Viae Ignotum

In a scramble, Nyx managed to put on the gladiator costume just as Jean's footsteps were heard approaching the door. His heart pounded in his chest, partly from the rush to get ready and partly from the nervous excitement of their Halloween date. The door swung open, revealing Jean in all his Halloween glory, dressed as a flamboyant vampire complete with a cape and fake fangs.

“Mon petit cochon, you look absolutely...” Jean paused, his eyes scanning Nyx from head to toe before bursting into laughter, “...adorable!” Nyx’s cheeks flushed red, but he couldn’t help but join in the laughter. Jean had that effect on him, making even embarrassing moments feel fun.

Jean playfully ruffled Nyx’s fur, “You know, you’re not actually dressed as a gladiator, right?” Nyx’s eyes widened, “I’m not?” Jean shook his head, his laughter subsiding, “No, you’re my little ‘scottish pig’ for the night!” Nyx blinked, “Scottish pig?” Jean nodded, “Yes, it’s a bit of a joke, you know, because ‘petit cochon’ means little pig in French. But you pull it off so well!” Nyx couldn’t help but smile, feeling a mix of relief and amusement. Maybe he didn’t get the costume quite right, but if Jean liked it, that was all that mattered.

They headed out into the night, Jean’s arm wrapped around Nyx, guiding him with a confident ease. The city was alive with the spirit of Halloween, and as they walked, Jean pointed out various costumes and decorations, his commentary filled with his usual blend of wit and playful teasing. Nyx found himself completely entranced, hanging on every word and feeling more alive than he had in a long time.

As they navigated through the festivities, Jean’s demeanor shifted subtly, his glances becoming more intimate, his touches lingering. Nyx felt a thrill of anticipation; he could sense that the night was about to take an exciting turn.

Finally, they arrived at a secluded spot where Jean had parked his van, decorated with subtle, eerie Halloween embellishments. He turned to Nyx, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ready for some real fun, mon petit cochon?” he asked, his thick French accent sending shivers down Nyx’s spine.

Welp, I need a break from homework... and its the first night of school. I am already annoyed with how the day went. I just wanted my first day to be perfect but due to circumstances out my control that didn’t happen. But it just keeps in theme with my motto of “ do it differently”

You see, I was waiting for my teacher to supply the e-book  code and to my utter horror everyone had hard copies. 

I screamed inside my heart.

THANKFULLY it was resolved relatively quickly. 

I am more inconvenienced more  than anything. I guess that was the day death by a thousand inconveniences, lol. 

But I think ready for this, school I mean. I decided to go to school to become a community support worker. Think of it as social worker lite. I would make the tough calls but the information gather could be used to affect the decision. But I get the feeling that I will end up being put in that position as so point in my career. I have aspirations to be a social worker. The route I am going puts me in the field sooner and I can get a better field. 

I am nervous

For you see I have helped many people in a lot of ways such as:

suicide prevention, overdosing treatment, marriage counseling, family counseling, Physio Rehab, Personal training, domestic abuse mediation, helping victims that have experienced sexual abuse cases and grief counseling

Yet only two of those I ever went to school for. I feel incredibly bless that it all panned out well. 

I feel I am gifted

I am worried that school will delusion my “gift” as luck. I am worried that my compassion might run dry. I worry that I am the only Black person in my class. I get in pit in my stomach that I may have to teach/enhance the course with basic don’t be white and privilege. I worry wont be strong enough to speak my voice. I am worried that I wont be strong enough for the work.

Yet I feel ready. 

With all the complaining, I couldn’t be happier. I am able to grow again.

*New kink unlocked*

 I am grateful for my sobriety. I am grateful for the people that are still in my life, for they are the reason I am still alive today. Having people that love me for me. I am grateful they had the knowledge, empathy and compassion to let me run through my course. When I thought I'd burned down every bridge and ran away from everyone I had ever known out of shame and guilt, you all were all still there. Thank you for being my friends, and my family.

I am grateful for my resilience. I am grateful I didn't stop trying to quit, and it finally stuck :). I am grateful that my desires and life goals are stronger than my addiction. I am grateful to be open to my  High Power, by listening to them my life has completely changed.

 My addiction took much from me, school, bio-fam, friends and so much more. Still feel like I'm incomplete, missing some key parts of self; like sexual identity, gym motivation, and values. My addiction taught me much about myself as well as other people. For example, one thing learned, people, are very tolerant till they become uncomfortable. Another is,  being fearlessly honest with oneself requires fearless self compassion. Last lesson I will share, important opportunities / decisions rarely wait. Oh yeah … and daily gratitudes really do change one's perspective on life. With that last one in mind, I plan on posting daily gratitudes  again. Also ,for accountability, workout posts. Lastly, expect to see more "firing from the hip". My goals with that last one is venting ,sharing and possible conversation starters. As always thank you all for taking the time to read this.

Love,

It feels like it has been ages since I wrote anything.  There is so much I wanna write and comment on, simply hard to pin just one idea down. So, in sticking with the theme of vulnerable journey treading and wanting my experiences to help someone out there. I am going to decompress the last years and possibly go into more at a later date. I have been in limited contact with people for close to 3 years. This is due to moving to a new country compounded with COVID, which killed many attempts at being social. Coupled with that polite racism of Canada and recovering from a very traumatic breakup, have been in a low place. Also, in transition for a work visa which has been slowed due to COVID. Depression and PSTD make leaving the place is a chore and a constant mental battle. I was able to do a year of college in a small-town university. Learned a lot and nothing all at once. Learned about myself. Learned about my own Blackness (and still learning). Of course, this caused me to look at my life experience through a new lens as if pages have been restored in a tattered book. Seeing how my old, colonized self parroted some toxic garbage and did some” ignorant passable shit “that I wished I had never said or did. Angry at my parents for trying so hard to “protecting “me from my own Blackness. Leaving me under-prepared for the world I was going to be a part of. Instead, my father tells me as an adult, I am ungrateful and “raised by wolves,” and I told him I hated him. Pissed that he presented his side of the family as dangerous, volatile and “ghetto” and that being gay and black was asking for a short life in the family. Causing me to be averse to wanting to meet them.   But with time, I will be able to accept “all of me.” By learning another country’s history, I realized I was on the wrong side of history. Referring to my time in the military and playing a role in destabilizing the Middle East (something the US military has quite a long track record of doing). This affects me in a couple of different ways. First, being a part of pain and suffering on such a grand scale goes against who I believe. Secondly, knowing that it is a family legacy (father being a weapons contractor after being retired Air Force and had a few generals in the family too). Lastly, I lost friends and a lover to the machine known as the military-industrial complex. And knowing that the government is getting worse makes their deaths sting a bit more than I care to admit. Thinking about my time in the military fills me with bittersweet memories now tinged with some guilt and shame. While I had stewed in these thoughts for long periods of time. Slowly getting comfortable with these truths. Only to be slammed with the ugliness that is America’s racism. Seeing white friends during BLM and all that led up to it go silent or worse, shit on the idea of BLM. Gay community leeches off black culture while making claims of being inclusive makes me want to rage cry. Seeing so much Racism and colorism in communities I used to call these spaces, my home is now quite repulsive . I was hoping for too much, wanting my communities to be supportive. Genuinely supportive, helping people because it is right, not causes it's trending.  Wish POC communities would stop internalizing and perpetuating hate and start lifting each other up. Instead of determining “blackness” and gender roles. It has been absolutely heartbreaking to see so many people passing in such a short time frame. I am reminded of my older friends sharing their tales of the AIDs crisis and survivals guilt. I feel weird knowing these people for a while online, just too sudden.. they are gone. I develop a connection with these people but feel I cannot claim it because other people that knew them spent time with them in real life. Deep down, there is a feeling that my connection is less than because I am unable to meet these people. I do not fully subscribe to this idea, but every time another FB friend or friend dies, it comes to my mind. And I honestly do not know what to do with it. Though the thought of friends that have pass makes me feel things. I cannot help but mourn the relationships lost because of my selfishness, drugs, or toxic relationships before people I called my family. The concept of family seems and feels so foreign to me now, yet I still hunger for one.  My parents and sister's relationship was polarizing and taking a toll on my mental wellness.  But cutting ties with them does not make me feel better. Sure enough, feel guilty and ashamed because of some internal nagging feeling I needed to try harder to work things out. Must remember why I had to cut ties with them. I had to, being with them caused me so much emotional and spiritual pain, I would later choose homelessness than ask for their help again. Yet, I still love them just do not want them in my life or do not want to share my life with them anymore. Does not make processing the loss of my bio family any easier. It does feel more correct than sticking with them. I wish I were a better friend. I often feel like a failing friend. I regret missing so many chosen family life events. Missed both of my brother’s weddings a few people’s graduations. Burned a lot of bridges protecting people that were later discovered to be trash. Wish I could send messages to say I am sorry. Just feel too much has either happen or too much time has gone by to bring it up now. The feelings and thoughts build up so much that it stresses me out and becomes intrusive thoughts shaming me out of evening trying. And having been burned by so many shitty relationships, feel less like... me. More like a by-product of all the lessons I learn. A by-product that is very wary of trying to make new friends or form new relationships. To be honest, I struggle with who I am and have been struggling with my self-image for three years now. So, trying to attempt new friendships seem out of my depths. Trying to be compassionate and kinder to myself …. when... I feel I need to be better and stronger than average. Sadly, I am my own worse jailer and serving life sentences for things that I just do not know why anymore. My brain gets so loud feels like my brain is grated with sandpaper. Depression, shitty world events, insomnia and PTSD, have caused me to disassociate to the point time has no meaning to me and staying in the moment is getting harder to do. Battling the idea that this is a dream or this reality is unreal. I really dislike being dissociative like this, reminds me too much of when I was doing meth and how quickly the time went by and how time was filled up with all other manners of things. Also reminds me of the time I almost cut myself to discern between reality and dreams. Grateful I have my husband to keep me grounded. He makes me smile when I am down. Somedays, he is the only thing keeping me here. My mind is full, and my heart is heavy. The road is long and the burden heavy, but I will be moved forward in some way. Thank you for your time, love

Julio wasn’t the only person that hurt me in that relationship. It was a combination of Will and Juilo. Finding out that Will had sex with me because Juilo told him too by finding the texts and confronting them about it ,shatter myself worth . Will told me he would always be by my side but when it really came down to it , he ran to what he knew. Julio used my body to gauge someone’s else feelings for him ,triggering my ptsd and making me feel worthless. I despised them both.

I gave up friends , dreams, goals and plans. I am ashamed of how I treated people a called my friends and discarded them so quickly to be in a relationship. All to be with them a poly family and what I got was the role of secret keeper and relationship councilor.Gave my all into that relationship just to be sent off with $400 dollars and a bus ticket.

I gave them my light and they wasted all.

I am disappointed in myself for knowing better but being desperate for acceptance and family I accepted anything. My heart , honesty and trust has always been my down fall. So I feel used up and hollow.

All of my attempts of sparking my light and picking myself up again ,failed. Causing me to spiral into depression. I know what was lost but unable to be replace it with the same things. Doesn’t feel right anymore.

So now , trying to build myself back up into something new during the hardest time in world. Learning self compassion and it is hard . Due to how hard I always push myself to grow. No growth leads to stagnation (which feels gross).

I have no love for Juilo and William but damage they caused me was deeper than I thought possible and not use to hurting like this. Feel like a part of me has stopped growing.

I know time and love will heal these wounds but I hate how it still stops me from living and being present with my husband. I feel guilty because of it. My PTSD make it difficult to forget hard hitting life events. So I am literally haunted by them. New traumas to add to the surprising large list of traumas I have endured and witnessed.

My husband’s love , kindness ,patience and tenderness has me giving me the space to heal. I know I have his support as well. Love that I want to be my best self for because he is worth all and more.

But I “ have only so many spoons”.

I don’t have the energy or mental stamina to be myself and it is hard not to feel guilty. I am not used to being cared for and listened to in such deep meaningful ways. Sometimes my independence lashes out at him like a wounded animal yet he just smiles and holds me till I settle.

I just want to be whole again ,so we can be whole again. He deserve so much.

I deserve it.

I am grateful to have so much love and support from my husband and my friends. I just don’t understand why people think of me as strong , when all I seem to do is vent and be at the mercy of people’s kindness. I am thankful I have people willing to listen and willing to help me out. I am grateful to know that my life still inspires people to do better. I am honored and deeply moved hearing how your stories. I hope that as pull myself together , I can continue helping and inspiring people.

Thank you for your time,

PTSD has trained me to avoid anything that makes me feel uncomfortable because I equate uncomfortable with unsafe and avoid all that is unsafe. Writing makes me feel very uncomfortable. Being vulnerable makes me uncomfortable. I promise myself I would be fearlessly uncomfortable.

I know that if I write it out , I will be better for it. My healing can begin and growth will happen once more.

I grieve…

I grieve the lost of my biological family, but I am grateful to no longer be apart of them. Wish I wasn’t haunted by another life, when I was a son. As much as I try not to think about it , it’s there … thoughts of failing as a son are eating away at me. The times replaying how I wish things could have gone differently and always playing out the same way. Recently a different thought that finally surfaced from all of the replays. They never wanted me, they wanted “their son” back. The son who wasn’t queer and went to church. The son that would keep the bloodline going strong and produce grandkids. They wanted their returns from their investment, a caregiver for my sister and for them.

That isn’t me but really wanted to be for them. I did everything in my power to be the good son that happen to be queer. But never seemed to be good enough or didn’t leave out their life plans for me. When looking back on that relationship and dynamics it wasn’t healthy.

They didn’t want to know me and that hurts.

Knowing that I will never receive that validation that society has trained me to seek out is its own certain kind of mindfuck. Unlearning it is difficult and slow.

I felt that by finally stopping drinking the poison I would feel better…. but i don’t. I just have phantom pains and withdrawals….. and my identity.

I am angry how it all went down with my family but just part of the grieving process.

That is all will say for tonight. I will be better about writing more.

“What a privilege, to concern yourself with seeming good while the rest of us want to seem worthy of life”

I have been seeing a lot of white friends trying to flea from their white guilt.

You don’t get too.

You don’t get a gold star for being a online activist.

You don’t get a pat on the back for finally fucking showing up to the cause.

You are fucking late, you now need to put in the overtime to help us fix this shit.

You have allow my people and myself to be marginalized for your whole life quietly , accepting the status quo and you privilege.

Inconvenienced by doing the right thing becuase your other white friends think it is “harmless joke” or “just being cute” so no need to cause waves over racism , right?

Now that it has come to riots ,people want to jump on board and do the right thing? Most of you are doing it because it is a trend and the socially hip thing to do. If that isn’t so

Did you know how many times we have told you there is racism in our community and you responded with “ I don’t see color” or “I like POCs” or” I support equality “ while still chasing muscle bigots?

Many, many , many times.

Having sex with POCs doesn’t absolve you from being a racist.

Being gay is not the same as being black or a person of color.

You don’t get relief from white guilt by being a keyboard warrior, venting your emotions and sympathies that are only black adjacent and hallow.

What some relief from white guilt? Do some genuine, authentic support by action. Nothing less than that will do.

Donate to black organizations , protest for police reform, hold other white people accountable for their shit when no POC is around. For the bare fucking minimum you could stop following problematic personalities and celebrities.

Don’t be fucking lazy by having your POC friends do all the fucking work becuase you “don’t know where to look “ or “how to help” or “I’m overwhelmed and tired.”

POCs have been overwhelmed and tired this whole time.

Stop needing POCs to spoon feeding and coddle the information of systemic racism becuase of your white fragility.

If I had to learn about people fucking hating me and wanting me dead because of my skin color at 6 , you can fucking look it up and figure out how to be a good ally.

Tired of hearing white people trying to convince me that they are the “good white”.

Just fucking prove it already.

We are all watching, we are taking note and we know who are the real allies and those that just want to be the “good white”.

Good afternoon everyone hope you all are having a good day. Since class has temporarily stop for the week. Might as well enjoy it. So here is what I am grateful for today:

1) it beautiful outside

2) feeling sexy enough to wear a jock

3) feeling recharged after wonderful weekend with my love

4) toilet paper

❤️

I honestly expected never to hear from you ever again, especially after blocking you on Facebook and Playstation. I prefer you not to communicate with me ever again for the sake of my mental well-being and healing. I will tell you this one time only before I lose my patience.

You hurt me in such ways that I cannot ever forgive you. The thought of you fills me with anxiety, disgust and sadness, leaving me with a pit feeling in my stomach. My PTSD has made you a trigger and wants nothing to do with what triggers me. Thankful, I am going to therapy to handle all of the bullshit of my life, I am getting better and feeling like my old self. The self before I met you… Before, when I was able to trust and throw my heartfully into relationships. When I was able to express myself freely without worry of eliciting jealousy or passive-aggressive attacks or explosive rage. A time before the hurt of being abandon twice by someone who said they would always be there. I am still scared in ways I never thought I could, and I hate you for it.

I am grateful every day for the love, support and patience my husband gives me. If he wasn’t there, I would of kill myself.

So there you have it, I don’t want you back in my life or a part of it in any capacity. I don’t trust you with any of your attacks. It pisses me the fuck off that you continue to keep disrespecting my boundaries. It pisses me off that I knew you would contact me even after telling you to leave me be. It bothers me you remind me of my first rapist turned stalker. I know there could be a chance of you purposely running into me when visiting friends in SF. This gives me a sense of anger and dread, which is only magnified by the PTSD. Which makes me want to avoid SF and anything associated with you altogether. Which is dumb.

SO I wish you well but fuck off. Just leave me the fuck alone. I would not promise my reaction if I were to see you again. So leave me the fuck alone.