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     I watched him, that suffering, dying boy. I watched him every night, after the sun perished in west, before it's rebirth in the east. I watched the color of his skin fade, his blush of life turn ashen and pale, his breath come to labored wheezes, and the sweat cover his brow. His loved ones, friends and family, came to him every day, every night, to speak with him, to laugh and share memories and to offer false hope and assurances to one another. I could smell it upon him, a scent no normal person could identify, a scent beneath the labored breaths, beneath the sweet, beyond the antiseptic reek of the hospital...

Death...

     It clung to him, hovering around him as a bee to pollen. It marked him, a silent, invisible declaration of his fate. There was no more hope left for him now, the last grains of sand with his hourglass were at hand. The medicines and treatments and prayers had failed.
     Beyond his hearing, the doctors and nurses whispered and talked in hushed voices, telling the family to prepare themselves for their goodbyes, to prepare themselves for their child's end. It was only a matter of time. Days, perhaps. I listened to them argue, and fight, and scream in anguished frustration and futility. I watched their tears fall.
     I could hear his his heart struggling desperately to pump, I could hear his lungs claw for air, I could hear the incessant beeping on the machines that monitored his life's final minutes. I saw the doctors and nurses down the corridor, heads hung low in silent vigil for what they new would come that night. They paid no mind to me as I passed them by, the angel of death, damnation and salvation. The orderly simply found somewhere else to look as I passed, needed somewhere else to be as I approached.
     I sat upon the edge of his bed gently, as his tired, bloodshot eyes struggled to focus on me. "Are you death?" He croaked, barely audible.

I whispered, "Yes."

"Are you... taking me... to... heaven?" His every word a struggle.

"No."

"Then Hell?" He was scared.

"No."

"Then... where?"

"Through darkness and shadow. Through damnation and hope... Fate has wracked your body and stolen your life from you. Fate has brought us together as strangers, I as death, you as the dying light of life... but it is I who will make us brothers, it is I who will erase all your pain, it is I who will give you what you love most..."

"Life?"

"Life..." I agreed, "Will you walk with me in shadows?"

"Yes."

"Will you walk with me in damnation, beyond life and death and time?"

His breathing grew more ragged, "Yes... yes..."

I pulled the sweat soaked strands of hair from his face and felt the inferno beneath his skin. "Are you scared?"

"No..."

"You should be."

"...Why?"

"Because in a few moments you will die. Your life will come to an end. And you will have to walk away from everything you know and everyone you love... for all eternity. Because when you again open your eyes, you will join me in shadows and darkness and life beyond life and death."

"I... I don't... understand..."

"You will be my brother. Now close your eyes, and let go of this mortal life."

     I watched as he stared into my eyes, and slowly, very slowly, closed them. His body quickly began to surrender the fight, as I knelt closer to him, my fangs extending as I listened to his heart slowing...

...and bit him...

A simple flower that shattered an illusion. The most delicate of things, with tiny, crimson petals, not all of them perfect, was the first stone thrown in a castle of glass.
     How many years has it been since I could look into a mirror without the deepest shame and seeing only the flaws and scars that are uniquely mine? How long has it been since I wasnt afraid of the face that was looking back? White paint, white tiles, white lights, white sink, a boy with black hair and blue eyes, and a single red flower.
     When had the nightmare finally started to unravel for me? When had the fear crept away? When did the scars stop making me so hideous, and start enhancing the beauty underneath? When did all the lip gloss and eyeliner and makeup become unnecessary?
     Pulling my still damp hair to the side, revealing the close shaved hair on the sides, and the long white lines on the scar that ran along the side of my head and across my ear, lines where the hair would no longer grow. The little scar that split my eyebrow on the same side, and the scar that cut down across both lips, all laid bare, and I wasnt afraid.
     Running my hand down my bare torso, for the first time exploring the myriad of scars that crossed my body, battle scars earned from a life nobody deserves. And it was ok to see them. For the first time they did not revolt me. How did I get here? How had I come to this place, so far from what I've always known? How have I found a place where I was no longer scared, where the scars were no longer my deepest shame, but instead my greatest honor?
     Leaving my hair pulled aside, my face exposed without the lies of cosmetics, I took one step, and another. Timidity giving way to courage, shame to pride, head held high, look where I've come.
     Barefoot, clad in only ripped and tattered denim Jean's, I strode forward, eyes ahead, with confidence, upon a path of brilliant light. Around me I heard the clicks and saw the flashes. And as I strode forward upon this runway, a million memories of the past that has so long haunted me gave way, blown apart by the flash of cameras and thunderous applause, until at last I reached the end of that lit glass runway where the flashing and cheering grew to an overwhelming crescendo. As I stood there, exposed, alone and surrounded, a single tear rolled down my cheek and was coupled with the first smile I'd shown in how long?
     A woman stepped up on the runway with me, hugging me, congratulating me, welcoming me. She leaned in close and into my ear said that the scars took me from beauty and raised me to wow.
     She stepped back to allow the photographers to take even more pictures, after handing me a single, crimson flower...

    I know it's not often that any of you really hear from me anymore, but I figured I would reach out because of the way things are going and the things I'm seeing.
    I guess I've sort of moved on from wintreath and the community. I've changed from the goof ball emo kid to... well, me. I've done a tremendous amount of growing up and alot of soul searching, trying to find the shattered pieces of that broken kid I was just a year or so ago. I've changed. Alot.
    The other night, myself, Anthony (my Anthony not the one in your community) and a bunch of my friends were driving late at night, way away from the city lights, under one of those giant full moons that turns the whole world a really intense deep blue. It was amazing. All the stars were out and shining bright. We stopped by this field and all piled out and across this ocean of tall grass toward a couple of trees out on this rise. The grass just kind of gently waved just like watching a calm ocean. We were all laughing and smiling and putting our arms around each other and just being friends. We were just being care free for once. It was like all the bullshit of the world was just... gone. No idiot, hateful politicians, no plagues, no wars ... just us and this place.
    It was like a combination of awe, and lonliness and melancholy and calm and beauty and love all at once. And I found myself thinking that it wasn't all too long ago I wore my hair specifically to hide my face and the scars, to hide from the world. I always dressed in pretty heavy, dark clothes to hide my body. Yet, there I was, smiling brightly, my hair cut shorter, not hiding my eyes or my smile or the scars, wearing a white form fitting shirt and jogging shorts. No spikes, no skulls, no chains. Wow, I've changed. I've grown up. It's strange how nights like that, despite the low lighting of the moon, makes everything more real.
    So, I guess my point is really this: To everyone, regardless of who you are or where you are or what you're going through, beyond the endless, overwhelming black of the darkest nights, out past the grim, foreboding clouds, are the stars. And no matter how far away they may seem or how tiny they appear, they're out there, and there's lots of them. They're the small bastions of hope and laughter and dancing and joy that make the night beautiful. To the boy or girl or whoever is about to swallow those pills or take that knife to their wrists or to even those who just feel the crushing weight of the world upon their shoulders, I beg of you please look up. Look up some night when the skies are clear and the moon is bright and find those stars that make you smile and fill your broken hearts with wonder.
    Know that all that pain, all that sorrow and hate and agony will pass. Know that you are not alone, know that someone else just like you might be looking up to those stars and thinking about how far they've come, and how far their journey can keep going. Despite all the horrible things we see and experience, the moments of laughter and love just like the night I just shared, make all the pain meaningless and insignificant. Remember the stars make all the nights beautiful. Remember to look up, and that you are not, and never alone.

It's been one hell of a ride, hasn't it? Life. Growing up. Loving, laughing, smiling, crying and so much more. There's countless stories and an infinite amount of wisdom and experience from so many people. All of which, doesn't necessarily define who we are, but certainly helps shape us.
     It's crazy to think that just a year ago I was sitting out on my fire escape to my downtown, walkup apartment. Now I live in suburbia basically, as an actual home owner. I went from police sirens and drunken fools to lawn mowers and barbecues.
     It's been an especially strange pride month this year. It feels to me like we're standing on the event horizon of whatever comes next, good or bad. And we're all holding our breath.
     Community. The LGBTQ community. Like what does that even mean? We dont all live in defined little zones of "gay" territory. Some of us do, some don't. We have tons of stories. We have eons of wisdom and experience in our combined, gestalt community. So why doesn't anyone care?
     Being pride month, I can pretty much promise, somewhere, more than a couple or two tied the knot saying "I do." And more than one collapsed into hatred, hurt, and tears. Somewhere somebody welcomed a brand new, tiny little life into their world and family to the sound of a newborn's crying wail. And sadly someone had to hold their lover's hand through their last goodbye, as they closed their eyes for last time.
     Pride is more than just saying "I'm gay". Pride is so much more than just defining sexual orientation. Two little words that can shake the very foundations of the strongest family..."I'm gay"... many of you have said those words, some of you haven't found the right time yet, and some never do, by choice or chance. It is my deepest hope that each of us would be told "we will always love you, no matter what" when we tell our friends and family. But I know all too well that many if us we be met with "get out, faggot."
     But it's something more. It's declaring to the whole goddamn world that this is who I am without the lying. Its declaring that we will no longer live under the veil of falsehoods and fear and oppression. For good or bad, it is a declaration of truth... no matter the cost, often in the face of very real danger. I tell all of my LGBTQ friends that come the day they decide to come out, they need not fear doing it alone. I'll stand by their side when they say those two, super horrifying words aloud... "I'm gay"...
     Community isn't about just having the same sexual orientation. It may be what caused us to come together as a community, but it's not why we stay one. It's about all of us. Every single one of us. Every word, every voice, every story. It's about the individual standing on the edge of the unknown, not knowing what to do, but finding the courage to step out into that void because they have the knowledge and strength of their community to help light the way. It's about the whole, moving forward, declaring that we are a people, we are a powerful voice, we are human beings. It's about helping the new kid that's just coming to terms with their orientation, and being the new kid, not being too arrogant to ask for help when we need it most.
     I've seen some terrible things. I've experienced terrible things. I get it, I really do. I was told "if I ever found out my son was gay, I'd take him out and shoot him" from my dad, and "I don't have a gay son. There's the door. Get out" from my mom. I was 12. Likewise my adopted mom said "I'm proud to have you as my openly gay son".
     Like I said in my previous post, I've grown up alot since I first showed up here. We've all changed to some degree. And we all have a voice to add, a story to share. I see so many of our LGBTQ friends that are utterly crushed under the weight of the current climate. So many of us are being attacked and hurt and even killed. And so many of us are afraid. To which I say, stand tall, stand proud, and stand together... I'll stand with you, for even in defeat we can declare that this is who the fuck we are.
     This isn't our end, to those new to the LGBTQ community, this is not our end. This is our beginning, this is our story, so help tell our story of pride. And to those who are older and have been a part of the community, now is the time for you to tell us your stories so that we can all go forward, flags unfurled, and for us youngsters to be humble enough to listen.
     This isn't the first time the LGBTQ community has had to physically fight... it wont be our last. So let's go forward, as a community.

Happy pride

This is just me keeping track of a thought while I'm writing. So if it doesn't make sense... lol

Through all the years of abuse, all of the nightmarish things he'd seen and experienced and survived, that skateboard had been his one constant. It had been his one friend.
     There was no doubt the skateboard had been too big for Lucas when he'd first gotten it who knows how many years ago. Every scrape, every dent, every chip and flaw in that board told a story. Every mark was a different adventure, a new day and new experience. Like the scars across Lucas' body, they told his, and it's, story in detail. He'd held onto that skateboard through hell, like a child with a security blanket.
     When I heard that crack, that loud, very distinctive sound as I prepared dinner, I knew immediately what had happened. I remember that leaden dread I felt in my heart when I heard it.  I walked quickly out to the patio to see, and saw Lucas, now 16, looking down on the two broken halves of that skateboard. His longtime companion was gone. Forever. The one and only constant in his world before adoption had given it's final adventure. I could see the quickening movements of Lucas' chest as panic was beginning to set in. That wasn't just a skateboard to him, that was the very meaning, the very essence of safety, of salvation and hope to him. Lucas had grown attached to that skateboard as a child would a favorite pet or a particularly cherished memento... imagine the devastation of that loss.
     I went to him. His eyes and face were a storm of mixed emotions, fear, sadness, confusion, shock. He looked at me in despair. No words were needed, I just pulled him into my embrace and held onto him. His tears followed, along with his silent sobs. More than the loss of a skateboard, it was the end of a chapter in his life. The very last symbol of that world was gone, and sadly it was his symbol of hope and freedom and laughter. It didn't matter that he had left that life behind years ago. He was crying because in a way, maybe God or some other higher power was telling Lucas 'You don't need this anymore. You're strong enough now to move on...'
     I just let him cry. He needed to be allowed to cry without fear or shame or threat of abuse. So he cried. I think that's when the last of his demons really started to die.
     The following day we bought Lucas a brand new skateboard, which he of course picked out. When I went to go check and see how he was doing later that evening, I found him at his desk, doing his homework. The new skateboard rested against his leg and then I found the old skateboard, haphazardly held together by a mess of sports tape, held up in one of the empty spots on his skateboard rack. I went to go look at it. It would never carry Lucas again, there would be no more grand adventures. And then from behind me, I heard Lucas say, "I had to. It just really meant so much to me that I couldn't throw it away. I know it's busted. But I needed to... because it reminded me of me. Even with all the scars, it deserves better, just like me when you adopted me..."

This is really just a random thought I had and decided to share it with yall. Feel free to dm me on ur thoughts or opinions or whatever. I know im not around much, but whatever right?

When I was going to high school, I never really considered myself anything too special. At all actually. I wasn't part of the football team or wrestling or basketball or anything else like that. I was the skinny skater/ emo guy that perpetually hid one eye behind a curtain of black hair (or whatever color i chose that day). Yeah, I wore eye liner, painted my nails, wore skinny jeans and so on. I had my collection of friends, mostly people who were otherwise just like me, ya know, the pot heads, the skaters and goths, other emo guys and girls and the random... other category... like the one or two jocks that weren't complete pricks.
     Everyone seemed to know me though. Like, it was kind of strange that everyone would say things like "Hey lucky!", or "Morning baby doll." Or whatever when I was walking through the corridors between class. Ironically I was never a first pick for anything like dodge ball. I didn't know most of their names or anything about them. Seriously. But they all seemed to know who I was. It could be kinda maddening trying to respond to someone I didn't even know their fucking name.
     One of the things that used to seriously baffle me, was it was fairly routine to go to my locker at any random part of the day and find cards and pictures and candies and love letters with phone numbers on them taped to my locker. I was so incredibly socially inept, I truly didn't know how to take it. I mean everyone knew I was gay, I made zero effort hiding it and had been bullied more than once because of it. Had my share of fights too. Like I would read the letters with dread, and the tiniest shred of hope that one would be from another guy. (Never of course). But I wouldn't know how or even if to respond. Like what was I supposed to do, dial up 478 different phone numbers like going through a fund raiser list and say "Hey girl, sorry but your boy is gay..." fuck that.
     I never really understood why that even happened to me. Granted I wasn't the only one. It was kind of this thing in my high school where girls "tagged" guys lockers that they liked. But I wasn't that special. Really. I didn't drive a super nice car, I drove some god awful rusted out abomination that was big enough to be classified as a capital ship. It probably smoked enough to give the EPA nightmares too. I wasn't the most ripped, muscular guy there, I was sure as hell not a jock. I wasn't the smartest or even all that popular in my opinion. With the way I wore my hair, I'm not sure people really even knew what I looked like. (If any of yall ever seen the movie 'Suicide Room'... dominik was pretty much me.)
   Anyhoo, along comes junior year, and a new car that i payed for myself (thank god). But I hadn't really changed, my depression and what have you was seriously getting significantly worse. My grades were in free fall. You can actually see my mental state reflected in my high school transcripts. Went from a 'B' average to... 'D' at best. In fact the only reason I passed biology is because I broke into the teachers desk and stole the answer key. This was also the first year I made an honest to god attempt at suicide. (The reasons for i won't discuss here... read my earlier posts and that should give you SOME of what was going on.) But, I remember sitting on the edge of my dad's bed and holding his Beretta in my hand and crying. After all the years of physical, emotional, psychological and sexual abuse I kind of just went numb. And numb was okay for a while. Numb was safe. It wasn't great, but it was a state I could exist in and not feel the full force of all the agonies I knew... But there is a place beyond numb. It is an existence of only pain and sorrow and suffering. Its like screaming as loud as you can, but nobody can hear you, or drowning while the life guard can't see you. And thats when it got scary, when the idea that I could simply pull the trigger and all the torment and suffering would be over began to excite me and seem like the one last salvation I had. Thats when I put the gun to the side of my head and yes... I pulled the trigger... Lucky me, bad round. It didn't go off. So I sort of just fell to the floor and sobbed for an eternity it seemed. Eventually I put my father's gun back and went to do whatever... That would not be my last attempt at suicide.
     A fucked up thing is that come prom, I was voted prom king. Of all fucking people. Like, seriously? I turned it down because the school wouldn't allow me to go with my boyfriend. I had to go with a girl. I was voted prom king AGAIN my senior year, and again I turned it down for the same reason.
     When I graduated, I remember seeing all those thousands and thousands of people, and the small ocean of black robes and graduation caps with the gold tassels... and when the called my name, I was absolutely dumbstruck when I got a standing ovation. Even the families (whom damn few I even knew) were cheering me. And I have no damn clue why. No joke, there were people from other high schools there for me. I laugh at recalling that the principal had barely gotten my first name out of his mouth and hearing all the girls screaming in excitement and the guys started cheering too. The principal had to actually stop, and say my name again (and he used my full name for some reason).
     I dont know. Like I said it was just some random thoughts I was having and felt like sharing. They're not great thoughts, but they're real memories.
     I guess, maybe, I dunno, i might trying to say that even in my darkest hours, I was more loved and liked than I knew. I wish somebody would have just slapped the shit out of me and pointed it out, because I really needed more shoulders to cry on then... and they were all around me, I just couldn't see them.
     I know others have struggled with suicidal thoughts and depression and various forms of abuse too. Just know you're not alone out there in the dark. Others are there with you, offering a hand you might not see. I'm seeing a crazy amount of suicide cases here and tons of pretty epic depression... and I get it. I do. I've been there more than once. You're never alone.
     As always, feel free to dm me or whatever. I make zero promises to get back to you in anything resembling timeliness however, lol, just warning ya.
    I know my writing isn't all that fabulous and alot of it is pretty scattered and weird, but alot of it reflects feelings and shit I had to go through. Feel free to read whatever I post and I hope some of it strikes a chord with those that need it. I hope you can find you're not the first, sadly nor the last, that's felt some pretty incredible pain and lonliness and mostly, I hope you read and can see that even over a relatively short period of time, my writing changed as I did and as I sought help.
     Sorry to say, but we can't always do it alone. Talk to to someone. Ask for help if u need it, and never be ashamed to cry because it hurts so much... I did.

Being gay and having all sorts of interest, but all from girls...that sounds like some version of hell.

I wonder if you weren't so well-liked though because you weren't afraid to be yourself...so many people, myself included, have a tendency to try to blind into the crowd and not stand out, but you've never seemed to be afraid of standing out and being who you are, even years later when you joined Wintreath...who else has gotten a title so quickly after joining? Regardless of everything else, you just seem like a really likeable person that attracts people wherever you go.

I wonder if you would have recognized the love you had even if someone had pointed it out. I've noticed that people who are depressed tend to dismiss or not believe that they're loved even when they're told...they think people are just pretending to like them or just tolerating them, or even just pitying them because they're depressed. Thankfully you came to realize it on your journey in life, and I wonder if to some extent everyone has to realize it on their own as well.

So, my best friend today kinda hit home with me. He said (basically) that all the shit I've been through broke me into millions of pieces. It destroyed me before I really had a chance at life. And over the years he's been watching as I put myself back together piece by piece. He said it was really incredible to watch and empowering to see someone so utterly destroyed pick themselves back up and keep on going and putting myself back to some semblance of functional.
     I guess that kinda vibes with a little bit of what moot's previous post said. I did get a title here, very quickly. I remember there was some controversy over it too. And he's right, I've never been one to hide who I am or what I'm about, even when it brings me into direct conflict with others... I'm always just me. Take it or leave it.
     It's not that I enjoy conflict, because I actually hate it, it's just that I've spent a lot of my life being a person I never was on the inside. Mostly to appease others, or as a means of survival. I guess now I just will not compromise on who and what I am. I would rather be hated for who I am than be loved for the lie that others want me to be.
     I know I'm not around alot anymore. Life changes, as do people. I'm thinking the better part of wintreath has no clue as to who I am/was in my very brief history here.
     It's crazy to think that not that long ago, I was terrified of myself, my own reflection. I was broken, I was an emotional wreck, I was combative, openly hostile at times and just... I was a goddamn mess. I was barely able to socialize. But, a number of people here gave me a chance, more than one in many cases. I've gained and lost friends, here and elsewhere. And look at me now, I'm pretty chill by comparison. I even openly smile now.
     So here's how it goes... I can look in the mirror and immediately destroy myself. I'm too skinny, I'm ugly, my hair is terrible, I sound like a stereotypical gay guy, I'm not tall enough, I have too many scars and on and on and on... If this reminds anybody of themselves, or if they have similar self talk, this is some advice a lady told me... treat yourself as though it were someone you loved. Understand that you are, regardless of your differences, already enough to be you. You are already enough to be the person you deserve and want to be. The only person that can make you smile and make you proud of yourself, is that person in the mirror. You.
     I had a hard time trying to stop poisoning myself with my own toxic bullshit thoughts. I know it's so easy to believe everything bad you tell yourself because it lets you be less than what you are. I get it. I do. I still catch myself doing it. But let me be honest, some of you have seen me, and nobody has called me hideous or ugly. I get hit on all the time. People ask me how I do my hair and advice on fashion and makeup and so on. All the lies I tell myself about my inadequacies are just that... lies. And those who torture themselves with the same things, are also lies we use to hurt ourselves.
     I am 100% guilty of not being able to see the forest through the trees when seeing if anybody gives a damn about me, or seeing if I have any merits in the looks department. I've been offered several modeling contracts for God's sake, but I'll be the first person to tell you I'm ugly.
     Look, I have scars, outside and in. And I hate them. But for me, they are the flaw that highlights the beauty. And I'll bet you are all very similar. We are all flawed... maybe those flaws just highlight your merits...

Just saying. Just my thoughts...

And random song
https://youtu.be/gQ3VXPWIRjY

You have come a long way in a short amount of time, and you should be proud.

That's good advice too that I'll try to take. For me it's not so much based on looks, but based on not doing things or trying things because I'm afraid I'll fuck them up. It really feeds into my anxiety when I have to do something that's out of the ordinary because I'm afraid of messing up and then knowing that I live with someone who will make me feel like shit for messing up on top of already feeling like shit for messing up, so it becomes something dreadful that I either put off to the last minute or don't handle correctly at all.

I guess the point is, everyone has their mental struggles, and we all could do well to love ourselves and take time for self-care, cause there's only one us in the end.

One boy said to the other, "Don't come near, for there are demons inside me,"

The other boy stepped closer and said, "Come close, there is darkness and emptiness inside me, it's where your demons can hide."

It has been forever since I have posted anything here. I almost forgotten that this place even exists. 

Life has been surreal.  I never thought it would be me walking down that runway with all the cameras flashing and the people applauding. I honestly never thought I would come to a place in my recovery where I would be comfortable being in front of a camera again. I laugh at the idea that here I am, the world's only introverted model. It has changed things, modeling I mean. I used to be terrified that somebody would see me in the supermarket or out in public in general and recognize me from when I was a child, and to be honest, it has happened before. It can be devastating. But, I have been recognized here because of my modeling pictures that have been in magazines or whatever... and it was kind of a weird thing for me.  It was both the old fear of being recognized for the things that happened in my past, and being flattered that I have been recognized for the present. I honestly struggled with trying to figure out how to handle it other than stuttering and stammering like an idiot. 

Who knew a model lived in BFE Montana...

Everyday it's like I look back, and everyday it amazes me how far I have come, and everyday I am shocked that it seems I have come even further. Moving on and growing up, and healing from the bleak existence of my past has been such a struggle and a constant fight, and yet it has been so subtle that it is like it sort of just snuck up on me. Like, it seems like just yesterday I was that emotional wreck that Wintreath knew years ago... but it has been years. The nightmares and dread memories of my past, and the story of the life I had to fight and bleed to survive have stopped being my enemy, and instead have become something I coexist with and I guess it has almost become symbiotic I daresay. 

My deepest darkest shames, and all the scars and tears and waking up screaming at night was the burden I carried, and was the burden that gave me the strength to carryon and survive. 

I was told early in my recovery by one of my psychologists that it is a lonely journey in the end... and she was right. That's not to say that I have no friends or people that I love and care about and people who care about me... It's more of looking at old pictures from when I was in prison, and my old crew and the people that fought and in some cases died with me.  For such a huge chunk of my life, these were the people that stood by my side and we bled together and lived and survived together. It is a terrible loneliness remembering all the chaos and fear of everyday life... and all that noise is gone now. I'm no long wondering if I will survive the night, or on the other side of that coin, hoping I don't.

I remember toward the end of my sentence in prison, there were four of us sitting around a table out on the rec yard, myself, Ben M, Ben H, and Curtis and on the surface, we were a group of people that should never have been in proximity in prison; I was the hispanic kid that ran with the Mexican gangs, Curtis was a black guy and former Vice Lord out of Chicago, Ben H was a white supremacist and Ben M was a Jewish guy... By all the normal "rules" of prison, we should NEVER have been at the same table with each other... and yet there we were.  We just sat there in total silence.  We were all about to be released about the same time and we had all done time in real prisons before; places we called 'gladiator schools'... we'd all seen some pretty awful things, we had all fought, we all belonged to different groups, and those groups rarely got along...But anyway, there we sat in total silence, for a long time. We didn't need to speak.  We just knew. We knew what we had all been through, we knew that deep, very profound comraderie of people that have suffered through truly horrible things together and side by side. These three other guys would fight and die for me, and I for them... and thinking about it, it was us four... we were the four that were left... there were others along our journey that didn't make it. After a long while, Ben H said it best, very bluntly "We survived..."

That was the last time I ever saw them...

A million things go through my mind remembering all the horrible things I have seen and experienced in prison.  Nightmarish things.  Riots and fights and stabbings and things magnitudes worse that I won't go into detail here. And the terrifying thing is... it's addictive. Going through that kind of stress and that kind of trauma with a set of people that on day one were my mortal enemy, and somewhere along the way became closer than brothers... we formed a bond that I have never found anywhere else, and have never experienced since. I can remember that feeling of power when somebody raised their voice at me in the corridor and instantly the Mexicans were pouring out of their cells just to back me up. I remember sitting at those long cafeteria tables and being surrounded by people that would fight along side me and always had my back. Like the first time in my life I was important, I was worth fighting over, I had value... and coming from a home where I was seen as a burden at the BEST of times... being valued is such an intoxicating feeling.

The day I was released... They take you to a holding cell, the same holding cells they put everybody in when they are coming in, and these cells are designed to hold 50 people or so, and they usually have like four or more of these cells.  And, there I was in one of these giant cells, and nobody else, and these cells always ALWAYS stink of this weird melange of diesel fuel and stale body odor... absolutely always. And when you are coming in, and going through processing, they are hot as hell... the same place when you are leaving is freezing. And quiet.  Prison is never quiet. And for the first time in a very long time, it was just... quiet. They eventually strip search you and take your uniforms and prison issues away and you get street clothes and I remember thinking how strange the clothing looked from the street, and they smelled really strongly. What I was smelling was detergent. And then the guards come, three of them, and one at a time they ask you a series of questions to confirm your identity, and they do it over and over and over. Then they hand you your release papers, your court orders, and a bank card with all your money (if you have any) on it. And then you get patted down... again...

Then the longest walk of my life. The prison I was released from has this walkway, kind of like a covered and enclosed bridge you have to cross to get out and it's about 100-150 feet long and about 20 wide. And the floors are white and the ceiling is white and on both sides is floor to ceiling glass and your about two floors up. That walk seemed like a million miles. At the end of it, you get to basically an armored door, and through this speaker in the wall, they ask you a million questions again and tell you to look at this mirror (one was glass) to confirm you identity again. Then you enter this armored box basically where there is a door in front of you and one behind you, and only one door can be opened at any time. Then you walk out into a lobby where there were more guards, and for the first time in such a long time people called me by name... "Good luck, Lucas."

Sitting in the car on the way home, I remember looking back at the prison and feeling sad. I felt lost. Being out around "normal" people I felt like an alien, I felt like my crime was tattooed on my forehead and my simply walking on the side walk was a crime and I was the outsider. Seeing people walk and talk and laugh and joke and just be people and doing normal everyday life things was an incredible culture shock to me. Seeing alot of the things these people did would actually get you hurt in prison or worse. And the smells. You never realize how much perfume and cologne and detergent and things like that actually smell until you've been away from it for a long period of time.

We went to this place where we could look out over the mountains and stuff, and that's where I broke down. Just sitting there, and it was absolutely quiet except for the wind.  There were no other people, no cars, no constant announcements over a PA, and my view wasn't obstructed by razor wire and guard towers... That's where it overwhelmed me. All of that pain, all of that fear and anxiety and everything that prison rules say you as a "man" cannot be come back... and I was terrified of being out of prison, i was scared to death to be outside that fence line. I cried. I cried because of the people I left behind, I cried for the people that would NEVER come home, I cried because of the horrible things I had to do inside just to survive. I cried at the monster I had no choice but to become. Everything the prison had taught me to be just to survive, no longer worked.  The rules inside no longer apply outside the fence. I cried because once again, I was horribly alone.

I knew my father for 13 days after getting home.  A measly 13 days is all I got with my dad before he died. In that time I had, he told me that I was a radically different person from the kid he saw go to prison. I was meaner, I had "the eyes that have seen some horrible things", I even talked different and was aggressive with people. He told me my mom was actually complaining to him about how mean I was.... 

I had no choice... I wasn't trying to be mean or aggressive, Hell, I wasn't even aware I was doing it. I just wanted survive... and that's how I did in prison. Here I was out in the world "rehabilitated"... and once again the outsider.

Like the psychologist said, recovery is lonely. It has immense and wonderful rewards, but it is a profoundly lonely experience. And even with all the changes and growing up that I have done, and many of you have witnessed, I still carry my battle scars from my past. I still have habits. I still guard my food when I eat by wrapping one arm around my plate and eating very very fast. I still use my prison laundry bag, the same one from prison in fact. I have a locker buddy (for those who know what that is), even though I don't have a locker nor do I need a locker buddy because shelves aren't contraband in the real world. Calling somebody a 'punk' is still a grave insult to me. And I guess from what I see and what I am told, I'm still pretty aggressive.

I guess no matter how far I have come, I will always carry my past with me. And I know this will not come as a shock to anybody, but it really forged who I have become. I do not wish what happened to me on anybody, not even my worst enemy. Nobody deserves that kind of life. But at the same time, I can't say I would change it either. I know what I am now, I know what I have become... but I don't know the person I would be had my life been different or even better.

I cry for the little kid that I was never allowed to be. That little boy never stood a chance and he is dead... that kid that I never got be is gone. I did the best I could, with what little I had, and all of my choices, good and bad, were all based on a single goal... survival at any cost...

Though the child that I wish I could have been is gone, it is my duty now as an adult to stand monument to the cost of abuse and addiction and all the other things I have suffered. I could not save that kid, but I can damn well protect his memory.  Looking back helps put all of that in perspective for me.

Sorry if this was kind of rambling and chaotic... i just needed to put all this out there i guess

Thanks for writing that. I know it must have been hard, but it was riveting to read and I'm glad that you were able to overcome things as much as you have.

Here I am sitting in my uber extravagant room at a quarter after 1 in the morning in san francisco... I am actually in a surprisingly good mood. I have my trusty little laptop that i lug everywhere, my phone is charging and my usual roommate is sound asleep. We don't have to do anything until later in the evening friday, so im not terribly worried about sleep. granted, i have the mandatory workout i have to do, but who cares.

earlier today, we were doing the choreography for the shoots tomorrow and saturday, and it kinda makes me laugh that when i was posing and they were taking pictures and getting things set up, they played this really old school song for me.  i think it is called "get lucky" by daft punk? not too sure, but i remember it came out when i was like 15 i think. and i just sort of dropped my head and let my hair fall in front of my face and i started to smile real bright and even laughed a little just listening to the words... "like the legend of the phoenix, our ends were beginnings..." those were the lyrics that got me. my psychologist in prison had a giant phoenix mural on the wall of her office because she very much believed like the phoenix, the end can be a new beginning.

omg, i dont know how many times i have told everybody about my life and the things i have gone through and how much i have changed... but goddamn, she was right. i mean a few years ago i was so mean and aggressive, and there i was today, just laughing for no apparent reason. i know it is a love song, but it was the phoenix lyrics that did it.

ya know, it was actually ok for once to just laugh and enjoy life. i mean for once really enjoy life. modelling is so much fun, i honestly regret not doing it sooner when i was getting offers. coulda shoulda woulda, right?

the photographers stopped taking pictures and looked at me like i was crazy when i started laughing. and i explained to them pretty much what i just wrote here, and they thought it was kind of kewl. some of the other models came out and joined me in front of the canvas backdrop and they were watching me and seeing me smile and laugh for no real reason, and im not one to laugh and smile too much. despite all the changes i have made, i still guard my emotions pretty closely. and i guess today i just had a 'fuck it' moment and let it go. i started dancing around and smiling and singing to the song (poorly of course) and Aron, my roomie he started dancing next to me and singing just as badly (english isnt his first language) and soon the rest of the models all joined in and even though it was super dumb and im sure we all looked like a bunch of pretty idiots, we had a blast. we all started laughing and clapping to the song and dancing around like fools and just having fun... and i know we were supposed to be working and choreographing things, but ya know, at the moment, in that place, we just wanted to have fun and laugh and play... and it felt so damn good to just let lose for a few minutes. and i think one of the best parts about it was the photographers and agents didnt say anything or stop us, hell, they started joining and even taking pictures of all of us acting like a bunch of fools.

its kind of hard to explain that feeling.  when looks dont matter, or social status, or wealth or anything... none of that shit meant anything, we were just a group of people that spontaneously decided to have fun. lol the poor hair stylists, they spend so much time getting our hair just right and here we all are dancing around and fucking it all up.  but i think that made it better honestly. the pictures looked more real, our hair was all over the place, mine was in my face and sort of wild looking, as were other people's. despite the canvas background, we just looked like... people.

talk about an exalted feeling, moving from being a victim, to a criminal, to a broken kid, to a survivor... to living...

the whole mood the rest of the day and evening was totally different too. like everybody seemed so much more relaxed and open and we were all laughing and playing and joking more than normal. we were definitely louder than normal, ngl. im sure the restaurant appreciated us lol, like i care. 

later we found ourselves all piled into one room watching movies and drinking way too much caffeine and eating way too many carbs, there are 20 models here and it was a blast. a few more pictures were taken of us through out the day, which is normal... but everything just felt better and ... more right i guess.

i hope everybody can have those days, and i hope they can have them often. theyre amazing. it feels insane. and sometimes a little crazy is good.

so here i am early in the damn morning, jacked up on caffeine and smiling for no apparent reason typing this. i wanted to wish yall an early happy turkey day, hope yall have loads of smiles and eat more than is comfortable... i know i will be stuffing my face lol.

but honestly, have a great holiday everybody.

later days
Lucas the insane...

There is a saying, "In the eyes of a child, mother is god..."

When we are born we are absolutely 100% dependent on others for everything. We are unable to communicate effectively, we cannot defend ourselves, we can't feed ourselves, we are truly helpless.  As we grow, we gain some measure of independence, we learn to talk, learn to walk, learn to use utensils and so on. Eventually we are riding our first bike, reading our own books, and determining the things we like and dislike. Soon we are dating and determining who we are, our personalities and identities as individuals is more and more taking shape... We are becoming who we are...

But before that, it is our parents or guardians that have done everything for us. For almost 2 decades they are the central axis around which our small worlds rotate, be they good or bad. We even go through the rebellious stage of defying our parents or guardians and trying to prove that we are right, and that is normal. In time that too will fade away. 

Eventually we move on, college and life stretch out before us and we take our steps into adulthood and true independence, and somewhere along the way our parents, our guardians become something else.  They are no longer the pillar of our world, an important aspect no doubt, but they are no longer 'god.' Instead of being the overarching monarchs of our world, they become "old friends."

When is it that we see them as peers, as equals (or otherwise), though they may be venerated peers, they become peers nonetheless... When does that happen?

This is a little bit of a deep topic, but I am curious to see how people see it. Recently I ran into a lady on the sidewalk and she didn't recognize me, but I recognized her. She was the lady that gave me shelter and food when nobody else would. She was the closest thing to a mother I have ever really known. When at last I got her attention and told her who I was, her eyes went wide and she hugged me tightly. But, the way she spoke to me was no longer the adult to the child, but the adult to another adult (if that makes any sense).

There was a part of me that sort of expected to be talked to as a child, not that I wanted it, but that was the last way she spoke me before that day. I told my psychologist about the event and how it effected me. They are the one that said there is a point in our lives when the adults and guardians and the parents and teachers and so on are no longer our superiors, but our old friends.


As you all know by now, I have not had a normal life, so that growing up and learning that I was no longer the inferior was never evident with me.  There are damn few people that were a part of my life as a child left alive, and most of them are not good people, and many of them I hardly knew at all. Like cars on the interstate at night going the opposite direction, most people in my life were momentary flashes of light on an otherwise lonely and bleak journey.

So when do they become old friends?

Maybe I should have posted this in great discussion...

It has been a minute since I have been here.  Going on about six months now? Give or take...

I figured I may as well post something.  Why not?

First, I know I'm really not around much these days. I haven't been in quite some time honestly. But life is going pretty ok. Life is good. I'm still growing up a little I guess, still figuring things out, but I got a good crew to look after me and help me along. I have an incredible boyfriend, and his family are equally great. I even slipped up the other day and accidentally called my boyfriend's mother 'mom'. I was shocked at myself.  I guess I am letting my guard come down around people, though it still takes a long time to do.

The career world is getting kinda crazy. A good kind of crazy, but ... crazy. It's kind of weird seeing myself in ads and in department stores.  There are even gifs of me now, which I just recently discovered.  People on the street are even starting to recognize me.  It's attention I am not at all used to and honestly, spent the majority of my life trying to avoid, but now it just... is.  I mean I know it comes with the territory and all, but it's still something I'm getting used to. Hell, I still have to tell myself at times that it's ok to smile and laugh and be happy. Which feels fucking amazing.

And, much to the world's surprise, I actually baked blueberry bread for the first time and the fire department didn't need to get involved, nor the insurance company. Anthony's mom has been teaching me how to cook all kinds of things and how to bake and make homemade bread and such. (which smells so good) Tonight I made brownies which turned out really good. I am surprised.  I'm not known for my culinary skills, but yeah, they came out great.

It's crazy that even though life is going forward, I still the addict in me.  Anything to excess. And this is not uncommon for any addict, we trade one addiction and through all of that energy and effort into something else.  Like some addicts will become incredibly religious and cling to it like a drowning man might cling to a life guard, or work stupid long hours.  A man in my NA group actually said "I will put a newly recovering addict against any three normal people anyday"... It's not that we are at all better or anything like that, but we launch ourselves at anything to keep the addiction at bay and keep it out of our mind. And I am 100% guilty of it. Like now, I have a set of rules I need to follow as per my contract, and I one of them is my calorie intake per day. There is literally nothing that says I can't go over my calorie limit... nothing at all, the contract simply specifies that I need to exercise to make up for the excess calories... that's it. But not me, oh Hell no. I stick to that number like it is gospel. I avoid so many foods and things because of it, and that is part of the addiction that is a part of me... it's that fanaticism to something. And sometimes it's nice to have people point it out.  Just a few weeks ago, my boyfriend came down stairs with 2 large pizzas and breadsticks and these garlic cheese bite things and soda and dessert and he dropped all of it on the coffee table in front of me and said "Fuckin eat something for once." Lol, and he was right.

I don't starve myself, not even close. But I adhere to that calorie number adamantly. Fanatically.  All it was for the pizza was to run a few more blocks the next day and a few more situps and push ups... that's all.

I'm still learning. I'm still growing up. But, I'm actually able to look at the person in the mirror now without total revulsion and shame. I'm not afraid of the cameras anymore. I'm not afraid of attention. Not living in fear of my past and what could happen, regardless of how unlikely, feels amazing. Yeah, I make mistakes, I stumble, I trip, I am flawed... who cares?

But enough about me.  I have also noticed a bit of a revival of wintreath. If I am not mistaken.  People seem to be getting more active and more social. This is good.  I also see a number of older people who left, coming back and getting citizenship again.  Maybe yall are finally turning that corner and starting to recover.  God knows it's been an uber turbulent few years for this region.

I'll still lurk in the shadows and on rare occasion pop back in.  I hope wintreath is finally getting it's own little renaissance.