Unraveled

So close.  I can practically taste it.  Six days before my big deadline with CBS.   I have a feeling this is it.  Every part of me is ready to take that big leap, into the abyss of story.  Nothing in my life can satisfy this craving.  Sadly, everyone else can feel the hunger pangs, because of my now over-anxious behavior.  

Not only that, but I am also sensing the other pillars of my life begin to crumble.  The very foundation of my life is being stirred up.  Work, I am becoming an unraveled mess.  I honestly can't explain what is wrong with my mind, but everything is pointing North when I am still South.  Do it. I am told.  I have responsibilities now.   I can't just up and leave.  Something this drastic would require at least a 2 weeks notice, which I am not able to do either.

Today at my job, I realized how unraveled and disassembled I was becoming when my boss receives an e-mail from Security.  On Sunday, I left the gym, front, and side doors wide open.  I would absolutely own up to my own neglect; however, I know for a fact that I locked those doors.  I remember helping some ladies with directions to Mustangs and Burros.  But that was not was what almost made me melt down.

Summer Shoemaker, our director of events, wanted to confirm some appointments she scheduled with me.  The frightening thing was, I do not remember having one single confirmation with her.  I was training the new girl, when I felt both sides of myself being torn apart.  Am I really going crazy?  Is this really happening?   After 15 minutes of self-torture, Summer made a mistake and sent the e-mail to Brisa.  I almost wanted to cry, because I did not want to feel like I am losing it.  I don't want anyone to feel like I am not cut out for this.  Because if I have a meltdown while at the spa, something ridiculously easy, will I ever really be cut out for this?

I got home, grabbed an IPA, Goldfish, trail mix, and began to eat my feelings.  Hello fatty, next stop: diabetes.

Susan or the Tower

Stephen King is, in my honest opinion, one of the most influential writers of the 20th-21st Century.  To date, I have read around 20 of his novels (including those under his pseudo-name Richard Bachman). Two of his novels I disliked(Tommyknockers, Cujo), three others scared me(Insomnia, Carrie, Desperation).  King has a talent to which he is able to infuse terrifying scenarios in to real-life situations.   His characters that he creates exhibit either a genuine stream of consciousness, or a genuine form of evil.  In some of King’s work, evil is not possessed by a demon or some can-tah in the mining shafts in Nevada; rather, evil is something that lies dormant within an individual, awaiting its host to snap and thus allowing evil to take control.  

Recently, I decided to begin reading his epic series entitled The Dark Tower. It is based on a poem by Robert Browning entitled “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.”  Unlike the poem however, this seven-book series involves an adult Roland Deschane, the last gunslinger, in his pursuit for the Dark Tower.  This fabled structure, standing at the center of the world, secures reality, time, and balance between both good and evil.  But Roland senses that something is wrong within the Tower, because the hinges of time and reality become unfastened around his world.   Initially, Roland begins his journey in solitude; yet as the story progresses, he begins to form a ka-tet, a team of his own apprentice gunslingers.

I know this may sound weird—and quite possibly bizarre/crazy—but I feel like Roland Deschane of Gilead, pursuing my own metaphorical Dark Tower: my career as a writer.  Without writing, the hinges to my own sanity become unfastened and become displaced my own feelings and psyche.  Writing has always been my retreat for creativity, a therapeutic comfort, and way to process what is going on within my life.   

As you follow Roland and his ka-tet on their journey, he explains a tale of forbidden love with a woman named Susan Delgado of Hambry.  However, he is forced to make a choice.  He could pursue the Dark Tower and restore balance to the world, or he could pursue his romantic endeavors with Susan.  If he choses this woman, the Dark Tower will fall and reality/time/balance will end everything under its restraints. I am not going to give the story away, so you will have to read it yoruself. But just like Roland, I am slowly coming to understand that there are better things in life than love.  Like the last gunslinger, I am forced to make a choice with my own destiny.  

They say that the people that you care about are the ones that hurt you the most.  Recently, I experienced it firsthand.  Although it was not the action itself that became the abysmal downward spiral, it did become the catalyst for my fears and insecurities to surface.

I understand that I am a complex person.  When I am upset/disappointed/angry, there are several layers buried underneath the issue at hand.  It is not the incident itself that pisses me off, but rather the underlying insecurities that haunt me.  Will I be successful in reaching my Tower?  But even once I do reach it, will I be completely satisfied?  Is love ever truly fulfilling when it has the potential of running away from you? Driving home that evening, I was plagued with these damning thoughts in my head. They soon advanced into questioning my integrity as a writer, a lover, and a human.  There are too many words to describe each facet to my doubt.  I became lost within myself, like Dante in his forest before his journey into the Inferno.

Stephen King writes in his memoir On Writing, the life of a writer is one that is damned to solitude, a prisoner within the narration of his life. However, it is having a support system always encourages a writer’s future endeavors in his literary journey.  Thankfully, I have a great support system of close friends and family that encourage me and push me closer to my goals.  My own ka-tet if you will.  

But I was not planning on falling for someone, it just happened.  I became so enthralled with this new experience, I surrendered my journey for my Tower.  As of right now, I am lost within my own choices and finding solace in whatever can pull me out of my current state of mind. Regretting the choices I made while still enjoying the times shared.  But in any case, I am hurt and brought back once again to the unresolved question: to love or be a writer?

Susan or the Tower?  Lady or the Tiger? I am trying to come to terms with understanding this ultimatum in my life.  If I put my mind to one facet of this choice to my destiny, great things can be accomplished.  Thankfully, I know I have my own ka -tet nearby.

Act Now, Apologize Later

It was the beginning to a well-deserved night out with the boys, raising hell in the city of Hillcrest. My entourage consisted of my best friend Riddick, his friend Dave, my ex Jeff, and my new friend Joel (this is not to be confused with Jeff's ex Joel). As the alcohol was flowing, so were the witty comebacks, the great company, and drink tabs. After dealing with an incredibly anxious week, this was to be the reward for all the hard work that was invested in keeping the peace within my life.

Little did I know that the events that were to take place towards the conclusion of the night initiated the beginning of an incredible train of thought that I am still not able to resolve.

Jeff, Joel, and I were making our way back to my car. It dawned on me earlier that evening that I have work at 7 a.m. the next morning and should be heading back home to get some sleep before a long day at work the next morning. I was currently working off a departing buzz while Jeff and Joel were struggling shaking off theirs. We got into my car and began to make our route to getting Jeff to his apartment so Joel and I can head back to our town.

My car halted in front of the light. It taunts me with its red luminance, refusing to change to the desired green. Inside my car, Joel was sitting in the passenger seat, his hand resting against my chair, Jeff sitting behind me. Moments later, a van to my right begins to play an overplayed Lady Gaga song. I was trying to figure out the song's title playing at full volume in the van next to us.

"It's Paparazzi." Joel mumbled. I was unable to hear, so I turned my head to face him. However as I did, I noticed something in my peripheral vision.

Joel's hand was no longer resting against my chair; but rather, resting in Jeff's crotch. I was doing everything in my power to stay calm and not release my rage in front of the traffic light. Seriously? I thought to myself as the light finally turned green. In my car?

Turning on the street where Jeff lives, I was speeding down the suburban street, doing everything humanly possible into dropping Jeff off in front of his apartment before I lose my cool. One block away from Jeff's apartment, I hear the sound of Jeff's belt being undone. Then I hear zipper teeth opening up the jean's jaws to allow Joel's hand VIP access. My heart was racing as I continued to keep cool. I see Jeff's apartment and I come to a swift halt.

"Bye Jeff." I uttered with a wavering calm tone.

The sound of Jeff's jeans rustling back up into their unexposed position was heard, almost as if he really didn't care whether I heard it or not. Joel and Jeff begin to swap phone numbers as he exited.

"Do you want to hang out with Jeff for a little bit Pablo?" Joel asks me in an almost pleading tone. He doesn't want to hang out.

"I want to sleep. So not tonight." I cockblocked.

As we begin driving home. It didn't take long before I released The Rage upon Joel. During the next thirty minutes en route to our home town of Escondido, he seeds thoughts into my head that won't seem to leave my system. No matter how many resolutions I create inside my head.

"I want you to be upfront Pablo. What's eating you?" Joel asks with a placid expression of concern.

"I'm not stupid Joel. I know what you were doing with Jeff. Seriously, you really think you could get away with it?"

"I'm not gonna lie. Yes, I did. Did that make you uncomfortable?"

"Do you really need to ask me that question? The fact that you were groping my friend in my car was definitely not your finest hour. You are lucky I don't drop your ass off and tell you to hike it on home."

"I am sorry I offended you. How I normally live my life is this: 'Act Now, Apologize Later.' I act on impulse. I do what feels right to me and I neglect any possibilities of a consequence occurring."

The conversation continued as I was speeding at 85 mph so I could drop him off so I can go home. He kept reittirating his mantra as I kept on finding a way to prove it wrong. He apologized, and I accepted it. However, one thing he said was enough to crack the ice in my thought process.

"…I think you are reacting in this way because you still have feelings for Jeff…"

When he said this, I almost told him to tuck and roll as I was on the freeway. I clarified to him that whatever assumption that he may have with Jeff/Pablo relationship is strictly on a friend level. Whatever feelings I had left for him died long ago. He is slowly becoming a person that I just pity because he is a man that has no idea what he wants, but will give up whatever opportunity that may arise for a good orgasm. "I don't care who Jeff sleeps with, where he does it, as long as it's not in my car. I am fine. I am not Jeff's boyfriend. He can go fuck himself for all I care." I bit at him.

As I dropped him off, the thoughts of our conversation continued to pop in my head. Act now, apologize later. That is one of the most immature phrases anyone can ever formulate into a mantra. When he had said this, it reverted me into realizing just how self-centered and evil humanity can be at times. Every day I spend with the general public, I realize that most people are very cutthroat and will do almost anything to find their thrill. Unfortunately, once that thrill loses its excitement, we go back on the prowl for the next great escape. The way we can sometimes pursue is almost animal-like in nature. We can manipulate and deceive those close to us so we can attain our prize. Mankind can never be completely satisfied because there is always something else that will eventually become more appealing. At times, I too am guilty of this deed.

When I first met him a month ago, I pitied him. Mainly because I saw that he was sitting by himself. I know what it's like to be alone at a bar. I hated it. So I brought my group over to the spot where Joel was sitting and invited him out to not feel alone. He had told me that his friends ditched him and that he was by himself. Maybe history repeats itself. I thought to myself. Maybe he had done this to the previous group that ditched him. I was his next carrier, like a virus.

However, I must admit. As far as people I encounter in my day-to-day, I would toy with the idea of changing my behavior into being someone that acts impulsively to get what I want. I see a majority of people around me that have the looks, the dream jobs, the acceptance, and the man that I crave. Shouldn't this be an easy adaptation? This occurs every time I see a couple kiss or a friend telling me about his new story that is in the works of possibly being picked up. But having these thoughts in my head constantly in my head began to —and still do—bother me. It haunted me because no matter what resolution that I would conceive, there was another rebuttal just around the corner. Overall, I was mad at the both of them, frustrated in the status quo of my life, and feeling very used and manipulated.

Do nice guys really finish last? Or is it just a beautiful lie that we believe as our parents read us the story of Snow White before bedtime? Is it really necessary to revert to be an asshole in order to receive the life that I want? Is living a life full of rage (because I am on the verge of getting the things that I want worth living my life) in hopes to gain power worth it? No. I explained to him that people that live for themselves end up becoming the cat lady. That's the way of a spoiled brat, an immature child, Joel's life.

But even though I knew these were the resolutions to my own thought process, I was still upset. I felt like my brain needs a reboot. So I slept, then started work at Barnes and Noble. Upon clocking in, did my resolution arrive.

I have grown up surrounded by children. One of my favorite jobs involved working as a camp supervisor, where I was paid to be a mentor. Children are my voice of reason. They are the few individuals left in the world that will say the truth right to your face. Sometimes what they say is painful, but the truth can oftentimes hurt.

A child came in with his two dads and they ordered some lattes. The child was watching me work on his dad's lattes. "Is that how you make coffee?"

My heart practically melted at his curiosity. I began to explain to him the process it takes behind making a latte. It brought me back to Mister Roger's Neighborhood's Picture Picture minus the cheesy 80's music. I promised him the next time he comes in, I will teach him how to slip decaf in a person's drink.

Everything is going to turn out for the best, I am still trying to put myself back together. On an emotional and psychological level, I feel like someone just dumped all the toys out of my box. I obediently pick up each toy and place it back in the box. By doing this, It gives me a chance to reorganize my jumbled mess, and debate whether I should keep my Jeff and Joel toys. Sure, they are nice to look at. We've had some fun adventures. But maybe it's time to send them to a thrift store along with the other second-hand messes. Maybe someone else will enjoy watching them jerk the other off in the back seat of their car. Except hopefully the next time that happens, they will kick Joel to the curb and tell him to "show some leg" to get home. Give Joel a taste of his own medicine "Act Now," and "apologize later."

The Past 13 Days.

I’m sure most of you are wondering what the hell is going on with me. Over the past three days, I have received numerous phone calls and voicemails from so many of my close friends that have done nothing but raise their pom-poms and cheer me on. I cannot thank you all enough for your prayers and your support within these past couple of days. However, I feel that most of you are in the dark as to what is going on with my life.

I feel I must warn you all, because what you are about to read is pretty gross –in my opinion that is—but I am a writer, and my job as a writer is to expose myself and be honest. So please take the discretion before continuing:

February 6 2010. Second day back at work. Everything was going all right. I was back in Escondido working at Barnes and Noble while applying to several jobs around San Diego in hopes to make amends in so many different areas of my life.

Emotionally and mentally I am fine. However physically, I was feeling crampy/sore in one specific area. Like someone kneed me to the groin and the pain is still residing. I figured I might have slept in an awkward position last night and it resulted in my discomfort. So I ignored it. However, it continued all throughout the rest of the day. It was my first date with a guy that I am currently seeing.

The next day, the pain was still there. I felt like I was not getting enough sleep and I needed a full night’s rest as opposed to my four hour sleep I had the night before. So on Sunday, two days later, I had work and was walking around totally normal. I was trying to ignore the pain because I knew that it was going to go away. Unfortunately, by the end of my six hour shift, I could barely walk and every movement felt like I was carrying a cement weight in between my legs.

Monday was my day off and I laid on the couch, beyond pain and taking drugs to dull whatever pain that is still lingering. At this point, I was starting to get very worried. I had figured it was probably a hernia.

I called a medical assistance program and arranged an appointment after yelling at them that my condition was not fit for waiting a month for treatment. They had tried setting me up for an appointment for March 11th, and there was no way I was going to wait in pain that long.

I sat in the CMS appointment and gave them the information that they had requested. Overall, CMS is comprised of women that are post-menopausal and taking it out on everyone that sits behind the double-plated glass. Sure, their job is to qualify you, but no need to take your anger or your bad day on me.

February 10th
It was when the pain went away that the real fear started to envelop me. While showering, I did my routine check on my “bits and pieces,” it was very sensitive to the touch and felt like it was swelling. When the pain was almost completely gone, I did it again and noticed something odd. There was a growth behind one of my testicles and it was not attached to the actual testicle itself.

I had arranged for a doctors appointment. He signed me up for an ultrasound so that he could find out if the growth I had developed was a cyst or if it was solid. If it was a cyst, they would give me antibiotics and it would go away; however, if it had turned out to be a solid. It could become cancerous.

Having someone tell you that your condition could be cancer is something that stays in the back your head. I had work after my doctor’s appointment, and it took me a while to recover from that hard blow. Some of the regulars that come into the store were starting to become very concerned with my well-being, but I told them I was going to be fine.

Ultrasound. Awkward, but having the warm jelly on me was enough to put me to sleep.
While I was laying there, with my legs hovering over the cold table, I felt a sudden form of peace. Now I know some of my friends are agnostic, or deist, or an atheist (and I am totally okay with that); but the only way I can describe this peace was a form was spiritual, like God himself whispered in my ear saying that everything was going to be okay and everything involving my insurance and needs were going to be taken care of. The only thing I had to do was have faith. I know that sounds very cheesy and sounding like something I may have stolen from 7th Heaven, but sometimes it’s in times of extreme crisis do I get a solution to my problem.

The one thing that is keeping me through this is by admiring characters from my shows/movies. When I was first diagnosed, I became Evita dying of ovarian cancer. Right now, I feel like God is preparing me for something big, almost like Olivia Dunham in Fringe is preparing for a battle between two alternate universes. It seems that the amount of stress I am experiencing me now is preparing me something involving the entertainment industry. Keeping them in mind helps me know that if Olivia Dunham can solve the mystery with being tested for cortexiphran, then I can for sure handle this. If I can handle the stress that is currently in my life, then the rest is going to be cake. So keeping that in mind makes enduring this task worth it, in a sense.

The doctor gave me a call yesterday, telling me that my condition is not a cyst, but something solid that needs to be removed immediately or it could become cancerous. But they need to do a biopsy to remove it or I could die. I told them that I have no means of paying for this and I am currently qualifying for medical assistance. In reply, he told me that he could talk to a doctor at the neighborhood clinic that could see me and he could help me out.

I felt fine. I was able to go to work and joke around with my regulars, put decaf coffee in those that mess with “the help,” and help cook dinner for my family while grading my sister’s math homework and work on the budget for a film I'm producing. I was able to feel like it was just another setback.

So now, you see how confident I feel that everything is going to be all right. I hope this helps put you at ease. But, I am a force to be reckoned with. I will only prove you wrong. If I could do it when I was a baby, when the doctors told me I would never be able to run, then I can definitely do this now. Shit, I am the Captain after all…

Breaking Tradition

Valentine’s Day, in its earlier years, has been all about breaking tradition and deception. One of the initial instances of this holiday began during the reign of Roman emperor Claudius II. He believed that soldiers that were married made poor soldiers and mandated that anyone serving their country be single. However, one of Claudius’ priests, Valentine, disagreed and would conduct secret marriages for the young men—sometimes the men would be as early as twelve! When the emperor found out about these marriages, he ordered Valentine to be beheaded. While he was awaiting his execution in jail, he befriended the jailer’s daughter and would send her notes inscribed: “from your Valentine.” Thus begins the tradition of the worst holiday created in history.

I don’t know why St. Valentine gets sainthood for creating the worst holiday in world history. Although his intentions were not aiming to create the biggest Hallmark holiday, they were instead used for helping people achieve the happiness that they deserve in spite of what authority may say. But I still think the holiday is one of the worst creations ever created by man, because it only proves that the emperor was somewhat right: on a day like February 14th, everyone becomes a sap for one day.

Now I feel I must backtrack, because my intentions of blogging are not to bring down the holiday. Normally, people buy gifts for their lovers on a day like today; however, I am going to break tradition. There have been three important people in my life that I feel I do not give enough credit to, because I have spent a majority of my life ignoring the things that they have done to make me into the person that I am today. Since my resolution was to repair some of the relationships that I have damaged, I felt it was appropriate to use Valentine’s day to herald these individuals in the only way I know how to show my appreciation: by writing.

Her name is Miranda, my youngest sister. She is 15 and she is taller than me. I don’t know if that makes me feel older or smaller, but in any case, she’s got the legs and figure of a model. Out of all of my siblings, I feel like she has had the hardest time growing up within our house. The reason why I say this is because me and my two other siblings, constantly picked on her. Looking back on those days, I feel ashamed that I could never take the things that I have done/said to her. Recently, I have started making a change in my behavior and interactions with my sister.

There are several things that I find in my sister that makes me really appreciate her. She is a fragile flower. She is very beautiful; but at the same time, Miranda does not show it off the way other girls do. Another trait that she possesses is the girl can talk, almost as much as me. Last Sunday, we went out for frozen yogurt, and she told me some stories. Finally, I know that she is going to become a very talented and beautiful woman when she grows up.

Next person is my other sister Kera. Growing up, we hardly got along—unless our mother bribed us. It was your typical sibling rivalry. But like all siblings that grow up together, eventually we set aside our differences and began to enjoy each other’s company. Now when I see her, I notice just how much talent she has as a both a musician as well as a person. She exposes her talent as well as her personality to the people that are involved in her life. I know one day she is going to succeed and make it big in the music industry, and she is not too far from that day either! It seems that whenever I have a problem, she is always there to listen.

Finally, we have my mother. Mothers are sacred beings. They are responsible for holding the key to a better future as well as generation. Growing up, my mother would always tell me that one of the best decisions she ever made was becoming a mother, and everyday that I am interacting with my mom, I see that she is a woman of her word. Growing up, my mom was my best friend. There was never a person that would devote themselves to finding the best decisions for their children than she.

When I was a kid, I would always write letters to my mom, because I felt that this gift was my only way of best conveying my thoughts. In return, my mother would write back, in the most beautiful penmanship. So to an extent, I want to thank my mom for encouraging me to write. Had it not been for her, I would probably be an engineer.

Valentine’s day is a day where people become sappy and emotional as they hand See’s Candy to their lovers along with some bear that will only end up at the nearest Salvation Army in six months. On a day like today, we feel obligated that we need to give gifts or express our affection to those that we care about. I am too poor as of this point to give gifts, so I would rather use the gift that my own mother gave me to let her, as well as my sisters, know how much she/they mean to me in my life. I don’t like buying cards, because they never say what is on my mind, so I would rather write in boring black and white because that’s what Valentine did the same thing.

Prodigal

Religion is a drug that can be used to better the health of an individual; however, it can be abused and drive a person to have a sense of total dependency on the belief system. In my life, Christianity has allowed me to realize that even though I may experience hard times right now, I can be certain that there is something better for me in the distant future.

In the four gospels in the Bible, there is a man by the name of Jesus that would teach valuable lessons in the form of parables. Some of the best lessons in life are always told in the form of a subliminal message. Aesop, a Greek slave born in 620 B.C., was a intelligent writer that would write in the same manner. The only difference was Aesop was more direct than Jesus’ parables.

However, one of the parables that Jesus taught is one that I can relate to at this point in my life. It is the story of the prodigal son. The son demands his inheritance from his father, in which he takes to Vegas. It is in Vegas, that he appears on Boys Gone Wild; parties like Amy Winehouse, and goes broke, all within a paragraph.* However, upon waking up in a pig pen on some random farm, he has an epiphany. He took advantage of the blessings that God gave him and tried to live fast. As a result, he went broke, has a restraining order from his baby’s mama, and getting dirty in the pig pen.

Six months ago, things between my mother and I took a turn for the worst when I was given the opportunity to move to Long Beach. I got in a fight with her on moving day, grabbed all of my belongings, and moved to Long Beach. All without knowing it was the beginning of my descent.

Within my family tree, there has been a tradition that still reigns true within my mother’s side: When family is about to leave each other, they feel that it is better departing in anger than in relief/grief of bidding “adieu.” My aunts do it almost every time they leave each other every Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s funny how my own mother, a person who abstains from allowing her sister’s bickering to get to her, has done it to her own son; making the move to Long Beach that much more difficult.

It took more than a couple dials on the phone to talk to my family. I felt like I wanted to do nothing but try to make them proud of me by showing them that I could make it on my own. But the more wrong turns I was reaching while in Long Beach showed me that there was little to no hope for my dreams to come true. Feeling more isolated and displaced from my friends and family like a prisoner stuck on the island of Alcatraz.

Rock Bottom. The point in your life when you wake up in a pig sty. Personally, my own pig sty became the revelation of living with myself. Recalling my exit from the house was so gut-wrenchingly painful that it took every fiber in my body to pack my U-Haul and make the drive with Jeff.

I am the kind of person that feels the guilt of hurting someone immediately after I committed the wrongdoing. Once I had finally left my family and had unpacked all of my belongings in Long Beach, I had started to feel the weight of guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. Soon, my own brain became my private hell. If I wasn’t too careful, I realized I was slowly nearing my destination: the Gates of Dante’s Inferno, aka Rock Bottom. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” December 31st of last year became a time of self-intervention and reflection when I realized that, in 2010, I was going to repair the relationships that I had damaged, and turn my life around in a more positive direction as opposed to being self-centered and achieve what I want.

In the conclusions to Jesus’ parable, the Prodigal Son had a self-intervention as well. He realized that his dad’s servants got better treatment than this. In the same manner, I had a self-intervention that my sanity was slowly beginning to unravel. Two weeks ago, I stared in front of the mirror, hung-over, hair tossed from lack of sleep as well as a shower, and missing a tooth. It was revealed to me that I need to repair the damage that has been broken in my family in order to advance to the next stage in my life. So the son returned to his family’s house, where he was welcomed to back with arms open wide.

Long Beach felts like a nightmare I was not able to wake up from. Granted, I will always cherish the memories as well as friends that I made there. But trying to run away from your past is as pointless as trying to speed through traffic. Like a horror movie, the hero always takes back something rather important so that way, he is that much stronger for the next obstacle that may come at his/her way.

I may have been the Prodigal Son for six months, but I did learn a lot. Overall, I learned that I need to be more prepared to always have a back-up plan. Having learned that mistake the hard way led me to Rock Bottom. Granted, being back home feels like, in a way, I am back to being a failure. It feels like I am having to Go Back to Start in the Game of Life. But right now, since I reached Rock Bottom, there was no way to work on but up from here. I guess that is all I really have to look forward to….

How Bad Do You Want the Cheese?

I am a mouse in the middle of the gigantic labyrinth. I smell the cheese—I think it’s cheddar—but the stronger the aroma, the more dead ends I encounter. I am getting really frustrated with all the obstacles I need to cross in order to win my prize. I have been in this labyrinth for far too long damnit! I think to myself as I turn around the dead end and try another undiscovered path. I wonder if my other fellow mice feel the same way as I do.

Honestly, at this point, I am starting to enter into panic mode. The fibers that are barely holding me together are becoming unhinged one thread by one. Does God hate me? What did I do wrong?

I know I have the strength to keep on plugging through this maze. But losing sleep, getting sick, and constantly stressing about every minute of my day is not going to help me reach my goal. I cannot fail now. Not when I have come this far and endured so much.

I hate to always sound overly dramatic in always writing about my situations I encounter, but this is how I decompress the pressure I seem to be under. Like I have mentioned in the previous blogs: The pen(or in this case, the laptop) is the writer's scalpel. The only problem with this situation, a mouse in a maze, is I have another added variable to make the obstacle that much harder: I have a companion following me in this cheddar quest. I have a roommate.

I have known her since our first week at Biola University. She has helped me through a lot of once-difficult trials while attending the school. She, and our other mutual friends we met while attending the school, has grown very near and dear to me. However, upon my moving in, things seem to be falling apart at a more frequent rate; and the hardest part to my breakdown is that I am bringing someone down with me. And I am doing everything I can to keep her afloat, even if I have to submerge myself underwater to keep my dear friend from drowning.

Yesterday, I failed my Life and Health Exam. I studied my tail off for this exam, and when it came time for Judgement Day…I missed the mark. I did not shed any tears, but it put me in a weird contemplative state to where I am now contemplating almost every move I have made in my life within this past year. Is this what encountering a breakdown is like? If so, why isn’t God here to deliver me, or at least show me direction in my next step?

I thought I did good enough for the test, but obviously it’s going to take a more fervent effort to pass this major obstacle. With this job, I am promised an amount that will assist in making things in my life right again. It will be a path that will reward me a small sample of what success tastes like when I eventually make my way into the TV industry.

The one thing that rests in the back of my head in midst of all this: How bad do you want the cheese? It tempts me like a mirage in the middle of the Sahara desert. I can smell it’s pungent aroma, it has the strong scent that has enough power to make even my whiskers salivate with an indescribable longing. I thought I wanted this, but one of the new lessons I am learning in this City of Angels: I am going to have to want this more than anyone else if I am going to get by and survive while doing everything I can to make my life, as well as my living situation, right again. Maybe that will be the key to solving this labyrinth.

Plastic Surgery (Part Two)

“When are you actually going to get a REAL job???” My mother bit at me. “Something that has value? When are you going to actually be an adult and stop acting like a kid?”

Dark Pablo could not stand it any longer. The bitch is back, carrying more ammunition than Rambo.

“Fuck you mom.” I hissed while flipping her off. My mother’s face dropped in absolute shock. I tried to be nice. I thought to myself. Now it’s time to show you why you shouldn’t piss me off.

“You know damn well why I can’t get a job. Or are you too ignorant to see that too? I am doing everything humanly possible to get a job.”

“Sleeping in until ten in the morning, writing your stupid stories and blogs until late into the night, and spending time with your friends down in San Diego is not what you call job hunting.”

I think my mother forgot the whole fact that I am moving by the end of summer.

“You know, I can’t wait for you to leave, because hopefully you will grow up and stop acting like a kid.”

“I am counting down the days myself. I can’t wait to leave your stupid house, where there has never been an encouraging word uttered from your mouth since I graduated. You have been nothing but a grievance on me since I was a kid. You treat me like a kid and you don’t treat me like an adult.”

“Because you are immature.”

“Why do you insist on always degrading me. You do it in front of my friends as if it’s the next great American past time. That’s why I beg people to not come up to visit me, because all you do is treat me like shit.”

Want to know why my mom is bitter? She hates the fact that I am gay. So she will treat me like shit because that is what her church teaches her to do when faced with someone that has differing beliefs: treat them like shit until they change. Just watch “Saved.” My mom is an adult version of Hillary Faye.

“Oh we have to make it all about you? Because that’s how you win people over to you? You pity them with your pain until they sympathize?”

The conversation then segues to a very sensitive subject. I am just going to cut to the chase.

“You are going to do nothing but fail, because that is all you have done ever since you went online to meet that complete stranger and do that stuff with him?” (My mother is talking about the time I made out with a thirty-one year old guy when I was a senior in high school and had a freak-out. That happened, but there was something else that happened before that.)

Tears were coming down my face, I could not believe my mother had the nerve to bring back. So I had to tell her what really happened, because she wasn’t going to shut up. “Mom.” I declared very sternly. “Do you REALLY want to know what happened that night?”

“No I do not.”

“well too bad mom. I am not going to give you grace, because you choose to not give me grace. I was raped.”

“That’s what you get for not being where you were supposed to be.”

“This happened outside church after a seminar for the Billy Graham Crusade. A man followed me to my car, pulled a knife on me and told me to drive.”

My mom was silent. The only time she was silent. I was hurt. But I wasn’t going to give up, my mom is not going to win this fight.

“Where does this stupid mechanic of yours work?” She asked.

“I am not going to see him until I am calm. You really hurt me.”

“Well you brought it upon yourself. If you were responsible enough to save your money, act like a normal adult, and take care of your vehicles, you wouldn’t be in this mess. You either tell me where this guy works, or we are not going to get your car.”

The reason why my mom is being so persistent is because she needs to write another check. My parents filed my taxes so I can get a tax refund, and my mom has the tax refund in her bag and was not going to give it up until she visits my mechanic. The price tag to get my freedom back: holding my check ransom while using the liberty to attack me.

“You are just like dad when he beat the shit out of me when I was in junior high school and he dropped me off at church for youth group and told me to go make an ass of myself.” I fired back. “Don’t give me an ultimatum.”

My dad snapped one time while I was in junior-high school. He lurched at me and punched me several times in the stomach while hitting me in the face with a paddle that he would use to discipline me growing up. I had a black eye and several bruises on my body. When he did drop me off at church for the junior-high event. Everyone began to make fun of me, I only told one person of what really happened. Since that day, my dad was warned by the authorities that he was no longer allowed to touch me in his anger.

My mother was finally silent. Thankfully, the tears were starting to dry up by the time we arrived at my mechanic. I put on a fake smile and refused to look at my mother for the entire rest of the day. Once I got my car, I drove off without saying goodbye and made my way to the gym.

I called up one of my older gay friends, someone that a better insight in life. He gave me the most encouraging advice and allowed me to open myself to the idea that although what I endured was painful—and in some morbid way—this pain was actually a blessing.

“It will give you the ability to know, what are you really gonna do about it?” He counseled as I was listening attentively. “Are you gonna lick your wounds? Or are you going to stand up and make a plan of what you are going to do to make the best out of this?

“Family, as much as we may agree/disagree with them, they are stuck with us for the rest of our life. They may get in our hair, we may want to disown them, but no matter what you do, they are still family. However, friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life; because you are not going to want to associate yourself with someone that is going to say that to you right?”

The pain and the shit that I deal with on a regular basis is like plastic surgery. It is a bitch to deal with, it makes your body sore and swollen to the point where you barely recognize who you once were. However, it is when you begin to heal do you finally notice the results in yourself and see just how the clichéd phrase is truly dead-on: pain does equal beauty.

Plastic surgery is not permanent; if I go in and ask for it, you can bet your ass I am going to get another dose of the scapel, because pain is beauty. When living in such a vain society, sometimes beauty is all a girl needs to feel accepted in this world.

I may not like what is done to my body at times. My parents and the attacks that I receive from people in my life, they are the incisions that are made to my body. They create and inflict the pain in me. But what am I gonna do? Am I going to wail, bitch, and moan about how the scapel is hurting and beg for more morphine/anaestesia/vicodin? No.

The swelling that I receive post-op, that is the physical results of the pain as I spend time trying to recover…or figure out a plan to fight back and get better than what I was pre-op. I may look as ugly as hell, but I know that once the bandages come off, I am going to be looking delicious with my new boob job.

Plastic Surgery (Part One)

Friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life.

Chris Ramey

You can’t choose your family. They are with you for life, whether you like it or not.

Malcolm (Fox “Malcolm in the Middle”)

To people who enjoy pain, they are considered to be “masochists.” But of course finding joy in self-inflicted physical pain is not only weird, but it is considered to be nearing the verge of losing touch with reality. Then again, masochists can also be associated with sexual bondage, which can be erotic if with the right person. I am getting sidetracked, allow me to refocus the topic.

After spending two months in solitude in the city of Escondido, today was the day that I finally had my car returned to me. When I finally inserted the key in the ignition and brought it to life, I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I had successfully saved the money that I needed to achieving a goal. For me, that is an accomplishment worth celebrating, because I am normally not very frugal with my money. But I knew that the longer I was going to take in saving my money, the longer it was going to be before I was going to move up to Long Beach and begin to start my new life. However, like all rewards and pleasures in life, there is always a price tag that is attached. How badly do you want this reward? It said to me as I pushed forward in obtaining something that belonged to me.

I woke up this morning with the idea that, by the end of the day, my car was going to be back in my possession. Just the fact of knowing that my freedom was hours away was so near I could almost smell the interior of my Honda Civic welcoming back into the driver’s seat.

I had the entire day planned: it was going to be a Mommy&Me day. We were going to begin our time together by visiting the library’s book store. I was going to be in search of yet another series of hardcover novels written by my new favorite author: Stephen King while my mother was going to be in search for the next classic first-edition to add to her dust-infested collection. When we did go to the library, I found two hardcovers and purchased them for 1.50. My mother received a call and was kicked out of the library for being on her phone in a place that was designated for being a place of concentration and almost-absolute silence. Once I made my purchases and thanked the cashier, I made my way towards the exit to reunite with my ever-rebellious mother so we could go to our next destination: to our car insurance office.

The main objective of our stop at the insurance office was so I could renew my membership as well as ask for a temporary renewal on my registration. On the way there, my mom informed me that my dad had called her while I was busy buying my books to notify me that since I had recently turned twenty-four, I was no longer able to stay under parents’ insurance plan and that I must get my own insurance. I groaned under my breath, knowing that this news was just more dollar bills that would leave my pocket upon payday. So I requested that we get a quote while we were there.

The insurance agent reached out and shook my hand as I followed him into his cubicle, my mother trailing behind me. We went through the routine amount of questions that was required of me to get a successful quote. My mom was playing with the cap of her pen, indicating that she was somehow nervous. I just ruled it out that she was insistent on annoying the hell out of me—which was successful. When he finally gives me a quote, I was going to take into consideration; but my mother, instead of wanting to leave, pulls out the checkbook to pay for it. I flashed her a quizzical look as I had now understood why she was nervous before the agent revealed the quote, my mother knew that she was going to pay for this. Then this is when I started to realize that before I was to get my car, I was to know the real payment that needed to be paid in order to receive my freedom.

He then gives me the bad news, my car was not registered for this year. I had already known that. Before my car broke down two months ago, I took my car into get smogged because I wanted to register my car. When my car failed smog, the mechanic told me that he could fix it, but I had already known what the problem was in order to pass the test: it needed a new engine. The very next day, my car breaks down while on my way to work. When I had explained my situation to him, he left to go to the DMV department on the opposite side of the agency.

Ten minutes later, he returns with a DMV agent, she begins to inform me of what I needed to do. I had already registered my car, but I needed to get smogged and registered. Since my car was late in getting registered, I was starting to rank up penalty charges. My mother then turns to me, in front of both the insurance and DMV agent, and says: “Why didn’t you get this car smogged before like a responsible person?”

Being twenty-four years old, I have grown to tolerate some rather unpleasant things in life, but being yelled at in front of complete strangers as well as being talked to in a condescending tone is something that I WILL NOT tolerate. Once my mother said thtat to me, the good side of the Gemini fled in terror and the Dark Side had checked herself in.

I looked at my mother in absolute disbelief that she had made that declaration in front of two people I don’t even know. I began to defend myself, but held myself back, because I knew I was not going to stoop down to her level. From that point, everything the two agents had told me had been a complete blur, because I was so angry at my mother. I was concentrating on holding in my Rage.

I know why I had neglected to get smogged: my car has given me nothing but hell since I had first purchased it in September. Once I had received the news that I was going to have to get my car smogged, my car began to break down. From November all the way until today, I have been from one mechanic to another. I could list all the drama that car has given me, but I will remain on topic.

The insurance agent concludes our time by telling me that he cannot give me the insurance unless I pay my debts to the DMV. My mom glares at me as she reaches for her pen and bites at me. “You owe us so much Pablo.” The only thought that is going on in my head was how much my mom is trying to make herself, as well as my dad, into being the victims when I have become the prey of their ridicule.

The agent directs us over to the DMV. As we are en route, My mom begins to write another check for the DMV while continuing on her roaring rampage of bitterness. At this point, I was starting to become fed up with my mom at this point. I tried to remain calm and requested that we table this conversation when we are in a more private environment and when I calm down. But she continues to go on, barrading me with reminding me of how irresponsible I am to neglect these responsibilities and instead buying stuff that won’t last. I interrupted her rambling by noticing a woman coming to help us out. “Oh, look, someone that is going to help us. Let’s act normal shall we?”

After my mother hands the check to the lady that had the patience to deal with my fake-smile as my mother’s rude manners, she hands me back the receipt to give to the agent so I can receive my insurance. Once having done both tasks, my mother and I made our way to our final destination: to retrieve my car.

As we were making our way to the car, my mother continued to bitch and remind me how stupid I am. How I am irresponsible and that I am due for a rude awakening when I am finally out on my own. Then she began to attack on a harsher level. And my Dark Rage could remain hidden anymore. It had to come out to play. When it did, all Hell broke loose.

Alternate Ending to the World

So the end of the world was prevented by one phone call. A series of ten digits that identify a person and their connections to the outside world. Who knew that these ten digits would bring about a series of events that would lead to a breach in trust.

When catastrophe is about to strike, our bodies switch to a “survival of the fittest” mechanism. This defense mechanism can, at times, lead to betraying people that we once held dear in order to keep ourselves still alive. It can also help surface the people in which we should trust or leave behind. As the day nears to where the series finale to my life in San Diego approaches, I discover the people to keep in my life, and those to discard.

Over the course of the past couple of months, one person has been constantly proving that he is no longer able to keep up in the race to be needed in my life. He has proven that he is nothing but a weak individual that can barely keep himself together. Now that I am angry at Jeff, I can finally see his true colors: I can finally see just how much of a self-centered asshole he really is. And what do I do with people that fail to meet my expectations? I kick them to the curb, like he did to me all these years.

Even while we were dating, he made everything about him. If he didn’t like a certain song while dancing at a club, he would want to go into the next room, taking me by the hand with him. Then he disappeared to Vegas, without me, because he felt pressured and needed to get away. This only proved that he was not strong enough to tackle his demons and that he was always a sucker for pressure. Days after he admitted that he disappeared, he returned to break up with me. His excuse: I am not ready to commit.

Key word in that simple sentence: I.

In order to keep me next to him, he would muster up the sweetest phrases. “You are a catch.” He said this to me while I was driving us home after a night at the clubs. “I am afraid of that day when someone will see just how much of a catch you really are. They will take you away from me and I will be all alone.”

He was right, and many other men I have dated since then have agreed: You’re goddamn right I am a catch. Every day that I am not hanging out with Jeff, his greatest fear is starting to come true. And one day, he will be all alone. Just like he predicted.

When my car broke down, I tried to call him up one day, crying and starting to lose my mind because of all the crazy things that I was experiencing at the time. But he didn’t pick up his phone. His phone was out of minutes. If it hadn’t have been for Sam to come to my rescue, I would have committed suicide on the side of the freeway.

A month and a half passes by…without one single word. Not even a text message asking me how I was doing. Then he texts me to tell me if I want to hang out with him, that he has Monday and Tuesday off.

Then he breaks up with his boyfriend, Joel. I never liked boyfriend, I only felt sorry for his beau because he is HIV-positive. I only befriended him because Jeff was close to him. When Jeff and Joel broke up, he brought back his stupid behavior; this time however, it is taken to the extreme.

Since Joel and Jeff live together, they had to post a 30-day notice with their landlord. In the meantime, Jeff and Joel were still living together, in midst of their recently-established relationship status. While hanging out with Jeff one day, he tells me that he has a date with a guy and that he really likes him. The weird part about this guy: he is just like me, except he has a condo and nice clothes.

I may not like Joel, but after Jeff explained to me how excited he was for this date, I was realizing how wrong and intolerably cruel he is for dating a guy, when he is currently living with his ex. It was just a repeat of what Jeff did to me while he was dating Joel, except we weren’t in a relationship.

While we were hanging out, my interest with hanging out with Jeff was falling faster than the prophecised meteor (predicted in the Bible) that is supposed to hit Earth and pollute the water.

Now where am I in my life? Moving on. Something I should have done when the bastard broke up with me in the first place. I choose to not make any contact with him anymore, until he apologizes for everything that he put me through these past couple of months. I have it planned out that when he sees me at a club, that I will do everything humanly possible to ignore him and give him hell if he approaches me. Hopefully, I will have my entourage with me to back me up should this scenario should ever take place.

Whenever I begin to make progress in my life, Jeff is always the person to bring me back to Square One: back to the day where I met him at my work and being hopelessly in love with him. Just like Mister Big did to Carrie in Sex and the City. I have gone too far in my life to allow one man to bring me back down that road of depression, suicide, and dangerous infatuation to the point where I almost lost my life. I am not going to let it happen again. IWhich thus leads me to my conclusion: I am going to do what Carrie Bradshaw should have done: I am going to stop making any form of contact with Jeff Raymond Contine.

It’s funny how religion always make prophetic claims to the world ending. There is massive tyranny and everything can seem to be taken out of hand and people scream in unadulterated fear; yet at the same time, when the rains have subsided and the fires have ceased to become uncontrollable, we are promised a brighter future.

Since I have stopped hanging out with Jeff, I have been able to have more fun with my life. Riddick, the man I had once had feelings for those months ago, has now become one of my closest friends. I never have to worry what to say, how to act, or where I should be with him. He and I have established that we are going to be friends and I could really use that right now. He has helped fill the void in my life that Jeff could only imagine to fill. Riddick has helped me get the courage to laugh again. I am not saying that I am in love with him, but I can admit that Riddick is one of my dearest friends down in San Diego and is part of the reason why leaving this town will become very difficult in a couple of weeks.

Then there is my girl Sam. I have known her for seven years; but in the past year, she has been there for me when I needed her, and I have done the exact same for her in her rough times as well. When my car broke down those multiple times in the past year, she has been there to drive me down to Hillcrest so we can party together and enjoy the night. While teasing the many lookers with our amazing dance moves and sense of humor. I think out of all the women I have met in San Diego, she will be the one person I will miss the most. Because without her, I would not have been able to talk about some of the things I was afraid to discuss with Jeff…and also, I would be sober.

But though the world involving Jeff is ending, I know I am promised a greater future by having such close and dear friends in my life. I once thought that the world was going to end and life, as I knew it, was going to stop. But the end of the world doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It’s like removing a piece of tape from my arm. Painless.

Maybe even one day, I can have that husband I dream of. But with these new friends that I meet in my life and grow close to, I know that I am getting closer to finding that nirvana-like happiness that will make my years more worth living. Living in this new world that I have grown to enjoy, more so than I did while knowing Jeff.

...when the world ends... (part three)

I finally answered the phone. Not even acknowledging him with a “Hey, what’s up.” Or a “Hey stranger.” Just a simple “Hello” seemed to suffice. I was still angry with him. He’s not getting any special treatment, not after the rollercoaster of emotions I endured today.

The duration of the onversation was short, confused whether I should be a bitch right now or at another time when it’s in person. After apologizing for missing my call, he asked me if I was hungry.

My depression was slowly disappearing as I got more comfortable in my chair. I began to forgive him. First sign of the sudden heart failure: you still really care for him.

My heart began to get strong enough to beat on its own. “I was hoping you were asking for food, because I’m starving.”

“Cool. Well, I want Tammy (his old roommate before he moved in with Señor…nevermind….) to come because I’m sure she is hungry as well.”

In the background, I hear her distant voice saying “No, I’m not. I’m fine, you two go.”

Honestly, I didn’t want Tammy to come along, because there was a lot that I still needed to discuss with Jeff regarding his month-and-a-half intermission from my life. But something was telling me to table that argument for a time when we could be together, sipping tea and sharing a bagel like we used to.

I was certainly not going to arrive sober to this event. Lord knows what might happen if I didn’t come prepared. So I made myself look pretty, kicked back a shot, and walked into the restaurant.
I really didn’t know what to expect. But one thing that I knew that Jeff was going to do was pretend that he did nothing wrong. He is going to pretend that he is my Savior, but I with the passing of each day, I am starting to believe that he may be the Antichrist in my life.

I arrive inside the restaurant to see both Jeff and his roommate sitting in a hidden corner. I could feel my buzz kicking in, my confidence was increasing with each heartbeat, and I knew that as I was walking in, I looked good. I smiled warmly as I embraced Tammy, his roommate. Then finally, I had to embrace the Angel of Deception: Jeff.

He smiled at me the way that would always make my heart melt. But this time, I was onto him. After all this waiting, spending an entire day on a roller coaster of emotions, I had finally come face-to-face with the man that had abandoned me for a month and a half. I was angry; yet at the same time, my heart was leaping twice as fast as it normally would.

“It’s great to see you again.” He greeted me as we were holding onto each other. “You look good.”

Just feeling his warmth, I decided to let my anger take a smoking break while I allowed myself to enjoy the company of two people I had grown very close to.

Passing and breaking bread, a sign that interprets to let “bygones be by-gones.” No one wants to break bread with enemies, especially when one of them was paying the bill. Jeff was not going to get off the hook that easily, he was still going to have to explain why he disappeared. But I knew in the back of my mind, as much as I still do not like how he may act at times, I still love him. And that is why the world could end at any point. Because my love is so strong, and —yet— so fragile with him, that just the slightest disappointment in this man would send the world into a massive imbalance.

...when the world ends...(part two)

I couldn’t sleep. I heard someone was moving around in the kitchen downstairs. Being tired of laying in bed checking the news and my e-mail, I donned on some shorts and ran downstairs.

My mom was awake and sitting in the den, petting our cat, Mz. Bojangles’ fur. My mother was dressed up to go to the gym. My mom has this ridiculous ritual to go to the gym at four in the morning and function through the day. Sometimes, I have to remind my mother that although she is not superwoman by depriving herself of sleep and working herself to the bone. I am already proud of her.

My mom questions why I’m up so early in the morning. I was frustrated that I couldn’t sleep. I tried to eat some foods that would calm my body down. Maybe it was the caffeine I ingested when I closed last night. I thought to myself as I ate a yogurt.

I tried to go back to sleep. But my body only teased me by keeping my in and out of consciousness.

10 A.M. I woke up nervous. The beginning of my roller-coaster of emotions had finally arrived. I rolled over to look at my phone. No missed calls nor text messages. Allowing myself to welcome the First Horseman of Apocalypse: the reminder of absence and the side of Jeff I didn’t like: the “I’m too independent to remain in contact with someone because I have to save minutes on my phone” side.

I waited until noon to finally get myself ready for the day. I took a shower. I had made a list of things I had to get done for the day. Go to the gym, pay my student loans, pay my cell phone bill, and send out some mail. I had finished my errands and was feeling pretty accomplished. But there was one errand I still had to accomplish before my day was complete: the gym.

I had avoided the gym for a specific reason: Jeff might be there right now. I don’t plan on running into Jeff at the gym. That is not what I had planned in my head. But I was going to suck it down and improvise. I quickly slammed down a Rockstar and stormed into the gym.

For some reason, my emotions are ignited into anger. I was no longer nervous but just frustrated that it is two-thirty in the afternoon and he has made no contact at all today. Maybe he got cold feet and he knows that I might yell at him. Like a dog that knows that he should not have peed on that dress that was laying out to dry. Then comes the Second Horseman of the Apocalypse: what he did when we were dating. His disappearance.

He disappeared with friends days before our five month anniversary. We were supposed to go to San Diego and go to the Foam Party. I called off work just so I can spend time with him. No one had heard from him, he wasn’t at his work, I was panicking. Days later, he returned and broke up with me; all of this was done right before finals, the most stressing part of the year.

I am not saying he is disappearing for that reason. But his problem is he never follows through with things. He would rather be spontaneous, because it gives him control. Realizing this made me angry, I amped the treadmill to a faster speed as I cranked the volume to a song with enraged-embedded lyrics.

Then suddenly, came the arrival of yet another emotion. As I was sprinting while listening to some Orgy. A hot guy from the basketball court passed behind me and threw his towel over his shoulder. The towel hit my shin which made me turn to look at the person passing behind me.

Time had suddenly slowed down as my gaze panned from watching the hot guy showering near the pool, to the guy behind me. For around two milli-seconds, the guy looked like Jeff. He smiled at me just like he used to. Reasons why I liked him number 6,394: his ever-welcoming gaze.

Time sped up again to reveal it wasn’t Jeff but someone else. Someone not nearly as attractive and had a tattoo of Jesus, Mary, and his baby’s mama on his right shoulder. My heart dropped. Images of his smiling face still flooded my mind, smiling not in deception, but with kindness. I try to shake my head away from it all, I even cranked up the music volume so that the lyrics would avert my attention to the lyrics instead of my wild imagination. As I am running, I decide to give him a deadline: If he doesn’t call by nine o’clock p.m., then I am going to never speak to him again.

I couldn’t believe that sentence came out of my head. I am making a deadline for someone. How sad is that? And yet arrives the Third Horseman: the War. A time for war is now underway. But will there be a time for peace? I sincerely hope so.

Four o’clock. Each minute that passes, my heart grows more heavy with despair. Is he going to call me? Or are we going to be parting ways once and for all? A part of me did not care either way, but that small shard part of me still held onto what solace I had left.

It was when the clock struck five that I was starting to feel the heavy effects of the Final Horseman: Death. Death was looming near and I had no way to stop nor a way to prevent it. Death comes for us all. Even in relationships. And this finally introduced me into my second to final emotion: sadness.

I sat in my car. Preparing myself for the end of my friendship with the man that had changed my entire outlook on things. So this is how the world (as I knew it) ends. I thought to myself. The man that had introduced me to a world where even ugly ducklings like myself can become swans too. Since coming out of the closet, I have a stronger sense of who I am and feel very comfortable with myself.

I stared at my phone, praying for a text message, phone call, anything to get the assurance that I needed to keep holding onto whatever solace I might have left for Jeff..

I decided to leave the gym and go to Starbucks to get some writing done. But I stared at the screen and nothing else came to mind but him. It has never occurred to me just how much I truly still care about this guy, even after all the adversities we have experienced and put on each other these three years that I have known him. Enduring through them have brought us so close to each other, I thought I had nothing to worry about.

I went to Barnes and Noble because my sister was studying and wanted someone to keep her company. By this time I was feeling like I was calling it in early. I had finally just leave it be and just let it die. My heart was slowly decelerating it’s pace. Soon it will stop beating and I can just move on. I mean, if Tin Man can live without a heart, then certainly I would be able to as well.

I sat down reading. My legs sitting crosslegged on a chair that barely has enough for my ass let alone my legs. I was hunched over a copy of The Hours, a book that Riddick had let me borrow that has recently become my obsession. Since reading this book, I have noticed a completely different writing style that absolutely intruiges me.

Virginia Woolf, as morbid as this sounds, had a very poetic suicide. She felt like she was starting to become out of reach and was starting to lose touch with reality. I feel like if I was going to wait on Jeff like I do every single time, that I might do the same. Why invest time on someone when they don’t have time to…

The phone rings.

My heart jumps like it was just jumped with an automatic external defibulator (AED). I came back to life. I looked down to see the same area code. I look up to my sister. She and I exchange glances.

“It’s him.”

I wanted to answer the phone, but while it was ringing, a small part of me had already given into the hoax of an Apocalyptic event. I continued staring at the screen, listening to the cute xylophone ringtone resound in my ears, as well as nearby students studying tfor their AP World History exam. It’s the noise I wanted to wake me up in the morning, but I waited nearly sixteen hours for this phone call. And now I am not even sure I know what to do.

...when the world ends...(part one)

I sit in the car outside of the gym, understanding that the end of my life and the world as I knew it was drawing ever closer. I prepared myself for it all. What would be the most memorable way to call a time of death? Should it be memorable like Virginia Woolf in The Hours? Will there be an afterlife? Will I go to Heaven or Hell?

My heartrate keeps dropping as I watch with a haunting gaze at the clock. It is five o’clock in the evening. Four more hours and it all ends…my heart will finally stop annoying me with its incessant beating. I have done everything to prevent the end of the world, but it’s out of my hands. I may wait in hope that there will arrive a cure; but with the arrival of yet another minute—five-oh-one—my heart gives up.

Forty-eight hours earlier…

Jesus once said that the world will know the signs of the End Times by “Labor Pains.” Tragedies that will occur that will only remind us that the end of the world is near. I got my first labor pain of the End on Friday, April 24th 2009.

DING! DING! My iPhone chimes as I am about to leave the break room and back to work. Text Message! Curious, I return to my phone to check out the text message I had received. I hit the home button and my phone came to life to reveal a number that I had not expected to read.

Jeff had texted me. I may have deleted his phone number, but it has been forever engraved into my head.

My heart dropped. I couldn’t believe the fucker had the nerve to write me on such a bad day to want to talk to me. I was already having a bad day with not only being called into work on my day off, but also to be dealing with complete idiots and their ridiculous drink orders. The fact that Jeff had the nerve to write me just drove me out of my mind with anger.

“I’m back!” the message heralded in all caps. So annoying. “I just added minutes on my phone! I have Monday and Tuesday off this week if you want to hang out.”

I simply did not have any time to deal with this at this time. I groaned as I angrily bit back. “Wow. You exist.” As I threw my phone back into my locker and back to work.

For the entire rest of the day, I was already fighting several emotions. I did not want nor expect to hear from Jeff again. Over the past month or two, he has abandoned me and left me to fight my own battles. Granted, it was something that I might have needed, but to have my best friend betray my trust, miss his birthday, and leave me in the dark was downright mean. And unfortunately, I got over his immaturity of not wanting to talk to me and simply tried everything I could to move on.

Later that day, I texted him and told him that I was going to be off Monday. He told me that he was going to be hanging out with his former roommate in my town for the day and wanted to meet up with me then. I agreed.

Once I agreed to meet up with Jeff, I was overcome with anxiety. I had no idea what to expect, how I was going to react, or how to even approach him. I couldn’t really trust my body and my emotions at the moment. To be honest? I want to lunge at Jeff and sock him for abandoning me and going back on his promise he made to me. But at the same time, I wanted to have a decent conversation and try to let it slide.

Saturday and Sunday moved like sands escaping the broken hourglass that crashed on the floor. I became very reserved as I asked close friends and gay men for honest advice that can either relate or have talked to Jeff. Usually, I am the one person giving advice, but this time, I had to seek people wiser or more perceptive than I into resolving this situation. After much conversing with my friend. I had come up with a plan when Jeff calls to meet the next day.

Three A.M. I woke up. The sound of my snoring brother in the opposite corner of the room echoes into my ears. I shuffle around in bed praying for a quick arrival of another REM cycle. Then I felt my heart and realized what was going on. It was Monday morning and my heart was pounding like a bass speaker at a hip-hop club. My body is nervous. Although I didn’t feel nervous in my emotions, my body was reminding me that my instincts were not ready. After trying to distract my mind with fantasies of hot men or stories I am creating for my screenplays, my emotions were shook up too. Today is the arrival of Judgement Day in my Showdown with Jeff.

Still Understanding

I miss Jeff. There is nothing else to write about involving him. It sucks that I lose my best friend because he was the closest thing that I had to trusting someone. Now I lost him and I feel like I am falling apart. I am trying so hard to stay strong, but at the same time, I feel like I should just give up. This is the last chapter to the Jeff story: the pain in letting someone I still love go his separate way.

Jeff gave me encouragement. He was always there to lend an ear to time when all I wanted to do was bitch about the problems in my life. I felt like I didn’t have to do anything to impress him, because he was already in awe of my drive and personality. He would tell me this whenever I had an emotional breakdown….kinda what I am doing right now.

The sucky part is that I don’t have that gay male best friend to help me through it this time. I have to face it alone. I am determined that I am going to make it, but I just really wish that he was here to help me through this hard time right now.

None of this is my fault. It is all Joel…at least I think it is. He sees me as a threat and wants to do whatever it takes to keep his man by his side and to stop siding on me (even though, I am right). I really have no idea what I did to lose my best friend; nor do I know what I did to anger Joel to the point that he would forbid Jeff from hanging out with me. But in any case, the fucker has stopped contacting me.

I am a very analytical person. I observe all the possible flaws in my environment and try to fix it. When I feel like something is my fault, my mind goes back to the scene of the crime and try to decipher whatever I did to make the situation difficult.

My mind keeps going back to that day at the bar. What I said to Joel; what I did to Jeff; what happened that night that ruined it all….

March 8th. I got a ride with my girl Sam to watch the series finale to our favorite show, The L Word. While I was at the bar, I was drinking and enjoying myself when I see Jeff and Joel walk into the bar.

“Jeff!” I yelled amidst the loud drunk lesbians around me as I fight my way to welcome Jeff and Joel with a hug.

I hug Jeff, my heart jumping at the sight of seeing my best friend and his boyfriend. Once I let go of Jeff, I hug Joel and smile warmly.

It is very funny how I have gone from hating the bitch, into adopting him into my Family. Joel is a great guy and he is very cool to talk to. After tonight though, he will stop being nice to me.

I ask Joel how everything was going with him. He smirks and assures me everything’s okay. Jeff grabs Joel’s hand and they make their way into the courtyard. Sam and I follow them while all four of us were still talking.

Sam decides to hang out with her friends. I join them while standing around older lesbians that were sneering at me because of the fact that I have a penis and more testosterone than they could inject into their menopausal bodies. I was feeling uncomfortable, but I was not going to let a couple pairs of sagging boobs scare me. My eyes began to wander, doing a scan of potential hotties in the courtyard. As I am looking around my environment. I see Jeff and Joel sitting in the distance, his body resting against Jeff slouching pose.

Granted, I haven’t talked to Jeff in two weeks, so I missed talking to him and wanted to make sure the two of them were doing all right. I walk away from the angry old lesbians that were sitting next to Sam and migrate over to where Jeff and Joel are sitting.

I began to make small talk with them as the show had started to play on multiple screens decorated around the bar. Joel and Jeff make room for me as I sit next to the couple. While there was a slow point in the show, I decided I should ask to see how Joel was doing. I reach across Jeff to Joel. Joel turns to make eye contact with me.

“So Joel,” I asked genuinely while touching his shoulder with concern, “how is everything going with you healthwise?”

He gave me a very quizzical look. “Everything is fine. I’m not dying anytime soon. Why do you ask?”

Time out. What is this guy’s problem? I am simply asking a question. Why is it that he is getting defensive with me? Retract claws, Catwoman. I am asking you a fucking simple question. The kind that is asked from one friend to another.

Obviously this guy has issues. And obviously something is going on that I don’t know about, but I was not going to let his short-temper get to me. I faked some laughter and smiled at Mister Mid-Life Crisis. “I’m just asking.” I jested but changed into sounding serious. “Jeff told me that you were HIV positive and I just want to make sure everything is going all right with you and if there is any way I can help.”

“I’m fine.” He bit back.

What a bitch. Why do I even fucking care about his fuck up?

He then decided to ask me a question in return. “So how are things going with you and Riddick? You guys still dating?”

I had forgotten about the time I told Joel that I was dating someone. But I simply replied back laughing. “Fuck Riddick. We were just fooling around.”

No response. He simply returned to watching the screen.

Towards the end of the episode, I turn to Jeff and ask him how everything was going at his new job. At this point Joel and Jeff had broken their little embrace and were sitting apart from each other—for once. He was telling me how he is doing what he can to settle in but assured me that everything was going all right. Then I asked him about how things were going on overall. This included life, relationship, money and his health. He was telling me how things are going so-so.

One of the things that reigns true within a deep relationship like the one we have—or should I say…had, the more you spend time with people, the more perceptive to understanding their emotions. When Jeff and I were talking, he started to give off an expression like he needed to talk to me.

“What’s going on honey?” I ask him, giving him my undivided attention.

“I can’t talk about it. Because of…” His voice trailed off as he was directing my eyes to Joel with his gaze.

Joel had his back turned. Possibly pissed off at the both of us talking.

“We’ll talk some other time.” I promised as we both looked up to the screen to see one of our favorite characters appear on the screen.

“Oh My GOD!” I exclaim as I am tapping Jeff’s knee with excitement. He sits up and presses his back against my chest. Um, why don’t you get close to Joel instead of me? Something truly is going on. I became suddenly very uncomfortable with it all, but I was not going to turn him away.

As the episode ends, I hug Jeff and tell him to call me. I hug Joel. He gives me a brief hug, obviously giving me the impression that I really pissed him off.

It has been a month and six days, and there has been no form of contact…at all. I was not able to call him and wish him happy birthday. I was not able to tell him that I got my car back and things are getting better for me. I have never missed anyone this much in my life. I didn’t deserve to lose Jeff. But someone else considered me as a threat in their relationship. And that dumb fuck’s name is Joel.

Joel may have won this war, but I was not really going to fight someone that my best friend is dating. If my best friend thinks that Joel is a great guy, I am going to do whatever I can to be Joel’s friend and fully support his decision. But Joel decided to ruin my friendship with him by disconnecting me. And I couldn’t be more angrier to want to get in a girlfight with the bitch.

He is like the doctor that finds a cure to a disease by murdering the patient and hiding the body. Eventually, someone is going to find out of this crime. And soon eventually, the doctor is going to feel the weight of justice on his shoulders by having a big fat sentence as well as losing his license. He may have killed off my friendship and connection to Jeff, but karma is going to bite him in the ass one day. He is going to crash and burn as he loses Jeff…again….

I am not entirely certain that Joel is the person responsible for ruining my friendship with Jeff, but he is the only suspect. I have done nothing wrong and I have definitely not done anything but be what I promised what I would be if we ever broke up: Jeff’s friend.

Not having Jeff in my life hurts. It hurts like someone ripped out my heart and I am forced to live on blood transfusions and bypasses. I know eventually, I am going to evolve into a person that is not dependent on Jeff. Eventually, we all find a way to quit the drugs that give us a sense of security. I just want him back so I can have a gay man in my life that has a brain that is easy to talk to. Someone that I trust.

I’m afraid I will never know what I did that night to ruin my relationship with Joel and possibly Jeff. But in either case, we are not talking. And that is a pain that I am still understanding. Understanding that people will disappoint you and hurt you. I know I gotta brush myself off and quit getting down about this, but it's hard to do, especially when I really cared about him.