Peter

I've been waiting for words to come all day, and I don't think my emotions have entirely sorted themselves out.  I got a message this morning on Facebook. I had to check the news reports to make sure it was real. It still hasn't managed to feel real. You were 25 years old. Your car hit a retaining wall and caught fire, but we know little more than that.
Throughout the day, I've been getting hit with memories that have made me smile more than frown, and the most incredible thing about this experience to me is that just as you had this unique way of bringing together groups of friends from vastly different social circles in life, so you have been able to bring so many of us back together to celebrate the beautiful person you were, even though you have passed from this world.
I know I will never be able to capture in words all of the memories with which I am left. I'm not even sure about the exact day we met. I feel like you grew into a bigger and bigger part of my life as I began to grow into myself and open up to people who had been trying to get close to me for months or even years. You grew into such a big part of my life that I remember spending almost every single day with you and never wanting to be apart. You were the one to help me pick up the pieces when I thought my life had fallen apart, on more than one occasion, during the most difficult summer of my life. You always had this way of turning tragedy on its head. You made me feel much stronger than I thought I ever could be.
I remember how you, James, Joseph, and I were the Golden Girls, and you were Blanche, of course.
I remember finding a box of bagels and cream cheese with you on the corner across the street from the Cathedral, as well as being curled up in pain with you on the floor of the Rainbow office after deciding it was somehow a good idea to eat them.
I remember dancing with you at Kelly and Chance's wedding this summer and how we both laughed because we couldn't figure out who should lead.
I remember the random summer walks, playing board games on your floor in the blazing summer heat when you had no air conditioning.
You loved mugs. You had the best mug collection I've ever seen, and I fondly remember our trips to Goodwill where you'd buy about five or six at a time.
I remember that time where we lived together without actually living together and how we only had that apartment for about a month. It still felt like home. I think that's because we both wanted it to be so badly.
I remember that you didn't own more than one pair of shorts. You insisted on wearing long pants all year round. As Melissa said, this is because you are a hipster. But you always denied it. Proving the point.
Speaking of which, that night we decided to scale a fence and go tagging was one of the best nights of my college life. It felt like we were in Stand By Me. That was way better than studying for finals ever could have been.
I remember walking along the train tracks with you and Kelly in the summer of 2010, taking a ridiculous picture of the two of us biting the same piece of meat on a stick after already having taken so many absurd pictures before heading to Pride in the Street that same year.
I remember how you talked often about how you talked with Paul McCartney when you were in London, and I thought this was the coolest thing ever.
I remember how much you desired to find someone with whom you could start a family and have children. We both agreed you'd make an awesome dad.
You also loved hotels. And now I totally understand why.
I remember the time you carried me out of my house and into your car when I was too sick to even walk.
I remember how you always slept with a fan going because you just couldn't fall asleep otherwise.
I remember the way you used to hold me in just the right way so that the tension just melted away. You made me feel safe and loved. And you were one of the first people in my life to truly see me for the man I am. You were one of the few people whose understanding of gender made me sigh with relief. For this, you were an invaluable asset to the transgender community of Pittsburgh.
I remember how valuable an asset you were to the entire queer community of Pittsburgh. You seemed to know everyone. You've touched the lives of so many people. You always brought people together. Every time I look back at pictures of us out on the town, we are surrounded by at least a dozen loving friends. Even when you were going through your own periods of darkness, you somehow managed to spread light wherever you went. You had this way of making people happy and bringing out their love for life whenever you came near. I wonder if you knew just how important to our community you were. How many people will never be the same because you were a part of their lives.
 You helped me discover and grow into the person I am today, and you will always be a part of me. I miss you so much, and as I fight through this sea of conflicting emotions and struggle to grasp the reality of this situation, I think about what you would have wanted your closest friends and family members to do. As much as we must mourn the loss of a truly great and inspirational human being, we must also do you the honor of celebrating your life and continuing to work for the equality you believed we all deserve. It was tattooed on your hand, in plain sight, because you believed something so important should not be hidden. You were unapologetic about what you believed. And that made us all a little more comfortable with ourselves. You helped us learn to carry our spirits like you carried your tattoo. You helped us understand that we were not put on this earth to hide.
I think that is the most difficult part of all for me to handle. We were put here to live. And you embodied the idea of living life to the fullest more than anyone I knew, really. It seems cruel that the world has lost someone with such a zest for life--someone who had so much life left to live and so much more left to give. I haven't gotten all of these feelings sorted out yet, but this is what your memory has helped me learn in just the last half a day or so.
I had no idea that that dance this summer would be the last time I would ever see you. But it is truly one of the most beautiful memories with which you could have left me.
 Even though you might have laughed at me in life for saying this, I do believe you are here with me, helping me along the way in this process of grieving. I want to thank your spirit for staying with me, and I want to thank all the friends who have reached out to me with phone calls, messages, and comments just to let me know that they are here. We will help each other through this because we are family. I love you all, and this whole experience--being completely new territory for most of us who have never had to deal with the loss of a peer so early in life--has made a lot of us realize how precious these friendships really are and how valuable our time together can be. <3 p="">

the earthquake

Let there be enough stillness around me for me to recognize just how I exactly I am supposed to move because right now it feels like I am

skateboarding in an earthquake

Upside-down and with my hands tied behind my back like harry Houdini in that big glass fish tank with thousands of people just waiting

Hoping

To watch him die

Let me grasp at the straws of juice boxes

To drink from

Not to breathe from.

If you’ve ever set foot inside this room, then you've seen the things that no longer speak to me or about me but just sit there 

like the walls

watching me bleed to the beat of my own drum

and I almost think each downward stroke will shoot this pain from my system shoot this life from system shuddering 

swimming 

shimmering

splendid.

i used to hear the voices of my past just like when she'd sit by my side on the couch

all curled up 

in my world

and whisper in my ear that she'd never leave that this time it would be different that she would be different and that we would be the same

forever. 

now the voices are corpses piling up inside.

and i'm watching them rot.

but somehow i'd sooner throw away

this computer these jeans this phone these games that letter on the wall that green box under the bed with everything in it and that book and this crown and i'd stand naked in a crowd 

if it would all mean that i could hold on

to that voice

and not have to throw it away with every other lifeless piece of shit 

with which i am surrounded.

i'm going into that place now where i see every letter on every label like a disco ball reflecting the sun,

where keystrokes shoot like lightning i can trace 

across the vascular highway that leads to the place

that makes this all possible.

the good and the bad.

the place that makes me a better friend to words than people and the place

that knows that normal people don't feel the different personalities of the words 

"pleasant" and "peppy"

and that maybe they don't see pleasant as green and peppy as red and that maybe the reason i see pleasant as green has to do with how it reminds me of forests or maybe because i've been staring way too long at this stupid green jug on my desk that's supposed to hold money or pens or something but is completely useless because i already have a container for money and two for pens and three times as much shit as is comfortable in this place because well

you never know.

but this place.

this crazy place.

inside my head 

where the earthquake never stops

is where i still have you

and him

and me

through the years.

this crazy place inside my head where the earthquake never stops 

is where it all starts

when i have those days 

where i just feel

that there is something inside

that is made

of 

true

magic.

Turning Points

I'm at a turning point in my life. Actually, I most likely passed that point some time ago, but I hadn't realized it until just recently. I feel that I have fully transitioned from "growing up" to "grown up" because, for the first time in my life, I do not yearn to achieve a future state. I find myself clinging to the past more tightly than ever. Perhaps my being fearful of losing the people, places, and things that remind me of my youth is just another manifestation of a fear that I've known my entire life, which is the fear of losing my youth itself, of course.

It's a ridiculous fear. It happens to everyone. We get old. It terrifies me for two reasons now, instead of just the one that I remember being on my mind all the time. I never want to lose my ability to do anything. When I work towards a goal, I am fighting for my ability to preserve myself long into the future, though ultimately, I know this is a battle I must lose when the time comes. I don't think I have quite come to terms with that yet. But I guess that's just being 25. The other reason has only begun to haunt me more recently. I don't want to be old and alone, with no one to take care of me or even be my friend, should I ever need either one of those.

Side note: I'm ready to meet the love of my life, but I'm not ready to fall in the love of my life, if that makes any sense.

But there are other things to keep me occupied right now. And really, life isn't so bad. In the moments of pain, it really does feel like there is no way out. And I really do feel that miserable sometimes. But maybe everyone does, and even if not, a great deal of people I know and a great many more that I do not have been in my place. Much weaker people than I have made it through much harder times.

I am learning to accept the idea that I may not have all that I want, but I certainly have all that I need.
And I am working towards the things that I want, though the process is much slower than I would like it to be.

I just added therapist to the list of things I need when I get money from my new job. Shoes and driving lessons are also on that list. Not things that I want. Things that I need. Also, that therapist better be able to give me something to deal with these focus issues. I definitely just stared off into space to think about something else again. That's just not like me. And when I get so distracted that I don't even want to finish swallowing the gulp of water that is in my mouth, I know something is wrong. But then again, I blame my surroundings more than anything. We've already been through that experiment.

I don't know why it came into my head, but I'm going to write it down anyway: I need to escape. I assume that actually has more to do with this little rut I've gotten myself into than the actual place, but I have had problems separating the two.

Final thoughts. My mother always told me that I would know when I met the right person. And I did. It is hard to think that anything could ever be like that again.

Brain

Every so often, I get like this. I'm hyper. I'm all over the place. And it's late. I feel like I could do anything, like I should DO everything, but I get so distracted that I don't actually do ANYTHING. And by every so often, I mean pretty often. But then again, there are those times when I feel like absolute shit and want to kill myself, or I simply don't feel like moving out of bed, or don't make it even if my brain tries to tell me to get out of bed. And it seems like a pretty quick change from one to the other, though sometimes, I really do feel like both are happening at once. I'm pretty good at detecting patterns. But labels are, once again, the tricky part for me. (I'm actually struggling to keep my focus on just this little paragraph.)

Is this all part of having Asperger's?
Or...could I actually have bipolar disorder instead of chronic depression and what I believe to be are worsening ADHD symptoms, in addition. (I have started to believe the latter simply because my focus is completely out of whack. I have never had problems like this, though perhaps my lack of a structured environment for the last several years has taken its toll.)

The labels are pretty irrelevant when it comes to practical matters. You only treat symptoms when it comes to medications for Asperger's, and most of those symptoms just happen to occur in biploar disorder and ADHD.

I'm not currently taking the medications I have been prescribed. It's been months. One reason is that I simply can't afford them, even with my mom's insurance, which is absolute shit anyway. Another reason is that I'm not a fan of the side effects. I lose an absurd amount of weight on them. The last time I started them, I was down over ten pounds in under two weeks. And I don't have too much to work with here. (Sitting around 142 right now, but I probably went from 135 to 122, if I remember correctly.) I looked sick. And it was definitely affecting the way I worked out. I felt a little bit better mentally, but maybe I am just saying that to try to make myself feel better about not taking them. Anyway, I doubt something like Ritalin would be any better.

I have goals. I have plans. But they are very subjective right now, and that is what is difficult. There aren't very specific directions or deadlines. And I'm not quite sure what I am doing with most of it. I hate this grad school application process because I don't know if I am doing things correctly or not. Hopefully, my meetings with my letter-writers will help to clear some of that up. But I will feel stuck about everything else until I get those questions answered. I won't be able to really work on any of this until I have these answers, or at least that is how my mind feels and is telling me to operate, despite my best efforts. I have the research statement completely finished (and have had this done for quite some time), and I know it is solid, based on the feedback I've received.

I'm worried because I haven't published any papers, and I know I have forgotten some things. I'm afraid I'll be interviewed and asked a question I will not be able to answer. I'm afraid of what it will mean if I fail to get into graduate school. I honestly don't think I will be able to handle that.

I am terrified because I have no idea where my life will be in 5 years. But even if I weren't terrified about that, the fact that I'll be 30 in five years would still terrify me. So why the hell does it even matter?

I'm physically afraid all of the time, if that makes any sense. Not of particular things. It's just the physical feeling. And that is how I know fear. It just so happens I experience varying degrees of that literally every second I am awake. There are very few things that can make that feeling subside.

Old Notes

I found an old note from a former snare squad leader inside a journal I kept throughout my freshman year of college. In addition to a little homework assignment, the note ended with a little piece of advice at the bottom:

Trust.
Faith.
Fuck 'em.

Breathe

Meditation for me is about reminding myself to breathe. About reminding myself to allow myself to breathe. About taking in each breath and letting it nourish my starving cells, and about letting each exhalation whisk away that which is nothing short of poisonous. I inhale and feel the resistance of a body struggling to survive an invisible pain. My lungs push against each inward breath as if it to refuse it, like children determined to get their way. But I am still here. I am still breathing, which must mean I am stronger than all of this. But it is difficult to be strong in a way that no one can see. It is difficult to allow the air to flow freely when you know so many others would have severed its passages. I sometimes lose the words for which I have been searching just to keep this rhythm going. Like fireflies.

I look at the words I have written on paper, today and over time, seeing their curves disappear long before I even noticed mine. Words about life and love written before I knew anything about either. Words. Not breaths. And I notice through all the stories of pain, and of passion, and of promises to myself written on post-it notes along the way, that life is so much easier to live in words than in breaths. It is easier to live eternally than to allow yourself to float towards the sun on the wings of your mortality.

I have been watching the wax drip. And I have been missing all the light permits me to see.

I want to be able to have breaths without counting them.
I want to be happy with a life that cannot be measured.

I may be capable of inhalation and exhalation.
But I have lost the ability to breathe.

I am scared, always.

Car Accident (Not Mine, But Still Mine)

Well, I'm back from my walk a little bit earlier than expected. As I went to turn the corner by my house, I noticed headlights coming at me, which is rather typical for these late-night excursions of mine. But something was different. I stopped. They weren't moving. The car was upside-down. I ran up the street, and as I was running I saw a shirtless man running out of his house across the street, and a young girl (probably my age or slightly younger), sitting on the curb crying. He made the call, and I asked the standard questions. There was not a scratch on her, yet this car had landed on its roof, driver-side first. After the initial questions, I of course responded, "Thank God you are alright." And she said, "No. Fuck me. Thank God I didn't hurt anyone else." And at that point, I realized that if I had left my house twenty or thirty seconds earlier, that car would have hit me. All of this plus the fact that I decided to walk out there tonight for no reason, in the cold, at this exact moment is making my head spin and my heart pound. I came back to my house after speaking briefly with one of the responding officers to tell my mother what had happened. And she said to me, "Maybe it wasn't for no reason then."

As much as I have been lost in my own depression lately, I am so lucky to be here at this very moment, as is this young woman. I am so proud to know that I am the kind of person who will run up the street, ready to pull someone out of a car if the situation called for it (I'm a certified EMT, so I do know when it does and does not, so please don't harass me about that!) I may not always have my shit together, but now I know for sure, when the situation is life-or-death, what kind of person I will be. And I think this is the closest to knowing your true self that you can possibly get.