21st Century Internet Boy
It was a bit more than a year ago when I ended my journey of numerous mental breakdowns. I simply could not handle the world that I had been submitted to, and the environment which surrounded me.
I remember that one night when I experienced my last one.
It was May of 1996. During the past six months prior to that, over the internet, I had met the man of my dreams. Now, this is something that I'm usually against. On-line relationships seem unrealistic in my eyes, well, unless the person is so close that you could be spending time with him/her after an eighty minute drive.
Though, that still classifies as a long distance relationship, which I also do not believe in, or usually take part in. Though, you must understand, my usual beliefs were skewed, since this was the man of my dreams.
Anyway, I started talking to him over the newsgroups through *PRODIGY, after a while, we started e-mailing each other, traded phone numbers, and started the journey of what a lot of people go through online. After trading pictures, and sharing extremely deep conversations through the phone lines that stretched from Vermont to Indiana, we started growing closer to each other. It's curious what a person would think if they had been monitoring our conversation. We talked about everything from our beliefs in religion, to what we want to do with our lives, to our preferences of condoms.
Anyway, a few months later, since he had been having problems with his mother, whom he lived with, he decided to move, and reside with his father, who lives not one hundred miles away from me.
Now, this was a dream come true. The man of my dreams, someone who I clicked with intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually, was going to be less than an eighty minute drive away. Still, a rather far way, but with the right music, the right car, and the right amount of gasoline, it was a heck of a lot closer than the 16-hour trek to Vermont.
So, in May of 1996, after a couple hundreds of dollars in phone bills, and teens of dreams of meeting this dream man in the flesh, it finally happened, one Saturday morning.
He had agreed to drive up for the day, spend five or six hours together, and then leave around 6 p.m. The day was going to be busy, since it was the same day that I was going to be throwing a surprise birthday party for my best friend who was turning sixteen.
So, the day was going to turn out excellently, my dream man would drive up, and I'd meet him at the outskirts of town, at a very shady McDonalds, we'd spend the day together driving around, talking, getting coffee, and when he finally had to leave, I'd be too busy to be disappointed, since I would be doing the last minute things for my best friend's party that I was holding at my house.
That was a really long sentence.
Everything did turn out great. We spent the day talking in my basement, I showed him around the town, and later, we went to many of my friend's workplaces, and I introduced them. My parents loved him, my friends loved him, and I loved him. I could see us spending a lot of time together in the next few months, having a lot of fun, and I could finally enjoy some parts of my remaining adolescence.
The day was magnificent, I felt charged. I was out to my mother at the time, and she knew exactly what was up. Though, ironically, everyone else who met him, who didn't know what the deal was, had an idea. Though, they still all loved him. I felt like a free little gay boy! The man of my dreams was standing in my bedroom, admiring my music, and staring -- he was just close to me. I couldn't imagine what could feel better.
So, the day went on, and it finally came to an end. I embraced him and kissed him goodbye at a gas station, where I offered to fill up his tank. So there I was, standing on the concrete island where the pumps were, in the middle of redneck-ville, kissing a guy goodbye. But I didn't care.
Then, he left.
The party went on that night, and although I planned to not be disappointed, I was -- extremely. My ex-girlfriend was there with her new boyfriend, and she was taunting me with little kisses to him and other things to try to make me annoyed. When we had originally broken up about eight months earlier, after being together for over a year, I had been devastated, but now, I didn't care, since in about a week, I was going to see my dream man again, and I didn't need her anymore.
This and that happened, and my best friend and her girlfriend shot up cocaine in my backroom, which would usually piss my off, but I did not care, because I was happy, and everything was perfect.
After the party let out, and it was just me and my best friend who has just turned 16, and some closer friends, for some reason I snapped. I grabbed a hammer from the other room and beat the hell out of my father's fax machine, trying to exert pain, and trying to get attention. I don't know why I exactly did it, but mostly it was pain that had been building up, and the loss of my dream man for the day, and seeing my ex-girlfriend acting like Satan, and my best friend shooting cocaine with her girlfriend in the other room, and the past year, and the ZOLOFT.
Now, you have to understand the events that had led up to this point. There I was, a farm-boy who loved the city, standing at a Phillip's 66 in the middle of bum-fart Egypt (well, not Egypt, and not fart, but you get the point), farm lands and corn stalks surrounded us to ever which way, and the May sun shone down upon us.
I had problems believing that the incident was real. I had found boyfriends before, but mostly psychopathic, bisexually-tendencied, wanna-be-rappers. Nothing that I would consider a genuine first boy-to-boy love. Though, this was the real thing. Something that I had been waiting for years for.
Living in an area such as I do, where a high school football game is the biggest thing happening on Friday nights, and everyone is forced to be a Christian, you can understand why I had a little bit of a problem finding people that I clicked with -- especially guys.
Adding to that, I have had depression problems for most of my life, and I live in an area where, even though it happens, depression and suicide-due-to-depression doesn't really exist, and is washed out by load and loads of anti-depressant drugs that are almost being administered at the schools, instead of condoms.
That was another really long sentence.
Beginning December 1995, I was placed on Zoloft by my psychiatrist for depression purposes. It turned me into a strange, explosive, always ready to pop, over-emotional adolescent. A couple days after this incident, I was taken off Zoloft, and put on Prozac, which ended up helping me with depression, but also numbing me up in every other aspect.
A couple of weeks later my dream man told me that he really didn't want to have any contact anymore, because I had become a completely different person, and didn't seem to care about anything. I didn't care when he told me this, and I hung up the phone, giving luck to him in his future life and findings.
So now, after being off Prozac for close to six months, I'm having to deal with all the memories that have been uncovered, and shown themselves to me. Since these are the first times that I've experienced these emotions -- to things that happened over a year ago, I've been forced to deal with my current life's predicaments and the ones in the past.
And, though I still have depression problems, and spend a Friday night in my room every once in a while, going through photo albums and wondering if things are ever going to be happy again, a good night sleep washes it away, and the next day is bright and shiny. That is, until it happens all over again. Occasionally, well, actually, a lot, I sit in my favorite local coffee shop, (yeah, coffee houses are a very big thing in the Midwest, we all go to high school football games, and then get coffee) where he and I sat before, and I think of my dream man, and wonder if he ever thinks of me. Maybe someday I'll get another chance with someone that special.
It's just too bad that I can't call him up right now, over a year later, and say, "Hey, Mark, I'm myself again."
Aztec Yhessin, is a pseudonym for this bisexual seventeen-almost-eighteen-year-old Midwestern farm-boy-who loves the city, Tori Amos, Liz Phair, and anything MYST or NARNIA related. He believes that habitual narcotic use is very unhealthy, and that if the human race all stayed living in trees, we'd all be a lot better off. He can be reached at Gautama000@aol.com