Tales of Medications

Already it’s happening.

This morning I wanted to write a piece about how my Vegas weekend with the husband and our boyfriends went, but I lost the desire to do so without even opening up a word document. I thought to myself, “why would I want to do that?” And it is all because of anti-depressants.

I started taking them last week because I was stressing about the upcoming weekend. I was worried how it would turn out, plus I had little to no sleep that week, work was(is) slow, my diet had turned into a parade of sugary pastries and bread, and the weather was total cloud cover for 5 straight days (in a community that rarely, if ever, gets rain). In my infinite wisdom I thought I should start taking my meds again, and here we are.

My mental health has been a constant battle since I started taking them at 18. The doctor deemed them appropriate because I just happened to see him after a break-up from my then boyfriend. Of course I was depressed. I immediately started taking Lexapro and that seemed to work for a while. I didn’t write anything in that time frame, at least none that I can remember. But I don’t remember it taking away my personality. For whatever reason the doctor removed me from those and thus began the sampler platter of medications. Each one more misery inducing than the last. The final one was sertraline, which I have copious amounts of, even though my doctor has removed me from all medications some time ago. I keep them around for moments when I think my depression is flaring up. However, this time I am not entirely sure it was emotional but rather situational. That’s the biggest problem when it comes to drugs. I think we over prescribe them when in fact it may just be a change of lifestyle.

My fretting for the weekend was for naught though. Everything went absolutely fine and it was a really fun weekend; other than me having a freak out on the 4 hour drive home, because I have been trained to give the driver attention and when I in-turn don’t receive the same I get irritable. But, instead of voicing my concerns in the moment I stew in them until I am unpleasant to be around and make everyone uncomfortable.

The only thing this weekend taught me was that Vegas fucking sucks. I use to love going, but it has gotten entirely too expensive. They’re pricing out the average vacationer who goes for a fun cheap weekend. Those days are long gone. And for me, so is Vegas.


Writing Through the Depression

Writing has always been my outlet, ever since I was a kid. Primarily because I am (what I have been described as) a very cerebral person. Living in my head is a dark and dangerous place and putting it into written words always gives me some sense of peace I could otherwise not find elsewhere. I typically don’t speak my thoughts because they are random and I easily get lost trying to find the right word, especially if I am speaking to someone (I talk a lot to myself). I have discovered that most take what I say as gospel and that is not how my mind works. I’m constantly working things out. Which is why I choose writing more than anything else.

The only problem with my writing is that it gets me into trouble sometimes. I always assume whatever I write on my blogs will be lost to the depths of the internet, but sometimes it finds its way into the hands of others. It’s irritating but the nature of the beast, and more often than not it doesn’t ever get discovered. I find that comical for a few reasons but the number one being I have shared my site with others in the past but no one can be bothered to ever look. Unless of course they’re mentioned in the thing and then all of a sudden it’s a hot commodity. Otherwise no one gives two shits. It’s like inviting a friend to the play you’re in, or the stand-up show you’re doing at the local open mic, or if you’re performing anywhere. People can’t be bothered. In my younger days I would let it bother me, but now I just shrug and realize that’s the gamble no matter what.

Yesterday I was feeling way down. I got to the point that I wanted to isolate from my entire life. I liken it to “running away.” The very thought of just leaving everything behind and hitting the open road crossed my mind but unless I’m carrying cash that isn’t going to happen. Plus, how would my sudden disappearance affect those in my life? It’s always that thought that keeps me grounded.  It’s hard pushing against the current of my depression but I know I have to make an effort or suffer the consequences of severe depression.

Last night I returned to my “finished” novel to restart the process of editing. For once in a great long while I did not get upset. When I found myself spinning my wheels, I told myself to just start back at the beginning and re-read again. It was nice. Then whenever the voice of my inner critic attempted to creep in, I ignored it and thought “I can do this.” Even this morning I told myself (as I doubted my efforts) that I am just out of practice. To get to a better place I have to keep trying. It’s like that lawn mower that’s been sitting in the garage for months. It takes a couple pulls to get it going, and even when you do get it started you have to let it run for a bit to get it to where it’s able to do the job it was designed to do.

For my own sanity I am not going to make any grand pronouncements of finishing my novel by a certain time-frame or even at all. It always ends in misery and self-loathing. Instead what I will do is feel proud that I got to the task and am content with the results.

Midnight Mumblings

Per usual, I am feeling very down. Some might say that it is just seasonal blues. Others might say it is because my life is just a convoluted mess with the utmost chaos. And there are those who would say it’s because I refuse to take my antidepressants. Whichever the reason here I am.

I jest, but I’m certain it’s the middle one. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, work has been slow, my boss asked me if I even wanted to be an appraiser (that was fun), school is coming to an end, and then tonight I had to do IT work for my parents again because they are utterly helpless when it comes to technology.

To top everything off my husband keeps “joking” when he brings up the notion of his boyfriend moving into our, soon to be vacant, spare bedroom. It’s definitely not a joke because the dude (husbands boyfriend, “Derek”) has until the end of the year for his current lease and my spouse is upping the frequency in which he mentions the scenario. (He even suggested we could do it for a month and see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out you can return the side-piece for a full refund.)

Don’t get me wrong. I like Derek, but I don’t know how I would feel with this man, who is also having sex with my husband, living with us. Part of me doesn’t like the idea at all, but then the other part is curious to see how much pressure I can take before I snap. If that even could happen.

When I brought up this story to my therapist she gave the impression it would be a bad idea. I got that when she said “that would be a bad idea. Threes don’t ever work out.”

Don’t think the the husband is bringing it up multiple times a day. That’s not at all whats happening. If anything it’s maybe every other, always under the guise of a “joke” or “humorous banter.” However, I know what he’s doing. I’ve been with this fucker for 15 goddamn years, I know how he operates. Our entire situation now, at one time, was an off-the-cuff obscure hypothetical. Yet here we are.

In actuality, this has weighed very little on my mind. That could be because I am disassociating from the situation and refuse to consider the idea, or it is that I really don’t feel like it’s a real concern. Either way, I thought it would be an interesting topic for one to read. It’s always fun to watch the train wreck.

The Acknowledgement of Shortcomings

I feel like such a failure. My intention was to actually succeed in doing my public NaNoWriMo but, once again, life got in the way. Honestly, November is the worst month for me to take on such a project. My birthday always ends up consuming most of the first weekend of the month and then school begins to ramp up for the end of the semester. This year was no exception. It has been one thing after another, which isn’t a complaint, it’s explanation.

So, if you cared where that story was going I can tell you now, nowhere. I had no road map or plan (as it was obvious by two of the entries.) I will probably pick it up and start again some other time but as it is halfway through the month the likelihood of me continuing where I left off and finishing is REAL low.

One thing I will advise about the process is maintain consistency. Missing one day is okay, but I would not suggest it. Keeping the minimum word count at 1,667 is ideal. Going beyond that can be excruciating for the days when one just does not want to write. Or the ideas are just not coming.

Calm Before the Storm

Today is the day. At one o’clock I will find out whether or not I have cancer. It’s surreal to say the least but I am not as nervous or worried as I thought I would be, but also I have been sitting with this for the past month so all the “feels” have gone through my body.

I will say that I do have this bad habit of disassociating from my true emotions as a way safeguarding myself, because when I do feel things I take them on and wear them like a second skin. That act of burying my feelings is most likely happening. This morning alone I have had four cigarettes and I just want more. I told the boyfriend I wanted to just sit outside and pretend to be a London chimney circa winter 1740. (Now I realize I got my timeline wrong and I wanted 1888 during the industrial revolution. oh well. I think he got what I meant.)

I’m worried but at the same time I know there is nothing that can be done in this moment. What’s happened has already come to pass and I am living in it’s wake. So at this point I just have to ride out the momentum and see where it goes.

I keep reminding myself that this is not a death sentence. If I do in fact have cancer it is the curable kind. More than likely if I were to leave it alone it would spread to the rest of my body and THAT would kill me. My initial intention was to do that, but after some coaxing from both the husband and boyfriend I have chosen to not take that route. Sure, I may possibly lose whatever sex life I have but I’ll be alive. And I’m told that’s what matters.

NaNoWriMo – Chapter 3

Mark looked at his phone one more time, just to see if his message had been read. He opened up stream of messages and saw his lone message “wanna breed this hole.” Down at the bottom, above the keyboard, showed the notification that it had been read, yet there was no response. His face flushed red hot as he closed it and chose to open one of the others, reading the same message. Each one showed the same thing. The only one who had responded had declined his offer.

He locked his phone and threw it across the bed.

Fuck these guys, he said, exhaling all the breath out of his nose.

It was just going to be a dull night, once again. All he wanted to do was get fucked. Isn’t that what the app is for, he kept telling himself. Recycling it through his mind until his rage grew in his chest. What was even the point?

He stood up, undressed and crossed the room to his computer. He had just resigned to the fact that he would have to help himself out. No one else was even going to bother. He opened the browser and type in a single w and the bar was filled with his usual go-to, amateur site. There he found messages. His heart gave a leap. As he scanned them, each one telling him how hot his videos were, but all of them were either in another state or a separate country altogether.

He opened up a video he had uploaded a couple weeks ago. He watched himself laying on his bed with his near naked body, lay on all fours, for the stranger to enter the room. His dick stirred to life. There was nothing he loved more than watching himself get used by an anonymous stranger.

A memory sparked at the back of his mind, the video from a week ago. He hadn’t even had the chance to watch it, what with his boyfriend coming home almost immediately after. That had been a close call. He didn’t know what Sergio would have done if he had come in at that exact moment.

The video was hidden deep in a Russian doll of files. At the very bottom he opened up the video and leaned back in the computer chair with a creak.

He watched himself in the usual pose, the orange glow of the street light filling his room more than the light on his nightstand. He got harder.

Somewhere in the distance the microphone picked up the soft click and shut of the door. Just like he got aroused at the anticipation of the stranger then he did again. Then there would footsteps and the slim frame came into view, the frame ending at shoulder length. The man removed only his jacket, and laid a hand onto his plump left cheek. He caressed it, while reaching out to grip the waist band of his jock.

Mark mirrored his moves of the video and wrapped his long fingers around his cock.

The man on the glowing computer screen, got to his knees and pressed his shadowed face in between Mark’s butt cheeks. The silhouette of the man ever-so-slightly rimmed him. Mark went into euphoric recall. He remembered what his wet tongue had felt like as he gently probed in and out of his hole.

The man reached under and up and began to slowly jerk him off.

Video Mark stretched his arms above his bowed head. He heard himself moan on the video and he could feel himself getting closer.

The stranger continued on in the same manner, until Mark’s voice and moans grew in frequency and pitch. He watched his back arching as he pushed himself against the stranger’s face.

Damn I was loving it, Mark thought as his hand picked up speed.

Just as he rose about to cum in person so did his video self. The only difference was he was beginning to glow yellow. His hand slowly came to stop as he watched himself turn into a light bulb, that then froze in time. The light that had shone from his skin leapt into the air forming a billowing cloud above him.

Mark watched with wide eyes as the stranger stood and scooped a handful of the gold into his hand and into his mouth.

Mark’s heart hammered in his rib cage.

The man went to take another swipe at the air, but stopped. He shook his head and returned to what he had been doing before. He resumed his actions and the light was pulled back into Mark’s body like someone releasing a tensed rubberband.

The room went dark and the camera went in and out of focus multiple times before the man finished Mark off, donned his coat, and left without saying a word.

The video stopped.

Mark stared at the still, final image of himself turning off the camera, not knowing what had at all just happened.

His mind whirred to life as he struggled to make sense of it. Who had that man been. His hand went to the mouse and he slid the single dot along the player bar. The stills of the video flashed by in jerky awkward shapes. He stopped right At the moment when the light had left his body. For a split second he saw the man’s profile, but nothing that jogged his memory.

Mark spun around in the chair and grabbed his phone from the edge of the bed. He opened up the hook-up app and began rooting through the messages. The video was two weeks old. He ran through the rolodex of images, and could only think of three men that it could have been.

This was the only time he wished he hadn’t messaged multiple people in one go.

He returned to the computer and watched it one more time, trying to make heads or tails of it as he watched it. He slowed it down, examined every scene pixel by pixel. But nothing he could think of made sense.

Opening a new browser, he typed in the scene that had unfolded and searched for any results but there was nothing. At least nothing that made sense.

Finally he returned to the amateur porn site and created a new file. All he could think of was that there was someone, anyone that could explain what had happened to him.

He titled his newest clip, “WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?” In the short description he outlined the details to best of his abilities. Once he was satisfied with his explanation he sent it out into the electronic ether. There it would get the attention and answer he long craved.

Mark stood and looked around his room. Whatever had happened he found himself no longer trusting that he was by himself. He could sense that something had been taken from him, but what he wasn’t sure. The anger and frustration pulsed through him as he looked for some way to feel safe. For a brief moment he thought about contacting the police, but he waved it away almost immediately. What were they going to do? He couldn’t even tell them who it had been.

The only thought he could do was bunker himself down. He locked the deadbolt and the slid the chian, checked all of his windows and grabbed a knife from the kitchen. Placing it on the bedside table he grabbed his found and wrapped himself up in his blanket. Once again, he returned to the trail of messages and he went through each and every one of them. One of the men there had to be the stranger.

He knew it was only a matter of time until the video was seen by the world. He would get his answer. It was just the waiting that cloaked him an overwhelming sense of dread.

Did they know I was filming? He thought to himself. And that single thought lit a fuse through his mind sending fearful question after another to his mind. He grabbed the knife at his bedside table and laid under the cloak of the blanket. There was no doubt in his mind he wasn’t going to sleep that night.

In the morning, as the sun was peeking between the high rises of the city, a key worked it’s way through the pins of the lock. The door thudded against the door.

“Mark,” said the voice of his boyfriend, “Open the door.”

Delirious from the lack of sleep Mark sat frozen in fear.

“Mark, open the chain now. I want to know what this video is about.”

Mark through the blanket off of him, set the knife on the beside table, and rushed to the door. His fingers fumbled awkwardly with the chain. He opened the door and hugged his boyfriend, happy he was finally not alone. Sergio, stood rigid for a brief moment before he pulled himself from his embrace and stomped into the apartment, dragging Mark with him.

“What the fuck is this video?”

Mark shook his head.

“Tarryn sent a video to me a guy fucking you.”

“Did you see what else happened?” his voice broke.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Sergio said, “You’ve been cheating on me. I saw the rest of your fucking videos.”

“But did you see what he did!”

“I don’t give a fuck. You’re a slut and I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

Sergio ran through the apartment in flurry, grabbing whatever was around and shoving it into the gym bag he had retrieved from the bedroom closet.

Mark ran to the computer and pulled up the website. Down below the video it showed a total of a million views, over night. The comments below ranged from shock and utter disbelief. Some even claimed that he had better special effects than most big budget movies.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Sergio said from the bathroom. Rattling objects along the glass shelves.

“How did Tarryn find it?” Mark called.

“Check the fucking news.”

Mark instinctively opened another browser and there, for the whole world to see, was a story about his video begging for questions.

Word Count: 5,896/50,000

NaNoWriMo – Chapter 2

“You really don’t have to do this,” Aiden said, as he tried to stand and put his hands on Jon’s shoulders, and held him at bay.

Jon merely smirked and returned the favor.

Just as he thought, it was only a few seconds before Aiden was done. Jon straightened his back and smiled.

Aiden’s cheeks, already flushed, went redder.

“I’m sorry,” Aiden said.

He grabbed his shirt and put it on as Jon stood before him, still nude.

“Why are you apologizing,” Jon said, “That, to me is the highest compliment to my skill and ability.”

Aiden chuckled. “Sure, that’s what it means. Not at all that I am a man-boy.”

Jon waved a hand and batted the harsh words out of the air.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jon put on his boxer-brief underwear.

“Do you want something to eat?”

Aiden paused, his pants at his knees.

“I was thinking about going home. I don’t need anything.”

“Oh,” jon said, “Okay. Well, you’re also welcome to hang here for a little bit. Maybe watch some tv. Wait and see if my audience shows up for the show. If he doesn’t then we cancel.”

Aiden smiled and buttoned his pants.

“Tempting,” he said, “But I think I’m going to split.”

Aiden slid as quick as he could into his shoes. He always hated the awkward banter after the whole thing. It was worse for him because he never knew whether he should stay or go. That’s why he had made his mind up a long time ago, it’s better to just leave. He took what he needed and their transaction was complete. There was no sense in trying to make something out of nothing, and even if it turned into more how would that even work? He was cursed, since birth, before he was even conceived. His family line was blighted since Lucipher’s rebellion.

As Jon, bustled around his tiny kitchen, Aiden was half out the door.

“Later,” he said, flashing a furtive smile.

He shut the door and was halfway down the hall before Jon could reply.

He pulled out his phone and texted his brother Gavin Knuth.

“Where you at ho?” His fingers tapped out. Right as he was about to slip it back into his pocket the alert chime of a single bell sounded.

“Take a wild fuckin guess,” gavin had sent back.

Aiden smiled at the screen and slid the phone back into his pocket and headed down the stairs to the first floor, where he hailed a cab.

Sitting in the back he closed his eyes and breathed. He could feel Jon’s human essence, or what some would say soul, pulsing through his cold veins, sending tiny sparks of electricity through his body. He could feel himself stirring back to life and he loved it. It was irritating and exhilarating all at once. It felt like he wanted to run a mile in under a minute, or punch through a brick wall, but that was just the initial high. He had learned to not act on the instinct to overindulge in unnecessary activity. He’d use it up and have to find another to fill the hunger. While that was fine when he was in his early twenties, pushing thirty-three he wasn’t ready for the endless hunt. Or the fact that while he was some form of the undead, he was dead to most in the gay community.

The yellow cab dropped him off adjacent to the alleyway where Rogue was located. His usual haunt. It was the only place in New York that was made for him and his ilk, the damned.

As he walked inside he found it almost empty, apart from the bar-tender Lag, a sixty-year old ghoul, with long beard and dark skin. He busied himself counting the cash in the til, while behind him, moping over a half-empty pint of lager was Gavin. His unruly mop of hair hung wild around his face, illuminated by his phone.

Aiden slid onto the barstool next to his brother.

“I take it things aren’t going well?” Aiden said.

“Of course not,” Gavin said. He dropped his phone and took a swig of his.

Lag turned and regarded Aiden, who pointed at the pint and held up two fingers. Without a word the bartender brought two glasses filled to the top.

“You know, I’m really tired of this modern age woman who is okay with meeting up with dudes, but then ghosts him.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“Fuck, no,”  Gavin slapped a hand onto the bar. “I want to find fucking love.”

“That’s not something awarded to us, Gav.”

“I don’t give a shit. I’m tired of this ‘cursed’ bull shit we’re peddled every day. I don’t believe my life is stuck to this endless parade of women. I want a wife. I want kids. I am so lonely.”

“You get that’s never going to be our life, right?”

“Maybe not for you.”

“Do you really want to further this along? You’d really want to make another incubus or a succubus?”

“We could adopt.”

Aiden rolled his eyes.

“I thought Dya was the girl. We were hitting it off and then,” Gavin cut his hand through the air, “She just disappeared. It’s the same fucking story. Either they come in hot and heavy and freak me out or they get scared and fade into digital obscurity.”

“I’m sorry,” Aiden said. He put an arm around his brother’s shoulder, and rested his head.

“I know what I am, what we get out of life but, I want more. We’re deserving of love, Aid.”

“Ya, but at what cost.”

“Here we go with the fucking common sense.”

“I don’t want to ruin your dream, I think we deserve better and we will, but you have to take into account we don’t get to have love. Never. A long term relationship only ends with the one you love turning into a hollow, soulless shell.”

“That’s only if you fuck.”

“Could you have that kind of relationship?”

Gavin shrugged.

“I get sex isn’t everything, but for us it kind of is. If we want to live at least.”

“Sometimes I think Erik had the right idea.” Gavin put a finger gun to his head and pulled the invisible trigger.

“Don’t say that. Please. You know how much his death almost killed mom.”

“Dad, almost killed mom.”

Aiden frowned and pulled his arm away from his brother.

“Sorry,” Gavin said. “I’m just in a mood. What’d you do tonight?”

Aiden shrugged and shook his head.


The two sat in silence.

Aiden wasn’t ready to tell his brother about his escapades. It nearly killed him when he found out that his little brother was a big ‘ol ‘mo in the first place.

The bar door slammed open and in strolled in Keisha, dressed head to toe in white.

“Whats going on, bitches,” she said, making a direct line to Aiden.

She wrapped him in a warm hug and took the spot next to him at the bar. Gesturing to Lag for drink of her own.

“How’re you this fine evening?” Aiden said, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

“Tonight was the tits,” she said, “Trish, Angelica, and I all went out to High Bar for a few favors and a dance. It was incredible. The lads were gorgeous and honey I was beating them off. Well, not literally.”

“What mortal can avoid your mystique.”

“No one, my love.” She raised her eyebrows and winked.

The girl looked around Aiden at Gavin.

“Whats wrong with him? Lovesick moping again?”

Aiden nodded.

“Oh, piss off, Gav. Go do something else. Do someone else. You’re tears are wasted. Have some fucking fun, you’re fucking immortal for Christ sake. I mean, oops,” Keisha put a hand over her mouth and smiled mischeviously.

Then the woman pulled up her small bag, dangling on a thin strap, and plopped it down onto the bar with a thud, whereupon she dug through it to find a cigarette. She pulled it out, lit it, got one drag before Lag turned around, grabbed it from her lips and tossed in the trash.

“You’re no fun.”

“I don’t want to lose my license,” Lag said, returning to his business, which had evolved into the scores in the sports section of the times.

“You’re not going to fucking believe who I ran into tonight?” Keisha said.

Aiden raised his eyebrows.

“A mob of fucking angels.”

“No way,” Aiden gasped. “Where?”

“At High Bar!”

“What were they doing there?”

              “Fuck if I know. They showed up and me and the lasses got the fuck out of there. I don’t want to be around those schmarmy douchebags. Grinning with their perfect fucking teeth. Butter wouldn’t melt.”

               Gavin leaned forward to peer around his brother, brushing his hair behind his ear.

              “I heard tales that the angels are gearing up.”

              Both Aiden and Keisha stared back perplexed.

              “For the rapture? Judgment day.”

              Keisha groaned.

              “Please, they’ve been saying that one  since this ridiculous country was founded. Don’t tell me you’re buying into it.”

              Gavin shrugged and sat back to return to mope.

              Aiden stared forward. He had heard from his grandfather once tell them that when the angels arrived to start the rapture it was their time to end. It was foreseen by some ancient angelic deity that the winner of the war of souls would be God, and he would finally bring down his retribution upon Lucipher for bringing about the rebellion. He could still hear his grandfather  groan and say “if he was so powerful in the first place why didn’t he just end him then and there. God is all about the show. The pomp and circumstance. He’s a fraud.”

              He was doubly damned, at least maybe being a sexual soul sucker he could be forgiven by penance or sacrifice. But nothing could ever wash away the sin of choice to choose his life as a gay man, or at least that was what he had been peddled in his youth. There was nothing worse than the shame faith and religion brought to those unlike them. Their message was one about conformity and obedience. The damned were those of freedom and mistakes. Yet they were damned.

              These worries were nothing to concern himself with. Like Keisha had said, it was rumored to happen every decade for as long as time had existed. It was just brought up every millennia to revamp God’s failing hold over human kind, and to bring about the fear in the damned.

              “Where’d you go, love?” Keisha put a hand on Aiden’s shoulder.

              He smiled and shook his head.

              “thinking about cock again?”

              “Jesus, Keisha,” gavin growled.

              “Oh, fuckin come down from your high horse, you dick. You’re a goddamn incubus.”


Words: 4,196/50,000