Dancing with the Black Dog and Learning to Live for the Future

Part One, Knowing When to Say When 

There is no mystery that December has the uncanny way of pulling me into depression until the first days of January. By then Im usually filled with the desperate anxiety of a caged animal released from its holding, as I run through the days with forced optimism and perceived notions of time being limited. This takes many forms. Returning to the gym after a stressful hiatus of gatherings and the end of the world in the form of closed businesses and empty streets. A drop in stress as sleep is regained to their desired amount and even the streets where I roam become a normalized silence, not in guilt, but of exhausted relief of another seasons end. January is where I get to hit the year as hard as I can to ensure I get away from the lingering death of a dying year.

And yet, January also haunts me as I feel the relaxing tendrils of its predecessor release me to harsh epidermal markings. In my late Thirties, I began to reclaim my efforts with runs as I usually either hit the street in the coldest of cold, the dampest of wet, or if even possible in LA, the hottest of hot, although we have been getting muggy weather that has made our Summers unbearable and some worried about a future Floridian nightmare of humidity and stupidity. 

And yet, it was some 5 years ago I began to see it. Perhaps it was due to the celebrations and smoking shisha a bit too aggressively, as if that is a thing, or that my workouts were finally pushing me past a point that my body can heal from. Either way, I began to cough up blood.  Not as in films where the protagonist gets struck with the force of a falling elephant and yet must continue on in pain. This was more of a cough up of something in the back of my throat. Just clearing what is left after sleep in order to speak and not drive others into disgust. Nothing dramatically deep or effort taking, but just a simple cough as the sink turn that color of crimson that you do not see in everyday life. That color that tells you exactly what it is and where it came from. That color that is almost filled with life and it reminds you of what true blood can do even if you think you are desensitized to it all. 

The feeling of dread and horror takes you. Not words I misuse here considering that awesome can describe a sandwich with no irony these days. Despite word erosion, I mean dread and horror that has been mastered throughout evolutionary times simply reminding you that you were the descendants of mammals that were just a bit too weirded out and started to bolt as those who didn't aid the evolutionary progress of another. That primitive fear of something not right and you are running out of time. 

Having been infected with tuberculosis at the young age of 16, I've learned to not renege of going for an XRay. Immediately without eating or preparing for the day, I returned to my university for one. Even graduating in the Fall allowed me to carry on my underutilized promise of healthcare that my fees usually went towards. In the matter of a day, I received my XRay and while in a room of masked individuals I was told that I was fine. That there are no culture growths and my lungs look healthy and strong. And yet, I questioned why would I spit up blood and to the calming response of those trained in offering the worst of information they simply told me that nothing is wrong. All my tests are fine and perhaps I should keep vigilant as I have been before. I was even complimented on my health and diligence of it. 

This would happen twice more only to realize that I suffered from a nasal infection that wasn't prominent, but is what cause me to understand that my butterfly was the origin of humor instead of my lungs. I've since received meds and now make it a yearly habit of taking the flu shot, something I recommend greatly, yet Im not here to promote proactive health. I'm here to plead my case to something lingering my thoughts, even before Turkey was cooked and bells were jingled. 

I've explained to my nausea what life was in my youth with TB. How it made me resemble those unfortunate souls who survived genocide in Europe after the last fascist regime was finally halted. Im not fond of my image back then and I can say I even avoided looking in mirrors until now. I can even understand why I hit the Pile as hard as I can, amassing as much muscle as a Forty Three-year-old can and why I always run at my highest heart rate even if it is as close to physical death as I can put myself through. Im from the school of proactive preparation rather than reactionary. I am not allotted such a luxury as a reaction. To explain once more the issue of TB, TB is an opportunistic infection. It is never killed off, but slumbers in one's DNA until the host's health begins to falter just a bit. Then it begins to replicate and reform aiding the demise of the host and releasing itself usually in an aerosol cough of the host as they suffocate on their own fluids. No, you read it right, the host....I can drown to death. I can suffocate in gasping breath where my O2 lung capacity is decimated and not able to continue to keep me alive and I will drown in my own fluids. I will one day, if not lucky, drown to death and infect others. This means the moment my health deteriorates not only will I be condemned to this horrid death, but I may even pass it along with someone else. 

Ask me again why Im so antisocial.

Im not joking......

Part Two, Why Are You Doing This To Yourself

So....
Yea.....
I just wanted to know....
*sigh* Go ahead.
Are you gay?
No.
Um.....are you sure?
Yes.
Its ok to be gay.
I know that.
Not even shunned that much anymore.
Right.
But are you?
No.
......not even Bi?
No. 
You're attracted to women?
Yes.
I mean, sexually?
Yes.
As in you want to have sex with them? You are attracted....

[At this point, I can tell you're a bit unnerved at this. This is a close friend having that important talk with me either because they have some attraction towards me, someone asked if I was available and they didn't want to steer them wrong, or somehow my celibacy is just a bit too unnerving for them and they just want me to kick down the door of whatever closet Im in so that they can sleep well at night, I know Im a fucking monster. I know YOU care, but I thought that last time I explained myself, usually in drunked state where I can let my sorror out you would have gotten it. Im in therapy for a fucking reason, but hey, here we go again.

.....also, fucking side note...if Whater her face is fucking interested tell her.... HER....HER...I like pussy, alright....Im a CIS male and I love the vag....shit.....*sigh* just have her have a conversation with me. Give her my text and tell her to just have coffee. As in talk. Shit this high school shit is still in my life in my Forties......fuck me....]

.....Ok, should we just cut to the bone. Im getting tired and I don't want my buzz to go to sadness.....AGAIN.
It's just, me and *name redacted* were talking and we are kind of worried for you.
That Im going to die alone and that no one will take care of me?
Well, not exactly that way.......but yea.
I've been taking care of others since I was 15. I married early for whatever stupid reason you can come up, I married early. I was divorced at 21. I raised my children as best as I could until 2007. Since then I take care of myself. Sometimes miserably. Other times quite nicely. Either way, I'm used to living alone, even while staying with others.
Do you miss it....living with someone?
.....yes...yes I do, but the relationship I was in with my ex-wife was beyond toxic as you already know. The majority of relationships have always been toxic. I never beat a woman or abuse her verbally, but for some reason or another they either cheat or leave. I used to question why or if my behavior is what caused it. Sometimes I question and other times I wonder, especially when to this fucking day there is usually someone looking for me. Someone who still wants to know where the fuck I am so that they can apologize and beg me to return. It's sad. I sickening on my part and I just know that somehow I can understand why it happens. How a great friendship or affectionate potential goes south.
But there was that one woman, the one in the office.
Yea.....well. Every now and then I get hit hard. I see someone I become infatuated with and even have a crush. Im too old to have crushes. Shit, I was too old when I was 12. Either way, it's a nice moment where I actually give in to the pheromones and just enjoy the feeling. But it never goes on from there.
Why.....why would you do that to yourself?
I don't know. *lies*

[But I do. Or at least I do now.]

If I had my way, I would like to be in a relationship. I would like to be monogamous. And yet, I have the strongest notion that Im more than damaged goods. I'm perishable. And I say this with as much therapy as I had, you can't have a future when you have a foot in the grave. Yes, I do see myself this way. Yes, it motivates me to do as much as I can and to correct things that I can. but in truth, it's a heavy load. It's a hard thing to do since I know there is always a day that I have to leave. There will be a day where I have to abandon you. No, not die. Abandon. There will be a day where I will have to excuse myself and go far away and die. I don't know if I will have to take my own life, but it's on the table. I would like to die of old age, but the odds of that are not good. I don't have the luxury to have people at my deathbed. I have the luxury of dying in an isolated ICU where heavily protected individuals have to dispose of the threat and process my remains carefully. I don't have that luxury. If I age until my body can not maintain itself, then I have to die this way.

I don't want that.

So the option is always on the table. If I want to die the way I want to either death has to come beforehand or I have to take the initiative. I have to end my life before the bacterial bomb in my chest goes off. And that means suicide. 

There. I said it.

Im always dancing with the Black Dog]

Part Three, Dancing with the Black Dog and Living for Today

My ex-wife and I had a though back when we were young and stupid. 

Live for Today

This was back when I loved her immensely. Before the abuse. Before the atrocities, she would commit to our children in the name of religion and ghod. Before she would leave scars on us all that would not heal without some painful effort. I loved her. And yet early 90s interracial dating was not the most accepted thing. Half of our effort to remain a couple was fighting against our families and society we never realized that maybe we were not compatible. I learned so many years then that someone may be desirable, even fuckable, but you don't want them in your bed. Some people should remain, friends, even if most think you'd hit it off. Best to keep a legendary friend than to make an enemy in your bed.

That is as best as I can see my ex-wife. If I ignore the fact she is as comforting as a hurricane.

And not just a year into marriage and a daughter born do I realize that I have been infected with TB. I've already explained that ticking time clock and I don't want to give it any more thought. I have to continue today and I rather not fall back into depressions.

Hence my point. 

There are those who live for today and those who live for the future. I'm not the latter, but I'm trying. I don't have much of a future. Those of your closest to me know that I have a lot against me. Its why you're so proud of me and what a few years confiding to someone what I would rather eat broken glass than to tell you. I'll admit I carry a heavyweight, but if you work out with it, it feels like nothing. I'm your heaviest friend. Im the one who you can't be around for too long because I start to make you think of the hard questions and no one likes to think about. The questions I had to answer in my teens. 

Even the way I love you is to protect you. I've always been a Dad, some of my happiest years. I'm used to giving you that support you need and to spoil you when I can and to give unconditional love is not as hard when its all you can give. And yes, some of you want more. I cant. Or at least I cant now or even ever. I know, I suck, but you have me willing to die in your corner. I'm probably a bad fuck at this point considering the decade of celibacy, but we can have tea and laugh and I can tell you I love you and know that I do in every way. Except for that one. 

Sorry.

And yes, in other conditions I'd would have jumped at the opportunity and then some. Come on, you know what I do at an opportunity and only some of those stories are true. Some. What Im saying is, yes I'm totally fucking onto you, but one of us have to think of the future of the other and just....not fuck someone over. Even when you love them. 

Even when you love them. 

I don't have a future. I'm working against that, but its the most core thought I have. I don't have one. I have to cheat and hustle to get what I have now, but I have to look at it as a realist so at least I know what I'm up against. Its what in part makes me wonder why women leave. I can't allow myself to give them a future so they seek it elsewhere. The irony is that I might outlive you all, but the reality is that I will always see myself as something dangerous and broken. Something that should have never been allowed to walk freely or to become a risk. I have to see myself that way because someone who didn't even take the time to think about their actions got me infected and just now I realize that its what has shaped my life and relationships with others. How can you allow yourself to be vulnerable to someone when that can be a health risk. Yes, I isolate myself and I live in a safe quarantined distance and even those of you who have broken me down to the point where Im either too open or trusting or just drunk realize that this has been crushing me as of late. It's nice to feel like people and not as the walking dead from time to time, but it is not my normal. I have to live for today and maybe seed a future I may never reap.

It sucks. 

I have to dance with the Black Dog. I have to wear my pin and remind myself that I'm only a moment away from taking my life if things go wrong. I have to tell myself that I have to give what I can and do as much good as possible all the while keeping my distance from you. I rather leave you with stories than with grief. I don't have much choice in either, but its what I can do. So I joke. I plan of a funeral that will make others envy. I plan of a circus event to show how I felt and now that its over to hope that the survivors who know me will leave me to their memories rather than their grief. Its empowering as much as it is devastatingly depressing.....well, to you. Some of us have to carry the weight. I can either choose not to feel it as I get stronger or get crushed by it. 

Ce la vi, no?

Part 4, Carry On

So what do we do now? Now that I shared what has been chewing on me for so long what do we do now. As for you, nothing. You carry on. You do what you always have done and continue to annoy the fuck out of me by trying to connect and the such. You are not the issue or the problem. I am. I will continue to go to therapy, I will continue to work against time, and I will continue to resolve my fears and concerns so that I can make you and others happy. If I am lucky I can overcome this. If I am able to do so, I will live a long and happy life and do many things I can not believe possible. I've been doing well so far. I just wanted you to understand what I am going through and why Im such a miserable fuck. 

We will not talk about this and I will deny if this ever come to pass. I am holding enough and I do not need to know what I'm doing. I can either do what I can or I can put more thought behind it and that will only make me worse. I have to do what I can to make thing better for you. And maybe for me. Just know, I'm not being difficult to be. That no matter how much I want to be close to you and others that I can not. I have to think about the risk even when I don't want to. That's my life for the past few decades.  You either stagnate and die or you live until you cant. So I chose my death. I choose to push myself until I break. I choose to do what I can and when I cant I wait until I see my opportunity. I keep positive and tell you to fucking shit up when you feel the urge to tell me that you love me and you understand. Im past crying, or at least that is what I tell myself. Crying only take up my time. Yea yea, life sucks, but I can still steal the moment and get what I want, even if I know it may not go well. 

I will do and live the best I can until I can not. Then I will go. Alone and end it. So that I am not dangerous. 

And that is that. Best we had this talk if I fall off the world. Leave me some mystery instead of watching a dying biohazard between glass. You will never see me in tubes, I promise you that. I would not do that to you or me. 

I love you after all. Mystery is sometimes best. Leave me that, no?

I'm saying my goodbye now because I don't have the luxury to say it beforehand. I mean, you have issues if I Irish Goodbye your events, so here we go.

I love you. I have to go. Take care of each other. Be kind to yourself and others. Know what hills you want to die on and when to let go of the petty things. Always floss, say may I and thank you. And make sure the other person gets off twice before you call it. And if you have the chance to make an epic memory for someone else, do that! They'll love you for it. 

.......

Yea......this is good. 

*leaves to walk the dog*

3,496 words.

The Merriment of Progeny who's Levity Rivals only your Own Despite of Communal and Unrelated Trauma or A moment with The Girl

I'm sitting inside of a tight counter restaurant with my daughter known for Southern food in NoHo. This is a bit of a surprise considering that I was told to expect the most amazing seafood. It's a shruggable moment considering my daughter is a bit of a flake that's been chipped off of the big flake that is yours truly. I adore her immensely and she's one of the rays of light in my life. And at this moment in this very claustrophobic counter space that almost resembles half a train car, she 's chatting up our very attentive server. A gorgeous woman with bright brown eyes and the skin of rich obsidian with a hint of a Caribbean accent that brings out much more of her charm.

I'm a bit annoyed considering I haven't seen my daughter in a few months and she all of a sudden said she wanted to meet me for a Sunday meal. I've figured that the time away was due to her work schedule and perhaps meeting a certain someone who makes them feel special even at a time like this. Although her sexuality does give me a bit of a headache only in categorizing who she prefers and who'd she'd be intimate, but that's more of a pet peeve of mine when it comes to categorization and imaginary Ven Diagrams. Either way, I'm watching her interact with this woman wondering if she sparked her fancy and that either she's just very interested in our conversation or it was simply being in close quarters and just passing the time with a bit of a chat.

Yea, I can't read the situation or I'm just trying to negate it. Yea, she's really interested in our relationship and I'm used to being considered a perv on sight considering my daughter has my side of the family's dominant genes that make her this magnificent goddess of form, to say the least. I've overheard many a jerk call her out on the proportions of her body and  in many ways tried to have her embrace her form rather than have an almost destructive puritanical mindset of an army of dicks surging her. We both know it's true and she's more than capable to handling herself against any criticism and rude gesture. It's simply the shock of it all considering that I at times am amazed at how small she used to be and that her giggles used to be the motivation of my life.  I adore her and even now she makes me proud as any person can be for their progeny.

And yet, we have our issues and problems and much soon after we leave the restaurant to find a smaller venue in shade, to hear why she had been missing from my life once more and how we should continue to keep in touch regardless of how hard life can get. The word that I'd rather not mention her get floated around and I hear her tale of difficulty not understanding the value of true friends who run towards you when you begin to stumble and fall. And how our pasts, both filled with turmoil, trauma, and difficulty have taken a cost in our lives that we are beginning to comprehend and gather understanding on what we can do as individuals and as family.

I remind her that although I am her father and I know more and have an abundance of experience, she is the captain of her own vessel and there is a great chance I may not understand her situation. She has ultimate veto. She has the ability to take taking or disregarding my advice as she see fit, and I remind her that we are equals now and that she has a voice that she must exercise with me and others in order to set boundaries and guides for relationships. I know she's a "big girl" and "daddy" won't be there to pick her up at times, but she can come see me for council and I will always be in her corner despite anything outside of murder and how to eat sushi. We laugh and she learned hard lessons that I realized came at a great cost. I was not there to come to her aid because I was seen as father, a title that harms me in this moment, rather than friend. Thankfully her own circle of magnificent individuals came to her aid and showed her the value of a true friend.

I stifled my emotion because I wanted to weep because of what trespassed and I wanted to be there. And yet, I more than understand. Sometimes we do not seek the comfort of those who will pull us up and we hide ourselves in our pain and misery. I'm thankful for these people who did what I would do and she snapped out of her self-delusion that mistrust and pain can put us in. I offered my place in her life, not as one to pass judgment, but as an outsider. I mention how in truth I could not raise her considering her and her brother were taken to Ohio and places unknown by her mother. A satellite parent is only viable if they are able to keep communication. Sadly, that was the first thing to be lost and in the matter for 4 or so years, I've heard stories that confirmed my fears, caused me much heartbreak, and have caused me to burn in impotent rage at what came about by "well-meaning individuals" who believe that their words is beyond law and the cost was grave.

The worst thing about trauma is that it's much like a hand grenade. It does damage and even if some die, some are affected permanently, other can recover and some even were out fo the blast, that trauma took a price from each of those people in the room where none of them were free of harm and without help that moment will dictate the horrors to come. We all started therapy roughly at the same time. We all tried to deal with that grenade and what it took from each of us and what it took from others and how do we move on.

Even now I can not help to think that some 4 years ago I was determined to end my life. I still can see the pain and hurt I was enduring with no exit, held back from pleading for help by social constructs that murder us all in the end. My sole choice was to end it reasonable until someone dear to me had beat me to the punch. And even then I witnessed how my friend took his life weeks before me and the only thought in my head was anger towards him ruining my exit.

And then, I broke. I started to realize that silence was what people knew best from these people. Not their pain, but silence. So not wanted to leave in the same way I broke the last band I had on me and I spoke out. I want to die. I am not well. I have endured my lot and I can not go one to see tomorrow. It scared many and I didn't care. I wanted them to know why I was leaving and why I was going to commit a "sin" towards everyone. To leave them with my horror, not stifling it with the end of my life.

That's the fucked up part, you don't end it, just you. You end your endurance, but pass on the burden and hell of the moment.

I still think of those days. Even now as I am so far from it, I can almost feel the lingering grasp of those desperate and hurtful moments. It's a part of me. It's still with me and I know if I do not remain diligent and honest, I will allow it to take me. Even now how October changed everything and November has proved difficult for years to come, I know I can endure more and that I don't have to. My outsider has told me to embrace my huge circle of friends not as someone who'd protect them, but as someone who need comfort and to be healed. I let myself be weak, even though it's my greatest bane. I can not allow myself to.

And yet, that only lead towards my death.

So I did. I challenged myself and pushed myself and I gained greatly.

I'm happy I did not take my life and for those in my life, who work often as outsiders who pull me out of the vicious cycle my mind can create and heal me with the closest of embraces and a whisper of, "You are ok, I have you."

Even now, I wonder what could have been if I only tried to do what I could not back then. I knew I could not, but now I look back at it as meaningless. Time wasted.

I return you now moments before our leaving the tiny restaurant with hot grill and the magnificent figure of womanhood my daughter was talking up. At our leaving all I could endure was to wonder why I felt so awkward and odd. And yet, I wanted out of the small space and odd air, My daughter asked for this woman's number.

Why?

Well for Dad, especially considering she was apparently flirting with me and I ignore it simply because I was with her and wanted to hear so much from her. Sorry, I was in Dad mode and I'm focused only on my kid. There was a time when, as I reflect that my daughter had always turned away any attention given to me by women, announcing that I was radiantly gay and happy with my out behaviour and lifestyle. She did this because she didn't want her father to find anyone else. She wanted this because she kept hope for her parents reuniting. She did this because this was something she could do. Many times I'd laugh, only being social to ensure that both my children receive as many sprinkles on their ice cream as possible that a beaming smile can receive. And yet, I was always "outed" to teachers, parents, women simply asking, or anyone not male asking me for the time of day. She even told one man that I was straight when he asked if it was true that I was out.

My daughter. And now she's getting her number. For dad.

I know.......my daughter has inherited my taste for chaos, mirth, and shenanigans.

I can not be more proud of her.

Screwing Up Your Checklist of Safety Mechanisms in Order to Prevent Exploding Crazy from Getting on You

It was really an awful day.

My Friday.

Nothing was going my way and all the safety mechanisms that I usually implement somehow just got tossed out the fucking window with all the best of intentions. I woke up close to 11 am instead of my usual 7 to 8 am. Insomnia kept me from falling asleep until 4 am and just the thought of having insomnia made me miserable so that I wasn't rested. I had only time to eat breakfast in a rush rather than sneak in lunch before leaving at 12:30 pm. I ended leaving close to 2 pm instead of getting to the small park by 1:20 pm with my guitar to play in the slight breeze and shade of a tree until 2:30 pm when I would walk over to the Crazy Doc's office in leisure and wait out for my appointment. None of that happened. Instead, I was lead footing it to the pay street parking across the building where I fed quarters into the meter and running at full stupid towards the building with sweat and panic. Upon sitting in the waiting room and not being able to take my choice in seats facing the door and near the plug, I arrived after the other person who I usually beat by 20 minutes sitting in the seat I am so accustomed to.

But that's ok.....I'm here after a two-week hiatus in which my therapist first canceled due to emergency and I canceled a week later due to pulling a ham muscle in a late night run. But that's ok! I was finally here. I was in the office with 10 minutes to stare down the clock with enough time to check internet postings to ensure that the world would not end while I selfishly tried to take the initiative on figuring out how my train wreck fell off the tracks when the dread hit me.....I forgot my black plastic Best Buy travel mug that my son gave me in the late 90's that was filled with sugar, powdered creamer, and jasmine green tea. I would not have anything to calmly sip and clear my throat while I methodically tore myself apart in order to rebuild what was supposed to be a people.

I had nothing but sweat stains, a heavy feeling of nothing going fucking right in the world, and just a paper cup which I least will fill with water so I can keep my throat clear because .......oh no I'm fucking up already....how did I fuck up....I have measures! I have a process that covered three hours of checkpoints that ensure I came in with the best mind for all of this.......

These are the small moments of life where I am reminded that I do not have control over ANYTHING and as great as my plans were they were failures......ALL OF THEM! I honestly questioned if I should leave until the door opened.....and it wasn't my Crazy Doc.....*sigh* Oh, good. I can least panic a little bit...

The door opens again to his bright and encouraging smile.

*meep*

I get up, refill my cup and grab my utility bag of everything important as we make minor talk into the bright and cheery room facing the cemetery.

Fun. I wish I was making this up.

And yet, in the small room where we sat something was happening. This person in minutes, less than five, but more than two, ripped two weeks of self-instilled doubt and dropped it on the floor, almost as you would a toddler who had picked up something incredibly wrong in their clenched hands and set it aside with a minor flourish of someone who knows best. Much like a well-trained beagle, I sat up, handed my paw, rolled over and barked. If anyone who knew me watched they would have sworn that I was somehow disintegrated while passing through the doorway and a much well behaved pod version of myself had sat down on the soft stuffed leather chair and held the throw pillow in his calm hands as a child would hold his teddy.

One question set us off. "How are you?" With at least eight months of training, I opened my mouth and I began to talk about the one thing I hate above everything in the world: myself.

I was fine. Still looking for "legitimate employment", sending resumes with cover letters and references. I had two gigs house sitting. One that went and gone in a single day on the weekend and the other I was prepping for a long stay in one of my favorite places in the world that was not Santa Monica. I visited friends and stayed over, I did household chores and well, there WAS one thing that DID bother me and it DID trigger my CRAZY making me think FOR A SMALL MOMENT that something I had no power over WAS MY FAULT. Ha ha....funny right?

.......it's not my fault, right?

Once again without any hesitation, he took away the wrong thing in my clenched hands and tossed it aside like any patient parent and asked me what happened. In short, someone NOT ME got CRAZY EXPLODED ON THEM, no biggie, right? What did I mean? Well to spare too many details and to keep confidence placed on me what basically happened was a good friend of a friend of mine who I met and is one of the most loveliest of people went through something with their partner where keeping it as generic as crazy can be, they basically dropped a facade of who they were and they showed not only to the people who included myself believe they were the most darling of couples, I mean I was looking forward to their wedding kind of people.....couples who in all truth made you believe IN LOVE itself...but to this friend who not only had a moment of exploding crazy happen to them, but they actually got crazy on them that was not theirs! I mean as if someone sneezed and got "stuff" on you and you somehow believed it was yours.....that kind of thing.

Basically, CRAZY EXPLODED ON THEM .....geesh. I listened and even retold the story with as much freshness as possible. I knew that the moment I heard this it hit me. I mean they seemed like a nice couple. They seemed happy. They seemed as they would marry and be happy and if I was ever so lucky and cashed in my Brownie and Kharma points, I could maybe share a little bit of their happy and hope to anything that I was able to take it with me as some do wedding chachkies. I mean I was going to have a taste of happy as well as maybe cake? But no....this explosion hit them and their partner wasn't who they thought they were and even they questioned themselves to the point that they momentarily freaked out and come to realization that they needed their own Crazy Doc......I mean, sane people amaze me. Like a bandage, they know that they just were inflicted with an injury and they're going to get it healed and taken care of. Me? I festered that thing until I was Patient Zero.

Damn, sane people, you sane.

But not only was I horrified, but for a dread filled second, it hit me like a cosmic bullet as if the universe wanted to tell me in it's cruel and sadistic way, "You left the game where you were our Cosmic Joke and Whipping boy some eight years ago. We were not done with you. You want out? Fine. Be a damn shame if .......they", as the universe slides over a picture of them smiling with joy, "happen to fill your shoes......right.....buddy?"

Yea, I honestly believed this kind and happy person caught MY CRAZY.

Why?

Because I honestly believe that shit like this only happened to me. No, I'm not lying. This is the kind of shit that usually is under my trademark. My brand of insanity where the universe sends me "a friend" and we hang out on reasonable terms until I blink and realize we are romantically involved. How? I don't know, I was busy still being friends, but that's ok. I like them and I developed trust for them. I mean, you're supposed to fall in love with your friend.....I feel in love, right? I think. I know I am....going to? I'm falling in love. They are great! What? I have a type? Sure I do! They don't fill it in anyway physically? That's ok. I love them and I love who they are, right, and even though they are not this or that I find them attractive because it's them! Who cares that everyone I've been involved with differ in almost every way! I like blue/brown/green eyes and they have the most average/thin/curvy/fit body imaginable, yum! And I love their black/brown/red/blue hair and they have breasts like a supermodel/swimsuit model/Dolly Parton/gymnast and they stunning. I love the way she *various random attributes not found* and you know, she just loves the way I this/that/the other thing.

I mean, when you're happy you're happy right?

Until I discover that I'm not in a committed relationship. Or important. Or she moves away because reasons. Or she slept with someone else and is leaving. Or that she's going to rediscover herself because someone who is not Oprah at the moment told her to free the goddess or something. Or they have a serious problem. Or a heavy hand. Or a sharp tongue. Or they just needed something for a certain amount of time and that time is over and I'm not part of their life.

And it's over. Like that. And I have no idea who I am. I became someone more comfortable to her and I lost who I was. I mean, who am I? What am I? When did I lose my identity and why does it happen? All the time. And why does it hurt like this? As if I was torn asunder and I don't have enough to heal over. Because crazy just happens, right? I missed something? I did something wrong? Did I ever choose right? Was it even a choice? How did this happen.....again?

So as I listened to her story, I realized in a flash of horror that maybe, just maybe it was my fault because if I was out there it would have never had happened to them and this would just happen to me. I shook my head then as I shook my head in the small room and I still shake my head, only now I have his kind hand pulling  the wrong thing in my hand and tossing it away. He calmed me and confirmed that it wasn't my fault. It may or may not be this friend's fault but that's not for them to say because they needed to help them as they help me. And he looked at me as said the last thing I can ever imagine anyone telling me.

"You've been making immense progress and even now you're making huge strides, even if you don't see it. I'm proud of you."

Woa...me?

I mean........me?

He said that I didn't have boundaries until a few days weeks ago, not even a month and I had not only learned to make boundaries, but I was keeping safe within them. That even if I got scared of anything happening and that somehow I had a moment of panic from someone else's trauma, that I was working diligently to change that. That he was more than amazed at anyone hard work.

I have been working hard.

And he told me that, we are moving focus and we are going to start to pull apart my lack of trust with everyone and everything and that it's ok. We'll get there. Just be patient and continue to be honest. Then he asked me what did I think about it all.

And the words escaped from my mouth without any reserve, that I'm used to this thing and it's horrible. And I would never want anyone else to endure it and if it was my fault.....

.....it's not your fault.....you just had no boundaries and you were open to give everything you could to anyone and they took advantage of you. Of your trust. Of your kind, he called me kind, nature. He said that I was a good person.

I started to cry. I really want to believe that I'm a good person. And I am. And even if bad things happen to those who I care for or anyone else, it's not my fault. I'm not a magnet. I don't have a dark cloud overhead. I didn't make this happen. This just happens and people develop mechanisms to protect themselves naturally and when it fails and they get hurt they know how to process naturally. I don't have that. He said that I didn't have any of that and the fact that I finally learned what a boundary was after eight months of work and that I instantly implemented it without help proved that I was working hard to heal and once I know how to protect myself I would do so.

And right there.....some guilt disappeared.

We spoke of a few other things. He told me he was proud of me and my effort again to made sure I left with something positive and that not even I could turn a good session into a bad one. And I walked out into the remains of the sunny day, walking towards the truck to look forward to rush hour traffic of the 105. Bumper to bumper of 5 mph travel. Yet I was not stressed about it. I hate traffic and I hate how stressful it was driving. That's why I set up mechanisms to be there ahead of time and plan when I would leave and how. IF traffic wasn't fucked until 9 pm I would have stayed nearby and wait it out. Yet an hour of stress was already prepared for technically if all of my mechanisms succeeded and I wasn't late to all of them. And yet, I drove off in the most uncanny sense of peace.

It felt as if I was given a handful of powerful opiates and a tumbler of gin to kick them in. I was in a state of orgasmic peace or was it the lack of worry, stress, and pain? I still don't know. I was floating. The truck was the extension of my being. Music played in ambiance rather than to mask the moment. I didn't sing the song, I was breathing the song within me as I soon realized that I was going to die if my reaction time was so crappy. Yet we crept and moved at a blissful turtle's pace. We moved east as I was above it all, surrounded by peace. It took me some time to realize the dripping sensation were tears that were streaming from my face onto my arms. I wasn't sad, just relieved. As if ten pounds of hell was removed in a blink. I didn't understand it until the time of writing this. I would not know what it would mean.

Come Sunday, I've already spent more time with friends and I was sitting in introverted space when I realized someone brilliant on Youtube was streaming something I more than enjoyed. Immediately I shook my head and said, no. I would not click. I will be a bother. Or bothered. Or something. I would just ......continue to look for something to occupy my time considering that I have an entire day of nothing. The wall needed to be stared at I guess......and come on, man. What's the harm? I clicked. And I lurked and I watched. And the person who's work I admired shared and spoke and I commented small things that I knew would not be.......did they just respond to me? Was my online moniker just used? I got a response? A conversation? I'd better respond.

......huh......this isn't so bad. I'll just make some comments if I have anything to share.....huh? What? Why am I timed? I'm writing too much.......OHNOIDIDN'TMEANTO......I'll stop.....wait....people are nice here. I'll just take it easy....not be too eager....

And like that, I spent four and a half hours with people watching a stream of a favorite thing by someone who loved my favorite thing and was knowledgeable like so many others and we had a ball. I was communicating and getting laughs and when the time was ending and the main person was leaving we thanked each other and we were social and I didn't feel antisocial. And the person who streamed said he didn't stream usually because they're antisocial with the reasons and the ....HIM AWKWARD AND CRAZY IS MY AWKWARD AND CRAZY.........wow, right? What would I like to hear? Positive things! Here, have some positive things.....things I would want to hear...they're nice and they GAVE ME POSITIVE THINGS TOO...no way! No one here is a shit person? No one is exploding crazy? We're all being cool and supportive and I felt 5 years old again when you would meet your best friends at the playground on the fly and you guys would play a long time back when time felt either so long or not long enough and we all waved like the 5-year-old I felt like and we're all best friends now......

.....what the fuck happened? In the end, I subscribed to three channels, Facebooked a lot, made conversation with this awesome person who's videos played and he like me like people but we have people panic introvert no one is an asshole so we're safe place here and ......who the fuck am I? This shroud of panic, fear and recluse loosened and I was social.....I'm not panicking. I'm not shaking. I want to do it again. I mean....who the hell am I?

And in the dead hours of the night I decided I'm going to a meeting to see someone else who is awesome and maybe meet them, or at least listen to him speak. It's going to be crowded, I know that, but I want......I WANT TO GO? I mean.....I'm counting the days! I'm excited! In a good way, not in I have to do this and not throw up I'll carry my flask with me excited.

I'm not afraid of someone....anyone....running up and exploding crazy on me. It may happen. I may just have it happen, but it may not. I already missed out of Sabbath's goodbye tour, Carlin's last few shows, The Pixies coming and going, and so many plans with friends more than a handful that filled me with terror. Just a few months ago, I was in a dread terror over not being able to go to my Aunt's funeral and on the same day going to a friends birthday event. I was doubled over in pain and sickness and bile then, but....can I go? Can I be ok with this? I have a few weeks till I go, but....I think I'll be ok.

I know, I have no idea!

I'm not scared. I'm not even nervous over writing this! I think I'm ok. I'm ok and I'll work through it. I mean, you'd never know what's going to be a good day until it happens.

*looks at clock*

It's almost 4 am here. I'm going to sleep. I feel sleepy. I feel good. So, thank you for reading this? I don't have an ending. I don't even have anything witty outside of saying.....um.....hi.

Hi.

Hello.

Thanks for reading. Have a good day. Um.....if you need a kind word, here you are. Um.....I bet you're a magnificent person and I hope whatever you are worrying about get resolved. *shrugs* So....yea.....bye.

....hmmmmm.....feeling better about yourself is great on the ego, but it really makes for shitty endings....oh well!

Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Twenty Two: Modern Love

I have a problem with my weight, hence my health and therefore my mental outlook of life and self-worth.

Wow, that's cutting to the fucking bone, right?

It's the second month of getting healthy again. I've done these many pushes throughout the years and I'm always active to a certain degree where I can catch something with needed speed, help someone move numerous heavy items, many of which I'm usually moving on my own simply because I can. I'm a big guy. To give some stats I'm 5'11'' at 235 lbs now at 24% bodyfat which is healthy overall, yet I've been heavier before usually due to injury and I know when I'm starting to slip. The fact that I'm 24% body fat kind of worries me to a degree as much as any red flag. I know that if it rises too high I won't be able to function as I normally do. That my clothes will begin to tighten in the wrong places, my thighs will rub, and worse of all my aging knees will ache.

So I run and I have progressed in my running since 2013 where at my worst weight I simply cut to bone once more and realized that I have a degree behind me and I've done enough math and research and practice to know that I can trust the theory of body augmentation. I've worked out many people for physical gain, athletic edge, and even just to improve their lives and prevent any set in of health related issues. I've collected data and ran calculations as close as possible so that I know how much to push someone and more importantly when to pull them back. So above all, I'm my best guinea pig and learning many lessons of leadership I know I can not instruct anyone to do anything I'm not more than willing to do myself. That saying I'm usually pushing myself to points where much as last night's run had me throwing up a meal I'd had almost 4 hours before.

Yet, then again I've been told by those who know me and who also share my interest of profession that I am hell on myself. Not hard, hell. Something that I'm quite thankful learning the proper methods and knowledge since I've many times have hurt myself in order to "tough it out". I have a very sore spot for crossfit and anyone who does not understand the limits of the human body. It's one thing to push myself to breaking point because it's my body and correct or stupid I paid the price. Telling someone else with shoulder injury that they should just use smaller kettlebells just because gains will be lost. The body must rest, heal and develop properly and know that my mistakes may have a grave reaction towards someone's health has me rechecking math, monitoring form and intensity to ensure that the primary goal of constant stimulus rather than having them out injured over bravado. So I care about the health and well-being of others. If I'm paid to help someone reach goals I do so. It's more than a job. It's a passion. I understand the why's and I try to provide the how's.

It's not really work

And yet, I have the greatest difficulty with myself. Running daily measurements I've made progress with how much to eat and of what macronutrients to watch. I'm diligent with water and I have limited my vices to an occasional drink on a weekly basis on a cheat day. Yet, I realize that my efforts being hindered are not physical, but emotional. I'm anorexic. Mind you I've given my stats and you can easily see that I do not fit the usual definition of being so since the poster child is usually some teen trying to starve into jeans. Yet simply defined it's anyone who does not take in enough nutrition to support their body's needs. So being large hits me double since I do have moments where my diet is on point and other days where I barely eat 1000 calories. This only shuts down my metabolism and makes developing muscle difficult since it's usually used as a food storage device since it's easiest to metabolize instead of fat. Fat will be used, but the body's first choice is muscle since effort is needed to convert it back into carbohydrates and usable once more. I've been doing well outside of a day or two of just not eating enough. I'm not one to binge on junk food unless I've called a cheat day or allotted enough calories for that purpose. And yet, there are moments where I have to fight to eat. It's a mind fuck considering that there are many people who can not eat enough and sadly I was one of them.

To sum quickly I was part of a cult where one of the tenants was to eat only one meal a day where the science proves that this would put you at a perpetual state of hunger. Funny how cults always want to stress stringent dietary control in order to keep those in line. This and the fact that my young family at the time were struggling to support ourselves, I often went without simply to make sure others had enough. Did I mention the TB? Yea, I caught that in my late teens when most males my age developed muscle. If I show you any photo of myself back then it would make me cringe considering that I resemble the poor souls starved in concentration camps. I'm not joking. It hurts me to see any of them and I only have one of an id card where I keep close whenever I get nostalgic for my time in a cult.

Terrifies me

Never gonna fall for

God and Man

Took me years to gain healthy weight. That and not learning how to eat healthy until in my mid-thirties. This was hard learned. I had to remove a lot of old cult crap and relearn how to properly take care of myself. Even now I have difficulty eating enough, perhaps out of habit of not eating enough for others to have. At the root I realize I have difficulty creating healthy boundaries, knowing my worth, and even trying to convince that I have a right to certain things. Gas lighting, berated, just being told that I have no worth by those who claim they love me. It's a mind fuck. It's the elephant in the room I'm still trying to grasp. It's the guilt of letting down some people who mean the world to me and others who want the worst for me, regardless if they admit it or not. In my time, I've had many people try to return to my life. Many on a continual loop of begging for forgiveness that I had given decades ago just to keep them away from me. Many of them never knew what I could endure, yet they forced me to. Many had treated me as something unwanted, yet needed. A constant reminder that I am worth nothing to many yet enough for reasons not of my own.

Don't believe

It's just the power to charm

No religion

So let me grab this elephant at least. I know I am not able to budge it or even hurt it, but I have to try if only to state what no one will say. I don't think I am loved. I don't think I am capable to love anyone. I don't think I have worth to deserve love. Considering the moments I've spent with people, I offer what they want the most only to realize that it's not what they want. I've played the role of the enabler at times until realizing that I am one. I've given of myself only to realize that I received nothing in exchange. I've soothed others of their rough moments only to have them leave and return despite if we were intimate or not. I've somehow had always been the other man, a supplement for 'dude, bros" and really sick individuals only to realize that I am disposable. I've always realized that anything I call love has been hospitality in the old sense where I tried to cure pain and ache in others and never finding cure for myself. I've always believed that people carried a missing piece of me, where they will give in return of what I could offer and yet I now know that no one has the piece. I simply become what they needed most until option are greater then I can renegotiate with.

Wow....I said it. Huh.....kind of freeing.

No confessions!

So after the last time I was torn asunder by someone I realized that patterns must fit. there has to be a running theme only to realize I am the common factor of all of them. It's not them, it has to be me. So celibacy was easy. But sex is fun and good and it bonds and such. I know that, even on a biochemical level, but when you bond to someone who isn't good for you time and time again you start to taste the bitterness over any sweetness. So it was easy to just stop. Do I get urges? Of course. Have I been aroused? Sure, I'm still human. Have people aroused me? Really fucking rare and those moments I'm kind of surprised that everything works considering I've put them into mental storage. So what do you do? I work out the urge. I do what I can to just not. Don't you miss it? I think I miss the idea more than the practice considering I'm not someone who can just sleep around. If I had the inclination or just an asshole vein in me I'd be ok! I'd welcome it! I'd would love to be a sociopath, or selfish or just to objectify others, but......

But things don't really change

There's no sign of life

.....been there, had it done to me, and I'm still hurting for it. I can't use people. I've had enough of that on the receiving side, even if it was mutual. I don't have that dead part or selfishness I need to do so. Hell, I can't even take care of myself. I don't have that thing that most people have to keep going. I don't have a sense of self-care. I know how to give everything and then some more from somewhere I have no idea. I give, I get pleasure in giving, and I can do without to give more. See the problem? It's getting a bit better. trying to want things and find it ok to want them, but they're superficial and I still have to try and justify it. I have to understand that it's ok to have a sense of self-perseverance and I'm not hurting anyone for just wanting a soda. Or a game console. Or a foot rub. Or just a kind word.

It's a mind fuck and I have it.

(God and Man)

I honestly don't know what I look like or if I attract others or why I do so. I don't trust anything, especially anything in a romantic nature. I've turned down a lot of people and played dumb if only to show them that I can't do this.

Don't believe

In Modern Love

18-year-old cutie jut want to fuck? Um.....you do know my daughter is older than you? Oh, you're really mature for your age? (NOPE!) Um.....no thanks and sorry.

It's just the power to charm

Oh, someone who really IS amazing and I have the greatest time with? Someone who I look forward to seeing each and every time? Um...yea, I'm not really people and I'm a bit of a train wreck, but I'm doing better since I've found the tracks now! So...yea....I'm going to have to pass.

Never gonna fall for

Oh, someone who is just cute? I'm actually feeling as if I can do this? Just a little flirting? Yea.....I just flipped the car and it's on fire and also I am carrying a torch cause I lit it on fire because I don't know how to people, but I do know to have a really fucked up moment with someone who doesn't speak plainly.

I'm still standing in the wind

Oh, you speak plainly? And you have intrest in me? You think I'm ideal and kind and worthy? Why? I don't believe you, no sorry. Also you seem as if you have everything ok with you and I'm afraid I might infect you...no no, I don't have HIV or the herps or other sex cooties. I just have the black cloud of WTF overhead and since I really do like you a lot I'm afraid I might make it shoot lightning meant for me onto you! I know.......I'm sorry too.....*waves bye bye*

But I never wave bye-bye

But I try, I try

.......ha ha ha ha....sorry, I have to laugh. I've done something to myself where I laugh off really fucked up things because if I start to cry it just fucks me off and if I laugh it off I can at least scare people with my reaction of not giving a flying fuck of any sense.....

.....but I do. I do and I don't know how to not train wreck. I honestly did discover the tracks and I'm trying so hard with Crazy Doc and I really want to....fuck me to hell, but I want to say it.....trust other people because they trust me and it kills me that I can't trust them if only because I know I'll fuck things up somehow and I don't know that I will or won't because of the past, hell, or just surviving actually moments that should have left me dead with people I love instead of being the one to walk away.

There's no sign of life

......these are the moments I wish I didn't get up. Sometimes dead is better than surviving. There, I said it.

I know when to go out

.....but I have a sense of vengeance. I have a sense where things have to be made right. That you don't let the fuckers win. EVER. And even if they do win you make that victory hard won on their part and you make the sweetness of your loss bitter and nasty to their palate with a promise of more fucking hell behind it. I want to make all the shit people put me through, willing/knowing or not, go away and have them know they didn't stick. I won. I endured. I beat it. I shrugged it off. I'm not a victim of circumstance and the shit they carried.

And when to stay in

So I force myself to eat calories that I have not eaten enough of. I force food into me in ways that work against my screaming desire to not consume. I run like the spitting llama I am and beat my body down the street. I work out and tell myself that I care. That I love me even if I don't know what that is. I try to find some worth if only on excel. I have to stay positive as if I was my own client even though it's the hardest thing being your own cheerleader when you're busy berating yourself as your drill sergeant. Like the mirror says, I have to be kind to myself even if my initial response is to laugh and say I don't need that. I need another boot up my ass and to keep going until I break......then I start all over while healing the manifestation of the hell I give myself.

But I try I try

Get things done

But things don't really change

......so, I'm trying. It's hard and I'm trying. I don't even know if I'm doing it for me more than I'm doing it for the principle. I don't have worth in my eyes, but the thought of this happening to anyone else does. So......here come guinea pig as I try to be positive, kind and just not continuing the hatred and anger of those who I removed decades ago because it's not right and I can't say "I don't deserve it".

I don't know if I'll get there. But I can eat another can of tuna when I'm sick of tuna. Or chicken. Or when no one is looking, hug myself and whisper that they're not here anymore and that I'm trying to care about the last person that I feel needs it.

But why?

I don't know, but I tried everything else and failed. I've still have to start being nice to me. Doesn't hurt. Maybe it will help. Maybe not, but at least I'll let everyone else kick me around instead of me. At this point, all I can hope is to look back and see if there was any progress. I don't have hunches. I go to the Crazy Doc. He tells me to work on this or that. I throw myself at it until one of us breaks. Pick myself up and repeat. I don't see a future. I don't see good times. I don't see myself getting old with loved ones. I see the process and maybe what I need to do tomorrow. One day I might be victorious. I might be remembered through this because I've committed a lethal temptation and people need to look over what they didn't see in order to find mental release. I don't know. Just keep writing. Keep working. Never assume anything and try to not hate who I am despite that I am quite good at it and seem to do it without knowing I'm doing so. I can only go with what I have instead of what I think or hope or believe.

I honestly can't trust myself, but that's ok. I have someone who I can trust and they say work at it and you'll get it. You'll find self-worth. You'll find peace. You can be happy. I realize that he's the last person I can trust because he has no stake in me making it or failing. He wants me to make it, but he wants me to make it my way so I know I did it. So that if I do finish I will realize that I built that in me, what I never had and it can not be broken.

*sigh* I hate trying to be positive. If I'm not you'll worry about me. I also hate being a miserable fuck not being able to lie well. Then I could do what desperate people do when no one sees. I want to just not hate myself. I want to be kind to others and not have people tear me apart anymore. I don't even see a day where I will find love, the picket fence or even normalcy. I don't think I'm there or meant for it. If I can give of myself without tearing myself apart I'll call it a victory. If there is any good from all of this I stopped believing that someone can save me. Love me. Make me whole. Not gonna happen. It's going to be me considering that this is the last bit of woo I let go. Some people can believe in soul mates, god, or the kindness of strangers. With everything I know, all I can depend on is the work of my two hands and if kindness comes my way I will return it.

Maybe I'll be disproven. Maybe I'll find a love to rival the ages. Maybe I'll meet god and they can apologize for some really fucked up shit I've seen, much less the shit that has happened on an imaginary watch. Maybe I'll trust humanity again. Maybe I'll fly into the air and live my life with dragons. I can't afford hope right now. The calvary will never come on time and the Warm Jets will not reach me when needed. Just my effort and work. I'm just thankful I have someone to correct my errors and point me the right way.

I have to save me. I have to love me. I have to take care of me.

I don't know if I can do that.
I just have to try.