gay

March 25, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 11 – Danny’s Song

My mother was my primary parent. She was the one I identified and spent the most time with. And it’s not like this was because my dad was a bad dad. He was a good role model and really tried. I was just a different character than him. Which is odd because we are very, very similar. I have always been a Chatty Kathy and my dad, because of his anti-psychotics, wasn’t very talkative. On top of that, I think my dad got in his head that since he never had a father he didn’t know how to be one. Whatever the reasons, my mother was the go-to parent.

I think she and I bonded moreso because my mother worked in Costa Mesa and she had found a private Christian pre-school around the corner from her office that I attended until first grade. This was about an hours drive from where we lived, so she and I spent a lot of time in the car. We would chit chat and listen to music. She would sing in her monotone soprano. My mother loved Mama Cass and Anne Murray. These were the ones I remember the most from growing up. (Especially Anne Murray’s Christmas album.) It’s strange to me that now whenever my mom gets upset, caused by her dementia, she is soothed with Patsy Cline. I have tried the other two talented ladies and she shows zero response, which truly saddens me. They are such a huge part of her memory for me.

Memory… I say it as if she’s gone. She’s not dead. She’s still alive, but the person she was doesn’t exist. That’s one of the worst parts of Alzheimer’s. It’s taken the woman I once knew and morphed her into this “bizarro mom.” One where she’s cruel, a liar, and exceedingly stubborn. The lying upsets me the most. She was never like that. Not once in my youth. She notoriously told me that there was no Santa Claus, at six years old, when I asked her point blank if he existed. For the longest time I resented her for that. I had wished she had kept up the charade a little bit longer to prolong my sense of “magic” and “wonder.” As an adult and thinking of the idea of having my own kids, I have immense respect for her. The truth is always the best. And because of her unrelenting ability to be honest, I could always rely on her.

It is such a weird experience grieving for someone who is still alive. Its even harder when you have to handle her affairs and possessions the same way. Even now as I write this I find myself deviating from my thoughts. All of this causes me so much trauma and I fucking hate it. I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to see her change and I don’t want to lose her. Everything that’s happened thus far has stripped her of any dignity. It is because of this that I cannot for the life of me believe in a god.

My mother has always been deeply religious. She grew up in a devout home and spent most of her days at the church. She has lived her life as a good Christian woman, and how does this higher power reward her? Alzheimer’s. It’s a cruel fucking joke. One in which no one but this sadistic deity could find humorous.

It is because of this deeply ingrained brainwashing that, even though she had transcended her prior beliefs, has devolved to where she obsesses over the sin of me being gay. That is the one that truly hurts the most.

I know what everyone will say, “she’s not the same person” or “it’s the disease.” Yeah… I have heard it. But knowing and understanding are two very separate things. Especially when it comes to past trauma.

My mother’s and my closeness ceased to be when I told her I was gay. Well, when I told her I was “bisexual” as if that could/would soften the blow that she wasn’t going to get grandchildren. She had made her beliefs about homosexuality very clear growing up. I even distinctly remember her saying she was a “proud homophobe.” After I had outed myself she didn’t speak to me for a solid month. Then any communication after her hiatus was short and cold.

As time went on and after my husband and I lived with my parents for a year, while we got ready to buy a house, I think she saw how normal we were. We weren’t these sinful sexual deviants. We were just us. That’s it.

My mother was the one to sign our marriage license (I think I put her on the spot and she couldn’t decline or else look like a dick) and she even introduced my husband as her son-in-law. All this progress, all this change, and every ounce of it lost because of her disease.

The last couple weeks have been the worst. She is now seeing people who are not there, talking to them, and living in a constant state of fear because these delusions are calling her ugly and/or saying they’re going to harm me. She breaks down into tears because she doesn’t want to see me hurt. I hate all of this for her. This isn’t fair.

She is now on hospice care and while most always believe that the death knell is growing, this probably isn’t the case. There was a moment this last weekend where I thought she had died in my car, so I pulled over and dialed for help. When the ambulance came out and checked her vitals this bitch was in top notch health.

The only way she’s going to leave this earth is because her mind forgot how to breathe.

Now I sit and wait for the call that she’s passed.

March 1, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 8 – High Hopes

The beauty of this song is that it perfectly encapsulates the person it represents in my mind. It has this very high energy, happy beat that gives the impression that the lyrics encased match it’s tempo. When you really look at them they are not. They speak of constant struggle and strife while always maintaining an enthusiastic demeanor. But they’re sung in such a way that it tricks the casual listener. It’s only those who truly listen that will know.

Let us also not fail to mention that it is also an awesome song choice to play in Beat Saber.

Tony is someone who seemed to magically appear out of the ether. As if he was called from some mystical place to my and my husbands world. I had had no idea that he and my husband had been talking. It wasn’t until late one evening, as Charlie and I were relaxing in the hot tub, that he informed me that someone was coming over to join us. My skin prickled with excitement because I thought he was coming over for… uh… other reasons besides to have a couple drinks and soak in the warm water.

He arrived, stripped down to his birthday suit, and hopped in. We spent hours talking, and much to his and my husband’s dismay, I lingered much longer than they had anticipated. Half drunk at 2 in the morning I had to be an adult and get to bed. It was a work night, and unless I wanted a massive hangover it was best for me to skedaddle.

Reluctantly I went to bed… Then I woke up with a start and looked out the bedroom window and saw the two having a very intimate time. Upset I packed up some clothes and headed over to my mother’s to sleep in her spare room. My husband called to inquire my whereabouts and I said I just had to get out of there.

Tony left, drunk, because he felt like he had upset the balance and didn’t want to be involved in the drama.

After some thinking I realized why it bothered me so much. It wasn’t that I had seen them together. That is one of my weird sexual kinks. Why I got upset was, like I had mentioned earlier, I had assumed it was meant to be a group effort. Which it was not. There was a lack of communication on my husband’s part. Had I been informed, it wouldn’t have been a thing. I would have also gotten way more sleep than I ended up getting. This episode was merely something we could learn and grow from.

The next day I found Tony on Scruff and apologized. I told him that there was no hard feelings I was just drunk and being weird. I didn’t want this episode to ruin anything between him and Charlie.

It surprisingly did not.

He came over the next night and brought along his PS4. He had the whole VR set-up and we ended up playing Beat Saber, this ADORABLE little robot game, and one based around the Paranormal Activity movies. It was a blast.

Tony invited himself to one of Charlie’s appointments at Cedars-Sinai. It was the follow-up nerve test to see what change their was from February. As it turns out, there was a lot. The next appointment that Tony invited himself to was the one where the doctor casually dropped his diagnosis. However, my husband did not pay any attention. Because, when we read it a couple days later on his patient-portal synopsis we both had a breakdown.

That night Charlie, Tony, Josh and I all hopped into the hot-tub and drank. What else do you do when you’ve been given news that you have a terminal illness?

For lack of any term, I have stolen the one coined by the Mormon polygamists. Instead of sister-wives I call Tony my brother-husband. I would do anything for him. He very quickly became a huge part of Charlie’s and my life. And one I wouldn’t and couldn’t do without. Everyday I thank the universe for sending out the call, or answering it, and having him arrive.

As it turns out, he has been in our orbit, but as a secret shadow planet that only comes into view every millennia. He had attended many of the offensive comedy shows I had been in, he LITERALLY worked down the street from me (he and his work mates used to watch me bizarrely pull up into a parking space in front of their shop and smoke cigarettes) and he knows so many of our random acquaintances. That last one is common in a small town, though. So it isn’t that out of the ordinary.

I chose this song mainly because it was a repeated choice while playing Beat Saber in our old living room. (That and “Greatest Show.”) It also matches how I feel about him. He always has high hopes and is such an optimistic person. Always. Every once in awhile it cracks under the exhaustion of trying to maintain the show. But with a little intermission he is right back to it. The only thing in the song that doesn’t match is he is one in a million.

P.S. I will eventually delve into more obscure songs at some point in time. I feel like everything so far has been “Top 40” and I am better than that.

P.P.S. I will also eventually catch up to the proper order. I’m a blog behind in my goal.

February 4, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 5 – Falling In

If you don’t know by now, the husband and I are polyamorous. We have been for about 4 years now. While it was shaky at first we learned and grew through communication. If you’re ever going to attempt such an endeavor you have to have an open dialogue, heart, and mind. Without these it will end in failure. Guaranteed. Everyone needs to be on the same page.

When we first started it wasn’t that way. We “opened up” our relationship just to shut it down again. The husband says we never did and I explicitly remember when I said “fine. we’ll go back to how it was.” We were on an overpass merging from I-5 toward Half-Moon Bay. Regardless of what I remember transpiring, he started seeing someone in secret. When I learned of this relationship I decided I was going to see another gentleman too.

Josh messaged me for the first time as I sat in the hallway outside of my, soon to start, speech class. We hit it off instantly, talking about Harry Potter and Pokémon. After I made an off-hand Harry Potter reference/joke he commented “why do you have to be married?” I responded with my then go-to explanation of: it was open but wasn’t and who knew what was going to happen.

We chatted for a couple days and at the end of my next speech class I agreed to meet him in the student parking lot for a chat. He was(is) so handsome. Just my type. Scruffy with brown eyes. Without hesitation, we decided to meet up on the day of our next class.

I had intended it to be a once and done hook-up, as I like to do. However that is not what happened.

On a really stormy, rainy day I agreed to see “Black Panther” with him. (Side note: most of the more pivotal moments of my recent life have been met with some extreme weather. It’s odd.) After the movie I asked if he wanted to go with me to a friend’s house to hang out. He agreed and we went to visit my then girl-besty.

On the drive over there I called to let her know what was up and I made a point to say “This dude wants more but it’s not going to happen.” Oh, how foolish I was.

He was conflicted about dating someone already married. He wanted the usual things: monogamy, marriage, and kids. Those are difficult to achieve when the person you’re dating cannot offer them. However, on a trip to visit a friend of his in North Carolina, we agreed to date. This was of course, after St. Patrick’s Day when the husband and I had outed ourselves to the other about the guys we had been seeing on the side.

Four years later and Josh is still around. So much for “not going to happen.”

And I don’t know what I would do without him.

It’s weird. We are very similar in SO many ways, but yet so opposite. We’re both named Joshua (obvs). Our birthday is two days apart, we’re both Scorpios. We are both giant nerds. And we were both raised in very religious homes. Where our similarities depart is where I ditched most of my faith at 17, he doubled down and went on mission trips in Africa and later worked for a religious non-profit. At one point he was engaged to a woman, or had intended to… I forget the specific details. Either way… he was living the hetero fantasy.

When we started talking he had only been out for a year. That’s still crazy to me.

The song I chose was one I shared with him, while sitting in his car chatting; in the same school parking lot where I had met him to make sure he wasn’t crazy. He is, but he fooled me that day. So, kudos to him.

I was so hung-up on his religious past that every time a Lifehouse song came on my “Mumford and Sons” Pandora station I would think of him. This one truly spoke to me because it was right as I was falling for this dude. That’s kind of the problem with dating people and not just banging them. Well, I guess that isn’t entirely true considering…

Since then he has spent holidays with my in-laws and gone on cross country trips with Charlie, Charlie’s boyfriend (Tony), and I. We are this weird little family compiled of lost souls. And to think, it all started from a random conversation on Grindr.

January 5, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 1 – Announcing a Goal

Music is truly magical for me. It can unlock my deepest emotions and bring to mind memories I had long forgotten. It’s incredible. I don’t know if many have that ability, but I do. Which is why sometimes I go through phases where I cannot bear to even listen to any music. I’m so overwhelmed with my current reality that all I am willing to listen to is spoken word (ie comedy albums, podcasts, audiobooks.) But sometimes even those can come accompanied with a euphoric recall. (Except for the book on tape “Rock your Revisions,” that just brings out agonizing anxiety.)

Like any writer worth their digital ink, I wanted to write throughout 2022. Specifically so I can hone my craft but also because I need to do things that are just for me. I need a hobby. I have to have something to alleviate the pressure inside my head. (The space in which I reside the most, by the way.)

Wanting this, I began to run through the parameters for myself. I considered writing everyday… But that is an unrealistic expectation. Life inevitably gets in the way. Especially mine. Which is why I have scaled it back to a more manageable and achievable goal, and in the end that’s how you want to do something. Therefore I thought once a week is good. In the end I will write 52 blog posts and have succeeded in completing my task.

While weekly is a more than manageable goal, the next obstacle is: what do I write about? The only thing I know more than my own imagined fantasies is my own life. I am also SUPER obsessed with myself. I mean… how could I not be? (P.S. I am kidding… Sort of.) There is nothing I love to talk about more than myself. And the topic I enjoy even more is sifting through memories.

The one thing that trauma and emotional distress has shown me is that it loves to take away my memory. My brain used to be sharp as an obsidian arrowhead but since the death of my father, my mother’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, my husbands terminal diagnosis, and fucking covid, what super brain-power I use to have has fallen by the wayside. Instead I am lucky if I can hold onto short-term tasks. It sucks. Therefore… music.

Trauma may have taken my active memory recall, as in if I try to specifically remember something specific I cannot, however music remains powerful. So, I am going to pick a song, an album, or even a mundane tune, I’ve heard over the course of my life that has attached itself to my memory and write about it. Hopefully these posts won’t be as longwinded as these last two sentences. (Good lawd.) And even on an off-day, when I can barely hold onto my sanity, I’ll use a new diddy to write about something equally undiscovered. The best part of all this: I get to share some music with you. And more than the love I have for talking about myself, and even more than reminiscing about the past, I am excited/elated/ecstatic to share a song with someone. It’s one of my weird love languages. If I send a song to you, it means it unlocked apart of me that thought of you and that will live with me forever. It can and never will be replaced/erased. It belongs to you.