My Life: A Story

A STORY:

There was this guy. Average in every way possible. He was a nice guy. Quiet and shy. One day he realizes he is gay. Of course he doesn’t tell anybody. So life goes on. And as the years go by, he becomes confused. And confused. And confused. Lost. And lonely. Eventually he gets used to the loneliness. Then one day he decides to act on his desires. Having meaningless sex. After meaningless sex. After meaningless sex. But then he meets a guy and he falls in love. Not knowing that the person he loves will never love him back. So the day comes and he gets his heart broken. And he cries. And cries. And cries. Now he walks the earth, trying to mend his broken heart.

THE END

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My Complicated Life (A Satire)

I complicate my life too much. Honestly.

I don’t mean to make things complicated. Things just turn out that way.

If I wasn’t so reluctant to publicize my life to friends and family, I would have updated my relationship status to “It’s complicated.” My 2 year on-and-off relationship would have ended the day after my ex and I met for sex, but it didn’t. Instead I chose to seek him, love him, lose him, seek him again, fight for his love, lose interest in him, have him seek me, regain interest in him, love him again, lose him again, and complicate my life even further. I had it all wrong. I thought drama sought me, but I seem to seek drama.

All my life I wanted to be spontaneous and fun, or at least have an exciting life, but this fantasy just complicates my life. Fun and spontaneous means going to random clubs and drinking until I black out, but mix in my sexual provocative behavior (grabbing and kissing random strangers) and you will have a story to tell during our sober interactions. I will then assure you that I am not a wild party animal because…I really am not. I just don’t know other ways I can be fun and spontaneous. I complicate my life without knowing just how complicated I make it. You see, I have mistaken drama with fun and that always complicates things.

And if you want to start a relationship with me, I will convince you that I am not ready to start dating but get angry when you don’t want to date me. Heck, I will even tell you that I am not looking for sex, but I will have naked pictures ready and be fine if you ask to have sex with me. I’m not complicated. I just make things complicated.

Want to be my friend? I hope not. You will have to text me at least once a week or I will get angry at you for not replying. I may even forget about you. But I will tell you that you shouldn’t get mad at me when I don’t text you because “I was just too busy.” I will treat you as if you and I were in a relationship because being in a real relationship is just too hard for me right now. Instead, I will complicate our friendship.

My complicated behavior isn’t limited to friends and boyfriends. Nope. If you’re a family member, I will love you from a distance because that’s how we always did it. I will make an appearance during big holidays or special events in our lives, but I’ll be on my own most of the time. I will say I’m happy even though I know that you know I am not. I won’t be completely honest with my feelings or my relationship because you just aren’t ready to hear my truth.

My truth: My first relationship fucked me over. I have trust issues now. I seek attention from guys. I fear yet want a relationship. I sometimes distance myself from my friends because getting too close to someone can go wrong. My fear of disappointing my family over my sexuality keeps me from being completely honest with them. They won’t be able to understand me.

Dang, I honestly complicate my life too much.

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My Dating Life

I am destined to be single. End of story…Well kinda.

I want to talk about my dating life.

I’ll start by telling you that I have a bad past. When I first started coming to terms with my sexuality, I was having a lot of meaningless sex with guys I met on gay dating sites or Craigslist (go ahead and judge). I met these guys discreetly. I was just a random hook up, a mediocre at best and a lousy one at worst. See, back then the idea of being in a relationship was hard for me to understand.

After a few years of discreet hook ups, I met my first boyfriend (at least, that’s how I would like to describe our relationship). We met, had sex, and continued talking on-and-off for two years. The reason being, he was in an on-and-off relationship with his boyfriend of five years (I found out nine months into our relationship). I have a bad habit of getting myself into bad situations. We stopped talking months ago and now I’m officially single.

To be honest, I’m scared of being alone, but aren’t we all? I just don’t want to go back to the meaningless sex. I never want to feel like an object to be used for sex ever again.

I have gone on a few dates. Each ending with the guy being recently single and not ready to start a relationship, only wanting sex, showing no interest, or living too far from me. I’ve been using Grindr, OkCupid, Adam4Adam, and Jack’d, but I can’t seem to find a “single” guy in Orange County who wants a relationship. I don’t know what to do anymore.

I have condensed my search to taller, older, nerdy, white guys. I can’t help it. I think they are just the cutest! I’m attracted to their sense of entitlement, pale skin, travel stories, and vastly different ways in which they grew up compared to me. It took many years to develop this preference. And many heartbreaks. But I’m a bit closer to knowing the type of guy with whom I want to start a relationship.

My best friend once said that I’m smart, funny, caring, and genuine. And I believed her. Until I realized that there isn’t a guy out “there” who wants to be with me. I guess it was just her job to lie in order for me to feel better.

I’m not sad or depressed. I’m actually in a very exciting point in my life. I would just like to share these moments with someone. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Are guys really only interested in looks? I guess I’ve never been “sexy,” “hot,” or physically attractive enough for this gay world (or the world in general). I forgot that’s all gay guys want in the end. I don’t mean to sound so negative. I’m normally not. Honest. But lately, I’ve just given up. And I’m tired of trying.

I mean…I have dreams. I have goals. I have a job and on my way to having a great career working with adolescents and children. I have ambition. I want kids in the future. I want to get married eventually. I’ve never cheated. I find the idea of an open-relationship morally wrong. I don’t care much about looks (heck, I have a hard time knowing what pieces of clothing match). Are my values just different from many guys? Why can’t I find a guy who wants what I want? I guess I’ve just been trying too hard to find Mr. Right.

I just want a guy who will like me as much as I like him. One we is curious to know more about me and will ask me as many questions as I ask him. One who will randomly call me because he wants to talk and will stay awake late at night to text me even though he has to wake up early for work in the morning. One who enjoys going to the beach or staying home to watch a Batman movie. One who likes to cuddle and kiss. One who isn’t afraid to share his feelings and doesn’t hesitate to hold my hand. One who laughs at my corny jokes and tries to make me laugh. One who will let me into his life. But who am I kidding? I’m just being unrealistic.

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My Boring Life

I always wanted my life to be fun. The type of fun others defined for me. The party life, the fun life. I used to daydream about having a life where I would party with friends all night and drink more than my body could handle. I would dance promiscuous in clubs, make out with many guys, and have plenty of crazy stories to tell the next morning. What a fun life. A life I lived.

To be honest, I have my share of crazy party stories. I’ve drank and thrown up in front of my friends several times. I’ve blacked out and woken up in random places. I’ve gotten in fights while drunk and woken up with bruises. I’ve grinded on many gay guys. I’ve done more sexual things in clubs than legally allowed. I’ve danced shirtless and on poles. I’ve flirted with straight guys. I’ve made out with straight girls. I’ve gotten home way past 5am on several occasions. I’ve been an angry drunk and a fun drunk. I’ve accidentally snorted coke and forgot the nights events. I was roofied once. I’ve been date raped, and refused to accept it. I’ve cried many times in the bathroom while my friends were outside drinking. I’ve fucked up plenty and there’s no denying I’ll fuck up again.

I’m not not regretting what I’ve done or say I will never party again. I just want you to know that I’ve cried a lot during those two years of partying, drinking, and having random sex. That type of life can really mess you up.

I tried to convince myself that drinking was fun. I tried to pretend the people I met in these clubs and bars were my friends. I tried to convince myself that I was in a “real” relationship. Most of all, I tried to convince myself that I was a fun person, but I’m not. I’m done with the party scene and I’m done lying to myself.

Truth is, I’m boring, but I like being boring.

I like watching a random movie at home with my family. I like going to the beach and listening to the sound of waves by myself. I like running alone at night and taking long walks during the day. I like admiring the view while my friends drive long-distances. I like watching people as I take the bus or train to my destination. I like listening to House music or love songs when I need to escape my reality. I like having small dinners and spending hours talking with my friends.

I like my life. No matter how boring it may be.

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The Roommate Who Saved My Life

When I was 21 years old, I moved to San Francisco by myself. At that time, I didn’t realize just how lonesome the real world could be.

This is the story of how my roommate saved my life and how I wasn’t there to save his.

His name was Justin, a sailor who had recently moved from Maine to San Francisco in order to attend the local community college. He was white, short, and skinny. He often wore tight t-shirts, tight cut-off shorts, and too much makeup that made him look feminine. He fit my stereotypical image of a gay man, so I knew he was gay when I first saw him. He was flamboyant when he wanted to be and usually spoke whatever was on his mind, no matter how inappropriate his comments were at times.

We were the complete opposites, but we got along quite well. We shared details about our lives during the first days he moved into the house, and we quickly developed a friendship. I wanted to be completely honest with him, so I decided to tell him I was gay. At first, he looked at me in shock and then, very excitedly, told me he would take me to gay clubs, bars, and show me around the city. I smiled. He was my first true friend in San Francisco.

On our first night out, Justin gave me vodka to calm my nerves, but I felt more nervous and drunk by the time we arrived at the club. Once inside, I couldn’t believe I was seeing men kiss, touch, and dance with each other. Suddenly, I became part of the gay world and I felt strange and partly scared. I wanted to go back, but Justin didn’t allow me. My world had just been changed and Justin was to thank.

While inside the club, Justin warned me that the gay world was all about sex and that I should be careful because men in these clubs prey on younger guys. I looked around and saw a room full of friendly men; his comment confused me. He advised that long-distance relationships do not work because most gay guys cheat; I assured him that my boyfriend and I were happy even if we were living far away from each other. Finally, he told me that most gay guys in the community have fucked around with each other, so a true gay platonic friendship was rare. I didn’t know what to say; I had no intentions of messing around with him.

That night an older man tried to take me to his place because he knew I was drunk. Luckily, Justin found me before my panic attack worsened and we took a taxi back home. After that incident, he told me that he would be there to protect me. And he kept his word.

I can go on and tell you about the many times Justin took care of me when we went out clubbing or how he called me a prude for being so afraid to show my sexuality. Or that one night he said I dressed too “straight” and decided to dress me in a tight flannel shirt that showed some skin. Or how we spent hours in his room talking about music, our families, our relationships, and the little friends we had. But that’s not the story I want to tell.

Justin passed away in April of 2012. He was only 22.

I had only known him for 2 months before he moved back home, but that was enough for us to consider each other friends. But soon I became busy with school and we hardly talked. I last messaged Justin a few weeks before his death to tell him that my boyfriend had cheated on me throughout our relationship. Justin was right, gay guys often cheat.

I learned of Justin’s death later that month. It was ruled as an accidental fall.

Truth of the matter, Justin had been going through some hard times. He didn’t have many true gay friends he could talk with about his problems, so he often took trips by himself when he wanted to clear his head. I often wonder what would have happened if I was there to talk with him during the night he fell off the tower. Truth is, I often think about him.

You see, Justin tried to teach me about the gay community, but he taught me about life. Older, more experienced, individuals can take advantage of younger, less experienced, people. Sometimes relationships just end or people cheat while being in one. More importantly, he taught me that true friends are rare.

I needed Justin during that time in my life. The gay world for a newly “out” individual can be dangerously lonely.

On the night he moved out, we were avoiding that awkward goodbye hug. Finally, after constantly checking his room for any missing belongings, he approached me. He gave me a hug and said that I was one of the good guys. He said that I shouldn’t be afraid of being myself, my gay self, and to take care of myself. I told him I would try to be more gay and for him to take care of himself too.

If I knew that would be the last time we would see each other, I would have hugged him longer and tighter. I would have thanked him for being there to teach me about the world and for protecting me from the bad guys. I would have told him that I loved him for being himself. I would have told him that he could always talk to me whenever he wanted to cry. But I didn’t say any of that.

As he drove off, I waved goodbye. I then went to his empty room and cried.

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Reclaiming Love: The First Monologue About My Life

I don’t know why I said yes to presenting my story to a random audience, but I’m glad I did.

I’m a shy person with a really soft-spoken voice. You will have to ask me to repeat myself a few times before you’re able to understand what I had just said. It’s that bad. So instead I stay quiet hoping nobody will talk to me. I think that makes me socially awkward.

My public speaking skills are terrible too. I sometimes leave my hands in my pockets throughout the presentation and don’t remember to take them out until the very end. I think that gives away my inexperience with public speaking. Or possibly when I start talking fast, start stuttering, or begin rambling; one of the three.

One day I was asked by a coordinator of a Men Can Stop Violence program at school if I wanted to present “my story” for an event called Cocktales. The name sounded funny and I told him that I didn’t have a story, but that I was interested. He said there was something about me that made him think there was a story. I think being one of two men in a classroom of 28 women made me an easy person for him to recruit for his event. Who knows?

A few days later I received an email with details of the event. The event was about “Creating a space [for men] to talk about masculinity. Men can begin to hear other men’s real stories about their journey from recognizing privilege to emotional pain and ultimately finding peace within themselves”. The theme for that year was Reclaiming Love. The email listed topics about love such as: unconditional love, self love, forgotten love, love to a parent, loving the feminine, indigenous love, loving yourself, and a bunch more. I didn’t know what topic to choose, so I picked a few and met with the coordinator.

Over the next couple months we went over “my story” and began narrowing the topics down. I was excited to be writing about my experience with love even if it was limited. I was pouring my heart out into this monologue to the point where I had to stop writing because I would begin crying in the library. I had never presented a story of myself to an audience, so I didn’t know how much I wanted to tell. I was naive and told a lot more than I should have.

On the day of the event I was nervous to say the least. We had rehearsals a few days earlier, but I needed more than one day to prepare. To tell you the truth, I’m the type of person who has to remember his presentation word-for-word even if it takes me days to remember. I was so frightened to present that I kept pacing back and forth backstage trying to rehearse my lines. I kept on going to the bathroom more times than I needed and the guys kept on looking at me strangely. They told me to relax and that I would be fine. I was sweating so much, but managed to calm down before they called my name.

Here is my monologue:

By the end of the night, many people came and told me what a heart-felt performance I gave. And to be honest, it really was from the heart. I told them a story of myself that I didn’t know people could relate to or cared to hear. I surprised myself and even my friends who showed up to support me. For that night, I wasn’t that socially awkward person or that person who was scared of speaking in public. Somehow I felt confident for having the strength for telling the audience a person story of myself. I felt proud and smiled the rest of the night.

My family doesn’t know that I gave this monologue and perhaps now is the time to tell them.

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My Life….Censored

I’m in a better place in life right now, a much more peaceful place.

The months after graduating from San Francisco State have been chaotic to say the least. I have behaved in certain ways that shocked me. I have said certain things that I shouldn’t have said. I thought things that many people would consider morally wrong. To tell you the truth, I just lost control of myself, but I’m taking it back now.

I remember having a conversation with my best friend about me one night (something I rarely do). She told me she was concerned about certain things I have done in my life to the point where she considered ending our friendship. She hoped that I would change once I realized that the things I do affect the people in my life. I didn’t know what to say. I felt hurt. So I began telling her the story of my childhood. I told her about my parents, my brothers, the teasing, the fighting, the crying, the neglect, the hiding, the frustration, the anger, and the pain. I cried. I’m glad she didn’t end our friendship that night.

I have been thinking about what I’ve gone through the past few years and how much of these stories I have shared with people. To be honest, I probably shouldn’t be sharing everything that I have gone through. You will criticize me (I know you will).

I can tell you the confusion about my sexuality and being neglected as a child played a major role in how I behaved. I have woken up naked in a house with three random strangers (I’ll let your imagination fill in the blanks); I have walked drunk for hours in the rain at two in the morning because I wanted to sleep next to my ex; I have had sex in the house and cars of random men in order to fill a certain void in my life; I have been drunk way too much and have had many panic attacks; I have been a stalker and stepped over many boundaries; I have deliberately made others feel bad about dating me; I have demanded instant replies to my texts and calls;  I have been way too clingy and needy; I have made fake dating profiles to get information from people; I was playing a role in my head and I lost touch with reality.

My best friend once said that I was fully aware of my actions (I really wasn’t), that I understood the consequences (I really didn’t), and that I was able to reflect and explain the reasoning for my behavior really well (I just rambled). She didn’t understand how someone with a psychology degree could behave so destructively. She was concerned about the risks I put myself through and didn’t want me to throw my life away. She was right.

I realized that I had put my life at risk far too many times and I need to change. I also realized that I have to maintain a certain image in the field that I am wanting to go in, so I should learn to censor myself. I’m 23 and I have made plenty of mistakes in my life. I have way too much to learn about myself and about people.

Perhaps the time isn’t right for me to tell the most darker parts of my life. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you about the events that almost lost me a friend. Perhaps a glimpse of my life is enough for you right now.

I have been busy volunteering and attending workshops. I took my behind-the-wheel driving test and passed. My best friend and I are becoming closer than ever. Reality hit me and now I’m at a peaceful place in my life.

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