I'm sitting in my favorite office chair, one that I've had for close to 5 years now, one that my father and I fixed a couple of weeks ago after the welding broke apart, one that I call home. I'm trying to collect my thoughts for 1998's second column, and eating a Twinkie, and my question is : 'What exactly does 'spongy cream-filled treat' mean, anyway?' It is definitely cream-filled, it is definitely spongy, and it is definitely a treat, and currently it has some pre-cream running down the side of it. Is THAT what 'spongy cream-filled treat' means? I'm curious if the Twinkie was created in collaboration by master food makers, and persons obsessed with the phallus. Not to mention, the popular terminology : TWINK, a young, boyish, smooth, taught, tight... spongy cream-filled treat? What the hell is going on here?!
It has to be a conspiracy.
First off, I need to thank everyone who read my last column, and e-mailed me with words of support and comments on my concerns with Oasis possibly giving a home to corrupting and misleading writers. After responding (I respond to all E-mail) to over 70 e-mails about this subject, I've found that I'm very happy that I touched, informed, and entertained so many of you, and I'm very very happy to be able to change the subject finally. Continuous correspondence with various people revolving one certain subject tends to get rather dull, though, it gave me the chance to hear other's points of view, and make a few friends (one very SPECIAL one, and you know who you are).
Blue Light Special
In these e-mails I received a lot of advice for my future columns. Most of the advice was to include some more personal information about myself. I haven't offered much about myself or what goes on in my life, so I'm going to take that advice, and do something about that. Though, if I start writing like I'm adding to a public diary, please shoot me, I hate it when people do that, and I hate it when I do that as well.
Sweet and Sour Graham Crackers
My mother screamed loudly for the doctor 'to get that thing the hell out of me,' so on a rainy November (Guns 'n' Roses) day in 1979, I was born. The pseudonym was born later, in 1997. I went through the normal childhood, all of my closest friends lived just down the street, my school was five minutes away, and I never strayed from suburbia, though I always felt that I didn't belong in the town that I lived in. I grew up, running into numerous experiences with molestation and physical abuse, always outside of the family (you know, the normal childhood), was obese at age 8, due to a non-structured eating style since my parents did not implement any type of discipline, and I started writing at age four. When I was twelve, I started attending a school for gifted students, since my Intelligence Quotient was just a tad below genius levels, and my sixth grade teacher started grabbing my ass and punching me in the face when I started burning out and not getting my assignments in on time. He was a sick, crazy old man, and the only person that I've ever fantasized about killing, and I find it very confirming that he'll be dead before I am. (Note: I'm not offering plans of homicide, I'm stating the logic that he's 35 years older than me.)
Standing at 5'1 and 165 pounds never does good for a kid that is just being jolted into puberty. All at once I was abused by my sixth grade teacher, found that I had pubic hair, and my mother confided in me that she didn't love my father anymore. They still haven't separated, making growing up in this household very interesting. My parents found out about the abuse from my sixth grade teacher, and pulled me out of public school. I was put me on a home-teaching plan, where I would be learning independently, and taught by my mother occasionally, and I jolted into a wonderful reality known as loneliness.
After a few months duration, I received a phone call from a girl who had been in my sixth grade class, who wondered why I had 'dropped out' (what my teacher had informed them of) of school. I had been curious why none of my friends had called me, and I was scared to call any of them, and I was informed that they had been informed that I 'was just a stupid loser who was going no where in his life and can't take the stresses of sixth grade.' We corresponded, hung out, and she introduced me to new people after she began junior high school, and she became and remains my best friend to this day. In late 1993, during a time when my sister was on her death bed at a nearby hospital, her internal organs being shut down by spinal meningitis, I spent many nights awake watching my mother run from home to the hospital and talking in the CB rooms on my first online experience, GEnie. It was the moment that I opened a downloaded picture that a psychotic pedophile sent me when I realized that I was definitely into guys.
Now, I had know this for a while, kind of. I always seemed to get crushes on guys and girls in grade school, and for the longest time thought that I was normal, and that everyone else experienced the same thing. But, as I had grown older, I put myself into a sort of denial until that night. Believe me, your sister dying, realizing that you were definitely into guys and girls, and being pursued by a psychotic pedophile is a lot for someone who just turned 14. But, thank God, my sister recovered, after being expected to die, and carried on. I came out as a bisexual to my best friend in May, experimented with marijuana, spending a good deal of March to October 1994 constantly stoned, and turned anorexic and became a average-weight teenager, which rose my self-confidence.
In December I met a girl who fit into my idea of a dream. Well, after I came out to this female a couple of days after we lost our virginity together in February of 1995, she came out to me as being curious, and a couple of days after that, my best friend came out to me as a lesbian. My girlfriend and best friend who hadn't met, finally did, and finding each other attractive, began messing around. I was usually included in their activities. Though, something was lurking in my gut, I was jealous. Jealous that I couldn't experience my want in to the world as well, being with a guy. So, I grew into this teenage bisexual male who was frightfully ready to attack any boy who had any curiosities of being with another male at all
Around this time is when I fell into a big rut in depression, since I thought that I was the only bisexual male in a 100-mile radius. That summer was a very interesting summer for me. I spent a lot of time trying to find myself, and finally deciphered what my true feelings were on God and religious beliefs (whole article in itself). That summer was very good for me, and the experience with my ex-girlfriend was nice, as well as insane. Needless to say, we broke up in November (after 11 months), and I went into a frenzy of trying to find a boy. Weeks after the breakup, I was consumed by depression, and by the fact that I thought my life was not worth anything, so I called on the aid of a psychiatrist, and was put on Zoloft for stability. Days later, I met another person who I will never forget about (check out "21st Century Internet Boy" by Aztec Yhessin in Oasis, October 1997 for the story), and after my medication sending me through numerous nervous breakdowns in the 3 month period I was on it, I changed.
In Spring of 1996, I found a brand new way to control my depression - Prozac. All the while, my best friend found the same in Heroin. I came out to most of my friends and my mother, joined a local youth group, met my first physical boyfriend during the Summer (who just happened to run away with the circus this past Summer), and became stable after 6 months of medication. In other words, 1996 came and went, quickly. Prozac numbed my mind and my heart, and after a year of being on it, I took myself off of it, and I found that it had built up my defense mechanisms greatly, and I was now consumed with many prohibitions and inhibitions that had never affected me before, as well as a major weight gain (70 pounds in a period between May of 1996 and December of 1996). All of these effects are well-known with this drug, so I'm not surprised that it happened, I just wish I would have known before I went on it. I'm not against Prozac, since it does help a lot of people.
Overall, 1997 was a blah year, lot of work, not a lot of play, Aztec was a dull boy. No relationships, and nothing to get really excited about. So, 1998 became a reality, and I don't believe in new-years resolutions, so I didn't make any. So far in these past couple of weeks, I've found two really good friends who I've found through writing for Oasis, and the year seemed to have a good start. It seems that this year will be yet another one of those labeled, 'And that's when (Aztec) found himself again - and lost all of that weight that he gained while on Prozac.' So, there's a vague collection of my past, something that I think a lot of you will enjoy reading. And now, after writing something that seems to me like a personal Profile of Courage, or a public confession and diary, I close this section. Any questions?
A week ago, I came upon a very strange experience. While getting ready to go to a coffeehouse downtown to meet a couple of my friends, I was casually asked by my sister if 'any gay guys hang out down there.' At that moment I was ready to scream 'yeah, a few, other than me,' but I didn't. Instead I responded 'yeah, but they're not flamers or anything, so it's cool.' I wanted to puke. And then we got into the conversation. She hasn't admitted it, but I think she knows about me.
I was enlightened with the information that my sister likes to hang out in gay bars, dance with guys that don't pose a threat, and tends to hear a lot of things about people close to her, especially when people relate our last names. I'm a well known guy in my area, known as a bit of an activist, and have taken part in a lot of youth groups, and public education sessions pertaining to the topic of teenage sexuality. I'm that bisexual guy who wants to be a part of the local gay community, but never will, because he's bisexual, and those types ('bad bad guys') aren't easily accepted. I think I would have admitted it to my sister, 'yeah, I'm bisexual, any problems,' if the situation had been different. It was in a room of our house where my father was sitting close by, and he's the type that (if he found out) he would either never talk to me again, or kill himself out of feelings that he fucked up, or both. Not a good thing to want to do.
It's strange. Outside, with friends, I'm sitting at the coffee table with my feet up reading XY, and at home, I'm hiding in the closet. Maybe 1998 will be the year for this to change.
I've been having a lot of psycho dreams about my ex-girlfriend. For some reason, she plagues my mind. I'm one of types of people who never forget anyone or anything, and I wish I wasn't. It's always been a burden on me, I use too many past experiences that aren't relevant to assess a current situation, and although at times that is good, many times it is not.
Anyway, I feel as though my time of bitching is over, so I think I'm going to close until next month. Thanks for the time and the ears. Looks like there may be the possibility of getting into a long distance relationship with someone that I've met online, I hate those, I'm usually against those, I wonder what's going to happen.
In the immortal words of a local cheerleading teenager,
It's fly to be bi,
It's not okay to be gay,
And it's great to be straight.