Bliss

"Cover up everything. Bathe us in bliss that you can never touch. Knowing that everything will fade as we rise to the rush." -Blaqk Audio

A friend of mine invited me to Buffalo Wild Wings for her twenty-first birthday, which I felt I needed to be there. These are milestones you're only going to experience once. Her boyfriend of a year handed the waitress his phone, and in front of God and everyone, proposed to her. Naturally, she agreed, as most of those stories go. 

Another individual, a female, had said she would attend and went as far as to tell me I was her date. Okay, cool. I'll play along. As dates tend to go, not attending counts as standing me up which is precisely what she did. I'm not offended about it at all, but the principle of the matter is still there. People have informed me that she's bisexual, and she's convinced of what I am. Though I deny it tenfold, she's right. I think she hits on me just to see. She gives me hugs occasionally, and I don't know what she's trying to prove with that, and I know I'm overthinking this. 

So in the hours leading up to this brief soiree at B Dubs, I allowed my mind to entertain itself with thoughts of her. I had a "date" and amused myself by thinking of it. Unfortunately, the conclusion I came to is not what you would think. She's full of herself and a tease, and thinks she's above everyone else. I had her pegged as a heartbreaker from the start, and that turns me off. If I think you'll hurt me in the end, I'm not letting you in from the start. If nothing else, her "standing me up" proved that in the end, I won't chase her. 

I've told people several times I don't have feelings and they look at me like I'm stupid. They've seen me happy, mad, upset, and so on. Emotions, I have. I experience them to such a high extent that at times, I'm not sure how to deal with myself. Feelings, though. I don't have them. Not for me, and not for you. Whenever I come across someone I think I might have them for, the walls refortify and my mind tosses and turns until the attraction is no longer there. Sometimes it takes a great deal of time for the refortification to commence, and sometimes it's fairly quick. I entertained the idea of pursuit with this one woman, and almost instantly removed it from my thoughts. 

My stepmother has reminded me time and time again: "Everyone has someone, even you. You just haven't met yours yet." 

I am convinced mine isn't there. The one meant for me had to have been killed in an auto accident or something. While I'm finally beginning to embrace who I am, I have not embraced the idea of acting on it. Okay, you're gay. Now what? 

I'll tell you what. Absolutely nothing. Sometimes I am jealous of what people have. That love. That connection. Sometimes I actually want it, but then I remind myself I don't. And I continue to do without because I've convinced myself I don't need it. 

And then I've convinced myself I am incapable of needing it, hence the "I don't have feelings" ideal.

In closing: Love isn't for me. I am almost incapable of embracing it. I apologize for all the negativity, but you don't have to read this. I also apologize for the length. Short blogs are better than no blogs.

-DCV-

They're Coming Out to Find You...

I don't even know why I'm posting a new blog post right now. There's something on my mind, but I can't seem to pull it forward to process it. I feel funny though. I've discussed with a friend of mine what this particular feeling is, and we've both chalked it up as anxiety. I never figured myself as one who suffered from such until it was brought to my attention. 

It feels like a weight on my chest. Like someone took one of those weights you put on a barbell and placed it ever so gently on top of my chest. I feel like there might be duct tape involved, but I can't be sure. Usually for me it's a sign that the world I thought I knew is about to shift. I've said before that change is not something I am fond of, good or bad. In fact, I hate it. I like the luxury of falling into a routine and sticking with it, but here lately I can't even have that.

BOOM you're gay. Now you get to deal with that.

BOOM you have to tell people. Now you get to work on getting it out.

BOOM some sort of something at work has changed and your normal work routine has shifted. You get to readjust again.

Ugh. This post is annoying. 

I give up.

-DCV-

Peeves.

I am currently watching Captain America while attempting to clean my disaster of a house. The other day I had an appointment to be, and when in the process of leaving, I had a mental breakdown because I couldn't find my keys. I looked everywhere. My dad eventually came over and they were in the fold of my recliner...where I had looked several times.


So I'm going to talk about peeves. And not just any peeves, but my peeves. This is my blog. I get to talk about whatever I want. I don't care about your peeves.


Unfortunately, I have several peeves under a wide variety of topics, most of which were formed through working at Walmart.


Little plastic hand cart for convenient use? Place it on my register belt and give me a look like I'm your slave and I better empty it for you. I overturn it. Gets quite a few dirty looks, but hey.


I'm sorry, ma'am, I wasn't aware that the belt monster that just ate your change was supposed to process your money into the register. I just always assumed if you wanted me to take care of it, you'd hand me your money, and not the hungry belt monster. Nor is that nifty place for signing checks or the center of the bag carousel going to handle it. 


Yes, I see the case of water, or drinks, or dog food etc underneath your buggy. Yes, I will ring them up. Pulling your buggy around behind my register to make me do it immediately will not only make me grumpy, but will make me adamant about ringing those items up last.


Don't get mad because my current customer is taking her time and you're in a hurry. You're in Walmart at 0300. I'm only one person. You've just ensured I will take my freakin' time. 


I am not a sir. Or a him. Or a he. So, don't get mad when I confuse your inability to see the massive growths on my chest as a game of "Opposite Day."


It goes on and on and on.


However, here recently I've come to find that one of my peeves that keeps hanging out close to the top five list is as follows: Texting. 


I understand people are busy. They sleep, they shower, they do whatever. I understand that I can't expect them to converse with me 24/7 via text. However, I was always under the impression that upon sending a text, once the receiver has an opportunity to reply, they will. I also understand that maybe my conversational attempts are fairly subpar. So I saw this guy in walmart today... <--That text usually isn't responded to. I don't ever say Hey or Sup. How ya doin? Because that's annoying. 


Okay, so maybe you were busy all day and now feel that the text took place in a time frame larger than what you would anticipate an appropriate response time should occur. 


The fun part about this particular pet peeve is the fact that my mind gets to twist all of the unanswered texts around over and over until it's processed in a completely inaccurate manner. So honest inconveniences are now "You're ignoring me." or "You really know how to make me feel small." 


Moral of the story: ANSWER YOUR FUCKING TEXTS. 

-DCV-

Love is Control, I'll Die if I Let Go

Today's blog title is brought to you by "All Within My Hands" by Metallica of their record St. Anger. 


Soul searching is something I do frequently. With the same token, it is something I should seriously consider not doing. Ever again. Leave the searching to my therapist and hang on for the ride. Sounds like a good idea, right? Right? RIGHT? Wrong. Thank God with clandestine blogs, because all that soul searching can now be documented for later speculation, and without the cramping a hand gets from writing so much.


In any sort of Bipolar deal, there are always triggers. Something to let you know (if you're paying attention...) that "Hey. You're probably about to start a cycle. I'm thinking you should quit. 


I just recently realized that alcohol happens to be one of mine, which is quite depressing. I love the alcoholic beverage as much as the next person. Unfortunately I was never capable of having just one. One mixed drink. One beer. One glass of wine. One mixed drink always turned into two. Three. Four. Several. If I ran out of that, I moved to beer. I don't keep wine very often, but that usually came first over the other two. Wine is delicious, but only white wines (to include blush wines). Red wines are gross, but that is beside the point. 


Usually the motivator to take a drink and then two and then several is completely situational. I see something. I read something. God forbid, I feel something. Whatever it is, it's something I don't like. Not at all. I can try distracting myself from it. Think about something else. Read something else. Feel something else. But now that the signals in my brain are firing at a much more rapid pace (I love metaphors!), I am drawn to whatever it is I've seen or read or felt that's bothering me. I let it in. Hey, make yourself at home. We're all friends here. But the relationship between what I've let in and my own personal self is always toxic. Now it's inside, and all of a sudden, now I want it out. 


But this thing doesn't want out. Oh, no. So if I can't use simple distractions to make it go away, surely I can drown it right? Smother it? Throw a blanket over it and save it for later? 


WRONG. And that is where I make every single alcoholic mistake in the entire world. "Oh, hurr hurr you've lost a little control. Let's drown ourselves in a high BAC and hope it goes away hurr hurr." No. NOOOO. On a physical level, people's bodies generally tend to react the same, but on an emotional level, everyone is different. In my case, every single emotion that in my waking mind I am trying to smother now gets to come forward and smack me in the face. Oh, you don't want to feel a thing? GUESS WHAT? NOW YOU FEEL EVERYTHING.


And there's the second trigger. CONTROL. If I lose it, even a little bit, my mind starts freaking out. If I believe things are going well and I've settled into a comfortable routine and everything's working exactly how I want it, then I'm good. Happy even. But let's throw in a little chaos and send everything completely shifting in the opposite direction. It's like riding on the top of a train holding on for dear life without knowing if you'll make it or not. Control is actually something that I believe leads to the alcohol malfunction. In fact, I feel like control is at the heart of the issue, if I'm being honest with myself. 


The third trigger that I know of is actually a combination of two, and quite common in my emotional make up. Anger and fear. Anger is a response to how I've processed a situation...and processed...and reprocessed...and processed again...to the point where the situation is no longer valid and I'm mad about something that doesn't even exist. Anger's best friend is fear, and my lack of an ability to fully feel comfortable with what I've become and who I am is fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of failure. FEAR. I'm afraid to take the next step out into the world because I'm afraid I'll retreat back into my hole. That stigma? I'm afraid of that too. 


I'd love to be the happy homosexual woman prancing around in public clad in a variety of bright rainbow colors. Hey, check me out! I'm gay. 


But the notion of doing so is completely horrendous to me, and leads back to fear. And if I let the fear of doing something bother me, fear shifts to anger. Anger shifts to control. Control is drowned by alcohol. Now I've lost my mind. Now I get to fight it tooth and nail to get it back. Now I'm exhausted and tired from battling and I retreat back into my hidey hole. Now I'm disappointed that I lost. Now I'm sad. BOOM. Depression. 


Couple weeks of a normal life, and BOOM. Repeat everything I've talked about before. 


Now I know what you're probably wondering by now. What provoked the last blog? What bothered me that much to feel motivated enough to drown it in a last ditch effort to get rid of it? It was something I read online in response to something I had said. Something I didn't want to read. I didn't want to know this. What I had done was fall into a new routine upon realizing a truth I've hidden for several years, and just as I was feeling comfortable with who I was enough to consider beginning to tell people, BOOM. I was told something I didn't want to hear. AT ALL. And to save any confusion, it wasn't anything in the form of light conversation where the other party spoke in a hurtful manner toward gay people. Quite the opposite actually. For their sake, I'm not going to say what was said. I'm going to end this blog fairly soon, because guess what's happening now?


I'm thinking about what bothered me. Playing and replaying it over again til it bothers me some more. Til my brain says "Hey, do something about it. I don't care what." If I continue thinking about it, it'll get pulled to the front and will eventually stare me in the freakin' face. So this particular post is over. Pray that I am able to put the exact same thing that drove me to drink myself stupid as quickly as possible out of my mind forever. 


Until next time...

-DCV-

Hurt

"I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that's real."


DISCLAIMER:
Pardon ahead of time. This is a whiny ass "Pity me, I'm broken" blog post. Believe me, I'm as sick of it as you will be upon reading it. My heart. My mind. My feelings, and if I keep on keeping them inside in my champagne bottle of emotions, more than what I did to my arm might happen.


ACTUAL POST: 
Such a good night last night. Anything good for me always goes to shit. I can't just revel in the awesome from the night before, I always have to ruin it. I was starting to feel better after letting a dear friend and my brother know the secret I've hidden for years. I felt like things were looking up because now I've got someone on the inside to talk about these feelings. Who knows what just might be going on through my head. Unfortunately, I don't believe she knows. How can she know if I don't even know? Perhaps this post might make sense to me later on, or her. Whatever.


Let me also point out the big mistake I made the other day. When I poured out everything containing Everclear, I failed to also pour out my cheap vodka. So I write this blog almost completely smashed. Pardon the errors, I'm not really paying attention to grammar right now. The fact that I can spell is at least a testament to something. 


Remember that last post I did a few hours ago? Seeing Red? It started off as me being pissed. I know exactly why I'm pissed too, but I won't tell you that. It compromises my own position. So naturally, upon growing pissed off at something I'm not going to say that is secretly something stupid, those symptoms I talked about in the last post began. First the quickened breathing through my nose. Then the puffy chest. Then my face got hot. Then I drove to Walmart to buy a 2 liter of Sam's Choice Mountain Dew to pour my cheap vodka in, because if I couldn't get what was bothering me to go away, I was going to smother it.


One of these days I'll learn that alcohol has never made a problem go away. In fact, through trial and error  I learned that it brings everything to the front. ALL AT ONCE.


I am very thankful for the friendships I have now, because I swear anyone in their right mind would have turned their back on me. There's no telling what would happen if I didn't have anybody. I could probably text Chris, but he'd tell me I'm an attention whore, and who's to say he's not fucking right? Why else are there FOUR additional lines on my fucking arm? So I texted that dear friend of mine. She did what any normal friend would do and asked why I was so upset. Of course I wouldn't tell her. I told her I didn't know, but I do. I know good and damn well, but I'm almost embarrassed about it. I promise it's something stupid, because only I make stupid situations WORSE. 


I'M TIRED OF LOOKING AT FUCKING BABY PICTURES ON FACEBOOK.


My apologies. I've seen about the 43890th picture of a freakin' baby today. They all look the same. 


I apologize sincerely for lying, but it's best I let myself implode instead of bringing everyone down with me. 


Which I'm gonna go back to me being thankful for the friends I have. Because in this sudden implosion of emotions, I began doing what I do best: pushing people away. She wants nothing more than to help and make me feel better. Offering prayers and attempts at consolation but I'm the one being a stubborn fucking motherfucker with a mouth worse than that of a sailor. I keep showing her pictures and telling her what I've done because part of my mind is SCREAMING at me to push her away. I'm only going to hurt her later and ruin it myself, might as well do it right now, right? NO. There's the much stronger part of me saying "Hey dumbass. Fucking STOP." Keep in touch, you'll notice that I talk about my mind like it's not actually part of me, but still controlling everything I do. I'm serious. I'm fucking crazy.


Like the other day, shortly after realizing, "Hey dumbass. You're gay." It started with this weight on my chest. Yeah, I got the weight of my shoulders, but all it really did was shift. With that feeling on my chest, I got this, as I often describe, beside myself feeling. Like I was watching myself to see how I'd react to this revelation. How I'd react to learning that a dear friend of mine went through the same feelings. Like none of this is real, and I'd wake up tomorrow realizing "Hey dumbass. You fabricated everything." Here's the horrifying part of it though: IT'S REAL. Her being gay? Real. My own sexuality? Real. The fact that I can't control ANY of my fucking emotions? REAL. Reality is quite unsettling, and I'm losing my fucking mind just writing this. Why? I'M OVER-FUCKING-THINKING IT. 


It's something so simple (and stupid) that I've tossed and turned over and over in the back of my head until hey, I'm mad about it now. But OH NO, it doesn't stop there. Now that I'm mad about it, I've got to toss and turn it over and over in the back of my head until I'm stark raving mad about it, then I have to let all my emotions run WILD until I can no longer take it, and after a trip to Walmart, the alcohol didn't help. There's now an X and four additional lines running parallel to part of it. Fear naught, though. I didn't actually cut myself like a fucking loser (this is a poor attempt at justifiyng what I just did tomyself), but used the top of a pencil at a RAPID speed until the skin was broken. I remember in middle school kids would play this game where you ran an eraser over your arm as fast as yu could and the first one to give up because of the pain lost. I only played once and I won. Like a boss. My stepmom bitched me out later over it. 


So that's what it is. That's how the X got started, based on the pictures I took of it. I guess I had thought cutting into it would be easier if I removed the top layer. I dunno. 


To my one friend who activly reads my blogs, I'm sorry. I'm so deeply very sorry that I regained contact with you. Because now I'm putting you through the horrors of the inner confines of my mind. The fact that I'm even still alive right now is a testament to God's refusal to let anything happen to me, and my stubborness to live. Thank you so much for sticking by me this long, and I hope you intend to hang on for the ride, because no matter how hard the drinking binge is or how deep the cuts, deep down inside I know I'm just as fragile as I was before, ready and willing to let people in. Once you get past the picky security guard mind that is ever watchful and always guarding the walls around my heart, you're pretty much in. But no one will ever get in until I get out of my head, and it's situations like this that prove it. I let a dumb ass stupid simple thing pester the ever living HELL out of me until I got four lines on my arm. 


Thank you so much, Brandiilyne, for looking out for me. Maybe one day I'll learn to look after myself.


Fuck.

-DCV-

Seeing Red Again...

My eyes grow distant. You can talk to me, speak to me even. And while I hear you loud and clear and process everything you are saying to me, it might as well go in one ear and out the other. Everything around me freezes. Just stops. Comes to a quick and hasty stop. 


My face feels hot as the blood rushes to the brain to fuel the signals firing over and over and over. My teeth are clamped shut with my tongue pressed against them, not quite sure what to do in this instance. My back straightens to an overwhelming degree (people say I "bow up" like I'm ready to fight) and I suppose I puff out my chest a little bit. Let's face it: I'm ready to fight.


My hands clench. Then unclench. Then clench. If you see my hands look like I'm trying to crack them without actually using the other hand, it's usually a problem. 


My breath quickens. My chest puffs out in a futile attempt (at least I think so) to open the lungs allowing more air flow. And I only breathe through my nose. The breaths exit through my nose in quick almost audible bursts. My mind is racing over and over replaying what ever happened to pump the blood to the rapidly firing signals in my brain. It races, replays, twists. Whatever happened has been raped to a point to where my mind is now processing the situation inaccurately. Ever tell someone something and it get back to you in a completely different fashion? Like that. Only it takes about 45 seconds and all occurs within my own head. (this is a problem, my therapist tells me. I twist situations in my head until I'm now mad over something that doesn't exist) It's at this moment where rational thought doesn't exist. Whether you're a saint in my eyes, or the worst person ever. What I want the absolute most at this current moment is to destroy you.


Also at this current point in time, nothing else in the entire world matters. I don't care if I love you. I don't care if you suck. I don't care if I've never met you, or we've known each other forever. All I know is this: Someone's about to fucking die.


I'm almost positive what your next question is. What do I do? How do I calm you down?


Nothing. There is nothing you can do. You can talk to me, tell me I'm being ridiculous for being this absolutely irate over nothing, and it'll only fuel the burning fire. You can hug me in an attempt to console me, but that doesn't work either. I'll automatically subconsciously process it as you being condescending, and now you are the new reason I'm seeing red right now. On extremely rare occasions can someone talk me down. It usually never works.


Don't talk to me. Don't fucking touch me because then all I will want is to fucking kill you. I'm not capable of such, but it's at this instance where I'm at my breaking point, and that's a fragile state. Because if I snap, you really are going to die. But that's not the scariest part. What's terrifying is I know how to kill you with my bare hands.


Ride it out. Wait for it to be over. And for God's sake, stay the fuck away.


Pardon my French, but this is my damn blog. I'm not censoring myself for anyone.

Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis

"Apprehension runs down your chin. Masticate it, suck those tears in. Life's a battle, perpetual crusade. One against all, time to wield the blade."


Last night was amazing. I found myself in Nashville watching one of my favorite bands, and since this is a blog where I'm supposed to tell you things, I'm going to tell you all about it.


I was actually sweating this show, because I was waiting in anticipation for the Walmart stock I sold to clear my bank account just so I could buy the ticket. And by saying I was sweating it was an understatement. My brother said that depending on when he got paid, he'd buy my ticket for me just to help me out. Thank God it cleared in a timely manner, or I wouldn't have even gone.


I clocked out shortly after 0700, and from that point I filled my gas tank and got an oil change. The mechanics told me that my left front axle boot was busted, and they strongly recommended I get it fixed, as it could cause some serious problems in the future. After a round of google (which I do anytime there's a problem), I learned that this really could develop into a problem. I texted my mechanically inclined patriarch (the same one that is a piece of petrified dog feces in other aspects) and he said I should be fine. I waited on a friend of mine for a couple hours while I fought sleep to see if she could go with me. I was going to buy her ticket, but after a full tank and an oil change, I just couldn't swing that. She eventually bailed on me anyway, so I guess it works out. After purchasing om noms from McDonalds (please don't yell at me, it was delicious), I stopped by Walmart. The psychiatrist who prescribed me medication strongly advised against consuming any sort of caffeine, but with a sudden fear I'd fall asleep at the road, I bought two Amp energy drinks. They're the only energy drink I've found that actually works, as my body is immune to the massive amounts of Monster I've consumed just during AIT.


At around noon, I moseyed my way to Nashville, and typical of me the navigator, totally missed my turn and had to find a way around. However, I managed to successfully arrive at the Bridgestone Arena with THREE HOURS TO SPARE. Spent twenty bucks I didn't have on a parking meter that lasted until 2054 (08:54 PM, for you non-military folk) and was really sweating it once the show started. I didn't care about any of the other bands at all and just wanted to see Trivium, and my brother said they came on around 1945. I saw the itinerary at one point, and was delighted to discover Trivium came on from 1945 to 2020. Sweet. It just means I get to miss the last two bands, Killswitch Engage and Five Finger Death Punch, which I'm not too upset about. The first four bands weren't great enough to go into great detail besides the fact that During the second band, God Forbid (at least I think they were second, might have been Emmure...), I scored a nifty spot by the barrier just by helping save this one guy's spot. He was an infantryman in the Army. I'm part of the Transportation Corps, and his job needs mine. Being in the Army didn't land me a spot by the barrier, and it was only after I secured it that he learned of my status with the Army. 


The opener, Battlecross, was a relatively new band with only one album out. Their set wasn't bad, just not a band I will listen to later. God Forbid and Emmure were also somewhat okay, but let's face it. TRIVIUM. I enjoyed Pop Evil a lot more than the others only because I knew what was next. 


Trivium opened with "Capsizing the Sea," an intro on their new record that directly precedes the title song of their album In Waves called...well..."In Waves." It's also the first single, so naturally they'd play it. I tried jumping around, but between the pit behind me pressing other music lovers against me and the fans behind me trying to pull me off, I settled for bouncing on the balls of my combat boot clad feet (no one wants trampled toes. Some wore flip flops, and I'll never understand that). Following "In Waves" was a song the band generally tended to play every show, "Pull Harder on the Strings of your Martyr." It starts with an interesting drum number before the guitars kicked in, and usually has the crowd losing their minds. Great. More fighting for the barrier. I held on to my phone with dear life and constantly checked to make sure my wallet was still in my pocket because I'm paranoid like that. 


After that song was "Rain," off the same record as the song before, Ascendancy. Due to a misinterpreted lyrics video, I may never know the correct lyrics. The chorus starts like this: "As I'm pulled under the tides of this fast paced world" (and I had to google that to make sure it was right) I hear "As I float up there's a tie f**king flapping, WHY." So there wasn't much in the way of warbling that went down during that one because I just didn't know the correct words. 


Following that song was "Caustic Are the Ties that Bind," my brother's favorite song. It's also off their album In Waves. When he went to this show when they were in Illinois, he recorded a video of that song, and pre-show he told me to save my battery (which was at 34% when Trivium came on) so I could record the song that followed: "Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis" from their album Shogun. It's by far my favorite Trivium song ever, my favorite Greek story ever, and will eventually result in a tattoo covering my left forearm as soon as the X shaped scar fades enough to tattoo over. In fact, when I start closing this blog I'll post the photos of what I want there. You can tell me what you think, all 1 of you that are even actively reading this. 


The last song they played was also from Shogun, called "Throes of Perdition." I knew 98% of the words. My brother has this tradition where leading up to a concert, you're not supposed to listen to the band you're coming to see. I made my own tradition in a futile attempt to learn the words and we can all tell how well that went. I had to wait until the lights came on and people started calming down before I made my way to the back, where I went to pee and leave. All of the other bands mentioned hanging around their merchandise tables to give fans an opportunity to sign autographs and take pictures. I probably could have taken my picture (Let's face it, pictures mean more than signatures nowadays), but I already had a couple from when I saw Trivium 25 May, so I decided to just go home. I called my dad for directions home, because I was almost positive he knew better about how to get home than my iPhone GPS.  Its directions didn't make a bit of sense. I should have taken a picture of my arm, where I scrawled directions to the Bridgetone Arena all over it. It's easy to steal a glance at your arm, and not so easy to grab a piece of paper to look at. Besides, come night time both direction givers are obsolete. Not to mention the fact that I was convinced my axle was going to explode at any given moment the whole way there. It's about an hour and forty five minute drive, and a broken axle at any point is a great inconvenience.


And I opened the last Amp energy drink I had, knowing that since I hadn't slept since the 29th (and it was about five hours or so of sleep then) I realized that I was exhausted. Upon arrival at my home of residence, I sent texts to all the people that cared to know if I made it or not letting them know I didn't die, and my brother called me. I tried to get him to put off the conversation until the following day so I could sleep, but after 20 minutes of talking about the show, I made him shush. I uploaded some of the photos from the show before passing out, and the rest when I woke up, including the video of "Torn Between Scylla and Charybdis." All in all, it was a great show, well worth the 55 bucks I paid to essentially see one band. 


And now for that tattoo idea I was telling you about...

I just want the T (not the little circley thing above it) going down the inner part of my forearm. And surrounding that T in the form of a half sleeve:

Which will cost a lot of money without any doubt, but this is what I want, and get it I shall.


Thank you for taking the time to not only listen to my thoughts on the show (there were just so many attractive women, but the unattractive ones outweighed that and I was more focused on the actual show to spit any game), but to witness what I intend to have forever etched into my body. With just one tattoo so far, I plan on having several. And by several I mean I want full sleeves. I almost have the left one planned out (I don't want to finish the upper one until my tricep wings go away), and I'm being ridiculously picky about my right arm. Do you know how hard it is to find a picture of an Amaranth flower that I like? Let me tell you. It's hard.


Such a good night. I'm glad you could share in my experience. 

-DCV-

Contempt Breeds Contamination

This post is only titled that because it is a Trivium song and I am going to see them today. However, dearest Matthew Heafy has a point. Contempt does breed contamination...


So I've tried to hint toward a friend of mine "Hey, I'm gay" but I feel like she's putting it out of her mind. 


"Stop reading into it so much until you convince yourself it's true." She has a point, I do have a tendency to do that. However, I am not making this up. You don't just pull a conclusion like this out of your ass. It just doesn't work that way. I can't just decide one day I'm gay. 


I remember in the eight grade I had this favorite teacher. Mrs. Gina Yarbrough was her name. Valentine's Day rolled around and I pilfered not only this rose thing, but a cheap gold ring to put inside of it. I gave it to her and my fellow classmates made fun of me for it. At the time, I didn't realize what I was doing, but as I reflect on it, that may have been the first hints that hey, you're attracted to chicks. That was the same school year I lost my V card. This particular instance occurred later in the year (obviously. Hello! Valentine's Day!). 


When I graduated high school, a couple friends came up from Mississippi to see it. Upon leaving, I developed an unhealthy crush on the female, Breanna. She never found out, but disowned me nonetheless for being immature. Stupid woman wouldn't answer my phone calls. 


Later that year, I had met a young female online and crushed on her awhile. When I told her, she smashed my heart. A different female I met online did the same thing.


In 2010 at AIT (advanced individual training, where soldiers go after basic training to learn their craft), I crushed hardcore on a girl named Cassandra Martinez. It took about a month after I graduated that course for her to smash my heart, and a month later I got over it. 


I started work at Walmart in November 2010, and there I met what I thought was a gorgeous redhead, Crystal Brannan. I like doodling on receipt paper, and I drew body parts on a piece. She accused me of drawing her with a big nose, so I told her she was Jewish. It spawned the nickname I gave her, the Jewish Redhead. She assumed I was a lesbian due to my status in the military (which is ridiculous, not all females in the Army are gay...) and my German descent made her coin the phrase "Nazi Lesbian." I had a dog tag made for her with the words "The Nazi Lesbian Hearts The Jewish Redhead" which I found out much later she still has. It was an innocent lady crush, but it became unhealthy. She knew I wanted her, and she played my emotions like a fiddle. While leading me on, she also conversed frequently with who would become her boyfriend and later her husband, a man named Kendrick Andrew Jones.


My jealousy is a trait I'd rather be without, but I am only human. The more she talked to him, the more jealous I became. And to make up for the pointed remarks I kept making, I decided I'd doodle an innocent photo of the two of them (this being post announcement of her changed relationship status. She was due to wed a few months later). I love documenting my progress, and took photos as I went. But like any other artist in the world, when I felt it looked like vomit, I showed a video of my displaying my failure then crumpling it up and throwing it. What was seen was her boyfriend, and she took it as "Hey, your boyfriend sucks. Watch me destroy him." She threw a fit and attacked me first on Facebook, then through her friends. At this point, my first drinking binge began. She got me hooked on Wild Turkey 101, and for many days I'd come in to work (on and off the clock) either buzzed or trashed. It took me forever to let her go, and it left an awfully painful scar on that heart of mine. After I let her go, those callouses formed and my walls came up. I swore I'd never let a soul into my heart. Ever. For the rest of forever.


But as naive little me tends to get, of course I'd meet someone else and want their heart too. 

And this time, it was male. GASP. His name was Christopher Jean, and I met him when I started working third shift at Walmart. It would seem we had several things in common, and the more I got to know him, the more I wanted him. He was as damaged as me, and often mentioned his own walls kept him safe. I swore to him I'd bring them down. But the more I got to know him, the better our friendship became, and after three months of chasing, he eventually put me down. Once again, someone else smashed my heart. Unlike my previous attempts, our friendship grew even stronger and he turned into a valued confidante. He knows everything there is to know about me, and can read my entire being like a book. (let's not talk about the fact that I wear almost all of my emotions on my sleeve...)

He identifies as bisexual, and for all you poor souls who live under a rock, that means he loves both sides of the fence. Over time I learned he leaned more towards men than women. But it was the fact that he leaned more towards men that made him that much more attractive. He's quite unavailable, which made him desirable. It took forever for me to stop thinking of him as a potential lover and more as a best friend. He later told me that he had me pegged as a lesbian from the start, and I asked him what he thinks my orientation is.

"Right now, you don't know, and until you are with someone, you won't find out. But I'm almost positive you are a lesbian." That conversation took place after I came out to my other dear friend, and shortly before the person swearing that I am overthinking my own sexuality to the point where I'm talking myself into homosexuality. 

You'd think with so many uncomfortable female attractions, I'd get the hint and claim asexuality. Oh, no. 

And this reminds me of a situation back in March or April. A friend who I let in to my life and told her bits and pieces of my shattered past betrayed my trust. A married woman had invited me to her house, where (for some reason) I had better chances of sleeping, since at the current point in time I'd had difficulty at my own house. High on synthetic weed, she began hitting on me at an uncomfortable level. She attempted to talk me into sleeping in her bed, threatened rape (and I use that lightly. She would have never actually went through with it) and after awhile, decided to take a shower. When she reemerged into her living room in nothing but a towel, I promptly left. Later I texted her saying, "If you ever do something like that again, I will destroy you." And I could too. All I had to do was swing by her husband's place of work and tell him everything. Her marriage would be ruined.

We talked about it later, and she thanked me tenfold for not saying anything. I told her that if she wasn't one of my best friends, I would have told her husband. It was the fact that I valued our friendship that I forgave her, and now whenever I go to her house I always make sure that either her foster kids are there or her husband. Never again will I step foot in her home with just her there. Let's take the emotionally damaged woman we know and attempt to take advantage of her. I may never forget that. 

I've had such amazing luck with relationships, I'm hard pressed to initiate another chase, but as fate would have it, I'm sure there's another failure waiting for me. With a hardened heart, I'm sure I'd be able to resist, but everyone knows how well matters of the heart work out. When you find someone you can't stop thinking about, of course you put everything into stealing their heart. Inevitably, any romantic endeavor I go through falls to pieces. Some might argue, "You just haven't found the right one." My rebuttal is always, "I'm not finding anyone." I've tried so hard to seal my heart, but I know just how easy those walls come down. 

Maybe after her foolish act, or the ridiculous desire for my best friend Chris, I'll have learned something.

Love just isn't meant for me.

-DCV-

Shattering My Fragile Mind

It's those events in our lives that shape who we are. You hear people say all the time (or share photos of such on Facebook) about how you should look to the future and forget the past. But if it wasn't for your past, you would never be where you are today.


Everyone remembers their first time. Mine took place in the middle of a wooded area during a time I was supposed to be spending with my brother and a family friend. I snuck out to lose my virginity, and later caught hell for it. It was the worst experience of my life. 


People my age have had sex several times on several occasions with several people. I actually get a kick out of telling people my first time was my only time, and I was thirteen years old. 


Upon getting in trouble for sneaking out to do such a thing, my dad realized that it was probably time to give that dreaded talk, filled with information I already knew. I had a knack for finding stuff out. You'd think he'd sit me down, tell me how both sides worked, what makes babies, and so on. It definitely started as that...


My stepmother was on a business trip at that time, and my brother was asleep. I don't remember where my stepsister was, but I know she played a very insignificant role, since I don't remember whether she was home or not. I found myself in my parent's bedroom, where the man I was supposed to trust with my life violated every part of my physical being.


To say that The Talk was hands on is the understatement of a century. What's worse is that it wasn't the only time. Stepmother would be in the house cleaning and my dad would take advantage of me in his shop. It got to the point where I wanted nothing to do with him, and he definitely noticed that. My stepmom would always ask me to talk to my dad more often because it offends him. Makes him feel sad or whatever.


A few years later, my dad found a job in Tennessee and I was uprooted from the people I had grown to care about. I had hoped that now that my stepmom didn't have to go on as many business trips, I'd feel safer.


Unfortunately she did. He usually spent the time she was away getting drunk and dragging me into his room. Violating my innocence, and reminding me that I could never speak a word of what happened, which taught me how to act in a passive-aggressive manner. 


From the moment he stopped doing that to me, I vowed to never let it happen again. I pushed everyone wanting close to me away, and grew fond of people (usually homosexual males) that were unavailable just so I knew nothing could come from it.


So thanks Dad. You screwed up my life and I get to spend the rest of it gluing the pieces back. I may never forgive you for this, but I'll try. All I'll do is try. You suck.

-DCV-

And Sadness Will Sear

"And Sadness Will Sear" - Trivium


Shepherd is chased by the wolves
Ones who live by intolerance and hate
For what they couldn't understand.
Blinded and vicious are the beasts
Needing and ripping out a beautiful human
He did nothing more than be himself.


Tied to the fences, they break you
And sadness will sear.
Cold is the wind that will freeze you
And sadness will sear.


Scarecrow is left crucified,
Left freezing, bleeding, tired and wondering why
They just couldn't understand.
It's the preachers and the teachers
Government's closed-minded creatures
Try to teach us to hate that which is different.


It's 12:53 AM October 12 when the scarecrow died
A victim of society's cruelty
It's 12:53 AM October 12 when the shepherd died
The candle's light will light your departure.


Trivium is a rock band I am rather fond of, and I was just listening to this song the other day.


This song is about Matthew Shepard, a normal guy who tried to live his life just like anyone else in the entire world. Unfortunately, he was also gay, and there were some who didn't agree with that. October 6, 1998 shortly after midnight, two guys, Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson, agreed to give him a ride home. They drove him to a remote area, where they robbed, beat, and tortured him before tying him to a fence and left him to die. They had also found his address and intended to steal from his house.


Barely alive and tied to a fence, Matthew Shepard was discovered eighteen hours later by a cyclist who had initially mistook him for a scarecrow. Shepard suffered fractures to his head and severe brainstem damage, affecting his body to regulate heart rate, body temperature, and other vital functions. Several small lacerations covered his face, head, and neck. The doctors deemed his injuries too severe to operate, and he never regained consciousness. He was on full life support.


Matthew Shepard was pronounced dead at 12:53 AM on 12 October 1998, only 21 years old. He had so much he could have lived for and accomplished, but was killed for one reason and one reason alone.


He was gay.


As I've said before, I'm not much for activism, but it's stories like this that I don't like hearing. I don't want to hear about people being killed over who they love. I don't want to hear about the murders of innocent lives when all they wanted to do was see a movie. I don't like this crap. And it's closed minded people (to include Christians) that let things like this happen.


Does God want you to kill gay people because you think it's immoral? No. God would never ask that of anyone. God loves everyone. Maybe you people should try it. 


And I love this blog, despite refusing to openly display it. That whole "get my feelings out" type deal, y'know?


STOP BEING SO FREAKIN' RETARDED, HUMANITY. And people wonder why I'm a nihilistic misanthrope. There really is no hope for humanity.

-DCV-

Really People? REALLY?

I'm not, by any definition, the type of person to be the patron saint of activism, and I'd much rather be a follower than a leader. I've been keeping up with both sides of the big "Homosexuality is a Mortal Sin and Anyone Who is Gay is Definitely Going to Hell" debate. 


In my honest opinion, the only person in the entire universe who has the authority to decide whether it is or is not a sin to be gay is the Big Man upstairs. Only He can decide. Him. Not you. Not Chik-Fil-A. Not that homeless man in the dark alley that creeps you out. 


That being said, Christians can beat homosexuals in the face with every verse in the Bible, but what I feel they are accomplishing is absolutely nothing. If you are so Christian, why are you beating them up? Disgracing them? Talking down to them? Since when did the Bible say: "And God said you must beat people in the face with my Word." 


Or "And God said you must look down on everyone you think isn't an ideal Christian." Does that sound ludicrous to you? Does it sound silly?


Because it is. 


Whether it is a sin or not is not the point. 


It doesn't matter if that man enjoys the company of another man, or some guy you met at the supermarket was just released out of jail for murder. God said love everyone. Everyone. EVERYONE. Don't be picky.

-DCV-

This is me, coming out in a clandestine fashion...

I really love that word, Clandestine. Especially when using it with a capital C. I also enjoy ellipses. Bear with me.


And so I digress... (there they are again)

I recently revealed to a whole person the one thing I kept a secret for the better part of seven years, something I've learned over time really doesn't need to stay a secret forever. Maybe one day the whole world will know, but for right now I'll settle with that one person, a very dear to my heart person. And were it not for discovering her own secret, even she might not know. I'd have hidden it away in the depths of my heart where the emotional barriers keep everything safe and blah blah blah.

I hate the term lesbian. It makes me feel gross and icky and disgusting. There's just something about that particular word that I just don't like. I'd rather be called a faggot than a lesbian, but they are both one and the same. Faggot just happens to be relatively vulgar in that particular community. 

To be quite honest, I don't like any of the terminology. Homosexual makes me giggle though. I could come up with new terminology and I have a few offensive ones that come to mind, but that wouldn't be fair, now would it? 

But yes. I am gay. Lesbian. Homosexual. Whatever, I don't care. It all means the same thing. I am not actively seeking a relationship at all, but knowing what side of the fence I play on kind of helps narrow it down. 

As a Christian (gasp! I thought Christian homosexuals were heathens!), I spent a great deal of time worrying that if I even thought about my orientation I might be condemned to hell forever and ever amen. But you just can't put something like that out of your mind. It's impossible. In fact, such an impossibility is the reason I'm even typing this right now...I think. Whatever. You try hanging out in my mind long enough to produce one blog post that isn't a sporadic train of thought. I'm supposed to be asleep. But I'm not.

That dear friend I told you about? Devout Christian. Not a mean bone in her entire body. Due to the religious stigma, she's also the last person I would have ever expected to have such a revelation, but alas, she did. And when I found out, my world flipped upside down for some reason I don't even know. At that point I realized, Well, you should probably speak up. If she's gay, then it's okay if you are too. So I did. I worried for a while like a silly goose, because maybe I imagined what I read. I dream frequently when I sleep, so it's definitely plausible.

Except for that one detail where this is real. And admitting who I am? Just saying the word makes everything I've hidden real. GAY. I wonder why I dislike that word...

Despite knowing the hateful rejection and discrimination she received (which makes me very grumpy, and in the wrong mind, I might want to fight), she welcomed the news with open arms. Even told me God didn't hate me, which I greatly appreciate, and I couldn't possibly be any more thankful to have her as a confidante. 

Now, the next question is: Who will know next?

Well, no one, of course! While me telling people "Hey, guess what? I'M GAY" will just lead to them responding with "Really? We already knew this", I enjoy that element of surprise I still have.

And question number two: Who's heart do I want to steal?

No one. None. Zero. There isn't a soul on this planet I want. Because in order to have a successful relationship even if I wasn't gay, both parts need to be committed. Meaning the emotional walls around my heart have to come down. Those walls keep me safe and grounded and prevent anything bad from happening to it. I could tell you where they come from and who helped put them there, but that's for another time. I've been hurt several times in my life, along with anyone in the world ever. Unfortunately for me, I chose to cope by completely shutting down that part of my emotions. Love I am capable of. I know how to do that. Being in love is a concept completely foreign. 

Did you see what I did there? I strayed from the topic of this post. If I keep doing that, I'm going to have to close it.

Like now. 

-DCV-

An Introduction...

I'm not one for blogging, so I guess here I go. I need to go back and remove all of my other scrapped projects, since they are just that.

Welcome to my blog, Clandestine Thoughts. And it is just that. I write under a pseudonym to save myself the pain of discovery, and offer the comfort of being able to say exactly what I want without cause for concern. I like my privacy and I enjoy the luxury of not having to worry about who will read this and who will know. And GASP who might tell someone else who will tell someone else ad infinitum. 


That and I'm rather fond of the word Clandestine.

-DCV-