The Balance of Two Worlds

As a writer I feel myself caught between different realms of both reality and fiction. It doesn’t help that I’m in the more practical major of journalism when my first love is fiction writing. Then there’s also the fact that I’m always creating different stories with different people and not all of them happen to take place on Earth as we know it.

I’ve always struggled with establishing order between all of it. I always felt that if I preferred one over the other that there’d be a severe penalty to pay. But now it seems like that way of thing has been wrong. Just like when I had that negative mantra of “I’m not allowed to be happy.”

Its nice to be wrong sometimes. I’m starting to find my balance. I find myself able to traverse between the different worlds. I’m able to do what needs to be done in reality and write to my heart’s content just like all the other working writers that came before me.

I’ve been writing lot of drafts lately. It feels like the gears in my mind were stuck until now. This morning I went nuts with making the details on this story world I’ve been working on. It feels great.

Now back to reality…

I got my exam back from earlier this week. I crushed it!! I totally crushed it!! I have two incompletes recorded from spring semester, but now I have chance at making things right again. I spoke with both my professors. It’s more work put on my lap, but I can handle it. I’m not the same as I used to be. So it can be done.

I want to dive in and get back to my fiction, but right now there’s only so much I can do on an empty stomach. I need to eat something!


The Fox and the Blue Bird

Remember when I said that I get signs from the Universe? These signs will come to me in a variety of forms, but no matter what the form it takes it will always get my attention. It’s very rare when they come to me in my dreams (even with the Dream Man), but that’s what happened.

I dreamt that I saw a blue bird and a fox. They came to me in separate scenes. First I saw the blue bird. It’s entire body wasn’t blue, just its wings. But my my mind registered it as a “blue bird” even though the rest of it was black. I was in someone else’s backyard and there it was. It flew and landed on the ground before me.

A little bit after that I saw a fox. Again, I was in the backyard of someone else. I remember because I saw laundry being hung out to dry. I was sitting on this back porch and this fox just walked up to me. It stared at me for a while. And then it helped its way into the house since the backdoor was opened. Someone made a comment about the animal, but they weren’t worried about it coming in. It came out the backdoor almost as soon as it went in. I remember this fox was smiling at me. It smiled at me the same way my favorite dog Jewels would.

As soon as I was able to wake up I went ahead and looked up what symbolism that they hold.

As far as the blue bird is concerned it’s a definite sign of happiness, a spiritual freedom, and psychological liberation. It coincides with some of my more recent posts. So I can’t ignore it. And I certainly cannot deny that I do feel better about a lot of things. I’ve been tight lipped about it. But I really do feel great. ev

But then there’s the fox. Generally the fox is supposed to represent a tricker. But then things got complicated when I kept seeing different scenarios involving a fox like, “If you dreamt that you killed a fox…” or “If you domesticated a fox…”

In this dream I wasn’t scared of the fox that I saw and the fox smiled at me like Jewels used to which makes me think that it was genuine. I honestly don’t know what to think of it. I’d prefer to not believe that there’s a trickster in my life or that there’s going to be one in the future. I’m just coming out of my shell here and getting past my trust issues. I don’t want to be suspicious of every person I come across now. That’d be like taking ten giant steps back when I’m finally making good steps forward.

Because I had a pleasant experience of looking at the fox then its supposed to mean that positive changes are afoot. I want to believe that this is true. The way things are going now even if there is a trickster somewhere in the foreseeable future he or she cannot undo all the good that’s happening right now unless there are something other than human.

So the better part of my day has revolved around trying to interpret this dream because evidently the Powers That Be seem to think that I’m some walking supernatural braintrust. Oh yeah and while I was waiting for the bus this morning I saw a butterfly for like the millionth time since last year. Except during this time last year the butterflies were dark colored and now they’re getting brighter colors. I keep getting a strange feeling overtime I see one.

Symbolism behind that revolved around resurrection, moving through different phases, transformation, and the world of the soul. “The world of the soul….” What, like the human unconscious? Great, then I’m officially living in the world of Persona then. Maybe I’ll become a Phantom Thief of Hearts. Wonder what my costume would be like? Or my Persona for that matter….

Nerd moment’s over!! Focus!! *slaps himself silly*

So yeah that’s happened. The signs have been very active this past year. Things started off bleak before, but if I’m reading these signs properly then things can only get better from this point on. That’s all fine and dandy, but that doesn’t change the fact that every time I get these signs I’m always left confused trying to make sense of it all.

I guess I’m supposed to just walk on faith and risk total annihilation. I’m just afraid that if I interpret things in the wrong way then…I’ll be punished somehow, all the progress I’ve made will become undone. I’ve had this irrational fear before. Maybe this is all so I can conquer it. I can rule out the “Dream Man” coming to find me. If I start thinking about stuff like that now then it goes against what I had posted over the weekend. I still need to focus on me. I need to focus on loving myself more. I need to get to the point where I can say, “Hey! I’d date me!”

It’d be so much easier if I had some kinda guide for all this. *eyes roll* But nooooooooo…..

Anyway that’s it for now. I’ll figure something out. Someway, somehow.

My Dream Man

It’s a quiet and lazy Sunday here at the Nest. The leaves are falling down, the wind is blowing, the weather is finally calling for long sleeves, hoodies, beanies, and long pants. All of which are my favorite things in the world to wear. I’m doing all that I can to keep myself from drowning in my own thoughts.

I’ve splashed my hands in peppermint oil. I’ve got the soundtrack from Nier Automata playing as I type. I’m brainstorming how to properly word how two lovers actually “Netflix and Chill” in a story that I began writing two weeks ago and left at 593 words. I’m choosing to write when I could be studying for this exam that I have tomorrow afternoon.

The last few days have left me in a daze and I’m doing everything that I can to bounce back from it so I can regain my senses. A few days I posted about how I have this crush on one of my professors. And then I started to think about all my other failed romances. And how at one point there was this recurring dream I’ve had where I did meet the love of my life.

This “Dream Man” is nobody that I know in real life. But he started appearing in my dreams years ago. I can’t quite make out the details of his face. The memory of it is really hazy. But I remember that he was taller than me. He had to be at least 6″0 or 6″1. His skin tone was tanned and light brown colored. I think he was Hispanic or some Mediterranean descent. He had dark hair cut at a short length. His body had a muscular, lean build to it. I remembering imagining him as a swimmer or a runner during his high school years.

I remember the warmth I’d feel when he took me into his arms and held me. I remember the way his lips tasted like something sweet. I remember him always assuring me in those dreams that everything would turn out all right in the end. I remember always feeling happy with him. I remember feeling safe. I remember the whole thing felt like a fairy tale.

I’d imagine the dates we’d have. A walk through this grand aquarium, enjoying ourselves to frequent coffee dates, having a boring evening at a home we’d share together, and how we’d reach the “happily ever after” we both wanted for ourselves.

The dreams and the images came to me after I tried killing myself and I was done with therapy back in 2009. Before that I had the worse luck with romance. But I felt in my bones that this “Dream Man” was the one for me.

I remember thinking that he would be reward if I kept improving myself, if I never fell back into depression again, and if I chose to stay alive. I remember how badly I wanted it to be real. I remember thinking that if I found this “Dream Man” then that would be that; the end of my long journey, the magical solution that would end all things depressing and painful, and that I’d finally be at peace. I’d finally be allowed to be happy.

At some point those dreams stopped. But I still retained those daydreams of date nights complete with dinner and a movie, laughing at corny jokes, fighting over dumb stuff like any normal couple does only to have great make-up sex later.

I still yearn for the “Dream Man” to come into my life and all that comes with it. But now I’m beginning to think that all this time I’ve been wanting it for all the wrong reasons.

I’ve been coming to terms with a lot of things since I started up this blog. I had to pick myself up to go to therapy, to go to class, do the work that needed to be done. I’m the one that found the house to move into, I found the roommates, I was persistent in moving into someplace better than the Cottages. I fought off my “Nightmare Syndrome” day in and day out. I fought my own battles and saved myself. And this isn’t some recent epiphany. I’ve been managing to handle myself for a really long time now, even before coming to Boone. Whereas before I thought I needed someone to save me from my predicaments; mental, emotional, or otherwise.

But no. I managed to do a lot of things on my own when I remember the times where I couldn’t do simple, ordinary things that people unlike me have no problems doing at all. Like learning to cook, being able to write, being able to take chances and go for things. These were all things that I thought were impossible to do at one point. But I made them possible.

Yeah I’ve had my ups and downs, but it made me a better person. It made me stronger. It made me wiser. All that I experienced after the suicide attempt accumulated and made me into the person that I am now. I thought I had that lost that part of myself when I first came to Boone, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. That’s the “old self” I spoke of before. I never lost it. And that proves that I’m not broken or damaged in the way that I convinced myself that I was. And it means that no matter what comes my way I will be all right, with or without my “Dream Man”.

And as for him…I’m going through a lot of personal changes right now. I need to stay focused on me and keep getting better, stronger, and wiser. Because in all honesty the way things are now I wouldn’t date me. Which makes it more crucial that I stay focused on me and work on self love. That’s all I got to say.

A Voice

I came home to the Nest and turned on Netflix. For whatever reason I have Neo Yokio episode 3 playing in the background as I write. Even though I think this show sucks…

This is such a weeaboo show. And I don’t know whose acting is more atrocious, Jaden Smith or Tavi Gevinson. Tavi sounds way too old to be playing a teenager and she’s only 21 years old in real life. And the main character played by Jaden is just not relatable at all. The same goes for all his friends.

More importantly, were Susan Sarandon and Jude Law extremely bored between projects or did they owe someone money? I have to assume the latter because why else would they get themselves involved with hot garbage like this?

And why the actual and existing fuck do I have this shit playing when I know how abysmally bad it is? To give myself something write about? It helps. To serve as some distraction from my usual neurosis and yesterday’s shit storm? Again, it helps.

Okay I’m done ranting now. I’m honestly still reeling from yesterday even though I told myself, “I’m not going to obsess. I’m not going to obsess.”

Even right now while I type I’m fighting off the thoughts of yesterday like I would with my “Nightmare Syndrome”. My roommates read yesterday’s post and they tried to do the supportive thing. Something I’m not quite used to. All these years of being a social leper has messed me up in more ways than one. I appreciated the hug and the effort to try to make me feel better, but now I’m starting to wonder how much I suck at dealing with people in reality.

I don’t know how to be around people like I used to be. Just when I think I can go back to being the person that I was before Boone I get the rug pulled from under my feet. I feel like I’m back to my formative years. I have to start from scratch all over again. I don’t think or feel the same way like I used to. I’m this warped version of myself that I barely recognize. And it really doesn’t help that memories from the past keep coming back like when I wrote about that old friend of mine.

Maybe this is the part where I’m supposed to just give up on the idea of going back to who I was. Maybe this is the part where I have to let go. I don’t even know if this is the first I’ve said anything like this here, but even if it were it already feels like a dead issue. I am working my way up. I am changing. It’s just time to make peace with the reality of some shit. Because the more I mope about the past the more it comes across as self-torture.

Maybe then I can finally let go of the other stuff that’s in the past. The suicide attempt, the failed relationships, all the mistakes I’ve made, every stupid thing I’ve ever said or done, all the times I’ve felt myself hit rock bottom. God, that’d be liberating as fuck.

There was a point where I tried that. But then when I got the rejection letter from App State I somehow convinced myself that it was punishment for thinking that I could put everything behind me and just forget about it, that I could finally stop talking about it.

Then when I did open up about it, I told the wrong people about it. Remember that post I made about the guy I turned down for a coffee date? The one who loved to pounce on people in reality or on social media? One of the so called “Mean Girls”?

Well he and his friends kept calling me an attention whore. Minimized everything that I said. Didn’t want to understand that talking about it was not about seeking attention but it was supposed to be helpful to me. Helpful by being open about things. I felt like they had put a gag order on me. Like my voice was taken from me. Those people are out of my life now and I don’t miss them even a little bit. In fact, my blood still boils at the thought of them laughing about anything because it’s usually at the expense of someone else.

Now here I am on WordPress. Over 50 posts, 200 likes, and lots of followers. Now I have a voice. Now I’m able to write fiction for the first time in forever. I’m finally able to write for myself without fear or judgement. Where am I gonna go with all this? I won’t know if I stay where I’m at now.

Later days.

Tell Me Why

Maybe I’m still reeling from my earlier post, but something has always struck me as funny. Recently I’ve hit 200 likes here and I’ve got at best guess over 50 people following. I check the stats everyday because I’m finding that people from all over the world are taking the time out of their day to read and like what I’ve written. Two of the followers (that I know of) are actual writers who’ve had their stuff published.

I like that I have attracted people here even though it wasn’t my original intent when I started this blog. But after years of dealing with depression, social anxiety, feeling like a leper, developing mountain sized trust issues, and extreme isolation I can’t help but wonder…

“Okay what the fuck kind of voodoo am I working in my writing?”

If you’re one of my regular readers and followers please leave a comment and tell me why do you read the stuff I post? What is it that keeps you coming back? I need to know. Save me from my brain itch please!

Comment or email. I know both options are there.

Sarcasm is Not a Hidden Language!

So I’m known for being the sarcastic one in most social groups that I hang with. Growing up gay, being a writer, and living in the bible belt will do that to you.

Anyone whose ever read through any one of my posts will know that I have a very dark sense of humor. I haven’t let it show until lately because for the longest time that I’ve been living in Boone, no one understood a fucking thing I’ve said.

I quote a line from “Archer” and it flies over their heads. That still irritates the shit out of me. But I have to show restraint because there’s a line between being a wiseass and being some asshole that spews shit. I used to hang with the later and I got really sick of it. What’s even worse is that these guys were like a pack. I wouldn’t dare to say a pack of wolves. Because wolves are noble creatures and they’re my spirit animal. They’re more like the hyenas from the “Lion King”. What’s even worse is that they were bullies, in person and on social media. They would pounce me on Facebook all the time. One in particular, who I’m pretty sure was butt hurt that I turned him down for a coffee date. And I turned him down gently when I should’ve said, “I’m not into girls or bestiality.”

I love being sarcastic. I love my dark sense of humor. I love having the opportunity to use it whenever I can. But I also believe in tact. These bitches had no tact whatsoever. And they take pride in their sarcasm like they’ve mastered the art of some hidden language and I’m like…


When in reality all they’ve done is binge watch Mean Girls, Daria, and Kevin Smith films and repeat whatever they’ve heard. Oh but they think that they’re armed to the teeth with biting wit for life. And then they top it off with more Mean Girl quotes. I used to like that movie, now it’s forever ruined with their bullshit. Always reminding everyone, “On Wednesdays we wear pink.”

Yeah, Mean Girls wear pink, but a real bitch will be wearing black. I’m the latter!

Sarcasm is not a secret language! It’s not a merit of higher intellect! It doesn’t make you edgy, hip, cool, or better than anyone else. And if you abuse sarcasm and come off as an asshole you can’t just fall back on “I was just kidding” when someone is pissed off and doesn’t want to deal with your shit anymore.

I used to be no different from that. So I’m checking myself and going, “Hmm…pot, kettle, black?” But ya know what? The fact that I’m even aware of it shows growth. I’m certainly more grown up than those basic little fuckwits.

So fuck the tactless. Fuck Mean Girls. Just…fuck that shit.

Thus concludes this snarky queer rage filled rant.

I Face Myself

It’s Fall. So that should mean a guarantee of cooler weather and pumpkin spice lattes, right? That’s the ideal scenario but here I am chilling out in the campus library, waiting for the temperature to die down so I don’t have to be sweating buckets while walking from my bus stop to the Nest (my Boone home) while sporting my blue varsity jacket, which by the way I think I look pretty fucking cute in it.

I’ve had quite the week. My anxiety levels were kicking in. And was it for good reason? Nope, of course not. I was feeling down, my symptoms were acting up, and everything from my house work to my school assignments felt like these daunting tasks to take on yet again. Yup, they became monsters in my head that I had to put down. For those that have been faithfully following me since the summer time, remember that post “Being Real”? Where I compared my anxieties to fighting the actual Babadook? Yeah it was kinda like that. It wasn’t as extreme as that time, but it still had some force behind it.

So yeah, that happened. But I powered through it and lived to tell the tale. I still have some work to catch up on for one of my classes, but the teacher is very cool and understanding. There’s a box of fresh baked cookies in her immediate future, I guarantee it.

I was able to get some writing done over the last few days. And not just for one story either. There’s no outlining or anything. I’m flying by the seat of my pants with these drafts that I’m writing and I’m loving it. It is such a rush to rack up the words. What’s even better is that I’m finally able to cancel that part of my brain that’s always casting judgements that kept obstructing me. I’m writing like you would be dancing in a room like there’s nobody watching. It’s liberating! And it’s because I’m at the point where I can finally do it for myself. I’m beyond wanting to impress anyone. If only I had this mindset a long time ago. Things would have been wildly different I’m sure. But better late then never.

I don’t want to get into exactly what it was that triggered my little mental crisis because I was painfully aware of how dumb it was. My inner “Mr.Monk” came out to play. But I can take pride knowing that I’ve gotten stronger. I chastised myself about how foolish I was being and that going through it meant that I was weak. That I had been breaking apart again.

A bunch of interesting stuff came to mind when I realized that I’m never going to be Mr.Perfect, I can’t keep everything together, I can’t conform to someone else’s perception of what makes a functioning human being, but I don’t have to be ashamed of that. I feature two beautiful words that epitomize this concept. And a quote from one of my favorite movies.



I’m sloppy. I’m emotional. I’m a mess. I say things that make no sense sometimes. I do things that make no sense in the eyes of others. I’m different from others. I make mountains out of mole hills. I get knocked down. I get beaten. I break down. I’m full of flaws.

But I get back up. I keep trying. I take the broken pieces of myself and put them back together. I share my stories to show that I’m still standing. I survived what I went through. I’m a better person because of it. If someone wants to take all that and call me an attention whore, someone who loves to play victim, or whatever then I have nothing but pity for that person because I cannot make them understand. My experience is my own. My journey is my own. They do not get a say in it at all. I’ve got better things to do with my time and energy then to try and make them understand.

I am who I am. This is who I really am. You can accept me, love me, as a I am or you can stay out of the way. I will stay true to myself and I will gladly live with whatever consequences come with it.