Toxic People

It is very important to be aware of what types of people are in your life. It’s you. I mean if I’m surrounded by drug addicts, alcoholics, queens, thieves and lairs, means I’m guilty by association.

When I started getting my life together, sobering up, asking myself the tough questions, I started to realize the people who once were attracted to me no longer saw me. I remember when I would walk down the street in the middle of the day and attract the strangest people. It was like there was a vacant sign on my forehead for all the drug addicts, liars, hustlers, sex addicts and whatever. I couldn’t understand why they noticed me, but I also noticed them. It was as if we were traveling on the same tragic level of existence.

I changed. They didn’t. We don’t see each other anymore.

I remember when I started AA, it was just a game. I was just trying to hustle it. I figured if I went to a couple of meetings my lover would decide I was trying and get back with me. I figured if I went to a couple of meetings and had proof, I wouldn’t be evicted from my apartment. My boyfriend still broke up with me. I still got evicted from my apartment. When I started AA, it was just another hustle. I lied so damn much. I would show up to the meetings, drunk. It was like I just felt the need to rebel.

What I found interesting were the types of people I started to attract in AA. They were on some bullshit themselves. I mean, they weren’t drinking or anything, but they weren’t good people.

They were toxic. AA was another hustle, game for them, the same way they used to get attention when they were drunks; they were now using AA to fill that void in their empty tragic souls. I met this one guy, and I thought he was really cool in the beginning. I started to share things with him, thought he could be trusted but then he started using against me. He would make cruel jokes about something I said to him, at first I thought that was his sense of humor and then I start to realize that’s how he got his kicks. It turned out; he didn’t have to drink to be a cruel drunk. I quickly ended that relationship.

The thing I disliked most about AA was the concept of Sponsors. I was supposed to befriend some stranger, allow that person in my life, and trust him or her blindly with my deepest and darkest secrets knowing that person has no formal psychological training. As a person with a degree in Psychology, I found the concept to be really dangerous. Trust means there is a give and take. Trust has to be earned. I would need to question everything. I would need to know if that person had sponsored others in the past and how that turned out. Every body gets sober differently. Not all addicts are the same. Not all addicts are created equal, there is a spectrum. At thirty years old and only been drinking for seven years, I had little in common with the drunk he had been doing it for thirty or forty years.

I learned in AA, I couldn’t believe every testimony that came out of some people’s mouth. Some people just liked to be Drama Queens. Some just lied for the hell of it. I was one of them. Some of them just wanted to hear themselves talk.

The stories that changed me the most were the one who were honest. It wasn’t self-serving, let me tell you how I suffered kind of bullshit, but straight to the point like the guy who said, it doesn’t matter what you tell those people or who you tell it to, it’s what you tell yourself when you are alone. If I was going to beat my addictions, it was the battle with me, not how many can I fool. I can’t fool myself. I’m the only one who knows the truth.

The truth hurts. It likes a muscle. No pain, no gain. My goal is to keep eroding my own toxicities therefore I completely disappear to those who are toxic.

Seven pounds

Am I a good person?

I saw the movie “Seven Pounds” this weekend and it was a really good movie. I also saw the “Curious Case of Benjamin Button” and “Slumdog Millionaire.” All three were very profound and got me to think about my own life and position in the universe. Seven pounds demands the question “Am I a good person?” What if you’ve done something really terrible? What if you’ve done something that you feel as if you can never forgive yourself? How do you correct the tragic mistake? I wouldn’t go as far as the character in “Seven Pounds” but I understood his intentions. I’m not going to give the movie away, but he sacrifices parts of himself to give new life to those who he figures are “good people.” It’s kind of like playing god on human terms.

I used to fear that one day I might need a new liver. I did a lot of drinking in my early youth, so I question if I lived to be in my fifties and need a new liver would I deserve it. I guess some people would say it was my own fault. I guess those people would be playing god on human terms. What makes a good person? Good people have really bad shit happen to them every day. When I was a child, I once felt my heart was too pure. It was so fragile. I felt as if some family members took advantage. When I was a child with a pure heart, I felt vulnerable and weak. I had a hard time of saying no, but others didn’t have a hard time of exploiting my kindness. I learned to say no.

I remember when I first moved to the big city from Texas. I moved to Chicago. I would walk down the street and smile and say hello to every stranger. In Texas, that’s normal. One day I said hello to the wrong person. He asked me if he could use my phone. I didn’t think too much about it. It turned out he was a crackhead. I decided to help him. I called shelters for him. I gave him half of my clothes. I fed him. He then just started showing up unexpected with some woman. I would go downstairs and ask him to leave. It started to get weird. A month later, the bastard broke into my apartment while I was at work. He had been using that entire time to figure out my schedule to rob me. If I would’ve just ignored him, I could’ve avoided getting my laptop, camera and other stuff stolen.

I don’t believe in Karma. Yet, I do believe when you harm those who have been nothing but kind, that will come back. You will have to make amends. I guess, that’s Karma.

I used to be a good person, and then things got really muddy. All my hate and rage begin to surface. I hated being so damn angry all the time. I just didn’t want to be around people. There are so many toxic people in this world, if I took everything personally, I might go ballistic.
I don’t’ want to be a good person who starts doing bad things. To remain good in such a cruel world is a burden. I once talked to my grandmother and asked her how one gets through life with their soul intact. She said, one has to learn how to deal with lost. My grandmother was a Buddhist even if she didn’t know it. Buddhism is all about the end of suffering. It’s removing all human attachments to achieve Supreme Being. It’s not easy. Every day I practice the end of suffering not just with my chants and meditation, but also how I touch and am touched by those around me. If the cashier at the grocery store has a bad attitude, I don’t allow her mood to hold me; instead I return it with a gentle smile. I want her to understand; I understand and don’t take it personally. It’s not easy because some people I really want to bitch slap. Yet, I’m learning not to allow those to reel me into their bullshit. Some people really go looking for fights. They will go on and on, try their damnest to get a response and when you don’t give it to them, they get even angrier. I’m learning to back away. (Become actualize, conceptualized, keep my sanity).
I’m learning to pick my fights wisely. I will only fight if its defense of my life or love one, not pride. I don’t need pride. I can always lose pride.

So to answer my question, am I a good person, I would say conservatively yes. I give money to the homeless with no judgment. I’m only good to good people. I guess that’s me practicing God on human terms.

Believe it

I believe.

I do believe true change is possible. Yet, real change is not easy. First, I’m beginning to realize it’s not about me re-wiring my brain. I’m created this way, nature vs. nurture for a reason. I’m going to have to learn to use my soul to create the purpose of my personality.
As the year comes to an end, I’ve been somewhat successful. I’m dramtically different than I was a year ago. I’m healthier. I’m sanier. I’m more sober.

Yet, I still have setbacks. This weekend I can say was a setback. The more I recover, I find it’s so damn easy to take five steps backwards. The more I try to repair old relationships, I find it’s so easy to fuck them up again. I try so damn hard, yet I feel as if one mistake, one resemblance of old Michael Whitley behavior and I’m like, I haven’t changed at all. It kind of feels like I’m fooling myself.

Yet I must believe. I know my intentions are truly genuine. I will win this battle, with my past, my pain, my addictions and mental illiness. I will win, or die trying.

My two cents on Rick Warren

On Jan 20th, 2009 Rick Warren, the author of “The Purpose Driven Life” will give the invocation at Obama’s inaguration, the first black president. A lot of controversy has emerged since Rick Warren is an outspoken bigot towards gays, have once stated (until last Friday on his website*) that gays are not welcome at his church unless they repent, compared homosexuality to criminal sex offenders (pedophilia, incest and polygamy**). It’s not only that he is against gay marriage; he is against the gay gene, thinks it should’ve been eradicated a long time ago. He enthusiastically campaigned for Prop 8***. It’s no surprise a lot of gays are dumbfounded why Obama would pick suck a divisive person to deliver the country’s prayer. Yes, there are those who say Obama said he would reach across the aisle, take hands and force us to hear their voices. I thought we heard their voices at Mathew Sheppard’s funerals, I thought we heard their voices at many AIDS funerals, I thought we heard their voices at the Gay parades across the country, I thought we heard their voices in the church growing up, but I guess we need to hear their voices again on the day we so many gays thought they campaigned, marched, canvass for someone who promised change. Yet, I decided to be open minded. I wanted to understand the meaning of “Invocation.”


An invocation is the act of invoking or calling upon a deity, spirit, etc., for aid, protection, inspiration, and supplication.


As a supplication or prayer it implies to call upon God to ask for protection, spiritual presence like the Lord's Prayer. Taken from bible, Matthew 6:9–13 (King James Version) in which Jesus says, our Father which art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.


As a kid growing up in a Baptist church I’ve probably said the Lord’s Prayer a thousand times. We said it before every meal. Sometimes we said it before sleep. I never really understood the meaning, just that it was forced into my memory like the American Anthem and Pledge of Allegiance.


I believe in god. I do. I’m not sure if I believe in my childhood god anymore. As I got older, I started becoming more of a Buddhist. I blame the book “Saddathra.” I’ve always believed in reincarnation even as a child. I know I’ve been here on this earth many times before. I also believe there was once a Jesus. I think Jesus has been here many times before, in many different ways. I don’t believe in Adam and Eve, not just because I’m gay, it just that it doesn’t explain a lot. I mean if man gave woman a rib, why do men and woman have the same amount of ribs. “Here's something else that disproves the story early life was asexual meaning it had both sex organs and reproduced without the need for a mate at all. It was only later when nature needed a way to control overpopulation that the sexes split into two distinct ones. And when all life starts out it starts out female. As far scientists can see it's the male sex that is a mutation of the female. Why? Because the design of the female body would be able to both germinate and carry offspring while the male could not.” I also believe God is a hermaphrodite. If god is everything, then god is one. Which means god is gay and straight, black and white, male and female. Why in life is there always an opposite. So if black is the opposite of white, and male is the opposite of female, then what is the opposite of straight, it’s gay.


The need for prayer on Election Day I feel is necessary. America at the moment is getting hopeless by the day. I wonder what happened to the invocation when President Bush was sworn into office. Interesting enough, the person that did his invocation, also known as the Pastor to the President was Cuban born - Reverend Dr. Luis Leon. (http://geocities.com/reunionfor1969/LLeon.html )


Usually the person who does the invocation is the thought to be the President’s Pastor, reverend or rabbi or spiritual leader. I guess Barack Obama spiritual advisor of twenty years, who married him and baptized his kids could no longer be part of his life. We all are told to forget Rev. Wright. He almost cost Obama his presidency. Yet, the choice of Rick Warren as the nations Pastor, spiritual advisor is so appalling. It’s “Gem” fantastic outrageous.
Yet, picking Rick Warren has forced the issues of gay Americans. Some people still think being gay is a willful choice of deviation. Some people still think all gays are going to hell. Hate crime has increased since the passing of Prop 8 which indirectly gives the entitled permission to their prejudice and hate. Some people still think gays only make up a small percentage of the population therefore not constitutional relevant. Some gays have gone back into the closet even farther. It scares the shit out of us, gay and straight, to have to deal with an issue.
I think it’s beautiful that so many gays (like me) have protested the picking of Rick Warren. I know some people have advised Obama must know what he is doing because he’s so damn pragmatic. Yet, I know different. I’ve said he is either dumb as a doorknob or smart as a fox. Or he is really truly arrogant and only care about his political future. The choice has forced gays, all gays across the spectrum, lesbians and gay men, black , white, Hispanic and transgender to say “hey, what the hell!”


I know many people, like Mellissa Elderidge, didn’t know anything about Rick Warren. I only knew him because I read the “Purpose Driven Life” like three years ago. It truly changed my life. I would still recommend the book.


After reading the book, I decided to see what I thought was a profound preacher was really about. I got online and researched him. I went to his website. I watched videos of him on YouTube****. The more I found out, the sicker in the stomach I got. I found out he hated me. I found out he didn’t think my life was purposeful. I found out he was a fat bastard. I buried his book in the back of the closet and decided to just forget about him. He showed up again. I remember watching CNN and he invited Obama and McCain to his church. I didn’t think much about it. I remember the day of Prop 8, he showed up on YouTube encouraging his followers to pass the bill. He again blasted that homosexuality was incest, pedophilia and criminal. The next day Obama won. It was a great day, being that I am black. It was a year I canvassed for Obama. I donated to his campaign. I felt I was part of the movement. I slightly forgot that not only was I black, I was also gay. I guess I saw myself as Bayard Rustin, the architecture of the March on Washington. I assumed when Obama meant change, he meant everyone. He said he was politically going to reach across the aisle. I thought that meant he was going to fight for better healthcare, school systems, taxes, jobs, things that all Americans needed. I never thought he was going to test a core part of his constituents.


I had decided along with many other gays, to protest inauguration day. I was going to make my signs and show up when Rick Warren gave his speech. I used to ask myself if I was more black than gay. I used to think of myself as a black gay man, not a gay black man. Yet, it’s becoming very clear that I am a gay black man. I still have my issues with being gay. I still have my issues with gay white men. I guess I considered myself black first because in the bigger picture of being gay, I am still black because most gay men are still white. It’s complicated.
I am so happy that America elected a black president. I felt for three weeks the world had changed. And then I realized it hadn’t. Homophobias in the black community roots are deep. The black churches were the first to turn their back on AIDS. The black churches felt AIDS was a gay disease. And when black women started getting AIDS, it was blamed on closeted black men living on the down low. Somehow being gay had leaked over to the black population. I guess Obama is just another religious black man.


I pray that Obama see the error is his ways, not be lead into temptation like he did with Rev Wright, like how he did with Axelrod who built his home, how like he did with William Ayers, like how he return his aunt’s contribution money when he suddenly found out she was in the states illegally, like how he is now distancing himself from the corrupted Illinois Governor. I will pray for Rick Warren and now I will begin to question Obama. The honeymoon is over. And he is not even in office yet.

The truth what Rick Warren has said, can’t be unsaid, but must be formally repented. Here are the notes for this article, since people really don’t have any idea who Rick Warren is. Listen in his own words.


http://www.americablog.com/2008/12/rick-warren-explicitly-bans-unrepentant.html (Since the outrage the page has been taken off, I’m assuming until after the inguration.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvyyEIEDqrQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRVPxK9VPEY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7o4QqGbQmU0&feature=related (Warren endorses Prop 8)

Special Notes: I admit since the outrage, Warren has been desperately trying to do a PR overhaul. I’m just waiting to see what happens, but in the meantime I will begin my letters to Rick Warren, trying to sort out my feelings about the entire ordeal.

Shot term memory lost.

Somebody asked me what I did last Thursday. I went into my head, and suddenly there was just darkness like something had gotten erased. I knew there was a last Thursday, but I couldn’t remember it. But it’s been happening on and on again.

Four years ago, I woke up on the ground. I remember spitting out blood. I remember spitting my teeth in my mouth. I remember the cops shining a light in my eyes, asking me if I was okay. I couldn’t remember where I was. It was like something got erased. I try to remember that night but it’s not there in my head.

I remember the fight. I remember that Halloween night being very angry at my lover. I remember the costume I wore. But after that, it goes blank.
I was told somebody beat the shit out of me. When I woke up that morning, I was in so much pain. I don’t even remember how I got home. I just remember waking up again. I found out that I had three cracked ribs and four teeth kicked out of my mouth. And then I remember spitting blood in my hands and the teeth. I went to the hospital. The doctor asked me what happened. I told him, I didn’t remember. It’s because I didn’t remember.

Did I really hit my head that hard on the sidewalk? Now, four years later it’s scaring me because it’s like blocks of time in my life are gone. I can’t remember what happened last week. There are people who say they know me, but when I go in my head, they are not there. I can remember long term things. I know my social security number. I know my third grade teacher’s name. Yet, I can’t remember if I woke up last Tuesday. I know I did, because I’m still here.

Maybe I wasn’t okay that horrible night when I was kicked and beaten that night. I couldn’t pick any of those guys out in the line-up. Maybe I’m still not okay. This lesbian told me she saw what happened. She said it was the most horrific thing she’s seen in her life. She said they just beat and kicked me like I was some dog. I’ve wondered what I did to piss them off. I don’t remember.

Obcessive Impulsive Personality Disorder

I made the greatest discovery when I introduced myself to happiness.

I finished reading a book by Dr. Gary Zukav (Mind of the Soul). I’ve actually read all of his books. In one chapter, he challenged the reader to see how he or she saw themselves in the universe. I immediately thought I saw the universe against me. I thought god was against me. I’ve always thought God was against me. If I thought God was against me, I’ve always seen myself as a victim. Yes, I had the best excuse like my shitty childhood. Yes, growing I felt I was an easy target not having parents or anyone to protect. It was like I was easy prey as a child. I had teachers abuse me. I come home with bruises on my arms and no one noticed. I was molested for like four years and no one noticed. I move from one foster home to the next foster home, from one family member to the next family member, from one abuse situation to the next abuse situation. I stopped trusting people at eight years old. I fucking hate people. I’m always waiting for someone to disappoint me. I’m always waiting for someone to reveal their true selves. I didn’t believe the good in people. I thought it was a world get or get got.
And then I feel in love. I fell in love first with this girl, Mita. I couldn’t believe she didn’t want anything form me but to love me. To make me better. She became my soul teacher. She became my soul healer. She allowed me to trust. And then I fell in love with this guy. The same guy I’m with now. It was hard loving him. It was hard giving him love. I thought I couldn’t deal with another heart break.

Funny, yesterday I was watching Oprah and the show was about “OCD.” I understood the personality disorder but from a different perspective. OCD people have a need to control the world. I realized I was the opposite. I gave up on the world a long time so I had a need to be out of control in the world. I didn’t feel the need for responsibility because I felt everything about life was meaningless. I figured we all die. That life was just one lost after another. I got tired of abandonment. I couldn’t trust. I didn’t believe in God. So life to me was meaningless for a long.
I would consider myself with Obsessive-impulsive personality disorder. It’s like I had a need to continually to fuck up. It’s the typical rebel without a cause. I just liked to rebel. I just like to fight back. I guess in some weird way in my head that makes me feel control in a universe I always felt was so out of control. I don’t care about much. I can sleep on floors. I can eat out trash cans. I can be irresponsibly sexually, because I don’t care for the rules. I always figured the rules weren’t for me. Yet, like those with OCD, I became a prisoner of my impulsiveness. When I don’t want to go to work, I don’t go. When I don’t want to pay a bill, I don’t pay it. When I don’t’ want to pay rent, I don’t pay it. When I don’t want to have friends, I curse them out. I can never be in a relationship because I need to act on my impulsion. I had a hard time getting sober, because I needed to act on my impulsions. My impulsions became my sex addiction. I think most addicts suffer from obsessive impulsive disorder.

I had to learn that I can’t control, because I don’t want to control. I saw the universe out of control. I saw myself as so insignificant. I figured I would die a John Doe and no one would notice I was even here. Yet, things have changed. That’s what I loved about getting help and education. I knew things needed to change. I constantly challenge my personality and ego. Like an OCD person who needs to trust their ritual behavior is inhibiting, I need to understand my uninhibited behavior can be counter productive.

I’ve became good at sticking to my schedule. Its simple things like brushing my teeth everyday. It’s taking a bath everyday. It’s making up my bed everyday. Some people thing that’s normal, but I’ve gone weeks without brushing my teeth or taking a bath. I would eat off the floor. I would sleep on dirty sheets. I didn’t care. I used to not be able to walk away from confrontation. I needed to destroy people I felt were out to get me. I became somewhat schizophrenic. I figured if I was pushed, I needed to push back. I hated that part of me. I hated that prison.

Freedom is the sacrifice for love. Prison is the acceptance of hate.

I don’t feel so out control anymore. Yet, I still worry. When I go into self-imposed exile is because I felt out of control. I go silent to get my mind together. I stay away from those I feel are toxic. Yet I recognize if they trigger part of my counter productive personalities. I don’t give that power away.

Yet, I’m quickly learning control. I fear when I start working again how long will it be before I start acting up. I’m convincing myself I am not a fuck up. I’m convincing myself I’m a good person. How long will it before I get fired for not showing up on time or not showing up at all. I can’t start friendships because I fear how long it will be before I do something crazy. How long will I be before I fuck up again?

I told my psychologist that my problem wasn’t success; it was getting everything and then burning it to the ground. I’ve done it some many times
.
Now every morning when I awake, I say to myself I need to believe. I believe there is a god. I do believe the universe has purpose. I do believe I have purpose. Yet, it’s a fight. Today is a good day. I’m sober. I’m home, sleeping in my own bed. My clothes are clean. I have food in my refrigerator. Life is good. I plan to keep it that way.

My dear sir, I challenge you to a duel.

I would pick the place. Rent one YMCA boxing ring, $100 dollars. I would pick the time. A month from now. I can even buy the gloves and face mask. $100 dollars. I would set him up with a trainer. I would get him a 30 day membership at the gym. I’d hire a referee. All he has to do is show his punk ass up at the place in thirty days. Total budgeted cost of the duel: $500. The pleasure of kicking his ass in front of his friends and family, priceless.

As practiced from the 11th to 20th centuries in Western societies, a duel is an engagement in combat between two individuals, with matched weapons in accordance with their combat doctrines. The Romanticism depiction of medieval duels was based on either a pretext of defense of honor, usually accompanied by a trusted representative (who might themselves fight), often in contravention of the dueling conventions, or as a matter of challenge of the champion which developed out of the desire of one party (the challenger) to redress a perceived insult to his or her sovereign's honor. The goal of the honorable duel was often not so much to kill the opponent as to gain "satisfaction", that is, to restore one's honor by demonstrating a willingness to risk one's life for it.

I think in this modern age of violence, the act of dueling should be brought back. Nobody fights fair anymore. Kids show up to school with guns and then just start shooting innocents because some girl didn’t go out on a date with him. Terrorism has taken the place of a fight with honor. It’s just murder now. I don’t think there is nothing wrong with two individuals going at it without the cheap deadly tricks. I mean an old-fashion after school beatdown. No gang fights. Let them work it in a boxing ring with witnesses and rules.

Some punk ass bitch been talking smack about me. I hate that high school cheerleader shit that goes on in the gay clubs sometimes. When I moved to DC in the beginning I was just another new face. I didn’t say much to anybody. I didn’t care about belonging to any groups. I had enough of the gay cattiness in New York, Texas and Chicago. I wasn’t about to move again.
When I first got to DC, the so call second city, or second chance city I was out of luck and broke and looking for free drinks. Somehow I got a reputation I didn’t intend. I guess because I was young, flirty, and somewhat suspicious that some people thought I was a drug dealer, prostitute or two bit hustler. They figured me trouble because I looked the part of a young black male with a cocky smile on his face. I got kicked out of a lot of clubs for that smile. A black man with too much confidence too many find a threat. Yet, at first I played the role. I liked being the bad boy. It was sexy.

I’m not a fighter. I fought too much growing up. I have 36 male cousins around my age. Everyday was a fight. I have nothing to prove. Yet, I don’t like others thinking they can just say shit about me and I not have a response.

I saw the asshole in question at the bar last Thursday. I was too drunk. The worse thing in the world is drunk fighting. I can’t win a fight if I am drunk. First, the person is unprepared. Their balance is off and emotions are running high. They can’t even use their adrenaline to steady their swings. The last time I got into a drunken bar fight, it was not good in my favor. I accidently picked a fight with a group of bastards who decided to jump me. I knew immediately there was no way I could win. When I was just kicking the one guy’s ass, I had it down but the other three fuckers decided they needed to jump in. I never believed in jumping in my friends’ fight. I feel as if that takes away their honor. I also feel it’s criminal. If my friend is getting his ass kicked, let him get his ass kicked. I once got in trouble when I was a little kid because one of my cousins decided to jump this guy who they didn’t like. The rule in my family was that if one of us got into a fight, then all of us got into that fight. I guess it worked in our favor considering there were a lot of us. It was like being attacked by a pack of wolves. I didn’t jump in that fight that day. The poor innocent guy was just being beaten to death. I was going to worsen his suffering. I wanted to stop it. I had to stop it. I guess that’s me at my heart. I don’t believe in fighting but I do believe in defending my honor.

I live in the city and people are so damn shady. They fear so damn much they are willing to do about anything to hide the fact they are cowards. They will talk about you behind your back but when confronted--they freeze up. Coward. If I say something about someone, trust me, I can say it to their face. If I stank that day, I would tell the person they need to take a bath and not giggle about it like I’m a high school cheerleader. And if I am confronted, I would probably apologize immediately because I probably been drinking and didn’t really mean it.

This guy has taken it too far. I confronted him and he would even acknowledge my existence, like I was diseased or something worse. Normally, I don’t care what other people think about me. I really don’t. What bothers me is if you said something about me, be a man and admit it. Or I will be a nigga and make a fucking scene. Yet, since turning thirty years old, I’ve consciously decided to curb my nigga moments. I’m intelligent. I am a writer. I have three college degrees. I give to charity. I give to the homeless. I don’t have the time to punch a bitch in a bar, get arrested, get a misdemeanor, have to pay bail money, have to get a lawyer and hope that’s the end of it. It usually cost around $1000-$2000 dollars. I don’t have time to end up in jail and not make it to work the next day. I hate community service. I lose money in so many directions. I think two grown men fighting in a bar is so unlady like.

So that’s why I recommend the duel. It’s more civilized. Nobody is drunk. It’s in a nice ring with proper protection. And we just beat the shit out of each other like real men. A good fight allows a person to forgive, winner or loser. A good fight says it means something. Shit I might just get my ass kicked but at least I get to defend my honor. I take back my name.

Yet, I am reminded when one of my cousins wanted to fight my best friend in high school. I feared for him. The clever best friend turned the script on my thuggish cousin. He challenged his intellect. He demanded he would only fight him if my cousin could write a thousand word paper on why they should fight. I remember the dumbfounded look on my cousin’s face. He realized he wasn't just some primitive animal and had the capability of real thought. I decided to write this blog in the same sense of my need to kick this guy’s ass. My argument is as follow:

I never liked him. I would see him out all the time but we never spoke. I just considered him part of the bar furniture. He’s one of those people you hate immediately. He has a snobbish entitled demeanor like he’s curing cancer. I don’t care. I don’t care if he has the highest IQ; I had reserved myself to no just speaking to him. But it’s hard to just ignore somebody you see every damn week. I have sometimes tried to be the bigger man and speak or smile. He usually just rolls his eyes. I try to think if I had every done anything to him. I used to drink a lot and god knows how many people I have pissed off. I didn’t want him to like me; I just wanted to know why he didn’t like me.

I heard what he said about me accidently. Funny, the irony was that I was talking smack about this other guy. This guy really did smell like pussy on fire. I couldn’t understand the smell. It wasn’t the first time he smelled that way and it was offensive. I thought it was more than him being unclean but something diseased. It’s when my bar friend turned to me and said some people have said the same thing about me. I paused. I wanted to know who would say such a thing. He pointed to the asshole in question. I decided not to care. Yet, I cared.

I was more ashamed to be honest. I immediately thought of my grandmother who would be furious I would go weeks without bathing. And then again, those were the drug years. When you are constantly high on something and drunk, time goes by so fast. I was living in a blur. I would have to be reminded by friends to bath and eat. I would go a week without eating. It was no secret to me that I often reeked of sex, weed, alcohol, and uncleanliness. I remember when I used to get on the train people immediately moved away from me. I didn’t care. I was usually high so I didn’t care about nothing.

And then I thought to myself, why I am so angry at that guy for just telling the truth. I was angrier at myself. I needed to challenge myself to a duel. I needed to kick my own ass. I was such a mess two years ago. I hate being reminded of it. I hate that my neighbors still try to get me evicted even if I haven’t done anything criminal in the last two years.

When someone pisses me off to the point I want to cause them bodily harm, I first have to pause. I have to challenge what emotion or fear in my personality was triggered. I have to deal head on with my ego and masculinity. I could kick his ass. I could really hurt the bastard. But the fight isn’t with him. The funny thing, it doesn’t matter if you get your life right, somebody is always going to remind you when you were a fuck up. It’s like people feel the need to be superior. I’m done with apologizing. I have made no amends. I was who I was because I was, that’s it.

Yet, I’m still angry. All he has to do is show up. I dare the bastard. All he has to do is say one more thing about me I don’t like. My anger may be a little misdirected, but so is he accusations. He is still a punk ass bitch.

That is Mr. Bipolar to you!

Sometimes I wonder if I am truly sick or was it all in my head. I wonder if other people believed me or just thought I was a drama queen at moments. I wonder if I just stopped drinking would my life get better. I mean would the insanity stop. But I wasn’t drinking that Monday when I refused to go to work or call. I wasn’t drinking when I cut my wrists.

It was like this noise in my head, sometimes so silent it made me feel dangerously alone, other times it was like the noise started poking me with a sharp stick for attention. The feeling often was anxious and annoyed. Sometimes the feeling made me feel so good I couldn’t stop touching myself or having sex. It was like I was in hyper drive. I didn’t know how to turn if off. But the feeling would be so crazy that it would climb tall buildings and jump off. I would crash hard, on the floor, irrationally afraid for my life. I would just lay on the floor and I would be there for days. Unable to leave the house. So afraid of something, something I knew was trying to kill me, something outside my door. The feeling, it’s so damn powerful. I’ve had it a long time. I’ve had it since I was a child. I thought learned to ignore it. I thought I learned to act normal. It was like my deep dark secret.

So something was wrong. I knew it. I knew it for a long time. I couldn’t just get control of my head. My behavior was becoming more and more erratic. I just didn’t want to hear the word: Crazy. Some people can be so cruel and ignorant. I was afraid of being labeled. I had this guy trying to be funny, talking about how my mood can change five times in ten minutes. I went quiet. It was a joke to him but it was serious to me. It hurt me to the core. I wanted to put my hands around his neck. I didn’t want to go crazy like my mama did. Like my sister did.

My life, I woke up and I was drowning in the deepest and darkest part of the ocean. I couldn’t understand how I got there. I couldn’t understand what kept pulling me under every time I managed to grab the tips of the insanity and breathe for a second. I kept slipping. And it was thundering rain, lightening striking, the heavens moved quickly, like an angry mother screaming for somebody to save her child. Somebody save me.

It seemed like I had been drowning for years, maybe even decades. I got help. I put my pride aside and checked myself into the hospital.

I was so scared that day. I had done something awful. Something that will hunt me for a long time. I just wanted to escape. I just wanted to run as far as I could. I just wanted to die. Not fake death for attention but real death. I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. It was too hard. I was drowning!!!!! And nobody could save me.

I went to the hospital, broken, tired, my arms marked, self inflicted, and I just laid there. For almost two weeks I just woke up, took medication, talked to a panel of psychiatrists and slept. It was probably some of the best sleep in my life.

And then one day the sun came out. One day I saw land. I didn’t even know what the sun was. I thought it was something that taunted me. I thought it was warmth I would never know because my world was just full of rainstorms and angry oceans. I felt the sun. I felt such clarity on that day. I never knew my mind could be so damn clear. It was like I could feel god in me, around me, clothing me, kissing me, hugging me, telling me he loved me. And then I looked in the mirror. I was a frightening mess. My hair was all disheveled. My eyes looked wild. I had bandages on my arms. I didn’t recognize that person anymore. I knew I wasn’t that person. I was something better. I was just another soul that had gotten lost somewhere. I needed to find my way back.

I made a promise to myself. I promised myself real change. I mean the change of energy. I spent a lot of energy on the wrong things. I was going to keep a journal documenting my change of energy. I was going to constant push myself to face my worse fears. Writing this blog is part of my worse fears. It’s like screaming to the world, I am not perfect. I remember one day in the crazy house, some woman told me I was too pretty to be crazy. She said I could be a doctor. I laughed. I thought it was the pretty ones that were always crazy.

I made a promise to myself a year ago and I haven’t broken it. Shit, I performed miracles. I had nothing a year ago. I mean nothing. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have a place to stay. I didn’t have any money in my accounts. I didn’t even own a credit card because I’d always been afraid of the commitment.

And then one day, maybe by accident, maybe by desperation, I washed up on shore. I had decided to stop fighting the ocean, and just drown, I gnawed at my wrists with my teeth, and just let go. I let my body sink. I swallowed all the emptiness and got so full I sunk to the bottom. I hope to never wake. But I did wake up, choking on the frustration on dry land. The ocean had gotten tired or pitied me and threw me out. Maybe God said I will give this nigga another chance.

So there I was on dry land, the sun smashing down on me like a foot on my neck, the sand sticking in my back like chards of broken glass and I was naked. I had nothing but my soul. Before I was just ocean and the storm, the rain and thunder, but under that sun, I was just bare. That scared the shit out of me. I had too many secrets to be naked. I had too much shame.

So here I am on dry land, confused, traumatized and very pissed off. Why did it take so long for me to arrive? Why did I have to first give in to death before God decided I should live.

I wasn’t promised anything. Nobody said I could be happy because I wasn’t drowning anymore. Nobody said life was going to be perfect. I had a broken child in me to fix. I started to learn only I could fix him. I believe we die heroes, victims, survivors or villains. I was tired of being the victim.



Now the real work begins. All I want from my life now is to be grateful. I am grateful to all my good days. A good day. I wake up and I’m sober. I'm in my own bed. Not at the bathhouse or bookstore or crack house, my own bed. I first pray. I pray for strength. I pray for faith. I pray for gratitude. I always start my morning with being grateful for the day that has passed. I always do something today so that my tomorrow will be grateful. It’s simple really. I brush my teeth, facial, do my nails, make up my bed, clean the dishes, take out the trash, do my thirty minute exercise and fifteen intense minutes of yoga and I am ready.


My five prayers through the day. I first pray for faith. I start with I believe. It’s simple. I believe I woke up. I believe there is a god. I believe I have purpose in my life. I believe my dreams will come true. And I believe like I breathe. I know if I stopped believing for more than two minutes I will suffocate to death. I finally believe I am a good person. That’s most important. It’s because I believe I am enough.

The prayer of gratitude. It seems as if I’ve been in and out of the hospital my entire life. I almost lost my left leg at age 4. I got bitten by a rat that same year and lost the hearing in my right ear. I’ve been shot. I’ve been hit in the head with a brick twice. I once stepped on a rusty nail and it went through my foot. And all that was before ten years old. I grateful that I have the ability to walk. I’m grateful I have one good ear. I was told I would be deaf by that age of twenty five. That didn’t happen. I am grateful to be health. I had pneumonia and I know what it feels like to no be able to breathe. It is true, if you don’t have your health, you have nothing. You can’t play, have sex, watch television, walk around the block, laugh; all you think about is making it to the next second. It amazes me how quick some of us are willing to give up our health. Some of us are willing to do things with strangers who wouldn’t loan you a dollar but fuck you raw behind some tree in the parks.

The prayer of work. I believe in a good work ethic. I believe in the Booker T. Washington work ethic. You get good at what you’re doing now and that will open the door for you tomorrow. I didn’t use to believe in a good work ethic. I used to feel as if I owed something.

The prayer of fear. I liked to face my fears. My worse fear is rejection. I don’t know why I decided to become a writer because that is a life of steady rejections. I fear not being good enough. I fear that people are going to find out about so many lies I’ve told over the years. I try to correct those lies as much as possible.

The prayer of love and trust. I like this prayer the best. It’s the prayer before I go off to sleep. I ask myself did I love myself today. Did I tell myself I loved me? Did I respect myself? I ask myself did I love my friends and family. Did I give love instead of take love? Funny, babies come into this world ready to give love. As we get older and forget, we think we are here to just receive love. I used to cringe at the fact my mother didn’t love me enough. I had to accept that in order for me to be truly happy; I was going to have to give her love anyway.

PTSD

I had that dream again. It's been over sixteen years since I left home and I'm still having that dream. It's like I am constantly running away. I have put over thousands of miles away from San antonio. It's like i moved to the opposite part of the map and I am still having that dream. I wonder why it won't go away.

Change

I woke up this morning thinking about change. I don’t believe it. I feel as if I’ve been the same person since I was born. Yes, my body changed. I got bigger. I learned to talk. I learned to walk. I learned to use the bathroom properly. I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was like in the second grade. Yet I could read at five years old. I didn’t learn to tie my shoes until I was in the second grade because I never wore tennis shoes. I usually went barefoot or sandals. I guess during those days, Child Protective Services weren’t that active.

I woke up this morning thinking about change. So much this past year has changed. I moved three different times. At the beginning of the year I moved into this really nice house with some psycho guy. That only lasted for like a month. He taught me some great lessons. Don’t trust crazy people. I used to think I was crazy, but that dude was really crazy. And then I moved into a transitional house. I hated it. I decided to move back in with my ex. I felt like Anne Frank at his house. It was important that none of his neighbors knew I was back. I had actually gotten kicked out of his place in 2007. Lucky for me, all the old residents moved out. Then I moved to my own apartment. I found that living on your own was a little overrated. “I need supervision.’ I don’t trust myself alone. I moved into my own place but never unpacked; instead I paid the rent via mail and stayed with my ex. I liked his place better. After a year of wasting money, I decided to not renew my lease and moved back in with him temporarily. The truth, I never moved out.

Change, I don’t believe in it. I believe we just refocus our energy. The only reason I’m up writing this blog at 6:30 in the morning is because I’m sober. When I started getting blocks of time with sobriety, I found I had a lot of energy I didn’t have before. I don’t drink as nearly as much as I used to. That changed. I didn’t change. I just refocused my energy.

I believe we evolve or die. Its how man went from ape to walking up straight. Its how the brain grew when humans started using tools. Its how the world is getting smaller by the second.
I don’t believe in change. Change can be a lie. If someone changes their clothes and start speaking in a different accent, is that change or something they’ve consciously decided to manifest? I don’t like those make-over shows. Just because for one day a person gets a new pair of teeth or a new dress don’t make them a different person. Usually they go back to being the same person about a month later. On that show the Biggest Loser, yes during the show they lose weight but they end up gaining it back as soon as the camera stops rolling. They changed their physical looks for a brief moment but who they were internally hadn’t evolved.

I knew when I seriously considered getting sober I couldn’t listen to other people tell me how to do it. I knew I didn’t need rehab. I stopped going to AA. Most important I knew I could lie. I’d been a liar my entire life. Yet, I also knew I couldn’t lie to myself. I knew the truth. I knew what I did alone. I knew only I alone could stop me. I also knew I needed to evolve in order to survive. I was going to die. I thought at the beginning that’s what I wanted. I didn’t die. I decided to reexamine the experiment we call life. My life.

I was dying. I had been standing in my life in one spot away from the sun. I was slowly withering. I could see it when I looked in the mirror. I could feel it in my sleep those nights when I wake up gasping for air. I knew all the debauchery was finally catching up to me. I couldn’t outrun it any longer. I finally understood when people would say “I had to quit or die.” Yes, as an addict I could’ve lived a couple of more years. But being an addict it only gets worse. It never gets better. Nobody has figured out a way except “William Burroughs” to control it.

I needed to evolve. Just like I learned how to walk. Just like I learned how to talk. I needed to learn how to live. I had to understand the definition. It’s how the internal and external balances each other. For a long time, externally people used to think I was doing great in my life. I hid my demons well in the beginning. I was the most miserable person I felt. I hated everything about me. The hate used to be so evil sometimes it felt like it was strangling me in my sleep. The depression used to be so deep I felt I had drowned. My soul was just a ghost haunting me.
I believe if addicts really begin to understand why they self medicated true change can happen at the soul level vs. the human level. I’m still working on it.

Today, at this moment, I am sober. I am happy. Internally I feel great about myself. I didn’t die. It’s miracle. I am a miracle. I bask in this sobriety. I wish it for those looking for it.

The worse I did, i did to myself: A year later in recovery

Damn, last year about this time, I was just getting out of the mental hospital, I was homeless, jobless, broke, and it all seemed so damn hopeless. I was also very sick, had walking pneumonia and didn’t even know it because I wouldn’t stop the drinking and meth to get better. They tried to tell me in the hospital but I hadn’t decided if I wanted to live or not. They sedated me and gave me a flu shot. I told them I would sue them.

I thought I wanted to die.

I didn’t die.

I got sober and it wasn’t the end of the world. I started consistently taking my meds, and I didn’t lose myself. I thought being on antipsychotics and antidepressants would make me a zombie. I thought it would take away my creativity and edge. It didn’t.

I didn’t think I could turn it around. I got an apartment. I got a job. I grew up.

Yet, it hasn’t been easy. It was like the second I got some insanity, a lot of shit started happening to me. At first I thought it was karma. The first place I found to live ripped me off. It was such a nightmare I just forfeited deposit and down payment to get out of my lease. I lost like two thousand dollars. I had to move back in with my ex until I got a new place. I also started getting sick. I thought it was withdrawal symptoms. I kept going to hospital but they would just tell me it was the flu or bronchitis. It was pneumonia. I had to stay in the hospital for like a week. I lost my job. I found another apartment but without a job I completely wiped out my savings account. I got a new job and got sick again. Another two weeks in the hospital. It was like god was fuckign with me. I swear everything that could go wrong, went wrong. I fell off the bus and sprang my toe. I got gout in my right big toe. I found out that I was anemic which explained me passing out all the god damn time. My dentist ripped me off, so I can’t forget that.

Anyways, none of that I saw as setbacks but blessings. I didn’t belong in that apartment. I couldn’t afford it anyway. I need that job, I wasn’t happy. I also finally faced my health. Years of drug and alcohol abuse catches up to you. I wasn’t afraid of the failure anymore.

A year later, I knew I had changed when I met up with a friend to go hang at his house. I hadn’t seen him in a year. The last time I saw him, he was sick. He said it was just the flu but I knew it was something more. He didn’t mention it. I didn’t mention it but he was already skinny and had lost more weight. I was supposed to go visit him in the hospital when I realized I didn’t know his real name. I’d know that kid for five years and didn’t know his real name. The problem with my friend, I used to look at his life as romantic. I thought he was just as a lost soul as me. I went to him often not just to score drugs or the latest sex party, but also advice. It seemed that he always had men around him, the latest raw fuck session, getting high. It was my dream of nasty, no consequences. At least thought I pretend like there were no consequences because I figured I‘d be dead before thirty years old. Nothing really matter to me.

But it was all a lie. That’s what I knew for truth staring into that tin mirror at the state mental hospital. It was all a lie.

I went to my friend’s place and I knew I was going to get high with him. That was part of the problem with my past, all my friends did drugs. Anyways, I got to his place; I hadn’t done Miss Tina in like a year. I wanted to see if it had gotten better because the last time was really shitty. I hadn’t had really good Tina in years. I just started doing cocaine at the end of my breakdown. Anyways, I got to my friend’s place and we smoked. It wasn’t good Tina. I couldn’t feel a thing. What I really wanted was a cocktail but I hadn’t drank in like a month. At my friends house we talked about dental. He smoked so much his teeth were rotting really bad. They had been rotting for like a year, but I never said anything. My teeth were rotting from Tina smoking also, so when I got into that fight at the bar and those boys jumped me, kicked me, bruised my ribs and knocked out four of my front teeth. I couldn’t slow down enough to fix the problem. I stayed toothless for a year.

I couldn’t get high at my friend’s house. I also snorted some pain killers at my place and they weren’t giving me that much of a high. It was frustrated me terribly because what I really wanted was a drink. I decided I go buy a bottle but it wasn’t that simple. It was liquor or dinner for two days. A year ago that wouldn’t have been an issue. It would’ve been liquor. Hands down, no fucking thinking about it, it would’ve been liquor.

I was walking home with having decided that I rather eat than get drunk, when I passed a member I used to see in AA all the time. She smiled at me. I smiled back. That was it. I made it home safely.

I don’t know why her smiling at me in that moment, meant so much to me. I was half high but I wasn’t drunk. Drugs never did it for me anyway without the liquor.
I’d just miss it or want it more.

Lastly, when I got home. Tatum O’Neal was on Oprah. It was like god was trying to tell me something. She had gotten busted trying to score cocaine on the streets. That is so risky. She was ten months sober. She just got back her kids. I didn’t feel sorry for her. It’s part of the process of recovery. No one is perfect. If I saw her on the street, I’d just smile at her. “I know”

And what I know for sure after this year, AA is not for me. I go to meetings every once in awhile but I felt it hindered my recovery more than it helped. I would leave AA meetings feeling more alone and misunderstood. But I kept going until I started rebelling. Until I started drinking again and lying about it. I felt like a liar in AA because I would get a good period of time sober, then I would tell the group
And they applaud and give that token. The token would burn in my pocket and I hated counting down days like until I drank again. I felt like a failure most of the time. I felt as if I couldn’t be the perfect recovered addict. I decided to stop trying and that’s when I got free.

What I know for sure. True recovery is about self. It was about “me” I knew what I did alone when I was alone. I knew I could hide it like I did for years. I wanted to become a better alcohol, addict like some criminals do when they go to jail or prison. Not get caught the next time.

I don’t believe in rehabilitation. The system doesn’t care about the individual, just the statistics. I felt in AA I was losing my individuality and my so called “diseased” was being generalized. I knew if I wanted I could hide behind the cloak. It made people smiled when I said I was in AA or in rehab. AA taught me how to get the applause. I didn’t want to lie to myself. I know who I am when I’m alone. When I think nobody is watching.

A year ago, I looked in the mirror and I knew I had nothing. When I sought recovery, I really meant recovery. It wasn’t about drinking. I didn’t drink twenty two years of my life. It wasn’t about the drugs. It wasn’t about all the sex. It was about pain. It was about suffering and thinking that’s all I knew how to do. I grew up being abused so I thought that was life. The pain tricked my brain where I constantly lived in the past instead of reality: Real time.

It had to stop. I had to get angry. I had to get fed up. My genius plan of suffering wasn't working out anymore. I had to give myself freedom to change my mind. Even that came with consequences. Not because I won’t people to think I’m a nice person, normal, because I’m not. I’m just human. I just a human being the best I can given the circumstances.

I also know for sure, nobody gives a damn about the recovered addict. Most just waiting for the relapse like a fat person who has lost a lot of weight. “How long will it last”

When I told my landlord I was in AA and just completed an addict and alcoholic program, he still told me I had to move out of the apartment. I could no longer stay with my boyfriend. I didn’t get my relationship back. I had put him through so much he told me he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. It was weird because it felt like our entire relationship was based on me being a “fuck-up.” And the second I started acting right, he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. Aint that some shit.

Truth, I don’t count days anymore. Who gives a fuck if I’m sober a year or ten years, all they really care about is if I’m displaying erratic behavior. I get so tired of people (celebrities) say I’m going to rehab or AA like Tatum O’Neal when they really don’t believe. When they only fear the consequences of their addict behavior so they fake “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry these days is just good public relations. It’s like a husband buying his wife flowers or expensive jewelry after he cheats to deal with his guilt and delude himself he is still a good person. I say fuck the flowers and jewelry, just stop cheating or end the relationship. I say fuck Rehab and AA, stop drinking and driving. I did. After my DWI back in 1995, I decided to move to a city where I didn’t have to drive. And I say, fuck it. I’m not sorry.


The worse I did, I did to myself. I alienated a lot of people so that’s why I have very few friends. I burned a lot of bridges and opportunities because I refused to control my behavior. I was selfish. I tried to act like I didn’t give a damn, and that made me psychotic.

The worse I did, I did to myself. Fuck everybody else until I’ll have to say “I’m sorry again.”

Insecure Dyslexia

Recentlty i sorta of ended a "internet" friendship. I felt he crossed a very sensitive line with me. I know a lot of people think I don't have feelings or safe because they are miles away from me bitch slapping them. He said something about my grammar. It was as if he was calling me stupid or something. It wasn't put in a nice way.

I know i have grammatical problems. It's been my issue my entire life. It's like my mind could always figure a math problem, anything logical, but when it came to disseting a sentence, my mind went blank. Like there was a wall and I couldn't just understand it. It wasn't logical. Grammar isn't logical, but a descendent of the word glamorous. It was for rich people.

I didn't want to become a writer. I felt my grammar would get in my way. I would always have to have people read over my stuff to find the mistakes. But that's not all that easy. I used to think I would pay someone, but until i get my book deal, that's not all that easy.

I know what my issues are. One is past and present tense. I think in both. Edward Albee told me that all writers think in both tenses, but getting from our mind onto paper sometimes can be the problem. I know another issue of mine is fast typing and fast thinking. I often forget to put in words. It's funny once it's on paper, I can't see it anymore. It's like my mind is playing tricks on me. I know the word should be there and in my mind it's there, but a month later when i go back and re-read, it's not there. I feel so stupid.

Another one of my issues is words that look or sound alike. For a long time i was using the word "bowel" thinking "bile." When i look back at it, it' fucking funny, but at the time, catty queens used to love to point out all my mistakes.

I started my blog to help myself with my writing. I figured if i wrote more, then i could catch the mistakes before I started sending things out professionally. The thing about a blog, is so calvalier, I usually write them in a rush not caring for grammar or anything. But lately, I told myself i could do a lot better.

Writing for me is such an explosive process. It's like an orgasm. I just want to get it out and feel the rush. Afterwards, I don't want any cuddling, just clean up the mess until the next orgasm. But since I've fallen in love with a good man, myself, i think i know love, now writing for me is love. I want to caress it afterwards. I want the world to see it as beautiful as it flows through me.

I will keep looking at my three major insecurites with grammar, try to get better, try not to be so lazy.

Rice

Rice

I remember going without dinner many of nights not really knowing why. At the end of the month, all we survived on was rice. Butter rice. Pepper rice. If we were lucky, a slice of government cheese on top of that rice. I remember the look on my grandmother’s face every time the lights got turned off. I was poor but never really felt poor. I knew or accepted really early in my childhood that we didn’t have much, so part of me decided that I should never ask or want for more and that would guarantee my happiness. I kind of still live my life that way. I have an apartment, but for the last year I slept on the floor. I tell myself it’s because the floor is more comfortable but it’s because I’m still sleeping on the floor in my own life. It’s that deep.

A funny thing happened the other day. I was at my ex’s apartment, mostly because I had no food at my place, but he was also broke. He was spending all his money to go on some big Carnival cruise. It was funny; he said he was cooking dinner, just rice. I asked, just rice, nothing else. Then he replied he loved rice. I almost screamed. I felt tears building up in my eyes. It had been like 15 years since I had just rice. I was thirty one years old, a grown ass man with no children, and I was still eating just Rice. I felt poor. "I still ate the damn rice." I felt as if I wasn’t getting anywhere in my life. Yes, I was in an apartment I really couldn’t afford. Yes, I went through all my savings taking off work to write that damn novel but only ended up drinking and eating a lot of Popeyes chicken. Gained like twenty pounds.

My entire life I never really wanted much. As a kid, I never cared for toys because I thought they were wasteful and broke too easy. I felt all I needed was a good book and I could get that for free from the library.

But it’s nothing like eating Rice on a Sunday night with less than a dollar in your checking account that reality is humble. It was some bullshit. I needed to budget better. They say 90 percent born in poverty, return to poverty. I wonder if I really got out. I now understand poverty is not about money, it’s about perception of one’s life. I will never be materialistic. I am a very cheap bastard.

Yet, i know one thing has changed. It’s what I feel I deserve. When I was a kid, I had to accept things I couldn’t control. I never really complained because I was grateful. Really grateful just to eat. But as a man, it’s not acceptable for me. I used to think that was pride. My grandma used to say don’t ever get caught up in pride. She said she had known people who have starved or got them selves killed because of their damn Pride. I don’t have pride, but now if I’m eating rice, I want it with some chicken and a biscuit damnit. I want to get a comfortable enough bed so I can get off my floor in my overpriced apartment. RISE.

Lil Wayne kissed a boy and he liked it

Feeling fucking old because I'm five years older than MTV targeted audience. The Family guy on Fox was a rerun and on BET that every stereotype in the book "The Salon" was on. I just happened to flip on MTV that's because Vh1 was holding my Sunday shows hostage to bitch at me why I am not watching the MTV music awards. I was like what the fuck. I'm not watching because i was planning on seeing "New York" or whatever crap they have on which would've been so much better than the Jonas brothas.

That I kissed a girl wannabe was on, of course masterbating every heterosexual fantasy. At first i wasn't going to give in to but one night it somehow miracoulsy appeared on my Paradox, I guess because I was listening to Pink. Anyways, I did like the beat. It was fun. I also liked the lyrics, the girl seemed intelligent and feminist. But, why should i a black gay male give a fuck that she kissed a girl. I kissed a girl and I DIDN'T like it. She was drunk and her mouth seemed like she was trying to swallow my head. And then she stuck my hand in her pussy. I mean my entire hand!!!!! I got the hell out of there.

But the song "i kissed a girl" is so soft porn. I mean what girl hasn't kissed a girl. I'm sure all the president daughters kissed a girl. One of the nominees republican kids got pregnant. I think that would be a better more interesting song.

But i call it soft porn because it says nothing real. It she would've said i kissed a girl and ate her pussy to an upbeat, that would've shocked.

It's so lollipop. I hate the censored version of Lil Wayne's Lollipop especially when he says something about the girl pitting his nutt back in his mouth. I WAS HELLO. and to think he likes the handcops and ghetto BDSM scenes. I guess two guys singing about kissing each other is a little too gay for me but with a tight beat, i may be a little more intersted. for you old school girls, "police office, police offer, where is you Brother."

Re-born Virgin

It’s been like a year since the last time I had sex. It wasn’t intention celibacy more that I had more important things to focus on. Also, the medication I was on completely took the urge away. Sometimes I would try to jack-off and I couldn’t get there. It was very frustrating so I first told my Sexual Addiction Group and they recommended me to tell my Doctor to lower the dosage. I decided to go off the drug and just take my antidepressant. The antidepressants make it hard to cum also but not so difficult like the antipsychotic. And when I climax on the antidepressants I swear I feel as if I’m going to pass out in the middle. It’s so fucking intense. But when I told my Doctor, he increased my dosage from, 25mg to 50mg. I still don’t know why he did that but I just split it in half so that I could get my OMG ejaculations.

It’s been like a year since I had sex. I almost had sex a month ago. Shit, I’ve been such a whore; I now feel the need lie to my friends not about my suddenly nonexistent sex life. They wouldn’t believe it anyway. I almost had sex a month ago. The guy had been hounded me for like three months. I finally figured it was like losing my virginity again. I just hated carrying baggage around like it meant something being celibate. It was just coincidence like self-imposed solitary. I hate a right hand and a dirty mind, so I wasn’t backed up. Actually getting myself off for a year was pretty damn cool. I didn’t have to worry about being good enough. I was always excellent even when it was bad and especially when it hurt.

So when I finally decided to attempt to make naked in front of another man, I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. We met online so even after a year, it felt as if nothing had changed. His first mistake after I gave him my information, he was at my apartment in ten minutes. He said he lived on the other side of town. I thought it would be like an hour. The first thing I wished for was liquor. I felt I needed liquor. Fuck sobriety. I also needed poppers and weed. Maybe some meth. But I hadn’t done hard drugs in over a year, and the liquor stores were closed.

I wonder how I would act. I got so damn nervous. I defiantly didn’t feel sexy. I wasn’t for sure if I was even horny. I wanted sex so I could stop saying I was celibate. He got to the door. He wasn’t bad looking. I decided I wasn’t taking off my tank top cuz I didn’t feel like showing my Krespy Kreme stomach.

God it felt so strange. He was a stranger. We talked, but I’m not up for talking. Most of the time it’s just lies. So I said “get naked.” He took off his clothes. I really did care about the size of his dick, but he was average. I liked seeing dick up and personal instead of on a computer screen or TV. He was a nice guy. We play around. He sucked my nipples. But no kissing. And then he turned me over and started to eat my ass. That I loved. I hadn’t had my ass eaten in like two years. And despite the condoms lying next to him on the bed, he still attempted to stick his dick in me raw.

It pissed me off. It’s not that I hadn’t had raw sex. Shit, there was a time all I had was raw sex, because I liked how reckless it was, but I wasn’t so reckless anymore. So I turned over, and I wanted it. I did. Not for him but for me. I wanted him to care. I told him to leave. He looked shocked. He asked if he did anything wrong. I told him my mind wasn’t in the right place. I was better. He took that as I was saying I was better than him. I was moving too fast. Even if it had been a year, I was moving too fast. So he left, I locked my door and went to lie in my bed. I put in a video, jacked off and went to bed.

I know if I would’ve been drunk and high, I would’ve gone through with it and dealt with consequences later. But I was a better man. Trust, I still want the sex, I just don’t know how yet.

Mama, wherever you at, it's been 25 years

i know, you know. I'm still standing here. I'm getting better.

John Edwards, you are the father!!!

I love it when politicians get caught. Especially those wide smiled, left wing, I’m more perfect than god politicians who behind close doors are cruising in airport bathrooms and paying for sex with high class prostitutes.

If I voted, I would consider the politician who outright said I smoked a lot of weed in college and because my job required urine tests, I quit. I don’t want the half baked reply that I didn’t inhale. It’s like saying I sucked his dick but I didn’t breath through my nose. Or I spat it out, so it doesn’t count.

The latest Politician to get caught with his dick out is John Edwards. I remember when I first saw him, he reminded me of Ken from Barbie. He seemed a little too polished and that creepy smile like I’m father of year --I knew was so bullshit. All women swooned because he decided to stay with his wife during the hardship of Breast cancer but still used her inconvenience as a platform for his own personal agenda. He seemed like the perfect husband, father and politician. I knew he wasn’t. I knew behind that cosmetic bleached smile and highlighted blonde hair was a secret. I thought maybe he dressed drag on the weekends, or maybe he was an alien who performed alien probes on unsuspecting homeless people. Or maybe he liked little boys, but having an affair with a hot employee, that was too typical.

I would like John Edwards to go on the Maury Polvich show. I think they should have the blonde sexy mistress and the cancer stricken wife. They should shout obscenities towards each other and then show the child in question on the tv screen. It would be fun, when Polvich tells Edwards, you are the father, and the wife jumps up from her chair, slaps him and then runs to back and throws herself on the floor, crying and screaming. That would be awesome.

Then again, who can blame him for wanted some in-shape pussy. I mean, have you’ve seen his wife. I know she has cancer but I thought sick people got thinner not fatter. I’m just saying. And it’s interesting that all these women who get cheated on usually have let themselves go. I know we heard "but she had three children" -- so did Kelly Ripa and she’s a skeleton.

I think it should be a rule, if your wife doesn’t make your dick hard, cheat on her. But I say that with fair warning because I foresee some heavy black girl stomping through the yard, knocking me to the ground, “You told Harpo to cheat on me.” Anyways.

John Edwards you are the father!

Rest in Peace

Bernie Mac dies from pneumonia. It’s not that I’m a fan but I had pneumonia twice this year. I knew I was very close to death the first time because breathing was hard and I had no energy. I remember when they sent the chaplain in my room. I was concerned, but thought it was just hospital procedure. I didn’t know the doctors didn’t think I was going to make it.

I remember the day before I started gettibg better that I could feel myself slip away. I was given a decision, to live or die. I could’ve just stopped fighting and give in to it. But I didn’t. I decided to live. I decided to get better.

I wonder if Bernie had a secret about his health. Hmmmmm

Jesus loves fags

Disclaimer: After writing "Who is Sean" I knew what I had to say about love, pain and addiction wasn't finished. I really don't consider myself a poet, but to finish exercising my demons poetry became my refuge. I just needed to finish the story now I feel I can move on from my youth. I ain't apologizing anymore. Jesus loves me.

Jesus love fags

Who cares?
I don’t
Why am I doing this?
Is so that my soul can be free
You see
I made it across the hard part
Now I got live with the decision
Cuz it wasn’t no way I was going to love
If I didn’t love myself
It sounds like bullshit
I know

And I want to say it wasn’t so hard
Once I learned to get out of my own way
And I want to say once I started to listen
Time didn’t seem so urgent
But love did
It sounds like bullshit
I know

I used to think I ruled the world
Or was I just its fool
I was here
What the fuck did I go looking for?
There
Trying not to be saved
Couldn’t save myself
I was at that party
At that club
Dancing on the dance floor
Sweat staining the tip of my jeans and underwear
Thinking I would be young forever
I was here
In dark corners flirting for erect favors
And the attention I didn’t get from my mama’s titie
On my knees, pants at ankles
Cruising parks
Sniffing poppers
Puffing cigarettes
At Man’s country, the spa
Follies in DC
Studs bookstore
Couldn’t be saved
Wasn’t trying to save myself
Thinking I’d be young forever
Early morning free clinics before work on Tuesday
I was there
Here
Painful shots in the ass for taking it up the ass
Couldn’t be saved
Wasn’t trying to save myself
In the hospital for two weeks
Then back at the drug house after discharge
Trying to charge
Youth is just another credit card
And the bill collectors were calling
Wasn’t trying to save myself
Couldn’t be saved
I was high
Smoking that 420, partying and playing 24/7
Up for four days
Drinking just to calm the nerves
On the streets
Asleep at the bus stop
Homeless
Can’t keep a job
Selling body for a hamburger
I was there
Here
Trying to be saved
Razor blade to the wrists
Didn’t think I could keep living that way I was
And I was right
So I died
Maybe it was the drug overdose
A bullet to the head
Found dead on the side of the road
My sister said I die of some fag disease
But I did die
Love killed me
Killed that life
I was here
And now I’m gone


***********************
Bathhhouse

The white towel hangs low on my hips
The cockring keeps the blood warm
My dick print teases hungry eyes
In the steam room
I reveal beaded sweat of nakedness
I part my legs on the bench
& wait for those brave enough to touch
I’m looking for touch
That’s why I paid twenty eight dollars
I want that fast love
No exchange of names
The fantasy
But it never works that way
Always a compromise
And it always feels like I’m waiting
For flirting eyes
I keep my door opened and lay on my stomach waiting
For creeping souls afraid of light
I stroke my dick
Waiting for a firm sloppy mouth
Waiting
And waiting
But it never comes
He just cums
I get off like a car that’s run out of gas
Waiting
and waiting
maybe next time
and they call my room # and try to decide if I want
to pay
another 28 dollars to wait some more
I beat my dick
slap its stubborn head around until it spills
the frustration of the wait
I decide to go home


***********************

I know I’m going to die
the Doctor at the hospital she was a bitch
they always give that same speech
I want to scream at her that I’m a grown man and don’t like lectures
but I need drugs
I want to feel clean again
she don’t understand I like to drink and get high
and I don’t always make the best decisions
she don’t understand I don’t always like myself
that I’m just a man
and I hate that feeling of failure in the daylight
I didn’t want to wake that morning with my dick leaking
and I still had to go to work
I knew I shouldn’t did what I did behind that building with that guy
but it was dark and I was high and my dick was hard
so I didn’t need the lecture
I needed the drugs
I’m going to die
I know that
probably of some stupid disease
rotting away in somebody’s hospital with bitch nurses
alone
because I’m a fuck up
I could never get it right
and I wonder if I could save myself
that after I get the drugs and clean again
if I could save myself
start over
but I’m never going to have a family
I want to scream at her that I’m gay
and I don’t believe in monogamy
and I like to drink and I don’t like rules
I’m just another tortured soul
So bored with my misery
damn I’m so bored I could just die
so I know I’m going to die
stupid and alone
just another tragic fag
so just give me the drugs to stop the leak
give me my breath
stop the night sweats
take the yellow from my eyes
heal whatever STD this is this time and tell no one
I don’t need the lecture

***********************

What do addicts dream?

I slice open the blunt with a razor
take out tainted tobacco and replace with green
baby shits in so many colors
I crush the crystal in powder because I lost my pipe
I part the coke with my credit card that bill collectors keep calling about
I filled the sprite bottle with vodka
I’m safe
for a moment

when I inhale the ghastly smoke
let the vodka tickle my throat
the meth tells me to give it everything
and I’m safe
because I’m dreaming
that life could be better

what do addicts dream?
I yell into the coke mirror
trying not to breathe so hard to blow away the powder
that’s my life
trying to not breathe to hard that I blow away

and when I’m high
that feeling that’s so numbing, that I feel nothing
just want to feel good
that’s what addicts dream
to be nothing

and I hate my mother
and I hate all those motherfuckers who gave up on me
and I hate so damn much these days
and then the tears swell
and I could feel myself feeling again
so I take another drink from the vodka
hit the blunt some more
snort the meth
and then I feel safe
like I’m in my cage
because the world is a cage
and if I don’t tweak
and they don’t’ see I’m so nervous
like the a dead man walking
maybe they will love me
maybe that’s what the addict dreams
to be loved


***********************
Raw

Should never stuck in it
But I was tired of playing it safe
I was nineteen
dark skin so drowning
ass a full moon
laying like a dead body on stains sheets at the bathhouse
he always had his door opened
inviting the wicked to his flame
the only guy I could fuck because I never saw his eyes
he was my nigga fall
I didn’t want to be real
he was like my rape when I was five years old
loved how he just took and never told
loved how he arched his back
wanted to be him
he was nobody like the used condoms on the floor
loved how he made me feel normal
when I fucked him, I always
gave him my babies
and when I finally saw his face
eyes like knives, lips like sandpaper
old like not too many years to celebrate birthdays
so I kissed him
wanted his death to take me to the grave
with him
but I was still too young

***********************
Looks how it shines for you

When I’m in love
I’m in love, so tragically
Write you love poems, bring you roses everyday
But when I hate, everything must end
Kick you out of my bed; tear up all your pictures
Plot murder
Everything about you must end

When I’m in love, we have romantic dinners
I try to be good, love you like Jesus would
But when I’m rejected
I’m the last circle of hell
Burn nigga
make sure the world knows you’re a fraud

so when I’m in love
I’m waiting to hate you

when I’m in love
I’m hold you close, play with your toes
cook you pancakes for breakfast
but when I think you leaving me
I call the landlord
take you off my lease, close the all the accounts, want you to starve to death

when I’m in love
I give you my wallet
try to buy you the world
but when I hate you
I want to destroy everything you were
get you fired from your job
thinking about killing you in your sleep
picks fights
bloody your nose
make you plot to kill me
fuck up your life like calling all your co-workers and tell them you a child molester

when I’m in love I think about our kids
us as old folks feeding the birds
but when I hate you
I’m not myself anymore
gave you too much

when I love you
don’t want to be your past mistakes
don’t want our happiness to be a lie
so when I love
I’m scared
because I need to survive you
everybody is always lying
they say shit and don’t mean
they act like there’s no consequence
they act like others don’t mean it

so when I’m in love
I’m waiting to hate you

***********************

The pretty tortured souls

they look so innocent
how can something so pretty ever hurt you?
be so destructive
somebody took his pride when he was eight
mama lost herself on crack
daddy got himself killed when he was five
nobody was there to protect, he was just another nigga sacrificed
so he fucked him hard behind a tool shed, he’s only been meat
grew up to be bought
nobody ever protected him
arrested development
somebody was always going to use him
they look so innocent like leopards
grew claws to get back at the world
even if he pays money he has to pay for past wrongs
somebody didn’t love
maybe that’s what attracts them, that pain in his soulful eyes
he sees the old man like death
didn’t have a relationship with men who grew up to be men
only had relationship with men who used, told himself he must use first
they drive around in their fancy cars; want to spend crisp ATM bills for fantasy
it’s like the zoo, don’t feed the animals
he’s so young and full of cum
the wild animals attract to kill
old men chasing footprints of their youth like picking out coffins
nobody is trying to get saved, what would Jesus do, get his dick sucked?
he’s so beautiful he must be slaved, too easy to love
we let the ugly ones die
he so starved not eating for days
he needs the money
until the ugly reveals itself
until the threat reveals itself
until the truth reveals itself
until he reveals himself
no more illusion
no more artificial
and then they leave when it gets too heavy
he got too deep
the pretty tortured soul drinks too much
can’t be control, throws fits
he hits and curses and destroys
he can’t be control
the pretty can’t just be hung up on a wall
everything rots

***********************
Tina hit a three in the morning

he says gay men are all the same
we need the addictions
that we all drink or do drugs
I was thinking he was just talking about people like us
the others lie
try to pretend they don’t go to bathhouses, weren’t getting fucked on camera at Blkatino
aint picking up the trade boys
too many saying keep my secret that I’m a HIV counselor but don’t wear a condom
I got to his house and he had porno on all the televisions
the fuck music basing in the background
I was just trying to get high
ran out of liquor decided I needed drugs
he says gay men are all the same
I was just thinking how he was gong to get my dick hard

***********************

Fisted

change
maybe I wanted to be changed
it was kink
thought it was just the next level
already been pissed on
first time tasted like purple
laid on my back legs opening like I was giving
birth to myself
he said he could show me
something different like the conspiracy
a whore virgin I said cool, thinking there were no more doors
I took a hit of “I don’t want another hero”
my water broke, or was that him pissing on my hole
the cold jlube ice cube
the strange sound of Crisco lubing hands bawling to fight
feeling filed down fingers
he said breathe

so intense, I think I’m losing my breath
reminds me of the first time I was fucked
thinking he’s never going to get that in me
and then the robbery
felt myself stretch like I was going to break
but remembering flesh isn’t glass
asking him to stop and then start over
but he said he couldn’t, there’s only one window like time traveling
feeling myself push out the wound
and I hate my mother
felt the knuckles push pass the resistance
I took a sniff of poppers
and he was in
my body re-calibrating
my mind trying to fight it
my body not trusting it
my soul wanting it
he pulls out, and I cry like a new born baby
this is my life now
I don’t hate my mother anymore
I’ve been fisted
The story of my life
But this time it felt good

***********************

He lied

He used to make it look so easy
Like it would never hurt you
The marathon sex parties
The drugs
Life was no rules
But it was all a lie

Tim
he doesn’t understand that I’m trying to change
I got syphilis the last time
at his raw sex party
got spots on my body I have to explain
and he was the first person to introduce to me the drugs
and I wanted to be free
but didn’t know that was suicide
and I’ve always been a fucked up
and they always expected that of me
but I was once the hot boy
and now I’m the leopard
leprosy

Tim
the last time I saw him
we got high on “I don’t want another hero”
two lost souls the world had forgotten
he said he was in the hospital for year
he called his mother and she blocked the phone number
he almost died, alone
I guess that’s gay

and I remember my uncle in the back of my grandmother’s room
nobody was to touch him
he had AIDS at the end of the eighties
all those he dance with on the floor, disappeared
those he rode in the convertibles with their hair blowing in the wind
abandoned
all those said they would love his beautiful youth forever
got old
most gay men are cowards
that’s why we die so easily
and don’t we all go home
back in that dark room we so tried to escaped
isn’t gay life just about being used and used?
and the family we needed to get away
that which we thought wouldn’t accept us
bury
I don’t want to die alone
trust me all the fucking compliments never keep you warm
when your temp is a 105

Tim called to read me his obituary
he didn’t really had nothing to say
it was more like a kid begging his parents to love him
just dates nothing why he lived
I hung up the phone in face
The next week I found myself in a mental hospital

I used to think
when I died when I was old
didn’t think that would be thirty years old
and it’s not a moral lesson
fuck the PSA
when I thought when I died
I would think of all the sexy men I fucked
and that would give me peace
but the truth when you’re dying
you think of all the sexy men that fucked you over
the ones that lied
the ones to coward to say anything
that you didn’t say anything
nobody wants to die
even the suicidal
nobody said anything

Tim
he’s like the devil calling
I get online and I’m not really looking
I told him I was clean now
He laughed; told me to come over, quit my lies
I told I would come over but never showed up
A month later he called again
I told him I was sober and working
He said it wouldn’t last
I missed him
I thought we were more than just drug addicts
Six months later he called and just rambled
I listened
I told him I was still sober
I gave him a number to call if he wanted
He stopped calling me
I am waiting Tim
It looks hard in the beginning
But every dick goes soft and we always have to come back to reality
Call me when you’re ready


***********************
one last time

it’s always one last time
like one last breath
play and be serious tomorrow
but tomorrow never comes
I’m constantly lying to myself
maybe I am an addict

***********************
Wild Eyes

I thought of you the other day
in the mirror
saw your reflection
as I fired up my meth pipe and inhaled bitter smoke
I had your eyes
those wild eyes like a car crash and nobody survived
I wondered if you would’ve been proud
or just want a hit from my pipe
I wondered if I would’ve shared
mommy and son getting high together
maybe sister can share too since she lost her baby to the courts
we could take a picture for the Christmas card
and then I laughed because I’m a grown man with my own problems
and I always knew what you did in that bathroom alone
because you always had those wild eyes
My wild eyes made me feel closer to you
As I sat in the bathroom alone firing up my pipe
Trying to figure out
If I had a problem
Because I didn’t recognize myself anymore
I wanted to be sober

***********************
ACT II, I ain't apologizing

When they ask
I’m going to say
I just got tired
Staring into that mirror at the State mental hospital
Eyes red, hair wild
Bandages on my wrists from self mutilation
I just got tired
It was that simple
I had enough of punishing

my mother

the rape

my family

me
I forgot what the fight was even about

I just realized I wasn’t the person staring back at me in the mirror
they told me i was the demon

that i was crazy

tried to over medicate me

i tried to to medicate me

but i wasn't that demon

just pocessed

and that day i finally saw him in the mirror

scared the shit out of my like finding the monster under the bed is real

i then knew i could heal

I wasn't crazy

I can’t say one day I woke up and just starting loving myself
Love isn’t a destination
Happiness isn’t a destination
I guess I woke up and decided to respect myself a little
I changed my mind

I haven’t made it to heaven
I just got across the hard part
Now I must live with the decision
To not die today
That’s all

So I ain’t saying I changed
Lord knows how many times I’ve said that bullshit
But I no longer lose my soul after the first drink
Just got it out of the pawnshop
Plan to keep it this time around

I haven’t learned a damn thing.

It’s been a year since I started my so called “recovery.” Since that time I spent a month in program. I went to AA and stayed sober for 90 days. And then started relapsing like crazy. I quit AA because I couldn’t deal with all those boring people and their boring stories and feeling like I wanted to drink more every time I left a meeting. Actually quitting AA helped my drinking a lot. I did less.

In the past year I’ve been fired from five jobs mostly due to illness. I was in the hospital five times this year. It was like once I gave up the drugs and alcohol my body went into shock. It was as if the addictions were keeping me alive or oblivious that my body was falling apart.

This past year I also started my mental illness medication. That was a rollercoaster ride. In the beginning, they had me on seroquel and I don’t recommend it. I also had to change my therapist because I felt she wasn’t listening to me. I wasn’t getting the help I need. I went on so many anti-depressants and anti-psychotics. I kind of felt like a lab rat. It was ironic because the meds seemed to drive me more insane. I finally got a dosage my mind and body could handle. I finally feel somewhat balance.

I guess in reflection, I am still somewhat crazy. I still get drunk but not as often. I still fight to control it but I know deep down I just wanted to slow down not actually quit. I managed to slow down so I’m happy for now.

I am also happy I got my bipolarism and depression under control. I hated the depression. It’s so consuming. I haven’t thought about killing myself in months. I guess that’s progress.

I’m ready to move one with my life, focus on something different than my issues. I still feel very strongly about addictions and mental illness. It’s been really therapeutic talking about my issues this past year and if I bored anybody out there, go suck on it.

Now, back to the regular program.