Sunday, February 26, 2012

Love and early recovery..... My side of the story

Ok well I have to post about this because I have learned from experience.

When I was still in treatment my counselor said "You will make it as long as you stay out of relationships." I hated her for that despite the fact that she was right. When I was leaving treatment there were 12 people in my primary therapy group 11 of them said their only concern for me was getting involved. I smiled when really I said "Fuck you" in my head.
  I am going through a divorce so at first I wasn't ready for a relationship any way so where they would think I wanted to find love again I don't know. I was in denial. Right when I got out I met this guy who I had a crush on. Rejected! Met another guy. Rejected! My self esteem immediately was blown.......
   I watched almost all of my friends get involved from rehab. A few of them met in rehab. They all relapsed (two i'm not sure of). One died.  I watched a few others going out on dates and hitting it off with guys. I became enraged. My former sponsor got involved 10 minutes after getting his year. I went over the edge and came unglued.
    I met a guy in my halfway house, we played grab ass for a few weeks before we had sex. not even 3 days after turns out he was using the whole time and it came out in the open. Needless to say I almost got thrown out of my halfway for having sex with a guy. However, that's not the point. After we had sex I was torn up because I really liked him, even after he relapsed. I had coffee with him and talked about it. Rejected.
  Then I turned to an undisclosed online dating service. Met a lot of guys looking for what I was looking for, I really started to believe the lies I was telling myself. That nothing could tear me up inside, that I was somehow different. So the first guy I met online I went out on a date with him, we hit it off right away. Then I went to his house that weekend. He came. I haven't seen him since. This is something that kept happening repeatedly, I would meet a guy we'd hit it off, they would cum then they would kiss me off.
  I went for a guy in the rooms again. One who was so sweet, and really seemed like a great guy. I barely touched him he came, he's been a real fuckwad of a human to me ever since, blamed me not being a bottom on why we wouldn't work. Rejected.
     He was the last of the love I was seeking for a while. I became so entangled in sex, having it with everyone and anyone. If I didn't like them I would still have sex with them but the moment I got what I wanted I would leave. They would never hear from me again, and if they did, they wish they hadn't. I became exactly what was being done to me. Then I met a guy who was just a hook up. I began to like him and we kinda had something going. Until I went to his house and found three tweaker twinks fucking him in a sling. I don't know if I felt betrayed or just mad I wasn't invited or both. He came outside and told me he didn't know if they were high and didn't want to expose me to that. I later went back to his house to return his plate he let me borrow. At the last minute I thought it was a frisbee and thought his window needed to be opened permanently.
 Two days later he asked me back to his house and we made up. Then I dumped him.
   I still had not learned my lesson. I met another guy. Went on several dates with him and we really hit it off. I really liked him, he really liked me, everything was going great. Until one day he didn't call me. Then he didn't answer his phone. Then it was over. I wanted to die, thought I would but I didn't. a friend laughed and said "That's ok you shouldn't have been getting involved anyway" I said "I don't want to hear it at all" I didn't yell but the way I said it was in that certain way that says "fuck off"

I didn't handle it well. It consumed me to the point where I made some very poor choices. So poor I won't say what I did, however I managed to not use or drink over it....In the end a man isn't going to determine my fate in recovery.

I finally realized what I was doing though. I was replacing the drugs and booze with sex and love. I craved love like I craved heroin, it even made me sick as if i were withdrawing. Sex was becoming a major addiction as well.

Through all of it I have come to terms with the fact that I personally can not get serious with someone. Not right now any way. I personally don't feel like I'm ready to make that commitment right now because of the fact that it becomes consuming, and steers me away from what my real focus should be. Myself.
I am not by any means saying that if the right guy comes along I'll shut him out completely. I'm just saying not now.
As far as sex is concerned. I love sex, however I am not in the mood right now. Sex is another distraction and a way to step outside of myself and just like drugs it can take on a life of it's own.

In the end I just want my own apartment on my own or with roommates who I have no interest in sexually and a dog. That's my goal. I'm starting to really value my time alone and being single. That all being said, I will not suggest that anyone not get involved, because in early recovery, suggestions sometimes sound like rules or preaching and most of us addicts and alcoholics have a problem following rules and ignore preaching.....


Saturday, February 25, 2012

Six month of change and remembering a friend

I remember on October 13th I stood before everyone at The Recovery Place after someone sang a song and said "As you all know one of our leaders is leaving us." Before I go into what I said to them all and what happened since I will tell you when it started.

I got of the plane completely trashed. My birthday would have been my sober date but I used leaving Jersey and just getting out of detox as an excuse for one last time. I sat in the airport bar knowing I was going to spend every cent of 150 in that bar because my flight was delayed. After several double shots of Jack Daniels I remembered my first adult drink was Jack, my first 21 year old drink was Jack. It only seemed fitting it be my last..... I didn't think I was drunk until I got on the plane and had a panic attack at take off. A woman sitting next to me gave me three valium to calm me down. I slammed them down and ordered a beer. I got off the plane and met the man to pick me up for rehab. I honestly felt like I was going to a party by then.

I took off my shirt in the nurse station because it was so hot. They almost didn't admit me but suddenly I sobered up. I woke up the next morning with a hangover from hell and had to do intake all day. I was crying all day, partly because I was feeling sorry for myself, another part of me knew I was done and was relieved. Then the directer sat us down he asked us why we were there. I said "I'm done. I will die if I continue this way, whatever you guys tell me to do I will do it, however long I need to stay I'll stay. I can't do this anymore I'm just done." I didn't cry I was dead serious. That day I felt a change, I felt real.               

I won't go into everything I did, but never did I resist anything. When my day came to leave I had become very close with a lot of people. I was even named a role model to the community. Even though I never wanted to be peer leader I still was even though I didn't have the title. I didn't see any change in me. I cried for the first time since my first day that morning after I packed my stuff terrified of leaving. I saw so many people leave and come back, or leave and not be able to come back. I was terrified because of all the statistics. I wanted so badly to be one of the people who made it.

Back to the beginning. I stood in front of 93 people and said these exact words "I love every single one of you, we don't have to use and I don't want any of you on the RIP wall. Fuck the statistics, none of us have to go back." I said a lot more but it lead me to sing the "Milkshake" song with two friends......
 Since then we all parted ways. Some of us kept in contact some of us completely disappeared but here's what I really wanted to talk about. One of us didn't make it and won't come back.

Christmas was a terrible day for me. I went to an xmas party where all I wanted to do was partake in the drugs and alcohol going around finally to the point where I just had to leave. Then I went on facebook and saw RIP Kylie. I thought it was a joke because I just saw her posting on her wall the night before. I went on her page and saw the ugly truth. It wasn't a joke at all. I dropped and couldn't breathe. I remembered her while I was in rehab with her as we were in the same therapy group. We were all a tight knit family and honestly did not think it would be her.....I knew it would be someone close but not her.

One thing I saw the last time I used my tarot cards about 3 weeks before she died was 3 cards fell out of my deck the first one was "the tower of destruction" meaning chaos the second was "the devil" meaning bondage seduction and temptation  and "the 9 of swords" the description was a woman crying on the bed with 9 swords hanging over her head the meaning death. 
I knew the meaning of the cards and freaked out I read them again mixed and shuffled not wanting to believe what I was seeing, same cards same order. I immediately called my mom and told her what I saw, she calmed me down. But I decided to not use my cards that day.
Christmas those cards happened in that order. Everything was so chaotic, I was tempted and almost seduced by what bound me and I found myself crying on my bed mourning the death of someone close to me....The same happened to Kylie only she wasn't so lucky to surpass the seduction.
 I decided to hold a memorial for her with the few who remained clean that New Years eve. I saw her face in passing strangers and when I told everyone I saw her they all got goosebumps and chills. We all knew she was there.
We have all parted ways again and I hope they are all ok.

Today was the 2 month anniversary of her death. She didn't die in vain. Today I picked up my 6 month chip as it was 180 days of sobriety. Her death made me realize how life should never be taken for granted. How much it can affect others. It also showed me how to live and it made it all the more serious for me. Nothing in this world is worth using again over. I don't have to use. My mother told me she saw my death if I used again. When I told her about Kylie she cried and begged me not to go back out..... Kylie also made the bond between my mother and I all the more stronger.
    I know she knows how much she is loved and missed by everyone who ever got that pleasure of meeting her. I still go on her page from time to time. I post on her wall on the 25th of every month. Sometimes I dream about her traveling and telling me of her adventures.......I know that's her seeing everything before she moves on.....Anyways This one's for you Kylie......Love you....

Saturday, February 18, 2012

What's the difference between Queers and Nazis? Queers like the same sex!

Now for the post I've not been wanting to write about. However this is a growing issue. This is not a post of martyrdom. Perhaps it will open some eyes. Or maybe it won't. nevertheless it needs to be addressed.

Bigotry amongst the gay community.
When coming out of the closet at the age of 13 I thought the hardest part was over. I had no idea i would be faced with this however it became a real ordeal for me growing up. When I was a little kid my mother was refused by landlords, child care, shunned by friends and family. She didn't sugarcoat it for me she straight up told me it was because people were narrow-minded bigots. It didn't hurt my feelings though because I was loved by immediate family. I was raised by the white side of my family. I wasn't treated differently, and the family members who didn't like me weren't a part of my life.
              When I was going to school is when I really experienced racism. Not only by white kids but black kids as well for acting too white. The white kids used to say "Look at the nigger trying to be like us" While the black kids would say "He's think he's better than us"  

However I'm not here to talk about my school years of racism. I'm here to talk about my adult life and racism in a community you would not expect it from because as we all know, it doesn't matter what color we are we are all equally hated for being gay. It started as a teenager when I would notice my friends always getting guy's attention. At first I thought it was because I dressed punk. However when I hung out with my punk friends they had no problems. Then I was convinced I was just morbidly hideous to people. Then  a "friend" finally told me "it's because you're dark" Then I noticed it everywhere.

Like the Nazi's gay culture idolizes white skin, blond hair and blue eyes. If you don't have those things your chances are somewhat slimmer but here's where the loop-hole is. Now it's simply these following laundry lists of requirements: White or latino, hairless, wearing the latest fashion if you are different it has to be up to code, under 30 or looks like a god. Built to masculine if not you have to be anorexic looking. You must be perfect.

Gay punks: WHITE!

If you are black you must be masculine or gangster looking or the stereotypical vogue dancing queen.
If you don't fit in to any of these criteria you better have a shit load of money otherwise you're fucked!

Ok well I can vogue a little bit but that's because I know how to dance gothic as I was a goth growing up, I have only ever dated two gothic/punk rockers. The rest of them I have found to be completely rude or stuck up.  This isn't a new observation this is about 17 years of putting up with this bullshit.

 I have experienced the worst forms of rejection. I have tried being nice in every way there is to be nice, however after several rejections, rude remarks, being treated like shit and excluded and pretty much snubbed off, ignored, overlooked, avoided. I wanted to know what I was doing wrong? I mean in the beginning I wasn't outright rude to anyone that I knew of. I mean I am by no means saying every single person I met is like that. Just the majority.

Later I started voicing my observations they quickly became resentments when people ignored what I was saying. My resentments turned me into one of them only the exact opposite. Anyone who fit into the criteria I hated.
I reverted back to before my being in relationships. See I was jaded and bitter long ago for the same reason but was later sheltered when I got involved. it only was a problem when I went out with my ex's and hot guys would come up to them and hit on them and even say shit like "What are you doing with that nigger?" Or "He's too odd looking what are you doing with him?" "Or you must be cockeyed that bitch is ugly as fuck" Those are actual quotes from actual people and those are the tame ones.

Now I find myself trying to be nice trying so hard not to be jaded. But fuck it it's impossible. The gay community as a whole is worse than neo-nazi beliefs. Here we are fighting for gay rights and to be treated equally when we treat our own kind like shit for not meeting the requirements and unreasonably high expectations we make. Here we are wanting so badly to for the world to celebrate our differences and not to be judged when here we are doing nothing but passing judgement on eachother worse than highschool teenagers. We don't have to be gay bashed anymore we bash eachother more than anyone could ever bash us.

This blog may be bias because I am a minority within many minorities but I can assure you that I by no means am the only one who thinks this way. However this post will go un-noticed, unread and nothing will change. Or people will simply say "He's just being a drama queen feeling sorry for himself" But this isn't about me this is just one of many stories out there.

I hope one day someone will see this for what it is. Not a post of self pity. I think it's time to make a change.....

My spiritual story.

Psychic abilities and the occult. Ok now that I got the skeptics to stop reading this I can continue. When I was very young I knew there was something different about me. I remember talking to imaginary friends who weren't so imaginary after all. One of them my mother found a death certificate for. Others were loved ones of people I knew. I started off not knowing what I was doing or even realizing that it was abnormal. I didn't know or realize that I had a connection with the other side.
  I remember my mom taking me to restaurants when I was little and on several occasions people who were dying were drawn to me. This one lady came up to me when I was 7 at a restaurant and just hugged me and said this child is powerful to my mom. It would freak me out as I didn't understand what she was saying. Then on my tenth birthday two psychics came up to me on the beach and talked to me saying how I had such a strong energy, they gave me a quarts crystal to help me channel my energy. They warned me of the dark arts and how I would be tempted by darkness but not to let it in..... So every time I had a bad feeling or energy I would imagine a steel box surrounding me and it would go away. I wore that crystal around my neck until one day at school it just disappeared.
    When I was 9 my mom and I were at a church rummage sale and we found an old Ouija board. I didn't really need it as I was talking to spirits on a regular basis but I was drawn to it. Around the same time I lost the crystal when I was 12 the Ouija board started working. I started talking to things I couldn't see and they would never identify themselves. I remember around the last time I used it it counted and went through the alphabet backwards and I passed out. The next day I started wearing all black and started lighting black candles. Chanting and spells started coming natural to me. Parlor tricks were my game. Kids who made fun of me at school would get mysteriously injured, or sick. I thought I had it under control but then my attitude changed. My mom didn't recognize me anymore my friends didn't know who I was anymore and I ranaway from home. Refusing to believe this had anything to do with practicing the dark arts I continued down my path of destruction.
    Some people don't believe in this sort of thing and I respect that. But for years I practiced it and saw things that one would only see in horror movies and nightmares. I would laugh at people who didn't believe spirits could cause harm because I watched and became victim to spirit assault. I would have scratches, bruises all over my body. I would have black-outs for hours and sometimes days where people would say I was someone else completely, my voice would change my demeanor would change and sometimes my voice would have 3 or more tones at once.
 When I was 16 it got worse, when I moved in with my father it would get so angry when he would accuse me of being a satanist and saying that he saw demons all around me. I would black out at night and would come to realizing I was putting curses on him. I would cancel them out every time however it got progressively worse..... When I ranaway and went back to Seattle I began working in an occult bookshop as a tarot reader where in between clients I would read books on how to make someone fall in love with me. There was one boy who didn't like me back who I wanted to love me. Well I tried every single spell I learned on him using the words "I want him to fall for me so hard to where he can only think of me to the point where he can't stand it. I want him to want me so bad that he won't rest until he has me." Needless to say I got exactly what I asked for. He went completely psychotic and obsessed over me to the point where he wanted me dead. I also almost lost my leg due to infected spider bites. When I went back to the occult store they told me that what I did was an abuse of power and mind rape. That the particular spirit I called on was who infected me with spider bites and that her legend was when she was angry she would turn men into poisonous spiders. I tried reversing the spell but there were too many done I couldn't undo it. However right when I begged for forgiveness my leg was better. But the wound didn't heal for 3 years. I was also bound from using magick for a year. Meaning I even lost my psychic abilities.
         After that year was up I didn't need spells anymore, and was way beyond parlor tricks the spirits came back flooding in, my abilities were stronger than ever and all I had to do was think it and it would happen. I joined a pagan cult who tried to discredit me and all I had to do was say the words and I did and sure enough they were destroyed. Not dead ofcourse just mentally and emotionally screwed. The cult fell apart and to this day none of them will ever be the same.
  I used my gifts for pure evil. Vengeance was my nature. I didn't realize the toll it was taking on me. I was also very active in addiction to drugs. My heart grew very cold and sadness consumed me. I subsequently ended up homeless delusional and addicted to drugs. I had lost everything and then I remembered the day on the beach when I was 10 "No matter what you do don't let the darkness in it will consume you" I broke down and cried till there was nothing left inside of me. I couldn't just will it away. The spirits were gone, the gods weren't listening, my abilities were gone. I was just an empty shell. Everything I was warned about happened.

I brief history before I say what happened after this. I come from a long line of mediums and psychics on both sides of my family. My father sees spirits as well as the rest of his side one aunt can talk to animals, and others are empaths and so on. My mother has dreams and can read energy and can predict things before they happen. However none of them went where I went with it. I had a double whammy as I had it all....

Long story short I got my life semi cleaned up rarely used my cards and my abilities came back but never the same. I couldn't practice anything without having terrible consequences. However I tried using it for good but it would still always end badly.

But let me tell you how it saved my life. Right before my overdose when I came down here to South Florida I dropped my tarot cards and the Tower of destruction fell out. When I picked it up I got violently ill and that night I overdosed. When I overdosed I saw a woman standing there before me. She didn't speak but I knew who she was. She had tears streaming down her face but she was smiling. She extended her hand and I took it ready to go where ever she was taking me. She shook her head and touched my chest and all of a sudden a jolt hit me. I woke up with energy I haven't felt since before this all began. I knew that when I died for those few minutes that whatever was plaguing me was gone. Everything was back. I was back.
         About 2 months later my cards were sent to me. I used them a couple times but they told me something that scared the hell out of me. They told me someone was going to die who I became close to. Sure enough one of my friends had died. She died the exact way I was told. Afterward I saw her a few times. Since then I have seen spirits all around just like when I was little. I haven't used my cards since then but I haven't wanted to get rid of them.
I let darkness in and I honestly believe I was possessed. Because even before drugs came to be in my story the darkness consumed me. It overtook me and I was never the same. I realized that demons take many forms and the "devil" comes in ways we don't always see at first.

What do I believe in now? Well, I still believe in everything I used to believe in. I am not a christian. I still call myself a pagan. I still very much so believe in the powers of magick. But I do not use it. I do not want to risk waking up something or open a door that is closed for a reason. I call what I believe in "God" but that by no means is biblical and also can change depending on my circumstances.......

I do still believe and practice the wiccan reed "Do what thou will, and harm none"

And that is my story. You don't have to believe or take heed of my beliefs, as I don't have to believe or take heed of yours. We all have different experiences and we all see spirituality differently.....

Blessed Be.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

PNP the party is over.

Tonight I will be posting on a sensitive subject. However it's something I feel very strongly about especially since coming down to south Florida. I would like to talk about HIV and Crystal Meth.

We all know what meth is and we all know about HIV we also know that the stereotype of HIV has a stigma associated with homosexuals when the real statistics of HIV infection is actually heterosexual women. I'm not here to talk about statistics.
I'm going to talk about the meth and queer sex scene otherwise known as Party N Play (PNP)

Recently I was contacted on an undisclosed dating site by a friend of mine who recently relapsed on meth. He wanted me to come over and have sex with him while he "partied" he is also HIV positive. Being HIV positive is not a death sentence and doesn't make someone sexually unappealing or un-dateable however the meth thing and HIV thing is and does here's why.

Meth makes one feel alive, horny and unstoppable. Also enables unsafe sexual practices leading to infection of STD's. When people do meth and have sex (party and play) they are playing a very dangerous game and what's worse during the height of meth addiction they just don't care. Once they are infected they think "what's the point of being safe I'm poz he's poz what could happen?" Well I will tell you what happens: Say you are taking medication and he is taking a different medication for a different strain to the virus (because HIV has over 1,000,0000 different strains alone) You will not only catch your partner's strain as well as infect him with your strain, you will also develop and an immunity to not only his medication but yours as well. Say you are taking medication and he's not or vice versa you will catch his strain and also build an immunity to his medication. With meth and HIV already damaging your immune system the chances are very high for additional infection and it doesn't happen slowly, it's rapid. Say you are un-detectable and he's not or vice versa you will catch his strain and not only will you no longer be undetectable you will have several strains. Say you are negative and the person you are having sex with is un-detectable. Your immune system is damaged by meth need I say more? Ok I will you will catch his virus and the medication he took to make himself un-detectable will not work.
Ok now that we did a break-down of the effects of PNP, are you still thinking it's a party? If so read on:

HIV is not what it used to be, it is not a death sentence and having it nowadays with the medication they have now you can live a full and healthy life. However there are other things you can contract while in the PNP scene that will make it a death sentence heres an example: forms of HEPATITIS A and B predominately. C if you shoot up and share needles razors and toothbrushes. Also don't forget now that you have several different med resistant strains you are even more prone to develop full blown med-resitant AIDS meaning your parents, family and friends will not only have to bury you early but watch you suffer severely slowly.... I won't continue even I can't bear the thought.

Still think it's a fucking party?
What about this. Even without HIV/AIDS being in the picture meth has these effects no one can get past: Sleeplessness resulting in delusions and visions and voices. Paranoia to where you think your own pets are undercover cops. Fits of rage and violence. skin picking to where you look like you are ridden with disease. Not eating resulting in extreme weight loss not in the glam way because you lose wieght so rapidly you skin sags making you look at least 15 years older if not worse. Not being able to think clearly while thinking you have it together. Psychosis even if you do sleep. Sleep walking. Talking extremely fast and not being able to control words or speech. If you have artistic creativity it will destroy it and you with it. Oh wait a minute lets not forget about rapid rotting of your teeth. Ok so you brush and floss? Well I have news for you. Your teeth rot from the inside and could take years even after stopping for that effect to take place.

So now that I have stated my opinions based on fact I will tell you something about me. I was a heroin junkie for 10 years. I am not proud of it however I will tell you something I don't normally go into. I was addicted to meth throughout my teen years. At first it made me feel alive, it made me the best dancer in the raves and parties and clubs it made me one hell of a writer and I was one of the few queers to not get involved in the PNP scene. But in the few short years I was on meth it did more damage to me than any other drug I ever tried or got hooked on. More than heroin did me. I cannot sit and compare and say heroin is better than meth but here's what I saw: All of my dead friends (and there are many as I have attended more funerals and memorials than anything else) 7 out of 10 of them (and I'll guestimate I lost 30) died from meth's PNP scene. I watched people with bright futures slowly destroy themselves for that Party and Play. My friends who died from opiates just died while I watched my tweaker friends die slowly......
I can't get into the past though. Even though it made me stronger.

Let me close with this: If you still think meth is a party, well more power to you. If you think none of this will happen to you. Well I pray it doesn't but I buried many who thought that way. Party on.......


Bad publicity is better than no publicity and celeb death.

Today I will post on 2 subjects both will be about celebrities. I am not one to make post about famous people but these subjects are hot topics. You do not have to agree with what I am saying this is merely my view on these things.

First subject is Whitney Houston
When I was about 3 years old I watched her on MTV I loved her off the bat. I grew up watching her in movies, hearing her songs and even tried to mimic her song "I will always love you". As I got older I grew apart from her music as I leaned toward goth and punk subculture but still kept up with her from time to time. As everyone else I watched her spiral descent into the world of addiction, something she struggled with before she was even well known. We all made fun of her even though we loved her. She turned from Diva to hot mess over night with the saying "Crack is cheap I  make too much money to do that Crack is whack" When we really knew she was saying "Crack is cheap, I'm rich. What's the big deal?"
 We all saw her come back tour on youtube titled "Houston we have a problem" and we also saw her voice come back and amaze us again. Then sadly we saw her go down again this time never to return. While her hits were playing in every gay club in the world she was in a morgue doing her final interview with a forensic examiner.
 Now we are seeing horrible displays of people making fun of her and also talking completely disrespectful about her I even engaged in some of it until I realized she is someone's daughter, she is someone's mother (who mind you is completely destroyed by this and will never be the same). The day she died there were warning signs no one took heed to. She was alone in her bathtub with benzos and wine. You see, what happens when you mix pills and alcohol and soak in hot water what could be a potential fatal mix, seals your fate with the heat and blood flow dissolving the time release in pills and soaking in the alcohol rendering your body lifeless and helpless. Death is inevitable. The bottom line is drugs and alcohol are deadly especially when mixed together. Like I said in a facebook post "The disease of addiction does not care if you are rich or poor; famous or common. It wants you dead and does not discriminate." It is terrible and sad and it's time to let her rest and let her family cope with the peacefully send prayers not judgements. She was talented yes. But everyone who dies from drugs and alcohol is famous in they eyes of their families.

My second and last subject on celebs is Nicki Manaj's performance at the Grammy's
First off I will talk about the first offense to the Catholic church. OMG get over yourselves! Enough with guilt. We get it Mary wept! I know a lot of Weeping Maries too. Do you want to know what they do for it? Therapy and psyche meds, meetings and seek support. I swear the Catholic league gets angry when someone breathes wrong within a mile radius of a crucifix.
Now that I managed to piss of a few of you Catholics out there I will talk about the performance. Yes it was a disaster but nevertheless genius. Here's why: Madonna "like a virgin performance" the white wedding dress and laying on the floor moving sexually pissed off the nation. Everyone said what a disaster that was and how she should never perform again. Look at her now. I know there are many more but I will skip ahead to 2009 with Lady Gaga VMA performance a dramatic rendition of Paparazzi everyone wearing white a wheelchair with some girl looking like she's having a seizure and all of a sudden Lady Gaga walking with a cane. WTF? Then suddenly after a Beethoven piano solo blood is everywhere and she is hung. People were so pissed at this performance. It did not get good reviews at all people were freaked out, fundamentalist christians said she was blasphemous(again with the religious psychos) parents made their kids throw out her albums. I mean it goes on. But something else happened. She became more famous than ever known as being more inspirational and famous than Oprah. Yes GAGA we know you ripped off Madonna you made it obvious with born this way but we forgive you even though Madonna thinks your trying to be the new her is "reductive"
Nicki did something that night. She made people who didn't know her talk about her. She got a name for herself that night that gave her publicity. Being known for a terrible performance is better than not being known at all. I personally hated the performance but after it was done I loved her as an artist. So congrats Nicki you are well on your way to being known in the class of performers who made something out of nothing to become more famous than you hoped for.

So there you go. Like I said this post was only my opinion on the hot topics this last week.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

I am my mother's son

My mother and I both have had a lot of pain in our lives, I will not share on my mother's story because that is hers to tell. However I am here to share a piece of the puzzle as we both have had similar backgrounds and a similar story to tell.

There is one thing over anything that her and I share in common. It is our ability to write. My mother is published and does articles often. My mother and I both were given this gift of writing about our lives and some people do not agree with things we have to say others find the message we are trying to put out there in this world.

My mother raised me by herself and people blamed her for the way I turned out. They blamed her for my homosexuality, my addiction problems and my mental issues. I am writing this post to explain one thing. My mother truly loves me. She did nothing but the best to raise me. She lent her hand to me when I struggled with coming to terms with my sexuality. Though she says she wouldn't have chosen this life for me she is proud to have me as her son. I was born with severe emotional problems my mother was alone with no help from doctors, family or friends to understand. I grew up in a time where children with emotional and mental disorders wasn't taken seriously and when it was they would dose children up with ritalin and send them on their way. My mother tried every outlet to get me the help I needed but options were very limited at that time.

As far as my addiction and substance abuse goes, my mother did not expose me to drugs, alcohol or anything else for that matter. I discovered drugs on my own. She warned me of the consequences of drugs and the dangers of drugs, she educated me on the lifestyle that comes with it. I made a conscious decision to turn to that lifestyle as a way of being accepted as I was made fun of a lot by other kids and that became my outlet to fit in. At first it worked out but in the end 17 years later it didn't. 

Sexuality again, when I did come out my mother educated me on sex as I was placed in an alternative school where I learned sex ed in 5th grade and my mother would teach me about gay sex ed at home teaching me the warnings of HIV and STDs. She was very informative and did not judge.

When I ran away from home, she was heavily ridiculed and blamed by everyone. My mother had nothing to do with the choices I made. My emotional and mental stability along with substance abuse along with longing to fit in was to blame.  She did not overreact nor did she abuse me at all.

Yes I was spanked as a form of discipline, but that was a time where that was accepted and also I agree with that form of discipline sometimes sending your kid to their room and putting them on a time out is not efficient.

Yes I was spoiled and got whatever I wanted, however I was also told to get a job when I was of age and to work for what I wanted I was starting to pay rent as a teenager and pay for my own responsibilities and luxuries.

All in all I had a good upbringing and home life. My mother had to work and couldn't be there 24/7 but she included me in everything she did. I was her life I never get to thank her enough for making life as easy as possible.
So here are things I am eternally grateful for. I am grateful that I have such an understanding and supportive mother. I am grateful that she gave me the ability to write, I am grateful and lucky to be given the love I was given by her. I am extremely grateful she did not shelter me or sugarcoat the world for me and taught me real life. I am grateful that she is proud to call me her son even though I did not act or treat her like a son would for a large number of years. Most of all I am grateful that my mother gets to see me who I am now because just knowing I make her proud is a big part of what keeps me going and even though we are not in the same state and life happens just knowing she is a phone call away makes things bearable.

Yes my mother and I have been given the gift of writing I can only hope that one day I can be published like her.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Happy VD! Heart shaped boxes, blood tests and penicillin

So it's that time of year where people receive cards from secret admirers, Heart shaped boxes with chocolates in them, people renewing vows, engagement rings are hidden in desserts, you get the picture. Love is in the air....
For some at least. Some of us on the other hand are not so lucky some of us have a different story to tell. I hope people find this message and can either relate to or find humor in this or both.
  The day after valentines day there is a line in the STD clinics throughout the country and hospitals for antibiotics and HIV retrovirals. There are a large number of people checking into rehab. There are a lot of arrests being made due to crimes of passion (i.e. Damaging an ex's property, domestic violence charges, assault on an ex's new lover if I left any out let me know) Stalkers are on the rise sometimes you think you have a secret admirer when really you find heart shaped boxes of chocolate covered date rape drug. Poisoning is also on the list.
With the first statement of STD clinics here is a quote received in a text message "I want you to know I really want to fuck you, but I can't fuck you bare because I got fucked by 2 poz guys at the bath house last night."
More quotes from people I have heard on or around valentines day in the form of text and email "I just got the test results, you might want to get tested" "You are a fucking pathetic loser" "Stop calling me you psycho" "My wife is starting to catch on we aren't just friends" "I want to fuck but can we do it in my car my BF is home"  "I love you but you need rehab" "It's over" "I'm calling the cops" (only 2 of these I personally received bet you can't guess which ones)

Then here is the sad part of Valentines day. Being alone and hearing all of your friends have someone. Watching a guy propose with love in his eyes and watching his girlfriend/boyfriend light up with excitement  when you just either signed divorce papers or just either told your partner or your partner told you "I want a divorce." Being stood up. Being in the grocery store with a tv dinner and dog/cat food then finding yourself at home with your pet ignoring you while you cry on the couch watching romance movies or any movie with a happy ending kiss. Going out with all your other single friends only to find you leave alone because all your friends hooked up. And the even worse parts. Hearing "the one that got away" is getting married. Being dumped and or cheated on and they just couldn't wait any other day to tell you. Visiting the grave of the person you thought you would spend the rest of your life with.

I know, I know. I'm totally being depressing I think the title was a dead giveaway of what this post would be about. However some of it has to be said. I mean laughing at sorrow doesn't mean it will hurt less later.

As this is my first valentines day single I am grateful I'm working so I don't have to sit and think about the divorce, but others out there won't be so lucky I forgot to mention aside from xmas valentines day also has the highest suicide rate.

The moral of this entire story is valentines day in the end is just another day to get through. It's not a bad thing to celebrate love. If you have someone flaunt it and cherish it. Let the whole world know that you love and are loved. If you're single and love it flaunt it too. If you're slutty fuck your brains out with as many men or women or both just be safe just because it is VD doesn't mean you need to catch VD.


Sunday, February 12, 2012

These boots were made for walking.....(aka the oi oi boot boi)

This story is about my journey with boots. After reading my first post I realized my boots had a lot of relevance. Before I start off I want to say that I am 28 years old and I have to wear socks on a regular basis because my feet are disfigured because of my boots. People describe me as the guy with the knee high boots.... People looks at me funny because I always wear them. People comment and look at me strangely when I don't wear them so here's how my boot fetish started.

Age 10: I found an army duffel bag in the basement of my house. Some stuff belonged to my father and a pair of combat boots that were his (as both of my parents were in the army) fit my feet perfectly as I was very big for my age. I didn't know my father at that time and they were my only connection to him. I wore them everyday to school with that I was able to fit in army clothes and would dress military regularly....My feet would be sore everyday sometimes they bled but I didn't care.

Age 12: The original boots had fallen apart and Doc Martens were still made in the UK my mom bought me a regular pair of black Docs I never took them off. When I ran away I literally never took them off for months. When I finally did due to having no soles they were able to walk on their own. I literally puked from the smell of wearing them 3 months straight thats when the foot disfigurement started.

Age13: I went to an army surplus store and found a pair of calf high boots for 40 dollars I found a $50 at the bus stop. I wore them that night with a Twiggy dress at a Marilyn Manson concert I got into for free. As they were my only shoes I didn't  wear anything else.

Age 14-15: My boots were gone no soles. I went to live with my father in LA and got a different pair after becoming very irrational when they tried to make me wear sneakers. By that time I was thrown into rages and fits when people would give me something less than black leather on my feet. I had a pair of army boots I got from the salvation army. They weren't ideal, but they would do they gave me the support my disfigured feet needed. I was walking down Hollywood Blvd. when I saw Nazi skinheads walking down the street. I saw knee high boots before and my father would tell me that only Nazi's wore knee high boots. But when I saw all of them wearing ox blood and black knee high boots that day I was jealous. I said to myself that day I wanted a pair. I also developed a taste for SS fashion.

Age 15-18: My first high boots I wore them constantly even though they were doc martens they did not fit my skinny legs and I was slightly disappointed because I had the idea in my mind that they would be perfect. I also started putting white bar laces in my boots and became a self proclaimed goth skin-head. Later I became a SHARP (skin-head against racial prejudice) at 16 they fell apart but right when that happened I had run away back to Seattle and some friends of mine stole an entire shipment of high boots so they were instantly replaced and they fit a little better and they gave me the entire shipment. I went to the Park off Broadway in Seattle and found all the Gutter-punks and gave them to all of them.  I was known in the gutter-punk scene as the boot-queer! From that day forward everywhere I traveled to I was remembered by my boots. Some of them are still around in San Francisco using whats left of them as patchwork. Others still email me calling me the oi oi boot boi!

Age 18-19: I was in buffalo exchange on goth shopping binge and there they were. Steel-toed knee high rangers. I put them on and they were half a size small for me but I couldn't bare to take them off. They were a little beat up looking but I didn't care. They were mine. The Docs were thrown in the trash some gutter-punk came behind me and dug them out screaming (oi oi boot BOI) I flipped him off and said "fuck Docs!" they fit around my skinny legs. They felt so good even with the pain they caused with every step. They eventually molded to my feet fitting perfectly. Everyday everywhere they were worn then something snapped. I found there were others like me in the underground leather scene. They became something else they weren't just a mark for punk-skinhead wear. They were fetish-wear in the scene I was diving into. Guys I would hook up with would want me to step on them, kick them, walk on them. And leave them on during sex. But just as I discovered that scene I was so badly hooked on drugs that I lost the boots in the move and was no longer sexual due to being on opiates.

Ages 19-23 I went through 3 pairs of boots during this time. None having any meaning to me as they never filled the void that knee highs would. then I completely lost all boots.

Age 23 I was too poor to find boots and was in extreme pain that year. I finally went to the doctor and he made me see a specialist. I don't remember what the doctor said it was. But he said in laments terms that my feet are pretty much fucked without the support of boots. I responded "So are you saying I have to wear boots under doctor's orders?" He laughed but said "yes"

Age 24-28
After a year of extreme pain to wear I was prescribed pain medication from not wearing boots I was able to work at a fine dining restaurant. I found a store that sold ranger boots. $169 they were closed the day I went so I made my ex boyfriend pick them up even though rent was due. He picked them up and screamed at me for blowing the money but the minute I opened the box I didn't hear him. I was in bliss They fit perfectly in every way. My feet weren't in pain anymore. I began going to clubs where my kind were who had the same fetish sexually my boots served me well. People didn't understand it. When I slept with normal guys they would hate it when I wore my boots in bed. They didn't quite get it. Finally one got me to take them off and said "oh my god what happened to your feet. The tops of my feet where my shins meet had black calluses on them. I rubbed them with a sense of pride. "They're from my boots." I said smiling. He replied "Oh my god, how could you wear them if they are doing that to you?" "You wouldn't understand. Doctor's orders." 
  About a year later they were a little scuffed up I would polish and shine them as much as I could. I was sitting outside of a leather bar "The bike stop" in Philly. A hipster came up to me and said "You know you shouldn't wear those unless you're going somewhere important. You're such an attention seeking poser." I just laughed.I wore them every day for 4 years they scuffed up in the height of my alcoholism and drug usage. long story short when I looked at them while wearing them in detox I noted the holes and that the soles were gone. I cried. they served me well. I still wore them because I couldn't part with them. I would look on sites online because that brand wasn't made anymore. I went to the leather shop and a new pair that weren't half as nice as them were $500, I said no. I couldn't afford them. Finally my mom bought me a pair. These ones are higher than the old ones and fit so well. A little loose on top but if they were tighter they would probably be uncomfortable. I can't bring myself to throw the old ones away. I plan to eventually see if I can get the old ones fixed because No matter how nice a new pair is these old boots have so much of a story behind them. that I can't even get into here. Besides some stories are extremely inappropriate even for my personal blog and some parts of the story could actually make money. In the end though I will always be remembered for my boots. I was and always will be the OI OI BOOT BOI!

An introduction to me

Well here it goes. I was a bit apprehensive of starting a blog, since the death of myspace I looked back at all my old blog posts and realized how pathetic and immature I sounded. I will forewarn you ahead of time, my blogs will probably be disturbing, offensive or boring, or all three at once. I'm not really expecting a huge turnout as I have over 300 friends of facebook and maybe 10 of them read what I have to say and the same 5 respond. But bitching about the antics of facebook is for a later blog post.

My name is Wes Morrigan Armistead. Morrigan is not my real name but seeing as how Morrigan is the goddess of war and I am in constant battle it somehow seems fitting. I was born in Texas but raised in Seattle. I have a wonderful mother who I love dearly and she did the best she could. I didn't meet my father until I was 12, we weren't very close when I was a kid. I knew I wasn't like other kids, I was called a faggot by kindergarten wore bell-bottoms in grade school then traded them in for combat boots and camo pants. The camo pants became equipped with chains. Tho boots got higher and black eyeliner became my friend. I came out of the closet at 13 after running away from home to hang out with street-kids telling everyone I was abused (I was but not by family).  I went from being the most hated and excluded ugly kid to one of the most popular people in Seattle. I don't like to glamorize my gutter-punk lifestyle but when I joined an organization I used it to my advantage to end up on local TV.
By 14 after going back home for a while I would go all over the city to concerts, clubs and parties everyone knowing me and always in the VIP area. School however was difficult. I could not maintain focus as I was heavily addicted to lsd, pot, pills and speed. Everyone in school treated me like shit and I would get beat up regularly so I dropped out by 8th grade going to alternative school.
     The next year that all ended. My mother had gotten a job opportunity in Denver, CO. She asked me if she should take it. I pissed off a local drug dealer and was convinced he would kill me so I told my mom yes. Big mistake. We moved to Littleton, CO. I went to Littleton Highschool where at first everything was going good. I wasn't popular but that was ok, I would get there I thought. Only problem was I became popular with Neo Nazis. Although I am obviously everything they hate for some reason they liked me. I wore knee high boots, put white laces in them and would sneak out to go to their parties. That's where I met two kids who were gothic like me. They were planning a massacre and talking about 4/20.....Needless to say 15 people were dead as a result them being 2 of them. I did not go to that school nor did I have any involvement of what took place that day. Knowing them was enough for me to snap out of it.
     Things went out of control lsd took the control for me at that time.
At 16 I ran away again for a while but ended up in the bay area of California to live with my father, stepmother, half brother, and sister. Being a gay punk-goth pagan in a house of Seventh day adventist did not sit well. I wasn't allowed to leave the house for more than an hour at a time, have friends over or visit friends or really have any friends, I wasn't allowed to wear black, I wasn't alloed to read occult books or read tarot cards. Within two months of that I began doing drugs and snorting ritalin in class my teacher was a junkie so he let me and the two losers who would talk to me get away with it.
  I decided that life was not for me but I couldn't just up and leave. I started doing tarot card readings at school to save up money for a bus ticket back to Seattle. And right when I finally had enough money my dad Ironically found my stash or tarot cards crystal balls my journal where I wrote my death threats to him and spells and so on and almost beat the shit out of me. But he did something much worse. He made me cut my tarot cards one by one all three decks smashed the crystal ball my grand father gave to me my black crystal ball given to my on my 10th birthday like they were nothing. I never did for give him for that because to him they were tools of the devil to me they were sentimental irreplaceable things given to me by the few people who loved me.
 I left the next day back to Seattle, where I thought everything would be as it was before. I was dead wrong. I became heavily addicted to speed and was repeatedly raped by my first boyfriend's sugar pedophiliac daddy. He had a taste for teenage boys also liked to give them a gift they couldn't return. That gift was AIDS..... (edited for content). I left Seattle and long story short ended up back with my mom 5 months later........

I really wish it all ended there but heroin became my story for about 7 years after all of that and I'm not going into that story because everyone who knows anything about heroin knows the life that comes with it. I became a raging alcoholic after giving up heroin at 23 and got married at 25 to a man almost 20 years older than me in Jersey lived the simple life and no one knew my past until it go way out of control with pill popping and drinking till I couldn't remember anything else. I would wake up hung over crying everyday saying "Never again." "I'm sorry, please forgive me" "I swear I won't drink like that again" only to say the same words the next morning.
  That went on and on. Then I went back to Heroin. Decided to mix them all. 6 benzos, 4 bong hits, a pint of Everclear and 10 bags of Heroin. That went on for about a year until one day the Klonopin wasn't working so I took the whole bottle of them Drank an entire pint of Everclear and did about 12 bags of heroin. I finally got to take a good look at myself. I stood there looking at my lifeless body on the floor for what felt like forever. I came back with a jolt. I went to detox the next day and they flew me down To Florida for rehab. I've been clean almost 6 months. I had my first sober birthday since 12 in Detox in Jersey. I am proud to say I spent my 28th year clean so far. Though I'm far from perfect and my life is anything but boring.

So now you know some of my story. (I edited a lot of stuff out. Save it for the book is what I say) I have a lot to say. I hope others will read my future posts.