My Name is Justin. Most people to whom this is going out will know me. I am currently an unemployed DC-Resident living in the rougher parts of Baltimore, Maryland; albeit the wonderfully historic neighborhood known as Reservoir Hill. In fact, I have been waiting for the Ghosts of DC / Baltimore to do a piece on this neighborhood. Considering what I know about it, I may blog it for him and spare Tom the research.
As of August 29th I am 30 years old and what I can tell you is that while I have probably lived by many accounts and comparisons an extremely fulfilling and experienced life thus-far–forgive me, I’m going into a Disney-princess-moment– I feel very unaccomplished, unsatisfied, and in many ways cheated. With that being said I am my own worst critic and conscientiousness has never strayed too far from my fore-thoughts.
Now, The Juice Concerning my Blog: I am not certain as of yet how my thoughts will shape and organize my story, but I will be telling you a story of Life, Death, Lies, Sex, Fun, Discipline, Danger, Love, Romance, and Hate insofar as the few experiences that have just happened to cross my mind and I am going to try to be as honest and transparent as I can. The difficulty in this is that I have lied to people I know and trust for one reason or another. I will explain of myself in every detail that I can and let you decide. I will say this: Some of you know a bit of the story about which I will relate in the next 30 days but NONE know of it ALL or the intimate details, except for Christopher.
A quick revelation being that I am a former heroin-opiate addict. Not so very shocking in this age–such is the times we live in-and many of my friends know about. At the times many of my friends discovered it, I made no secret of it and often went through the practice of keeping syringes somewhere within my apartment. One might ask “why?” The short answer being, for the very reason a diabetic might carry them around: Convenience. Another question may be as to why I made no attempt to hide it.
The fact of the matter is, I did hide it in many ways, however, after the Death of my boyfriend, Nathan with whom I had shared nearly 7 years together, I no longer had it in me to fight for pretenses: They simply became unimportant. The fact that I had hidden it before very may have been a mistake that had the potential to make for a different outcome other than his death. His death is something that still burdens me to this very day. Returning to my indiscretions when it came to hiding my own drug-behavior: I know it is and was a dangerous practice. It is a dangerous drug and when bought clandestinely the potency can change to a degree from one day to the next in such a manner that I have once awoken on the floor from a very “standard dose,” feeling EXTREMELY lucky to be alive without intervention. But I was physically addicted, unhappy, and inconsolably in pain.
When you are ill for a fix of opiates small little delays really only serve to piss you off. To remove these little delays really seemed to make my day go much better. Unfortunately, I was not happy, but fortunately there were people such as my friends– my real friends– that didn’t care. They would check up on me, and visit me, call me, invite me out, and be there for me–regardless of how many times I didn’t pick up the phone they always found the way to my door. Although I was in a bad way I felt very loved and very protected: even valued. This is yet another topic to be re-visited.
I have a twin brother, whom I partially detest with extreme malice and love with a great desire to protect. It seems to me that my brother has difficulty in being an individual. While we are both genetically the same as far as genetic makeup we are very different. One such difference he has always seemed to have difficulty in dealing with is the fact that I am gay, and he is NOT.
Now, I say that he has difficulty in it for a number of reasons. The first one being that he asked my sister, shortly after I came out to both her and my father, whether or not that made HIM gay. Wouldn’t by the age of 19 you have the slightest inkling on a predominant attraction to one sex or the other? Sheesh!
In turn, he takes some enjoyment in spreading some of the silliest and most ridiculous lies about me. More on that: while my brothers ability to be convincing has nothing to do with the content of the particular lie, but a combination of the persistence with which he lies and the ability to be aware of certain channels of communications. He knows, for instance, that I have little contact with a patriarch of the family. For those of you who haven’t guess it, my father. I call him a patriarch because he really has two families, a neglected one, and one which was a little more planned. Well, since my brother is aware that my Dad speaks to his mother and they speak to each other, whatever my brother tell either my grandmother or my father will be exchanged, and maybe with more family members. My poor sister always stays out of it. She’s just tired– and who could blame her? My brother and I bicker like some old married folk sitting in their rocking chairs waiting to die at the raisin-ranch where they’ve stayed the last twenty years. So, when my brother starts the grind at the rumor mill some of the most ridiculous and unbelievable shit can be said, but since no one is there to refute or deny it (and I certainly do not care enough to pay it a thought) these ideas about how terrible and odd I am start coming back to me in whispers. They usually just make me look so deviant that my brother is a rising start in comparison– even tho he is as stagnant as a swamp–but more on that later. It was not until recently I put an end to damn near a year full of lies and deceit which my brother had begun to infect my mother’s side of the family with–a part in which I take much joy and happiness in because my mother, and my sister are the only family I really consider, outside of that bumbling fool I have for a twin. who really does shame me.
For the two reasons I outlined it is apparent to me that he has problems standing out as an individual. Let me know if you think I’m wrong and then I’ll just throw more stories with proof to win my point.
Before I conclude, I am as yet undecided in how this blog will unravel itself or how I will end it. In fact, I don’t know how it all will end. It has yet to be written. But be that the reality of it comes or yet another ill-fated mishap should befall me, I shall faithfully and dutifully blog until my end or the end (of the blog). Tomorrow I’ll start with my life in the Capitol.
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(I haven’t survived some of this without a little help)
- Loyal friend of Diana who will help guide Prince George (telegraph.co.uk)