This is what I wrote for NaNoWriMo 2010. It is here in the raw, unedited format, although I did cut the boring pre-story which had been my NaNoWriMo project. What follows is the original product, names and everything, as originally written in November 2010. As it was written at a very dark point in my life, the topics covered can be dark and oftentimes morose. Let it be known that I no longer hold most of these thoughts, as well as remembering that most of these are certainly half truths. I am uploading this for the quality of the writing, not the content. Anything learned here is free to be used elsewhere. Just use it wisely.
Here is synopsis I wrote on the NaNoWriMo website, which still rings true.
This is the story of how a teenage boy fought the windmills and got his ass kicked. Figuratively speaking, of course. After the ass-kicking, the teenage boy licks his wounds and tries to make sense of what it all means.
And without further ado, I give you the first part in a long series.
Peacenthal: An Anthology of Wishes, Anecdotes, and Other Poisonous Thoughts
-------------------------
It doesn't matter what I write here, really. None of this actually happened. Except for the fact that I did get a crush on my best friend, and through a series of three crushes in high school, learned to accept myself and reject society's views on life and basic human rights.
In 10th grade, I realized the scope of what it meant to be gay. I thought that the senior bassoonist I sat next to in band was really cute. First, denying what I knew to be a crush, I thought I was inspired by him. I wanted him to be my role model. I had already known that I was gay, but it finally was hammered home to me that it meant that everything I had been thinking about for my life--a wife, kids, a normal life-- was completely undoable now; at least, not without lying to myself and everyone else. Always a thinker, I hatched a plan. I'd first befriend him and then go from there.
I got a Myspace. I got a Facebook. All in an epic chase across the internet to try to befriend the senior above me. Well, it worked. For his birthday, I got him a book on General Patton, one of his favorite military generals. We developed a decent friendship. We talked. We laughed. He invited me to his graduation party.
In March, things flipped. I met my longest crush. The one that wouldn't die. The one that inspired so much change in my life that I wonder where I'd be if I had never met him. Same plan, same course of action. Befriend him, move from there.
Boy, was that a long course of action. Through classes we shared, I got to know him better. I had intermittently been learning French and was delighted to discover that he knew a bit of French as well. We talked back and forth. We laughed. We became close friends. I think I was probably his closest at one point. On his birthday, I gave him a hand-made card. On that same day, through a not-quite coincidence, I discovered that he lived down the road from me. He knew that I lived near him now.
We worked on an extracurricular project, which we did at his house. He invited me over. I enjoyed this immensely. While working on the project, I watched him interact with his parents, his little brothers, his cats... Slowly, I grew fonder and fonder of him. I spent more and more time with him. We went to Barnes and Noble together. He shared my love of computers, as well as my love of reading.
All the while, I battled what can only be described in retrospect as depression. I still have it. It's still here. I don't like to call it depression. Depression is something that happens to other people. I'm too strong for depression, too stubborn. I battled my self-identity and my societal-identity. If I told people I was gay, what would happen? I'd be beaten, of course. If I asked him out, what would happen? He'd say no. Probably attack me. My inner eye is a pessimist, much to the chagrin of my inner hopeless romantic.
All the while, he'd say things to lead me on. Confusing things that I still can't make neither heads nor tails of. I'd feel like crap, unable to tell whether or not he was flirting with me, provoking me to ask him out, or whether it was just ignorant, playful banter, childish and sexual in nature, like all teenage interactions.
Then, summer ripped us apart. I forgot he existed and merrily rolled on with my life. At least, as merrily as one can while being depressed with one's existence. I attended my previous crush's graduation party, surprised at what I liked once and how close I had come to destruction if I had told him.
Summer drew to a close, until one day in the death throes of summer, my second crush signed online. A brief conversation and the crush started up again like it had never stopped. I was floored. How could something like this go on even without active input?
School started up. Thankfully, I had classes with him. Only one, but that class remained the highlight of my day. We talked of how our summers had been. School started up and we went to Barnes and Noble as we used to. I bought a book that included a mental hospital, a suicidal teen, a bed-ridden Arab, and a transsexual girl. He read the synopsis and rolled his eyes, scoffing at the transsexual. I felt threatened, sad that he didn't understand or accept all people. What did this mean for me?
I'd have to wait to find out. Ironically, the next thing we did together was a church event that was made to lure teens in to try and get them to deal with God. Accept the religion and whatnot. I skipped out on an important meeting to go to that. All because he was going. Oh, irony, how you entertain.
Nothing really came of that. Disillusioned, I became distracted with the fall play. There, I met my third crush. Again, with hindsight being 20/20, I realized that the third crush was probably less of a crush and more of a desperate attempt by my mind to escape my second crush, but hey, it was fun while it lasted. And it helped me grow.
My third crush was the first crush in which I came out to someone in person. It was exciting. It was nerve-wracking. Again, I followed my modus operandi. Befriend them. Proceed from there. So I did. I got to know him pretty well. Then, I moved forward. I asked him out. In a confusing turn of events, he said yes. Holy shit, I had just asked someone out.
We watched movies at his house, mostly. I can remember taking him to two or three parks in the winter, snow falling gently while I followed him around and realized that for the first time in my life, I felt right. I felt good.
When we watched movies, we'd sleep in the same bed afterwards. The feeling of another human holding you tight, keeping you warm, laying beside you...it can't be compared to anything else. It's divine. It's sublime. It's hard to realize how much it means until it's gone.
My pseudo-relationship lasted from November through February of my junior year. The termination of my pseudo-relationship was on February 14, the day after one of my best friends attempted to commit suicide via pills. I was at a major down point in my life. So many straws the camel's back can hold. I was nearing my limit. When he broke up with me, I cried for the first time that I can remember. I laid in my bedroom in the dark, much like Mark did. I felt like utter shit.
I ran through the rest of the year and made it out, somehow. I felt good about myself, good about my place in life. I was stable. I was good. Summerfest came by. One of my friends came across free tickets and we got the tech club together for some midsummer night's shenanigans. I was the driver. I love being the driver.
The group consisted of five guys, including myself. Most importantly, the group had my second crush in it. I had remained great friends with him, but as I would find out later, I had been replaced as one of his best friends. After that night of sitting and talking and laughing and catching up, the crush on my second crush came back again. Like it had done a year before. I realized, through everything I had learned with crush three, that I would continue like this until I knew for sure whether crush two was gay.
So began my final plans. A sort of ultimate game plan. My group of friends and crush two were all spending a day at the zoo for a biology project. I'd tell him I was gay then. The end of the summer, and so, the zoo trip, rolled near. I didn't really prepare--how could one? Any practice and false confidence when alone would be so starkly different from the actual situation that practice would be rendered useless.
I jumped right in. On the big day, I got up early. Before anything happened, I wanted to ensure that I would see him every day. Just so I could have my extra dopamine kick. I asked if he wanted to carpool. He was all for the idea; he wouldn't have a way to get to school otherwise. Picked everyone up. Drove to the zoo. Completed my project. Before I knew it, the day was over. Well, shit. Now what? On the final road before I reached his house, I spoke.
"Hey, can you keep a secret?"
"Sure, man. What is it?"
"You can't tell anyone. Okay?"
"Yeah, of course."
A long, pregnant pause.
"I'm gay."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"I'm cool with that."
I was hit with a cooling wave of relief. That was that. He said he'd see me the first day of school. That meant that he was okay with driving to school with me. Which, in a roundabout way, meant he was okay with me. That felt good. Dopamine.
That night, however, I fell deeper. I realized I wouldn't be satiated until I asked him out and got denied. That's the only way it would go down. I let it ride for a month. I wanted to ask him at Homecoming, but nothing would get him to go. So instead, I asked him on October first. I asked before school, in the car, in the few moments of intimacy I had with him.
"Hey, I remembered what I was going to ask you yesterday."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah." That long, pregnant pause again. At this point, I'm so nervous I can barely breathe. Two years have been leading up to this moment. "Would you..." The words are jamming in my throat. I can't get them out. I force them out in what sounds like a slow, thoughtful sentence. "...like to go out with me sometime?"
Silence. Irreparable silence. It lasts for the tiniest second, then he's on the move. "Warren," he started. "I really value our friendship and I'm perfectly okay with you. I'm just...not that way. I'd rather be friends."
Meanwhile, in the background, the song on the radio chimes in: I'd love to turn you on... We talk about some other thing. I can't remember what. I'm stuck somewhere between cheering and crying. Finally, I can move on! But wait, that's right, I just got denied. Ow.
Later that night, I went home and cried. I was free, but at what cost? I already knew he was straight. I had guessed that in sophomore year. Why did I have to go there? Why did I have to put myself over the fire?
Because, I told myself, if I didn't, I would have always regretted it. I'm glad I did it. I came so far in two years. When I was a sophomore, I was so afraid of telling anyone, let alone asking someone out. But through my experiences, I grew. I realized that I didn't have to be afraid. Or rather, I didn't want to let the fear I had rule my life. I felt mature. I felt proud of myself, even if I got denied. Even if it hurt more than hell. Even if I could have ruined my friendship.
I'm working my way through my denial. I still feel like there's something there. I still feel like, if he wanted to, we would make a great couple. But that's not how life works. Unrequited love is the way of life. It's how the universe functions. The universe's distribution of my love was perverse; there was no way anything could have come from it.
After this, I became mildly suicidal. I didn't attempt anything; I knew that was stupid. But I had suicidal thoughts every now and then. I wondered what it would matter. What it would be like. At least I wouldn't feel anything anymore. I was so mad at the universe. What would it matter if he was gay? Why couldn't he be? Why, for that matter, was I gay? What was the point? Why couldn't he be if I was? What would it matter?
It doesn't matter. What's not is not. Instead of being with him, I decided to help him as much as I can. Help him with calculus. Continue giving him rides. He was still my friend, even if he didn't love me as I loved him. Perhaps I could find a way to convert my romantic love into friendly love. Maybe I could regain my spot as best friend.
But that was hopeless. While I was distracted with my pseudo-relationship junior year, he got to be better friends with other people. Who weren't me. So I felt like I was being lost twice over. I wasn't a romantic option and I was a marginal friend.
I know I wasn't. But that's how my mind always saw things. The darkest possible way. I wasn't his friend anymore. He just needed a ride to school. Hell, I probably creeped him out by asking him out. Even though he sounded so sincere and sweet. That was all a face. For him to continue getting rides by me.
I function differently from others. Things are dark until they're bright. Guilty until proven innocent. But then there's a stark dichotomy. While I am a raging pessimist, I am also a hopeless romantic. Everything'd work out in the end. It had to. Love will find a way. It had to.
In the end, it comes down to how much you're willing to put up with before you either adapt or snap. I adapted. Mark will adapt. He'll meet Morgan. Morgan will be a girl with black hair and blue eyes, abandoned by her parents because of her eye color being not what they ordered. I meant her as symbol for homosexuality, despite the presence of gay characters in my story anyway. Mark will meet Morgan when he runs away from home after getting in a fight with his father over his homosexuality. He'll live on the streets for a little while, then wind up in the orphanage where Morgan is. They're befriend each other. They'll hatch a plan to run away. Mark will tell a fellow orphan that he has a crush on him. Oh, wayward heart. This orphan will take it badly and Morgan and Mark will leave quickly in one night. Before fleeing the city for better horizons where they aren't prosecuted for their genetics, Morgan will seek out her family. There, she'll find she has a sister. A sister who looks exactly like her, black hair and all--except she has brown eyes. Morgan will renounce her family and be on the verge of breaking down. She'll find the incentive to run away all the stronger.
Mark and Morgan will run west, where the people who disagree with the genetic selection have formed large cities. The first city they'll stop at will be welcoming, but condemn Mark for his homosexuality when they find out. They still love him, but they urge him to ignore it and realize that he's being tempted by Satan. The two stay for a little while, but Mark can't stand being told to live life like that, so he runs away with Morgan. They travel further west. My hopeless romantic tells me that they both find happiness in a city beside the sea. My pessimist tells me that there are no happy endings and that Mark searches for the love of his life and never finds it. Morgan, meanwhile, finds that she doesn't have a family anymore now that she's shunned her old one after discovering what they did. I can't decide which ending I like better. The realistic one or the one that wouldn't happen.
Either way, I know that this story is probably over now that I ruined the ending. I ruined the middle and everything after the exposition, too. I don't really know where I'll go after this. Maybe I'll make this a collection of short stories. Or a collection of story beginnings that I shit on with five or six pages of personal commentary on how much I think my life sucks or how I think my life inspired this idea. After all, this NaNoWriMo, I vowed to write all the poisonous words out of me, to expel them from my mind and leave them behind in print. The poison of words, trapped by paper. Removed from mind. As long as they're trapped behind this paper prison, I don't have to worry about them getting out and causing me more harm. I think.
Here is synopsis I wrote on the NaNoWriMo website, which still rings true.
This is the story of how a teenage boy fought the windmills and got his ass kicked. Figuratively speaking, of course. After the ass-kicking, the teenage boy licks his wounds and tries to make sense of what it all means.
And without further ado, I give you the first part in a long series.
Peacenthal: An Anthology of Wishes, Anecdotes, and Other Poisonous Thoughts
-------------------------
It doesn't matter what I write here, really. None of this actually happened. Except for the fact that I did get a crush on my best friend, and through a series of three crushes in high school, learned to accept myself and reject society's views on life and basic human rights.
In 10th grade, I realized the scope of what it meant to be gay. I thought that the senior bassoonist I sat next to in band was really cute. First, denying what I knew to be a crush, I thought I was inspired by him. I wanted him to be my role model. I had already known that I was gay, but it finally was hammered home to me that it meant that everything I had been thinking about for my life--a wife, kids, a normal life-- was completely undoable now; at least, not without lying to myself and everyone else. Always a thinker, I hatched a plan. I'd first befriend him and then go from there.
I got a Myspace. I got a Facebook. All in an epic chase across the internet to try to befriend the senior above me. Well, it worked. For his birthday, I got him a book on General Patton, one of his favorite military generals. We developed a decent friendship. We talked. We laughed. He invited me to his graduation party.
In March, things flipped. I met my longest crush. The one that wouldn't die. The one that inspired so much change in my life that I wonder where I'd be if I had never met him. Same plan, same course of action. Befriend him, move from there.
Boy, was that a long course of action. Through classes we shared, I got to know him better. I had intermittently been learning French and was delighted to discover that he knew a bit of French as well. We talked back and forth. We laughed. We became close friends. I think I was probably his closest at one point. On his birthday, I gave him a hand-made card. On that same day, through a not-quite coincidence, I discovered that he lived down the road from me. He knew that I lived near him now.
We worked on an extracurricular project, which we did at his house. He invited me over. I enjoyed this immensely. While working on the project, I watched him interact with his parents, his little brothers, his cats... Slowly, I grew fonder and fonder of him. I spent more and more time with him. We went to Barnes and Noble together. He shared my love of computers, as well as my love of reading.
All the while, I battled what can only be described in retrospect as depression. I still have it. It's still here. I don't like to call it depression. Depression is something that happens to other people. I'm too strong for depression, too stubborn. I battled my self-identity and my societal-identity. If I told people I was gay, what would happen? I'd be beaten, of course. If I asked him out, what would happen? He'd say no. Probably attack me. My inner eye is a pessimist, much to the chagrin of my inner hopeless romantic.
All the while, he'd say things to lead me on. Confusing things that I still can't make neither heads nor tails of. I'd feel like crap, unable to tell whether or not he was flirting with me, provoking me to ask him out, or whether it was just ignorant, playful banter, childish and sexual in nature, like all teenage interactions.
Then, summer ripped us apart. I forgot he existed and merrily rolled on with my life. At least, as merrily as one can while being depressed with one's existence. I attended my previous crush's graduation party, surprised at what I liked once and how close I had come to destruction if I had told him.
Summer drew to a close, until one day in the death throes of summer, my second crush signed online. A brief conversation and the crush started up again like it had never stopped. I was floored. How could something like this go on even without active input?
School started up. Thankfully, I had classes with him. Only one, but that class remained the highlight of my day. We talked of how our summers had been. School started up and we went to Barnes and Noble as we used to. I bought a book that included a mental hospital, a suicidal teen, a bed-ridden Arab, and a transsexual girl. He read the synopsis and rolled his eyes, scoffing at the transsexual. I felt threatened, sad that he didn't understand or accept all people. What did this mean for me?
I'd have to wait to find out. Ironically, the next thing we did together was a church event that was made to lure teens in to try and get them to deal with God. Accept the religion and whatnot. I skipped out on an important meeting to go to that. All because he was going. Oh, irony, how you entertain.
Nothing really came of that. Disillusioned, I became distracted with the fall play. There, I met my third crush. Again, with hindsight being 20/20, I realized that the third crush was probably less of a crush and more of a desperate attempt by my mind to escape my second crush, but hey, it was fun while it lasted. And it helped me grow.
My third crush was the first crush in which I came out to someone in person. It was exciting. It was nerve-wracking. Again, I followed my modus operandi. Befriend them. Proceed from there. So I did. I got to know him pretty well. Then, I moved forward. I asked him out. In a confusing turn of events, he said yes. Holy shit, I had just asked someone out.
We watched movies at his house, mostly. I can remember taking him to two or three parks in the winter, snow falling gently while I followed him around and realized that for the first time in my life, I felt right. I felt good.
When we watched movies, we'd sleep in the same bed afterwards. The feeling of another human holding you tight, keeping you warm, laying beside you...it can't be compared to anything else. It's divine. It's sublime. It's hard to realize how much it means until it's gone.
My pseudo-relationship lasted from November through February of my junior year. The termination of my pseudo-relationship was on February 14, the day after one of my best friends attempted to commit suicide via pills. I was at a major down point in my life. So many straws the camel's back can hold. I was nearing my limit. When he broke up with me, I cried for the first time that I can remember. I laid in my bedroom in the dark, much like Mark did. I felt like utter shit.
I ran through the rest of the year and made it out, somehow. I felt good about myself, good about my place in life. I was stable. I was good. Summerfest came by. One of my friends came across free tickets and we got the tech club together for some midsummer night's shenanigans. I was the driver. I love being the driver.
The group consisted of five guys, including myself. Most importantly, the group had my second crush in it. I had remained great friends with him, but as I would find out later, I had been replaced as one of his best friends. After that night of sitting and talking and laughing and catching up, the crush on my second crush came back again. Like it had done a year before. I realized, through everything I had learned with crush three, that I would continue like this until I knew for sure whether crush two was gay.
So began my final plans. A sort of ultimate game plan. My group of friends and crush two were all spending a day at the zoo for a biology project. I'd tell him I was gay then. The end of the summer, and so, the zoo trip, rolled near. I didn't really prepare--how could one? Any practice and false confidence when alone would be so starkly different from the actual situation that practice would be rendered useless.
I jumped right in. On the big day, I got up early. Before anything happened, I wanted to ensure that I would see him every day. Just so I could have my extra dopamine kick. I asked if he wanted to carpool. He was all for the idea; he wouldn't have a way to get to school otherwise. Picked everyone up. Drove to the zoo. Completed my project. Before I knew it, the day was over. Well, shit. Now what? On the final road before I reached his house, I spoke.
"Hey, can you keep a secret?"
"Sure, man. What is it?"
"You can't tell anyone. Okay?"
"Yeah, of course."
A long, pregnant pause.
"I'm gay."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"I'm cool with that."
I was hit with a cooling wave of relief. That was that. He said he'd see me the first day of school. That meant that he was okay with driving to school with me. Which, in a roundabout way, meant he was okay with me. That felt good. Dopamine.
That night, however, I fell deeper. I realized I wouldn't be satiated until I asked him out and got denied. That's the only way it would go down. I let it ride for a month. I wanted to ask him at Homecoming, but nothing would get him to go. So instead, I asked him on October first. I asked before school, in the car, in the few moments of intimacy I had with him.
"Hey, I remembered what I was going to ask you yesterday."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah." That long, pregnant pause again. At this point, I'm so nervous I can barely breathe. Two years have been leading up to this moment. "Would you..." The words are jamming in my throat. I can't get them out. I force them out in what sounds like a slow, thoughtful sentence. "...like to go out with me sometime?"
Silence. Irreparable silence. It lasts for the tiniest second, then he's on the move. "Warren," he started. "I really value our friendship and I'm perfectly okay with you. I'm just...not that way. I'd rather be friends."
Meanwhile, in the background, the song on the radio chimes in: I'd love to turn you on... We talk about some other thing. I can't remember what. I'm stuck somewhere between cheering and crying. Finally, I can move on! But wait, that's right, I just got denied. Ow.
Later that night, I went home and cried. I was free, but at what cost? I already knew he was straight. I had guessed that in sophomore year. Why did I have to go there? Why did I have to put myself over the fire?
Because, I told myself, if I didn't, I would have always regretted it. I'm glad I did it. I came so far in two years. When I was a sophomore, I was so afraid of telling anyone, let alone asking someone out. But through my experiences, I grew. I realized that I didn't have to be afraid. Or rather, I didn't want to let the fear I had rule my life. I felt mature. I felt proud of myself, even if I got denied. Even if it hurt more than hell. Even if I could have ruined my friendship.
I'm working my way through my denial. I still feel like there's something there. I still feel like, if he wanted to, we would make a great couple. But that's not how life works. Unrequited love is the way of life. It's how the universe functions. The universe's distribution of my love was perverse; there was no way anything could have come from it.
After this, I became mildly suicidal. I didn't attempt anything; I knew that was stupid. But I had suicidal thoughts every now and then. I wondered what it would matter. What it would be like. At least I wouldn't feel anything anymore. I was so mad at the universe. What would it matter if he was gay? Why couldn't he be? Why, for that matter, was I gay? What was the point? Why couldn't he be if I was? What would it matter?
It doesn't matter. What's not is not. Instead of being with him, I decided to help him as much as I can. Help him with calculus. Continue giving him rides. He was still my friend, even if he didn't love me as I loved him. Perhaps I could find a way to convert my romantic love into friendly love. Maybe I could regain my spot as best friend.
But that was hopeless. While I was distracted with my pseudo-relationship junior year, he got to be better friends with other people. Who weren't me. So I felt like I was being lost twice over. I wasn't a romantic option and I was a marginal friend.
I know I wasn't. But that's how my mind always saw things. The darkest possible way. I wasn't his friend anymore. He just needed a ride to school. Hell, I probably creeped him out by asking him out. Even though he sounded so sincere and sweet. That was all a face. For him to continue getting rides by me.
I function differently from others. Things are dark until they're bright. Guilty until proven innocent. But then there's a stark dichotomy. While I am a raging pessimist, I am also a hopeless romantic. Everything'd work out in the end. It had to. Love will find a way. It had to.
In the end, it comes down to how much you're willing to put up with before you either adapt or snap. I adapted. Mark will adapt. He'll meet Morgan. Morgan will be a girl with black hair and blue eyes, abandoned by her parents because of her eye color being not what they ordered. I meant her as symbol for homosexuality, despite the presence of gay characters in my story anyway. Mark will meet Morgan when he runs away from home after getting in a fight with his father over his homosexuality. He'll live on the streets for a little while, then wind up in the orphanage where Morgan is. They're befriend each other. They'll hatch a plan to run away. Mark will tell a fellow orphan that he has a crush on him. Oh, wayward heart. This orphan will take it badly and Morgan and Mark will leave quickly in one night. Before fleeing the city for better horizons where they aren't prosecuted for their genetics, Morgan will seek out her family. There, she'll find she has a sister. A sister who looks exactly like her, black hair and all--except she has brown eyes. Morgan will renounce her family and be on the verge of breaking down. She'll find the incentive to run away all the stronger.
Mark and Morgan will run west, where the people who disagree with the genetic selection have formed large cities. The first city they'll stop at will be welcoming, but condemn Mark for his homosexuality when they find out. They still love him, but they urge him to ignore it and realize that he's being tempted by Satan. The two stay for a little while, but Mark can't stand being told to live life like that, so he runs away with Morgan. They travel further west. My hopeless romantic tells me that they both find happiness in a city beside the sea. My pessimist tells me that there are no happy endings and that Mark searches for the love of his life and never finds it. Morgan, meanwhile, finds that she doesn't have a family anymore now that she's shunned her old one after discovering what they did. I can't decide which ending I like better. The realistic one or the one that wouldn't happen.
Either way, I know that this story is probably over now that I ruined the ending. I ruined the middle and everything after the exposition, too. I don't really know where I'll go after this. Maybe I'll make this a collection of short stories. Or a collection of story beginnings that I shit on with five or six pages of personal commentary on how much I think my life sucks or how I think my life inspired this idea. After all, this NaNoWriMo, I vowed to write all the poisonous words out of me, to expel them from my mind and leave them behind in print. The poison of words, trapped by paper. Removed from mind. As long as they're trapped behind this paper prison, I don't have to worry about them getting out and causing me more harm. I think.
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