, especially by women.

I was healthy, strong, and free, and felt indestructible. Thinking that perhaps I was an alcoholic was far from my mind. And at that time I was certainly unaware that I would eventually become depressed to the point of considering suicide, and that it would be because of events that happened in my childhood. The prenatal abuse that I received was unknown to me at the time as well. And I sure didn’t know that my father had raped one of my sisters, and if so, that it was affecting me in any way. Nor did I think that being beaten with a baseball bat was affecting me. In fact, I had all but forgotten it.

As a boy, I thought my dad was OK. A bit too strict perhaps, but OK none the less. The words black sheep rang in my ears at an early age. It seemed like I was living with the wrong family, that maybe a serious mistake had been made at the hospital, and I was destined to be with the wrong people. The main thing I wanted was to be accepted.

If I could just be a hero, maybe then I would be accepted. Some of my fantasies included saving someone from a burning building, or snatching a child away from the path of a speeding car.

Years went by. I was very busy trying to have fun, and get laid, but I still wanted to be a hero.

2

The Hero As a Bushpilot. Saved by a Baby.

The Hero looked back at his load of passengers. Nine men, and one woman, all flying in to work at a remote logging camp.

Fasten your seat belts, and no puking! he said. That was what he said for a pre flight briefing sometimes.

A couple of his passengers smiled. They liked him. He was a good pilot, and they felt safe with him. Some passengers told him this directly, and some told his boss, which was even better. The woman passenger was one of the ones who smiled at him this morning. The Hero noticed she was rather shapely, and had a pretty face.

The Hero was used to women looking at him in a friendly way. As a kid he’d sometimes heard that he was good looking, but he didn’t believe it. But now at 33 he knew that some women found him irresistibly handsome. The hard physical work he did on his hobby stump farm gave his muscles definition and strength. He was slim and athletic, and well coordinated. These days he had a few gray hairs mixed with the thick, almost black, wavy mane which framed his dark complexion. He was frequently thought to be Spanish or Greek. And he had the respect and admiration of many people, including these passengers on this fine day.

These people were trusting him now, to fly them safely to a remote camp at the head of a majestic long coastal inlet. They didn’t know that they’d be flying right past the face, which was a place that frightened the Hero now.

Would this be the flight? Would it be this time? Well no, not with the passengers on board. Maybe on the way back, when the Hero would be the only one on board the old bushplane. Maybe then.

The Hero taxiied the plane into open water to begin his take off run, and eased the throttle forward. The 600 horsepower radial engine roared loudly, and very laboriously dragged the big floatplane off the water. They began a slow climb into a blue grey sky.

Twenty minutes later the plane with ten workers and a very depressed pilot entered the beautiful inlet. The mountains towered high above their flight path, with glaciers flowing down from some of the peaks to the icy waters of the inlet. In a few minutes more they were nearing the face, part of a vertical cliff that started at about the 4000 foot level of an 8000 foot peak, and stretched right down to the sea. The Hero liked to fly close to the face when he had passengers on board, and today he flew along side it at a distance of only a hundred feet. He had a good look at it as it passed by the side window, and his heart raced. Not now. Not now with these innocent people aboard. His hands felt sweaty, and he noticed his breathing was irregular. He continued his piloting in a robot like manner. A few minutes later they splashed down at their destination. The passengers disenbarked, and he noticed they seemed to be happy. He wished he was happy.

Nice flight. Thanks a lot. Wow! That sure is a sheer cliff there, isn’t it? These were comments coming from some of his passengers.

See you next time. said the Hero. He always said that. It was an old habit.

He did his take off check quickly, like a robot set at high speed, and took off in a rush.

Levelling off at 2000 feet, the Hero’s breath became shallow, and his heart raced. He was about ten miles from the face and closing on it at 120 miles per hour. Five minutes. That’s all. In just five minutes he’d be there. He closed his eyes, as he had done on other flights lately, and with his eyes closed he could see the rock face clearly.....he was seeing it at a distance of about 100 feet, through the front windshield, not the side window. Heading straight towards it, at a distance of a hundred feet, it would be impossible to turn away and avert a collision. At a hundred and twenty miles an hour there would be nothing left of him or the plane. He opened his eyes. Four minutes now.

He drifted back to earlier that morning. As his alarm went off, he tried to turn it off quickly, to minimize the disturbance to his sleeping wife. She seemed to be kind of irritable lately. As he left the bedroom, he noticed the space under the door. It was a trait of mobile homes. Spaces under the doors, and thin walls. They certainly weren’t very soundproof. Not really much use to even close the door.

His goal in the kitchen was to prepare coffee and a small breakfast as quickly and as quietly as possible, without invoking the wrath of his wife.

But today he wasn’t that lucky. He dropped a spoon from his plate as he carried it to the sink. His wife arose angrily and slammed the bedroom door.

Before departing, the Hero went to look at his little son. He was asleep in his crib, with his bum up in the air. Funny how toddlers like to sleep that way at a certain age. He kissed him as he slept and then went to see if he would get a good-by kiss from his wife. When he entered the bedroom, she turned her back to him and just said go.

He didn’t know why she was so angry with him. He hadn’t been drunk for a while, and the past few nights he hadn’t had more than 2 or 3 beer after supper.

A few nights ago she had beat him with her fists as he slept. She had pounded him on his chest and shoulders. It was a nightmarish way to be awakened. Apparently he had been snoring.

He loved her dearly, and wanted things to be OK between them. He had supported her when she had problems, and wished that she would support him now. In his own way he had tried to make the relationship work, but now it seemed hopeless.

As he drove to work that morning he cried openly. There was a flood of tears as he had never experienced before. But by the time he got to the airbase, the tears had stopped, and to those he met there he seemed to be his old self. Luckily it was sunny, and he had an excuse to wear his sunglasses.

The face was only half a mile away now. He looked at the airspeed indicator. It showed 120 miles an hour. Thirty seconds more. He closed his eyes again.

And this time when he closed his eyes he saw his little son, asleep in his crib,