My introduction..

Please excuse any typos; I am all too good at them.

To blog or not to blog..  I have to decide whether or not I am fully prepared to write out all of the things I’ve been processing through my mind that I don’t have the courage to speak out loud.  In all reality I keep a lot of myself, to myself for fear of causing damage to the people around me.  However, I have a tendency to lash out and say some pretty armful things after holding so many thoughts in.  I really don’t even know where to begin.  I guess I could attempt some play on words, or perhaps tell some sad sob story to draw in the readers…  Or perhaps I will just ramble on about everything that comes to mind.  Once upon a time I was passionate about writing the events of my everyday life down on paper.  That was back when high school mattered and I was in love for the first time.  After the short lived love affair wore off I died a little bit inside and left all of those words behind.  I stopped opening the book and sharing my thoughts with my journals because I was so tired of having them.  As far as I was concerned I had nothing else to say anymore.  To think it was only high school.  I allowed myself to get so over involved in some man that I literally had nothing left to give.  I am not implying that I was some sad little lost soul or anything, shit happens.  I will say this though, after what happened, the way it all fell apart, I became a wee bit jaded to the world around me.  To this day with all of the shitty days and months life has passed my way (granted we all have our fair share) I am overly prepared for negative occurrences.  I might bitch from time to time about the things that occur, but I still hit the ground running with my shin up.  Keep this is mind please, my high school romance wasn’t some earth shattering event..  I get that.  I was young, I know.  I think people fail to understand the reality of every ones individualism.  For me, the man I lost my everything to was what set me off into my self destructive rampage over the following years up into my 25^th year.  I left high school behind.  I was shy, insecure, and completely over that shit.  I had cried enough for a life time and I was ready to get going with my life.  However, my ambition was short lived.  Dreams are a funny thing, they might seem pretty nice, but we somehow always manage to forget them.  I tried the college thing, but I also found that focusing on sex, drugs, and alcohol was far more incredible.  I dropped out of college twice, that fall and the following fall.  Working full time and spending all of my money and my own entertainment.  I always got by with the thought that I would take care of college in my 30’s.  I dabbled in retail, waiting tables, tanning salon management, nuclear power (seriously), leasing, as well as public relations.  I was good at everything, I was good at people.  I spent a lot of time stealing my mother’s pain medication and drinking handles of vodka, keeping it to myself as best as one could while the stumbled around slurring about hating themselves.  My mother really never tried all that hard to stop me, I know she loved me, I know she cared, but if you knew me you’d know better than to interrupt my ritual.  All of the drugs and alcohol led to a lot of random hook ups as well.  Have you I wasn’t on all fours taking it..  I was more of a tug or oral fixation kind of hoe.  I somehow lacked the desire to be that intimate with people.  I rarely kissed a man, and if I did I don’t remember it.  Hell, there is a lot I don’t remember.  I was your stereotypical homosexual have you?  The kind that makes you cringe.  But you know what; somehow no one knew I was so loose with my sexual favors.  If they knew, they didn’t blink an eye.  I was discreet for the most part.  To this day people have responded to my plight with my favorite response, “I had no idea it was that bad”.  Guess what? That was the fucking point.  I wasn’t going to advertise to all of my new friends that I was a complete wreck when they weren’t looking.  I managed to dodge to title of druggie or alcoholic for a few good years.  I was the one who was always down to party, always ready to work, and always in the mood to laugh it off.  I had shame in my game, but I didn’t.  I even had my own little sex tape scandal, having released it to a few people on my own.  I am going to blame that decision on the drugs I was consuming all day every day.  None the less I had my hay day.  I don’t know how many men I slept with, the number will never magically come to mind I imagine.  Perhaps it will when I stand before God, he will remind me of every detail I so conveniently left behind.  The things I do remember, all of the bad choices, the good ones, everything I remember, I do my best to avoid at this point.  I can’t live my life trying to remember what I have done.  What is the point?  Learning?  I have done that.  I have had HIV scares, Herpes scares, even a syphilis scare..  Luckily me I didn’t manage to have any of those, or any of the like.  The only things I have walked away with are shame, and a damaged liver (Non-viral Hepatitis).  Please don’t allow yourself to be so ignorant to assume I am contagious.  I have a shotty liver, not a STD.  I can’t give it to anyone.  I have scars on my liver, and I can’t drink or do drugs anymore.  Yes, I am sober now.  Anyhow, moving on, I have not made much time for romance in my life in the midst of the turmoil.  I pretty much had my time in 7 years, instead of spacing it out over 20 or so years like some of my fellow party people.  I actually made the decision to stop before I even knew about the damage I had caused.  It was my dark urine and depression that led to the entire array of test that concluded the damage was caused.  Throughout all of this amazing abuse to myself, my family as well as I endured hurricane Ike, serious financial woes, cancer in the immediate family, as well as a variety of other challenges. Life happened even though I wasn’t checked in, is what I am saying.  That’s what it does; it keeps going on without you. 

                I have a piss poor relationship with my mother, my father, and even with some of my friends.  I can’t take all of the blame on those though.  My parents are pretty unique creatures on their own.  Granted they are capable of greatness, they have this uncanny ability to be so absurdly selfish.  I have a large family, being that my parents were fertile.  There are 9 of us to be exact, 3 different broken homes of course.   I am only close to three of them, 4 on a good day depending on my mood.  We are all very different, the bottom 4 aren’t really old enough to remember my name, plus I haven’t made the lasting impression one might expect of such an upstanding citizen of the world.  I don’t grieve over it, but I don’t have the intentions of making something of it one day.  I have love for them all.  I just only truly know 3 of them.  Those 3 have managed to stand by me over my own parents, always overlooking my bad choices, but still expressing concern for me health.  They were always genuinely concerned for my well-being, and the only ones I believed were truly supportive of my choice to leave the addictions behind.  My fathers, always a man of few words, always stated the obvious.  My mother, on her assortment of medications with the occasional beer here and there, always seemed empty in her efforts to push me in the right direction.  I blame that on how horrible my father was to her in that mess they called a marriage.  You can only break a person so many times before the pieces won’t come back together anymore.  Oh, and I shalt not forget my grandmother! The ragging alcoholic pot smoker who helped raise us! She is one of my favorites these days, and I do mean that, as she stopped abusing herself when the cancer started riddling her body.  I have been rather committed to her ever since, because sober grandma is an amazing one.  She truly cares about me and the feelings are the like. 

                With all of that said, I think my introduction should pretty much set you toward a decent generalization of, well...  Something.   I don’t hate myself entirely, yet I don’t hold myself high.  I am not some beat up old rag doll that’s been rode hard either.  I feel that I have fared rather nicely over the years.  I would like to think I am a looker, who is really somewhat intelligent.  I have been actively attending college over the past 2 years and I have a little bit of hope now.  I have finally opened myself up to a new beginning and I want it to stay that way.  Sober for 9 months and counting, I look forward to sharing my random thoughts with you. 

B.A.