She Deserves The World 

             The day has finally arrived. Tomorrow is my mothers surgery. How does she feel? How do I feel? It’s pretty much a conjunction of feelings all wrapped up into a ball, something along the lines of a rubber band ball. Remember those? 

             My mom is scared of going down. She’s afraid the doctors will put her under for too long and she might not come back. I try comforting her by telling her that the doctors know what they’re doing, but I’m not going to lie,  I’m hell of nervous as well. 

             We are getting a lot of support though. It’s nice to see what people who actually care about you will do for you. Our neighbors and our landlords are being very supportive. Some of my moms friends will also go with us tomorrow. Gabriel will be there. He insisted he wanted to go. I told him it was fine. 

I have been group chatting with Eli and Jenny on Snapchat. They have been sharing funny pics here na dthere in the efforts to make me happy or cheer me up. At least that’s what I feel, or take away from it. It’s nice if them. But they haven’t asked me about my mom which kind of bothers me. I gave them the date, they should at least say something supportive, even if it’s cheesy I’ll talked it at this point. But maybe they will tomorrow, who knows? 

             Right now I feel on both sides. I feel like everything will go fine. Then again, I feel that something will go wrong. Stupid doubt. I don’t really know how I’ll feel tomorrow. Nervous out of my mind, but I’m trying to keep the up most positive attitude. It’s draining to say the least. 

             It sucks that this is happing. I know, we might not deserve the world, but we most certainly do not deserve this. Especially my mother. She does actually deserve the world. Everyone we have told said that if they can’t go that they will keep us in their prayers. I appreciate that. I too will pray my heart out. 

Elizabeth 

             Eli, oh Eli. I have been working on this for quite a while now. Trying to find the right words. The correct, kind, words. The words that will not hurt you or make you cry. Because the last thing I would ever want is to see you in pain. But, maybe your eyes will never see these words? Sometimes I think maybe I should have never walked into your life. That’s the only way my absence wouldn’t hurt you as much as it might be hurting you now, is it? I would have said all this face to face. But the tears in my eyes wouldn’t have let me speak. I miss you.

             I remind you often how well I remember the first time I met you. Because that day something changed. Maybe I didn’t know it, maybe you didn’t know it, but something had changed.

             A shy boy walked in on his first day of work with his hat all the way down his face, trying to cover as much as he could. You, with your warm and kind smile welcomed that shy boy in. You were wearing your black dress shirt, the one with the short sleeves, remember? You told him to tuck in his shirt. He felt so embarrassed. Not even one minute and already he had messed up. But it was ok. It was all for the best. That’s  the way all good stories start.

             I think I’m getting a head of myself Eli. Let me take you back in time. To when I was younger. Way younger. I was a very shy little boy. I’m sure you could tell when you met me. I had no friends. I used to play by myself. I hated group projects. And hated recess. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know where to go.

             Funny story. Well it’s more sad really. Sometimes I would go to the bathroom and sit in the stalls and wait until it was time to go back to class. Very movie like, right? I agree, the only difference is that I was five, and already I knew what rejection had felt like. That was basically my whole first grade. There was a kid I met though. His name was Jed. (Where are you now Jed?) He was my first real best friend. I met him in third grade. I don’t know how we came to be friends but we did. And we did everything together. Until, sadly, I moved away. Never to see him again. Never to have a friend again, until you.

             After that, school was just another obstacle. I tried to fit in as much as I could. Blend in with the right people from time to time. Live unnoticed . And it worked. Until the eighth grade. That’s when my father left us. (Well, got deported). I couldn’t take school anymore. So I went home-schooled . I isolated myself even more. Finished high school at home. So basically I had no high school experience. Along with no friends .

             Take in mind that through all this I was fighting with my sexuality. I didn’t know who I was. I was lost, I was hopeless. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I was suicidal. I was self harming. All I needed was support form someone. I begged the God that I knew to give me a friend. A friend that would understand my life’s pain. A friend that would not only make me smile on the outside but also on the inside.

Was that friend, you? You decide.

             Let me tell you something Eli. I didn’t think we were going to be friends until that one time I drove you home. Remember? Hmmm. You needed a ride after work and told you I could take you. That’s when I told you I was a Jehovah Witness. Told you how hard it was “living two life’s.”

             When you said “omg, it must be so hard.” You seemed really genuine. Like it came form the heart. Did it? You only had known me a couple of months. Had our bond grown? I met your dog that day. R.I.P. Lady. She was the sweetest. The thought of her brings back so many great memories.

             I have to stop here and apologize for not being there when she pasted away. I know you loved her like a child, and I was no where to be seen when she was taken from your hands. That’s maybe the cruelest thing I ever did to you. But as you know, I was “being a saint.”

             Remember when we worked together? Those times were great. Only, but only, when rarely we got on each others nerves.  I always liked how by being indirect you got your point across. This took me time to understand, remember I had no social interacting before this job, so reading people was difficult. But I always admired the way you talked to people. Always with respect, always with a smile.

             Once I started opening up more and more it seemed like you were becoming that friend I always wanted needed. I told you everything. From my sexuality to my past. We had so much in common. Like that one time when we went to Starbucks and we talked about how much we struggled when we were younger, having to travel on the bus, remember? Dealing with our families. I remember all the stories that you confined in me about your brothers and your mom. Do you remember mine?

             Every time you opened up to me about life, I felt every single peace of pain your were feeling, yet I couldn’t express mine.

             Remember Jesse? Ugh, I have to admit I still have a tiny crush on him. I don’t know why. I don’t stalker-crazy like him, but if he were to walk into my life I wouldn’t mind.  I think it’s his eyes. Maybe his smile? He’s gay. Doesn’t want to admit it but come on! He’ll come around.

             That night of the party you had. The first one I ever went to. With Jenny, Marvin, Lily, Junior,  Gabe, me,  and Julie. Remember? That was one of the best nights I have had in a long time. I drank so much. Through up all over the place, but it was great! I had never done anything like that before it was crazy! It wasn’t me! It was fun! That night made me forget the night I had before where I poured out my heart to the guy from above and it got thrown out the window without a blink of an eye. Still, I’d run to his arms if he’d only let me.

              Imagine how drunk you would be if you had to take a shot very time I said remember?

             Well,  remember, when we were preparing Gabes twenty third birthday party? We were on the freeway headed to the dollar store when you mentioned how coworkers don’t stay friends once one quits working at the same place? I told you that it does not always happen that way and that we would try our best to not make that happen no matter which one of us quit first. But here we are, haven’t spoken for maybe more than three months. We don’t know what we are up to. Don’t know how we are doing. You seem to be doing well according to your snaps. Are we still friends?

              Speaking of Snap Chat, you keep sending these snaps to try to communicate with me. I do appreciate it just so you know. But I wish you would call me. I wish you would text me. Why don’t you?

              How did we end up like this? Ill tell you how. It all started when I quit McD’s. June 12th. I quit because I was under so much pressure. I couldn’t stand the hours and at home my mom dating that guy, my life was just insane at that moment. Now I look back and see that it wasn’t even that bad, compared to now of course.

            I quit not having another job to go to but just relying on Lyft. That didn’t work out. I think I was losing more than gaining. Stress got the better of me. How was I going to pay my bills? My car? The rent? Other necessities? You guys seemed to live life on a regular. Like I had never left, like I had never even been there. I pushed that feeling away and still hoped for the best.

             I was out of the loop. I didn’t know what was going on . I have the most blame maybe on that one. I could have asked. But in my time of despair, Gabriel came along. He is some one from church. All of the sudden I thought maybe if I gave the religion one more try then I could get it right. Yes I was gay, but that didn’t bother me as much as it did before, I had given up on love. At least for me.

              So I went full throttle. I knew I wasn’t going to change my sexuality, I just wanted to feel something. Because at the time I felt numb. It didn’t help. But that made it impossible for us to be friends. At the time I had different views. They weren’t mine but they were deeply implanted in me that I believed them to be. But I missed you guys.

             So I agreed to hang out. We went to Chilies. Well, me and Jenny did. You, never showed up. You don’t know how much that hurt me. I forgave you though, or better said I didn’t blame you at all. Who would want to see a friend who basically disappeared for a couple of months? Maybe that night, October 21st, our friendship started to collapse.

              On November 4th when I finally saw you after so long I remembered why I loved you so much as a friend. I wanted to save our friendship, all of our friendships. So I poured my heart out in a letter, in a letter that I hoped would explain everything that I was going through. What did you do to that letter? Did I just remind you that you had it?

             Writing and giving you that letter made me think that now you would understand me more. That the next time I would have a “fall out” you would do everything in your power to keep me from rolling up in a corner. That didn’t happen. You might say you tried but sending me funny snaps does not apply.

             What hurt more than anything is when you guys never had time to hang out. All you said is that I should understand the crazy schedule you guys had. Which I did. To a curtain extent. But you used that excuse too many times that it lost its meaning. I got canceled on several occasions. Because work was more important than me. I understand you have to pay bills, but at the expense of my feelings?

             That time we hanged out at Jenny’s house with Monique and you said you were going to go but you didn’t. That hurt. What made it sting was not the blade I was sliding gracefully along my arms, it was the fact that you texted Jenny and not both of us. That made me feel like you guys had a much more deeper connection then all of us together. Which is true, but I didn’t want to believe it. 

I needed you there. But you weren’t.

             When we had our Christmas party thing at IHOP I was so excited to see you guys. It had been weeks, again. Did you notice how my eyes shined? How happy I was to be around you guys? I still have your presents in my closet. Will you ever receive them? Almost seven months since that day. Seems like yesterday. I surely thought we were going to be ok.

             You invited me to go with you and Gabe later in January for your dogs first grooming. That was the last time I saw you.

             It was January the fifteenth. I was so depressed. I wanted to tell you. But I had to keep my emotions bottled up because that’s the best thing I know how to do well. I did tell you that we were on food stamps. I thought you were going to say that things will getter better or to hang in there at least, but instead you just said that you and Gabe were once on food stamps. That felt like you were waiving off what I was saying like it was nothing. 

             That day I needed a friend. I needed a hug. I needed someone to tell me it was going to be ok. I needed comfort. Didn’t you notice how quiet I was? We barley even laughed that day. It was so awkward. Gabe told me about his credit card issues and I listened patiently.

             If we were sharing, was I supposed to say how much pain I was feeling? That I was cutting myself? That I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life? That my mom might have cancer? And I needed leg surgery?

             No, I’m not like those people. I don’t like to brag about my problems. I need a very secure place to vent. And a person who I trust in deeply and will truly listen. I thought you would. 

             Let’s flash forward to the night we were supposed to hang out on a Friday February 24. It was the Friday after the Friday I had canceled on you guys. I canceled that day saying it was raining to hard and I wanted to stay home. That wasn’t an excuse. But I’m glad it did rain. I really didn’t feel like going. At that point I felt like I had been forgotten. I had been left behind. 

             The next Friday was a different story. I was going to go. I wanted to go. But then Jennifer suggested we go out to eat I said that I would eat at home. Then she said she would get pizza. I already had doubts of going. But then when she asked you to bring chips. That’s what made me feel bad. I didn’t have money. Not even for the fucking dollar store. And her asking you in the group message hurt my feelings. I was going to go empty handed? Take in mind I was already in my car. Then that made me freeze. And I couldn’t go. My body didn’t move. So I stayed and turned my phone off. 

             I didn’t mean to stand you guys up. But my brain wasn’t functioning how it was supposed to. I was all over the place. You guys were living life here and there and I couldn’t even pay for anything I felt terrible. I didn’t want to hold you guys down. So I backed away. I thought maybe without me you guys would be happier. I’m sure you got tired of hearing I didn’t have money. What a drag. 

             Once our communication came to a hualt I found out my mom had cancer. Where were you? That day I went out side and ran.  I didn’t know why but running out of breathe felt good. Everything was falling apart and I had no one to run to. No one to talk to. I had to suck it all up and play the strong one for my mom and brother. It hurt so much. I might have lost part of my sanity. Things haven’t changed much. They are what they are. But I do miss you. 

              You finally texted. It felt so good to see your name on my phone screen. It made me feel like nothing between us ever happened. Like I received a text from you everyday. Thank you for making the first step. Now On two days when we meet up again how will it be like? Will I be able to tell you everything I feel? Everything that’s going on? What will you say? Will you apologize for not trying hard enough? Will you believe me when I say I’m truly sorry I have caused you so much pain? How can we ever go back to the way it was? When we had 100% trust in each other. Did we ever? Will we ever? Will we now? Now that you know the truth. 

             


             That was a while ago. I haven’t seen you. I have been wanting to. I messaged you and Jenny on Snapchat in group. Told you guys exactly what was going on. Thanks for the support. They you messaged me alone to go to a dog park. Do you still not see it? I want to talk to you. No one else but you. I love Gabe but you were the one that made me feel better. You and Jenny. But, will we ever be better? At being friends? I don’t know anymore.

Every Single Dark Thing 

             I did it. I finally told my friends what was going on. From my moms cancer to my work/immigration related problems. I felt guilty. That I was blocking them out. That I wasn’t talking to them. And maybe deep down I thought that they could help me. In a way. So I wrote a very long letter. 

             I explained everything. How it all started, how I felt, how I feel they should have tried harder to talk to me. Every single dark thing I was feeling. I wrote it down. Then sent it through group chat. It was very relieving. But at the same time I was scared to death. 

             But all of this was because of Moneque. I saw her today before she leaves for Alaska. She just came back from a rave in Vegas. She’s everywhere. And somehow we are supper close, yet not best friends. You know that person who you don’t see very often, yet you have this unspoken connection and will bare all too? Yeah her. 

             I told her  everything and she listened. She told me that I should just tell them also. What else did I have to lose? I was slowly losing them anyway. And they were slowly losing me. 

             So now I’m waiting for a response. What will they say? Will they blame me? Will they apologize for not trying hard enough? For not asking what was going on? Or will they ignore me just as I had ignored them? 

Pity Party 

             My birthday is just a couple of weeks away and I could not be any less excited. Don’t get me wrong, another year has gone by and I’m still here, yay for me. Well, my birthday lands two days after my moms surgery, or my moms surgery lands two days before my birthday. Don’t really know how I would frase that. 

             Either way that whole sentence in its fullness sound ridiculous. Yes, I could say that if everything goes well with the surgery, I could celebrate while on my birthday. But I’ll be taking care of my mom then, so no time to drop it as if it was hot. Plus I don’t like to party. Dance? Only in private or in the shower. Sing? In the car, or in the shower. Drink? Only mixed and sweat please. . .and in the shower.  

             I know as the days go by my mood is changing for the better. I’m just waiting for this roller coaster to go up, way up, then come crashing down again. But, we’ll see. Time will tell. 

             One of my long time acquaintances said we should get together since we have the same birth month. I agreed seeing as I haven’t seen her for about seven months and I need some socialization before I retreat back into my shell. She’s really nice and even though I’ve been pushing everyone away she’s always been bugging and bugging me to talk to her. I appreciate that very much. So maybe I’ll see her Thursday. If one of us doesn’t flake. 

             My other friends. Eli and Jenny said we should do something for my birthday. I haven’t seen Jenny in six months now, doesn’t even know what the fuck is going on in my life. Eli, I saw her maybe a month ago, and told her what’s going on. I had expected her to understand. But she seems to have forgotten because she never really asks me how my mom has been doing. I told them that I didn’t want to waste their time. Of course, like any friend, they mechanically said that wasn’t the case. Eventually I stopped responding to the group text. 

Maybe I’ll though my own party, I’ll cry and laugh about my problems.

             Though, I don’t need a fucken cake or balloons. I don’t need presants or gifts. I need support. I need comfort. I need reassurance. I understand they want to have fun but, yo, I got problems, and finding how to celebrate my birthday isn’t one. I was going to tell them, but then they would have thought that I wasn’t that appreciative of them, since they were so “thoughtful”, but I didn’t. They probably think that anyway. One day they will know the difference. I miss them. I miss the old me too. Life goes on. 

             Talked to my brother about him being more responsible. He said he would try. We’re all in this together. Told him I didn’t want to end up like one of those distant families that are all torn apart. 

             One of my friends (or the one friend I have) from church says he wants to go to the surgery for support. That’s what I’m talking about! But yet I feel like he still hides stuff from me. I mean we’re not dating but still friends tell each other everything right? Maybe I can’t be pleased? Who knows. 

             Tomorrow I’m going out of town for work related training. It’s about three towns over. Sounds like I live in deserted place, but I swear it’s SoCal. 

Anyway that’s enough of me mumbling about what’s going on. I’ll mumble some more later. 

My Story

             I have been putting a lot of thought into whether or not I should write this. I came to the conclusion that I should. Not because it has ‘‘gotten better”, but, because I feel like I just need to get it out of me. I feel that if it comes out, even in writing, it will be out. It’s not an easy matter to talk about. And it took me quite a while to actually sit down and write about it. After I decided I would write about it, I procrastinated sitting down and actually doing. When you try to remember the past, and it’s not pretty, you can only take so much at a time. But here it is;

             I grew up in a religion where I was taught that taking ones life would result in disconnecting with God. In other words, it was like giving a back-handed slap to the face of God since he was the creator of life and was the only one who deserved to give and take of it. As a child I always wondered why someone would ever come to that terrible decision. It wouldn’t fit in my little kid brain why someone would just want to die. I heard of people killing themselves when I was young but I never fully grasped the meaning of it until I got older.

            I do now. Even though I’m writing this I can’t fully say that I am completely over self harming. I can’t say that I have no more suicidal thoughts. I have though, learned to control them.

             But how did it all start? Well, I never really knew I was different. Yes I remember buying sparkling shoes that I got made fun of because they were “girly”, but that had nothing to do with my sexuality. At least I didn’t think so. I just knew that one day I would grow up, marry, and have kids. That was so ironic seeing as I didn’t want to get married or have kids.

             Back to my religion though, I grew up in this religion where you had to live your life exactly how the Bible said you should. (Jehovah Witness). It isn’t as hard as people think it is. It’s not to bad, and maybe I would have had some great teen years if I hadn’t turned out to be fucking gay. That pretty much ruined my life. Not completely, but enough. It’s one of the main causes of my pain if I’m brutally honest. Still to this day.

             I hate when people say “it gets better.” No it fucking does not. It hasn’t for me at least. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself? But at the end of the tunnel I see no light, I see no fucking tunnel.  But then again, maybe that’s me getting ahead of my self and my “better times” have yet to come.

             Anyway, I was in and out of this religion. I would go with a passion and then I would hate it with a passion. I never really made up my mind. Not even today. Today I just go, not for me or anyone else but for my mom. It makes her happy that I’m there and that makes me happy.

             I “came to terms” with my sexually on Nov 17th of 2010. That’s the day that I said I’m Gay. Before then I had never actually said it out loud. I knew I was but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true. Sometimes I thought I could change being gay, but it never worked. That was the actual first time that those words came out of my mouth. In that order, “I’m gay.”

             I remember going on-line and searching ‘Gay Jehovah Witness.’ I had the impression that I was the only one in this religion in the whole world who was gay. I was wrong. After looking past many articles that threw shade and dirt at JW’s for not accepting the gays, I found an article about Tim. He was also a JW. Grew up in the same religion and his father was actually an Elder (People who are like pastors). There was an email address and I emailed him. Telling him how hard it was for me because I was gay and I was scared to come out because so many people would be disappointed, and ultimately I would be disowned felt good. Plus, at that time I had no legal status so how would I even fend for my self?

             I loved my mother too much to break her heart that way. But Tim said it was all too much for him so one day he almost took his life, well actually tried but didn’t succeed. He said he had to change his life after he tried killing himself. He couldn’t take it any longer so he left the religion. I understand his decision. But I was not yet there (still am not) and even though it was extremely hard I still was not even close to the thought of taking my life. We would email back and forth and it was encouraging to have some one to talk to who understood. Then, he stopped.

            That crushed my heart. But I guess he got bored or maybe had more important things on his mind than helping out a seventeen year old across the world he didn’t even know. I knew was getting married and was moving so maybe that’s why but still, could have said something.

            Of course being in the religion that I was in and also being gay wasn’t going to work out. So I left. I stopped going and it broke my mother’s heart. I was still the same person nothing changed. I just didn’t act any more gayer. I didn’t go to pride. I didn’t hook up with every guy in town. I just simply stopped going to church. I was the same old me.

             I don’t know what made me go back. Maybe because I never found love? Or deep down I hated myself for being gay when I knew it was wrong? Not sure. But months when I returned in the summer of 2011, my uncle and aunt asked if we wanted to spend the summer with them.  (Take in mind that they too were JW’s). My brother and I said yes of course. They lived in our home town where I grew up and it was a beautiful town, I cherished that town.

             So I went to the congregation there. While I went there, I was being pressured into dating. Who I liked would always arise in a conversation. I finally gave in and picked someone. A girl I knew since I was little.

             It’s funny at the time I felt straight. Or possibly thought I could be. I can honestly say that I thought I was, right then and there. Deep down I knew I was gay, but I was faking it all so well that I almost started to believe it myself.

             The girl that I ‘liked’ had an ex boyfriend who was tragically messed up. I think he was bipolar. (Now I think I am). He once wrote the name of a girl on his arm with scissors. That didn’t surprise us because we kind of all knew he was cutting himself. Everyone told him to stop and they got him help. I thought that was ridiculous and immature not knowing that I would be following the same footsteps.

             Summer ended and the day after I left town I told that girl I liked liked her. She said the same thing but didn’t know if I felt the same way. How cute. Wrong. We soon started dating. Long distance dating. Wasn’t that cleaver? We broke up about seven months after. I was the one to end it. I told her I “needed time.” But the truth was that I just couldn’t take it anymore. Guys still would look appealing to me. I did love her though. I don’t know in what way. But it really hurt when we stopped talking. There was something missing in me now. She was my first love.

              From there it was just a spiral of hate. My life wasn’t going too well and I had to deal with the fact that I was gay. I played the happy guy for so long until I couldn’t take it. There was so much pain. I didn’t want to feel it. I was jogging that night. In our back yard. I was so overwhelmed that I just got on the ground and started crying. I was so mad on how my life was turning out to be. The next ting I knew I was picking up a rock and sliding it along my arm. It felt as all the pain was running out of the fresh wound.  For the first time in a long time I didn’t feel pain inside, I felt it on the outside. A minor distraction fooling my brain into a better state of mind.

            I didn’t think about it. Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like? Maybe I was curious? Maybe it was the feeling of wanting to touch fire but knowing you were going to get burned anyway. It was like that feeling you get when something isn’t working so you bang it on the side to make it work, like an old static TV. I knew it was wrong but I still did it. In a way it made me feel better. Like I was in control of the pain and the pain stopped controlling me.

             After that the thought of suicide would come and go for me. I always thought of ways I could end my life but I could never go through with them because I always thought of my mom and brother. Who would look after them? Who would protect them? Who would guide them? What would they do when I was gone? What would their reactions be? These questions only added to the already huge pile of stress I had. So it was more like a game. Did I want a painless death? Or did I want to feel pain? How did I want to be found? Who would find me? I am such an over analyzer that I was even over analyzing my own suicide! How pathetic. Well, I guess that’s why I’m still here, right?

             I got in to the habit of measuring how suicidal I felt. Some days it was 25% others it was 75%. When it was high I made sure I stayed away from sharp things because it seemed that I would go deeper. And in all of my scenarios, death in a pool of blood never seemed to suit me.

             One time, and the only time, I had been at 85% I  had self harmed my wrist really noticeable. I had to work the next day and a coworker saw. Her name was Jessica. She asked me what happened. I had wristbands on. Twenty One Pilots. I said nothing and just continued working like it didn’t bother me. She didn’t ask again. A month later I quit so I never saw her. She probably still works there. Her seeing my cuts didn’t make me quit.

             I’m pretty sure a lot of people noticed. I think Eli noticed once but never really paid attention or just waved it off, not sure if jenny ever did. I think Hellen did once, on my knee. She asked what where those scrathes I just told her I played to rough with my dog. Did anyone else say anything? No.

             I haven’t self harmed for almost nine months now. That’s only because I’m getting a tattoo removed and I read that having cuts or bruises will take the body’s focus away from helping eliminate the tattoo. I get an overwhelming urge but I always see my tattoo on my arm and how much I want it gone. At first it was hard to resist. But I soon got over it little by little. Hopefully I will never go back but that feeling will always be there.

             Maybe I’m bipolar. Maybe life as made me this way. Maybe I have made me this way. I see people go through shit and still have a smile on their face. Then again I don’t know what they do when they get home. Maybe they to self harm. In different ways. Drinking, smoking, hurting others. That’s the same as self harm. Inflicting pain somewhere else so the present pain will subside, but it never does, does it?

              So, that’s pretty much it. I am almost twenty-three years old and still haven’t come to terms with almost any part of my life. It’s weird. Because when I see a girl and I really like her personality I do think, wow she would make a great wife, or, I wonder what it would be like to date her.  So maybe I’m bisexual? Pan-sexual? It doesn’t really matter. My sexuality doesn’t defined me. Plus, would I even want to date anyone knowing all the shit my life as turned into? Yeah, they would have to be some type of super human to put up with me. Plus all the world wants is sex, and I just want to be held and taken care of.

Anyway there it is. The truth, raw, candid, and straight to the point.