Club Meds

Originally I was gonna title this “Pillhead” but I figured that’d be insensitive.

So Monday was D-Day for me. “D” as in “Doctor’s Appointment. I’ve been given my prescription for Zoloft. It’s only day three and I’ve already come to the conclusion that it kinda sucks. I’m already beginning to feel the side effects.

Can’t say that it comes as a shock. Doc did sit me through the side effects and instructions on how to properly use it. I knew this was a risk when I made the decision to go through with it. There’s no backing out now. I’m just surprised that it’s happening so soon. I’m only three days

I’ve already tried to white knuckle things for almost ten years now and now I can’t do that anymore. My knuckles are completely FUBAR. If I were a character in one of my whacky stories I would be bloodied all over and barely able to stand or hold anything. I’d be bed ridden, bandaged, and require constant nursing and monitoring.

Technically I’m already at that last part. My family is worried. My mom, my cousins, my aunties, everyone. My mom told me so during one of our last phone calls.

I’m only experiencing drowsiness so far. I felt it hit me in the middle of the day. I was able to power through it.

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This helped. I’ve been coloring a lot of pages lately. It’s mindfulness in practice. It allows me to keep the depression at bay. Just like my WWE game. Speaking of..

Booyah. Zoloft isn’t dulling my creative spark. Haha!!

This is the first time I’ve ever been medicated. It’s an adjustment. I will adapt. Drowsiness is the least of my worries as far as side-effects go. I will get past this. I am going to recover and I’m going to turn things around. Just like I’ve always had. Around this same time last year I was in a dark hole. I was able to crawl out of it that time. I can do the same thing again. I have to. My life is at stake here.

My primary goal is to get better. Everything else pales in comparison. I’m doing what is necessary to fight my depression and get better. I have to put myself first before everything else. When I think like that nothing else matters.

I can’t be afraid go through with anything just because of stupid side effects. I’m not suggesting I’m gonna power through all of them. No. If things get seriously bad I’ll call for help.

Yeah this drowsiness sucks. Feeling the pill get stuck at my throat like a rock pebble is irritating when it doesn’t go down with my food. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of experiencing other side effects. I’m just now wrapping my mind around all of this. I’m accepting the reality of it all. I’m not resisting anything anymore.

That’s all I got for now. I’m drowsy as fuck.

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That New Year, New Me Bullshit

It is day two of 2018. I celebrated New Year’s Eve with my relatives. The majority of that day was spent in the kitchen making both croquettes and sushi. My sushi game isn’t entirely perfect, but it’s a vast improvement from where I was in the beginning. It’s a not a recipe to take lightly. A fun time was had by all.

I’m not depressed or anything. Really, I’m not. But I kept my excitement for the New Year in check while everyone keeps talking about what they hope 2018 will bring, posting resolutions and lofty goals about some cliched stuff like losing weight, finding romance, or pursuing unfulfilled goals. Your run of the mill “New Year, New Me” bullshit.

I have thought of what I want, but I don’t feel like sharing it with everyone like I normally would. Besides, let’s be real, I’ve been sharing that sort of stuff in almost every other post I’ve ever written.

When I tried writing my own list of resolutions it came out looking like something else. It looked more like a “Fuck It” List. That much I will share.

There is some shit that I’m just done with. I say “Fuck It” to all that stuff.

I’m done with the following…
-Overthinking
-Overanalyzing
-Biting my tongue.
-Being invisible.
-Being so damned mindful of others at my own expense.
-Holding back everything I think or feel.
-Caring about how others think or feel.
-Fearing consequences.

I’m like Wade Wilson. My brain is switched to “Fuck it”. More than likely I’m gonna come off as someone whose campaigning for biggest bitch of the year. I don’t even care about that. That’s the upside of getting older. The older I get, the less I care. I pulled that line from Wanda Sykes by the way. It matches my mood. I no longer possess any type of energy for any artifice or facades of any kind.

At first I thought this was depression doing the thinking and talking for me. But nope, I’m just fed up with things the way they are and how I’ve been living my life up until now.

My life doesn’t completely suck. I’ve been in tighter, uglier spots. But I’m not living the fairy tale I’ve always wanted either. If anything had gone according to plan I’d have been done with college, be a published author, travelled to Japan, and have married the man of my dreams.

Meanwhile I see everyone getting what they want because they’ve followed through on their rigid 5 year plans. Then I get so jealous that my eyes turn emerald green. Jealousy is still such a abnormal feeling for me. I had never been jealous of anyone my entire life until four years ago. I wish I could cut it out of my body like a cancerous tumor just like everything else that I don’t like about myself.

So I’m gonna take that jealousy and use it as motivation. Everything that’s ugly in this reality will no longer obstruct me, but will give me power. Whatever I don’t like about myself I will not allow it to have control over me. Doesn’t matter if it’s my “Nightmare Syndrome” or anything else.

So there’s my “New Year, New Me” bullshit. I leave you with that.

My Personal Wish List

Despite the latest post where I ranted about a shitty week I had I’m in a good place mentally and emotionally. I’m better than I’ve been in years. Instead of waisting away in what used to be my prison cell at the Cottages of Boone I’m in a place that I’m happy to call a home away from home and I’m enjoying the view of snowfall while listening to Utada Hikaru and filling up blank pages with whatever comes to mind.

I remember a year ago around this time how desperate I was for change, how badly I wanted things to be better than they were. Things are better for the most part, but I want more.

Some of the things I want I probably can’t reach yet until I’ve reached a higher level of self-love. But it’s all something to look forward to. Dreams aren’t as impossible to realize like they were before. The only real difference then and now is that I’m actually taking the steps required to attain those goals instead of waiting for the universe to work its magic into my life and lamenting on how powerless and hopeless I am to do anything.

I like my roommates and I like the friends I’ve managed to make in Boone, but I don’t feel like I can share everything with them. I can’t let them in completely. We see eye to eye on a lot of things, but there’s a lot of stuff I like that they can’t relate to.

I love video games, anime, movies, pro-wrestling, Japanese culture, writing, superhero shows like Garo, Kamen Rider, Ultraman, and Super Sentai.

Meanwhile what’s everyone else into? White hipster shit.

It doesn’t help that I live in a house full of people that are as white as can be. I come from a Venezuelan family so there’s shit I’m used to that I’ve seen all my life that makes everyone else go…

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It reminds me of the dumb looks I’d get from people at Walker Hall students. That’s where all the students majoring in communication, journalism, and some number crunching crap all congregate. It doesn’t matter what I’d say. I could be telling them my name, my favorite thing to eat, or what direction the bathroom is at and they look at me like this….

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Like some dumbass deer in headlights. I remember wanting to pluck out their eyes and squash them like grapes every time I’d get that look.

I broke my roommates coffee maker the other day. It was made of glass. It was close to where all the washed dishes were collected. I reached to grab something, it tipped over, and shattered in the sink. As soon as I told my roommate the first thing that came out of his mouth was…

“Oh no!! That cost $60!!”

Now it’s my turn to make a face like this…

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Because look at this shit!

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It’s big, it’s glass, and clearly its fragile as fuck. And he paid $60 for this tacky freak of nature? It looks like it belong in a mad scientist’s evil lair! Unless the coffee that thing makes cures cancer or bestows immortality to whoever drinks it I don’t see why anyone would want to pay good money for this.

Meanwhile I make my coffee with this…

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You know how much this thing cost me? It costs $12! No lie! It makes damn good coffee!! And does it look like it breaks easily? This little episode just made me go….

“Pfft!! White people…I swear….”

I put that on my Facebook and my female roommate put up the angry reaction emoji for it. Do I regret it? NOPE.

Getting back on point…here’s my wish list.

1. I want to be more comfortable around people so I can let them in.
2. I want to keep focusing on self-love. I want to get to the point where I can say, “I’d date me.”
3. I want to keep writing and ultimately make a real career out of it.
4. I want to graduate from App State.
5. I want to go back to enjoying cooking.
6. I want to go back to enjoying movies even if I don’t have someone to go to the theater with.
7. I want people that I can talk to about all the nerdy things I like so much.

I’ll work toward these goals just as I have worked with everything else.

Later days.

Flash Flood of Anxiety

So it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything. I actually thought about quitting writing this blog because things aren’t what they used to be. I figure, “Well what’s the point? I’m gonna write about how blessed every part of my life is and just rub it in everyone’s faces?”

Well that’s no longer the case. This week was rough. It got off to a bad start when there was this freak thunderstorm that brought in all this heavy rain. It was horrible. Boone was practically flooded. School should’ve been cancelled that day. I had an instinct that told me to not go to my later classes, but then my female roommate was like, “Well you’re already here. You might as well go.”

Last time I ever go against my instincts again. My best jeans and sneakers were drenched. I had to walk around with soggy socks the whole day. People were stranded in school because bus routes were getting closed off. Water was seeping into other people’s apartments. And they still didn’t cancel classes. There wasn’t even an email that warned everyone about the bus routes getting closed off which, call me crazy, might seem like pretty good information to know when you’re living through The Perfect Storm! I was on my way to my last class of the day (which lasts from 5:00-6:15), I had just bought a decent sized umbrella, I had my bag closed up, I walked to class, and when I got in I found that my notebooks got wet while in the bag. That’s including the special notebook I have where I had been jotting down all my ideas during my big writing craze. I even had good drafts written in there. I was pissed!!!

My nerves started acting up. I wasn’t just pissed off. I was sad. I felt like the work I put into that book was lost to me somehow. Plus my laptop was in the bag to during that storm. It wasn’t wet and it works the same as ever (Thank God…), but if something had happened to it then things would’ve been worse. I have tons of drafts saved up in neat little folders. I had started writing a short story featuring one of my crushes from the WWE (Sami Zayn, in case anyone’s curious) and had managed to reach 9 pages with over 3000 words. That’s fucking biblical for me!! Especially after making a come back from writer’s block and the infamous Nightmare Syndrome.

I thought I was getting ready to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of class so I got up and excused myself to the restroom. I needed to collect myself, wash my face a little, and take deep breaths. Not 10 seconds after I stepped out into the hallway the clouds break apart and the sun is shining….AFTER the damage had been done. Now I’m even more pissed off!!

I wrote a Facebook status that read,

Dear Universe,

NOT FUNNY MOTHERFUCKER!!!!

Sincerely,
Alex/Pen

After that I tried to Uber my way back home, but had no such luck. There were no drivers working on that particular night thanks to Mother Nature. At this point I’m convinced that Mother Nature was a hatchet faced bitch troll that looked like Anne Coulter. So I walked to the bus stop. I wait like 20 minutes in the cold, wet, dark night. The driver almost missed my stop. After that I had to walk back home. Let me further emphasize that it was dark, cold, and wet that night and I didn’t feel comfortable walking that particular night. Especially when there are no goddamn street lights put up around the neighborhood!! There aren’t even any sidewalks!! Oh but there’s plenty of assholes that love to speed through those streets like they own the town! I’m lucky I didn’t get run over. I was dead tired that night.

Mercifully the special notebook wasn’t beyond ruin. It’s totally salvageable. There was just a huge water stain that freaked me out when I saw it the first time that let me think that it had been completely ruined. I survived that day and the rest of the week was dry. It was cold, but dry.

My stress levels were rising. I had projects after project that needed to be worked on. Mountains of work with deadlines fast approaching. Sleep was scarce. I have coffee where my blood should be. That should paint an accurate picture of what my caffeine consumption has been like lately. I’m able to get them out of the way though. I’m even able to keep writing my stuff too.

My anxieties were spiking up too. It was the first time in a very long time that it had happened. And let me tell you something…I still don’t fucking like it!!
That shit with the professor I was crushing on doesn’t count. That pales in comparison. By the way I don’t remember mentioning this or not, but I’ll repeat myself. I’m over that motherfucker!! I was wrestling with my personal Babadook and other monsters living in my head. I was able to silence them, but I still feel this uneasiness nesting inside of me.

It doesn’t help that I’m trying my hardest to work on this feature article for that class I got an incomplete on. I was on a roll with my fiction writing. Now all of sudden I’m bamboozled and can’t fart out even one shitty sentence despite the fact that I went out of my way to do my interview, put it on a voice recorder, and got all the relevant information. It’s not even an epic article! My professor encouraged me to go after the low hanging fruit to write something. And I did! I’m writing about a noodle bar, for fuck’s sake!!

I will not lose my shit. I will not lose my shit. I will not lose my shit.
IwillnotmyshitIwillnotlosemyshitIwillnotlosemyshit….

I haven’t had to use that mantra in a while. I didn’t miss it.

I know I’m able to get through all this. I know I’m stronger than all this. I know that I’m not going to fall back to rock bottom again. In reality not everything was horrible.

The more I’ve written the more I feel like I’m lead back to my real self again. I’ve become more social with people. I’ve discovered that I’m actually funny, I like making people laugh. I’m allowing my hair to grow back which is proves to me that I’m at a point where I’m more comfortable with myself. I’m working on loving myself more and I’ve made progress.

I’m going to power through this last assignment, turn it in, get more of my fiction writing done, and then binge watch Stranger Things!

Signing off now!

More Noise Than Usual

So today started off like any normal day since moving into the Nest. I woke up feeling good. I fixed myself a nice cup of bustelo with the right amount of milk and sugar. I finished watching episodes of Fuller House. I put on a nice outfit and came to this earth shattering conclusion, “I don’t need to look good for someone else! It’s better that I do things for me!”

I made a Facebook post about it. Got a nice response from a friend who commented, “That’s when you look your best. Fireworks don’t explode or light up their brightest for the people down below to watch, to them, the pleasure isn’t the explosion or blast, it’s in that ignition, that spark, it’s a satisfying energy, it’s friction, its heat, it’s a pop, the brilliance of what follows is simply the aftermath of a beautiful experience. Ignite that spark. Feel that chemical reaction, that minute but wonderful experience, an instance where you what you were meant to be.”

And I added, “I’m not limiting this mindset to appearances alone.”

My friend says, “Everything you do then is beauty in action.”

I concluded that with, “Poetry in motion.”

So I go to my one class of the day. My professor came in and asked if I had forgotten my book. Apparently there was a reading that was due today and I didn’t realize it. I didn’t even realize that my book was missing until this morning because I was caught up with other assignments and the usual neurotic crises I deal with on a regular basis.

He asked if I left my book and I’m confused. Again, I didn’t realize that my book was missing. I’m putting the puzzle pieces together in my brain and thinking out loud, “I can’t remember the last time that I was holding it in my hands and I didn’t see it at the house…”

So then he placed it on his desk and walked off to his computer and I could hear him speak under his breath, “Well it sounds like you didn’t even try looking for it at all.”

I felt like I had just been sucker punched in the gut.

“Did he just throw shade at me…?”

Immediately I had scribbled down on some paper, “Over it?” I circled the phrase. Drew a little arrow that pointed to the answer I had written, “So over it…”

What am I over? Here’s a little something I neglected to write about. I have a crush on my professor. He’s a young professor, 100% gay, and conventionally good looking.

I have a crush on him. I gushed about it to my friends. I day dreamed about it. I kept saying, “Hey! Attendance isn’t going to be an issue!”

I even went through the trouble of making myself look presentable to him since the semester started. That’s hard for me to pull off because I’m probably the one gay man that didn’t grow up with a Fairy Godmother that’s supposed to hit me with the pretty stick and infuse me with all the knowledge on looking good and catching a man. Nor am I armed to the teeth with wit whenever I have to speak in class.

But then I decided to give up on the idea of pursuing him when I got a paper graded back from him. I got a “C” for an assignment that should’ve been an easy A for me.

On the one hand I misunderstood the assignment. I made a fool of myself through writing and that irks the hell out of me. I hate it when something I wrote turns out horrible. I even wrote his name wrong on the paper!! But then I reacted with a thought like this…

“Wow….you are so not cute anymore….”

I was mad about the assignment. I already figured that because of that I no longer had a shot with him. Plus that “C” was a hard blow to my ego.So I told myself, “Not worth it anymore. This isn’t worth pursuing. It’s a stupid crush. That is all.”

So back to the present….

I’m sitting in class, not looking at my professor, choosing to focus on jotting down notes based on what we’re discussing in class. I didn’t do the reading, I needed to do something productive with my time in class. Writing has always helped me. And I was writing notes. I could’ve jumped into my fiction writing except I chose to sit in the front row of the class so I would not have the compulsion to go off into my own little world.

But then when class ended he asked to speak with me. He’s genuinely worried because evidently he’s noticed how withdrawn I’ve been in class. I’ve pretty much shut down since that “C” graded paper. This was probably two weeks ago.

He says he noticed me withdrawn, writing stuff, not participating, and I explain myself, “I was writing notes.”

He brought up the reading assignment, “I didn’t have my book. I didn’t even know it was missing because I was busy with other assignments and I thought we were doing something else.”

He asked, “What’s going on with you?”

I just blurted out, “I have a lot going on in my mind. A lot of stuff that’s best left discussed with a counselor.”

When I said that he reassured that he wasn’t trying to pry into my business. I knew that but I said it anyway to get him to back off. Even though it wasn’t a complete lie.

I said, “I’m sorry if I made you worry. I’ll catch up with my work.” And then I quickly grabbed my stuff and got the hell out of there.

The entire time I’m walking back to the bus stop and the whole ride home I’m replaying the conversation in my head. Bits and pieces of it anyway. My thoughts became fragmented. And I’m criticizing myself. I’m nitpicking at the way I sounded, the things I said, whether or not I even maintained eye contact with him, how many times did I look away, and blah blah blah. I feel like an even bigger fool now.

But then I’m thinking dumb lovesick thoughts like, “OMG he noticed me!” “Does this mean he likes me after all? “”He must like me!”

And I’m pissed at myself when not one hour before that conversation I had convinced that I was, “So over it”.

And here I am now trying to hold it together because I don’t want to lose my shit over a goddamn crush. The whole thing has made me crazier than I already am and I have no choice but to let it work its way out of my system.

I don’t know what to do. I’m 31 years old for fuck’s sake and I don’t know what to do. I don’t have anyone to hold my hand and coach me through everything whenever I’m like this!

I just needed to get that out of my system. My thoughts were scrambled, my brain was blowing fuses, and I couldn’t find the words to describe anything until now.

I need to calm down and eat something. All this has left an empty pit in my stomach. I’m so hungry that I could eat a small child.

Bye.

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…

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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.