Today marks 7 years since my best friend died as a result of drugs. They found his body in a dumpster. It was horrible. There is a piece of my heart that still goes this time each year. It's like it's ripped out, pissed on, and thrown across a room.
Awful and horrifying are not just words that describe the pain that still lingers. On this day each year I meet some fuckhead who totally pisses me off. I always want to ask, "Can I trade this shit for brains for my best friend?"
Yes, he was a character. Chacho was my Ratso Rizzo. He was always in some shit. We had three rules:
1. No calling me in the middle of illegal activity.
2. No detailing sex practices involving chocolate syrup
3. No detailing sex practices involving cherry syrup.
Yes, he was my gay boo. Chacho I fucking miss you. Yes, he sold drugs. No, he didn't like to be called a drug dealer. He preferred entrepreneur or small business owner. Yes, he was a bad businessman getting high on his own supply. Yes, he got government assistance and spent it on designer clothes. Sure he didn't have a house but he had his Gucci.
It's been years and it gets easier. But there are moments where my heart still breaks into a million pieces. Watching someone die as a result of an addiction is like watching someone dig their own grave right in front of you, shovel and all.
This year I didnt remember the day because I have been working so much. But then I saw the reminder on my phone. I had just mailed out my mom's birthday present and then oh shit. Yes that painful day each year.
To compound the pain, I was walking to a friend's show last night and saw my ex boyfriend nodding off in front of the Port Authority. I knew he was homeless and back on drugs. I also heard through the grapevine he was blaming me for every awful thing that ever happened to him. But to see him nodding off in his own piss and vomit made it more awful than I could ever describe.
Sure, he did plenty of fucked up things at the end of the relationship. Yes, he hurt me a lot. But he didn't deserve this.
A few minutes later some asshole hit on me. You got it a white, cisgendered, male asshole. Wanted to see my Patriarchal Pleasure Pit. It made me want to vomit, my former lover only feet away nodding off and destroying himself worse than my words and hexes ever could. And what hurt more was my gay deceased friend, gay bashed in his neighborhood and slashed across his cheek. Yes, he always had his compact to cover up his scar. But it hit his heart in ways I could never describe.
So I did the stable thing of screaming at this scumbag to get away from me. He ran. It felt good. It felt good to scream at the cisgendered man who would have made my friend Chacho feel lesser because of his same sex attraction. It felt good to scream at the cisgendered man who encouraged the toxic masculinity that made men like my ex feel they needed to go to war and fight for a country that could give two shits about them. Yes, fuck the man.
Or as a wise person once said, "A junkie is someone telling society there is something wrong."
Minutes later I got an email from a coordinator in my graduate school. I forgot to turn something in. FUCK! Work had gotten so busy as did the Onion workshop I was in that I forgot. I took a breath. Time to go to the show. No more mind fucking tonight.
Today I turned in my assignment for graduate school. I formatted it wrong. (FUCK!). I also had a snafu with something I am releasing to sell that made me want to break everything in the fucking room. I hated the fucking world. And not to mention that when I told someone my ex was homeless and nodding off in Port Authority they said, "Wasn't so smart to be with him."
Really Sherlock Holmes. Tell me something I don't know. He gets off his ass to get dope each day which is more than I can say for you.
Either way it's fine. I just feel like I want to explode. I will say this both shows were good last night. Made me inspired to write some good comedy. Maybe even make Chacho a character, because he was funny. He wouldn't want me to be sad now. If anything, he would kill it onstage.
Although it feels like it currently, I don't suck at life because I am choosing life. Choosing life is always the hardest thing. My ex isn't choosing life. It's sucks but just as Chacho failed himself my ex is doing the same. That being said, I am grateful to be alive, even if it is with this discomfort. And stay tuned, there are more exciting announcements coming.
April Unwrapped
Awful and horrifying are not just words that describe the pain that still lingers. On this day each year I meet some fuckhead who totally pisses me off. I always want to ask, "Can I trade this shit for brains for my best friend?"
Yes, he was a character. Chacho was my Ratso Rizzo. He was always in some shit. We had three rules:
1. No calling me in the middle of illegal activity.
2. No detailing sex practices involving chocolate syrup
3. No detailing sex practices involving cherry syrup.
Yes, he was my gay boo. Chacho I fucking miss you. Yes, he sold drugs. No, he didn't like to be called a drug dealer. He preferred entrepreneur or small business owner. Yes, he was a bad businessman getting high on his own supply. Yes, he got government assistance and spent it on designer clothes. Sure he didn't have a house but he had his Gucci.
It's been years and it gets easier. But there are moments where my heart still breaks into a million pieces. Watching someone die as a result of an addiction is like watching someone dig their own grave right in front of you, shovel and all.
This year I didnt remember the day because I have been working so much. But then I saw the reminder on my phone. I had just mailed out my mom's birthday present and then oh shit. Yes that painful day each year.
To compound the pain, I was walking to a friend's show last night and saw my ex boyfriend nodding off in front of the Port Authority. I knew he was homeless and back on drugs. I also heard through the grapevine he was blaming me for every awful thing that ever happened to him. But to see him nodding off in his own piss and vomit made it more awful than I could ever describe.
Sure, he did plenty of fucked up things at the end of the relationship. Yes, he hurt me a lot. But he didn't deserve this.
A few minutes later some asshole hit on me. You got it a white, cisgendered, male asshole. Wanted to see my Patriarchal Pleasure Pit. It made me want to vomit, my former lover only feet away nodding off and destroying himself worse than my words and hexes ever could. And what hurt more was my gay deceased friend, gay bashed in his neighborhood and slashed across his cheek. Yes, he always had his compact to cover up his scar. But it hit his heart in ways I could never describe.
So I did the stable thing of screaming at this scumbag to get away from me. He ran. It felt good. It felt good to scream at the cisgendered man who would have made my friend Chacho feel lesser because of his same sex attraction. It felt good to scream at the cisgendered man who encouraged the toxic masculinity that made men like my ex feel they needed to go to war and fight for a country that could give two shits about them. Yes, fuck the man.
Or as a wise person once said, "A junkie is someone telling society there is something wrong."
Minutes later I got an email from a coordinator in my graduate school. I forgot to turn something in. FUCK! Work had gotten so busy as did the Onion workshop I was in that I forgot. I took a breath. Time to go to the show. No more mind fucking tonight.
Today I turned in my assignment for graduate school. I formatted it wrong. (FUCK!). I also had a snafu with something I am releasing to sell that made me want to break everything in the fucking room. I hated the fucking world. And not to mention that when I told someone my ex was homeless and nodding off in Port Authority they said, "Wasn't so smart to be with him."
Really Sherlock Holmes. Tell me something I don't know. He gets off his ass to get dope each day which is more than I can say for you.
Either way it's fine. I just feel like I want to explode. I will say this both shows were good last night. Made me inspired to write some good comedy. Maybe even make Chacho a character, because he was funny. He wouldn't want me to be sad now. If anything, he would kill it onstage.
Although it feels like it currently, I don't suck at life because I am choosing life. Choosing life is always the hardest thing. My ex isn't choosing life. It's sucks but just as Chacho failed himself my ex is doing the same. That being said, I am grateful to be alive, even if it is with this discomfort. And stay tuned, there are more exciting announcements coming.
April Unwrapped
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