Whenever life sucks, remember you’re going to die someday.
– Oscar Wilde
The last 5 years of my life have involved one jaw-dropping mishap after the next. Somehow I managed to piss off the powers that be, and my once mundane, boring life that ran on auto-pilot became perpetual chaos as a result. I’ve often wondered:
What have I done to deserve this?
Is this retribution for telling my kindergarten class that Santa isn’t real, ruining Christmas that year for all the other kids? Did I walk under one too many ladders in my formative years? Or perhaps I was Adolf Hitler in a previous life and this is my pay back? Whatever I did, it must be atrocious to warrant this never-ending adversity.
My luck’s been shitty to say the least. It’s been so outrageously shitty that my story isn’t even believable, making this cross all the heavier to bear. Somehow the universe turned on me like Old Yeller with rabies, refusing to detach its fangs. It’s been painful, it’s been gruesome, and it shows no signs of abating anytime soon. Such is my life…
…or what’s left of it.
What started out as an amazing journey, destined for success, took a cataclysmic nose-dive. There’s no getting out of this unscathed, and that’s if getting out is even possible. With what and who I’m up against, the chances of exiting are slim to none.
They say life is not fair, but life never promises to be fair. Life only promises one thing to us all:
Not trying to be negative Nancy, but it’s the truth. So far life is batting 100 in staying true to its word, and I guess life is fair in that sense, which is more than I can say for most.
Like with this lady here, who claims to be fair and balanced, meanwhile she’s anything but.
I’ve come to believe that most are similar to her, leaving little fairness and balance remaining in this crooked world.
Life is no fairy tale, and life is no box of chocolates. If anything, life is a shit sandwich, with some getting more bread to offset the taste than others. Regardless, at the end of the day, everyone still gets stuck eating Doo Doo for din din. There’s no mistaking it: life is one massive crap shoot…
.…with the odds being left up to chaos and chance.
Or maybe the odds are left up to someone or something else…
…and that’s all being kept a secret. Imagine that: what if someone else is playing God (or better said, Satan) with our lives, only we’re all clueless? All I know for certain is that whomever calls the shots remains a mystery to the masses.
It’s clearly not our President and commander in chief who’s sitting atop the food chain. Likewise, it’s not our congressional leaders who spend half their time campaigning to keep their jobs rather than doing them.
Which leads me to ask:
Who, or what, is in charge? Are there any checks and balances in place?
What if we have no say in our own destinies, instead they’re already pre-programmed to dispense constant disappointment? What if the almighty has guaranteed that every day ends with rain, with no way of stopping the interminable, torrential downpour?
That doesn’t sound like life in the land of the free, that sounds more like life in Auschwitz to me.
Maybe life is no more remarkable than looking at the brown side of the grass; maybe nature isn’t the celestial paradise they claim, but rather it’s our impending tombs.
Nature is Satan’s church.– She, Antichrist
And so the story of my life begins at the deep end, with copulation and death occurring simultaneously, both now synonymous in my mind. I’d just started to live when, suddenly, …everything was taken away in the blink of an eye.
All I knew of the world up and vanished, and every outlet of support was gone. This was as good as it gets, and life as I knew it was a memory.
Other memories included answers, explanations, and recognition that what I experienced was real. Helplessness and hopelessness ensued, and disillusionment became the law of the land before consuming my spirit.
It has been said that when you’re first targeted, they hit you hard in multiple directions. Presumably, this is done so you’ll collapse after experiencing recurrent emotional violence, which is compounded after you’ve realized that all normal support structures and avenues of grievance have been removed.
Once you get struck, there’s no going back, or so that’s the rumor. The only escape is the one exit I refuse to consider.
Having a say in matters is long gone; my life is now controlled by others, who only have my worst interests in mind.
I tried breaking free but it latched back on with a vengeance, gaining more grip than it had before.
To those that say:
Everything happens for a reason.
I challenge them by saying:
My ass it does.
That’s just an excuse.
It’s a coping mechanism for those who can’t accept reality, because accepting reality means accepting that no one looks out for us from above.
Accepting reality means shit happens for no reason other than it being the waste byproduct from consuming food, and it stinks, and it doesn’t happen and smell foul because of Jesus or another reason of divinity.
The reason behind all things happening is the luck of the draw…
… or perhaps the reason is that “someone”playing God / Satan with our lives. They claim this force has more power than Jesus and Hitler combined, and there’s no beating it let alone addressing it.
Years back, I thought the worst of odds had struck when chaos landed me outside of life’s bell curve. Despite being an outlier, I was optimistic about my plight at first:
This is my worst nightmare, which means things can’t possibly get worse. That means the days ahead can only get better, right?
Life showed me I was foolish to make that assumption. Matters got worse… exponentially worse… and they’ve continued in a downward trajectory ever since.
How I angered the Gods above remains a mystery to me. Did my analogy combining Jesus and Hitler in the same sentence piss them off that much? Is God a fan of Fox news? Whereas my first 30 years on Earth were filled with technicolor dreams of a bright future ahead, suddenly they came to a screeching halt, leaving me in a perpetual panic attack ever since.
Looking back on my life, it used to be different, it was full of promise and forward thinking, I had so many reasons to keep going, and I never considered life could be anything but this way. Life was sweet, and this sweetness was all I came to know. When it disappeared, I didn’t know how to exist anymore, finding myself stuck, unable to get out of this nonsensical rut that defied all logic and reason.
I couldn’t have asked for a better family: my parents were amazing, and they were always kind even in the worst of situations. They showered me and my sister with unconditional love, providing us with every opportunity to try out whatever crossed our paths. Through trial and error, they let us find our own niches, and no matter how unconventional they might have been, they allowed us to immerse ourselves in whatever attracted us the most. There was nothing that could make my parents reject us: they adored their unique children just as they were, no matter how eccentric we might have been. It’s a shame I didn’t learn to appreciate my uniqueness in a similar way, instead viewing it as a handicap.
My parents helped pave the way for me to have a nice, stable life, with a good job in my dream city — Washington, D.C. — where I’d wanted to live since my teenage years. I bought a condo at age 26, which, for pricey DC, is a difficult feat to accomplish. I made that dream come true through hard work and perseverance like I made my other dreams come true… well, except for one dream. That one unattainable dream trumped all my other accomplishments, seemingly so out of reach and impossible to find. Without this one dream being realized, I believed I wasn’t living at all, that one dream — or rather nightmare — being love. I was foolish for allowing the absence of romance to dampen my outlook on life, but I did. Growing up gay in the Bible belt of the region, I never dated, I never experimented, I never felt comfortable being sexual in any way, and when adulthood hit, and I had no game at all. I stood out like a sore thumb until I didn’t stand out at all as I was always alone.
I ended up becoming a nurse, and my career landed me in HIV and infectious disease. Likely on a subconscious level, this area of medicine made me feel better about being sexually lame. Spending 40 hours a week facing the ills of sex, working with the most stigmatizing of illnesses, left me feeling like my life without love was justifiable. It also made me all the more fearful of sex, which didn’t help matters at all. But I was convinced that I was better off sexless and alone than to risk being branded with the eternal scarlet letter. And so I remained in my un-comfort zone, wrapped in saran wrap, living all by myself.
I was eons behind my counterparts and there was no catching up. So far I’d landed 2 short-term relationships: one studying abroad at 21 (with the relationship being conducted in Spanish), and the other when I was 25. In both instances I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, and both relationships fizzled out within a few months. That was all I had under my belt, leaving me to feel sub-par and unwanted. I got used to feeling this way, and I stopped considering another way of living could exist for me.
I was certain to remain a spinster forever, I was certain that I’d never find true love or even fake love, but I was wrong. I managed to find the latter, and not just once, but two fucking times back to back. The odds of this happening couldn’t seem more far-fetched but it’s a drop in the bucket compared to the rest.
At the starts of my 30th year, my world was looking bright for the most part, at least from the outside looking in: it was stable, perhaps a bit vanilla, but it functioned well. From the inside looking out, I was lonely, I felt jipped, and I became jaded, feeling deprived of the one thing everyone else had experienced since their teenage years. I bought into the foolish notion that love is what makes the world go ’round, and without it, my life was at a stand-still.
It was when I’d given up completely on the idea of finding love that it happened: I met my first love, my “soul mate,” and my life did a complete 180, becoming serene with every moment filled with a fluttering heart. Love felt so divine that I was convinced that being deprived of it for 30 years was well worth the wait in finding Mr. Right. I was wrong.
In time, Mr. Right proved to be far worse than any Mr. Wrong I could have envisioned. He found a way to annihilate all I’d worked for in life, including my heart, my spirit and forward thinking, leaving everything in ruins.
Bittersweet, I hate that word.
It makes me sad, its so absurd.
For when its time to sink or swim.
I always drown from missing him.
I ended up getting DP’d by brutal irony in finding fake love not once, but twice, and back to back. It was disaster squared, and my life’s been indefinitely fucked as a result.
Reality is brutally ironic and sadistically cruel…
Somehow, I got struck by brutal irony in the most cruel and ironic of ways. I swear my life was written and directed by Lars von Trier with all that’s transpired.
Unlike von Trier’s films, life is supposed to more than losing a limb, slipping on a banana peel only to then fall into a combine and being squashed to death. But given the sheer billions of people in the world, the worst of odds is bound to happen to someone. Only that someone was never supposed to be me or so I thought, but I was mistaken. At least I’m not alone, I’m in good company with this crew below.
Although I must be doing something right because, unlike my good company, I’ve managed to stay alive for the time being. My good company wasn’t as fortunate.
Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?
Maybe I shouldn’t describe them as good company either, as they’re all rather tragic. But at least I have company and I’m not stuck facing brutal irony’s worst all by my lonesome. So let’s meet a handful of poor, unfortunate souls whose lives succumbed to brutal irony, as well. Drum roll…
Wait, that’s… that’s… me.
Talk about some shitty ass luck. When the news arrived by phone, the room started spinning and spinning and I woke up on the ground next to my desk at work, not knowing what was going on. Everything seemed so surreal, everything seemed to be moving in slow-motion, and my life changed in an instant, only it would take close to 2 years for me to come to grips with what that instant meant.
I felt my entire universe falling out from underneath me, no longer knowing who I was nor how to live in this strange, “anything goes” terrain where I found myself cursed with the universal scarlet letter.
This diagnosis hit me like a run-away train, leaving me in an empty world of nothingness where I stopped living and started just getting by.
All I could think for an entire year was:
What the fuck just happened?
I would soon learn how this happened. Despite making my first boyfriend get HIV tested with me three times before I agreed to ditch the condoms, the security and safety I thought this ensured proved to be useless. In DC where I lived there are no laws that require HIV disclosure. Although we got tested “together,” we each had blood work in private before being reunited to discuss our results. My ex lied about his results, and the staff was powerless to interject because of HIPAA and DC laws. I assumed that he’d never cheat on me since he claimed cheating was the evil of all evils and he repeatedly accused me of cheating. It was only after the fact that I realized this was classic, psychological projection.
My first love transformed from “soul mate” to sadistic in a matter of months without feeling remorse about a thing. He infected me with HIV, he blamed it all on me, he went on to wage a smear campaign and wrote letters to every doctor up the chain of command at my job. He claimed I’d intentionally infected him with HIV, causing a major spectacle at work. Next he tried suing me in court, only to never show up. They awarded me a restraining order against him, although it didn’t matter: he’d destroyed all he could and vanished, he’d discarded me for good and I’d never see nor hear from him again. This left me beyond confused, shocked, and filled with anger, it left me feeling like I’d been hit with the worst odds in the universe by this wolf in sheep’s clothing. And there was no retribution let alone closure. Can it possibly get any worse than this? Of course it can, and it did.
The next guy would teach me about Narcissistic Personality Disorder the moment I recanted my sad, sordid tale. Suddenly everything about my ex made sense. Only this one gained his knowledge of the disorder first-hand and I was clueless; the empath, the nurse, attracts the opposite like you’d never imagine.
He was a far more dangerous and deceptive wolf in sheep’s clothing than the first, and he’d leave me in so many traps, from 100 different directions, that the only way out seemed to be convincing Mark Geragos to come to my defense.
I believed I had the absolute worst odds in the universe. Only I had no clue how much worse my odds would soon become, nor just how good I had it at that moment in time. HIV? It’s nothing, it’s a pill a day. One narcissist followed by another, now that was even worse. Add on top of that being enrolled into a protocol of organized stalking, and you’ve got hell squared exponentially on earth x 2. Now that’s a one bitter pill to swallow only there’s no pill for this disease, instead its guaranteed to lead to a slow, painful, humiliating, microwaved death.
So much for my straight A’s, my squeaky-clean image, and my prudent life as the safe-sex nurse Guru given a taste of his own medicine, no pun intended. I managed to lose everything in my pursuit of finding love, and I only found fake love repeatedly. The only love I’ve come to know is abuse. Lovely, isn’t it?
So much for love being the greatest force in the universe. I should have just remained content masturbating, at least my hand never tried to kill me.
Had I stuck with jacking off, I’d have evaded every aspect of my life being skewered to bits. Had I just stuck with my left hand, I’d still have a somewhat normal, calm and boring life, which now sounds like heaven to me.
They say life’s a bitch. I say my life’s 10,000 bitches squared at this point. Having been dragged through hell and back 20 times, I now feel somewhat at peace surprisingly, despite nothing being resolved. When you’ve been through 2 narcissists, the worst smear campaign in the history of Narcissistic Personality Disorder only to be followed by the invisible Auschwitz, you become so desensitized to chaos that the worst of times no longer phases you. My life, my once mundane, boring life, has become the furthest thing from mundane and boring.
But I still long to return to those days that ran on auto-pilot where my only care in the world was being lonely.
Whenever you think your life can’t get worse, that’s usually when it does. So, remember my story, and you’re guaranteed to feel better about your own predicament. Life is not fair; but life is far more fare than death I imagine. That’s why I choose to keep on moving, even if I’m clueless where I’m going. I have a smidgen of hope that one day my outlandish odds land in my favor by accident and I win the Mega-Millions. With odds like mine, there must come a point in time where they happen to fall on the other side.
And that would be pleasantly ironic, don’t you think?
Only nobody wants to drink the Lemonaids!
All piano songs composed and performed by me.