With one hand holding the waist of my pants and the other holding a small duffel bag, I took small, awkward steps steps through the empty halls. The orderly leading me explained the situation regarding my placement and tried to prepare me for how to handle the things I was going to see. He was a young guy and he was quiet when he spoke.
"You'll be out of this wing soon, couple of days tops. Just keep your head down and try not to excite anyone."
"Duly noted."
The door to my wing opened and there while there were no patients in sight, I could hear them wailing in the back. We approached the front desk which was connected to the normal wing. I looked to my right to see an older woman with matted hair standing in the hallway and pressing her face into the wall.
The orderly takes my duffel bag for inspection and I was taken to a room for a proper medical screening. They asked me why I was there and I told them about the breakup. How seeing her everyday tore me up inside, but didn't affect her in the slightest. I would have rather she hated me, because it was her apathy that was doing me in.
"Uh-huh." Was his response.
Then I just started throwing out more random traumatic memories, things I torture myself with every single day.
"Uh-huh." Was his response.
After I made the cute female nurse leave, I asked him about an embarrassing health issue. His eyes visibly clicked with recognition as the final piece of the puzzle slid into place and he understood why I was there.
"Now, I can't help you with that. But, I don't think you're crazy. Depressed, sure, but you're not insane. You are, however, about to see crazy."
I go back to the front desk and I ask if I can go smoke. Thankfully, they say it's OK and point to the door. The smoke room was a big wooden box with benches built along the walls. Also on the walls, were years of mad ramblings carved into their surface which you could get lost in for hours.
The first time I entered the box I was not alone, there were two other guys there with me. One was a cheerful middle age white guy who said, "They, call me joker, or smiley. Cos, I'm always smilin'. He wasn't lying, cat always had a smile carved onto his face. His eyes never smiled with his lips, they hid much more malevolent emotions.
The second was an emaciated black man in his thirties. He introduced himself by many names, one of which was Joseph. He was a prophet who spoke to Jesus Christ.
I lit my cig and savored the first drag before asking, "Whatcha guys doin'?"
Joseph looked at me, "We're reading the word of God. You're a believer aren't you?"
"You know," I squeaked, "religion is very complicated. There are lot of things you have to really think about."
"Not it isn't." Joseph's eyes flashed with wrath, "You're either with us, or with them." He points to the nursing station. "They get bled like pigs."
"Oh, um...I love Jesus. So much."
"Good." Joker finally chimed in. "Cos, see we can't read so good and you talk like you can. Come sit next to us and read the word of God."
"Yes. Great idea." I wasn't relieved by Joseph's approval.
I sat down in between them and a bible was thrust into my lap. I don't remember what I read to them, but I do remember thinking the experience was the personification of my feelings regarding organized religion, particularly Christianity.
The orderly who brought me in came outside right when the guys were telling me their deranged take on the passage I'd just read.
"We need you back inside."
"Thank you so much, man. I was getting worried." I said once the door was closed behind us.
"That was about to turn into a situation. Those two are the two most dangerous patients here. Don't turn your back on them."
"Joseph said people will be bled like pigs."
"Yeah, he says that."
He informs me my bag has passed inspection, my door is to remain open at all times, the rooms are monitored and I will be given a pill to help me sleep. He doesn't tell me what it is and I don't ask.
"What do you want to drink?" he asks. "We've got apple juice, orange juice, milk, chocolate milk..."
"Chocolate milk!" I say with the enthusiasm of a five year old.
He gives me two, which is more than I want, but I pop the pill and chug em both down because I doubt I'll have a minifridge in my room. Once I'm nauseous from the mixture of too much dairy and old Mexican food, he tells me where to find my room.
As I walk the halls I don't dare look into any of the open rooms, for fear at what I might find. I finally reach mine and when I cross its threshold I get a horrifying view of the woman from the hallway staring at me while completely naked. An involuntary burp filled my mouth with a concoction of fajitas, chocolate milk and vomit.
"This is my room!" She tells me as she stomps her foot.
"Okie-dokie." Was all I could come up with before I left.
I tell the orderly, "There's a naked woman in my room. This is the first time in my life I'm not stoked to say that sentence."
"Oh, um...ok. Take the one across from her, I'm pretty sure it's empty."
"Awesome, thanks."
My new room was empty, but being forced to sleep with the door open meant it didn't make me feel any more reassured. I put my clothes in the cubby hole they gave me and brought my personal effects and put them in the nightstand by my bed. These effects included, one notebook and one pen. Both were given to me by the doctor.
The only luxury I truly missed was my music, so I spent the next 30 minutes writing lyrics to my favorite songs so I wouldn't forget them.
I glanced up and spotted a black box with a red light in the upper right hand corner. "That's odd," I thought. I then looked around to find them in every corner. This is when I remember what the orderly said,
"...all of the rooms are monitored..."
Fuck. This meant I wasn't even going to have the one natural stress reliever I've used every day since I was 13. (Grow up, I'm just talking about jacking off)
I sighed deeply, and turned out the light. The bed was uncomfortable, fitted with rubber sheets and one pillow and blanket which were almost paper thin. I used the pillow to block out the cacophony from the rooms outside. While it did manage to soften the noise from the external voices, the internal ones were turned up to 11.
"WHYAMIHEREWILLTHISMAKEHERLOVEMEYOUBROKEYOURMOTHERSHEARTSHEBROKEMINEFIRSTWEALWAYSKNEWITWOULDCOMETOTHISGOD WHY HAVEN'T THE SLEEPING PILLS KICKED I-"
When I awoke it was still dark out and something felt wrong. I was groggy from the pill I took and reached my hand under the blanket and it came back wet. The meds put me down so hard I pissed the bed. I walked to the front desk and stood there for a few moments, because I forgot why I went.
"Yes?" my best friend the male orderly asked with nervous eyes.
"mmlosthm"
"You're lost?"
"No! I lost something. Can you help me find it?"
"Well, what'd you lose?"
"My fuckin' dignity, have you seen it?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Can I have some clean sheets, please?"
His expression was quizzical, but he obliged. I went back and passed out again, unaware of what the next day would bring.
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
My time in the mental hospital: Part 1
There are painful things about my past which people in my personal life know about, but won't let me discuss. I can't talk about them because of how it makes them feel. This means I have to kill myself by keeping it all inside. I'm not going to live like that anymore. Here's a story I've been needing to tell for 2 and a half years.
A couple of weeks before my 23rd birthday, I was in a bad way. I was allowing Allison to string me along, seeing horrible doctors and hearing a voice which told me to kill myself. Due to a lack of another viable option I decided to check myself into a mental hospital.
The only people I told before I left were a lady in HR and my boss. My boss also had a big mouth, I later found out.
I drove my car to my mom's house and waited for her to get home to take me up there. I just remember sitting in her living room. Everything was quiet except for the sounds of my sister swimming in the backyard and the obnoxious wind chime by the back door. My hands shook as I put my headphones on and listened to "HRSA" by Blue October. Then I wept.
Mom got home and the next thing I remember is pumping gas for her. Then us eating in painful silence where I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
After that, we got to the hospital and they gave me paperwork to fill out and hand back. My mom tried to stay positive, but I knew as soon as she was inside her car she was going to unload. Before they took us back I had to give them my belt and shoelaces. I had to constantly hold my pants up with one hand, while trying not to walk out of my shoes and was never successful at either.
A doctor asked me questions and my mom became visibly hurt by some of the answers I had given. When the interrogation was over, the doctor told mom she had to leave. She was barely able to stifle the cry as she embraced me, then I was all alone.
The wing for patients who were bi-polar and on drug rehabilitation was full, so they stuck me with the ones who were prone to unpredictable and violent outbursts. The next 48 hours were terrifying and I've never seen a movie do it justice, but I'm not ready to go any further right now.
To be continued...
A couple of weeks before my 23rd birthday, I was in a bad way. I was allowing Allison to string me along, seeing horrible doctors and hearing a voice which told me to kill myself. Due to a lack of another viable option I decided to check myself into a mental hospital.
The only people I told before I left were a lady in HR and my boss. My boss also had a big mouth, I later found out.
I drove my car to my mom's house and waited for her to get home to take me up there. I just remember sitting in her living room. Everything was quiet except for the sounds of my sister swimming in the backyard and the obnoxious wind chime by the back door. My hands shook as I put my headphones on and listened to "HRSA" by Blue October. Then I wept.
Mom got home and the next thing I remember is pumping gas for her. Then us eating in painful silence where I couldn't bring myself to look at her.
After that, we got to the hospital and they gave me paperwork to fill out and hand back. My mom tried to stay positive, but I knew as soon as she was inside her car she was going to unload. Before they took us back I had to give them my belt and shoelaces. I had to constantly hold my pants up with one hand, while trying not to walk out of my shoes and was never successful at either.
A doctor asked me questions and my mom became visibly hurt by some of the answers I had given. When the interrogation was over, the doctor told mom she had to leave. She was barely able to stifle the cry as she embraced me, then I was all alone.
The wing for patients who were bi-polar and on drug rehabilitation was full, so they stuck me with the ones who were prone to unpredictable and violent outbursts. The next 48 hours were terrifying and I've never seen a movie do it justice, but I'm not ready to go any further right now.
To be continued...
Concert Memories: New Found Glory
I've seen NFG play three different times and, despite the band always delivering an amazing show, each one was an unmitigated disaster.
1. I first saw them early on during my sophomore year in high school. I talked my dad into getting me the tickets and I invited a close friend who I'd always had a crush on to go with me. Right before the day of the show she backed out and I was crushed. In the final desperate hours, I asked this unstable girl I wasn't too familiar with from my history class and she accepted.
Dad had a hook up at the venue, so we had great seats and free refreshments. It was everything a 15 year old could dream of. NFG fucking rocked their set and were followed by Blink-182. It was while they were on I looked over to my companion to see her making out with the guy sitting next to her. She never did thank me for taking her to the show.
2. The band was one of the many I couldn't wait to see at Warped Tour '04. Lisa, the girl I was dating at the time, died our hair blue for the event. It was raining, which made the dye run and ruin the new shirts we had bought. Shortly after I found out most of the bands I had wanted to see had canceled and I had an awkward run in with my first obsession. After that crisis was averted, we grabbed great seats right next to the stage just in time to see NFG come on.
Thirty seconds into their first song we were nearly crushed by the massive number of people swarming the stage. Suddenly, we were in the middle of the biggest mosh pit I'd ever seen and I started having a panic attack. Something in the air caught my eye just in time for me to recognize it as a beer bottle before it hit my girlfriend in the head.
My protective instincts kicked in and I grabbed her by the arm and started fighting through the sea of bodies to get her to safety. Halfway through I came to a clearing and was able to breathe for a moment. My eyes glanced upward to see a guy standing 5 feet in front of me. His frenzied eyes scanned the crowd and before finally meeting mine. He smiled as his fists clenched and unclenched. Then came at me and kicked me in the balls. I fell to my knees for a few seconds and by the time I finally got back on my feet he was gone. Still holding Lisa's hand I tore into a full sprint into the crowd. As soon as we reached safety I let her go, went into the bathroom and threw up. We left shortly after.
3. The last time I was with Allison, right when the shit storm had been dropped. That's all I have to say about that.
1. I first saw them early on during my sophomore year in high school. I talked my dad into getting me the tickets and I invited a close friend who I'd always had a crush on to go with me. Right before the day of the show she backed out and I was crushed. In the final desperate hours, I asked this unstable girl I wasn't too familiar with from my history class and she accepted.
Dad had a hook up at the venue, so we had great seats and free refreshments. It was everything a 15 year old could dream of. NFG fucking rocked their set and were followed by Blink-182. It was while they were on I looked over to my companion to see her making out with the guy sitting next to her. She never did thank me for taking her to the show.
2. The band was one of the many I couldn't wait to see at Warped Tour '04. Lisa, the girl I was dating at the time, died our hair blue for the event. It was raining, which made the dye run and ruin the new shirts we had bought. Shortly after I found out most of the bands I had wanted to see had canceled and I had an awkward run in with my first obsession. After that crisis was averted, we grabbed great seats right next to the stage just in time to see NFG come on.
Thirty seconds into their first song we were nearly crushed by the massive number of people swarming the stage. Suddenly, we were in the middle of the biggest mosh pit I'd ever seen and I started having a panic attack. Something in the air caught my eye just in time for me to recognize it as a beer bottle before it hit my girlfriend in the head.
My protective instincts kicked in and I grabbed her by the arm and started fighting through the sea of bodies to get her to safety. Halfway through I came to a clearing and was able to breathe for a moment. My eyes glanced upward to see a guy standing 5 feet in front of me. His frenzied eyes scanned the crowd and before finally meeting mine. He smiled as his fists clenched and unclenched. Then came at me and kicked me in the balls. I fell to my knees for a few seconds and by the time I finally got back on my feet he was gone. Still holding Lisa's hand I tore into a full sprint into the crowd. As soon as we reached safety I let her go, went into the bathroom and threw up. We left shortly after.
3. The last time I was with Allison, right when the shit storm had been dropped. That's all I have to say about that.
Loss Pt. 2: The eulogy I wish I had given
It's funny the difference a year can make.
I still remember your funeral. The pastor and other members of the church talked about you. They said they didn't know you before you found God, but they liked the Mark they knew after you sheeped up. In fact, you got two different eulogies. One was for the Mark people saw at church. They referred to the Mark I knew, and loved, as "That Other Mark."
This made me furious, though no one else felt aggrieved.
I felt this away every time a church representative spoke, but you should have seen Vinnie. Your son has the heart of a lion, man. Just like his old man.
To me the scariest thing about dying has always been just how fast everyone else moves on without you. I mean, that's what we did once the ache of losing you subsided. Because, once you're gone the people you love are still here. What other choice do they have?
But you're not forgotten. I think about you all the time. Mostly at family functions, because we were always attached at the hip. I wander around lost during them now, like I'm looking for someone I'm never going to find again.
You were the first, of two, family members to read my book. Hearing you talk about it was the first time I truly felt accomplished as a writer.
I think about you when I listen to our most frequent topic of conversation, The Russ Martin Show. He finally made it back on the air, six months too late.
I miss driving around for hours laughing and crying as you'd tell me all about your life. I still treasure your tales of being a professional wrestler. The pastor mentioned this era of your life briefly and dismissively. It was his goddamned dream and it was given one sentence.
See, I knew you as "That Other Mark" and you were a beautiful human being.
You were the brother I never had.
And I miss you.
I still remember your funeral. The pastor and other members of the church talked about you. They said they didn't know you before you found God, but they liked the Mark they knew after you sheeped up. In fact, you got two different eulogies. One was for the Mark people saw at church. They referred to the Mark I knew, and loved, as "That Other Mark."
This made me furious, though no one else felt aggrieved.
I felt this away every time a church representative spoke, but you should have seen Vinnie. Your son has the heart of a lion, man. Just like his old man.
To me the scariest thing about dying has always been just how fast everyone else moves on without you. I mean, that's what we did once the ache of losing you subsided. Because, once you're gone the people you love are still here. What other choice do they have?
But you're not forgotten. I think about you all the time. Mostly at family functions, because we were always attached at the hip. I wander around lost during them now, like I'm looking for someone I'm never going to find again.
You were the first, of two, family members to read my book. Hearing you talk about it was the first time I truly felt accomplished as a writer.
I think about you when I listen to our most frequent topic of conversation, The Russ Martin Show. He finally made it back on the air, six months too late.
I miss driving around for hours laughing and crying as you'd tell me all about your life. I still treasure your tales of being a professional wrestler. The pastor mentioned this era of your life briefly and dismissively. It was his goddamned dream and it was given one sentence.
See, I knew you as "That Other Mark" and you were a beautiful human being.
You were the brother I never had.
And I miss you.
Stream of consciousness
At 8:30, the alarm goes off. I fight with the snooze button for a half hour before my brain decides to finally fire up. I rub my burning eyes and try to string enough words together to form a single, cohesive thought.
Stayed up till 3 watching a Bill Hicks dvd, because I couldn't tear myself away.
Slept on the couch because sleeping on my bed with all it's emptiness is more than I can take lately.
And now, time to get up.
I step into the kitchen and make my single cup of coffee, which accompanies me into the bathroom. I still can't figure out my shower, so I bathe under sporadic bursts of luke warm and biting cold. You see, I can't feel right until I've had a blistering hot shower, so I've started every day since September off on the wrong foot.
I listen to my music as I brush my teeth and suit up. While singing along to "Survive" by Rise Against I examine myself in the mirror. I'm wearing a long sleeve, white thermal shirt, black jeans, white and black tennis shoes, black suit jacket and, of course, the fedora. I deem this acceptable and head out.
It's dad's birthday tomorrow so I told him I'd take him to see the new Harry Potter flick today. When I get to his place he hands me the newest pictures of my little brothers. It makes my heart ache. I place them carefully in the breast pocket of my jacket and we head to the theater.
I have an amazing time. We talk easily, not about anything serious, but it doesn't matter. I'm simply clowning around with my dad. It's like those old days I miss more than anything else. He feels like my dad, again.
The movie is also phenomenal.
After it's over, he goes to the bathroom and I venture outside to smoke. I see this girl sitting by herself who's checking her phone while people watching. Our eyes meet and after that, I could swear I see her staring in my direction a couple times. When dad finishes up we start heading to his car.
She's about ten steps ahead of us when I reach into my jacket and pull out one of my business cards. Right before we pass I hand it to her and say, "You look like you need this. Check it out sometime."
When we're a decent enough distance away my dad asks, "So you only give them to goth girls?"
"Market research says they're my demo." We both chuckle a bit.
When I sit down in the car, as I buckle my seat belt I ask, "Do want to know the real reason I gave her my card?"
"Sure."
"She was the only one I saw who was alone. I know what that's like and I don't think anyone should ever have to feel that way." On the way back to the house we talk about religion and it is glorious.
As soon as we arrive, we meet up with my aunt and cousins and go out to eat together. I love my family, but I don't know how to act around them; I feel uncomfortable and I don't know why. Dad tells a story about how my youngest brother (Casey, 4) says I'm not his brother because I never come to see him. My chest goes numb.
Flash forward an hour or so and I hug my dad goodbye. The two and a half day funk I'd been dragging out evaporates in the beauty of the moment.
Back at the apartment I pull up my site and discover I have a new comment. It's from my dad, which reads:
"Ben, I'm very happy you finally found a way to express your voice. I'm proud of you."
Then I go to facebook and am greeted by a friend request from the girl at the theater. "This should be interesting", I think to myself as I click confirm.
Stayed up till 3 watching a Bill Hicks dvd, because I couldn't tear myself away.
Slept on the couch because sleeping on my bed with all it's emptiness is more than I can take lately.
And now, time to get up.
I step into the kitchen and make my single cup of coffee, which accompanies me into the bathroom. I still can't figure out my shower, so I bathe under sporadic bursts of luke warm and biting cold. You see, I can't feel right until I've had a blistering hot shower, so I've started every day since September off on the wrong foot.
I listen to my music as I brush my teeth and suit up. While singing along to "Survive" by Rise Against I examine myself in the mirror. I'm wearing a long sleeve, white thermal shirt, black jeans, white and black tennis shoes, black suit jacket and, of course, the fedora. I deem this acceptable and head out.
It's dad's birthday tomorrow so I told him I'd take him to see the new Harry Potter flick today. When I get to his place he hands me the newest pictures of my little brothers. It makes my heart ache. I place them carefully in the breast pocket of my jacket and we head to the theater.
I have an amazing time. We talk easily, not about anything serious, but it doesn't matter. I'm simply clowning around with my dad. It's like those old days I miss more than anything else. He feels like my dad, again.
The movie is also phenomenal.
After it's over, he goes to the bathroom and I venture outside to smoke. I see this girl sitting by herself who's checking her phone while people watching. Our eyes meet and after that, I could swear I see her staring in my direction a couple times. When dad finishes up we start heading to his car.
She's about ten steps ahead of us when I reach into my jacket and pull out one of my business cards. Right before we pass I hand it to her and say, "You look like you need this. Check it out sometime."
When we're a decent enough distance away my dad asks, "So you only give them to goth girls?"
"Market research says they're my demo." We both chuckle a bit.
When I sit down in the car, as I buckle my seat belt I ask, "Do want to know the real reason I gave her my card?"
"Sure."
"She was the only one I saw who was alone. I know what that's like and I don't think anyone should ever have to feel that way." On the way back to the house we talk about religion and it is glorious.
As soon as we arrive, we meet up with my aunt and cousins and go out to eat together. I love my family, but I don't know how to act around them; I feel uncomfortable and I don't know why. Dad tells a story about how my youngest brother (Casey, 4) says I'm not his brother because I never come to see him. My chest goes numb.
Flash forward an hour or so and I hug my dad goodbye. The two and a half day funk I'd been dragging out evaporates in the beauty of the moment.
Back at the apartment I pull up my site and discover I have a new comment. It's from my dad, which reads:
"Ben, I'm very happy you finally found a way to express your voice. I'm proud of you."
Then I go to facebook and am greeted by a friend request from the girl at the theater. "This should be interesting", I think to myself as I click confirm.
I swear to God, this one's positive.
Did you ever have one of those days?
You know the kind I'm talking about. It hits you before you even open your eyes..."This day's gonna suck". And that's the attitude you carry with you all day long. Everything just goes wrong and makes you want to curl up and cry. But you still try your hardest. It's not the best game face you could have, but at least you're making an effort. Eventually, you go from trying to be at least somewhat productive to just riding out the clock. You go past the point of being upset to just siting in bemused acceptance, eager to see just what could happen next.
Anyway, that's the kind of day I had today. By the end of it, I was so stressed I was calm. If you've ever experienced this, you know how unsettling it is. I got a jump for my car (Oh, yeah, my battery died while I was going to get lunch for management), put on one of my favorite shamelessly emo bands and sang my heart out all the way home. It helped.
When I arrived at my apartment, I was finally able to sit down and breathe. I decided not to let my previous negativity make the day be a complete waste by getting something positive done tonight. I re-read what I had written the night before. Then, I read it aloud and it sounded good. Unfortunately, I didn't have the mic with me. I started going through all my options and decided to try recording it through my MP3 player. I knew the quality would be awful, but at least I'd be able to listen to it immediately.
So, I hit recorded and laid it down. It felt amazing. I've listened to it 20 times. (that's how I rehearse) It's terribly raw, what with the stumbling of some words and the mic distorting my vocals when I get too into it, but it shows a lot of potential. I'm getting somewhere with this.
I started looking back at all the events of the day. I saw something I didn't see before when I was too wrapped up in myself, all the kind gestures from those I work with. I am so grateful to all the people who put up with me today. I also realized something vital...
An attitude can really fuck up your day.
You know the kind I'm talking about. It hits you before you even open your eyes..."This day's gonna suck". And that's the attitude you carry with you all day long. Everything just goes wrong and makes you want to curl up and cry. But you still try your hardest. It's not the best game face you could have, but at least you're making an effort. Eventually, you go from trying to be at least somewhat productive to just riding out the clock. You go past the point of being upset to just siting in bemused acceptance, eager to see just what could happen next.
Anyway, that's the kind of day I had today. By the end of it, I was so stressed I was calm. If you've ever experienced this, you know how unsettling it is. I got a jump for my car (Oh, yeah, my battery died while I was going to get lunch for management), put on one of my favorite shamelessly emo bands and sang my heart out all the way home. It helped.
When I arrived at my apartment, I was finally able to sit down and breathe. I decided not to let my previous negativity make the day be a complete waste by getting something positive done tonight. I re-read what I had written the night before. Then, I read it aloud and it sounded good. Unfortunately, I didn't have the mic with me. I started going through all my options and decided to try recording it through my MP3 player. I knew the quality would be awful, but at least I'd be able to listen to it immediately.
So, I hit recorded and laid it down. It felt amazing. I've listened to it 20 times. (that's how I rehearse) It's terribly raw, what with the stumbling of some words and the mic distorting my vocals when I get too into it, but it shows a lot of potential. I'm getting somewhere with this.
I started looking back at all the events of the day. I saw something I didn't see before when I was too wrapped up in myself, all the kind gestures from those I work with. I am so grateful to all the people who put up with me today. I also realized something vital...
An attitude can really fuck up your day.
Content
Tonight I came home and finally beat Mass Effect Two. I cooked myself dinner in my own kitchen. I did a little recording in my living room. Right now, I'm crashed out on the couch watching MST3K. There's no one else around and I can do whatever I want. So, yeah. Pretty good Friday night.
Davlin's Paranormal Journal
December 2009
It was late that night, I had just spent hours on my laptop and my eyes felt like they were going to bleed. I set the computer by my side, took off my glasses and placed them on the nightstand. That's when I heard the voices. There were dozens of them and they came from all directions. A few of them were angry, others in frightened whispers, but they were all speaking the same language. I've never heard another one like it before or since. Suddenly, I was pushed and held down by an incredible force. From the light of the laptop, I could see my clothes being moved and pulled down by invisible hands in a hungry attempt to expose more skin. Then, they were all over me. I could see the paths of their fingertips as they explored every inch of my body. The voices grew louder and louder until they were screaming with delight. That's when I blacked out.
True story
It was late that night, I had just spent hours on my laptop and my eyes felt like they were going to bleed. I set the computer by my side, took off my glasses and placed them on the nightstand. That's when I heard the voices. There were dozens of them and they came from all directions. A few of them were angry, others in frightened whispers, but they were all speaking the same language. I've never heard another one like it before or since. Suddenly, I was pushed and held down by an incredible force. From the light of the laptop, I could see my clothes being moved and pulled down by invisible hands in a hungry attempt to expose more skin. Then, they were all over me. I could see the paths of their fingertips as they explored every inch of my body. The voices grew louder and louder until they were screaming with delight. That's when I blacked out.
True story
Just a taste
I’m driving home after another amazing weekend with you. My heart aches for every mile put between us. There is one good thing about the drive, however, it gives me time to reflect. And my new favorite thing to reflect upon? Us.
It’s January and the heater’s still busted. Despite the many layers I’m wearing, the night still cuts into me, leaving my extremities vulnerable to overexposure from the chill. Then, I see your face. The memories shine through your visage’s incandescence. I’m warmed from the inside out as I relive each and every one of them.
It’s January and the heater’s still busted. Despite the many layers I’m wearing, the night still cuts into me, leaving my extremities vulnerable to overexposure from the chill. Then, I see your face. The memories shine through your visage’s incandescence. I’m warmed from the inside out as I relive each and every one of them.
Loss Pt. 1
On Christmas Eve...it actually snowed.
I stand on my patio and watch it while smoking a cigarette. You would have enjoyed this, I think. It would have reminded you of home.
I listen to the song "Hear you me" by Jimmy Eat World and I can't stop crying. I'm trying so hard to be strong, man. I really am. I know Christy's worse off than me right now and I'm trying to be her rock. She loved you so much, just as you did her. That kind of love is rare in life and I'm glad you both had the chance to experience it with each other, even if it never does last quite as long as we want it to.
I remember when I first got to your apartment last night, everyone was so quiet. She was just walking around trying to tidy up, her face devoid of any emotion. Her eyes met mine and her face does that scrunchy thing it always does when she's about to break down. I dropped what I was carrying, went over, embraced her and she just unloaded. She asked the questions I didn't have answers to, so I just held her tighter and let the tears come until there were none left to give.
She's lost without you. You were everything to her and I don't think she's strong enough to handle this.
I stand on my patio and watch it while smoking a cigarette. You would have enjoyed this, I think. It would have reminded you of home.
I listen to the song "Hear you me" by Jimmy Eat World and I can't stop crying. I'm trying so hard to be strong, man. I really am. I know Christy's worse off than me right now and I'm trying to be her rock. She loved you so much, just as you did her. That kind of love is rare in life and I'm glad you both had the chance to experience it with each other, even if it never does last quite as long as we want it to.
I remember when I first got to your apartment last night, everyone was so quiet. She was just walking around trying to tidy up, her face devoid of any emotion. Her eyes met mine and her face does that scrunchy thing it always does when she's about to break down. I dropped what I was carrying, went over, embraced her and she just unloaded. She asked the questions I didn't have answers to, so I just held her tighter and let the tears come until there were none left to give.
She's lost without you. You were everything to her and I don't think she's strong enough to handle this.
My Brand New Coat
More than anything, I want an X-Box 360.
A couple of weeks ago, my adopted big sister from work, Pat, called me over to her place so she could give me my Christmas present. She told me to sit down and I obliged. She then looked me dead in the eyes and said,
"Now, I'm your big sister, so I know what you want and I know what you need. Now, I know you want one of those MP360s, or whatever, but Pat can't afford that." God, I love her. "And your car's heater doesn't work, so you NEED something warm."
She goes into the back and returns with a Macy's garment bag. I gaze at it in confusion as she places it in my hands.
"Merry Christmas, little brother."
I slowly peel the bag from the hanger to reveal a long, black, wool overcoat. It was now the finest thing I've ever owned.
The next day I wore a nice shirt and tie to really show it off at work. Not once on the way there did my teeth chatter. I was now able to brave to cold comfortably. Julie gave me some black leather gloves and Melinda gave me a very nice scarf. Everyone else at work gave me a family where caring and kindness always worked both ways. Dunsy gave me a Deadpool shirt and Deadpool kicks fucking ass.
The newfound confidence I had found followed me to my life on stage at Tucker's Blues. Dianne, the club owner and all around artistic sweetheart gave me two things I had always wanted; support and an opportunity.
My father took me out one afternoon and bought me a suit jacket and two shirts. He gave me something more important, though, he gave me an amazing memory of just him and me. I know had something to work towards.
My mom gave me some cash, with implicit instructions to, "Spend it on MYSELF this time." Her's has always meant just as much, I just never realized it before now.
On the sixteenth, a co-worker I really liked passed away. It hit me because it was so unexpected. I wrote a letter to her family, telling them how much she met to me and expressing sympathy for their loss. I found out later it was read at the funeral. In some small way, I was able to give a small comfort to those in need.
All of these things are what Christmas is all about for me.
It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery. I've gotten more than I ever thought possible. It's the best Christmas I've ever had and the day itself is still three days away. And it all started, with a brand new coat from my big sister.
A couple of weeks ago, my adopted big sister from work, Pat, called me over to her place so she could give me my Christmas present. She told me to sit down and I obliged. She then looked me dead in the eyes and said,
"Now, I'm your big sister, so I know what you want and I know what you need. Now, I know you want one of those MP360s, or whatever, but Pat can't afford that." God, I love her. "And your car's heater doesn't work, so you NEED something warm."
She goes into the back and returns with a Macy's garment bag. I gaze at it in confusion as she places it in my hands.
"Merry Christmas, little brother."
I slowly peel the bag from the hanger to reveal a long, black, wool overcoat. It was now the finest thing I've ever owned.
The next day I wore a nice shirt and tie to really show it off at work. Not once on the way there did my teeth chatter. I was now able to brave to cold comfortably. Julie gave me some black leather gloves and Melinda gave me a very nice scarf. Everyone else at work gave me a family where caring and kindness always worked both ways. Dunsy gave me a Deadpool shirt and Deadpool kicks fucking ass.
The newfound confidence I had found followed me to my life on stage at Tucker's Blues. Dianne, the club owner and all around artistic sweetheart gave me two things I had always wanted; support and an opportunity.
My father took me out one afternoon and bought me a suit jacket and two shirts. He gave me something more important, though, he gave me an amazing memory of just him and me. I know had something to work towards.
My mom gave me some cash, with implicit instructions to, "Spend it on MYSELF this time." Her's has always meant just as much, I just never realized it before now.
On the sixteenth, a co-worker I really liked passed away. It hit me because it was so unexpected. I wrote a letter to her family, telling them how much she met to me and expressing sympathy for their loss. I found out later it was read at the funeral. In some small way, I was able to give a small comfort to those in need.
All of these things are what Christmas is all about for me.
It serves as the perfect ending to an awesome year, one that offers hope instead of prolonged, self induced misery. I've gotten more than I ever thought possible. It's the best Christmas I've ever had and the day itself is still three days away. And it all started, with a brand new coat from my big sister.
Bitter Meanderings of an Agoraphobic.
It's five o'clock when I finally get home, the extra traffic from the memorial day weekend rush pushing my arrival back a whole thirty minutes. I've lived in this apartment for two months. My art is on the walls, my books and nick nacks on the shelves, but it has yet to feel like home.
My roomate comes in an hour or so after I do and goes through the motions of getting ready for the night's date. We make small talk for a bit while I watch an old episode of The Tick before he leaves. Shortly after, I pick up some smokes and Whataburger so I wouldn't have to leave the apartment again.
Over the next several hours, I watch a couple of movies and smoke...that's about it. It's late when he shows back up, unexpectedly, with his date in tow. I'll give him some credit, she's beautiful. Now, picture this. You're on a date with a guy and you decide to go back to his place. When you get there, you see his 23 year old roommate (me) sitting all alone on a Friday night in torn jeans and a old, faded shirt (I was doing laundry) playing X-Men on Super Nintendo. I felt so fucking pathetic. He then gave her the tour and took her back to his room so he could bang the hell out of her.
I finished what I was doing, decided on not having a smoke because his window is connected to the balcony and went to bed. I took two ambien to cut the time I'd have to listen to her moan in half.
I wake up a little early, because Saturday is the only day I really get the place to myself. Upon going into the kitchen I see the sink full of dishes he's created and has yet to wash. He'll move them around place to place and I refuse to pick up after him.
My aunt gives me a call around two to invite me over to lunch, which I somewhat reluctantly attend. Whenever there's a get together with my Dad's side of the family you can feel the tension in the air like the static before a thunderstorm. No one likes each other, but we all put up with one another because we've all been told we have to. My little cousin rambles on incessantly, desperate for some positive male attention that he never receives. I leave when I start to get the shakes.
I'm not back home two minutes when I get a call from my roommate asking me out to dinner with him and his mom to celebrate his birthday. I try to kindly decline, but he lays down the guilt trip.
"Come on, man. You won't even do this for my birthday?" Goddamn that's low.
"Alright I'll go." When I hang up I consider calling up every ex-girlfriend I've ever had to ask them if they've still got my balls. When I find the one who does, I'd ask her to fed ex them back to me. First class, though, they're fragile.
The first thing he says to me when he gets home is "Sorry, if we kept you up with the noise last night." He was smiling, signifying that he's not really sorry, he just wanted to make sure I knew about his conquest. I did and I didn't give a shit.
We hop in his truck, pick up his son and head over to his mom's. I don't say a single word the whole time and it's him that breaks the silence.
"So...have you talked to _____ lately?" I know he didn't mean anything by this.
"Well I told her about it a few weeks ago, then I didn't talk to her again until last Monday."
"And?"
"Some guy was coming into town to see her and see said she was too busy making everything perfect for him to talk to me. That was the last."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
Ok, let me explain a (very) little about this situation. I'm not an unattractive guy. I'm witty, somewhat intelligent and I could probably get a date with just about any girl I want to, but that's as far as it will probably ever go. I'll only hint at the rest because some secrets will remain mine.
We meet up with his mom and ride to the restaurant together. It's one of those Japanese teppan-yaki style places where they cook the food in front of you while doing fancy tricks. I sit on the end and don't say much. I've found that I don't have to say a single word for 75% of the conversations I have to exist. During the performance I don't show the slightest bit of emotion. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm becoming completely stolid, or my total apathy towards it. I do manage to entertain myself with the notion of Mcdonalds cooking their food this way, though.
After the meal, we go back to his mom's house, put his son to bed and all sit around her fire pit in the backyard. I apologize to him that I forgot about his birthday, that I honestly thought it was the 28th."
"Oh, don't even worry about it. I got all the birthday presents I need LAST night." Push the knife deeper asshole.
His mom asks him how many girls he's dating and he tells her he's only seeing the one. She then turns to me.
"So what about you, any repeats?"
"Repeats for what?"
"Dates."
"Oh...I don't date."
"Going out?"
"Nah, I gave up on it."
"Take it from someone who's been there and done that, things do get better." This is a very sore subject for me. Everyone thinks they've been through everything, especially certain things I have.
"I gaurantee you, you haven't been here or done this." She decides to not talk to me for awhile, so I stare into the fire before me. Several thoughts float through my head.
I think about this time when I was younger, pretty sure it was while I was in middle school. My mom, step dad, little sister and I all went out to Possum Kingdom for a vacation. We rented a boat and were cruising around the lake. I've always been the weird one in my families. I'm usually constantly in thought and when this happens I might as well not even be there. On this occasion, I was pretending to be a secret agent who just sabotaged a major villain's diabolical plot and his soldiers were chasing my boat in helicopters. My mom broke my train of thought...
"You're always in your own little world aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Why? Do you not like it in our world.?" My answer I gave her then remains the same as it does now, no. No I don't.
Back in the present, I'm consumed with the fleeting, albeit overwhelming, desire to stick my hand into the flames before me.
I look up into the sky to see a massive cloud in the shape of five digits. It's almost as if the hand of God is reaching down to either take me up to heaven, or strike me down.
My roomate asks me what's wrong, I tell him I'm just fine. Truth his, I don't feel like him playing therapist tonight. Long story.
And this is about all there is to write about. After that we hop into his truck and come back home. I sit down in from of my laptop, to be safe inside my own little world.
My roomate comes in an hour or so after I do and goes through the motions of getting ready for the night's date. We make small talk for a bit while I watch an old episode of The Tick before he leaves. Shortly after, I pick up some smokes and Whataburger so I wouldn't have to leave the apartment again.
Over the next several hours, I watch a couple of movies and smoke...that's about it. It's late when he shows back up, unexpectedly, with his date in tow. I'll give him some credit, she's beautiful. Now, picture this. You're on a date with a guy and you decide to go back to his place. When you get there, you see his 23 year old roommate (me) sitting all alone on a Friday night in torn jeans and a old, faded shirt (I was doing laundry) playing X-Men on Super Nintendo. I felt so fucking pathetic. He then gave her the tour and took her back to his room so he could bang the hell out of her.
I finished what I was doing, decided on not having a smoke because his window is connected to the balcony and went to bed. I took two ambien to cut the time I'd have to listen to her moan in half.
I wake up a little early, because Saturday is the only day I really get the place to myself. Upon going into the kitchen I see the sink full of dishes he's created and has yet to wash. He'll move them around place to place and I refuse to pick up after him.
My aunt gives me a call around two to invite me over to lunch, which I somewhat reluctantly attend. Whenever there's a get together with my Dad's side of the family you can feel the tension in the air like the static before a thunderstorm. No one likes each other, but we all put up with one another because we've all been told we have to. My little cousin rambles on incessantly, desperate for some positive male attention that he never receives. I leave when I start to get the shakes.
I'm not back home two minutes when I get a call from my roommate asking me out to dinner with him and his mom to celebrate his birthday. I try to kindly decline, but he lays down the guilt trip.
"Come on, man. You won't even do this for my birthday?" Goddamn that's low.
"Alright I'll go." When I hang up I consider calling up every ex-girlfriend I've ever had to ask them if they've still got my balls. When I find the one who does, I'd ask her to fed ex them back to me. First class, though, they're fragile.
The first thing he says to me when he gets home is "Sorry, if we kept you up with the noise last night." He was smiling, signifying that he's not really sorry, he just wanted to make sure I knew about his conquest. I did and I didn't give a shit.
We hop in his truck, pick up his son and head over to his mom's. I don't say a single word the whole time and it's him that breaks the silence.
"So...have you talked to _____ lately?" I know he didn't mean anything by this.
"Well I told her about it a few weeks ago, then I didn't talk to her again until last Monday."
"And?"
"Some guy was coming into town to see her and see said she was too busy making everything perfect for him to talk to me. That was the last."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
Ok, let me explain a (very) little about this situation. I'm not an unattractive guy. I'm witty, somewhat intelligent and I could probably get a date with just about any girl I want to, but that's as far as it will probably ever go. I'll only hint at the rest because some secrets will remain mine.
We meet up with his mom and ride to the restaurant together. It's one of those Japanese teppan-yaki style places where they cook the food in front of you while doing fancy tricks. I sit on the end and don't say much. I've found that I don't have to say a single word for 75% of the conversations I have to exist. During the performance I don't show the slightest bit of emotion. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm becoming completely stolid, or my total apathy towards it. I do manage to entertain myself with the notion of Mcdonalds cooking their food this way, though.
After the meal, we go back to his mom's house, put his son to bed and all sit around her fire pit in the backyard. I apologize to him that I forgot about his birthday, that I honestly thought it was the 28th."
"Oh, don't even worry about it. I got all the birthday presents I need LAST night." Push the knife deeper asshole.
His mom asks him how many girls he's dating and he tells her he's only seeing the one. She then turns to me.
"So what about you, any repeats?"
"Repeats for what?"
"Dates."
"Oh...I don't date."
"Going out?"
"Nah, I gave up on it."
"Take it from someone who's been there and done that, things do get better." This is a very sore subject for me. Everyone thinks they've been through everything, especially certain things I have.
"I gaurantee you, you haven't been here or done this." She decides to not talk to me for awhile, so I stare into the fire before me. Several thoughts float through my head.
I think about this time when I was younger, pretty sure it was while I was in middle school. My mom, step dad, little sister and I all went out to Possum Kingdom for a vacation. We rented a boat and were cruising around the lake. I've always been the weird one in my families. I'm usually constantly in thought and when this happens I might as well not even be there. On this occasion, I was pretending to be a secret agent who just sabotaged a major villain's diabolical plot and his soldiers were chasing my boat in helicopters. My mom broke my train of thought...
"You're always in your own little world aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Why? Do you not like it in our world.?" My answer I gave her then remains the same as it does now, no. No I don't.
Back in the present, I'm consumed with the fleeting, albeit overwhelming, desire to stick my hand into the flames before me.
I look up into the sky to see a massive cloud in the shape of five digits. It's almost as if the hand of God is reaching down to either take me up to heaven, or strike me down.
My roomate asks me what's wrong, I tell him I'm just fine. Truth his, I don't feel like him playing therapist tonight. Long story.
And this is about all there is to write about. After that we hop into his truck and come back home. I sit down in from of my laptop, to be safe inside my own little world.
Closure.
It was two years ago that I started this job, the day I first saw you as well as your birthday. That's a lot to squeeze into twenty-four hours. I haven't talked you in six months, but letting the day just pass by unnoticed didn't seem right to me for some reason. So, I went out, got you a card and left it on your desk first thing in the morning. It read...
------,
I thought for a long time,
about what to put here.
I wrote many drafts.
So many thoughts and feelings,
I wished to convey.
But none of them,
seemed appropriate,
written by the hand,
of the stranger that I've become.
So I think instead,
I'll just keep it simple,
and tell you that I truly wish you the best.
Have a wonderful birthday,
but above all else,
no matter what,
please...
don't ever change.
Still not quite sure what to put here,
Davlin
You wrote me an email thanking me and told me it was very sweet. The conversation didn't really go far from there until a couple of hours later. You asked me how I liked my new place and we tip-toed around topics we wanted to delve into, but were too scared of the answers we might find.
I grabbed up enough courage to ask you if you were dating anyone and you told me that you weren't, because it wasn't high on your list of priorities at the moment. You never asked whether or not I was seeing anyone and that could be taken either way. Then, for some reason, I asked you out for lunch. You accepted and we made tentative plans for the upcoming Saturday.
You took the rest of the week off, so I didn't see or hear from you, not that I was really expecting to. Saturday came and I was running errands, watching the time until our rendezvous. I got the text message asking if we were still on and we decided on a place we used to frequent back when...well, you know.
I arrived first, as is usually the case, my mind still reeling because you didn't cancel. I look up in the rear view mirror just in time to see your car pass by, making a knot twist inside my stomach. Suddenly, I wished I had cancelled.
We unceremoniously meet at the door and are seated at our table in less than a minute. We place our order before I let myself look at you. Your hair was worn casually and you had on a white wife beater. I couldn't believe you were actually sitting across from me. It's so weird how things play out.
We make a little small talk, a lot of small, awkward silences and you don't look at me the whole time. Your eyes dart above my head, at the table, the screaming baby across the restaurant, anywhere but into mine. Again, this can be taken either way.
The food arrives and gives a little more reason for the silence. The whole time I'm not sure what I think or feel about everything. I had pictured a hundred thousand different ways a situation like this with you would go down, no sexual pun intended. This just wasn't one of them.
The waitress brings us the check and after it's paid we just kind of sit there. As always I'm not sure what you're thinking. I don't know if you want to spend more time together, or if you just want this little adventure over and done with. I hate how you always make me second guess myself and everything around me.
I open my mouth as all the words I rehearsed escape me. Instead of easing my way into it, I simply say, “I'm sorry things got weird between us.”
“It happens.” You shrug nonchalantly.
“Yeah, but it shouldn't. I've changed a lot, now.”
“I can tell.”
“The irony of it all is that this is the guy I should have been the whole time. It took losing you to become that.
“Usually how it works.”
Silence.
“I was angry with you for a long time.”
“I could tell, but I never figured out why.”
“Because it was easier.”
“Easier than what.”
“Admitting the truth. It was easier than admitting I missed you, never got over you. I just didn't want to be hurt anymore and anger filled that gap quite nicely. I want you to know that I don't harbor any of those negative feelings anymore.”
“Good, then let's just move forward.”
“Move forward?”
“As acquaintances, friends is kind of a strong word.”
“Jesus, that's a little harsh.”
“Don't you think it'd be weird if we tried to be? Don't you think there'd be problems?”
I nod, “Yeah...probably.”
I tell you I don't want to keep you and I walk you to your car. We don't say a word as we hug and go our separate ways. The whole thing only lasted roughly thirty five minutes and it ended just like we did; bittersweet.
I think about all of it on the drive home. Everything from two years ago to now. You weren't the monster I made you out to be. All I ever saw was my side, I'm sure I was just as nasty from yours. This was the first time in a year I left you with my head held high and that's gotta count for something. I hope that if you aren't happy now, that you be. A part me is also sorry that I couldn't be the one that helped make it happen for you, but I know I'm not. For the first time I'm OK with that. It's time to move forward.
------,
I thought for a long time,
about what to put here.
I wrote many drafts.
So many thoughts and feelings,
I wished to convey.
But none of them,
seemed appropriate,
written by the hand,
of the stranger that I've become.
So I think instead,
I'll just keep it simple,
and tell you that I truly wish you the best.
Have a wonderful birthday,
but above all else,
no matter what,
please...
don't ever change.
Still not quite sure what to put here,
Davlin
You wrote me an email thanking me and told me it was very sweet. The conversation didn't really go far from there until a couple of hours later. You asked me how I liked my new place and we tip-toed around topics we wanted to delve into, but were too scared of the answers we might find.
I grabbed up enough courage to ask you if you were dating anyone and you told me that you weren't, because it wasn't high on your list of priorities at the moment. You never asked whether or not I was seeing anyone and that could be taken either way. Then, for some reason, I asked you out for lunch. You accepted and we made tentative plans for the upcoming Saturday.
You took the rest of the week off, so I didn't see or hear from you, not that I was really expecting to. Saturday came and I was running errands, watching the time until our rendezvous. I got the text message asking if we were still on and we decided on a place we used to frequent back when...well, you know.
I arrived first, as is usually the case, my mind still reeling because you didn't cancel. I look up in the rear view mirror just in time to see your car pass by, making a knot twist inside my stomach. Suddenly, I wished I had cancelled.
We unceremoniously meet at the door and are seated at our table in less than a minute. We place our order before I let myself look at you. Your hair was worn casually and you had on a white wife beater. I couldn't believe you were actually sitting across from me. It's so weird how things play out.
We make a little small talk, a lot of small, awkward silences and you don't look at me the whole time. Your eyes dart above my head, at the table, the screaming baby across the restaurant, anywhere but into mine. Again, this can be taken either way.
The food arrives and gives a little more reason for the silence. The whole time I'm not sure what I think or feel about everything. I had pictured a hundred thousand different ways a situation like this with you would go down, no sexual pun intended. This just wasn't one of them.
The waitress brings us the check and after it's paid we just kind of sit there. As always I'm not sure what you're thinking. I don't know if you want to spend more time together, or if you just want this little adventure over and done with. I hate how you always make me second guess myself and everything around me.
I open my mouth as all the words I rehearsed escape me. Instead of easing my way into it, I simply say, “I'm sorry things got weird between us.”
“It happens.” You shrug nonchalantly.
“Yeah, but it shouldn't. I've changed a lot, now.”
“I can tell.”
“The irony of it all is that this is the guy I should have been the whole time. It took losing you to become that.
“Usually how it works.”
Silence.
“I was angry with you for a long time.”
“I could tell, but I never figured out why.”
“Because it was easier.”
“Easier than what.”
“Admitting the truth. It was easier than admitting I missed you, never got over you. I just didn't want to be hurt anymore and anger filled that gap quite nicely. I want you to know that I don't harbor any of those negative feelings anymore.”
“Good, then let's just move forward.”
“Move forward?”
“As acquaintances, friends is kind of a strong word.”
“Jesus, that's a little harsh.”
“Don't you think it'd be weird if we tried to be? Don't you think there'd be problems?”
I nod, “Yeah...probably.”
I tell you I don't want to keep you and I walk you to your car. We don't say a word as we hug and go our separate ways. The whole thing only lasted roughly thirty five minutes and it ended just like we did; bittersweet.
I think about all of it on the drive home. Everything from two years ago to now. You weren't the monster I made you out to be. All I ever saw was my side, I'm sure I was just as nasty from yours. This was the first time in a year I left you with my head held high and that's gotta count for something. I hope that if you aren't happy now, that you be. A part me is also sorry that I couldn't be the one that helped make it happen for you, but I know I'm not. For the first time I'm OK with that. It's time to move forward.
Everything Has A Price
On my lunch break I got a call from my cousin asking me to pick her up from work. All I wanted to do was go straight home, but I told her I'd help her out. On the way there, the buildings grew more and more dilapidated. Welcome to South Dallas, a place a skinny white boy like myself shouldn't be traveling alone.
I called her when I got there and asked if I could come inside because I really had to pee. I opened the car door, climbed out and the second it shut behind me I realized the keys were still in the ignition. Perfect. This happens to me. A lot. Why don't I get a spare key you ask? I don't know and you're really starting to sound like my father.
There's a church next to her office, so I went in there to see if they had anything that could help me out. The inside was rundown with a few pews in front of an elevated stage, on which rested a drum set, guitars and other equipment. It looked like they had turned one of the old music clubs in Deep Ellum into a place of worship. Badass. An old biker guy wearing a bandanna ended up finding a hanger and told me if I couldn't get it to come back for help. I worked with the hanger for 15 minutes before I realized I had no idea what I was doing and went back for assistance.
He grabbed a hammer and two wooden wedges and we went back to my car.
"I learned this trick when I worked for a used car dealership." He told me.
"Hey, I'm not judging you. I just hope this works."
He wedged the door open and began trying to use the hanger to catch the lock. I told the biker that I really appreciated the help he was giving me and he told me to thank Jesus, because he was just the messenger. Ok...um...thanks Jesus.
I was only wearing a T-shirt and my coat stared at me from the back seat. My teeth started to chatter and my cousin told me she was going to get me her extra sweater. While she was gone the biker went back to find something stronger. It was at this point that another guy rode up on a bike.
"Lock your keys in your car." Must resist urge...to make...sarcastic comment.
"Yeah." Whew...almost didn't make it.
"I can help you out."
"Alright. Thanks."
"So I have permission to touch your car."
"Yeah, I'm not using it at the moment."
"I'm just making sure. I'm no car thief."
"Right on."
He pulled out a pair of pliers from his pocket, unscrewed my antenea and made the end into a curve. At this point my cousin comes back with the sweater. So now I'm a skinny white boy in south Dallas in a white lace sweater. I ask her if she has the pumps to match it and the guy laughs. I was really touched that these guys went out of their way to help a stranger. It's so rare in life that we take the time to do a selfless act for our fellow man. After about ten minutes, he's got the door open. I thank him profusely.
"You know, I just saved you a fortune." Of course, here it comes. "I'm trying to get something to eat and I'd really like your help." You son of a bitch.
I explain to him that I've only got $20 to last until my next payday. This was the truth. I didn't have any money that I could spare.
"That's ok, I'll take ten."
"It's not broken."
"I'll go down there to the store with you." He wasn't backing down.
"I don't want to go down there."
"You don't get. I'm gonna go down there with you." Fuck me. I'm gonna get stabbed tonight.
"Hold on."
I went inside my cousin's work but no one had change. I've just started enjoying my life, I don't want it to end. I went back to the church and they helped me out again. When I returned to the guy the exchange went like this:
"Look, man. This 20 is all I have to my name. That's it until next week. I can't give you ten, that's half of what I'm worth. I'll give you five."
"You're hurting me, man."
"And you're hurting me. I appreciate what you've done for me, but now I can't eat tonight. So there you go."
He stared at me for a long time. I grew uncomfortable.
"You're really hurting me man. I can't believe you're not gonna give me ten."
"You get five. Take it or don't." You aggressive bastard.
Finally, he sighed and took it before riding off in the sunset. I was pissed. I just don't know why something has to always be expected, you know? Why do nice things always have to have a catch? There's probably a lesson in there somewhere. Good one, Jesus.
I called her when I got there and asked if I could come inside because I really had to pee. I opened the car door, climbed out and the second it shut behind me I realized the keys were still in the ignition. Perfect. This happens to me. A lot. Why don't I get a spare key you ask? I don't know and you're really starting to sound like my father.
There's a church next to her office, so I went in there to see if they had anything that could help me out. The inside was rundown with a few pews in front of an elevated stage, on which rested a drum set, guitars and other equipment. It looked like they had turned one of the old music clubs in Deep Ellum into a place of worship. Badass. An old biker guy wearing a bandanna ended up finding a hanger and told me if I couldn't get it to come back for help. I worked with the hanger for 15 minutes before I realized I had no idea what I was doing and went back for assistance.
He grabbed a hammer and two wooden wedges and we went back to my car.
"I learned this trick when I worked for a used car dealership." He told me.
"Hey, I'm not judging you. I just hope this works."
He wedged the door open and began trying to use the hanger to catch the lock. I told the biker that I really appreciated the help he was giving me and he told me to thank Jesus, because he was just the messenger. Ok...um...thanks Jesus.
I was only wearing a T-shirt and my coat stared at me from the back seat. My teeth started to chatter and my cousin told me she was going to get me her extra sweater. While she was gone the biker went back to find something stronger. It was at this point that another guy rode up on a bike.
"Lock your keys in your car." Must resist urge...to make...sarcastic comment.
"Yeah." Whew...almost didn't make it.
"I can help you out."
"Alright. Thanks."
"So I have permission to touch your car."
"Yeah, I'm not using it at the moment."
"I'm just making sure. I'm no car thief."
"Right on."
He pulled out a pair of pliers from his pocket, unscrewed my antenea and made the end into a curve. At this point my cousin comes back with the sweater. So now I'm a skinny white boy in south Dallas in a white lace sweater. I ask her if she has the pumps to match it and the guy laughs. I was really touched that these guys went out of their way to help a stranger. It's so rare in life that we take the time to do a selfless act for our fellow man. After about ten minutes, he's got the door open. I thank him profusely.
"You know, I just saved you a fortune." Of course, here it comes. "I'm trying to get something to eat and I'd really like your help." You son of a bitch.
I explain to him that I've only got $20 to last until my next payday. This was the truth. I didn't have any money that I could spare.
"That's ok, I'll take ten."
"It's not broken."
"I'll go down there to the store with you." He wasn't backing down.
"I don't want to go down there."
"You don't get. I'm gonna go down there with you." Fuck me. I'm gonna get stabbed tonight.
"Hold on."
I went inside my cousin's work but no one had change. I've just started enjoying my life, I don't want it to end. I went back to the church and they helped me out again. When I returned to the guy the exchange went like this:
"Look, man. This 20 is all I have to my name. That's it until next week. I can't give you ten, that's half of what I'm worth. I'll give you five."
"You're hurting me, man."
"And you're hurting me. I appreciate what you've done for me, but now I can't eat tonight. So there you go."
He stared at me for a long time. I grew uncomfortable.
"You're really hurting me man. I can't believe you're not gonna give me ten."
"You get five. Take it or don't." You aggressive bastard.
Finally, he sighed and took it before riding off in the sunset. I was pissed. I just don't know why something has to always be expected, you know? Why do nice things always have to have a catch? There's probably a lesson in there somewhere. Good one, Jesus.
Confessions
I'm sitting in the waiting room, hoping they call my name soon. I'm reading the latest Chuck P. book when my leg does that shaky thing that only happens when i'm really nervous. The room is decorated with Native American paintings, some are even embroidered on all the pillows. It's calming. After 45 minutes i'm called back. The doctor seems nice enough as he leads me into his office. It is almost bare, with nothing on the walls, little furniture, and files scattered everywhere. After filling out some paperwork, we begin.
He asks me questions, lots of questions. I answer them all honestly. I admit to things that i've never said out loud before. It's funny how it's almost easier to be open to strangers. Most of his questions hit home, and conjure memories of going through the situations. After about an hour of this, he tells me what he thinks. He says that i'm bi-polar, manic depressive, have panic attacks, anxiety troubles and, here comes the bombshell, that i'm paranoid schizofrenic. He say that i need to be on anti-psychotics. After almost 24 hours it's sunk in, and i've reached a few conclusions.
First, I'm going to give up on dating and relationships. I'm not saying that because i'm bitter about my past ones, because i'm really not. I've just kind of realized that with all my mental problems and physical afflictions, it's irresponsible to try and get close to someone that way. That's just the way it is. I can't risk putting someone through that kind of pain. Which brings me to point 2.
Two weeks ago, i sat in my bathtub with a razor blade for an hour, fighting a voice in my head that was screaming at me to break the skin. The summer after i graduated, i took two medicince cabinets full of pills before going to sleep. I never did see a doctor afterwards. I never told anyone about this stuff until it was long over with. It's never been about attention for me, or wanting to be saved at that moment. It was about a desire for everything to just end. It's not something new to me. I used to go to sleep when i was seven, and pray that i wouldn't wake up. Even though it seems silly to me now, i realize that i'm not the one in control when i'm in the downward spiral. I don't want to hurt anyone. My mom once told me that she's just waiting for the call telling her that i had finally done it. It broke my heart because i realized she was right.
But i am fighting it. I've fought it every day for my entire life, and i'm tired. I hope this medication works, but it scares me too. I don't want to completely change, losing the qualities about myself i like along with everything else in the process.
I also belive that all the great art, music, movies, etc come from pain. That inner turmoil and insanity is the fuel that drives every great artist. I'm not saying that i'm in the same league as them, but i do believe that i have talent. I'm scared that if i take medication, that will go away. The only time i can write anything of value is when i'm in the throes of psychosis. I can't lose that, because somethimes i feel like that's all i truly have.
But maybe, one day, i can be rid of the racing thoughts, voices, black outs, paranoia, mood swings, longing for self destruction, anxiety, and all the other shit that's dragged me down for so long, but keep the positive things that i like to think make me, me.
He asks me questions, lots of questions. I answer them all honestly. I admit to things that i've never said out loud before. It's funny how it's almost easier to be open to strangers. Most of his questions hit home, and conjure memories of going through the situations. After about an hour of this, he tells me what he thinks. He says that i'm bi-polar, manic depressive, have panic attacks, anxiety troubles and, here comes the bombshell, that i'm paranoid schizofrenic. He say that i need to be on anti-psychotics. After almost 24 hours it's sunk in, and i've reached a few conclusions.
First, I'm going to give up on dating and relationships. I'm not saying that because i'm bitter about my past ones, because i'm really not. I've just kind of realized that with all my mental problems and physical afflictions, it's irresponsible to try and get close to someone that way. That's just the way it is. I can't risk putting someone through that kind of pain. Which brings me to point 2.
Two weeks ago, i sat in my bathtub with a razor blade for an hour, fighting a voice in my head that was screaming at me to break the skin. The summer after i graduated, i took two medicince cabinets full of pills before going to sleep. I never did see a doctor afterwards. I never told anyone about this stuff until it was long over with. It's never been about attention for me, or wanting to be saved at that moment. It was about a desire for everything to just end. It's not something new to me. I used to go to sleep when i was seven, and pray that i wouldn't wake up. Even though it seems silly to me now, i realize that i'm not the one in control when i'm in the downward spiral. I don't want to hurt anyone. My mom once told me that she's just waiting for the call telling her that i had finally done it. It broke my heart because i realized she was right.
But i am fighting it. I've fought it every day for my entire life, and i'm tired. I hope this medication works, but it scares me too. I don't want to completely change, losing the qualities about myself i like along with everything else in the process.
I also belive that all the great art, music, movies, etc come from pain. That inner turmoil and insanity is the fuel that drives every great artist. I'm not saying that i'm in the same league as them, but i do believe that i have talent. I'm scared that if i take medication, that will go away. The only time i can write anything of value is when i'm in the throes of psychosis. I can't lose that, because somethimes i feel like that's all i truly have.
But maybe, one day, i can be rid of the racing thoughts, voices, black outs, paranoia, mood swings, longing for self destruction, anxiety, and all the other shit that's dragged me down for so long, but keep the positive things that i like to think make me, me.
Haunted
Every evening i arrive home, alone. I hate my apartment. Just too many memories. Her ghost still haunts this place. Every now and then i can catch her phantom scent in the air. Sometimes if i'm digging around for something, i'll find a long black hair that didn't come from me. It's a reminder of memories long gone, and that i should probably clean up a little more often.
If i've got food i'll cook, but i'm left with way too much so it lasts me a couple of nights. I find myself with way too much time on my hands. The isolation gets to me a little more every day. The worst part is that most of it is of my own volition. Sometimes i read, or watch the same tired movies, write, but mostly i think. I think about all the nights and moments that brought me to this point, but i never feel better about any of it. This can't be what my life has become, what i've become. On the those seldom events that i talk to someone, i tell them i'm fine, i've moved on, that i'm doing better. I still don't know who it is i'm trying to convince. I barely smile anymore. I feel like something inside me is gone, has rotted away.
Eventually, i kill enough time to finally call it a day. The bed seems so much bigger than before. I'll lay for hours until sleep finally comes to claim me. Every night i have the same dream. In it we're together, happy as all the plans we made come to fruition. Funny how nothing ever looks even remotely like the brochure. I wake up, and again, every night i'm disappointed by the empty place next to me. It makes me feel sad, pathetic, and small. I roll myself into a ball, curling as tight as physically possible, and pray that when the sleep returns, that the dreams don't follow.
The alarm goes off every morning at 6, and i fight with the snooze button for a half hour. I finally drag myself out of bed, and run through the motions of getting ready for the day. I spend the entire morning commute dreading the moment i walk into work, where the dreams become a nightmare.
If i've got food i'll cook, but i'm left with way too much so it lasts me a couple of nights. I find myself with way too much time on my hands. The isolation gets to me a little more every day. The worst part is that most of it is of my own volition. Sometimes i read, or watch the same tired movies, write, but mostly i think. I think about all the nights and moments that brought me to this point, but i never feel better about any of it. This can't be what my life has become, what i've become. On the those seldom events that i talk to someone, i tell them i'm fine, i've moved on, that i'm doing better. I still don't know who it is i'm trying to convince. I barely smile anymore. I feel like something inside me is gone, has rotted away.
Eventually, i kill enough time to finally call it a day. The bed seems so much bigger than before. I'll lay for hours until sleep finally comes to claim me. Every night i have the same dream. In it we're together, happy as all the plans we made come to fruition. Funny how nothing ever looks even remotely like the brochure. I wake up, and again, every night i'm disappointed by the empty place next to me. It makes me feel sad, pathetic, and small. I roll myself into a ball, curling as tight as physically possible, and pray that when the sleep returns, that the dreams don't follow.
The alarm goes off every morning at 6, and i fight with the snooze button for a half hour. I finally drag myself out of bed, and run through the motions of getting ready for the day. I spend the entire morning commute dreading the moment i walk into work, where the dreams become a nightmare.
Hollow
South Carolina
I was in the office of Blockbuster counting down the tills, when i felt my phone vibrate. I opened it up and saw that i had a message from Liz. It simply read, "we need to talk."
We had been broken up for almost a month at this point, and i hadn't seen her since. All my blood ran cold, and my heart sank into my stomach. I knew this wasn't going to be a good talk.
I called her up, and her voice was shaky.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't wanna talk about it over the phone."
"Is it bad?"
"Yeah, it's real bad."
"Jesus, Liz you're scaring me. Just tell me what's wrong."
Silence, followed by heavy breathing and sobs.
"I've been having some medical problems. I started bleeding at work and i went to the doctor. I found out that i was pregnant...but i lost it."
Time stopped. It's funny how quickly your world can fall apart around you. How you can miss something so deeply, when you didn't even know you had her in the first place. I broke down. The pain that i felt i wouldn't wish on anyone, especially someone who wanted kids.
"Are you ok?" I asked her.
"No...are you ok?"
"No."
I told her i would go and see her when she got off of work. Then i hung up the phone and wept. Chuck came in and i told him what happened, but he didn't know what to say. I hurried with the rest of my duties and went home. It was like someone had punched a hole right through my chest. I felt empty, hollow. I was in a calmer state, if you can call it that, when i walked into the front door. That's when Jonathan and his family asked what was wrong. I broke down again as i told them what happened. I was met with one question and one comment.
Are you sure it was yours?
Yes I'm sure, fuck you for asking.
Well, you know, maybe it's for the best.
For the best? FOR THE BEST? How fucking dare you say that to me. I don't care what might have come from this regarding her and my relationship. I could have dealt with any outcome from that, good or bad. But don't you ever say that the death of my child could be a blessing in disguise. If i could have sent them to hell with a look right then and there...i'd have done it.
It wasn't until late that morning that she got home from work. She said she hadn't eaten all day, so i picked up some food for us and headed over. When i got there and she answered the door i was in shock. Good god....she was already starting to show. She let me in and we went into her bedroom. I had brought a movie over that she had been wanting to see, to help her take her mind off of things. We ate and watched the movie in silence.
Once it was over, we started the talk. The details of the conversation are fuzzy, and i only remember fragments. I held her, and we grieved together. I looked at her and wondered how this all could have gone so wrong. She told me that she was hormonal when we broke up, and that that was the reason for a lot of the fighting. That she didn't really mean it. Then we kissed, and that led to more.
Afterwards we were holding each other, talking. My hand caressed her stomach, and her hand found mine and held it there. She started crying even harder. She told me that she thought she might have been pregnant, but ignored it because she wasn't sure. She told me that it was her fault that it had happened. I told her that i didn't blame her, which was the truth. That sometimes these things happen, not that that makes it any less painful. We were the only two people on the planet that felt what we were going through, but we gave each other little comfort. Something like this was supposed to bring us together, but we weren't together and this really drove that point home.
We laid there the entire night, and watched the sun come up. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay there and hold her, tell her everything was going to be alright, and that we could try again. The relationship, i mean. But i knew that's not what she wanted. I left her house now grieving two things, instead of one.
Not that there is a good time for something like this to happen, but this was definitely the worst. Jonathan and his wife were due to have their baby any day now. For someone who just went through a miscarriage, seeing a family bring their new life home isn't exactly an ideal environment. So i stayed out as much as i could.
I called my mom looking for some comfort, but as soon as i told her she switched the subject to her work. I got mad, yelled at her, and hung up. I called my father and aunt Betty,and they helped.
I wandered around Summerville feeling lost. The tears would come and go without warning. There was one night when Kat was having trouble with baby Lyric, due to exhaustion, so i offered to take over for a little while. I sat in a rocking chair in the nursery, rocking the baby back and forth. He was asleep in no time. Sitting there, watching him doze was the most heartbreaking experience i've ever had.
Eventually, the days turned to weeks, which melted into months. The pain has dulled, but hasn't gone away. I hope it never will. Not a day goes by that i don't think about her. (Even though the baby technically didn't have a gender yet, i choose the female label because i refuse to refer to my child as "it") If things had gone a different route, she would have turned a year old last month. It really gets to me sometimes. I wish things had been different. But if she is out there somewhere i hope that she knows that her daddy loves her deeply, and that she will always be wanted.
I was in the office of Blockbuster counting down the tills, when i felt my phone vibrate. I opened it up and saw that i had a message from Liz. It simply read, "we need to talk."
We had been broken up for almost a month at this point, and i hadn't seen her since. All my blood ran cold, and my heart sank into my stomach. I knew this wasn't going to be a good talk.
I called her up, and her voice was shaky.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't wanna talk about it over the phone."
"Is it bad?"
"Yeah, it's real bad."
"Jesus, Liz you're scaring me. Just tell me what's wrong."
Silence, followed by heavy breathing and sobs.
"I've been having some medical problems. I started bleeding at work and i went to the doctor. I found out that i was pregnant...but i lost it."
Time stopped. It's funny how quickly your world can fall apart around you. How you can miss something so deeply, when you didn't even know you had her in the first place. I broke down. The pain that i felt i wouldn't wish on anyone, especially someone who wanted kids.
"Are you ok?" I asked her.
"No...are you ok?"
"No."
I told her i would go and see her when she got off of work. Then i hung up the phone and wept. Chuck came in and i told him what happened, but he didn't know what to say. I hurried with the rest of my duties and went home. It was like someone had punched a hole right through my chest. I felt empty, hollow. I was in a calmer state, if you can call it that, when i walked into the front door. That's when Jonathan and his family asked what was wrong. I broke down again as i told them what happened. I was met with one question and one comment.
Are you sure it was yours?
Yes I'm sure, fuck you for asking.
Well, you know, maybe it's for the best.
For the best? FOR THE BEST? How fucking dare you say that to me. I don't care what might have come from this regarding her and my relationship. I could have dealt with any outcome from that, good or bad. But don't you ever say that the death of my child could be a blessing in disguise. If i could have sent them to hell with a look right then and there...i'd have done it.
It wasn't until late that morning that she got home from work. She said she hadn't eaten all day, so i picked up some food for us and headed over. When i got there and she answered the door i was in shock. Good god....she was already starting to show. She let me in and we went into her bedroom. I had brought a movie over that she had been wanting to see, to help her take her mind off of things. We ate and watched the movie in silence.
Once it was over, we started the talk. The details of the conversation are fuzzy, and i only remember fragments. I held her, and we grieved together. I looked at her and wondered how this all could have gone so wrong. She told me that she was hormonal when we broke up, and that that was the reason for a lot of the fighting. That she didn't really mean it. Then we kissed, and that led to more.
Afterwards we were holding each other, talking. My hand caressed her stomach, and her hand found mine and held it there. She started crying even harder. She told me that she thought she might have been pregnant, but ignored it because she wasn't sure. She told me that it was her fault that it had happened. I told her that i didn't blame her, which was the truth. That sometimes these things happen, not that that makes it any less painful. We were the only two people on the planet that felt what we were going through, but we gave each other little comfort. Something like this was supposed to bring us together, but we weren't together and this really drove that point home.
We laid there the entire night, and watched the sun come up. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay there and hold her, tell her everything was going to be alright, and that we could try again. The relationship, i mean. But i knew that's not what she wanted. I left her house now grieving two things, instead of one.
Not that there is a good time for something like this to happen, but this was definitely the worst. Jonathan and his wife were due to have their baby any day now. For someone who just went through a miscarriage, seeing a family bring their new life home isn't exactly an ideal environment. So i stayed out as much as i could.
I called my mom looking for some comfort, but as soon as i told her she switched the subject to her work. I got mad, yelled at her, and hung up. I called my father and aunt Betty,and they helped.
I wandered around Summerville feeling lost. The tears would come and go without warning. There was one night when Kat was having trouble with baby Lyric, due to exhaustion, so i offered to take over for a little while. I sat in a rocking chair in the nursery, rocking the baby back and forth. He was asleep in no time. Sitting there, watching him doze was the most heartbreaking experience i've ever had.
Eventually, the days turned to weeks, which melted into months. The pain has dulled, but hasn't gone away. I hope it never will. Not a day goes by that i don't think about her. (Even though the baby technically didn't have a gender yet, i choose the female label because i refuse to refer to my child as "it") If things had gone a different route, she would have turned a year old last month. It really gets to me sometimes. I wish things had been different. But if she is out there somewhere i hope that she knows that her daddy loves her deeply, and that she will always be wanted.
An old friend, Mediatech, and Liquid Sex
So, last night I went to open house at the Mediatech Institute, hoping for a leg up in the film business. My old friend Rory was in town and has the same aspirations as me and tagged along with his wife. We spent time catching up on the four + years that have passed. It was good. After awhile it kinda felt like it was only weeks that had gone by.
After we had enough of that we headed to the school, and found it with suprisingly little difficulty. At first glance i was hooked. It oozed professionalism and I knew i had to go there.
The tour started with the film department, which was actually quite small, even if the equipment looked top of the line. One of the instructors gave this speech about how much money he makes and i doubted him due to the low rent Mr. Rogers sweater he was wearing. Rory pointed out the students that were already there, and the class of people we would be surrounded by. Smug, pompous rich boys who thought they were above everyone because they've been in the same building that Robert Rodriguez had taken a shit. Idiots. 20 minutes in and the film tour, the whole reason for us being there, was over.
The next hour and forty minutes were spent listening to the sound guys going on and on about how awesmome their equipment was. However, there were two highlights. We got to meet a guy that did sound effects for Ren and Stimpy, which was unarguably cool. Then we met James.
He was the most boring speaker at the whole school, droning on and on about nothing that interested me. Then he touched the keyboard. I can't go into detail about what he did, because i couldn't do it justice. All i can say is that he played every instrument imaginable from his keyboard. FROM HIS KEYBOARD! This demonstration lasted about 20 minutes and it was fucking amazing. Rory looked at me giddly and exclaimed, "Dude, he is Liquid Sex!"
Once all the afterglow wore off and i got us lost on the way home, we all talked. The school was way too expensive and they didn't accept any grants or financial aid. That ultimately means that i don't have a chance in hell of attending. But that's when Rory and I laid it all out. We don't need them. We're going to do it all: funding, planning, shooting, directing, acting, editing, all of it on our own. That alone sounded better than anything i gained from that tour. So, while the school left me crestfallen, that conversation gave me hope. See you in Hollywood, bitches.
After we had enough of that we headed to the school, and found it with suprisingly little difficulty. At first glance i was hooked. It oozed professionalism and I knew i had to go there.
The tour started with the film department, which was actually quite small, even if the equipment looked top of the line. One of the instructors gave this speech about how much money he makes and i doubted him due to the low rent Mr. Rogers sweater he was wearing. Rory pointed out the students that were already there, and the class of people we would be surrounded by. Smug, pompous rich boys who thought they were above everyone because they've been in the same building that Robert Rodriguez had taken a shit. Idiots. 20 minutes in and the film tour, the whole reason for us being there, was over.
The next hour and forty minutes were spent listening to the sound guys going on and on about how awesmome their equipment was. However, there were two highlights. We got to meet a guy that did sound effects for Ren and Stimpy, which was unarguably cool. Then we met James.
He was the most boring speaker at the whole school, droning on and on about nothing that interested me. Then he touched the keyboard. I can't go into detail about what he did, because i couldn't do it justice. All i can say is that he played every instrument imaginable from his keyboard. FROM HIS KEYBOARD! This demonstration lasted about 20 minutes and it was fucking amazing. Rory looked at me giddly and exclaimed, "Dude, he is Liquid Sex!"
Once all the afterglow wore off and i got us lost on the way home, we all talked. The school was way too expensive and they didn't accept any grants or financial aid. That ultimately means that i don't have a chance in hell of attending. But that's when Rory and I laid it all out. We don't need them. We're going to do it all: funding, planning, shooting, directing, acting, editing, all of it on our own. That alone sounded better than anything i gained from that tour. So, while the school left me crestfallen, that conversation gave me hope. See you in Hollywood, bitches.
Friday night: revelations, Bone Daddy’s, and UCB
The first day of my new attitude is going far better than I could have expected. I kept it together, smiled, and meant it. Tonight, I have to celebrate. Matt comes by and picks me up. We decide to go to Bone Daddy's since it's the type of place where the silverware wears more material than the waitresses. On the way up there we smoke cigarettes and talk about our current relationships, or lack thereof. After much analysis we decide being single is definitely the way to go.
About half way there we're reminded of the number one reason not to trust 635. A massive traffic jam. We take the next exit which leads us to nothing but residential areas. After a half hour I realize I have no idea where we are, although it looks familiar. Suddenly, a landmark reminds me I'm two minutes away from Rotaquip. This was a job I had working with -----'s mom. It was great when her and I were together, but, take it from me, never work with an ex's mom. It did bring back some memories though...
Her coming up there on random days, and we'd go out for my lunch break. We'd always go to Chili's, and get lost in each other. It was nice til I faced her mom at work one day with hickeys all over my face and neck. None of which came from her daughter.
I'm brought back to the present by yet another familiar landmark. The Super Target ------ and I used to come to for groceries...
Sitting in on Friday nights, ordering pizza, and curling up next to each other on the bed for some late night television. The slow, painful realization that we were just there because the other one was a warm body. Too scared to let that go away, because loneliness seemed worse somehow.
A turn into another residential street. Jesus Christ, this can't be possible. We drive right by ------'s place. I ask him, " Are you the fucking ghost of relationship's past?" What's next? A visit to the parking lot where I popped my cherry? Then, we pass by the playground where her and I spent an amazing night...
A relationship consisting of smoking lots of pot, amazing sex, and listening to music. Then we found out that there wasn't really much more to it than that.
Hunger finally kicks me out of my nostalgia. We've been driving for over an hour now, and I'm starting to believe this place doesn't exist. My fears are soon put to bed when we finally find the highway, and reach the restaurant in minimal time. And everything he said about the place was true, it's awesome. The girls are all smoking hot, with each one looking better than the last. Until the obligatory old broad came out from the back. I prayed to any god out there that really existed, don't let us have the old broad.
Our table gets called and we're led to our table. I get so busied with the menu I don't hear the waitress come up. She asks what I want to drink and I look up at her. She's beautiful, and smells nice. She smiles, I smile. Life is good. When she comes back to our table I make a few jokes and she laughs. After that, I don't really speak to her. Baby steps, and all that. I look to my right and start to crack up at the sight of a table of disappointed guys. They got the old broad.
We have a conversation about how growing up without a decent father figure really screwed up our relationships with the opposite sex. He lost his father 14 years ago, and mine, we won't delve into. This meant we had to rely on the advice of our peers for any information dealing with women. I found out years later they didn't know anything more than I did.
The drive back is mostly in silence. Knowing where we are also cuts the time of it in half. We watch an episode of UCB and he heads home. I sit down and do something I haven't seriously done in ages. I write. It feels like I've finally found myself again. I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. (you can throw in your own cliché there, too. they're all interchangeable)
It's funny. When you're down, all anyone tells you is that 'it'll get better'. After awhile, you finally face your problems and get past them. The second they see you smile they say, "See? I told you so." As if some arbitrary comment they made weeks prior was the sole cause of your emotional rehabilitation. It cracks me up. That's like me standing next to a guy on a beautiful sunny day, and saying to him "It's gonna rain." Then, a month later when it does rain I say to him, "See? I told you so."
Right now, I'm just happy that this feeling has stuck with me. The ache is still there sometimes, but it's manageable. I guess it's all about being thankful for small favors. Today, I didn't let myself fall back down, and that makes it a very good day.
About half way there we're reminded of the number one reason not to trust 635. A massive traffic jam. We take the next exit which leads us to nothing but residential areas. After a half hour I realize I have no idea where we are, although it looks familiar. Suddenly, a landmark reminds me I'm two minutes away from Rotaquip. This was a job I had working with -----'s mom. It was great when her and I were together, but, take it from me, never work with an ex's mom. It did bring back some memories though...
Her coming up there on random days, and we'd go out for my lunch break. We'd always go to Chili's, and get lost in each other. It was nice til I faced her mom at work one day with hickeys all over my face and neck. None of which came from her daughter.
I'm brought back to the present by yet another familiar landmark. The Super Target ------ and I used to come to for groceries...
Sitting in on Friday nights, ordering pizza, and curling up next to each other on the bed for some late night television. The slow, painful realization that we were just there because the other one was a warm body. Too scared to let that go away, because loneliness seemed worse somehow.
A turn into another residential street. Jesus Christ, this can't be possible. We drive right by ------'s place. I ask him, " Are you the fucking ghost of relationship's past?" What's next? A visit to the parking lot where I popped my cherry? Then, we pass by the playground where her and I spent an amazing night...
A relationship consisting of smoking lots of pot, amazing sex, and listening to music. Then we found out that there wasn't really much more to it than that.
Hunger finally kicks me out of my nostalgia. We've been driving for over an hour now, and I'm starting to believe this place doesn't exist. My fears are soon put to bed when we finally find the highway, and reach the restaurant in minimal time. And everything he said about the place was true, it's awesome. The girls are all smoking hot, with each one looking better than the last. Until the obligatory old broad came out from the back. I prayed to any god out there that really existed, don't let us have the old broad.
Our table gets called and we're led to our table. I get so busied with the menu I don't hear the waitress come up. She asks what I want to drink and I look up at her. She's beautiful, and smells nice. She smiles, I smile. Life is good. When she comes back to our table I make a few jokes and she laughs. After that, I don't really speak to her. Baby steps, and all that. I look to my right and start to crack up at the sight of a table of disappointed guys. They got the old broad.
We have a conversation about how growing up without a decent father figure really screwed up our relationships with the opposite sex. He lost his father 14 years ago, and mine, we won't delve into. This meant we had to rely on the advice of our peers for any information dealing with women. I found out years later they didn't know anything more than I did.
The drive back is mostly in silence. Knowing where we are also cuts the time of it in half. We watch an episode of UCB and he heads home. I sit down and do something I haven't seriously done in ages. I write. It feels like I've finally found myself again. I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. (you can throw in your own cliché there, too. they're all interchangeable)
It's funny. When you're down, all anyone tells you is that 'it'll get better'. After awhile, you finally face your problems and get past them. The second they see you smile they say, "See? I told you so." As if some arbitrary comment they made weeks prior was the sole cause of your emotional rehabilitation. It cracks me up. That's like me standing next to a guy on a beautiful sunny day, and saying to him "It's gonna rain." Then, a month later when it does rain I say to him, "See? I told you so."
Right now, I'm just happy that this feeling has stuck with me. The ache is still there sometimes, but it's manageable. I guess it's all about being thankful for small favors. Today, I didn't let myself fall back down, and that makes it a very good day.
Story time with Davlin
Ok, as many of you know I recently got a new car back in November. Well, when coming to my vehicle last thursday in my work's parking lot I spied a note on my windshield. It read:
"I did some damage to your car in parking." It then left his name (who i will refer to as MD) and phone number. Sure enough upon examination of my car there was a dent in the rear passenger door, and my black car now has a two foot strip of white paint. Quite the eyesore.
Upon calling the number MD seemed very dismissive about the whole thing, and just told me to go to a buddy of his to get it fixed. Gee, thanks. After a rough weekend (that's another story altogether) I was left with 0 dollars and decided to aproach this guy with a deal: he could pay me a fair amount and i'd just let the whole thing go. I understood that i'd be taking a hit by not recieving the full payment, but fuck it, i wanted to eat. I called him up and the exchange went as follows.:
Me: Ok, i was wondering if you'd like to make a deal. You just pay me a sum of money and i'll just drop this whole thing.
MD: That sounds good, I just want to get this over with. What do you think sounds fair.
Me: Well, the door is dented, there's white paint on my black car, and i won't have a way around whilst the car is being repaired. I'll let it go for 200.
MD: (laughs) I'm not paying that much. I'll give you 100.
Me: OK, look. Since i do appreciate you leaving me a note, i'll meet you halfway. 150.
MD: I won't give you anything over 125.
Me: OK, you know what. You're forgetting one important thing here. You're not calling the shots. YOU hit MY car. I haven't had it three months yet and you already fucked it up. Since you're wanting to handle things this way, i'm assuming you either don't have insurance or don't wanna put this on yours. I don't mind getting my insurance involved in this, or reporting you to the cops if you don't have any. So here's the choices you've got. You can pay the entire price of my car from a auto shop I'm comfortable with and you won't get any kind of discount from, as well as paying to get me a rental car while it's getting fixed. We can go through the insurance meaning your payments will go up. Or you can give me 150 buck to fix YOUR mistake. I don't really care, I've got nothing to lose here, and i'm giving you a fair out on this. So, those are your options. It's up to you.
MD: I'll send you a check.
Me: Thanks, you're a sweetheart.
Can you believe this asshole? It blows my mind how even when some people are wrong, they still think they hold the cards. I only wish i was a whoremonger. That way i could mail him a picture of the money shot that his hard earned dollars bought.
"I did some damage to your car in parking." It then left his name (who i will refer to as MD) and phone number. Sure enough upon examination of my car there was a dent in the rear passenger door, and my black car now has a two foot strip of white paint. Quite the eyesore.
Upon calling the number MD seemed very dismissive about the whole thing, and just told me to go to a buddy of his to get it fixed. Gee, thanks. After a rough weekend (that's another story altogether) I was left with 0 dollars and decided to aproach this guy with a deal: he could pay me a fair amount and i'd just let the whole thing go. I understood that i'd be taking a hit by not recieving the full payment, but fuck it, i wanted to eat. I called him up and the exchange went as follows.:
Me: Ok, i was wondering if you'd like to make a deal. You just pay me a sum of money and i'll just drop this whole thing.
MD: That sounds good, I just want to get this over with. What do you think sounds fair.
Me: Well, the door is dented, there's white paint on my black car, and i won't have a way around whilst the car is being repaired. I'll let it go for 200.
MD: (laughs) I'm not paying that much. I'll give you 100.
Me: OK, look. Since i do appreciate you leaving me a note, i'll meet you halfway. 150.
MD: I won't give you anything over 125.
Me: OK, you know what. You're forgetting one important thing here. You're not calling the shots. YOU hit MY car. I haven't had it three months yet and you already fucked it up. Since you're wanting to handle things this way, i'm assuming you either don't have insurance or don't wanna put this on yours. I don't mind getting my insurance involved in this, or reporting you to the cops if you don't have any. So here's the choices you've got. You can pay the entire price of my car from a auto shop I'm comfortable with and you won't get any kind of discount from, as well as paying to get me a rental car while it's getting fixed. We can go through the insurance meaning your payments will go up. Or you can give me 150 buck to fix YOUR mistake. I don't really care, I've got nothing to lose here, and i'm giving you a fair out on this. So, those are your options. It's up to you.
MD: I'll send you a check.
Me: Thanks, you're a sweetheart.
Can you believe this asshole? It blows my mind how even when some people are wrong, they still think they hold the cards. I only wish i was a whoremonger. That way i could mail him a picture of the money shot that his hard earned dollars bought.
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