One More Suicide

Chapter 1: Hell

Brian lay next to him, naked and sweating in the fall heat. Through the darkness of his room he made out shapes and objects out of the stucco patterns on the ceiling. He was having a hard time getting back to sleep because every time he closed his eyes, the world spun from behind them. The man who drove him home from the bar was now unconscious and snoring lightly beside him in the nude.

Didn’t even use a condom.

They say that afterglow is caused by the dopamine found in semen. Girls tend to have a period after unprotected sex where they just feel good. This happens with guys too if semen is absorbed through the colon tissue. Dopamine is the body’s way of telling you that what you did was right. It gives you a strong euphoric feeling that encourages you to do it again. It’s part of the brain’s reward system. It’s meant for sex and eating. Two things that humans need to do to survive either as an individual or as a species. You can also high jack this system, by using drugs like meth, heroin, even caffeine.

I am not a good person.

The guy was a good head taller than Brian. Not that that was anything unusual though. Not that it should matter. He’s a good size where it counted, not going to win any prize ribbons but at least he’s been told that most of the male population is that big. Aside from the guys he normally met this one was almost comically huge where it counted. It was a good thing he slept with him drunk and numb because he could feel himself stretch to a near ripping point.

One time Brian slept with a guy who was tall and only four or so inches. He wanted to feel sorry for him but the man was just so happy about his life and his body that he couldn’t help but admire the guy.

But still though…

Everyone is bigger than me…

Everyone is more hung than me…

Everyone is all around better than I could ever be...

Brian was never going to be the swimsuit model or the cool hipster he wanted to be. No matter how hard he tried he was still going to be himself. He was coming to accept this though.

Well… as much as he could.

Brian winced. His bottom hurt more now than it did when the man had first made love to him that night. Likely because the alcohol was wearing off. It was too sore to move and if he really wanted to get in a comfortable position, the guy whose name he thinks is Ryan, was holding onto him a little too tightly while he slumbered. Brian couldn’t break his hold and eventually decided that he couldn’t get loose without the risk of waking him up. Although he might have to at some point soon if he was going to get to the bathroom in time.

He swallowed hard and did his best to keep himself from vomiting. The taste of copper and saliva filled the bottom part of his mouth.

Brian liked this guy too, from what little he knew about him that is.

It was always about making the other person happy.

I don’t matter after all.

Brian looked at the clock beside his twin sized bed. Two thirty in the morning. They had gotten back to his place at around one. The room spun around feverishly. The bookstand melded in with the nightstand while the floor was moving beneath him.

He was developing a major headache.

The major headache was then developing into a major headache with severe nausea.

Then it was a full blown major headache with nausea and extreme pressure on his right eye.

A drunken migraine…

I deserve it...

To his good fortune, the man shifted himself to lie on his back, releasing Brian from his vice like grip, leaving sweaty red indentations on Brian’s right side. He took this opportunity to slowly move away from the bed and staggered into the hallway, where he made his way hurriedly to the bathroom. Three feet from the toilet he collapsed onto his knees and crawled the rest of the way toward the bowl. What came next was him putting his whole head in it and letting it all spew forth. He wretched and heaved until nothing was coming up but the lining of his stomach, if not his stomach itself. He couldn’t catch a breath for a good minute before it all settled down.

Then he did it again.

He got on his knees and tried to steady himself but still couldn‘t find the strength to stand. Knowing he’d feel better in the morning if he drank some water now and then threw that up, he proceeded to the sink where a small plastic orange cup presided. Getting rid of all the excess alcohol was something that he thought would, in the end, be the best thing for him to do. There is an old wives tale that if you drink a glass of water with each alcoholic drink you intake then you will wake up feeling fine the next morning. Obviously it’s only a half truth if you cannot keep the damn water down.

When he felt stable enough he got up and filled the cup with water again. It wasn’t that big so he had to get in a few glasses more before he was able to get back to vomiting.

In his unsteady and very drunken state he realized that he had forgotten to put on any underwear before leaving his bedroom. He prayed to God that none of his roommates would get up and have to pee while he was standing over the sink, naked as a newborn bastard child.

With water in his stomach he knelt back down on the floor and aimed for the bowl. Chunks of God knows what were going in everywhich direction, prompting Brian to puke even more at the sight of it.

When he was done he felt better but his stomach still felt shredded.

Brian steadied himself and drank almost four more cups of water. By the fourth he could hold no more liquids, lest he exhale more bodily fluids.

Trying his best to stay on two feet as he stumbled out into the hallway. He fell sideways into the drywall and his vision doubled for a second. He looked around to see if he had woken anyone with the noise. No one peeked out of their room, so he was doing ok. Slowly he made his way back to his room and closed the door behind him.

He took a look at the 6’3" sweaty naked man that lay in his bed before returning back to the mattress. He hated himself for enjoying what the man had done to him. He hated himself for gawking at him while he slept like he was some Playgirl centerfold. He hated himself for being gay, but within the same argument he couldn’t help it any more than someone can help being straight.

The man is beautiful.

He hated himself for thinking he was beautiful.

He IS beautiful…

Brian got back into bed and maneuvered his way into Ryan’s side. Immediately Ryan pulled him toward his body and wrapped his long arms around him and squeezed until his chest felt like it was going to cave in unto itself.

Feeling better? Ryan mumbled. Eyes still closed.

Yeah, Brian lied weakly. He scooted over slightly trying his best to turn over so that he would be facing away from Ryan‘s burning hot body. This however was thwarted by Ryan‘s strong arm, holding Brian in place. The man’s body was so fucking hot it was making him sweat. The sheets were on the floor seeing as it was still technically summer and his room lacked the luxury of air conditioning.

When he finally was able to roll over, Ryan took hold of him and kissed the back of his head. The man pulled Brian toward his crotch. He could feel him getting excited again.

Hey there boy. Ryan cooed.

Brian sighed and prayed for sleep that wouldn’t come anytime soon.

Ryan pulled him even closer.

Anything to make him happy…

The clock radio began to play the hard rock guitars and banging drums that radio 93.3 was known for at approximately seven thirty am in the morning. It was a less than welcome racket for one who’s brain felt like it was about to split into thirds. Brian half consciously turned it off and rolled over to see if Ryan was still there. He wasn’t. A pang of sadness and relief washed over him. The man had left an imprint on his bed and Brian could almost fall into it.

Beautiful.

He lay in bed for a few moments. On his back he pressed his hands deeply against his eyeballs to counteract the hangover. Sunlight always makes everything worse. He felt like throwing up again.

Brian got up and nearly fell down as he put on his underwear and pants. He had shirts all over the floor and picked the one that he hadn’t worn in a few weeks. Looking around his room to make sure nothing was stolen; he found a napkin on his dresser with Ryan’s number written on it with a black sharpie. He could barely make out the last two digits but it was there. Proof that he had met and liked someone and the sentiment had been returned. Even through his haze he couldn’t help but smile.

Before anything else could happen during the morning routine he had to stop by the bathroom to throw up whatever was left of the night before. When he was finished throwing up bile and water he flushed the toilet and stood in front of the mirror. He needed a shave but in his condition he was more liable to accidentally go all Sweeney Todd on his face. He opted out of the idea and left the bathroom.

Brian made his best effort to walk normally into the kitchen, it felt as though he had a carrot up his butt, his attempt was futile when his roommate Mike saw his broken stride. He put down the paper he was reading and grinned.

God, how I hate his stupid shit eating grin.

How’s your ass this morning? Mike laughed. Don’t think we didn’t hear you and your friend’s drunken asses last night.

Brian opened the refrigerator and took out one of his weight loss shakes. He adjusted his underwear before staring stupidely into Mike’s eyes. Revenge was at hand.

Honestly Mike, do you really want me to go into the details? Brian’s face squinched and grew red, already feeling a little more anger toward him than was necessary at seven thirty in the morning. Do you want me to tell you how he was hung like a horse?

Stop it. Mike went back to his paper.

How his cum was dripping from my anus all night long?

I said fucking stop it! Mike stood up in his chair and threw the paper down on the table. He, like most people, was a whole lot more intimidating than Brian and he scared the fuck out of him, especially at this moment where he was breathing deeply and turning red. Brian was still a little disoriented from last night and didn’t want an argument.

Sorry. Brian took a sip from his shake and rubbed his right eye and applied more pressure.

Fuck man! Mike got up and left the dining room in a huff.

Brian held the weight loss shake canister against his chest and leaned against the refrigerator. He punched the fridge’s front door, causing a few of the magnets to come off. He picked them up and put them back on.

Brian sat down in his seat at the dining room table and took a look at the newspaper Mike had been reading. It was The Onion. He always did like The Onion. The weekly satirical news paper always could make him smile.

What was a dumb ass like Mike doing with something cool like this?

Brian paused…

That’s a mean thing to think.

Brian frowned.

He left the paper on the counter as he got up make a bagel to go along with the shake.

They had everything bagels and blueberry bagels. The blueberry ones were Mike’s and he felt like he had done enough to the guy for one day so he chose the other one.

Not enough if you ask me.

He sliced it into halves and put them in the toaster and went to the fridge for the cream cheese. He stared at the container and his entire face melted into melancholy he had to make the decision to possibly exacerbate things by taking the last of the cream cheese or leaving it. He could use peanut butter, but that would be gross on an everything bagel.

Stupid, that’s just stupid…

With a few moments consideration; he decided to use up the contents of the cream cheese container and wrote a note on the stationary next to the microwave, saying that he was going to pick up more on his way home from work today. He used a magnet on the fridge to stick it up where everyone could see it.

With bagel in hand he returned to the satirical newspaper. One of the headlines claimed that bra training had been completed and showed the full bust of a young lady on the right corner of the cover. He sighed and opened it to the Denver / Boulder section to see if any cool concerts were going on that week. And by cool concerts this meant he was checking to see if the Hi Dive, where his band was playing that week, had even bothered to advertise his show. He looked through the ads twice and put it down in defeat. Not even a blurb about the concert in the show list for Wednesday.

Paul entered the kitchen. The nicer of the two roommates, he was casually walking around in his boxers as he tended to do in the mornings when he woke up. His flat stomach had the beginnings of a six pack, his happy trail was beautiful and full black. It went all the way from his belly button to his crotch. His hair disheveled (which was also black), and the most striking thing of all was his astonishingly brown eyes (which by the way, looked almost black.)

Not a bad body.

Brian looked away, then back over and lower toward Paul’s boney feet.

Better than the one I got.

Paul did not seem to notice as he began to plunder through the refrigerator.

Do we have anymore cream cheese man? Paul took out one of Mike’s blueberry bagels.

Brian looked forward stupidly. Staring into space and not sure of how to respond to this question; if he told would he get Paul mad?

Hey! Paul snapped his fingers in front of Brian.

Yeah, I’m fine. What? Brian came back to reality to see his brown haired, brown eyed roommate towering above him as he sat, waving a blueberry bagel in his face.

I asked if there was any more cream cheese. Paul smiled at his friend’s ditzy demeanor.

Oh… Brian looked at his plate where the two halves of everything bagel with the last of the cream cheese lay. Actually you can have these if you want. I just used up the last of it. Paul’s nose wrinkled. But I was going to get more today after work. Brian promised.

Nah, man... Paul sat at the side of the table. His eyes became transfixed on the item on Brian’s plate and he thought again about his offer. actually I may take one. He helped himself to one of the bagel halves and tore into it like a guy who wouldn’t get fat if he drank bacon fat smoothies every hour on the hour for ten weeks straight.

What are you gonna do with Mike’s bagel? Eat it with peanut butter? Brian asked.

In between bites Paul’s brow furrowed and he stared at him completely confused at the suggestion, he answered Just smother it with butter and eat them like they were made for. Bits of bagel flew from his mouth as he spoke.

What a pig.

Brian stared at his angular face as he ate, Paul either did not notice or was ignoring his friend’s starry eyed stare.

My wonderful, wonderful pig…

When Paul finished he got up to get butter for the blueberry bagel. When he returned he sat in front of Brian’s gaze. He was not staring at him anymore but straight through him, through the walls and out into the city behind them. It made him a little more than uncomfortable so he again snapped his fingers in front of Brian’s eyes. Dude, He took a bite of the blueberry bagel. Do you need a med change or something?

Oh no, Brian was embarrassed, he had zoned out on the guy twice in one sitting. I uh… I just need to get ready for work I guess. He got up and went to his room to change.

Stupid idiot,

Paul scratched his crotch and continued to munch on his breakfast. Strange fellow, He said to no one in particular. He grabbed the paper from across the table and read through the fake headlines. Bra training complete… He took another bite and continued reading.

Brian looked at the slave insignia on his work shirt. Roger’s Subs was his current employer and he knew it wouldn’t last long. They never did. Was this self-fulfilling prophecy or just him being realistic? Couldn’t decide...

With silent resignation he put the shirt into his messenger bag along with his laptop and a Chuck Palahniuk book. He wasn’t even sure if he had finished the last book he was reading. It’s been a while since he’s even been able to concentrate on anything else let alone a novel. Things have just not been going too well in his mind lately. He determined that he was in the beginnings of an existential crisis, something to bring up to his counselor tomorrow.

When he was packed and ready to go he walked across the hall and toward the kitchen. From there he walked into the living room and went to the guest room, which was where Paul’s room was. He knocked on his door and asked if he was ready. With a loud clang and an obscenity Paul told him to wait by the car. Brian did as he was told and headed out the door.

It was a mild day in Denver Colorado. He remembered when he first moved here he expected (like most people he knew back home) it to snow all the time. While this held truth during winter it indeed got hot as a mother fucker during the summer time. From the six or so years he has lived in the state he’s come to the conclusion that Colorado really only had two seasons. Summer and winter, it was either the cold ass snow or hot as hell sun. And all the plant life was either evergreen or just dead. Well, deadish...

The neighborhood they lived in was less than safe. It was just on the outer skirts of the city and was mostly Latino. They’d been robbed twice since moving there a year or so ago. One of the times he was in the house sleeping. He still had nightmares about those kids with their knives… If that police siren hadn’t scared them away he didn’t know if he’d be standing here today, next to Paul’s Ford minivan.

He sighed.

Brian ran his fingers across the film of dust that blanketed the windshield and shivered thinking about those two young men who stole almost all of their DVD’s and video games in a black garbage bag. The deer caught in headlights sort of way they looked at him when they went into his room where he slept. The cops came and dusted for prints and all that other stuff but after they left none of them ever heard from them again, just another armed robbery.

Just another statistic,

Hey! Paul’s voice boomed from the front door, it caught Brian off guard and made him jump a little. Paul locked the front door and went over to the passenger side door to unlock it for his friend. As they got in Paul checked his mirror for any of those pesky little neighborhood children who enjoyed playing in the middle of the street. He pulled back out and headed down toward the city.

Thanks for giving me a ride. Brian spoke softly, trying to make conversation. I just don’t think I could’ve walked to work today.

Yeah, Paul giggled. I heard.

Brian’s extremities went cold and numb from shock. He winced and laid his head against the window.

Paul knows too. Fuck…

Brian closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

You were pretty loud…

Fagot,

Brian sighed… It’s not like he hasn’t tried to be straight. He’s been trying all his life. Even Paul hooked him up with a so called Hottie. He even wound up sleeping with the poor girl. It still didn’t feel right, no matter how many times he did it or even how good his female partners told him he supposedly was. He hated himself even more each time he forced himself to be with them.

Happiness is a bottle of Vicoden.

Happiness is the few minutes he spent alone jerking off in the bathroom.

Happiness is the half hour he sometimes spent on stage with his band Goodbye Timebomb.

Happiness was riding in the same car as Paul. Looking over at him he felt the emptiness inside him grow. He knew he could never have him. Cool, straight and normal Paul. Still, he liked it whenever he would take him hiking. Even going to the grocery store was an adventure to Brian as long as Paul was involved. They’d always buy BBQ potato chips when they’d go.

Paul loves those.

Brian loved seeing Paul’s skinny underwear clad body in the mornings. But, he learned a long time ago never to mess with a straight guy. It only led to physical and emotional pain.

Tall people have no feelings… Brian said under his breath.

What? Paul took his attention off the road for a split second to gaze in Brian’s direction. You say something man?

Nah, Brian mumbled.

When they had reached Roger’s Subs on the side of eleventh and Broadway, Paul unlocked the doors and told Brian to have a great day. Brian smiled and nodded and did the whole obligatory good bye spiel.

It wasn’t going to be a great day.

He got out and marched toward the concentration camp that is Roger’s Subs. He looked back just in time to see Paul’s car driving off into the flow of oncoming traffic. Off to his day job as an EMT at the detox center. At least Brian didn’t have THAT job. Being spat up and vomited on all day must be worse than having to make sandwiches for yuppies for eight hours a day, Monday through Friday.

Right?

Chapter 2: Dr. Neven

While Brian was a fully functional human being, he had some psychological issues when it came to liking himself and others. He had hooked up with the local mental health center (Mental Health Services of Denver: MHSD) a few years ago when he was hospitalized for an overdose. It was all paid for by a grant through the city. The only thing that wasn’t fully covered was the private one on one counseling Brian received. For that there was a $20 co-pay per visit. This was on the condition that the good doctor could tape the sessions.

He saw Dr. Neven once a week, four times a month, making it $80 per month. That’s fucking expensive to a guy who didn’t make a lot of money and has too many bills to pay.

Rent was about $350 a month.

$30-$45 for utilities.

His share of the grocery bill was around $70 to $150.

His Android phone service from Criket ran $55.

He only made four hundred something per check.

He got paid bi-weekly.

Life sucks.

I deserved what happened to me two years ago…

If he would have had to continue paying for his psych meds out of pocket he would of dropped counseling all together, but a new revision in the grant allowed for him to get them for free.

Brian waited in the reception area in the far corner of the room. All around him were people talking to themselves and shaking where they sat. One of the joys of this being a public health care provider was the large number of people (some homeless / some on SSI) he got to meet every time he came in.

Biting your nails is a sign of OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder. Brian actually had this particularly mental ailment. At least he believes he does. It says in the DSM that if you can’t stop doing something compulsive and it interferes with your life then you probably have OCD, along with five hundred other criteria, but Brian wasn’t about to nitpick. It was comfort enough that he had the self diagnosis. He liked to think if he knew what was wrong with him he could work on it. Still though... he wasn’t bad like he had to clean the house every five minutes, but he did obsess over the tiniest of details sometimes.

I think I’m dying… My heart is beating really fast.

He continued to bite his nails. It’s also considered a nervous tic in some people. Maybe that was it. Just a tic, it’s better than doing it because you have a disorder. Being anxious meant you were just being human. Having OCD meant you were a freak.

I am a freak…

Brian went back up to the reception area to ask if they’d forgotten about him. It was five minutes past his appointment time. The lady at the window assured him that the doctor would see him when he got around to it.

Brian mumbled as he went back. To his disappointment a scruffy unwashed black man had taken his seat and put his book bag in the adjacent one.

Sir, could I sit there? Brian asked. It was where he was just sitting after all.

The black man looked at him and even through the darkness of his skin Brian could see him growing red with rage, he began pointing his finger at Brian’s face. You stay away from me white devil! I’ve killed people before! I’ve killed them and they’ve died in the hospital! I killed them! He yelled.

OK. Whatever… Brian rolled his eyes. He didn’t really care. He just walked over to the other side of the small white waiting room where there was some seats available. You sort of get used to people like this in a place like this after a while.

This particular mental health consumer goes by the name of Charles. He was schizophrenic and bi polar if Brian remembered correctly, a nice guy most of the time, but a fucking psycho when he decided that taking medications just wasn’t his thing.

He’s killed before.

Brian felt the tip of his own nose, feeling the grooves the blackheads left on the skin.

They’ve died in the hospital.

He then went over to the other side and stood next to the coffee maker. The green rimmed coffee pot meant it was regular while the orange rimmed coffee pot meant it was decaf. Only an idiot would drink decaf. He’d worked at Starbucks before and always would ask somebody why? if they chose to have decaf. The answer would always sort of irk him. No matter the reason he always thought it sort of defeated the purpose of having a cup of coffee. They would sometimes quip that they just enjoyed the taste. Brian couldn’t comprehend this but he served them their fake coffee anyway. They were the idiot in the situation if they’d spend almost five bucks on something that wouldn’t give them a buzz.

It was always all or nothing with Brian. If it didn’t mess with his body in any extreme way, he didn’t care for it.

Why take a Tylenol when you could take a Vicoden?

Why have plain cranberry juice when you could have cranberry juice with vodka in it?

Why get a blow job when you could just fuck?

You either did it all the way or not at all. There is really no point otherwise.

The whole point of life is to get to the climax.

He hadn’t had a blow job in a while now. Not really something he cared for too much but it’s just been some time since some poor tortured soul had his pecker in their mouth. He never really cared for them mostly because his medication made it almost impossible to cum with that particular method of intercourse. Nobody likes getting a sore jaw that way.

The last time was with a girl named Rebecca. He had had other girls before. Sometimes when he felt like he had something to prove he’d still try to see if maybe he’d been wrong before. Only to find out, yet again, he’s gay.

Daddy’s little girl.

Brian took a Styrofoam cup from the pile on the counter and put three sweet and lows in it. He then poured some regular coffee (No point in decaf after all.) and picked out a stir straw from the box of stir straws next to the coffee maker. He stirred for a few seconds then threw the stirrer away in the trash basket by the table where the coffee maker was. He slowly sipped the hot beverage but gagged on it on the first taste.

He put in too much sweet and low again. He was always doing too much.

If it’s worth doing it’s worth over doing?

Why get a blow job when you could just fuck?

Like the time he had overdosed before.

Enough is never enough.

Fuck this is hot coffee.

Brian stood next to coffee maker and quietly reflected on his thoughts. He doesn’t need to pay someone to tell him the obvious, does he? He knows he’s neurotic and depressed. Anyone could tell him that by just sitting next to him for ten minutes.

$20 a week for somebody to tell me I’m defective?

Hey! A woman’s voice broke his trance. Brian looked over to see a tall scraggly lady wearing multiple layers of long sleeved sweat shirts. Her hair, greasy and tangled, covered her face like a mad witch women.

Her name is Samantha. A commanding presence and in her mid-thirties, she has borderline personality disorder with schizo effective tendencies. She can be a real bitch too.

Brian stepped aside to let the bag lady get her fucking cup of coffee. After a few more labored sips Brian gave up and threw his half drunken cup into the trash receptacle. His stomach felt as if it were being pushed and squeezed, bile and coffee came up and went back down his throat.

He was getting nervous.

People made him nervous.

Crazy people made him very nervous.

Am I like all these poor sad souls?

Brian walked over to the entrance and stood there for the longest time. He stared past the window in the reception area and breathed deeply. Even through all the talking and squabbling in the lobby he could hear his name being called across the room. His name sounded like a trumpet from hell. Shoulders slumped and defeated, Brian walked over to the be-speckled secretary and announced that yes his name was Brian.

The lady was still typing as he stood there, ignoring him for the longest time until she looked up at and told him that Dr. Neven will see him upstairs now.

As if walking to his own execution, Brian made his way past the entrance and to the stairs. The stairs were worn and frayed. He couldn’t help but notice the discoloration from years of being stepped on. How many people just like him have walked up those stairs to see the good Dr.? This particular facility had a few. Hundreds of people come through the state mental health system every year. Some with minor depression and some like Samantha, poor, lost, lonely and can’t be unbroken.

I can’t be fixed…

Brian came to the top and took a hard left, walking as if he could not be concerned with such small details like being polite to the people in his way. Forgetting to say apologetic statements like I’m sorry I bumped into you, You simply must not mind me, I’m retarded. or Pardon me, I’m such an asshole.

He stood at Dr. Neven’s door and waited a few moments. This never ends well. Taking in a deep breath, Brian lightly raps on the doctor’s door.

Come in Brian. a cheery voice said from the other side. Brian closes his eyes and turns the knob.

Chapter 3: Brian’s Diary: Coming to Georgia.

I remember moving into our first trailer in Georgia. My father worked for a moving company so he got us all moved in at no cost to us. We moved a lot back then.

We just came from Tennessee and I suppose my father moved with the moving company. You gotta go where the work is I suppose.

I was about maybe eight or nine at the time? I don’t remember. There are going to be a lot of gray areas in this, so bear with me.

I remember it was a nice double wide trailer in the middle of the woods. Way nicer than the single bedroom monstrosity that we’d been living in before. It was huge! The inside had fake plastic wood on the walls, the shag carpet was a reddish brown color, and there were three bedrooms. This was the selling point to me. I guess you could say I was moving on up in life. It felt good at the time.

We had a big clearing out in the front but we were told right off the bat that going out into the surrounding forest was a big no, no. We’d get our asses beaten raw if we did what my father told us not to do. I always wondered whether or not zombies and other monsters would come out of there at night and try to kill me. So many nights were spent sleeping under my bed.

My little brother made quick friends at school while I was put in an advanced reading class. I was a dork from the beginning. I never really knew how to make friends so I’d just make them up on paper or find them in the juvenile books that I would read. I remember taking a liking to anything that was a movie tie in or those amazing Goosebumps books. I fucking loved those things! I always went into one of them hoping that somebody would die like they did in the movies. They never did though. I was always disappointed in the trick endings but I still bought and read every damn one that came out.

I remember my father getting mad at me for sitting in my room and reading. He would tell me that my brother was outside being a real boy while I was inside being a fagot. Even from that early age I suppose he had his suspicions. That and I sang show tunes to call my cat over to me instead of here kitty, kitty!

My mother was sort of supportive though, when she wasn’t around my father at least. She was the one who bought me the books and sometimes art supplies.

I excelled at art class. I loved it because I would never have to do what the teacher made the rest of the kids do. While they were doing a special project Mrs. Payne would give me a large piece of paper and some fine felt tip markers and tell me to make her a masterpiece. I obliged when I felt inspired and just drew whatever came to mind when I wasn’t. No matter what though she’d tell me how good I was and that I should really look into becoming an artist when I grow up. She really did make my early years more bearable. I still have no idea why she liked me so much. When I look at my drawings these days it makes me feel sad at their amateurishness. Mostly they were just rip offs of Mega Man and Sonic the Hedgehog.

It was during this time that a great depression fell over me. It was like no matter how much praise I got from the teachers all I really wanted was for the other kids to like me. They’d call me a nerd and throw things at me. I also noticed during this period that my parents were giving my brother extra attention. I was getting good grades and being featured in the school newspaper for my art yet he was popular. My father was very proud of him and would always let me know that if I could only get out and maybe join a pee wee sports team he’d buy me things too.

I remember I would ask him for hugs and he’d tell me that that’s for sissy boys. I wasn’t a sissy boy now was I? No I wasn’t. Sissy boys made God angry.

God was a very scary figure to me when I was young. Being part of the Southern Baptist church you really only get to hear about the fire and brimstone. God was a vengeful man and would send you to hell in a heartbeat if he could. So it was important that I made my father happy because I had to honor him.

Or burn in hell for all eternity.

What a thing to put on a kid, you know? Richard Dawkins, the great biologist and atheist of our time considers religious indoctrination with kids is akin to child abuse. I’d have to agree to that to a certain extent. I didn’t want to think about everything I did before I went to bed, hoping that I didn’t cross the line and become a full blown sinner, and be cast aside into the fiery pits of Hades. This mentality especially came into play when I finally hit puberty and had strong urges to touch myself.

That’s for a later story though…

With the wrath of God looming over my head and the waning attention from my parents I began to cry a lot in my room. It finally got so bad that I would cry in class. I didn’t understand what I was feeling so it made me even more scared that there was something wrong with me. Tears would well up for no fucking reason at all. When I got like this I swear all I could think about was running away and getting hit by a bus or something. I couldn’t explain it, nor can any child afflicted with serious mental illness.

Nature or nurture? I’d have to say a little bit of both, but I do know now that because of my family’s supposed history of suicides and depression and anger, I most likely have a serious chemical imbalance caused by outstanding genetic factors.

During recess when I’d go outside to read the other kids would throw rocks at me, telling me to cry for them. Those rocks hurt. It hurt that they wanted to see me cry. Worst of all my parents never noticed my bruises and scars until I had to bring home a nurses note explaining my injuries. My mother would just shoo it off and tell me I had to fight back. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, but those kids were not only bigger, that’s not my argument here. My argument comes from the fact that if you hit somebody else in school, no matter who started it, you were going to be suspended for a week, at least. Zero tolerance bullshit.

When my father found out that I was upset and being picked on he got very angry with me. He would tell me that I was doing something wrong if the other kids didn’t like me.

I was like nine years old!

I think it all finally came to a pratfall when I was cornered by some of the richer students in my class in the hallway. They had found out from my little brother that we only had one car. I mind you that we were in a very well off section of Georgia and my family was coasting along with a dinky double wide trailer in the woods and had only one car. To imagine I used to be so damn proud of that dump. Anyways, all these kids had two to three story homes and would always be dressed in all the latest Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles attire. They left my brother alone because they liked him. But these kids beat me bad. They wore their suspensions on their shoulders like badges of honor.

I remember before a teacher could intervene I got loose from their grip and ran down the hall. I was blinded by the tears from my eyes and I was bumping into a lot of people. The manila painted brick walls all blurred into one great glossy abyss. When I came to the end of the west hall I saw that the janitor’s closet was open, so I went in and closed the door behind me.

It was dark and scary. I turned on the light inside. With just one light bulb hanging above me I couldn’t help but shiver in fear at the shadows on the wall. Brooms looked like horrible monsters while the mops contained big mean spiders. I would later write a song about it in which it’s chorus went One light shining through, oh!

Trapped all alone in the janitor’s closet, I began to hyperventilate and cry even harder. I collapsed onto the floor and held myself for a few moments. It felt like hours but my Mickey Mouse watch said that only a minute had passed. When I looked ahead on the shelf I had what I thought at the time was the first good idea of my short life.

There was a gallon of bleach in a plastic container just begging me to drink it. I remembered the grownups telling us never to drink from those things because it would kill us. Kill is a big word to a little kid. It’s an ever expanding idea of forever that I just could not really grasp at that age. I was always scared of death because I knew I would go to hell like my grandpa and father told me I would.

But this time when I thought about it a sudden wave of peace came over me. For the first time in months I smiled. As if I were guided by some unseen force I unscrewed the cap and tried to lift the jug to my face. It took all of my strength to do it and I did spill more on my clothes than anything else. I took a big long gulp and immediately felt it.

My eyes bugged out of their sockets.

My mouth and throat burned as if I had just swallowed acid.

That peaceful feeling was replaced by pitch black fear and throat dissolving pain.

I couldn’t scream. My throat was closing in on itself and I couldn’t breathe. I opened the janitor’s closet and ran out into the hallway and into the nearest room. I went into a fifth grade room and I began spitting up blood on the floor. Things got blurry and I could feel myself suffocating. The only things I could hear were the other kids screaming and the teacher yelling to get help.

I don’t remember much after that. I was in a gurney when the paramedic cut a hole in my throat to get me breathing. I was in so much pain and discomfort that I wouldn’t even notice the tube going in my