I didn’t sleep last night thinking about yesterday…

I didn’t sleep last night thinking about yesterday’s post. I haven’t thought about S.G. in any kind of depth in a long time. As I wrote last night I realize how much I miss what we had together. Of all the boyfriends that I have had he was the most affectionate, thoughtful, and caring. There was a Valentine’s Day present that he gave me that is still one of the most wonderful gifts I have ever been given. I miss him.

When S.G. broke up with me I was fine for two weeks. Then I lost it at work and had to go home. I spent the rest of the day crying in bed. If the truth were told, I spent the next six months in bed crying. I became depressed, desolate, and desperate. I told myself that I would do anything to get him back and thus began the long painful journey of getting over the relationship.

I found myself unable to function in any capacity. Luckily the restaurant I was working for at the time was understanding. I would go to work and break down into tears. I would come home and immediately go to bed and cry for hours. As the days went by the feeling got worse. I didn’t know it at the time but I was in the midst of a Romantic Obsession. I refused to let him go.

I don’t know how to write about this without sounding completely nuts. But in truth at the time I probably was nuts. In the months that followed I felt depression like I had never known it before or since. I was fixated on who S.G. was with. Who he was spending time with. Did he have another boyfriend. He had a good friend that lived on the second floor of the house we had rented. He would come to visit her and I would pray that he would stop to see me. I would call him at all hours of the night. Many times I was able to convince to stop by and see me. This only made things worse because when he left I became distraught. I began to follow him. I would park across the street from his parents house to find out what time he came home. I would call him at school at all times during the day. I was becoming his own Fatal Attraction.

There were days that I was on the verge of suicide. I would take sleeping pill after sleeping pill trying to go to sleep. They never seemed to work. I would lay for hours watching the time go by one minute after another. I would bang my head against the wall trying to get the emotional pain to go away. I threw things. At one point almost every dish I had in my kitchen was broken. I would take the glass from the broken items and cut my palms with them. I didn’t bathe. I didn’t eat. At it’s worst I went two weeks without leaving my apartment and without leaving my bed.

These feelings went on for months. In April of that year a friend of mine and S.G.’s committed suicide. Of all the people I have ever known she was the one I would have suspected it from the least. She loved everyone and everyone loved her. She was always happy and made everyone happy. She was a beautiful human being. After her death, I began to think more seriously about my own death. It was as if she had given me permission to end things. In a fit of desperation I called my therapist, whom I had not seen in months, at home on a Saturday. This was at the end of the two weeks in bed. I told her I needed help and if things didn’t change I didn’t think I would make it. We talked for about 30 minutes. She told me to get out of bed and shower. She told me to clean up part of the kitchen, and then to reward myself by doing something good like going to the movies. I did this. At this point I was willing to do whatever it took to make the pain stop.

Believe it or not during this entire ordeal I had managed to interview for a job, I still don’t know how. As luck would have it I got the job and it forced me to move to Cincinnati. In July of that year I moved and S.G. was a thing of the past. We talked sporadically. I still longed for him but the debilitating anguish was gone. I still had evenings where I cried myself to sleep but slowly I was becoming normal again.

In December I met K.A. We hit it off from the moment we met and within a couple of weeks we were inseparable. I still thought about S.G. but I was moving on with my life.

I still haven’t gotten to the reason we don’t talk. However, giving the back story has been very therapeutic. As I have said the depression I felt after our breakup was the most intense I have ever known. It still keeps me on edge. I am convinced that just around the corner the possibility of reliving it exists. I will do anything to make sure I never relive the pain that I experienced in the early months of 1995.

Tomorrow I will continue the story.

Last week Scott asked the question "Who is the per…

Last week Scott asked the question “Who is the person that you most regret having lost touch with over the years? What is preventing you from getting back in touch with that person?” I didn’t respond to his request, but that didn’t stop me from doing some thinking. I have lost touch with a lot of people in my life. I have lived in seven states since I finished college and I have been terrible about keeping up with people. I would love to blame it on them but I know that a large part of it has been me. I get busy with my life and whatever is important at the moment and then a week goes by, then a month, then two, then six and before you know it I feel like it’s been too long to call. Every once in a while I get a notion that I will look some of these people up and I try on line. I Google them. I search the white pages. But too many of them have common names and there are just too many of them to know which is the right one.

Of the people I miss the most, it’s S.G. He was my second boyfriend. We were together from 1991 to 1994. It seems like a lifetime ago. When we met he was a few months shy of his 19th birthday and I was 26. At 40 eight years is nothing when your 18 eight years is an eternity. He was still in the closet and was just coming to terms with his homosexuality. I met him while driving down the street. We passed each other at an intersection and our eyes locked. I quickly turned my car around and followed him into an empty parking lot. We chatted. I gave him my number and asked him to call me. He not only called but he came over later that night. He was beautiful and the sex was great. When we were finished. I asked him if he would like to take a shower. He said yes and then very shyly ask me if I would join him. Seems one of his fantasy’s had always been to have sex in the shower. Of course I agreed. I might not even remember this bit of information if were not for the fact that his right index finger was in a bandage and couldn’t be gotten wet. He had to shower with his finger held above his head. It was sweet and comical. I was smitten. I pursued him and eventually he relented. Oh, and should I forget, he was still living at home and had a 2:00 a.m. curfew. So every night we’d go out and then come back to my place. We would have sex and often fall asleep together. But the alarm was always set so that he could leave by 1:45 to be home by two.

This went on all summer until college started in the fall. I can’t say the relationship was perfect but by the fall it was well known in my world that we were boyfriends. We were together almost every night. Not long after school started I moved into a one bedroom apartment and gave him a key. It sealed the deal. The only real catch was that his friends didn’t know about him. They knew he had this new friend that he spent a lot of time with, but he was constantly concerned with being caught. As we all do, he eventually told one person and found out the world didn’t end and that they didn’t care. So then he told another and then another. By the time we celebrated one year together almost everyone knew he was gay except his parents.

By this time we were practically living together. He stayed every night at my home although his parents thought he was staying in the dorm. He had all of his clothes at my house and even had friends who called him on my phone. It was our second summer together that he told his parents he was gay. His mother cornered him out in their flower garden one day and he told her, “Mom, you always said I was special. Well you were right.” They weren’t happy but they continued to love him. Who they didn’t continue to like was me. I was suddenly the root of the problem. I had made their son gay. They also found out about this same time that I was 8 years older. Suddenly, I was not really welcome in their home. It was okay for their son to be gay. But he could do better. I didn’t drive the right car. I didn’t own a house. I was still going to college. My parents didn’t belong to a country club. I pretended none of this bothered me but it’s hard to know these things and not be bothered by them.

Eventually we did move in together. We found an apartment in an old house and worked our gay magic and it was beautiful. Together we painted it, polished the floors, relandscaped the back yard, we shopped at thrift stores and yard sales and found some wonderful treasures. We created a home. We were happy here. We had the best parties. We threw huge Christmas parties for my entire department at my University. We once had a summer party that started on Saturday evening and was still going on Sunday at midnight. Life was great.

Or so I thought. As with any relationship there were problems. There were still issues with his parents. One of the things that I had encouraged S.G. to do was to take an entrance exam and actually pursue the degree he wanted not the one his parents wanted. Unfortunately, this degree was insanely time consuming and he was spending all of his time at his studio. I was dealing with severe bouts of depression I later realized and since they were untreated I was often unbearable to be around and would have fits of rage that were often unprovoked. But most and foremost, my little S.G. was growing up and wanted to experience the world. He wanted to be free, to find out what it was like to be gay, and go out, and well…

On January 9th, 1995 he sat me down and told me the relationship was over and that he wanted to break up. I couldn’t say that I was surprised. I was hurt. He moved out with in the week and I found myself living in our beautiful home alone. For the first two weeks I was fine. I went about my life acting as though nothing had happened. Two weeks to the day later, I was at work and lost it. I was waiting tables and asked to go home. I went home and went to bed and cried for what seemed like days. It was the beginning of the end of life as I knew it.

It feels good to write about this. But I think I am done for the night. I’ll tell more of the story tomorrow. To understand why I miss this boy so much the entire journey must be shared.

I’ve been drawing blanks for the last couple of d…

I’ve been drawing blanks for the last couple of days when I sit down to post. Usually by the time I’m half way home on the subway I have several ideas to work with and I go with one of them. Sometimes I just sit down and start to type and it just comes out. But for the last three or four days it’s been zip, nada, nothing. So I sit here and look at my computer until I decide it’s too late to be sitting here and just go to bed. I thought maybe if I talked about it the block would go away.

And with that.

Today was a not exactly a great day, not exactly a bad day.

I finally saw my NYC psychiatrist last Thursday to get my prescriptions renewed. Most of you were right in that the first thing he did was call his drug reps to get me samples of my drugs since I really can’t afford them. Unfortunately it turns out that one of the drugs I have been taking since 2001 can cause heart disease and high cholesterol. To check on this he wanted to have blood work done. This would be fine if I had health insurance but when your paying out of pocket and you don’t have a job, well it’s a bit stressful.

So today I went downtown to get my blood work done. I had to go late in the afternoon because I forgot when I got home last night that I was supposed to be fasting and had two Diet Cokes. Whoops. So I got there about 3:00, waited about 30 minutes and then got my arm stuck. I was a little nervous, which is unusual for me, but it didn’t hurt a bit. I didn’t even feel the stick. The one good thing that happened was that I didn’t have to pay today. I’m going to be billed which means I’ll have a month or so to pay them and I’ll be working by then.

After the lab I realized I had about 3 hours to waste before I had to be at a meeting at 6:30. It was raining in that kind of misting, make everything wet sort of way so I decided I’d go to the movies. So I jumped back on the subway and headed back up town to 34th Street. When I got there the only movie playing that worked in my time frame was World Trade Center. I thought never mind. I then remembered there were theatres on 23rd Street so I took the train back down. When I got there the only thing playing was World Trade Center. Never mind.

I have heard from a couple of my friends that it’s a good movie. For the life of me I can’t imagine seeing it. I was working and living 4 blocks from Ground Zero and was fully aware of the devastation. My apartment building shook for what seemed like hours as the towers fell. The sky was completely darkened on a biblical scale as the clouds of smoke filled the air. I was asked to evacuate my home and was not able to return for well over a week. For months the smell of the fire just up the street filled the air. This is all above and beyond the realization of the human lives lost in the blink of an eye. Nope it’s not a movie that I wanted to see.

I ended up at Barnes and Noble. It’s great how a person can get lost in a bookstore with out much effort. I stayed there until just before my meeting at 6:30. Much happier and much less sad than I am sure I would have been if I had gone to the movies.

I don’t like flying. This is something that start…

I don’t like flying. This is something that started about 2 or so years ago. Actually it’s not the flying that I mind. It’s the take off. I don’t like the take off. I grip the arms of my seat and hang on until the seat belt sign goes off telling us that it’s okay to move around the cabin. As I said this started about 2 or so years ago and I know exactly what caused it.

I was flying home to Kentucky. Since I lived in New York getting home to Kentucky often took me through Cincinnati ‘s Airport which is actually in Northern Kentucky. It’s the hub of Delta Airlines and so I flew Delta most of the time to get there. On this particular trip I was seated in the back of the plane next to this very attractive young girl. It turned out that she had recently started working for Delta as a flight attendant. So as we flew home she told me all about being a flight attendant including what training involved. Seems in the safety part of the training they had been taught that the take-off and landing are the most dangerous part of the trips. She then went on to be more specific, which I don’t remember. All I heard was take-off is the most dangerous. This conversation has stuck with me and my fear of flying began.

I bring all of this up for two reasons. First I am flying to San Diego this week. I was supposed to go tomorrow. In fact if I hadn’t changed my flight I would be an hour away from getting in the car to get to the airport. I changed my flight till Sunday for a number of reasons, but at least it put off the flying part of the trip.

The other reason I bring this up is because of the plane crash on Sunday morning. I am actually from a small town just a few miles north of Lexington and my mother now resides in Lexington. I have flown in and out of that airport many times. I also know many people who live there and have been watching the passenger list to find out if there is anyone on it I know. So far there has been no one, but they have yet to release all the names. This one was a little too close to home for me.

I know that I am being silly. I also know all the statistics that say I am more likely to be hit by a car crossing 8th Avenue than I am to die in a plane crash. I also know that if I talk about it, the hold it has on me is loosened. It’s how I am feeling today.

By this time on Sunday I’ll be in San Diego and this flying thing will be behind me.

I didn’t post yesterday. I forgot to tell you I w…

I didn’t post yesterday. I forgot to tell you I wasn’t going to post yesterday. But I have a good excuse. I went to Fire Island. My friend A.L. who has a share out there this summer decided that it was not good that I had never been to Fire Island and so I met him at Penn Station yesterday afternoon and we took care of my virginity. My Fire Island virginity that is.

I won’t bore you with all the details, there’s not much to report. We spent yesterday afternoon walking, around had lunch, then napped by the pool. Woke up chatted for a while, went to Cherry Grove for dinner. Walked back along the beach. Watched a Marlene Dietrich movie. Went to bed. Got up. Drank three pots of coffee watching it rain. Had lunch. Then I caught the ferry back to civilization. Okay, so I did bore you with the details. But as I said there wasn’t much to report. No frolicking with boys on the beach. No frolicking with boys at tea. No frolicking with boys in the Meat Rack. Basically no frolicking. Ah, what happened to the good ole days?

Before cell phones and caller-ID if my telephone r…

Before cell phones and caller-ID if my telephone rang I answered it. I rarely let the machine get it. It made me neurotic to not answer and so it was a must. I did however always wait till the second ring because my mother always did that at work and I thought it was cool. With my cell phone I have slowly gone to the place of not taking calls. I never turn my phone off, but the ringer is on silence a lot. That way I can see who called, but I can return the call when it’s convenient for me. The plus side of this is that I’m never awakened in the morning by phone calls, especially since I haven’t been working and have taken to sleeping late.

Unfortunately, this morning was not one of those mornings. My phone rang at exactly 8:36 this morning. I waited till the voice mail chimed through to get up to see who it was. It was my friend J.M. who I gave tons of grief to later in the day for calling so early. I had just gotten back to sleep when my boss called. My phone was now next to my bed and since I was somewhat expecting his call I answered. He was calling to let me know that he’d arranged for me to return some products that we had borrowed. He told me where to take them and who to ask for. We talked for about 2 more minutes and then we hung up. I repeated the name (Mike) over and over several times so that I wouldn’t forget because I don’t want to get out of bed and write it down and then promptly fell back asleep.

I immediately began dreaming and in my dream I kept repeating this name over and over as I prepared to go to work. In my dream I am part of the production team filming a movie and as I am walking down the hall to go into the studio I realize that I have forgotten my shoes. I am barefoot. I freak out. There’s no way they’ll let me on the studio floor without shoes. I’ll be fired and I’ll never be able to drop this stuff off for Mike and do my job. Finally someone from costumes said they’d loan me shoes so then I wait, and wait, and wait, and wait for them to return with shoes to wear, all the while trying to hide the fact that I am barefoot. Finally the shoes come and they are a size 8 and a size 14. What the crap am I going to do? I try on the 8’s but they won’t fit. I try on the 14’s but they are huge. I realize that’s what I am going to have to go with and I wake up.

And draw a blank. I can’t remember the name I was told to ask for at all. Not even close. I am panicked. I pace around the apartment. I do things to try and jog my memory. Finally after an hour I give in and call my boss back, give him a message I had forgotten earlier and ask for the guy’s name again. And then the waiting starts. I am supposed to be at this place at 1:30 sharp. And there’ll be a million people there so unless I can ask for the right guy I am screwed. And so I wait, and I wait and I wait. I take the subway downtown and start walking toward the establishment and still no call. At about 1:25 I call my boss back and he answers on the first ring saying that he was just about to call me. Turns out I didn’t have all the information in the first place. He gives me everything I need to know and I return the stuff.

Mike, his name is Mike. It took hours for me to calm down from this little event. I am trying too hard to give a good impression. I need to relax a little bit and try and enjoy what I am doing and not worry so much and I think I’ll get along much better. Whew, I am exhausted just thinking about it.

I have felt guilty all day for not posting yesterd…

I have felt guilty all day for not posting yesterday. I got home late, had to put a last coat of paint on the living room wall and more than anything I was in a bad mood. I got “reprimanded” yesterday for something really stupid on the job that I have been working on for free. In reality it’s not that big a deal, it’s just the way it was handled that put me in such a bad mood. Seems my “boss” wants me to check in with him much more often than I have been. Not wanting to bother him, I have only been checking in when something was wrong or there was something he needed to know. Of course did he bother to tell me any of this? No, he tells the first assistant so that he can tell me. I felt like a 12 year old. But I’m trying to not let it bother me. As my friend M.M. reminded me today “being an assistant means being the king of suck-ups and they don’t teach you how to be a suck-up in school.” So as of today, I am being a full time ass kisser until this job is finished.

On a different note, yesterday while walking down 7th Avenue I noticed this mural on the side of a hardware store. Does anyone else find it disturbing that under the American flag with the title “United We Stand” there is an open box cutter? Do you think maybe someone should point this out to them?

I’m the king of procrastinators. Why do something…

I’m the king of procrastinators. Why do something today when it can be put off till tomorrow. That’s what I always say. For example, painting the living room yesterday. I bought the paint and supplies at least two weeks ago and yet I just got around to painting yesterday. I probably wouldn’t have even done it then, except my roommate very kindly prodded me to do it while he was gone.

Tonight I am drafting. At 1 a.m. Because I have played all weekend and put off doing what needed to be done. I should have actually finished up the drawing on Friday night. But there was t.v. to watch and friends to see. The same has been true for Saturday and today as well. In fact I think I knew all weekend that I wouldn’t really touch this drawing until late Sunday night. This wouldn’t be such a big deal except I am ten times more likely to make mistakes or cut corners because it’s at the last minute. Which I really can’t afford to have happen on this because there is too much riding on it.

So why do I do this? I don’t have a fucking clue!!! I have always been this way. The only time in my life that I didn’t do this was my first year of graduate school. For some reason I was able to start projects in a timely fashion and get them done well ahead of schedule. Of course by the end of my third year that had completely gone to the dogs. Procrastinating causes my stress and anxiety and yet it’s still not enough to get me off my ass and finished with what needs done. But I suppose I have learned to live with it and make the best of it. And in truth I don’t think I am going to change anytime soon…so…I better get back to my drawing so that I am not up all night.

I had a great day today. I slept in today. I act…

I had a great day today. I slept in today. I actually slept until Fresh Direct delivered my groceries at noon. One of the nice things about living in Manhattan is that you can have just about anything you want delivered to your front door. I have to admit that I didn’t actually get groceries. I ordered Diet Coke. The “real” grocery store near my house doesn’t sell Diet Coke in the can which is what I prefer at home. I can buy it in the can at a couple of nearby stores but carrying them home is a pain in the ass. So this week I ordered 6 12 packs from Fresh Direct and for just a couple of dollars it’s delivered to your house and carried up the stairs.

After the Diet Coke was delivered, I played on line for a while, checking email, reading some blogs. I also watched CNN for a while and caught up on news that I hadn’t seen all week. The nice part of all of this is I could do it in my underwear since my roommate flew to San Diego this morning and will be gone until Tuesday.

Before my roommate left he had arranged to borrow the super’s ladder so that I could paint the living room. It was delivered around 2:30 so then I went in to over-drive. I pulled all the furniture and boxes (we are still unpacking) away from the wall. Then I got out the drop cloths and tape and began taping off the wall. And then finally I pulled out the paint that we had bought two weeks ago and got ready to paint the wall in the living room. I was able to get the first coat of paint on the wall in about an hour. The wall is in great shape and there’s nothing really tricky about it. Just keep the paint off the ceiling and floor and that’s about it. Once again the nice part of all this was that I did this in my underwear as well. I didn’t bring paint clothes with me when I came to New York and there was nothing I wanted to chance ruining so I painted in boxers shorts. I am sure it was a sight.

Once the wall had it’s first coat, I then ran up the street to pick up my laundry. My new building doesn’t have washing machines and in truth I probably wouldn’t use them if they did. It’s almost as cheap to have your laundry done for you. You pay by the pound and everything comes back clean and folded and ready to be put away. It’s the first time I’ve used this place though so I’ll let you know how they did.

Finally I showered and was ready to head down into The Village. I was having dinner tonight with my friend J.F. He and I have been acquaintances for many years and have socialized together many times. We pretty much stopped hangin out after I started dating D.L.C. Our mutual friend J.M. put us back in touch with each other and we have been talking about getting together for dinner for a couple of weeks. We met at a little restaurant on Greenwich and finally got caught up. We had a great time. He talked about the book that he’s finished writing and is trying to get published. I talked to him about getting re-acquainted to the city and getting settled.

The funniest part of the evening was when he asked me if I had seen the Little Nazi. His words not mine. Turns out that he never liked the way D.L.C. treated me especially with regard to my weight. Seems that most of my friends were aware of how controlling D.L.C. was. How much he liked things to be his way and only his way. I was aware of this but I was committed to making the relationship work. When I commit to something I don’t give in easily to letting it go. So I shared with J.F. the details about the break-up and how I was told we were breaking up. He (as all my friends are) was amazed that anyone would end a relationship that way.

We had a few more laughs, had some coffee and then went our separate ways. J.F. had a maybe date at a bar later so I left and headed home. I got home and the wall was dry. So I stripped down to my boxer shorts again and put a second coat of paint on the wall. It really looks great. I think I’ll put one more coat on tomorrow and then take the tape off and see how it looks. With any luck it’ll be great.

And now here I am posting on my blog and getting ready for bed. As I said it was great day. I am tired and have a lot to do tomorrow. Good night all.

In the year and a half prior to leaving for San Di…

In the year and a half prior to leaving for San Diego I was part of a group of people that socialized together on a regular basis. The grouped ranged from around 4 to around 12 depending on what was going on in our lives. Although no one showed up for every gathering I think I can count on one hand the number of times the group didn’t do something. The group had formed because we were all member of an organization that I’ll talk about at some other point.

For me, this was the first time I had, to quote my friend A.L., been a part of a “posse.” I have always had friends but I had never felt so apart of a group before. So very rarely did I miss the occasion to hang out with my friends. Even while I was dating D.L.C. most of our weekend plans were with these friends. These people threw me the best birthday celebration I have ever had, and the going away party was incredible.

Most of these people were very dear to me. Of course, as in any group, there were a couple of people I didn’t like, but for the most part everyone was great. And then I moved to San Diego. For the first couple of months I spent hours on the phone trying to keep up with what everyone was doing. It was hard though, because everyone was busy and the time difference made it even more complicated. By the time I was free to talk most of my friends were already in bed.

And then school started and it became impossible to keep up with them. My school hours were around 9 a.m. to midnight most days. To make matters worse the building that housed my classes and office was like a bunker. There was no cell signal to be had anywhere near the building, and once you were inside it only got worse. So the weeks and months passed and I realized that I was not staying in touch with my friends. I would try and call every once in a while but it seemed like I was forever playing phone tag. I missed each and every one of them but what could I do.

I went home the following summer, but the magic was gone. Those warm summer nights of walking around Chelsea and The Village after dinner and looking at boys was a thing of the past. That summer most nights were spent alone with D.L.C. and although I didn’t realize it at the time, the writing was on the wall for our relationship. While I was there that summer, I made a point of trying to spend time with my friends but it always seemed like a lot of work and by the time I left the shift seemed permanent.

The day I left, D.L.C. dumped me. And I went back to San Diego and didn’t return to New York for two years. In that time I have only stayed in touch with a couple of people and that’s been half-hearted at best. And it makes me sad. I miss my friends and I miss the time we spent together. I have made a point of calling all of them since I have been back but something has changed. I try to tell myself it’s not me. I try to convince myself that it’s just what happens. Things change, situations change and people move on. But it doesn’t feel good.

What I found out later was that I seemed to be the glue that held it all together. Within just a couple of weeks of my leaving the group stopped getting together and based on conversations I have had with a couple of people most of them haven’t talked to each other in years if at all since I left. In some ways it makes me feel good that I was able to attract and hold together a group of such wonderful people. But it also makes me sad that there wasn’t more substance to the friendships.

I am now in the process of trying to make new friends. I have gone to dinner with several groups of people in the past three weeks. Some of them are funny and I think I would like them a lot if I got to know them. Some rub me the wrong way and I will actually avoid them from now on. I want to be a part of a “posse” again. I want friends who call on a regular basis that are in New York and want to hang out. Although I think that will happen, I don’t think it will ever again be like it was in 2002-2003.