My Life: The Unspoken Monologue

As a school assignment, we were to give a presentation about the reasons why we wanted to be a therapist. I, of course, decided to write a monologue about my life and how it led to me being in a classroom learning skills to become one. However, as the weeks progressed and my monologue became more personal, I decided that I was not ready to share. Instead I gave a presentation using family photos that showed a glimpse into my personal life. I concluded by saying that I wanted to be a therapist for my family. Funny, how I almost convinced myself that this was the truth.

Through the process of looking at my childhood, adolescence, and adult life, I discovered just how much of my past I had been running from. I do hope everything makes sense. Thank you.

In order to understand why I want to be therapist, I had to reflect back.

I thought of when I was a kid and how I constantly heard my mom get yelled at by my dad.

I remember how she just stood there, took it all, and begged him to stop drinking.

I thought about when my dad drank, his anger, and the pain I felt when he hit me and my older brothers.

I remember my older brothers, the drugs they took, them getting locked up, and taken away.

I thought about how alone I felt, the bad thoughts in my head, and how scared I was of someone finding out.

As a child, I wanted to escape my family.

But those thoughts of hanging and drowning myself became unbearable.

Instead, I decided to separate myself from my family. That way their problems were no longer mine.

My older brother wasn’t schizophrenic. He faked all the voices he heard in his head. And just for attention, he lost those twenty pounds. Barely slept. Never showered. He stunk so bad from not cleaning himself after going to the restroom that my dad forced him into the bathtub, yelled at him, and threw water on him until he was clean. Slowly his screams faded. He never learned his lesson.

My other brother, I hated him. His promises and his lies. The last real conversation I had with him was when we were both outside staring at the clouds and he turned to me and told me that things were only going to get worse from there on. This was before the meth. Before he got locked up for breaking into an empty house to sleep in when my dad finally decided to kick him out. Before the drugs messed with his head so much that he could barely speak in complete sentences.

At the age of fourteen, I convinced myself that they deserved it. We stopped talking soon after.

Years later when both were deported, I was too focused on school to care. And when one of them went missing, I was too concerned with moving to San Francisco to pursue a degree in a field that helps people that he never crossed my mind. And when I graduated, I was too obsessed with finding the right job that I had forgotten to visit the remaining one. And when I got the job, I was too stressed out to notice that he needed my help.

At the group home, I worked most days and long hours. Heard all these tragic stories by clients. I thought I was making a difference.

Then one day, a client ran away and I ran after her. I didn’t mind her cursing at me or the fact that I was running into traffic. I needed to save her. We ran far until she eventually got tired and decided to lie on the grass. She turned to me and asked why I didn’t just leave her. Nobody wanted her and nobody cared. I stood there silently. As she began to cry, I thought about how alone she felt. Her life full of pain. How much she reminded me of my older brothers. All her life she struggled with abuse. At the age of eleven she started using drugs. At thirteen she was arrested. And at fourteen she was sent to the group home. Before she ran away, she was told that she needed to stay there a few months longer because she was caught using drugs again. She told me she felt stuck and just wanted to be home and see her family. As I looked back at her, I finally said that I cared for her and the only thing that mattered in that moment was her. She began to cry again, but a few minutes later she stopped. A staff came and we were able to get her to return back. The next day she thanked me for running after her and to let me know that I was fast as hell. I smiled. Weeks later she relapsed and months later she ran away again. I will never know what happened to her or if I ever made an impact.

So why do I want to become a therapist?

Because of the guilt. Because I convinced myself that if I help others, it will ease the pain of not helping my older brother’s. But it won’t. And I will continue to search for that missing void in my life. And it will hurt. But in time, I will learn to let go. Learn that not all the things I experienced were my fault. I know that’s not the healthiest reason. Or a good one. But that’s the truth. And perhaps, that’s what that assignment was all about.

 

Here’s a link to the audio version of my post. Thank you for all the support.

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My Life: Becoming a freelance writer

Hello? Is this thing on?

If so, I would like to say hi and welcome you to my blog. And for those who have not heard from me in years, I would like to apologize. My life these past two years have been chaotic (and that’s keeping it simple). I went from home to home trying to find a place to call my own, changed job positions, and invested a significant amount of time and money on pursuing a Masters degree.

However, life happened and I am no longer in the right circumstances to continue.

I hope to share with you, in time, that chapter of my life. You’ll understand all of my struggles, my joys, and my pains. But for now, I would like to share something that I have not told my family. I am trying to find meaning in my life and in the process, I have decided to become a freelance writer. To tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue about what I am getting myself into, but that has never stopped me before.

When my guidance counselor told me that I would not go to a four-year college, I ended up graduating from San Francisco State University with a B.A. in Psychology and minor in Counseling. When all my other brother’s dropped out of school, I applied to a Masters program and got in. And I will continue to move forward regardless.

My stories aren’t too sophisticated (trust me, I know). Nor are they grammatically perfect (that is a creative choice). But they are honest (I promise). And that’s why I want to write and make a living out of it. I want to share my story and help at least one person get through the day. Or to make them laugh. Or cry. Or make them not feel alone.

And with that announcement, I would like some help from you.

I know this may alienate the people who read my blog, but I would appreciate any leads that can help in me becoming a freelance writer or at least a place where I can make a living sharing my stories.

Here is a list of some stories that show off my writing skills. I hope you all enjoy them! 🙂

Life: A Message To My Future Daughter

The Night My Life Changed: An Introduction

The Brother Who Left My Life

The First Sexual Encounter Of My Life

I know it’s a long shot, but it’s an attempt. Hopefully someone out there can hear me. Thank you.

 

Sincerely,

EDDY

 

 

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.