I'm Fucking Drunk. I Almost Died. YOLO. in Musings

Surfing in the cold NY ocean is not necessarily something that I want to do.
Actually, the only thing I do outdoors is brunch.

So what?

I sat in the sand, watching him surf around in the belligerent freezing water. I would lose him as a wave would wipe him out and he would pop out and flick his hair back and forth, thumbs up me and smile.

I laid down on the sand. Feeling the cold air penetrating my skimpy leather jacket. I tried throwing on his fleece over me, but it wasn’t stopping the cold from entering me.

His solution to my freezing body was to run out of the ocean and crash on top of me soaking wet. It made me so angry, but I’m not overly expressive of my feelings, so he assumed I was being shy and picked me up and walked with me into the water. Dropping me straight in.

I felt my body go into shock and almost immediately, felt like I had a cold. Probably from the stress of holding in my anger and the stress on my body from the freezing cold salt water.

Ever since this boyfriend thing started it’s only come to even more of the forefront of my mind about how I’m so wrapped up in my own feelings. I’m always on the verge of crying. I’m always on the brink of wanting to self-medicate, drink alcohol, snort lines off of a dirty bathroom sink because that’s the only way that I get to expel all the negative feelings, because I’m not mentally sound. It’s all a really, well put-together package that’s all jingly and janky on the inside.

He ripped off his wet suit, and walked over to me naked, looked at me from head to toe, pushed me over to dig in the back seat of his car and literally swatted clothes at me, which fell to the ground.

There’s only so much I can actually bear, until I’m ready to murder.

What he received was my uncensored, unabashed temper. When I literally threw the clothes at him along with the towel and said “This is the reason I fucking hate dating Latino men, you’re all fucking disgusting, selfish pieces of shit” and I ripped my jacket out from his hand and squishy walked towards the exit of the parking lot.

Saying it out loud, I immediately regretted it. Seeing him look at me wide-eyed and confused, just made me feel even more of a jerk. Me randomly screaming through gritted teeth so loud and so forcefully that I burst a vessel in my eye made my whole entire day that much worse. I’m so sad. I’m so angry. I’m so many things. I just crouched and hugged my knees—

I felt him throw a blanket over me and I shoved him off. It all felt like a terrible, terrible dream. Everything was hazy. He didn’t take no for an answer and dragged me back to the car. “I’ll be a fucking selfish, nasty Spic to you when I get you back to the city, to your fucking Gringo apartment” and because he was a lot more forceful than me, I gave in. As he dragged me, he kept muttering things under his breath. “Fucking Puerto Rican that thinks he’s fucking white” “I don’t even know why I like being around a fucking sell-out, bitch loves fucking pink gringo dick”

I remember visiting a psychologist a few months ago. He suggested that the love we search for or shy away from are similar or the complete opposite of the first love we’ve ever experienced.

The car ride home, I kept thinking why I’ve stopped dating Latino men. Why I’ve only dated white men exclusively. Latino men are so much more reluctant to give up on not having there way. It’s the way we were raised. It’s a cultural thing, I don’t compromise because I’m a boy and the world runs on my time, my wants and my needs. Dating someone who is raised in the same macho culture, we clash. The only person who can force me to do anything is my mother and that’s because she’s so much more forceful, and knows how to work on my innate Catholic boy guilt. Hearing him mutter all that shit about me, only worked on my guilt. It reminded me of my own mother working on my guilt.

An hour in the car I started to wind down. I turned my face to him as he drove and took his free hand and put it in my hair… he looked over at me between switching lanes, “how about you be a real man and apologize” he snarled and ripped his hand off of my hair. “What the fuck am I? Fucking housekeeping to you? Huh?” he pressed on the gas pedal. “The little spic cabana boy that fucks the rich kid?” and I could see the speed-o-meter rising steadily. “You fucking heartless little sell-out white prick” he honked the horn and screamed at a car and made a turn that nearly hit a car.

I sat up and felt him getting angrier and angrier. It reminded me of when my mother would be angry at me. She never tried to hurt me, but hurt herself to hurt me. It flashed right by me, a car crashed into the back and just like my own mother he shoved his hand into my chest so hard I was left breathless, so that I wouldn’t fly out of my seat or my safety belt.

I don’t really know what happened, in the interim. Him pressing his lips into my mouth and an Indian guy yelling around him. I must have fainted from how hard he shoved himself on my chest or from the impact on my head. I push him off of me and paramedics are asking me to walk. I look back disoriented at the car as I’m being walked onto a stretcher and his car was completely sideswiped on the back.

A bruised chest wall from the zip of the seat belt and some minor muscle bruising from his fist . A minor concussion from my head slapping onto the car’s interior from the collision.

I was kept there overnight and my mother had the most to say about it when she met me at the hospital. “IF YOU WANT TO DIE ANDRES YOU FUCKING TELL ME! I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF, I BROUGHT YOU IN AND I WILL TAKE YOU OUT” and again I felt tears swelling down my face. She hates the living shit out of Luiz. And I watched her choke him. A 6 foot man 180 pounds being choked out by a 5 foot woman at 98 pounds.

He sprained his wrist from punching me back in my seat. As he spoke to me after being almost killed by my mother, the sleuth of my past came pouring in. First, Shane telling me I was an asshole—and then having a really heated Portuguese argument with Luiz. Then came in the asshole of all assholes, Alex. In his fucking suit since my mother blew up all of my ex-lover’s phones because she was lost looking for the hospital with my sister.

I was so sleepy. In the haze of the world I didn’t know what was real as Alex intertwined his hand in mine and kissed it, Luiz said something and it incited some sort of rivalry where my mother immediately interjected and became angry—the only way to describe it is in Spanish, but in English it’s like a mother hen protecting its baby chick, they have no fucks to give about there own safety.

Alone in the room at 3 AM. I watched cartoons, and Luiz snuck in, and cried. I don’t deal with anyone’s emotions very well. I don’t even deal with mine. So I dug in my secret stash of pills in the “My Belongings Bags” they shove all your shit in at the hospital and shoved an ativan in his mouth.

I stood awake and as the ativan hit him, he laid on my shins and said “I’m a fucking dirty, tatted up, ugly guy. You have these rich white pretty boy assholes eating out your fucking hands!” he said looking up and I felt his sprained wrist and kissed it “I’m ugly man, I’m fucking gross” and he started to cry and I rolled my eyes because I don’t think he’s ugly, because he’s not—he might be gross—dirty, full of tattoos and piercings, unrestrained, unashamed and brash…but then again, I’m just like him—except that I don’t have tattoos and piercings. Right before he fell asleep and right when I was just petting his head, he looked up at me and said “I’m sorry that I feel that I love you” and I shrugged and smirked “Maybe, I’ll love you too, when you love yourself”

I’m just drunk now. I don’t know anything that I’m saying. I just know that everything just plays in my mind over and over.

I don’t understand why Luiz thinks he’s ugly. Maybe, because the guys he met are ivy league, snobby, trust fund baby bastards. Maybe he doesn’t know yet that I’m not a trust fund baby and he doesn’t understand how he fits in to my life. I don’t need money—because alimony and my investments from the dirt bags I dated can support me into my 80’s and even then, the jewelry I so care for that has been given to me, can pay a college tuition or two—I’m tempted to say those inevitable words to him.

Drunken secret… when he fell asleep his phone vibrated and it was his friend he was trying to pawn me off on when we first met. He said he almost killed me, he said what the fuck? and he spieled off on how he thinks I almost died because he was angry at me… and then I just dug through his phone… there’s a whole folder dedicated to me, of pictures of just me…

these pictures don’t even look like me… I personally don’t think I’m attractive, but the way that he’s manipulated these photos of me, randomly, of me sleeping, of me walking ahead of him, of me laughing and him saying “look back at me!” or videos of me just trudging through the park and me saying “STOP VIDEOING ME! I don’t like the way I look!” he’s manipulated them to make me see that ‘fuck, that kids hot!’ Some of them are so unrecognizably me, I wanna fuck me— and then I do something dorky and I realize, holy shit that’s me! I wanted to fuck me!? and i kept digging in his phone as I drugged him on a really high prescription of ativan— his emails, his facebook, his instagram—he really thinks too highly of me. Then again, I try to think—I think I’m just as ugly and gross as he thinks of himself…I like him because he thinks he’s fucking ugly and he doesn’t know that he’s fucking beautiful.

I hear myself saying the same shit I say to guys when they think I’m hot… The reason they think that is because I don’t know that.

I think he’s fucking, amazingly, out of this world beautiful. Tattooed out, pierced out…I find it so much more beautiful that he doesn’t even know that he is fucking beautiful. He thinks he’s a monster, according to his words—and according to how he views me through his pictures and text messages.

I’m scared to say those words. I’m horrified at the way those three words work with each other. Yet, they are fucking there because I’m a fucking sucker.

P.S. after the accident, I got my dog back from Alex’s parent’s house. I know he missed me, because I heard him barking from the corner and when I saw him jump out of the car he was shaking on my feet and snarled when Alex was trying to say “bye” to him and then to me. If a pet loves you, like my silly puppy does, maybe I should restructure myself, because this fucking dog eats, breathes and lives for me—and I didn’t even feed him for 6 months of my our life, someone else had him and he was probably much happier in a mansion with a yard than in a cramped Soho apartment with me. As usual, he hates anyone who comes to close to me, he would canoodle between Alex and I, but he doesn’t canoodle with me when Luiz sleeps in my bed. He jumps on my face at 6AM to make me walk him, but he sleeps with Luiz, he cuddles with Luiz. Long gone are the days when my puppy sleeps with me, and Baby sleeps with the stranger—maybe he knows more than I do.