May 6, 2024

Lesson Well Learned, Again

WARNING: The content contained in this particular post will be rather graphic and is 100% adult content. So if you want to maintain an innocent image of me, stop reading immediately. Otherwise, you’ve been warned. Enjoy the shit-show.

I am fully aware of how everything I am about to share with you makes me look. Even I don’t particularly like it, however I am sharing because at the end of it all I hated most of it. If not all. I made mistake after mistake the entire time thinking that I “knew better” and yet again proved my husband correct that I am naive and lack a real world grasp of how things are.

A friend of mine and I have been chatting together since we sat next to each other at a gay bar in 2023. We joked that we could have hung out then but didn’t because we’re both quiet weirdos. He has been kind and understanding and for all intents and purposes is a good guy. We will call him “Bob” going forward.

Back when I thought my husband was going to pass away in October, shortly after going on hospice care, he had talked me into going on a cruise. He was pushy and I have an uncanny inability to say no. So I purchased a ticket to go on this cruise in February of this year. As things unfolded Charlie did not die and I missed the cruise. At the time I was bothered because I had been looking forward to a break, but I was glad he was still with me. Now, I am even more elated that I missed it, because it would have been what my boyfriend had feared.

Bob told me of an event at this bath house in Berkeley this past weekend. It was a bear event and he had gone a few times in the past and said it was fun. I have only been to these “establishments” in the past under strict timelines and never with the “freedom” to take advantage of the intended vibe.

After informing me, he offered that I could sleep on his couch. I had intended on getting a hotel room, but since I was trying to be economical I thought “what could it hurt?” My husband’s voice immediately chimed in my mind to say “He’s gonna wanna fuck you.” But old habits die hard and I continued to ignore the advice of my husband even beyond the grave, from my own thoughts.

I agreed to sleep on his couch and scheduled my visit.

At no point did I get any bad vibes from Bob and entered the weekend with excitement. He instructed me to bring a “jock and a harness.” I thought it was for the bathhouse but it turned out to be for a “kink” night at a local bar. After he clarified this for me, I genuinely was bummed. The plan was to get up early on Saturday to go to this bear event… Going out drinking the evening before sounded exhausting. (Goodness I sound old.)

Despite my hesitation I again agreed.

I got to Bob’s and with a hug came a kiss on my neck. I was bothered by this because this was the first time we had ever met-met. Yet we had been communicating for a whole year, so maybe this is just how he was. I excused it and went about my business. He hurriedly took me back to his bedroom where he asked for advice on what to wear to the bar. I obliged offering my perspective and then he inquired what I had brought with me to wear. I responded that I had brought this elastic harness but it was too small for me now that I had put on weight since ordering it. I told him I was just going to go in with what I was wearing, which was a pink barbie shirt and tan shorts. He did not like that. So he pulled out a harness from his collection and had me wear one that matched the jock I had assumed no one would really see. I figured, if I’m doing this I might as well go all out. Get it out of my system.

A couple hours later I found myself sitting at the bar in nothing but a faux leather harness and jockstrap. It was liberating for the most part. I wasn’t alone, there were many others. Bob introduced me to his friends which all seemed like really cool guys. Already I could sense that two of them were into me (Jesus that sounds conceited) but I knew it was because I was polite, attentive, and kind. Genuinely I don’t understand how gay men can complain that no one wants to date… that’s all any of them want with me. Clearly the problem is them.

The night at the bar was fun. I really enjoyed myself. So did Bob, who had 1 too many drinks. I was DD, so I nursed my extra large vodka red-bull all night.

Throughout the evening Bob kept touching me intermittently. Again, I didn’t think anything of it because maybe that’s just how this guy is. People are affectionate and I’m such a weirdo that I am only “touchy-feely” with my closest of besties. Even then, I still keep my hands to myself.

We got back to his apartment, he stumbled up the stairs and informed me that I would not be sleeping on the couch. Immediately I panicked which quickly morphed into anger that I had put myself into this situation. (Also, because the voice of my dead husband was right.)

Once we were in his apartment he started kissing me and didn’t stop. And I didn’t try. I didn’t say anything. How could I justify not wanting to when we were literally planning on going to a sex club tomorrow? Plus, I didn’t want to make it awkward or offend him, so I just let it happen.

He kept me up until 2 (we were scheduled to be up at 7 AM.) Before he passed out, he declared that tomorrow we were going to fuck.

I could not sleep. I was so uncomfortable and angry with myself. The only way I could get calm to even get a couple hours was by pretending I was in my husband’s old apartment. This was surprisingly easy to do. Bob’s place had the same energy/vibe that my husband’s had. Closing my eyes I pictured every detail of Charlie’s. Once again I was back there and felt so comfortable that I drifted off to sleep.

The next day arrived and he kissed me again like we were longtime lovers. Awesome.

He had invited two of his friends to go along with us and they arrived on time and by 9 o’clock we were on the road.

Now, I am someone who requires, nay demands that if you’re in the car with me, you’re talking to me. It is a habit I picked up from my husband and will maintain until I die. These fuckers didn’t believe in that. Pure silence from all around me. So I turned on some music and just seethed until we got there.

That 3 hour road trip FELT LIKE 3 HOURS. It felt even longer because of the silence, the buckets of rain pouring from the sky, the traffic, and the four car accidents we encountered. (Two of which were Tesla’s by the way.) Finally we made it late to the bear event and the only things available were lockers. (If you’re an innocent angel, bathhouses offer small private rooms and lockers.) I was really hoping to get a room so I could have a place to hide and, legitimately, take a nap. I was so exhausted. Which only added to my frustration.

While I had always wanted to live this debauched gay stereotype… After experiencing it, it really isn’t my thing. Spending 5 hours waiting to have a casual encounter is actually rather boring. Mildly stressful. I am all about consent and most of the people I came across didn’t seem interested in me. Or they would smile but make no inclination that they wanted anything more. Fine. I get it. I’m not everyone’s favorite flavor. So I found myself sitting with one of the dude’s who had come along with us, chit-chatting about our lives. He was super sweet and enjoyed having a casual conversation as we watched the parade of naked men before us. At one point he joked that we should have had score cards. I felt safe with him because he made it abundantly clear that his type is Asian twinks. Which is the polar opposite of me.

Bob was mildly relentless. If he encountered me he would touch me and one time he kissed me and asked if I was going to fuck him. Luckily this was late in the day. I told him with all the truthful confidence that at this point I could not physically do it. For once I was grateful of my flaws.

He was indifferent and continued on with his mission to take as many loads as possible. Have at, I say.

Finally it came time for us to leave and I was ecstatic. I was burnt out and just wanted to go home. The whole time there, all I could think was that I wished my boyfriend was there and how my husband was right about what I wanted. He had me figured out way more than I do.

The drive home, no one offered to help chip in for gas. Which…. whatever, but it was super fucking rude. Someone could have bought my dinner on the way home and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. They didn’t even ask to pick me up a candy bar when we stopped to get gas. Hell, even if someone had offered me money I would have declined because I’m just a nice guy like that. However no one said a word and because of that I was extremely annoyed.

My biggest worry afterward was that Bob was going to ask me to stay and have sex once we got back. I tried to head that off at the pass by saying that “I had a tournament tomorrow and needed to get home.” (Which wasn’t a lie, by the way.) That seemed to suffice him because he made no attempts. We got back, I grabbed my things, and bounced faster than if the building had been on fire.

Once I got in the car, I immediately called my BF to relay the entire event to him. The 2 hour drive from Bob’s to Josh’s felt like 30 minutes. It’s amazing what conversation can do.

I look back on all of this and I blame myself. First off, I shouldn’t have done it. If I was going to I should have gone with my boyfriend instead of attending solo. I wanted to because I never had. Which Josh understood. Second, I should have been more up front about my feelings with Bob and what I wanted out of our friendship. I don’t know what I have said to give him any kind of impression that this was okay. I also should have told him, when it did happen, that it wasn’t appropriate. Third, I should have just gotten the hotel like I had originally intended. Going forward, should someone I am not absolutely familiar with offers for me to stay at their house I will decline. I am remiss to admit that this is something I had to learn again. Evidently I’m not bright when it comes to trapping myself into situations.

Ultimately I’m mad at myself for doing any of this. Because of the entire episode I had a breakdown and deleted all social media apps, gay apps, and blocked phone numbers. I just want to be left alone for awhile. Since my husband’s passing, it genuinely feels like people think there is an open invitation for them to try and fill that spot. Which I find incredibly insulting. To make this reality worse, I lack the ability to tell people no because I don’t want to create conflict or hurt their feelings. So instead I suffer in silence, which I don’t want to do. I have way more to deal with than just that. I’m tired of suffering.

May 2, 2024

Memories and Missed Opportunities

Last night was strange…

I went to bed and in the midst of my mumbling thoughts I started to think about the most random of memories of my husband. Little things, like when I would kiss his neck or the way he would tap his glass as he would take a drink. Then in morphed into thinking of our final day together.

He woke up and was madly messaging all of the people he’s been corresponding with these past few months. Then when he finally got up we watched The Birdcage. For the life of me I can’t even remember what else we watched. I had wanted us to bookend everything with a re-watch of Philadelphia but from behind his mask he firmly said no.

Once it got close to time, we retired to the bedroom and set up chairs all around the bed. We watched an episode of Taskmaster until the nurse got there. She wrote out the instructions to administer the drugs and split. (Which was not the plan by the way, but that is a blog post for another time.)

At 5:30 we took off his mask and waited. Almost exactly 6 hours later he was gone.

I replayed this over and over last night… Thinking of him lying in bed afterwards, there but not. He looked so peaceful. I would go in there and check on him, brush his hair. I could hear his voice screaming in my head “Josh, that is so weird. That’s a dead body. Gross.”

These memories made me miss him so much. I started to cry but stopped myself because I didn’t want to wake up Tony.

Last night I dreamed of Charlie and I adopting a child. We were asking my parents questions about what we would need and they were excited to meet their grandchild. It was such a lovely dream that I didn’t want to wake up. I got to have my family back for a very brief moment of time.

Charlie had said one time that he would be willing to have kids if we adopted. At the time I didn’t want that, I’d rather have a biological child of my own, but I figured if he was willing to meet me halfway I should too. Shortly after his tune changed and he didn’t want kids. This would be the pattern over the course of our relationship, mostly because we had yet to find our groove. We didn’t know what made us work and how to accommodate our shortcomings. By the time we had figured them out and became a stronger couple, we were in the midst of having an open relationship and he wouldn’t want to bring a child into that. Which is a fair assessment.

Then he was diagnosed with ALS.

In hindsight I am glad we never brought children into our relationship. It would have made everything exceptionally difficult, especially once I had to raise them and take care of Charlie all while trying to process my and our child’s grief. Maddening.

I think Charlie would have been an amazing dad. He was so patient and kind. They also would have been fucking spoiled. I know it. Between him and my parents… the kid would have never wanted for anything.

The thought of adopting now just breaks my heart. They would never get to know one of the greatest people of my life. Charlie would be some myth or legend, yet the reality would be so much more.

I’m glad I at least got to feel it in a dream.

April 30, 2024

Your Husband is on the Dresser

I never expected to learn things about myself in the absence of my husband. I thought I had a basic grasp of my idiosyncrasies and character flaws. As I have since discovered, I do not. Turns out that I am still very much afraid of the dark and what lurks within it’s depths. It is either the thought, or the truth, that entities lay just beyond my field of vision that causes me immense amounts of fear. I’m kept up late wondering what the energy I am feeling could be. And it’s always things just out of sight.

When my husband was around I never thought of them. They rarely crossed my mind, unless I had some sort of dream or had thought it was a good idea to watch a scary movie before bed. (Y’know the only time it’s appropriate to do so?) If I had had any fear drifting to sleep or waking with panic, he was always there to calm me. Every time. I always felt safe with him there. His presence made me stronger, even when ALS had made him completely immobile. I don’t know why.

There were times, when he had a job out of town, that I got a glimpse of this “Josh.” I would wake up and look right at the open door. (Yeah, I sleep with the door open by the way.) I could sense or feel something watching me. Panic would grip my body as I tried to tell myself that I was alright, there was nothing there. I’d reach out to my husband and text him, even though I knew he was asleep. Just knowing he was there, somewhere, made me braver.

Now, I have nothing. Well… Almost nothing. Yesterday I retrieved his remains from the funeral home and placed them in the bedroom. His ashes now rest on the dresser across from where I sleep. Oh, and a portion in the living room with full view of the TV, just in case.

Tony darkly joked on who had what part of him. I said, he probably had a leg and the blue, tropical themed shorts he was wearing. Maybe an eye too. A finger. God, we’re fucked up.

We are people who find humor in grief. It’s our way of processing all of the ache that comes with loss. We fill it with a mutated sense of “joy.” For us it’s also a way to honor Charlie. He had a darker sense of humor than all of us. He had to, to process all of what had been given to him.

It’s nice “having him home.” Also a little weird, knowing that my husband’s charred remains are just on the opposite side of the room in a rough wood box. As he would have said “it’s creepy.” Partially, but I’m in that weird grief state of mind where I will take anything I can get to be a band-aid for the emotional ache. In grief we do the weirdest things to process it. I’ve been wearing his deodorant, clothes, and sleeping where he passed. That last one would have given him the biggest “ick.” For someone who was so comfortable with his own condition he was sure hung-up on the small details.

“Why are you sleeping there? That is where someone died? That’s creepy,” he would have said.

“It’s not like you’re still there, Charlie,” I would have responded.

I wonder if having his ashes made it even more real… He is really gone.

April 25, 2024

Trauma Glitches

Taylor A. Swift*! My memory is truly shit. Whole conversations or random pieces of information have failed to back up in my memory as if they never existed. The only trail that these moments occurred is proof in text. Thank Taylor* for that. Otherwise I would have no recollection. I would ask “what is that?!” but I already know what it is. It’s grief. It is also partially due to the fact that I am bandaging my grief in light substance abuse.

I’m not someone who does any sort of hard drug. My previous vices were alcoholism and prescription pills that did not have my name on the bottle. I didn’t think the second was an issue until my husband asked me how I slept so “soundly.”

“I could not wake you up. Why?” he had asked.

I had to then explain that one of my co-workers had given me her extra muscle relaxers, to which I then held captive in my sock drawer. As the explanation left my mouth I already knew that was a problem. Normal people don’t do things like that. We promptly discarded them (safely) after our conversation. So, whenever Charlie or I were prescribed heavy duty meds they were made aware. After that, they weren’t a problem.

Prior to meeting my husband I quickly spiraled into an alcoholic. At the time it didn’t make sense why, but after my “Soundtrack of My Life” project it became apparent that I had gone through some heavy-duty trauma that I neglected to address. Instead I buried it and took it onto the next relationship that ultimately added to the stockpile of depression. Therefore the only conclusion my 17 year old mind concluded was a “brilliant plan” was to drink. And I did, until my husband came along and said what I was doing was illegal and was going to ruin my life. He said he would not drink if I too stopped. We would do it together. It was easier for him than me, however I still got sober and stayed that way until somewhere around my 20th birthday. Then I drank a toxic concoction at a Halloween Party which made me utterly sick that I ended up puking all over Charlie’s car.

Liquor and I have had a bad relationship from the start. I want to desperately get drunk, and forget, and it likes to take it’s time until I am so overwhelmed that I am hammered to the point I black out.

I did that the other evening.

It’s amazing how quickly one falls into old destructive patterns. It resulted in making very unwise and dangerous decisions that, in sobriety, I could hear Charlie’s voice at the back of my mind, clear as day, say: that I need to set limits or I will kill myself. That would absolutely go against his wishes that I “live a long and happy life.”

The issue though is I ache. Even with antidepressants I have a constant smoldering pile of embers in the pit of my chest, burning for my husband. He has been with me for near 21 years of my life… him not being here is jarring, no matter how hard I attempt to suppress that truth.

I am completely out of my comfort zone. I have to deal with these feelings uninhibited or “assisted” but I genuinely don’t know how. Nor will my mind let me. It is truly a sight to behold when I bury my hurt subconsciously. It’s like a seasoned magician performing mundane slight of hand.

The primary reason I want to deal is because I can’t live with my life taking moments of my life and erasing them. I pride myself on my memory and not being able to do that will cause me more stress than not addressing the hurt I have.

*One of my favorite stand-up bits was George Carlin’s piece about praying to Joe Pesci. I loved it so much that I adopted it into my life with using “Albus Dumbledore” in the place of other fantastical beings. This was before we learned that Row-Row is missing an oar from her boat. So I have changed faiths and now pray to Tay-Tay.