marriage

September 26, 2023

The waiting room

Last night it occurred to me that I am back in the ICU waiting room with my mom, delaying my dad’s removal from life support. Except instead of holding off until my cousin and aunt arrive, I’m waiting for someone that will never come. It’s excruciating agony, like a sharp knife being pulled, slowly across my skin.

We were meant to start hospice but postponed the transition because once we do we lose our team of doctors that have been with my husband since he was diagnosed with ALS. In addition, we’re hoping to get a substantial supply of the medication for the disease. Hospice will not cover that drug. For us to pay out of pocket it would be $690/bottle. My husband is handling those details, from his eye-gaze device, so I am unaware of the status. All I know is that Friday is the day we told them we would make the switch.

His condition is worsening. His speech jumbled and incoherent, at times. Where before he would sleep at the drop of a hat, now not even pills will help. He’ll sleep for an hour or two and then be up for rest of the night and into morning. And where previously he would take Xanax once a month, it has now become a twice a day dose.

Every time I go into our room, and he is sleeping, I just stand in the doorway and stare at him. My eyes focusing on his chest and face for signs of movement. If he were to wake up it would be incredibly creepy. It would be for anyone, really. I do it because I am seeing if he is still breathing. That’s typically how someone with his disease passes, in their sleep.

The other night I was talking with my husband through text message (kind of ironic that our relationship started with text messages…) as we lay in bed side-by-side, his breathing mask over his mouth and nose, discussing hospice. Somehow we started talking about him dying in the house and he said he didn’t want it to happen here. I replied, “I don’t think that you habe any control over that. Unless you’re moved into a facility. And that is something that will not happen.”

So, I sit here and wait… never knowing what the next moment will be. Not knowing what to plan. People are asking me to plan things months in advance and… These other stories, plans, desires, are just the incoherent hum of the television in my “white waiting room.” A world exists out there, but it does not for me.

August 24, 2023

Homosexuality U-Turn

It is strange how a piece of news, totally unrelated to one’s life and story, could cause such a visceral reaction in oneself. The other day I got news that a close acquaintance of mine has decided that he “no longer wants to be gay.” He discovered this new feeling about himself after having been married to his high school boyfriend (and only recently got divorced from), after go-go dancing at multiple gigs, into pup play, having an OnlyFans for a short period of time, and then diving headfirst/balls-to-the-wall into a new relationship with a mutual friend. The mutual friend said he woke up at 1 A.M. to find that the “ex-gay” had left. The reason he gave was he didn’t want to be gay anymore.

I want to point out that all of those things he’s done are not bad. As long as he wasn’t hurting anyone (other than himself, apparently) then there is nothing wrong. Live your life, gurl.

I am genuinely dumbfounded. I have this whole tirade I could (and previously did before I deleted it) about religion and the toxicity it creates, but I chose not to. Just know I loathe religion of any kind. Faith should be a personal, spiritual journey where one opens their heart and mind to what could be out there. Yet, instead it is used as a means to control the masses. I am not about control.

After some lengthy discussion with my BF I discovered that this friend has always wanted a relationship with his parents. He doesn’t have one because of his “sinful” life. And when he had started dating this mutual friend, he got back into church and I think it all snowballed from there. But considering who he was dating, I’m wondering if he was just spinning out of control and is in the midst of an identity crisis. (I mean… clearly.)

Focusing on just the parental relationship aspect, this unlocked all levels of trauma for me. When I came out to my mother it was absolutely not received well. At all. My mother legitimately did not speak a word to me for 3 months and chose to pretend I did not exist whenever I would happen to occupy her orbit. At some point my mother softened and eventually progressed to the point that she signed my marriage license and would refer to my husband as her son-in-law. I loved that, however fleeting it was. My mother’s dementia took her mind back to “pre-acceptance mom,” where she was a homophobic cunt. (Sorry, mom, not sorry.) She refused to live with me because we were gay. She would repeatedly ask me why I never had kids or get married. It sucked. So much.

Hearing him make this “choice” is disheartening. He is choosing to forego his own joy to possibly have a relationship with someone who has ALREADY SHOWN that his feelings and thoughts are not valid. She wants a fake him, not the real thing. This hurts my heart for him. At least I had a moment of acceptance before it was ruined. He’s never had anything.

Looking at all the facts: what we can see and experience, this is it. We just have this moment. Right now. We are not guaranteed anything, other than it will not last. There is no proof to an after life. Nothing concrete. (However there is more proof to reincarnation than an afterlife.) To throw one’s one opportunity for joy away to please some uppity cunt who can’t get over her own brainwashing is some of the dumbest shit. Life is a journey and sometimes not everyone is going to accompany you on it. And that’s okay.

June 2, 2023

On Repeat in My Head

The hubby and I have had many odd adventures throughout our nearly 20 years together. The weirder and more bizarre the better. They are the stories we tell when we’re drunk with friends or strangers. And I try and stick to the actual events as much as possible, because nothing is more disingenuous than fabricating details of a story to try and make it funny. It’s why I could never be a comedian. I can’t lie about details for the sake of a laugh.

I have this habit of putting a single song on repeat for hours, until the song holds little to no meaning for me. What I have discovered in my many TikToks is this is a habit of people with ADHD. Well, you pegged me again, you creepy app. Since last night I have been obsessed with a YouTube video of an unreleased Taylor Swift song. I don’t quite understand why this one didn’t make the cut for her album, it is truly phenomenal and I am OBSESSED. I’d post it here but I don’t want it to somehow get caught by the TSMachine and have them remove it. My queen should just release it! But she’s probably just waiting to do so with Lover Taylor’s Version. Sneaky gal.

Todays obsession reminded me of my first trip to London for my Honeymoon/Birthday. We dove head first into this trip without any careful planning. All we had on the agenda was our stay, a trip to Leavesden to experience the sets of Harry Potter (a different time kids), and we had purchased the “London Pass.” Nothing more. Which is kind of our M.O., honestly. I personally feel like that is the best way to travel because it always results in the weirdest stories. As in this one…

Charlie had asked “what are the most ‘English’ things you can do?” And the most obvious and desperately pathetic was to have “authentic” fish and chips. Of course we’ve had them here, but I thought maybe (just maybe) they were different in the land in which is originated. And… It did not disappoint.

The newly minted husband researched and found a place that was supposedly “the best fish and chips in London.” Obviously they had given themselves that name because… Dear god.

We grabbed a black cabby and made our way across town to a residential neighborhood to go to this hole in the wall restaurant. We walked in and the fry cook was listening to this sad, somber song at ear splitting levels. We made our order and then went and sat on the right side of the shop which I thought was this huge dining area. Oh no. It was this thin strip of space, with a counter attached to the wall with a full length mirror immediately above.

“This is going to be fun,” I had said, gesturing to my reflection. “I get to watch myself as I eat!”

“Eh, it’ll be fine.”

As we waited the sound level of the music was undeterred. At least it was an okay song. I have a tendency of getting easily irritated with music I do not like.

We got our fish and began eating. That’s when we became abundantly clear that the scales were still on the unbattered side of the fish.

“Oh my god,” I said, showing him the steely-gray side of my meal.

“Oh, that’s weird,” Charlie said, “Maybe that’s just… No. Mine too. Maybe that’s just how they do it.”

“Well, they’re doing it wrong.”

He chuckled, “Is that so? The place that originated-“

“Yes.”

As we picked it at our fish, trying to avoid the scales and the reflection of our grimaces in the mirror, it became abundantly clear that the song that had been playing when we walked in was on repeat. I started to laugh to myself as I concocted this elaborate story in my head how the fry cook was going through a recent break-up and just could not stop listening to this song.

I imagined the cashier reaching their limit and turning to him, “Oy, Trev, please play anything else. I beg of you!”

And Trevor would continue on, frying fish and singing along to the song. (Did I mention the fry cook had been singing along to the multiple repeats?)

The two of us couldn’t stand looking at ourselves eat this scaly fish any longer, while Trevor went through the motions, so we headed out onto the street and walked back to our hotel.

This is where I fell even more in love with the city. (Side note, it was guy fox day.) The gentle orange glow of the street lamps lit our way, as we passed by an old, old, old cemetery and a couple of boys who were kissing and hugging until they saw us coming their way. I wanted to say “Don’t worry, boys, this is my husband.”

Now that I have successfully bored you with my lackluster story, I will return to my repeated listen to “Need” by Taylor Swift. Please, excuse me.

November 28, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 40 – Typical / Beautiful Mess

I’m sad that this band didn’t have any other hits after this one. The whole album is incredible and I fail to find a song that doesn’t rock or hit an emotional nerve.

The first time I heard “Typical” was by a “dedication” from my husband to me. This song climbed to popularity (on our local radio station) on the heels of yet another one of Charlie’s and my break-ups. However, this time was different. We may have “broken-up” but we continued to live together, sleep in the same bed, etc… Basically we created the life we have now. Except we were “broken-up.” My husband chose this route because he didn’t want to do an “open relationship.” He and I were of the same mind, at the time, and thought that those types of relationships were beneath us. They were stereotypically gay and we weren’t the norm. (Yet ever the typical fags…)

During this time the idea was for me to work on myself. I had cheated on him repeatedly over the three year relationship. I was meant to take this time to reflect and figure out if I wanted us to stay together or not. It was also at this time when I entered into the SAA program as part of “working on myself.”

Despite societal belief that it isn’t a real addiction, I firmly believe that it is. It’s received such a negative perception because it appears to have been used as justification for the infidelity of high profile celebrities. While the validity of that assumption can go either way, I tend to think there is truth in it.

For most addicts they have to go to a source to get their high. They have to drink, smoke, shoot, snort, and eat their demons. While sex addiction is an obsession over the chemical rush that forever resides in our brains. That overpowering sense of euphoria that fills our bodies from head to toe after ejaculation. Sometimes it’s purely the heightened state of mind that one may get caught or the danger of the action itself. In those cases it may be more of an “adrenaline junky” than sex addiction. Either way… these are substances we don’t have to go anywhere to abuse. We have it at the ready on a moments notice.

To this day I use sex as a way of coping. Whenever I feel disgusting about my body image or self-worth I head to some cruising spot or use the apps to find someone to want me, because at that moment I sure as shit don’t. Their approval gives me the go ahead to feel good about myself. And the reinforcement of the euphoric rush just rewards the behavior. Afterwards I feel nothing but shame and guilt in my actions and thus begins the addictive cycle.

For years I ran SAA meetings, after having the responsibility to find us a new location thrust upon me. I was invested. I had a few sponsors try and get me through the steps and even took on the responsibility sponsoring two people. However, I wasn’t what they needed. I have a more “it’s your responsibility not mine” approach to it. I will get one the info, be an anchor to keep one centered, or be a shoulder to cry on, but I will not be your parent. That is not my job. I also require people to be relatively self-aware and that isn’t something you cannot force someone into. You can’t even lead them to the it. They have to discover that on their own.

Even though I love my husband more than anything, I will be by his side until the very end, but this song is one that I use for emotional cutting. Even now… It’s one I can put on, as a joke to recount how someone one time called me a whore, but in reality it’s my way of harming myself. Because I am nothing more than a typical whore.

I think it doubly hurts because he has only ever “given” me one other song, and I derive so much worth and love from a song “dedication.” It’s truly bizarre.

It should be noted that at the same time as this song he gave me another one that… It encapsulates everything we had gone through at that time, and even still go through. It was so uplifting and beautiful for me and was the perfect balance that this song brought. “Typical” cut me down but “A Beautiful Mess” built me back up. To this day, if I’m alone, I will ugly cry to it.

At first listen it sounds like an insulting song, but it 1,000% is not. So, I will leave you with Jason Mraz.