It's been a month since he died. I spoke with The Lord last night; just in mere conversation with Him His greatness reveals the loose ended stings that lead to my grief and heartache. I'm learning that healing is going to come only from The Lord in this. This is starting to become, what I believe to be, a great understanding. There is an outcome behind all this that is starting to show itself in the most vague of visions.
It's time to begin again.
In two days, it will have been a whole month since he killed himself.
I dreamed about last night for the first time; we spoke to each other. It was two days before he killed himself, and he looked the same as whenever he was in high school. He knew he would kill himself--or perhaps be put to death by his parents--it wasn't exactly clear. I remember him hiding me in his room before his parents came home.
There were also dinosaurs and giant explosions.
I miss him, but at the same time I can't imagine him being here anymore. It's like he was a dream, and I woke up alone.
I wish I could see him, to tell him everything that's happened in the last month; all the music I've listened too; and how much I love him, but not just as a lover--as my brother.
This is a very sad way to wake up on Labor day weekend. A very sad way, indeed.
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Later in my day, I'm reminded of his death. As this Labor Day weekend presses forward I'm reminded that I've no real plans for myself outside of pet sitting for my sister. Not that I should have something to do, but I find myself in these small moments of aloneness where the thought passes through my head: "I'm gonna call him..." or "I wonder what he's doing." From there I'm pushed to think of the terms of his Earthly body: cold, swollen, trapped away in a box made to harbor death void of the light.
How I miss him. How my heart aches in his absents.
Death comes to us all.
The more time that passes, it's as if he never existed; it's as if he and I never went through what we did. We were friends for three years, and what an intimate three years they were. This morning I don't miss him like I did yesterday.
If he was here I would tell him that I found this remix CD for Bon Iver's last record. I would imagine that he and I would enjoy hearing it together. It's right up his ally. He had a beautiful taste in music; however, his intake of new music was very slow, so he was also one of those people still rocking the hits from two summers ago.
I can remember a time from the summer of 2011 that he and I were riding around Kingwood in his little Toyota pick-up truck after softball practice (or were we just running laps together). We had been talking about Bon Iver; the record had just come out. We listened to the whole thing as we weaved through the wooded streets of the North Houston Suburb. It's times and memories like those that I'm most thankful for. It's times like these that I began to long for long before he killed himself, and after we started having sex.
Haunted.
One could say I'm haunted.
Not only have the effects of grief crept up and blindsided me, but my antidepressant are about gone. I have only one pill left, no appointment with the doctor, and the "brain zaps" have begun. This is not a good time to be broke. An element of giving up or giving in is rising behind my eyes.
I miss him. About two weeks before his blunder, he and I had a conversation about us ceasing to be sexual with each other. We spoke about how it was necessary for us, if we had any intentions of moving forward spiritually in our walks with Christ. The sadness of it all is that--in this moment--and plenty other ones--he's all dream about. These dreams are not that of sexual desire alone. We held each other in sacred protection, and at times would waste much time standing in my living room wrapped in each others embrace. It was something beyond homosexuality; it was filling a need. Though we decided that it would be for the best to keeps our distance, I can recall the thick tension in the truck that evening as we spun around the 610 Loop. He didn't want to stop; neither did I.
Now that sacred protection, that rib rubbing trust, and our forbidden love has been removed in the strongest of ways. For months I'd been praying to the Lord to do something about nameless and I. I wanted out desperately because of toxicity of what he and I had become, but on the same leaf, I had no idea on how to escape; I wasn't prepared to be separated from the drug that was our love.
He's dead now. The good things are gone as well as the bad. There are no options to pick and choose from anymore. It's just over.
So to be real for a moment.
the click... or should I say these clicks. With experience comes wisdo... trut... well, really experience brings experience. The ability to remember things that you didn't have the opportunity the first time. Every lap; every round; every revolution; every year brings more experience.
One thing I've come to learn about my homosexual nature is that my expressed desire to dismiss my role in it is strongest whenever a relationship with a man ends. I immediately become disgusted with my homosexual identity, but I think the more honest answer would be that I'm disgusted with the co-dependant mask that I've created in order to sustain the relationship.
So, I go through my cubbies and spaces to rid myself that attaches me to that person; it's as if it was an effort to erase that person from my history, and trace the lines backward to the person I was before I met the man.
The past few attempts do dismiss my homosexual nature was because of the relationships that I was in was a horrible mess, but the truth is that I was homosexual before I met those men.
It's time to reexamine the evidence--and more importantly--my own motives regarding the total case for my homosexual nature and the conflict between it and my faith.
Artistically I'm looking at moving forward;
Before nameless died, I'd begun my third click. What is a click? It's like making full circle, or another lap around the sun; however, these moments or seasons are not defined by any specific length of time. However, they seem to occur every five to six years.
Every time one of these involuntary levels of understanding are reached, it's as if I start over on a new canvas, but knowing a little more about my gift, art, and craft. With the new canvas and new understanding, I'm able to approach my work with more control over the temperamental variables of song writing and minstrelsy. It could also be said, however, that I'm able to better create under those variables despite their measurements.
I've learned of the divination of my art;
It was something that I only suspected to exist, but--given my recent history--I know what the ultimate ramifications of it's power can be. Humility is now more necessary than it has ever been.
I find myself thinking about my nameless love. Over the weekend I went through, and removed his name from most of my writings. His earthly self wouldn't want his name propagated as I have been publishing. Not that I have such horrible dirt on my forbidden lover, but he was my forbidden lover none the less.
I miss him this morning, not in the since of lovers, but something else. The homosexual condition is something much more than just two men falling in "love". The reality of the situation is that, for me, "love" has typically been the furthest thing from what is going on in these relationships. Codependency is probably the best way refer to it all.
Codependency is defined as a psychological condition or a relationship in which a person is controlled or manipulated by another who is affected with a pathological condition (typically narcissism or drug addiction); and in broader terms, it refers to the dependence on the needs of, or control of, another. It also often involves placing a lower priority on one's own needs, while being excessively preoccupied with the needs of others.
nameless and myself were extremely codependent on each other. We noted this problem in our relationship far before we started to have sex or go beyond standard nonsexual male on male interaction, and because of that--in early 2012--we separated as to move on with our lives; however, my addiction remained on the hunt, and wanted him alone.
Today makes three weeks that I learned of his blunder.
"And I see you fogging up the mirrorVapor round your body glistens in the shower And I want to stay right here and go down on you for an hour Or stay, and let the day just fade away In wild dedication, take the moment of hope And let it run, and never look back at all the damage we have done now To each other "
"Blinded" - Third Eye Blind
That I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead. Phillipians 3:10-11; I like the way that sounds./
If, by any means What so ever. I may attain to the resurrection from the dead.
That I may attain a heavenly identity I need to set my mind on the things of the spirit
Seek those things which are above.
Last night I dreamed of two suns. The second appears in the night sky, and burned a glowing orange that could be seen by my sister and I as we drove through the country. The heat of the new sun was so intense that I could feel it burning on my face. My sister and I embraced each other to keep from the burn. A scene somewhat similar to that of when Claudia died from exposure to the sun in "An Interview with a Vampire". It became more sinister once our original sun rose the following day. We took shelter in a cottage in the woods; an old man and woman was living there. There was also a young guy that was my age. The heat crept in through the windows, as we hid behind couches and banisters. I thought to myself, "I wonder what the internet is saying about this phenomenon", but dismissed the thought due the seriousness of the situation. I remember the guy approaching me as he was shirtless. We put our hands on each other as if we were going to have sex.
Regardless of the second sun's purpose or reason for showing up, and what potential damage it would cause to this tiny blue planet, the fact was that it was there, and there was nothing on earth that we could do to stop it's power: true powerlessness.
"Today was a good day--better than most--didn't see me no demons; didn't fight with no ghost." A thought runs through my head: What if Lester really isn't dead, but he's been hidden away by his family & the powers that be, so as to keep him from he and I's relationship. I imagine one night, while sitting on my balcony, I see him running towards my door in a panic after he's escaped from whatever place of captivity he would be in... I'm pretty sure that's denial. I assume I woke up in that place this morning: denial. However, as beautiful that moment would be, it's not going to happen. I watched them roll his body out in the black bag from his apartment: he's dead. Last night I screamed a dialog to him, "I'M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW!" Then the flood of tears followed.
My boss told me that I need some sort of purpose from this point on. Another friend told me it's a good day to focus on the blessings in my life that Jehovah has given me. It's hard, especially waking up in this place of denial. Mariah should be in town today. It's time to find some purpose, I guess. I'm tired, however, and I feel like just giving up. I feel like inviting death in to end the grief. Not death by my own means, but a natural means. All of these thoughts are fleeting, and grasping for straws. I'm still alive, and I may have more years ahead of me than I think I do.
What do you do whenever the person you've invested so much into is all of a sudden gone? I miss him so much right now. I'm tired of being human. I'm tired of dealing with loss and imperfection. I can't get him off of my mind. The scary thing is that I fear he'll be on my mind for the rest of my life: like some distant echo of a forbidden love that was never cut out to make it. I'm so angry right now; I just want to lay on the ground, kick my feet, and scream. As toxic of a situation it was, I loved him, and I sacrificed a lot to maintain our relationship as long as I could.
It's a very cryptic lyric for the homosexual survivor of a boyfriends suicide--"I'd give up forever to touch you..." I watched the funeral services for my deceased friend/lover; I remember feeling like I didn't know the person that they were presenting. Which very well could be; I only knew Lester that last three years of his life. "Iris" from the Goo Goo Dolls was one of the many songs that Lester kept on repeat; He didn't consume music at a very fast rate. The song is sad enough as it is without any external circumstances rendering it so. The line that says, "I don't want the world to see me, cause I don't think that they'd understand." I wonder if Lester related with that line specifically. It one of those things that makes you think to yourself, "Were you digging this song because you were going to kill yourself?" It's another one of those questions about this whole situation that will never be answered.
It's been over a week since he's been gone. It seems that things that have been absent due to the shock of the matter have begun to return. Earlier this week, I was unable to listen to music; now I can. Earlier this week getting an erection would have been almost impossibly. Look like my plumbing is beginning to flow correctly again, and the subduing of my hormones has ended.
Although one could see this as a sign of my healing, and/or moving on, I'm not excited about this one. How long until the urge to have sex with another man is too strong again. What am I going to do then? Wrap myself up in another homosexual relationship that is just as unrighteous as my previous one, or begin some life of celibacy or--again--venture towards a heterosexual relationship.
Either way my plumbing is back on, and if you're a 20-something year old like I am--single--then the plight of abstinence is quite the difficult one indeed.
Once Lester and I were talking, and he informed me that he really related to the movie Constantine. I've never seen it, but with the event of his untimely death I decided to read the synopsis. It's got me pondering.
Stinkin' Thinkin'
"To be a man you must be swift as the ________ ________" I've been living on my own now for a year now. The things I would tell my August of 2012 self.
Living on your own changes you. I was in a relationship of long distance, with a girl who I began to fall in love with; however, because of such distances my body craved things that were in arms length.
At that point I was seeing a friend regularly for beers, and marijuana. To follow would be the strangest of fruit, but the most common of spheres: we began to have sex with each other--he & I. I guess it would t have been as bad of a gig if I weren't courting with the missionaries out eastwards. That was the game I played, shamefully, and unable to look either of my lover's by the eye.
So now I'm calling King's Horse, and calling King's Men; they came, and then He came.
This morning I'm going to sit on the alter, and offer up my talent as a gift of perfume--at least that's how the orthodox Christian would say it; I preferable think of it as flashing my skill as to attract that cute guy in the audience.
That cute guy is God.
It's Sunday Morning
Do what your father saysAnd let the pros be pros
And all these promises Like a river they flow
I know that my faith is deeper than just the surface whenever I hear the truth--from the perspective of a non-believer---because I'm personally offended usually. Since my return to faith in the late aughties, I have often found myself watching out for the next big faith movement, or the latest debunking of Christianity. I like to stay informed of what people believe about my Lord, and with the roots of my indoctrination thriving, I brace; I brace to see how believable the "truth" really is.
Then, I sigh, hold my head low, and ponder how someone passionately devotes their life to promote a belief; however, this strand of belief is but often defensive overtones of anti-Christianity at their true core, and their root cause is never fully understood.
I wonder, "Why would someone hate Jesus so much--on purpose?" Scripture says that acts of sin and disobedience really say how you feel about The Lord. I can't help but demonstrate my distaste for his ways just by my actions alone as a sinful creature, but because of Jesus' impact on society ( let alone my intangible self ) I am free to love The God of the Jewish faith as my own;
For he is the most high.
I think that mainstream pop music is very abrasive on the ear, especially the spiritual ear.It is typically soldered with profanity, and usually bares no resource to well being. This rule is not across the board. I've had great music from the top 40 grace me. However, usually I'm left desensitized from it: like speed or meth.
