The Sellout

As I’m relaxing in this hotel bed, I felt it compulsory to write about something I learned within the past couple of days.

I’m here with my best friend while he sells antiques at a show.  His girlfriend and I have become pretty good friends as she knows things not even my best friend knows.

We went to lunch and we started to talk about my upbringing.  It all started when I told her that I don’t tell me parents I love them.  I do love them, don’t get me wrong, but when they say they love me at the end of a phone conversation, I respond with, “Ok, bye.”  It’s not in my nature to say, “I love you.”  This led to her asking me about how I was brought up.

I assured her that I love my parents.  They have given me everything I have ever asked for.  They are, in my opinion, the parents I could have ever asked for.


My entire life I grew up with them telling me that gay people are sick.  That something is wrong with their brain.  They aren’t normal. A couple of weeks ago my mother asked me if I was “normal”.  She asked me why I never had a girlfriend and stated it isn’t normal for someone my age never have been in a relationship.  Normal.  Normal. Normal.

My father, a while back, asked me if I liked women to which I lied.  He then assured me that, if I needed help, he would find a psychologist.  In social gatherings, my parents, family, and family friends would state how sorry they were when someone they knew came out of the closet.

I don’t think I’ve ever thought of how this has affected me.  It’s one of those things you don’t know is in your head, but dictates what you think and how you act with others.  It’s amazing that at the age of 23 there are things I don’t know about myself.  Have my parents damaged my psyche?  If so, can it be repaired?

One thing is for sure: I cannot tell them.  I can’t bring that dishonor upon my family.  I can’t let their friends have pity for them.  Did you hear?  Their son is gay.  Poor thing.  Even worse, I can’t have my dad disown me.  As I can’t support myself yet, my parents pay for all of my bills: car, phone, food, insurance, etc.  They NEVER hold it against me, but I have no other option.

For the sake of my family, I need to keep this hidden.  For my sake, I need to keep this hidden.  The world is better without them knowing.  My world is better without them knowing.

A life of comfort and luxury is worth the psychological damage I’m inflicting on myself.





I am lonely and I am sad. 

I am tired.  

I’m stuck between wanting to do something and not wanting to do something. 

Why can’t someone love me? 

Why was I made with a smart, but damaged mind?  

Everyone has a thing they have to learn to deal with.   Is this mine?  To be stuck in an eternity of crazy?  

Another Chapter Closes

This Tuesday it my last day of EMT school.  I remember the first day we started and everything in the middle is somewhat of a blur.  Unsurprisingly as classes are 5 hours long.

I have been studying for final, although not as hard I usually do as the class really isn’t too difficult.  Within 46 chapter quizzes, I found time to watch about 3 movies on HBO this weekend: The Last Mimsy, Confirmation, and season 5 of Veep.

Kerry Washington received an Emmy nomination for her portrayal of Anita Hill which prompted me to watch the film.  Yeah, she definitely deserved it.

Tuesday night I am going out with a couple of friends after the final to celebrate graduating EMT school and on Wednesday I will be going downtown for wine night.

Following that I will be taking a trip to visit my best friend who invited me on his business trip to Atlanta.  When he first asked me, my automatic response was, “I can’t.  I have to study.”  But I caught myself.  For the first time in 23 years, I don’t have to worry about school or completing an assignment.  I’ve also never had a friend invite me like this on a trip.  It’s so…spur of the moment.  I feel like an adult for the first fucking time in my life.

I really need this.  Tuesday needs to come and go as quickly as the last 3 months have.  My brain needs to take a break…one that lasts more than just a weekend.

I am ready to close this chapter of my life.


Is This Real Life Right Now?

The party was more of a get-together.  It consisted of me and a friend of mine with about three or four more people I didn’t know.  The house was built like one of those houses in a reality TV show where there’s more than one bed per room and some of the bathrooms are shared.  The wooden table, host to bottles of vodka and hard liquor, was the hub of conversation.  Everyone was sitting and standing around it while they conversed about their lives, jobs, and relationships.  

There was a guy there.  Sitting at the corner seat.  He wasn’t thin, a bit heavier but still attractive.  He looked like someone you can snuggle up to.  Someone who can wrap his arms around you and you’re enveloped in the presence of another person.  A couple of minutes passed and we started talking, nothing too serious.  

As the night went on, I noticed there was a mutual attraction between the two of us.  He looked good.  Very good.  He had this confidence about him.  He looked at me from across the room and waved me over.  I walked over, slowly so as to not trip and fall from my drunken stupor.

“I want to fuck you,” he said.  

“What?” I replied.  Not sure of what I had just heard.  This is the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to me.  “Yes,” I continued.   At this point, I was really drunk…which would explain my hesitation to answer.  

He took my hand, his drink in the other, and led me down the hallway to his room.  His roommate was still at the party unaware of what we were going to do.  


I woke up, without any memory of what transpired the night before.  I knew where I was and who everyone was, but not exactly what happened.  I knew I agreed to have sex with someone, that’s not the issue, but I didn’t remember the actual experience.  It was my first time having sex and I didn’t remember it.  I screwed up.  

Immediately, I saw the guy walking around and after some thought I asked him, “What happened last night?”  

“We had sex.  Don’t worry, dude.  It was great.  We both had a good time.”

I know I didn’t remember it and I know I totally wanted to have sex with him, it just sucks that I didn’t remember it.  Looking at him, though, made me horny.  Really horny.  I kept wanting to go down on him.  It’s all I could think about.  My hand kept gravitating towards his dick, but he didn’t want to have sex again.  

“We had a good time last night, but not right now.”  

“Of course,” I said.  At first I thought he was being an ass.  But in truth, he wasn’t.  He seemed like a nice enough guy.  He just wanted to chill.  But I felt like the crazy person who falls in love after just one exhibition of affection.  I kept thinking about him.  Nonstop.  I wanted him again.  Even though I didn’t remember what happened, I wanted someone to love me again.  In one word: obsession.


I looked at my phone, 8:41.   A sense of reality hit me like a ton of bricks.  The reality I live in is nothing like what I just experienced.  Time for another day.