Wow, I don't update my blog very often. Actually, it might be unfair to call this a blog. It's more like two moronic posts written for no other purpose than to make myself laugh. And I love it. But this will not be one of those; this will be a deep, hard, and frankly uncomfortable (much how I imagine sex will be) look into my soul. So, if you want to continue reading, be warned, there won't be any laughs, just one man trying to come to grips with things. You might be wondering why I am even putting it online and not just writing it in a journal or diary. The answer is simple: I'm an attention whore. Through the best and worst of me, I love the spotlight.
I feel like I can boil my life down to three moments: One seemingly mundane and simple, the other over a girl, and the third over a boy.
One of the best and most transforming moments of my life was when I got my first Blink-182 cassette tape (Dude Ranch for any of you keeping score). I know this may sound trivial, but it is an overwhelming factor that led me to the man I am today. They led me to pick up a guitar, which led me to start a band, which led me to the most amazing friends any guy could ever ask for; and the two other moments of my life never would have happened if I had not listened to that tape. In middle school I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to be (and I in no way think I am special in that feeling) but they helped me figure it out. They taught me that the best thing a person can have is a sense of humor, and however sophomoric theirs was, I adopted it. It would later change and mature, but will always have a flickering version of them embedded in it. I wore that tape out. I have never been so enthralled, so taken away by chords and a melody in my life. I played it in class, I played it in school, and I played before I went to sleep. I was in love. I've seen them live twice, each with an entirely different set of friends, and have bought all of their records multiple times (mainly due to me not knowing how to lock my car). I have a vivid memory that accompanies every single song and lyric that they ever wrote. I know some of you (if you made it this far) think that I am blowing this event out of proportion but I feel like I am not and could never due it the justice it deserves.
The second event that shaped my life is a little more awkward for me to write about: Love. First love, the last love, high school love, the one who got away, some girl I really dug on. However you want to describe it, it effected me in ways I'm still finding out about today. I won't name the Girl, although most of you will know who I'm talking about, I will just refer to her as "Girl". When I said earlier that this event wouldn't have been possible if it had not been for blink-182, it was because I met her at one of my band's shows (although later she would confess that she didn't remember me being in the band). She was brought there by a mutual friend and I was instantly taken away. She was gorgeous. It's hard to explain how beautiful she was without resorting to tired cliches, but it seemed like every cliche in the book was written a hundred years ahead of time in earnest waiting for her. And beyond all that she had a vibrant personality. She was nice, funny, curious, smart, and warm. She could do no wrong. We got a long great, better than with anyone I had ever met before. And oh yeah, she had a boyfriend. I will admit, that was not a trait I was too fond of. We playfully flirted that night and then went on with our lives. I honestly never thought I would see her again. But through our friend we continued to bump into each other, talked on AIM (what all the playas were using back then), and eventually the phone. As time passed she broke up with her boyfriend and we started dating. I will admit I said I love you first, I said it fast, and I said it often. We went out for a long time and had only one fight that I can remember. But she lived in another town and eventually the distance became too much. We broke up. Let me rephrase that, she dumped me. Two weeks later she started dating this guy that she had casually mentioned a few times during our relationship. I became the guy that I hated, I refused to get over her. I moped and cried. And called her way too much. However, eventually time did its best to heal the wounds, or at least cover them with scars and tattoos. We actually became really good friends, our relationship always teetering between romantic and platonic. Between her boyfriends we would casually date but she always moved on to bigger, stronger chaps, eventually getting married. We have only talked once since then, under very somber circumstances. After her I've been very hesitant about dating other girls. When I do I always end it after a few dates and, even worse, the girls that don't like me back, I try and force them to. I love-rape them, and while this is admittedly much better than real rape, I don't think it is a desired action. Before, during, and after our relationship I did things that I would always feel stupid about but that taught me lots of lessons. Lessons I never forgot until recently and once again made me make a giant fool of myself. I'm not really sure how to wrap up this part of the blog, so I won't. All I can say is hopefully good things come from the bad and that the bad things never tarnish the memory of the good.
The final event also involved love, this time for a boy, or after all he went through, a man. I met Nathaniel in the eighth grade. I would say the first thing we bonded over was a mutual fondness for a girl but eventually also music and finally each other. We started a band with two other friends and we all became inseparable, creating some of the best memories of my life. Throughout our friendship we would be in 3 bands together and a numerous amount of joke groups. During high school we were constantly together, always feeding off each other and basically making light of everything. When I was diagnosed with depression in the ninth grade, he was the one that made me go get help and I can't even begin to imagine where I would be right now if it wasn't for that. We were brothers. In high school, I do remember that we had one major fight and it almost tore us apart. We each had a crush on the same girl but before that moment it had never seemed like that big of a deal. However, one night before a show the girl and I flirted more than normal and I, not thinking of how it would hurt him, did it right in front of him. He stormed off and I was extremely confused why. I followed him "backstage" and listened to him yell at me for what seemed like months (or the length of one the Lord of the Rings movies). And when he was done, I yelled back. Then he did to. I remember I angrily walked away and went to the bathroom. The second the door shut my teeth un-gritted and the tears began to flow. I even threw up in the toilet. A few moments later he came in and helped me clean myself up. The owner of the club came in and we told her I was drunk ( I was also like 15 but she didn't seem to care). We both said we were sorry and we never really talked about it again. I quit flirting with the girl and so did he. We had more fights in high school but they never reached the intensity of that one. Then one terrible day we found out he had a brain tumor. I remember him and I were going to a movie when his parents called and we went back to his house. They give him the news and told him he was going to have to have surgery. We all cried and hugged and tried our best to be there for him. We decided that it would be best if we went to see that movie anyways. I have absolutely no idea what we saw but I do remember we had a good time. Afterwards, we parked in front of his house and talked for hours, a lot about his surgery but also a lot about other things. His surgery was scheduled for one day after my 18th birthday, but like the amazing person he was, he took me out to dinner the night before anyways. We had a great time. After that night everything changed. It killed me to see him in that bed after his surgery. Wrapped up in bandages and connected to machines. When I saw him we joked around and talked (he was on lots of morphine). But at the end of the day, I assumed he was going to recover and everything would be normal again. He fought as hard as he could to get back to perfect health but there is only so much your body will let you do. As a result of a stroke he had on the operating table, he was left partially paralyzed on his left side and due to the brain tumor being so close to the optical nerve he was left blind. It wasn't full blindness at first. For the a short while afterwards he could recognize the shirt I was wearing if he tried his hardest but eventually that ability went away and was left without any sight. He went through physical therapy and was eventually able to walk while using a cane. And after intense therapy he was finally able to walk all on his own. When ever we would go out places I would walk backwards, facing him, and talk. He would follow my voice. If we were in a tricky area or one with lots of people, he would hold on to my arm and I would lead him to where we were going. He rarely complained. If I became careless and didn't tell him the ground was bumpy, he might trip, but he never blamed me. One summer he went to a special school for the blind and learned to use a walking stick and read braille. He learned how to live independently and was almost completely capable of living on his own. I have never been so proud of or inspired by a person as I was him. There is so much more amazing things about him but I don't think the internet has the capacity to hold on to them all, so I will fast forward to last summer. I remember the last time he ever came over to my house. We played guitar and laughed and it all started out completely normal. Then he told me he'd been having these black outs and small seizures and he was having trouble getting around. It worried me to no end but he told me not, he was going to go to the doctor and get it all figured out. Shortly after that I was informed that he was staying in the hospital for awhile to run tests on him. Some friends and I decided we would go up there and visit him. Literally as were walking into the building a friend got a phone call from his parents and they said it looked like he wasn't going to have long to live, 6 months at the most. His cancer was back and it was more aggressive than ever. We all stopped for a moment and gathered our thoughts and then walked into his room, determined to be as happy and supportive as possible. We continued visiting him as often as we could, bringing different friends with us each time. It wasn't long until the doctors said that the cancer was more aggressive than they thought and they now feared he only had 2 weeks to 2 months left. The decision was made to take him home and put him on hospice so that he could be as comfortable as possible. If I could, I visited him everyday but some days were really hard. I started writing this post planning on talking about the very end and how hard he fought, but now I don't think I will. Just know that he was a valiant and courageous as any man could be while facing what he was. Along with his family and Chip, I was around his bed when he finally passed away. I cried into Chips arms like I was a baby and he was my dad. But for how hard it was, I was glad that he was relieved of all his pain.
Those are the three instances in my life that I feel have shaped me into me. I know very few people read this and even fewer got this far, but if you did, I hope you learned a little about me. I will most likely delete this post in the next few days because, well, thats what I do. I love you all.
