Amidst the Wreckage

Immediately after an extremely traumatizing and traumatic event, there is a discernible change in one’s thought process.  What was once important takes a back-seat to those that are important, but are often taken for granted.  More immediately still, are the thoughts that flooded my thinking.  While I was concerned with those things that I took for granted, I often give the appearance of being a cold and distant person.  It gave Christopher a cause for pause and made me have to think about being slightly more aware of how I was reacting in reference to the people around me.

One of my many flaws is the way I emote around others.  In a very old-fashioned brand of thinking, I am of the idea that public portrayal of emotion– or even non-public portrayal, let it be to friends, family, whomever– should be avoided at all costs.  This is because letting people know what you are feeling can be an insight into one’s weaknesses, making one vulnerable to the scheming of others.  Now, I would hate to be a pessimist and represent the belief that people are generally bad.  When it comes to question of whether or not people are good or bad, I have two strongly held convictions, one for which I quote Morgan Freeman.

“There are no perfect men in the world, only perfect intentions”

The second is concerning desire and want:  “One should always be aware of the negative his negative feelings.”

When dealing with people, particularly people whom are not well-known to me as well as those that are well-known to me, I never have these general ideas far from my thoughts.  I do this in an attempt to both be pragmatic and be flexible in my understanding of others and what they may want, as well as aware that everyone is in search of something for themselves, and not always through honorable means.  Without being on the defensive, I have always reflected a certain cautiousness coupled with an  undimmed and exceedingly sociable, charming, and likable character.  Those that know me might agree that when it comes to getting to know me, I can often be an alluring and intriguing conversationalist that piques the interest of those around me.  In my opinion, this can be mainly attributed to my vast set of curiosity-driven interests, an extremely good memory, and general fun-loving attitude.

However, in-turn those that have gotten to know me, also know that my self-directed opinions can be somewhat dark, macabre, and uncertain.  Not only that, but I often lack any kind of authentic emotions and can appear to be very vacant and devoid of real emotions concerning others around me.   When it came to the accident, this was no different and I seemed to have escaped inwards.  Christopher had told me that he wanted to run to me, hug me and hold each-other.  He had been severely traumatized by the rollover.

I am not sure to what I can attribute my lack of fear when it came to the whole incident, I can without any hesitation say that I was somewhat unaffected.  Even disturbingly unaffected as someone has relayed to me.

The vehicle had done an aerial in the air, after having struck the beginning of the guard-rail while traveling sideways.  I remember feeling the sensation of not being in contact with the road, weightlessness, and fear of the impending impact, after which the truck had rolled another two or three times before settling up-side-down.  my real fear had occurred when, calling out for both Rob and Pookie and hearing nothing but the still, quiet, cold.  Even hearing the sleet on the underside of the vehicle had an ominous kind of ring to it. I noticed how discomforting the loss of the hum of the engine was in its absence and the fact that I heard no one calling back at me for those first few instances was what I really feared.  There is nothing that can describe the dread and terror I felt welling up inside of me– the same terror that I felt when finding my Nathan those four years ago.  Since that moment I had never thought there was ever a time when such helplessness and dread would find themselves back into my life.  Even today, I cannot bring myself to thinking back to both this moment and that of finding Nathan without suppressing tears.  This time I was only scared of what I might discover not what I was going to discover.

In turn, the sudden elation I felt when I heard movement and the voices of both Christopher and Rob, echoing in return of my shouts was no bit short of the most amazing thing I could imagine experiencing.  Therefore when Christopher sought a bit of reassurance in me that we were alright, and a display of affection regarding that sentiment, it was not easy for me to show how satisfied I was.

We could have been seriously hurt or even killed but we weren’t

It was as simple as that for me and the fear of it all had very little lasting effect.  I’ve even joked about it.  It seems to me that I may lead a charmed life, albeit a jaded one.  Often, in wondering if there is a God, I feel that he is full of jokes and the cruelest ones are at my expense, but there is an irony in thinking God’s jokes as cruel because they would often display an equally kind side to his sense of humor.

Diane, who had seen the whole accident was a woman sent as a favor by the fates themselves.  I cannot explain her presence, with all that it offered and all she did for us, but she was the representative for a league of angels sent to earth.  As the aftermath of the accident unfolded, she waited patiently, wanted to make sure that we were OK.  Patiently waiting, she allowed us time to process what we could of the whole situation.  One by one we were checked out by nurses.  During that time i remember hearing that there were multiple accidents not a couple miles in either directions that had just occurred.  Not noticing the cold, we salvaged what we could from the mangled wreckage of the truck as Diane insisted we fit it into her car.

Looking back, I sadly remember having to leave certain items behind.  Many of which I have particular and fond memories involving this stuff.  While it was mostly clothes and jackets, I had kept them for myself after Nathan’s passing, a great many of the clothes that I have were his.  It was there on the side of the highway only miles past the Dalles,  amidst twisted metal, snow and ice that I left them.  From that place we were taken by way of Diane’s kindness and were brought to Portland. With weather far temperate than that from which we came.  The dreary, misty, foggy weather seemed to be somewhat warmer and temperate that I could ever remember.

Once in Portland, Diane insisted that we all stay at her house.  In light of the accident, she broke out a bottle of whiskey and we all served up shots to our good health and our survival of the journey through the treacherous conditions. Shots of whiskey!  Glad to be alive I shared in the merriment and good intentions for which the shots were brought out.  But I am partially of the belief that any kind of traumatic event should not be followed by drink or drugs.  Either way, the quickly down alcohol went well with hot tea afterward and put me right to sleep.  It was not until the following morning that the reality of what had occurred that night would set in, or the pain of it all.

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On Myself & This Blog:

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.

justin plotting

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.

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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.

Three of My Favorite Pictures of Nathan. along with the obituary.

Three of My Favorite Pictures of Nathan. along with the obituary.

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(I haven’t survived some of this without a little help)