All the Single Ladies...

When you get to know me, you'll find that I'm just a little girl who loves to be adored, something I was accustomed to before I returned home to this town. I was always in very loving relationships with men who adored me and who I adored. It was easy to fall in love because everyone was adorable.

And then I moved to this town and was forced to find that adoration within myself. Something I have only recently come to terms with. I have been here for 3 years. That's along time to try and figure out what the fuck is wrong with you. Then you take a step back and realize, there is nothing wrong with you and that, in fact, you are probably more sane than most people you will ever meet in this town.

I don't know what it is that causes this strange affliction in men in this town (and maybe some of the girls here too) but they are a bunch of selfish assholes. I don't know if it is because they were hurt once and never got over it, but there is just this bizarre phenomena that has plagued this town. Gorgeous, smart sophisticated women doubt themselves. Girls sleep with whoever is willing to sleep with them. It's like the most bizarre scenario you will ever witness. It absolutely blows my mind. I myself have even fallen prey to it and it wasn't until recently that I see it. I see that it's not us. It never was. It's the situation

This town is always fluctuating. New young beautiful people arrive at least once a semester. Hopeful and dreamy, hoping for something bigger and better, as most foolish college kids think.

Then something happens. The town gets smaller and sex partners become more like 1 degree of separation instead of at least 6. Before you know it, it becomes a cluster fuck of drama and sex and broken hearts and the only ones ruined are the poor girls who, after all their lives they were held to a higher standard, are now here and are cast away like rag dolls.

I met a guy who I was told was a complete douche. I decided not to believe everyone because, well, what the fuck did I know. I foolishly got close with him and before I knew it, I was another victim. And not just a one night stand victim, but one that lasted over a year. A horrible, painful, self-degrading year, thinking I was nothing because I wasn't adored by this piece of shit.

And then he left. And then he left and all of a sudden, my eyes opened up and I realized, I wasn't the one who had self-esteem issues...he did. He had it so bad that it came off on me and I kept thinking it was me.

It was never me.

It was him

And to all the girls in this town who keep thinking it's them. It's not. I swear, it's not. The men, I mean, the boys...the boys in this town are so fucked up and so bat-shit crazy because girls are so fucking easy in this town that we lose ourselves and think we have to play that same easy game.

But that's not it. We just have to fucking get the hell out of this town. Ok, well, maybe that's the dramatic answer. The real answer is to find your self-worth and stop hanging out with the douchey dudes who have such horrible self-esteem issues that they become selfish horrible pricks.

I know, I know, I spent the last year of my life battling this and it took his ass leaving town to make me see it. And I wish it was that easy for everyone. I wish all the assholes in this town would just leave, and leave the sweet, amazing, smart, beautiful girls in this town for the dudes who deserve them.

I guess, in all the ten years I was gone living in all these other places, I never had this issue. I never hated myself or cared about what some piece of shit dude said because I always knew I could do better, and I always have. But here, the pickings are so so slim, and finding a good one, well, hell...tell me where and I'll point all the beautiful and amazing girls I know in that direction.

What I am getting at is, to all the amazing, cool, legit chicks in this town that I know, please know that it's not you. Please know that outside of this fucked-up little town there are things far beyond your imagination. Please don't get caught up in it and please don't lose yourself in it. I know it's easier to say than do, but trust me...there is a beautiful world out there...get the balls to leave this town, and I promise you, it will all be worth it. just don't let the tools in this town define you...know you're flippin' awesome...trust me...

Why I didn't go to the interview.

The voice on the other end was broken up and hard to hear. I initially wasn't going to answer the strange number that was interrupting my lunch hour, but then I remembered I was applying for jobs. Of course I also know that for every 20 applications, you'd be lucky if they spent the time sending you a "sorry, we found someone else" email. Those I don't mind. At least they let me know so I don't answer the phone when strange numbers appear.

"This...Julie...Dos Pub...high School. Is this Kyl..?"

My heart partially skipped seeing as I was trying to piece together what I was hearing. It seemed fitting fate would fuck with me like this.

"Yes, it is" I said, trying to wrap my brain around the situation.

"Hi, Kyleen. I'm fro...blos...ool. I...ted...you..interview. Are...vailable...week..." *click*

WHAT?! Did I just get a phone call for an interview?! I quickly tried to call back, my fingers couldn't push the send key fast enough. Julie picked up again, apologizing, from what I could hear, for bad reception in an old brick building in the school. The phone hung up again.

AH!

This time it rang back and I quickly answered it. Julie's voice was still breaking up, but got better as she explained she was walking out of the building.

"Yes, we wanted you to come for an interview. What time is best for you? We have tomorrow, or the 27th. We know it's about a 5 hour drive from Chico, so let's make it in the afternoon, even though I am a morning person" she laughed. I was trying to scribble down the information on the back of an envelope I found and a dried out felt pen. Why am I always only finding dried out felt pens in this house?

"Yes, the 27th. Yes, I can do that. Sure, thank you so much!"

"You will love this school. It's so great" she began to up-sell the school. A small red-flag popped up in the back of my head. She was almost over-selling it. But I didn't care. I thanked her, hung up the phone, and burst into tears as my entire body shook from excitement. I have never really passed out before, but I can yell you, I was damn near close at that moment. Light headed, shaking, almost sick to my stomach with emotions. I sat down on the couch and just bawled.

I am not sure why I was crying. I think there was this crazy sense of "finally!" in my head, a sense of overwhelming gratefulness, and an understanding logic that it wasn't going to happen...that it wasn't what I wanted.

Ok, so sometimes in life you have to make very hard, logical decisions. I am not usually the kind of person to do that. I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, do-what-I-want-to-do-because-that-is-what-I-do kinda girl. I have never been afraid to take a leap of faith or move or start over or just jump on a plane and fly to Italy because, well, why the hell not. Go to NYC for two weeks for the hell of it? SURE!

But this. This is different. This is real life now. This isn't the life I used to live. Life isn't carefree and wild and fun and "do whatever the fuck you want" any more. This is real. And as much as sometimes real life sucks, it actually doesn't suck. The only thing that sucks now is that when you make decisions, they have potential to ruin you.

Taking this job could potentially ruin me.

The job I applied for was a semester job that starts in the spring, with no guarantee of continuing the next year. That's a gamble. A gamble I can't afford to take.

I have a really sweet gig right now. I mean, I am seriously living a dream life. Ok, so I am not sculpting the future one mind at a time. Not yet, anyway. Instead I get to work from home, at a job I am really good at with bosses who love me and a cat that both bugs the shit out of me yet is the coolest damn thing ever. Entertainment, so to speak. I can afford to pay my bills, I have insurance, I have amazing friends, I can afford to go to the gym to relieve stress, I live in a beautiful place with crazy beautiful seasons and I have my family close enough that I get to see them any single time I want.

That is what I came home for. For moments like last night when I bring Andy to my parents house and I make Susie-mom dinner for her birthday and I take take care of dad who injured his shoulder at work, and my little brother spends hours with Andy and a lazer pointer. Moments like last night when we laughed and I was a part of something, not drifting from town to town, doing random shit. Moments like last night when, after spending time with my family, I spent time with my best friends at a party full of amazing people. Sure, when that cute guy asked me what I did I didn't want to talk about it, because, not just that I am embarrassed, but I don't want to be defined by my job. I am more than my job...yes, I am fucking fantastic at it and the numbers show that, it just doesn't sound good at parties.

When people ask what I do, I always say, "I am an unemployed high school English teacher" and sometimes I follow it up with, "But I sell cabinet doors online. That's what a masters in this economy with getcha". It sounds absolutely pitiful. And not pitiful because of what I do, but because I degrade myself and my situation, when in reality, it's fucking awwwwesome! In fact, it is so awesome, it's not worth giving up to chase after something that might not be worth it in the end. In fact, it is most likely not worth it at all. I heard the pain in my mom's voice when I told her about the interview. My parents don't want to lose me for another 10 years. And I don't know if I am ready to leave them just yet. Not after everything they have done for me. Not after finally feeling like I am home.

I have been agonizing over this decision. I didn't just stop and go, "Nah, I don't want it". I actually sat down and thought out everything. I talked with fellow teachers and friends and family, and in the end, the conclusion was, it isn't worth the risk.

And maybe this God's way of teaching me patience and humility. Still. He's been working on this part of me since I moved here. Before coming here I was a spoiled little selfish brat who got everyone and everything I wanted and more. Things were practically handed to me with just a smile and a wink. Now my cute smiles and adorable personality aren't getting me squat, and it has been quite the awakening experience. Because of this, I have never been more grateful for the most simplest of pleasures and people.

What most people don't know about the job I have now is what it took to get it. There was a lot of suffering before I could finally rest at ease knowing I had something solid. When I got the phone call that I was hired full time and I could quit my other 3 jobs, I absolutely collapsed in a heap of weeping gratefulness. I have never, in all my life, in all my existence, been so grateful for anything ever. I bawled. I was so happy my body shook and hurt because I didn't know how to deal with it and as I drove down from Paradise to my apartment I wept and I shook and I laughed and I prayed and I felt like what heaven must feel like. This feeling that you made it. After everything, you fall down to your knees and give thanks for this almost undeserved magnificent blessing.

That's gratefulness, son.

So here I am in the most ideal situation, trying to grasp at things beyond me because of what? Because I am embarrassed of telling people at parties what I do? That's stupid. Right now, at this very moment, I am where I am supposed to be. I am actually very, very happy and very, very blessed. I have done so many amazing things in life and even got a masters in the meantime. People don't have to know that right off the bat, but over time will get to know me and will be grateful for that, not grateful they met a "hot teacher". If I were to go to Salinas and try for this job, what will happen in the end? I am going to give up the amazing treasures and blessings I was given for a different title? That's stupid. My time is here. My moment is this. I am making the most of this time..learning guitar and piano, writing, dancing, being with family and friends, finding out the things that make me who I am...all the amazing beautiful things life has to offer. I am blessed, and no, I am not going to the interview, but it's ok, because that phone call, that was what I needed to hear. That phone call told me that in the end, life is fucking amazing. And I am happy.

And in the end, that is all I was searching for.

When all that's left is glitter stuck to the bottom of your shoes...

What do you do when the party's over? What happens when the music stops and the lights go on and you look around and find you've been dancing with yourself for quite some time. Glitter and spilled drinks stick to your shoes as you slowly look around and wonder "what the fuck happened?". What was I doing all this time? What has happened to my life? What is my purpose?

Yes, I have a full-time job, which I am very grateful for, but I still feel unemployed. And not the honeymoon stage of being unemployed where you sit in undies because you can and stay up til 4am doing weird shit because you feel free and the possibilities seem endless. No, I'm at the unemployment state where you have filled out countless resumes and applications and have heard every possible interview question known to man and despite all your efforts and work and nicely pressed shirts, it's still not enough to win them over. I wish I could see myself as overly qualified and with so much potential people don't want to hire me for fear of me leaving to become something massively successful. But my ego really feels like a buck-toothed moron, with a muddy personality and a seedy past. I feel like people are turned off by me and no one will tell me why.

That's the thing about applying for jobs. It feels like trying to desperately join the "cool kids". You do everything in your power to impress them and show them you would do anything to be a part of what they are and that you are just as cool as they are, maybe even cooler, but if they would just give you that chance to prove it. You stand in front of them, bare you soul to them, give them what you think they want, and in the end it's still not good enough. And they never say why. They never say, "you're resume was weak", or "you blew it in the interview" or anything that would give you even a glimmer of hope for your next application. Instead you self-consciously apply for the next position in hopes that they can't smell your desperation seeping out of your pores and shakily hand in another application, fearful of more rejection.

When you know what you want to be from first grade, it is hard to imagine doing anything else. When you hit 30 and realize that maybe everything you hoped to be is not at all what you have become, it starts to weigh on you and self-doubt seeps into your mind and as you sit at home in your pjs with your cat, whom you've been talking to out loud for the past hour, you start to wonder, "what the fuck happened?".

I've tried to mask my desperation and self loathing in costumes and whiskey and sex. I mean, they are all fun and games til you wake up the next day with a hangover and maybe a few regrets. By now I should have finished this book, but I let things, mostly myself, get in the way. Maybe I am afraid of success, maybe I am afraid of hitting rock bottom again. I don't know. I do know that currently I am trying not to freak the fuck out. I've recently come to the realization that I never, ever wants kids. Like, ever. So, the purpose of being on earth to procreate has been squashed. That being said, as much as I like sex, do I even bother getting into a relationship with someone? I mean, I am not a "family" kind of girl. The idea alone freaks me the fuck out. I couldn't do it. I can't be tied down like that. Hell, even a cloudy day makes me feel suffocated sometimes.

So what do I do? What the fuck do I do with my life? I just want to roam the world and write, really. I want to have a purpose, but financially I can't do that. It's also not safe, being a small girl and all. I mean, my dream has always been to write for a surfer magazine. Live down south by the beach and write, maybe do a side job at a surf shop for fun. Maybe teach a few college courses at night. I just want to be a part of that world of carefree love and living. Here things are serious...too serious. Life all of a sudden seems serious. I'm not saying I want to rage all the time, but shit, man. I need to do something with my life. I want to teach. Oh so bad I want to teach. But where? What happens when I finally get there? Will I find myself feeling the same as I do now...without a sole purpose? Do I just wait it out here in hopes of finding a job? Do I move?

I'm torn.

And scared.

And confused.

I never thought life would ever be this real. This feeling of anxiety where you haven't lived enough to be ok with dying. Where you know deep down you have this amazing purpose, but you don't know what that is and no one is telling you. It's like all the answers are behind some hidden door and people all seem to know where it is and what's behind it, but no one is telling me. And it is infuriating. And yes, that is my inner control freak coming out, but it's frustrating to know that I am supposed to be doing something amazing, but I just can't seem to figure out what it is.

As I stand here alone, my eyes adjusting to the light that has just been turned on, the music fading, my head spinning, my feet sore, I look around and hope maybe someone can show me the right way out. But no one is there. Just me and the DJ and we just stand there and look at each other. His eyes meet mine and I can sense a bit of pity in his. He has seen me before, but never with the lights on, and he can see I am lost but offers not guidance. So I just stand there, looking around, wondering what has happened to my life, what happened to my shoes?

I guess I just have to start with one thing at a time. I just wish I knew what it was...

If you don't cut it off, you'll never win the Oscar

Sometimes someone comes into our lives and they become our drug. This poison that only makes us feel good when things are good, but when things are bad it is so bad your entire world feels like it is falling apart. They are this kind of person who you can't tell if you are in love with, infatuated with, or addicted to. You can't live without them because they feel like your everything...the only thing that will ever make you happy. But they are also the only person who can make you feel so absolutely devastated you can barely function. Like a drug...with wicked withdrawals.

You can try and kick this habit all you want...tell it no, refuse to use it, try and walk away, but somehow it always comes back. You beg and plea for mercy because you know you just aren't strong enough to say no. So you beg them to say no for you, but when they don't, it's like sticking the needle right back in your track-scarred arm.

Fuck.

I have been trying to kick a habit for 3 years now. And it's not just me, there is an addiction on their side too. It's fucked up. They love the power they have over me and how I turn to jelly when they walk into the same room. They love knowing that despite everything, they can coo me and bring me back to their side...and I love even the slightest bit of attention from them. It's gotten my heart racing and my knees shaking so much that I almost crave the high...even if the crash after is fucking disastrous. And after the crash, when I have told myself I have cried myself to sleep for the last time, I finally get the balls to say "leave me alone"...but I know I will always get a "but why" in return...and the cycle continues.

We both know we are bad for each other, but we can't quit. We literally can't be in the same room because of the sexual tension. His socially inept ways make it impossible to actually enjoy his conversations or his presence, unless we are naked together or texting. It's fucked up. And neither of us knows how to quit. Or maybe we just don't want to.

I told him I would love him until the day he told me to stop. I begged him time and time again to just tell me to stop so I can move on, but his response was always the same, "I can't tell you how to feel"...and that gave me hope. Like Lloyd Christmas from Dumb and Dumber, "So you're saying there's a chance...!"

But in the end, there has never been a chance. Just a boy who loves the way a girl loves him, and to fill his narcissistic ego, he keeps coming back, because he can't quit her either, even if he doesn't love her.

Finally, after years of begging to be let go, I asked him to just tell me to stop loving him so I could move on. "Just tell me to stop loving you and I'll go away"

His words were like they always were, "I can't tell you how to feel" but with a new twist,"Stop loving me, it's best for both of us"

All of a sudden, everything went numb. The words I never thought he'd say. "Stop loving me". Just like that. "Stop loving me". It rang in my mind. Did he mean it? Would he finally set me free and let me go? Just let me be and move on? Was I hurting, was I shocked? I don't know. I was relived because I thought, "If he leaves me alone, I won't have to be strong enough to ignore him". It seemed so simple.

But I know us. And I know him.

That night he came into the yoga room as I stretched. My heart burst in my chest and my entire body was shaking, almost violently. I had to breathe. I had to keep going and not look back at him. Just stretch. Just breathe.

And my eyes watered.

I turned my music up higher and tried to push his presence out of my head even though I was relieved to see he didn't turn around and walk out when he saw me. I wanted him to stay all night, even if I couldn't talk to him. I wanted my fix of him...just a little. Just enough to get me through the night. Just enough to know he's still there.

When he had finished his workout, he lingered at the door as if to say goodbye. I wanted him to stay there and wait for me forever. I wanted him to want me again. But I knew he'd be over it soon, like he always seems to be. He lingered a little longer, trying to grab my attention and then he walked out. I bowed my head down on the mat until my body stopped shaking and my eyes stopped watering. I had to do this for me.

I did my meditation and thought of how life could be without him. What a beautiful, colorful life I could have again if I could just let him go.

"Stop loving me"

I'm fucking trying, but you're not making this easy, dillhole.

Later, after I felt I had freed myself from my addiction, even if for one night, he texted me.

He fucking texted me.

And while I loved it, I hated it. "I was trying to say goodbye, but obviously you didn't want to see me" he wrote.

Of course I wanted to see you. I always want to see you. I want everything to do with you, but you told me to stop loving you, which in my mind meant "leave me alone" and here you are, putting the needle to my vein.

AH!

AAAHHHHH!

I don't know how to live without him. Like an appendage. I don't know how to function without having him in my life, even if all we ever do is text and never see each other. Anything to be a part of his life. It's fucking sickening. And pathetic. But to cut him out is so fucking painful, I don't know how to cut the actual tie.

I feel like he is that arm that is crushed between two rocks and in the end will be the death of me if I don't let him go. I'll stay in this predicament because I am too afraid of how much it will hurt. I've almost given up my survival instincts just to keep him. And here I am now, trying to cut him out of my life and I have hit the tendons...the connection we have...this inexplicable thing that holds us together. I don't even care right now that I am only halfway through and it's just danging there, a bloody mess, I just don't know if I can go through with it...cutting it off completely. Sure, there is potential for a bionic arm which would be way more awesome and cool and stronger and might even have a laser, but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be him.

damnit.

He's my comfort; my security blanket.

Like a security blanket, what he is serves no purpose. The security blanket will never pick me up from the airport, it will never call me, it will never hug me back and doesn't have feelings for me. But I hold what he is to me so close because I don't know how to feel without it and the fear of feeling empty and scared inside is almost unbearable. And as painful as it is, that pain has almost even become a comfort in itself. Something inevitable, reliable but can be healed with one little text, or a chance meeting at the gym.

So I am at that point where I have to believe that cutting off this arm, getting rid of that blanket, or cutting off my supply will save me. That the anchor of this person, who I don't know how to live without, will finally be cut and I can be free.

I'm scared. It's only been a day and though I swear I have tried to quit so many times before, I have to make this it. I have to believe him when he tells me to stop loving him. I have to know that I will be better off. I have to cut through these tendons and bear this horrific pain so that I can go on to better things.

Because, after all, if you don't cut it off, you will never win the Oscar...

Why I stopped posting for a while...

Some things are personal.

My need to walk around without pants isn't so much the case here, but my need to internally find peace is.

The struggle to find both myself and my purpose was definitely the initial point of this blog. Currently all I want to do is make sarcastic remarks and oggle Ryan Gosling and potentially Tatum Channing in Magic Mike if I can ever get myself to a movie theater. Though I am pretty sure that once I sit down I'll never be able to leave until it's no longer in theaters and they have to pry my hands from the arms of the chair and escort me out, drool being the only indication I am still alive.


I'm fine now.

That was the point of this blog...to be ok again. It has been 3 years in the making and I think I have made it to that point.

But wait, I'm not quite done.

Yes so my blogs from here on out are probably not going to be emotionally charged, ridden with bouts of angry cursing and desperation. I'm over that now. It's the ugly you have to get through to find the beauty...or some kind of likeness anyway.

Now that I have cleared my head, it's time to connect that with my body. The unity between body and mind can only be achieved when you consciously strive for it.

When you are lifting weights, how often do you consciously think about what you're doing. Not in the obvious thought of "I'm lifting a weight", but each muscle it takes to lift that weight. Probably not often, but more thinking about the beer you hope to enjoy as a treat for actually showing up at the gym in the first place.

It's ok, I understand that (and I'm pretty sure I am guilty of that). But I have a new outlook on it now.

I used to run when I was semi-unemployed. I ran a lot...most specifically in Upper Park. I would run and cry and run until I wanted to puke, then climb up the mountain and sit on a rock and watch the birds dance in the air to the music that I was listening to on my ipod.

I'm getting spiritual for a moment, just go with me.

I thought that the running was helping, but really, once I was done I would go back to my old ways and I couldn't figure out why everything was continuously so shitty. Einstein once said that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Einstein never had amazing sex with his ex, apparently.

Long story short, I am trying to break away from the things that still bind me.

My treat after working out is meditating. I work out for an hour, then go to the yoga room and fight the stench of dirty hippies from the class before and stretch and meditate. Short of the stench, it's pretty much my most favorite thing ever. Sometimes I'll even cheat on my workout a little just to go stretch and think. Hell, I'd do it for a living if it paid the bills.

Which reminds me, how do I go about getting paid to go to the gym as my job? Just curious.

Anyway, one of my meditations was pretty deep. Sometimes I consciously move my thoughts, other times I let them go. When I concentrate on my thoughts it's when I am searching for an answer, so I will think about my problem and let the music answer it for me. My usual sound track includes Avery Maria by Beethoven and Clare de Lune (most specifically by DeBussey because his version really sets the tone of what I feel Claire de Lune was really intended to portray...a struggle to find strength in being demure as well as the light that comes with that strength). Go with me here.

In my meditation I saw these stepping stones in a small pond that was overgrown with greenery...it was almost suffocating, but still beautiful and somewhat comforting because it felt like just me and this deep blue pond and the stones. In reality it was the stones that made me feel comfortable. Each stone was close to the other and I was jumping from stone to stone. I imagined what would happen without the stones and the fear of falling into the water was like looking over the edge of a tall building...I didn't want to fall off.

Well, in my meditation I let myself fall into the creepy deep blue water and decided to swim to the edge on my own. That would have worked out perfect if not for the great white wall of water that came rushing at me, blind siding me. I assume this rush of water was my brain telling me that I was about to handle some shit so I better hold my breath and get ready for it.

So before I even reach the edge of where I was heading, the water comes and washes me away...but it wasn't the water from the pond, it came from the ocean. It was a light sea foam green and it was warmer than the cold deep blue water I had jumped in earlier. This wave that came at me ended up pushing me out of the pond and at some point I ended up washed onto a big beautiful beach.

There I was, just me and the vastness of the ocean and the world in front of me. There were no stones, there was nothing for me to grab on to, but then I realized I didn't have the urge to. I was on solid ground and it was utterly beautiful. I played with the ocean and danced around and realized at that moment, if I could just let go of the things I am holding on to, I can be free.

Yeah, so obviously that is easier said than done and I am pretty sure every single one of my friends has said this, but when your brain comes up with it in a moment of trying to find tranquility, then yeah, it hits home.

I am not sure if that meditation at least washed my thoughts out for a moment or what, but since then I have found a different kind of peace and in the midst, I found myself again. The Kyleen that I used to be when I was a carefree kid living in my own head. The one that loved people because she loved herself and found beauty in everything thing. The Kyleen that could sit for hours in silence, just watching, and being completely content because her mind wasn't preoccupied with someone else's life. I have been looking for myself for so long I was afraid I would never find me again. but there I was, all this time, in the back of my head waiting for me to coax me out of hiding.

Fucking finally!

And yeah, this post has been in the works for a while because it is very personal to meditate on things in life then try to explain it and not sound crazy. It's a personal struggle, but I figured maybe someone else might get it. That and people keep asking me to post again, so here. That and I am looking inside for the answers and yeah, I still have a ways to go, but I am out of the stupid rabbit hole for the most part and doing my damnedest to not do that again. It feels good to be free again...now to take off these pants and enjoy the summer...

Floating to the Top...

This moment where I lay naked on top of my sheets, the cool breeze from my windows tickling my skin as I lay alone listening to George Winston's piano filling my room. These moments I never thought I'd live.

I left many things to come here. To be in this moment, alone, at night, the twinkling Christmas lights that delicately light my room as I contemplate both my existence and my happiness...and my alone time. The moments to ponder where my love has gone and why instead it has turned to something somewhat empty and cold, yet easy and underrated.

Maybe it's Chico. Maybe it's that I finally get it, or maybe it's my fears...the fear of being broken like I once was. Maybe these same fears keep me complacent in my current state...or maybe they hold me to something more. Something more than chasing pipe dreams and fantasies that were only once fulfilled when I was younger, more naive and living in the city where opportunities were bountiful. Unlike this town where you grab on to what you can get because there isn't much else. And the fear of being needy because there is no plan B because there are so few options in this town.

The idea of that is frightening.

I had a young friend of mine, a beautiful young 21-year old guy who I drove home the other night who brought to my attention the reality of being young and alone.

"I don't like summer in Chico. I don't like that all my older friends have just left. I used to stroll up with 15 friends and I could turn in any direction and know everyone. Now I go with 5 or 6 and it's scary to imagine not knowing people at the bars". He literally had that epiphany as we were driving and I saw his heart break and he said to me "I don't like this kind of growing up" and my heart broke for him because all of a sudden he saw how big and scary and lonely the world really is...

I smiled at his innocence and the reality he was so fearful of. A reality that, to me, was exciting and adventurous, but to him was the end of his youth and the beginning of a fate almost worse than death....a fate where the world around you is new and knows nothing of you and you have to actually step forth and be present in someone else's moment...and that was terrifying to him.

In a way I pitied him, yet almost envied him for his youth. A youth I was trying not to grow out of. A youth where the entire world was still at my finger tips and there were no limits, except my own fears and insecurities. Maybe I grew up in a different world than him, but I had always been content in starting new things and almost crave it at times. It's those adventures that have given me my boldness and my ability to handle my solidarity with composure and a masked confidence.

We are all afraid, though some of us hide it better than others. We also sometimes realize, in the end, we are all human and are all alone to some degree, but it is what we do with that solidarity that makes us who we are.

If you fear change, you will never grow. If you crave change, you will never be content. But if you embrace change and accept it as what makes life so beautiful, you my friend, will not only be successful, but will find a happiness so few will ever understand.

I loved a boy who always gave me visions of the ocean. I never understood why when I would close my eyes and his hands would caress me that I would always see the ocean, and I was always in it, letting the sea foam green wash over my body, the sweet smell of the ocean, the soft green of the warm Pacific. It was always so refreshing, but I never understood it until that touch became turbulent and my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces by the same man who brought me such peace.

Why always the ocean...what was I trying to tell myself?

When I used to surf in Hawaii and SoCal, the thing I will never forget learning was that you never turn your back to the ocean, you always go with it and never fight the current, it will only exhaust you. When you go with the ocean and let Mother Nature play with you, it becomes almost a religious experience. And that is a lot like life.

And that is what I should have done.

The changes in life are like the ocean. Embrace the waves that come, dive beneath what you know you can't handle and let it wash over your back. But no matter what, do not fight it or it will drown you. Trust that in the end you will float to the top where you can take your breath and maybe catch the next wave in.

Always remember, you will gain more control when you just let go. Go with the change and that will make all the difference.

So as I lay here, I reflect on the depths I have seen and the triumphs I have rejoiced in. I imagine all the ways I drowned myself by fighting against the currents that were trying to bring me somewhere else. Did I make the right decision? Did I embrace the waves or did I take them for granted? Did I lay in that moment and hold it close so that I never forget it? Or did I look past it for the next wave, rather than enjoying the ride of the one I was currently in. I worry I may, out of fear, looked past all the beauty that was right in front of me. Except now. This moment where I lay here, sprawled carelessly on my bed and enjoying every little detail of this night. I plan to embrace these moments and hold them close so that when I feel like I might drown, I will always remember when I floated to the top and took the next wave in...

We Can't All Be Winners (K.T. Chpt 1)

"Oh gross! It’s Kayden!" Kristen Peters cried out as I went to sit next to her on the lunch bench. She jumped out of her seat and bolted to the other side of the lunch area. Her friends followed, snickering. I didn’t realize I had sat next to her, which I knew better than to do, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy looking to make sure none of the guys were around because they always love to bother me when I’m eating.

As Kristen and her friends bolted across the lunch area, my face turned hot and I blushed. I was embarrassed which is weird because this is a daily occurrence nowadays. No matter how many times someone does this to me in a day, it never fails to make me feel horrible.

Kristen was one of the cheerleaders on our Jr. High basketball team. She wasn’t very good but she was pretty and she had a lot of girlfriends who were afraid of her, so when she did anything, the rest of the girls would follow. Kristen was one of “Them”: the group of kids currently making my life miserable, for reasons I’m still not sure of yet.

Her and the guys do this to me all day long. They whisper when I walk by, sometimes laughing and pointing. Sometimes they try and stick stuff in my hair when I am sitting in class. Some days they throw random things at my head when I walk by. A couple times the guys have cornered me in the boy’s bathroom and held my arms behind my back and taken turns punching me in the stomach or putting my head in the toilet. That’s the worst! The bathrooms are so gross! It’s because of this I only go to the bathroom in the locker room because Coach Johnson is there and the guys are too afraid of Coach to do anything to me in front of him. On the days they aren’t whispering as I walk by, they are calling out things like, "Hey Kayden, how is your baby penis?", which is a creepy thing to ask because, one, they have never seen me naked before ever (nor will they) and two, who asks about another boy's penis? Are they really that interested?

As much as I want to come back with some type of witty rhetoric, I know that in the end my words will be used against me, so I stay silent.

That is how it has been since I got to this school…and I hate it more and more.

I used to have friends at my old school. Tons of them. It was great. I felt loved and popular, like I was something. Then I came to this school, Rosemont Jr. High, and my life has been pure hell. Some days are worse than others, but most are the same: The Jerks say mean things, others laugh, people stare, I go home and cry to myself. I never let others see my hate or agony, but I know it permeates through the air...that awkwardness of me just sitting there, taking it. Some day I fear I might snap and hurt someone, just to make them stop. I want them to be afraid of me more than I am afraid of them. I want to rip one of them apart just so they can feel the same hurt I have been feeling for the past two years.

"Hey Dicktard," Marcos Toscano’s voice interrupted my thoughts. Marcos was the jerk behind all of the bullying. He was the one who started picking on me the first few weeks I got here. It was hard enough adjusting to junior high, let alone dealing with him. I clearly remember the first day he started in on me. My neighbor Sally Jenson and I were sitting having lunch together in the lunch area outside. It was a crisp autumn day and we were making jokes about something when Marcos walked up to us.

"Hey, shithead!" he called out, startling both Sally and me because it was a name we had never heard, let alone been called. My heart was beating in my throat at that moment. Sally and I exchanged glances.

“Yeah, shit head, I'm talking to you!” he continued. I could feel eyes on us from the other kids around us. "You’re sitting in my seat, you turd!"

Sally and I exchanged glances again, this time out of confusion. What was he talking about, “his seat”? Sally and I have been sitting in this same spot for weeks.

"Excuse me?" I asked.
"I told you, that's my seat, now move!"

Sally and I weren’t sure if we should laugh or walk away slowly. Marcos’ approach was so out of the blue it was bizarre.

"Hey, me and Sally sit here every single day, so I am not sure what you are talking about"

"I said move!" Mario yelled and he grabbed my shirt and pushed me off the bench. Sally tried to get up, but Mario sat down next to her and said, "You're fine. You can stay here. It's him!” He said leaning away from Sally and pointing at me as I sat on the ground, confused. “This is my seat! Don't sit here again!” He growled.

I stood up and said, "Hey! I don’t care, I was here first!" But little did I realize the power in numbers Marcos had over me. At that moment his two friends appeared, as if summoned by sheer will. Sally and I looked at each other and then at the two guys as Marcos stood up.

"I don’t care if you were here first!" He growled again. “This is my table, now leave before I sock you in the mouth!" I went to approach him but Sally pulled on my arm for me to go with her. And it was that moment when my new-found fate would take place. I would now become the most hated kid in school. For no reason other than sitting at a table I sat at with Sally for weeks. It will never make sense to me. Ever.

"Hey, Dicktard, I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts again as he and his two goons approached my lunch table.

"Shit!" I thought to myself. Am I in his seat? Is there any part of this stupid school that he doesn't ruthlessly claim as his own? I hate this guy. I absolutely pure hate him.

“What’s up, Gay-tard?” Marcos called out as he and his two friends headed towards my table.

I cringed at the sound of Marcos’ voice.

It was early spring and we were finally able to sit outside and eat lunch at the lunch tables. The sun was warm, but the air was still cool. The trees in the lunch area were budding, the flowers still in their cocoon, just waiting for it to get warm enough to open. I was sitting by myself at this point since Kristen and her friends left.

Marcos’ voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me. He approached my table. Kids at the other tables in the designated lunch area started to take notice.

“Hey! Gay-tard! I was talking to you!” Marcos said louder as he crawled onto the bench beside me, his friends joining on either side of us. My face grew hot as they started leaning in to my lunch and grabbing tater tots for themselves. The other kids kept watching.

“So, Gay-tard. What’s going on?” His breath was hot and smelled like sweat socks against my face. It made me want to gag.

I’m not sure why it is that 8th graders forget that there are toothbrushes and deodorant out there. Marcos most specifically. His dark thick hair was always a little too greasy. It was long, just a little past the lobes of his ears, a deep dark black which would compliment his olive skin if it wasn’t constantly broken-out from not showering enough. He wasn’t ugly, rather, a good-looking Italian boy, but he didn’t follow through with hygiene and soap which was a waste of what he was blessed with. His eyes were a dark green, almost brown.

He caught me looking at him.

“Hey! Gay-boy! What are you looking at?!” He said, leaning back as if I had made some kind of advance towards him. I blushed, as if I had done something wrong. The other kids looked over at us again. My face grew even hotter. He was starting to get on my last nerve.

Marcos did this every single day. Every day. And it wasn’t always the same. Sometimes he would just walk by and smack the back of my head. Some days he would trip me as I walked past with a tray. Some times him and his friends would throw grapes or raisins as I sat alone and ate. I have been getting both used to it and tired of it, but I also know there is no way to stop it. Teachers never catch him and if I tattle on him it will only make matters worse. The only thing I can do is take it.

And that infuriates me.

“I was talking to you!” Marcos interrupted my thoughts and shoved my plate a little. The gelatinous goo that was supposed to resemble gravy jiggled, my tater tots rolled into the ketchup. I just stared at the plate. The jiggling, rolling plate. Even my food was being pushed around. Even my damn food was being bullied!

All of a sudden something inside me snapped. I could feel it in the back of my head as Marcos and his friends started pushing me, asking me why I was so gay and what I was going to do about it. I just sat there for a moment, stiffening as I began to clench every muscle in my body, trying to hold back all the anger and fury brewing inside me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my body began to shake and I could feel a cold sweat beading down my brow. My fists slowly balled and I could feel my short nails digging into my palms. They want me to do something about it? Then fine! I’ll do something about it!

I reached for my tray, picked it up and turned around on the bench, bringing my feet out from under the table, as if I were going to leave. This made the boys stop for a moment as they looked at each other laughing. I looked over to Marcos whose mouth was open in a hearty laugh.

In that moment I took the tray I had in my hands and I smashed it into his face, pushing with both hands and all of my body weight. This shoved them both back, tipping the bench, the tray hitting the ground and bouncing; the plate of thick mashed potatoes still stuck to Marcos’s face as all three of them fell to the ground in a heap.

Before the tray had even hit the ground I was already running away from the lunch area that was nestled in between two enclosed hallways and a classroom. I ran as fast as my small skinny legs could carry me, heading past the basketball courts and to the playing field. I could hear the kid’s laughter behind me and Marcos’s curses and his two goons trying to help him out as he called for my death. I mustered the strength to run faster, my heart beating in my throat. As my shoes hit the grass, I realized that at the end of the large playing field was a large chain-linked fence. I could hear Marcos and his friends’ feet on pavement as they scrambled after me.

I ran faster.

As the fence came closer, all of a sudden something landed far in front of me, as if it were thrown at me. As I ran past it, I saw that it was a sandwich.

“A sandwich?” I thought to myself. “What in the…” all of a sudden an orange flew past my head and landed closer to the fence. They were throwing food at me!

As I ran to the fence I took a large leap, but I jumped too soon and didn’t end up as high on the fence as I had hoped. I scrambled up, as quickly as I could when an apple whizzed past my ear, hit the fence and splattered; apple pieces and juices hitting my face and shoulder. My heart skipped as I paused a moment, seeing the apple wedged into the metal diamond. Had that hit my head it probably would have knocked me out cold.

All of a sudden something soft and thick hit the back of my head with a thud and then there was an explosion of lettuce, cheeses and mayonnaise, which began to drip down my shirt. A plastic cup of open pudding bounced off the chain links and splattered me in the face.

They were getting closer.

I climbed quicker.

As small carrots, a soft banana, a couple more sandwiches and a can of soda pelted me from behind, I finally reached the top of the fence. I reached up and got both my hands on the top bar and started to pull myself up when I suddenly got real heavy. I pulled up harder, just to feel myself being pulled down in the opposite direction. I looked down and there was Marcos, one of his hands wrapped around my ankle. I tried to kick him off, but his other hand grabbed on to it as well. I tried for one last final pull, with all of my strength, but at that same moment Marcos pulled on me with all his weight and I lost my grip. I fell off the fence, my back crashing into his face, both of us hitting the hard grass with a strange “thunk”.

Marcos pushed me off and I landed on my stomach. At that moment I looked up and half of the school was already swarming, some with hands full of food, Marcos’s goons leading the pack with arms full of whatever they could steal off of tables and out of the garbage I’m sure. As they approached they continued to lob food at me. Marcos stood up, kicked me in the ribs and grabbed an apple from a kid and threw it at my back. It hit, but not as hard as I had thought it would. My long-sleeved, button up, plaid shirt now resembled a modern piece of art as kids continued to pelt me with food stuffs. I just lay there as grapes rolled into my pants, my hair sticking to my forehead from soda, and my hands covered in the gelatinous gooey gravy.

I put my head down and took it. I could feel different objects bounce off my head and back. Some kids didn’t have good aim from where they stood in the back and ended up missing me all together or hitting my legs. I looked up for a moment and caught a glimpse of Sally Jenson looking at me with her pitiful honey brown eyes. She didn’t stop them, but she also didn’t join in. She just stood there…it looked like she might cry. I thought I might too.

“Mr. Johnson is coming!” Someone in the far back cried out. I could hear feet shuffling in the grass as they scattered like cockroaches. I looked up and parting the sea of kids was Mr. Johnson, a tall, well-built black man with stunning looks and a voice that would scare the paint off walls. He was Rosemont Jr. high’s basketball coach and History teacher. Most of the kids called him Mr. J, but when he was storming towards you like a bull, you ducked and cowered and responded with a mousy “yessir”, looking at nothing more than your feet as you compared them to his large feet, which were always in nice, clean penny-loafers.

I could hear Mr. Johnson telling kids to “scat” and to “get back to the yard” and kids started running, silent in their fear. Marcos had long since left after he kicked me in the ribs, leaving no evidence of his presence except a lingering ache in my side. I laid my head back in the dirt, laying my cheek down as I watched Mr. Johnson’s nice shoes as they approached me quickly. I could have gotten up, which I would have done normally, quickly and ready to “yessir” him. Instead I just lay there in a pathetic heap, covered and surrounded with food. A sad pile of food and boy. I imagined all the mothers who so caringly packed their child’s lunch, unaware that a sad, pathetic boy would be lying in it later.