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.

Am I addicted to poppers?

I knew I was going to get attitude. Every week I go into the same bookstore owned by this hippie looking Asian guy. He is usually cool but he does watch you like a hawk as if I might steal something. On Tuesday, I was in a rush; I just ducked in and got my popper. I asked specifically for Jungle Juice plus the big bottle. I’ve tried pretty much every popper there is, but I like Jungle Juice the best. I didn’t notice until I got home that he had given me the wrong poppers. He gave me Jungle Juice platinum. There is a major difference. The latter sucks, it’s not as strong but it gives you less of a headache. I don’t like Jungle Juice platinum. I don’t like the smell and it really doesn’t do anything for me.

So the next day I decided to take the poppers back. I knew I had opened it because I didn’t notice the difference until it was too late. I thought about just keeping it, but poppers are fucking expensive and I didn’t want to just throw twenty five dollars away. I decided to take the poppers back.

Of course I knew he was going to give me attitude. It was a very bold thing for me to do. I didn’t care. It took about twenty minutes of us arguing before the bastard finally decided to give me the right poppers. The customers in the store looked at me like was it really that serious. Yes, it was that damn serious. I’m serious about my damn poppers.

I do need to leave them alone.

Letting myself go

My therapist told me I was letting myself go. I guess cuz I showed up at her office in flip flops, gym shorts with stains on them and a torn t-shirt. I really didn’t want to go to therapy that day but was out of my meds. I haven’t cut my hair in three months or shaved or brushed my teeth. Well I figured rinsing out with Listerine was enough. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress anybody.

I was walking down the street and a friend passed me right up. I knew he wasn’t being shady. I called out his name and at first he just looked at me like I was some social terrorists. Then he looked deeper and realized it was me. He seemed shocked. It was as if I had become some crackhead. I was just going to the grocery store I didn’t feel like getting pretty.

Actually I haven’t felt like getting pretty in a long time. In a way I kind of felt that my looks betrayed me. I hated being good looking. I really did. I hated strangers constantly stopping me on the streets. I hated that stupid question, are you a model. I hated how some guys I knew became so possessive. I hated that my best friend was secretly jealous and often took it out inconveniently that’s why we aren’t friends anymore. I felt like being good looking was a curse that I wanted to get rid of. And maybe that’s why I got into so many fights, trying to get bruises on my face, ugly myself up. I hated jealous bitches always wanting to start something for no reason. I know some people would say, being good looking should be a good thing and looks don’t last. Yes, they don’t last so why waste my time obsessed with it. When you’re good looking people like to see you age. They are waiting for the flaws. They say shit like he used to be as if they owned something.

I agree, looks will get you in a lot of places. I didn’t pay rent for ten years. I got into clubs and went on vacations for free. I did modeling and some acting, but all that was professional. I didn’t want to be a professional good looking person. I didn't feel like the upkeep. I figure if i get fat one day, i will just start one hell of a porn collection. I think sometimes we all should just let go. I see those make-over shows and you know the person goes back to looking like their tired self in about a month. I ain't Tyson Beckford. I got a gym membership but only used it to go to the bathroom.

But I had a moment the other day. I had to wake up early to go to the post office and then I was off to McDonalds. I grabbed my change cup filled with quarters, nickels and pennies because I didn’t want to use cash. I like to make the fast food workers use their math skills. It’s my way of giving back to society. Anyways, I just jumped out of bed, my hair all wild, slipped on my flip flops and a dingy t-shirt and went to the post office. At McDonalds I was in line counting my change when I realized that I might’ve looked homeless. It was a surreal feeling. I asked myself if I cared that the cashier was being an extra bitch and turning up her nose like I stank, which I did cuz I hadn’t put on deodorant in like a week or took a bath. I wanted to scream at her that I graduated college, had an apartment and in 2004 and 2005 I was hot boy of the week. But it didn’t matter. I was hungry and just wanted my food.

I got home, and after eating my food I decided to shower, brush my teeth, shave and cut my hair. I shaved my entire body and splash myself with my favorite cologne. I felt clean and pretty and like a sell out.

I haven’t let myself go. I let myself out of that damn gay box of gyms, designer knock-offs. I’m not pretty, never wanted to be pretty. I wanted to be tough, dirty, messy fingernails, maybe a black eye and a couple of missing teeth. That’s how I see myself. I see myself as cockeyed and snaggle tooth and you're still going to love me.

Smile, bitch

Sometimes my horoscope can be on the mark. Today it said "Don't be impatient with yourself right now. It takes time to learn something new."

Funny, it couldn't be more true trying to recover.

Sex change

I’m making the decision today to change my sex sites internet profiles. I really don’t use the internet to hook up as much as I used to. Actually I haven’t had a hook-up from the internet in over a year. What changed?

First, I guess I got tired of the energy it took. I would sit there with my cocktail and just go back ad forth from one site to the other, hoping for something tasty. I usually didn’t get tasty but fat and desperate, and as the day dragged on, I realize I had been sitting in front of my computer screen for hours, sometimes days especially when I was doing crystal meth. It seemed so unnecessary. I knew I could be out in the sun, at a movie, hanging with friends, instead I was feverlishly looking for sex. I started to dislike myself. I felt addicted.

Funny, every day I check my sex site messages. I guess it’s like checking my yahoo messages. Every day I sign on to all my sex sites. I’m not really looking, I guess I’m just seeing if anyone is looking for me. It feels good to get messages. I like the attention. It’s not about sex but the pic I have up is sexual. I laid across the bed buck naked. I know to a stranger it conjure pornographic fantasies. I’m selling sex but not really looking. I get all kind of crazy replies. They say stupid shit like “I could ride that all night” or “me and my boys are looking to cum bang that” or “I bet you can take some good dick.” Even if all the above is true, I’m not always in the mood. I feel guilty for have logged on because I don’t want to be a tease.

So what is my problem? I guess for me it’s all changed. A friend of mine hit me up the other day and he said he had been having a sex orgy for a week. He wanted me to join. I had no desire. I was’t the ho I used to be I guess. I couldn’t think of anything more boring than going to a sex orgy. I also knew he was lying about how many guys were coming over. They never show up and I’d just be at his house, getting high and trying to look for sex online. I didn’t want to waste the time. It’s all fantasy. I guess that’s the problem. Even gay men lie about their so called hot hook-ups. They exaggerate. I’ve exaggerated. But really, most of the time my online hookups sucked.

So what is my problem? I guess I’m trying to decide if I still want to play the game. I guess I’m trying to decide the new direction in my life. I was reading this book about energy and it really got me to thinking. I wanted to stay conscious of the type of energy people bring into my life and what I give out into the world. It’s said people either take or give energy. I never understood that more until I was in the hospital. I was sick and needed to recover but hospitals can sometimes be madness. They come in and just start poking, checking blood pressure and temptature, asking the same damn questions over and over again and making incorrect assumptions that constantly need correcting. And nurses were like one night stands, most of them just doing their shifts, rushing into the room to take blood or vital signs or give pills, but it was their energy with each nurse that affected me getting better. Some nurses were just bitches, they came in entitled like just because they went to nurse school for two months they were experts or something. They didn’t look you in the eye, they grabbed your arms aggressively, or where at little too aggressive, they ruined your entire mood for that five minutes. They came in and took energy because I went from sick to angry to frustrated to hopeless and depressed. I would feel so weak after those nurses left having to argue about my medication or something stupid. That I didn’t want the windows opened. That I didn’t want to walk around but sleep.

And then there were nurses who brought me energy. He came into the room and smiled. Who explained to me my medication. Who when I asked for a bucket of ice didn’t like at me like I just spit in their face. I felt safe when those nurses left. I felt rejuvenated and that would make me want to get out of bed. It would make me want to get better.

I know I probably just rambled there for a second but I guess that’s how I’m beginning to see my sex life. I’ve become aware of the type of energy people bring into my life and if it’s stealing or giving to me. I’ve had hook-ups that just drained my energy. Nothing went right and when the person left I would feel depleted. I’d never want to see that person again. And I’ve had hook-ups that were just beautiful. The person gave me energy because they showed up with no bullshit. They looked me in the eyes. There was a connection.

So what is my problem? What about me? I have to first recognize the type of energy I’m advertising. I guess my energy used to be just sex. It was that of a lost soul. I put up a lot of walls. I guess my energy had always been that of mistrust so I attracted a lot of bastards I couldn’t trust.

Honestly, I need to accept that I’m no longer looking for fast love. I’ve someone become a romantic. I’m looking for sexual rejuvation. But what happens when I get horny? I got no where with this blog. I just talked myself into a circle.

please stop falling down drunk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1FchXXDs84

Uncomplicated

Well I know i often make my life more complicated than it should be. I don't really try, i guess it's part procastination, nonchalance and laziness. I'm very lazy. I mean I'm like fungus lazy, just lay there until someone notices that i probably don't belong.

Life really don't have to be that complicated. I try to remember that when i get overwhelmed especially with all the problems I'm having with my ex. I tell myself to just walk away which is really hard because i want to be right. I want him to know that i was right. But now i just look at him and think to myself what am I winning. It's obivious i already lost, so i decide to not make it more complicated. I just go quiet.

I think life becomes complicated when we stop paying attention, get lazy and then suddenly we're drowning. I think life becomes complicated when we think we're smarter than the truth. I think life gets complicated when we try to take shortcuts. I know for sure there are no shortcuts.

Why am I still here?

It seems lately my blog has been about my ex. I guess for the tenth year breaking up is still hard to do. I mean we have been breaking up for fucking ten years and it’s nerve wrecking. Our relationship went from New Orleans where we met, to Chicago where I lived with him, to a long distance relationship when I moved back to Texas and then I moved to New York and then I moved back to Chicago with him and then I left him and moved back to Texas for Grad School and then I moved back to Chicago to be with him and then we broke up again and I moved back to Texas and then he moved to DC and a year later I moved to DC to be with him again.

Actually we living in DC has been the longest we’ve been together. I think its five years. Well, actually I didn’t move to DC to be with him, I moved because I had no where else to go. I love him, lord knows I do, but the fucking merry go round is enough to make me want to really hurt him physically.

Lately we’ve been arguing a lot. Actually I think the last year has been the worse of our arguments. He’s been distance, bored, detached, don’t want to touch or be touched. He looks at me like he just wants me to disappear but can’t find a place to hide my body yet. I look at him as judgmental, he always got something to say, he’s so fucking routine, that I should stay at my apartment more because he has too many rules for his damn apartment. It’s like living with your grandfather. I don’t need him. Those days are over. I used to need him financially because I was unemployed but that has changed.

The other night he wanted to argue because I decided to go to the bar which I’ve been doing a lot lately. He said he didn’t want me to come home drunk. OF course I was coming home drunk. He doesn’t like me drinking in the house. He says I get to talking and won’t shut up. He’s right. I guess I’m that cliché drunk. I like my rum and coke and start listening to music and suddenly I got an opinion on everything. I like to talk. I know it annoys the hell out of him because I’m disturbing his computer time of downloading porn all damn day. That’s all he does lately is download porn and illegal movies and music. It’s like he’s waiting to die or something. He just goes to work, come home, get on the computer, stay there until bed time, go to sleep on the couch, wake up, go to work and do the same thing everything day. He doesn’t want to go out; he hates restaurants, move theaters or anything with crowds of people. He doesn’t go to concerts because he says I just complain the entire time, which is true.

And we don’t have sex. We haven’t had sex in years. I always found him boring in bed, like it was a waste of my time. In the beginning I guess the sex was okay, but he wouldn’t grow. He wanted to do the same thing over and over again. Of course that led to WW3 with him. I first ignored then and then it just got insulting. I mean, there is more than one sexual position and he was so damn stubborn about it. He just refused change. IT was his way or no way. So it was no way and I started cheating.

Considering our arguments from the last couple of month, he is right, “Why am I still here?” I have my own apartment, I take care of myself, and there really isn’t any need to just hang around. I used to consider him my friend, like my best friend. I don’t really have any other friends anymore especially in DC. It’s just been us for the last five years. I do everything with my ex. I can’t just stop.

I guess what I can’t get through my head is that he doesn’t consider me his best friend. I think I just go that.

Breaking up is so hard to do. I can’t imagine what divorce would be like especially with kids. It’s enough to avoid love. Why do we fall in love? I’ve had this happen to me before and it took so damn long for me to get over it.

Damn, I just want him to act right, act like he used to act, why did he have to go and change. I just want to act right, be whatever he wants me to be without too much compromise and I went and changed.

And for your question “T*****” I’m still here because I don’t know how to leave. I mean I try. I try to put one foot in front of the other and it’s just like a dog chasing his tail. I keep going round and round. And then I’m also scared to leave because the second I do something will happen and I am back.

It’s like death. When my best friend Mita died it was hard in the beginning. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t be with her anymore. I couldn’t hug or kiss her anymore. I missed her physically. I couldn’t just pick up the phone and call. I had to learn to live without her because she wasn’t there, anywhere only in my mind and dreams. But with my ex, he is still there. I can touch him but don’t. I can call him. He will pick up the phone but I can’t do it. It seems so stupid to me.

Somebody once said, the most difficult part of life is dealing with all the loss. One day he will look up and not have to ask why I’m not there, because I won’t be there. But I will always be there.

blame it \o me

tonight my feelings were so hurt and i don't understand why he would do that. i mean, the information he has, maybe he's not smarter emotionally than a fifth grader.


so it's supposed to be about how others thinks they know where you going. We're just going to die. I'm so fucking angry right now.

Round and Round

Last night I found myself passed out in front of the Smithsonian Art Building downtown. Well I went out to the bar which I haven’t been in like seven months. I don’t go out on Wednesdays anymore because I always felt it was too much drama. Anyways, I decided to go out because I was bored and I just gotten fired the week before and I had nothing to do the next day.

I told myself before I went out that I wasn’t going to get drunk. I was only to take five dollars with me because the drinks were free from 10-11, but I ended up grabbing a twenty out of my wallet, just in case. I didn’t want to be stuck at the bar wanting a drink and not being able to have a drink. I guess that was my first mistake.

My thing with drinking these days is the type of liquor. I used to cheap the cheapest crap I could find. It wasn’t until I started drinking what I would consider quality rum that the hangovers weren’t so bad. I went back to Bacardi because it seems to agree with my body more, but is still not say I don’t overdo it. But cheap liquor I find dangerous. It’s that rotgut, it makes you crazy. I guess that was my second mistake last night was the cheap liquor at the bar. Of course my limit of just four drinks turned to about ten drinks. I started feeling good. I wasn’t angry or anything. I fought feverously the voices in my head that begged for me to start something stupid shit like a fight. Of course by the end of the night, I was failing miserably trying to be a decent drunk. I got into some arguments with some idiots. It was as if I picked up where I left off the last time I was at the bar. I thought I had changed.

I guess that was my main problem last night realizing that even after almost of year of disappearing from the scene, I came back and nothing had change. It was the same people. I mean some of them had gotten a little fatter or older but in the dark and cocktails it was like time was still. I seemed to be really upset that nothing had evolved. I don’t know what I was looking for. I guess I was looking to see how much I changed hadn’t been away for so long in AA meetings, therapy and recovery. But it was so easy to go back when I started drinking. I didn’t want to feel like I didn’t belong anymore. The bar used to be my friend and I missed it.

I was in the bathroom and I was staring in the mirror when a bunch of young queens burst in the door. The stood behind me as I washed my hands. I just happened to look up and see their youthful faces clash with my aging eyes. I guess when they looked in the mirror they just saw their perfect smiles, small waistline, not the truth. They were young, the truth would come later. I stared in the mirror and realized how much time has passed staring into that mirror. I’ve seen myself in the mirror for five years. I seen me desperately try to hold on to the frivolousness of youth but time is sober. I remember smiling in that mirror behind the young queens and I knew I was no long part of that reality anymore. I was just an aging drunk. I had become the old man.

I left the bar and head home. I felt conflicted. I was still in the transition trying to figure where I belonged in the black gay community again. When I was younger, it was because I was young and cute and others acted like that was enough. It wasn’t enough. I thought to myself I should be happy with my life because not once did I have to flirt for a drink, not once did I feel as if I had anything to prove but I was still lonely. I guess that was what it was, I was lonely. Old men don’t find comfort so fast because no one is trying to save them.

I got home and I just wanted to cuddle up with my ex. I remember when it used to feel as if he was holding me back, that I felt he was ruining my sex life pushing the monogamy thing. Now, I sometimes can’t wait to get to him. The world isn’t so easy for me anymore. I just want to get home because I know at least one person still sees me. When I got home, I was drunk and convinced myself I was angry. I didn’t know why. I guess I felt my ex hadn’t been paying me enough attention. When I got out of my clothes and got in bed with him I could feel him stiffened like someone covering their nose from a stench. I probably reeked up liquor. I lay next to him naked, pulled him closer but he refused. He woke up and yelled at me that I was drunk. He wasn’t in the mood. I got pissed off. I felt that he should just accept the situation, that all I was going to do was passed out. But he wanted to argue about it. I decided to get up and get dress and go to my apartment. But it was three o’clock in the morning which meant I was going to have to wait until the Metro opened. I got dressed and left. I was so pissed. All I wanted was some damn affection. I didn’t find in the bar. I didn’t find it with my ex. So I got downtown and the Metro was closed. I went to the steps of Smithsonian to just wait it out. I passed out on the step. The six o’clock morning sun woke me up. And then suddenly it all seemed so stupid again. I knew I was going to have to apologize to my ex. I decided to go back to his apartment and go to sleep. For him, it was just another night. For me, it was the desperation of change and not knowing exactly how to handle it. The life I knew had ended, I was somewhere in limbo.

Still sober

When I was a kid I used to think not having parents was the greatest thing. It was like living in ghetto “Neverland Ranch.” It was as if I was Peter Pan, never to grow up. I didn’t know it was a curse.

Yes, my father died with I was five and mother was never there, but in the beginning I flourish in independence and what I thought was freedom that is until system stepped in and the government wasn’t going to just let an eight year old boy run around in the world like a chicken with its head cut-off. I moved from foster to orphanage until finally my mother decided to drop me off at my father’s family. It was such a shock to the system I’ve still haven’t fully recovered.

Anyways, when I finally decided to run away at fifteen years old, all of my friends thought I was so cool because that meant I would have no parents. I guess Peter Pan had become a teenager. I never really understood what they meant by parents. I never had any real Sense of a mother or father, I just had my survival. I made no formal attachments to anything. My trust had already been ruined.

I’ve found this new guy named Wayne Dyer, “the father of motivation.” He has written over thirty books and lives in Maui. For some reason, I felt a connection to him accidentally finding him at four in the morning surfing the internet because I couldn’t sleep. I was so amazed how our stories were so similar. I mean he grew up in the depression, his father abandoned and he was also left with the rage of abandonment. He talked about the day he finally visited his father’s funeral after decades how he stomped on the grave, how he used to have dreams of punishing his father, picking a fight, needing to release that insufferable disappointment and what once felt like a personal attack on his existence.
But suddenly he just let go. He realized I guess that his life, his addiction, his pain was about finally learning to forgive. I say he finally realized his own responsibility. He was no longer Peter Pan. It was no longer cool to have grown up without parents because a major lesson wasn’t transferred that we’re just human.

I remember my mother this morning. I have no idea where she is or if she’s even alive. I haven’t seen her in almost ten years and then I didn’t speak. I used to have a picture of her but I burned them. I think of her this morning because it is as if I’m waiting to hear that she died so that I could finally forgive her or stomp on her grave. It amazes me that after all this time that the hurt child still resides in me. I don’t want to be Peter Pan anymore. I never did. It was a lonely life trying to convince trying to always be so strong when I was just a kid myself. That I wanted my mama and daddy. That I just wanted to feel safe.

I mean to meet Wayne Dyer one day because he is one of the first self-help professionals I feel really understands the real issues I’ve struggled with. God knows I’ve been resolving a lot of problems in my life, especially having to deal with all the decisions I made in my twenties. The healing has not been a fairytale cuz I found just because I stopped drinking didn’t mean my life got better. And then I tried to be slick and go back to drinking thinking I could take up where I left off and that didn’t work because I was already aware. I learned dealing with my mental health was no excuse for past or future behavior and I am mostly accountable. Nothing really changed when I got sober except I started to hear people around. Before when I was a raging addict, I couldn’t see or hear anything around me. I had no idea what others really thought about me or if I even cared. It turned out when I got sober I did care. That was the hardest part for me, accepting that I cared what others thought about me when I knew I’ve done a lot of embarrassing and unexplainable things.

Anyways, I don’t want to ramble on that. I just feel I’m at a point in my life where the mountain cracked and the hills fell down. I want to see what’s on the other side. I understand the law of attraction now.

Sitting on the dock of the bay

Wow, sitting up in the hospital having my kidneys flushed because of some bad medication I realize that it's been sixteen years since I've run away from home. I used to hate saying that i ran away, more like to think I just moved out at five o'clock in the morning without nobody knowing. I still remember that day like yesterday. The decision was final like escaping Alcatraz or something.. I was so damn scared. I had no idea where i was going or if it would accept me. I just wanted out. Living where i was living was like pure suffication. I felt as i was starving everyday. It wasn't my intent to hurt anyone,, I just needed to get out. I look at some fifteen year olds who run away, the street kids knowing that once i was one of them and sometimes i know it's tragic but in thier hearts they are free. I know that freedom. It's a hard freedom. I remember David this really beautiful boy back in Texas who parents kicked him out at thirteen years old. He was dead ten years later from HIV and drug overdose. He didn't survive that hard freedom. I sometimes wonder why I did. Now that i'm thirty one years old, i accept that fact i ran away from home. It means that i didn't deal with the issues why i was running. Well it's actually taken about fifteen years to deal with those issues, to get clarity, to try to heal.

I don't regret it. It was the best decision of my life. I don't think you're too young to not know what you're doing. I think you just have to follow your heart. I say to all those kids packing their bags and heading out to the big bad world at thirteen years old or seventeen years old, help is there if you need but you can't RUN from your past forever.