Category: mental health and well-being

Welcome back my dearest friends! I hope all is well with everyone.

TRIGGER WARNING!!!

Today we are REALLY going there. So, be prepared. You may or may not like what I have to say on the subject. So, hang on!

For many, religion is a source of comfort. And yet, for many, religion is a source of scorn and ridicule.

For others, religion is the source of some of their deepest pain.

For some, religion is simply a joke. And yet, for some religion is the only thing they have to get them through.

Everywhere you turn there is religion. It is either displayed in what people wear or in what they say or what we see in the media and/or on television.

And religion is not just about a church. Or a synagogue. Or a mosque or a temple. To a lot of people, religion is a way of life.

I dare say there isn’t a person alive – or at least that I know of – who hasn’t been touched in some way, fashion or form by religion.

But as the topic title suggests, is religion actually helpful or harmful? Can it actually be detrimental to our overall mental health? Let’s do a deep dive, starting with my own personal experiences with religion.

My Personal Story with Ye Olde Religion

As stated in my most recent blog post, from day one of my life almost, I was affected by religion. And not in the most positive of ways. Check out that blog post below:

This World and Its Negative Effects on Us!

In summary, I wrote about how when I was just a wee lad, I cracked open The Bible, turned to the end, and read parts of Revelations. We’ve all done it if you were raised in the Christian faith. But anyway, I was absolutely HORRIFIED, not to mention terrified by what I read in there. OMG!!! The End of the World, Armageddon, The Lake of Fire, etc., etc., etc. I was scared to death!! One could say that was my first experience with religion. And my OCD, which of course I didn’t know I had at the time, was immediately TRIGGERED and off to the races.

So, fear was the underlying theme for me where religion is concerned. And that is NOT a good thing for anyone’s mental wellbeing. But moving on …

Afterward, it was off to church EVERY Sunday, not because I wanted to and enjoyed it. But because of my family. My Grandmother’s speech from time to time was “as long as you live in this house, you are going to church.” And so, I did.

On occasion, she also stated rather emphatically, if I was disobedient “that the Lord is going to shorten your days!”

At our church, the 1st and 3rd Sundays were just Sunday School. So, my aunt and I would come home around 11:30 a.m., while Granddaddy and Grandmommy stayed for services to listen to the associate pastor preach.

On the 2nd and 4th Sundays, we had to stay for church services to hear the main pastor of our church, which of course meant we were practically there all day!! To be brutally and utterly transparent, I was ALWAYS BORED out of my skull (not to mention HUNGRY)! That is until the spirit hit the ladies of our church, and they would jump up and down, titties bouncing. I always laughed at that. No offense to anyone. I did think it was rather amusing, though.

The Religion in My Life Takes a Decidely Dark Turn

So. My grisly little tale continues in the Fall of 1985, when I went off to The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill to begin my freshman year of college. I had just graduated from low (high) school back on June 7, 1985, and was EXTREMELY excited to begin my new life away from home. I felt so grown up at this time.

To add the cherry on top of the proverbial sundae, I was attending UNC with seven of my fellow graduates from high school, people I had grown up with and some of whom I had started with back in elementary school. One of those friends I ended up rooming with, someone I will refer to as “Big Daddy.” (I started calling him that because of The Benny Hill Show, which we both absolutely were nuts over! It was very popular back when we were in junior high, so popular that we even played the theme in the 9th grade band!)

But I digress.

Big Daddy and I settled into our cramped little dorm room in Morrison on the Southside of campus, initially with a third roommate. This guy ended up in bunk beds with Big Daddy. Fortunately, after just a few weeks, he was gone, and I was left with my best friend in the whole wide world, Big Daddy. You may throw up now. 🤣

Things started off pretty good, that is until a return home for Fall Break. A bit of backstory: Big Daddy’s sister, whom I shall call Betty, was one year ahead of us in school. Betty also attended UNC, and this would have been her sophomore year.

You see, my family and Big Daddy and Betty’s family rode together to and from UNC. In OUR car, mind you. And as we were getting ready to leave to return to UNC, my grandmother brought up the subject of church. OMG what did she do that for? She wanted to make sure that since I was “raised in the church,” that I continue to go to church. And that is when Betty piped up and said that I could attend with her. As a matter of fact, both Big Daddy and I could.

So, when we returned to school, that following Sunday, me and Big Daddy went to church right along with Betty. The name of the church was called United Fellowship of Christians or UFC for short.

The first time was the strangest experience I have ever had in a church. It was so … weird. I could tell right off the bat that it was one of those holyroller places. It was actually nothing like my home church, which I realized after this storyline, that I appreciated just how … well, boring and free my church actually was.

Anyhoo, I remember vividly at the end of the service, that the pastor – whom I shall refer to as Pastor Greg, Pastor G for short – asked everyone to close their eyes. He proceeded to ask if we were to die, where did we think we would spend eternity – in heaven. Or hell. If you felt that you were heavenbound, raise your hand. Now put your hands down. If you were unsure or thought you were going to hell, to raise your hand. Okay, put your hands down. I’m pretty sure I raised my hand on the heaven part. But heck, I wasn’t even sure about where I was going. LOL I didn’t think about it. I didn’t care. I was only 18 at the time.

Well, he asked us to open our eyes and for those who had raised their hands and felt they were going to hell, to come up front for him to pray over. Color me shocked when I saw Big Daddy’s large form get up and head for the front!!!!!

I remember thinking ‘what is he doing?’

Pastor G prayed over him and the others who stood before him. Then church was over. Afterward, Betty introduced me and Big Daddy to some of her church friends. Big Daddy received pamphlets and such from other members of the church. And that was that, and we left. Big Daddy and I went to have vittles at one of the campus dining halls. As we were getting our food, I remember he distinctly said something that sort of chilled me to the bone:

“I’m going to start living right from now on.”

I don’t remember my response to that, but I could sense that something changed in him and was about to change between us. Or some big change was coming. Boy, I had no idea just how big.

Derek’s FIRST Descent into Madness

So. I did as my grandmother had instructed; I attended this stupid church. But I went through hell because of it. No pun intended. Let me just fast track and cut to the chase. I mostly did it not just because of or for Costella, my Grandmother, but because Big Daddy did it. And I wanted so desperately then to fit in, even at the cost of my mental health. Back then everything he did, I did. And I feel there should be a blog post on that alone!

The first thing that occurred was Pastor G saying that ALL secular music and TV shows were of the Devil and that we should be listening to Christian music and watching Christian television programs. So, that meant all those years of Dynasty that me and Costella shared were suddenly OUT! (Fine with me over Dynasty, because I think it was around this time of the horrid Moldavian plot. Oy! It SUCKED!)

That is also when I started snipping all – and I do mean ALL -of my cassette tapes that I had amassed starting in junior high and throwing them all into the trash!!!!!! That one REALLY hurt!!!

It didn’t take long for me to be totally and completely sucked into this “cult.” That is exactly what I refer to it now.

Sure I could have left at any point in time, but because Big Daddy was involved, I felt I had to be in order to preserve our friendship and roommate status. I was absolutely brainwashed!!

And then the voices started …

And I am going to stop here, because I feel this is a good ending for Part 1, a cliffhanger! 😉

So, stayed tuned for Part 2 next week!!

But please don’t suffer the way I did. If you feel you cannot cope or handle whatever you are going through, please seek help from a professional. Click on the link below.

I shall see you all the next time!! Be safe and mentally well, as always!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Welcome back, my friends! This post comes with a TRIGGER WARNING!! Let’s get started!

“And in the news, another school shooting. Eight children dead.”

“A family of four found shot to death inside their home. The killer is identified as the father, who then took his own life.”

“The stock market takes yet another tumble.”

“Gas prices soar YET AGAIN!”

“COVID deaths have skyrocketed!”

“Unarmed black man shot dead by police in front of his family.”

“There is yet ANOTHER COVID variant discovered in ______ country!!!”

“Vladimir Putin invades Ukraine, then places his nuclear forces on high alert!”

You know the drill. And this is just the tip of the so-called iceberg, believe it or not. How many times do we hear crap like this either in the news or see it on social media or hear it from friends? I mean, I am nearly 55 years young, and I have heard and/or seen this type of stuff all my life. Heck, even the Bible has passages that are downright depressing.

How are you expected to cope with this sort of thing? How does the above make YOU feel? Do you just gloss over it because you are so used to hearing news like this? Or do you sink into the depths of darkness, lack of hope, and fear?

The myriad of answers may range from everything such as ‘I pray and turn it over to God’ to ‘this is depressing’ to ‘I overeat or drink because of this’ to ‘I don’t pay any attention to it anymore.’

And In the News …

I do not tune in to the news anymore. That has been my modus operandi for probably two decades. Oh I catch the headlines and I do tune in every now and then. But I haven’t just sat and watched an entire news program in a very long time, hell no! It is way too depressing for me. I have done it recently off and on just to break my routine of watching other programming that I find much happier and cheerier than the news of yet another black person shot dead by the police.

Speaking of The Police, the very popular rock group wrote a song about how indeed the world is running down. Check it out!

The Effects

But I am really curious as to how all this negativity affects us on a day-to-day basis.

I would bet anything that depression is perhaps the number one resulting factor from all of this. And/or fear and worry.

And definitely anxiety. On here, I have discussed my generalized anxiety disorder, as well as my anticipatory anxiety. I just cannot bear all the negativity all the time, because then it sits in my mind and I begin to believe that it will happen to me. So, in other words, it does NOT help my GAD at all.

In summary, hearing/seeing these headlines on a daily basis can place you in a heightened state of anxiety, fear and depression.

Are We Becoming Immune?

BUT

What if you have heard all of this garbage all your life and you start to become immune to it? I mean, what if you just don’t care anymore? I am sure there are those out there like that who are simply becoming desensitized to it all. ‘Yeah. Heard it all before’ sort of attitude.

Another school shooting. Okay.

Another earthquake killing thousands of people in some country. Okay.

Another COVID death. Okay.

And no, I am not saying it is okay. NONE of it is okay. But I can only imagine that after hearing the same horrible news over and over, you almost come to expect it. And see it as nothing new.

I think I am starting to become desensitized to all of the bad news. And I don’t mean that I don’t care, but when you hear it over and over and OVER AGAIN, it does lose some of its feeling and impact.

And of course, the latest is Putin essentially threatening nuclear war. Gee. Where have I heard that one before? Oh that’s right, during the 80s with the Cold War and the U.S.S.R. and living under the threat of nuclear war breaking out at any moment.

Ever since I was a child, I have been exposed to extreme negativity and depressing news. I remember even reading Revelations in the Bible. And if that didn’t scare the literal hell out of you, I don’t know what will. It sure did it to me, the threat of an Armaggedon and the End of the World. Over the years, I just got sick of hearing it. And this whole thing with Putin, I am almost like whatever, dude. (But GO UKRAINE!!!!! Prayers to you and President Zelenskyy ❤️)

The Possible Coping Strategies

Now, there are those individuals who are not so lucky as to just brush it off.

People who may not have the most positive and/or effective coping strategies, may succumb to the following:

1. Overeating – my personal fave.
2. Drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. No judgments here.
3. Drugs. Again, no judgments.
4. Sex.
5. Suicidal ideation.
6. Sleeping a LOT.

To name a few.

So, let’s see what we can do to minimize the fears and the negativity that the world can bring us.

Derek’s Quick Tips for Dealing with the Wordly BS:

1. I have spoken about it extensively and will continue to do so – listen to MUSIC! Set aside time to just listen to music that you really enjoy. Or play it if you are an instrumentalist. I start my morning off by listening to music. NOT THE NEWS!!! OMG! Talk about getting depressed quickly. So, I just don’t do that.
2. Nature. Take a walk outside. Nature to me is so grounding and soothing. And it is even helpful when there are few people around!!
3. Dance! Dance! Dance! I’m a 70s/80s kid, proud Gen Xer. So, dancing has been and will always be a part of my life. It relieves the stress.
4. Meditate. I like to sit quietly. No TV or music or noise. And definitely no SmartPhone. Just quiet and solitude. A big plus is if you can do this outdoors. So, I sit on my balcony, and thankfully the weather is getting warmer.
5. Pray. I put this one out here, because I find it to be effective. No, I am NOT a religious person. But you do not have to be to simply pray and ask for peace or to simply be thankful.
6. Speaking of, be grateful for what you have. Gratitude has helped my life TREMENDOUSLY! I still keep my Oprah gratitude journal. I am now in my 21st year of keeping it (them)!!
7. Rest/sleep. Hey, there is nothing wrong with just taking a nap or a snooze. I would be concerned that if you are sleeping a lot, that that may be a sign of depression. However, grabbing a few minutes to an hour or even two, isn’t bad.
8. Exercise. This seems to be a popular one for lots of people.

However, the above are not the only ways to deal with the stress of living around negativity. I am sure that you may have other creative ways to cope. I read a lot. Mysteries is what I am still stuck on – Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew!!!

That’s it for today. I hope I didn’t depress y’all too much.

But remember, if you feel that you cannot cope or need to speak with a professional, then online therapy may be the way to go. You can do this in the comfort of your own home without having to get in traffic to drive to an office. Check it out by clicking on the link below:

Thank you for checking out today’s blog post. As always, please be safe and stay mentally well!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

I do not own the copyright to any songs or videos listed here.

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Welcome back, my dearest friends who are battling some sort of mental imbalance, but charging through bravely just the same! You’ve got this!! Today’s topic is the dreaded emotional pain body!

I first learned about the pain body through reading Eckhart Tolle’s book, A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose. Many of you are probably already familiar with Eckhart Tolle’s teachings. He is the author of numerous books, and is also known as sort of a New Age spiritual guru.

I was first introduced to Mr. Tolle way back when on the Oprah Winfrey Show. I find Eckhart Tolle’s teachings very sound. He has also been instrumental in helping me deal with my intrusive thoughts. He has spoken extensively on that topic, as well. But more on that in another post.

The pain body is an accumalation of decades of emotional pain one has endured and encountered in their life. This pain can be anything from disappointments to emotional abuse to neglect and even physical violence. The feelings and pain from all of the above, if not dealt with, can result in one becoming very angry or miserable or even depressed.

And as Oprah describes in the above clip, it is like a tiny, seemingly insignificant thing can trigger this pain body, resulting in a total overreaction of what was done or said.

All of this emotional pain can be caused by family members, friends, coworkers, bosses, even lovers and partners. So, in other words just about anybody can inflict emotional pain upon us, obviously, and cause us to develop this pain body, without us even realizing it. And just about anybody can trigger it, even without realizing that that is what they are doing.

According to Eckhart Tolle, the pain body can manifest as turbulence, depression, fear, heaviness, or anger. It is past pain that is very much alive. Eckhart goes on to say that you carry it around with you; however, you are not always aware of it.

Also, guess where a lot of this pain starts: Childhood. Big surprise there.

Another example of the pain body taken from another Eckhart Tolle book entitled The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightment.

As long as you are unable to access the power of the Now, every emotional pain that you experience leaves behind a residue of pain that lives on in you. It merges with the pain from the past, which was already there, and becomes lodged in your mind and body. This, of course, includes the pain you suffered as a child, caused by the unconsciousness of the world into which you were born.

This accumulated pain is a negative energy field that occupies your body and mind. If you look on it as an invisible entity in its own right, you are getting quite close to the truth. It’s the emotional pain-body. It has two modes of being: dormant and active.

A pain-body may be dormant 90 percent of the time; in a deeply unhappy person, though, it may be active up to 100 percent of the time. Some people live almost entirely through their pain-body, while others may experience it only in certain situations, such as intimate relationships, or situations linked with past loss or abandonment, physical or emotional hurt, and so on. Anything can trigger it, particularly if it resonates with a pain pattern from your past. When it is ready to awaken from its dormant stage, even a thought or an innocent remark made by someone close to you can activate it.

My Own Pain Body

The above passage describes me to a T! I overreacted in relationships with my family and most definitely in intimate relationships, and sadly even with friends. Most recently back in October of 2021 with friends.

I can testify to the power of the pain body, because it is hardwired to any emotional triggers I associate with people hurting me from the past.

For example, someone picks on me or needles me, albeit innocently. However, sometimes I will get very, very angry and unleash a torrent of venom and hatred. That is the pain body, my pain body.

Another example is if I feel that someone is talking down to me, that can also bring out my pain body. During my childhood, I felt that a lot of people, particularly my own family, were condescending towards me, as well as other adults, especially certain teachers.

One of the things that Eckhart Tolle teaches about the pain body is being aware of it. And of course, being aware of the triggers that can bring the pain body to the surface. I did not know for years that this was what I was doing, allowing my pain body to resurface because of the thoughtlessness of others or simple innocent remarks. Now, that I think about it, I believe the alters were/are my pain body. There is so much anger and resentment that I have built up over the years, that I used my “other selves” (my pain body) to take over and wreak havoc upon myself and most definitely upon others.

Responding to the Pain Body in Others

So, now that you know about the pain body and what it is, what if you recognize it in others? How in the name of all that is holy do you deal with someone with a very pronounced and distinct pain body?

Well, Eckhart Tolle advises that when dealing with someone with an extremely strong and ever-present pain body is just to simply do and say nothing. He goes on to suggest in trying to engage with a person in the possession of their pain body may make things worse. I know this to be true, because when I have been in the middle of my pain body, someone trying to argue back with me does no good. It just simply adds “fools to the fire,” as I like to say.

Eckhart states that if necessary, walk away from the situation. Keep in mind, that any of this can still make things heated. Unless the person who is observing the pain body in action knows how to label it and say “this is your pain body speaking.” If only someone had said that to me, I think things would have been much different.

Check out the clip below:

But How Do You Get Rid of or Deal With/Lessen Your Pain Body???

According to Eckhart Tolle, the first thing, again, is to be aware of your pain body and to catch it when it arises before it goes into your mind and when it is an emotion. Again, a relatively minor thing triggers a blow up. Or as Oprah says, a small thing happens and you blow up. LOL You feel a negative emotion as it arises and you realize this is what is transpiring. But also recognizing what your triggers are. He says that the knowledge of the pain body is the awareness of it. The pain body cannot control your thinking. So, therefore, it cannot control your actions. In other words, be present and aware.

I hate to keep tossing videos at you, but if you wish to really get an in-depth knowledge of how to heal your pain body, check out this video. It is a little lengthy, but worth it.

In summation, as Maya Angelou once said – on The Oprah Winfrey Show tee hee – people can be like pecking ducks. Perhaps this pecking is through jokes or sarcasm directed towards you or offhanded comments, cutting remarks, or out and out criticism and anger towards you. I look at it as they peck at you and peck at you until there is nothing left, except a torrent of negative feelings and emotions coming from you. That’s right, your pain body. And it is a wonder that people explode in response to this sort of behaviour. But it is up to us to call it out and control and be aware of our own pain body.

You can rest assured that we will be discussing more of the pain body in later blog posts. 😉

As I always say, if you find what you are going through too tough or you identify with this article, please talk to someone. If you believe you need a professional, try online therapy. Online therapy allows you the opportunity to speak with a professional in the privacy of your own home. No need to drive to an office. So, click on the link below and check it out.

That is it for today. If you identify with this post, please shoot me a comment down below. And until the next time, and in the meantime, please be safe and mentally well!!!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

Also, I do not own the copyrights to any videos or books appearing in this post.

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Hello, my friends who are fighting whatever mental imbalance you are fighting! Hang in there! So, today I decided to tackle something I honestly don’t have a lot of knowledge or expertise in, but is VERY prevalent and very real for a lot of people – and that is DEPRESSION.

Before I continue, I want to go on the record by stating this post is basically stream of consciousness on my thoughts about the subject of depression. I am by no means an expert on the subject. And by all means, feel free to weigh in and add your thoughts in the comment section below if you are a person who does suffer from depression. Thank you!

I look at depression as being in a very, very sad state. However, I have learned over the years that it is much more than that. I have learned that the difference between sadness and depression is that sadness can be just a short period of time. We all have sad feelings from time to time, but that doesn’t necessarily mean those feelings stay with us. With depression, those feelings stay with us much longer to the point of affecting our everyday lives.

I have been depressed before, because of circumstances or life events or even just life in general. And I do not consider myself to be a depressed person. But there are those who suffer greatly from it to the point of needing medication.

But then there is burnout, something I do have a lot of experience with. And yes, I am absolutely burned out, and I am not talking about a house. I know that feeling only too well, where you are exhausted – mentally and physically.

Perhaps you feel that you cannot go on. I do have all of the motivation to conduct my business, but I feel just blah sometimes. As Lucy Ricardo would say, “I feel like a real slob.” Sometimes I really don’t wish to do a damn thing. Do you ever feel like that? This pandemic has not helped by any stretch of the imagination. This truly sucks!!

To be honest, I don’t feel like going to work now thanks to the hell this pandemic has reigned down upon us, with all of its restrictions and masks and social distancing. And vaccinated and boosted people are still getting sick. I am both vaccinated and boosted. Does that mean I am going to get it (again), too? Now that is VERY depressing!!!!

Now for some deeper dives.

Depression

As I see it, depression, again, is a deep feeling of loss and sadness. It can be brought on by so many factors: Job loss. Loss of a family member or friend through death. The breakup of a relationship or friendship. A move to a new town or place. A pandemic. There are so many things that can make someone depressed.

But what if everything is going well, and you are STILL depressed? I am no doctor, but I believe this is when we get into clinical or chemical depression rather than a cause and effect sort of situation.

However, depression brings up a whole heck of a lot more feelings than just the generic sad feeling. There can be feelings of hopelessness, irritability, or even thoughts of suicide, as well.

My Personal Experience and Bout With Depression

Giving an example from my own life – and there are many on the subject of depression – there was a point in time when I thought I was going to prison. Gasp!! That’s right. PRISON! This was back in 2002, and I am not sure how many people know the story, with the exception of my immediate family. But to cut to the chase, I was let go from my then employment. As revenge, I deleted files from my computer that I had created. Little did I know that that was a federal offense.

I was later arrested and faced charges of criminal trespass, which I had never even heard of. Oh it was a mess! The waiting was torture!! I did fall into a very deep depression. It was the only time when I really didn’t want to eat, and that most certainly is not like me!!! I lost a bunch of weight. I slept a lot. And unfortunately, my personality disorder returned. I dissociated big time! It was awful!!!!!

I agonized for months wondering if I was going to spend the next 10 years in prison. Well, at least I would have had a boyfriend. 😂🤣😍 Fortunately, it all worked out, because $5,000 later to an attorney, I was fortunately able to get out of the charge and even had it expunged from my record. But the depression was very real. And I cannot believe that was 20 years ago.

Burnout

To me, burnout is lacking the energy or motivation to do anything. You just feel tired and lethargic. I would imagine work is, perhaps, the number one source of burnout. And I can see why. Going to the same place everyday – or at least five days out of a week, if you’re lucky. Some people go more than that and work long hours, which can certainly lead to burnout. But going to this place where you don’t want to go in the first place, dealing with people you wouldn’t even piss on let alone be trapped with for eight hours a day or more. I mean, let’s call a spade a spade here, shall we? Anyhoo, putting up with corporate BS from people who don’t have anything better to do with their lives than be a total bitch or bastard at work. Did I nail it or what?

My Own Personal Burnout

My burnout stems from the fact that I am just tired of working. And I really would like to be retired. I am not kidding about that. I know that we all get sick of working, but this pandemic with its restrictions has made me really think about this hard. This year, I am turning 55, and to me that is a nice retirement age – though unrealistic considering I definitely don’t have the funds to do so adequately. Damnit!!!

The Feelings from Both

Depression

• Depressed mood
• Unhappiness
• Lack of motivation
• Fearfulness
• Sleep problems
• Suicidal ideation
• Lack of hope
• Feeling down
• Don’t feel like doing anything
• Feeling extremely fatigued
• Feeling stressed
• Guilty feelings
• Weight loss

(Again, I am not an expert on depression. The above list is a compilation from sources, as well as my own personal experience and thoughts on the matter. I defer to people who really suffer from depression.)

Burnout

• Lack of motivation
• Doing the same thing over and over again with no break
• Not able to relax
• Sleep problems
• Feeling stressed
• Anxiety
• Feeling fatigued
• No fearfulness
• No suicidal ideation
• Typically work-related
• Guilty feelings
• No weight symptoms

I see from the above list (the source listed below), the similarities have to do with feeling guilty, having sleep problems, lack of motivation, feeling stressed, and feeling fatigued.

Where they differ appears to be with regards to weight where with depression there is a potential for weight loss, whereas with burnout that isn’t necessarily the case. Also, there appears to be no suicidal ideation with burnout. And of course, just because someone is depressed, doesn’t necessarily mean they have suicidal thoughts, either.

Also, burnout seems to be more work-related. Though I would argue it could be anything where you are doing the same thing over and over again with no break.

Another difference would be with depression, there may be a prevalence of fear, whereas with burnout that doesn’t appear to be the case.

Okay. I JUST said it to myself after taking a break from working on this post. “I’m tired.” Why am I tired? What am I tired of or from? And am I really tired? The best way for me to answer my own questions is that I feel like I need some sort of a break. I suppose I should explain the reference of me being “tired.” I have to work in about 45 minutes, remotely thankfully. But I don’t want to. It isn’t the Zoom, though I can understand that people are burned out from logging into Zoom. I am not. I feel that this particular job, which isn’t my main job, is tiring mentally in so many ways.

Okay. Let’s unpack this some more. With this particular job, the boss is a bit too micro managey for my taste. Also, I feel shut down whenever I give my opinion. I feel as though I am being told what to say just to keep things “faux positive.” This truly tires me out. There is way too much hand holding, and I don’t care for that at all. So, yes I am tired and perhaps a bit BURNED OUT!!!

But I do not wish to leave on such a negative note. Some tips to help with either burnout or depression:

• Talk to someone about it. It can be a friend who is a good listener or a professional.
• Step away from the problem (if it is burnout).
• Take a walk.
• Listen to music.
• Read.
• My personal favorite BREATHE!

I know that with depression, it isn’t that easy. That is why I strongly urge speaking to a professional. Please follow the link below.

$50 Off Brightside Evidence-based Therapy Your First Month – Find Help Today!

Again, please forgive my rambling and stream of consciousness on the matter. By all means, feel free to disagree with me or tell me your own personal experiences with either depression or burnout in the comment section below.

That is all I have today, my dear friends. So, until the next time, and as always, please be safe and mentally well!!!

Sources:

https://www.prevention.com/life/a20486040/depression-or-burnout/

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Hello, my pals! And welcome backl! I do hope this new blog post finds you well in the New Year! I know the Omicron is a BEAST! But hang in there. I really do believe we shall prevail!

At any rate, I have decided to wade the waters of when your mind constantly thinks something bad is going to happen to you. I may have come across a concrete name for it: Anticipatory anxiety. Although, there could be other ways to describe it – catastrophizing or my new one – “futurizing” – where you (well, your mind) conjures of these worst-case scenarios that could happen in your life. Mine is blindness as I have discussed previously, all because years ago I went down the rabbit hole of researching eye floaters, which I do have. And ever since then, it has been sort of stuck in my head off and on that ‘Oh my God! Having these things could lead to blindness!’ which is such a rarity. However, my brain latched onto it anyway. So, this is just an example.

I entitled today’s blog post The Dark Victory Syndrome, because the backstory for me is that when I was about 9 years old back in 1976, I saw the FABULOUS Elizabeth Montgomery of Bewitched fame in the remake of Dark Victory, which the effervescent Bette Davis had starred in back in 1939. Well, at 9 years of age, this was my first encounter with the movie. I did not know at the time about the Bette Davis original.

Well, to cut to the chase [SPOILER ALERT!!!!] the movie is about a woman who discovers that she has a brain tumor. She experiences all of the horrible symptoms of a brain tumor: Severe headaches, double vision, and extreme dizziness, and Elizabeth’s character even takes a nasty tumble down a flight of stairs at a party. The character goes in for tests, and the doctor, portrayed by Sir Anthony Hopkins of Silence of the Lambs delivers the crushing news that she has a brain tumor. She is operated on, but the doctor who has fallen in love with her realizes that her situation is terminal and is only able to remove part of the tumor. He does not tell her the truth (and why Michelle Lee’s character who is Elizabeth’s bestie knows and she doesn’t is beyond me!!). Eventually, she will experience blindness and then later die.

Following the surgery and going on with her life (and sporting a HORRIBLE wig!!), she later realizes that the doctor (and Michelle Lee) kept the truth from her. She is rightfully pissed with both of them. However, she decides to forgive them both, even to the point of being in a relationship with the doctor! Well, Hollywood likes to romanticize things, of course. Sadly, she does begin to experience some of those same symptoms she does at the beginning.

I am saying all of this as the setup to say that when I saw this movie, Derek didn’t focus on the romantic aspect. Oh no. I focused on the brain tumor. I thought ‘Oh my God! Samantha – which is what I called Elizabeth’s character LOLOL – has a brain tumor, maybe I do, too!’ That is when I began checking my memory to make sure I could remember important details. I would silently say to myself my name, my address, my phone number, and my birthdate. It was awful!!

I also made sure that I could see clearly. Any headache I would get would just make things worse for me as I would obsess even more, thinking I had said brain tumor!! To quote Lucy Ricardo, “I was a mess!”

It took me MANY years later to realize that I had an obsessive mind and that I was suffering from recurring and intrusive thoughts, which is the reason why I started my blog. I now know that I am not the only one suffering from this.

Anticipatory Anxiety and Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Now, let’s talk about the anticipatory anxiety, which I did “research.” But it didn’t make things worse this time; it actually made things even clearer. Again, I wish to stress that I am NOT a medical professional by any stretch of the imagination. However, what I have been researching makes total and complete sense.

Anticipatory anxiety can be described as worrying excessively about something stressful that you have to do in the future, i.e. a presentation, visiting family especially at the holidays, a talk you have to give, an exam you have to take, etc. I also look at it as being afraid of possible future events that COULD happen, but again chances are they won’t, as I described above. For example, for me it is going blind. Back in the 80s, it was a fear of nuclear war. And according to one source, anticipatory anxiety isn’t a mental health diagnosis on its own, but it can appear as a symptom of generalized anxiety disorder.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Generalized anxiety disorder is worrying about everyday life. It is “marked by excessive, exaggerated anxiety  and worry about everyday life events for no obvious reason. People with symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder tend to always expect disaster and can’t stop worrying about health, money, family, work, or school.”

I have suffered greatly from generalized anxiety disorder, aka GAD, ever since I was a child. Again, the fear of losing my memory, my eyesight, dying, nuclear war, etc. GAD can be inherited. It is possible that I may have inherited it from my grandmother, whom I believe suffered from the same disorder. My grandmother CONSTANTLY worried!! For such a strong, fierce, Bible-believing woman, she was afraid of something bad happening. She always worried about me just simply playing outside when I was a kid. The entire neighborhood was treated to her crooning my name to make sure I was nearby.

Because of my issues with GAD and anticipatory anxiety, I developed the intrusive thoughts due to my overall feeling of dread. If I haven’t already disclosed in earlier blog posts, I remember as far back as the age of 7 always saying to myself that I wasn’t going to make it to the next grade. And so on. And so on. For some reason, I thought I was going to die. Well, obviously that never happened, because I went all the way through not only high school and graduated, but college as well and graduated from that. All the way to 2022 where I am sitting and writing this blog. 😂😉

To tie all the pieces together, because there are many, and going back to “The Dark Victory Syndrome” as I like to call it, you think of a catastrophe. You then worry constantly about that catastrophe possibly happening to you to the point of anticipating it. And then the intrusive thoughts begin. This is how I look at this horrific puzzle of the mind.

In summation, I want to offer hope for this horrible condition. If you feel that things are too tough to handle, there is always help in the form of therapy. And if you don’t wish to drive into town for an office visit, there is always online therapy. Please follow the graphic below and check out the options. It could work for you.

Well, that is going to be it my friends. Again, please be mentally well and also physically well due to COVID and the latest strain known as the Omicron. Be safe!! And I shall chat with you next time!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

Also, I do not own the copyrights to any of the YouTube posts, music, film or TV.

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Sources:

https://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/generalized-anxiety-disorder#:~:text=Generalized%20anxiety%20disorder%20(or%20GAD,family%2C%20work%2C%20or%20school.

Hello dear readers and friends! Welcome back for the final chapter in this woebegone tale of love from yours truly 😀😁😊😋

The phone call

Javier and I continued corresponding on the phone throughout February of 1996.  Of course he had to call me since he had no phone.  My life as an acting intern at the time was pure HELL, and his phone calls and letters always cheered me up. (Well, there was one such strange letter he sent me about the frog and the scorpion, the one where the frog allows the scorpion to ride on his back across the river. But the scorpion ends up stinging the poor frog to death. Apparently this is from the movie The Crying Game. And Javier asked me in the letter what did I think it meant. Cryptically, he said it meant what it said! I should have known from that!)

He would usually call once a week and when he did, that call carried me rather happily through until the next week. We talked a lot about us, and it wasn’t long before he was talking of moving to Atlanta.  Now, I did “nada” to encourage this.  He came up with that idea on his own.   I wasn’t about to discourage him, though.  I loved the man, and I wanted to be married to him more than anything in the world.  Well, as married as two men could be in this country at that time, the land of the free, where all men are created equal.  NOT!  I asked him if he was sure this was what he wanted.  He assured me that it was.  Anyway, I was going to be Mr. Derek Ratliff-Muro-Cortez or something like that!!!  Or so I thought.

We talked about him coming down to visit in February.  He promised he would.  Then there was Valentine’s Day.  I sent him a great, big old card proclaiming my undying love.  I did not receive a card, not even a phone call on V-Day.  It didn’t matter because I knew he was coming.  Right?  The Friday night he was supposed to arrive, he called up saying he was not going to be able to come because (1) he had been sick and (2) his car wasn’t going to make it.  To say I was extremely disappointed was an understatement!  

“Okay, back up Javier.  You were sick?”  He explained to me that he went to the clinic, and they gave him 3 shots in the butt!!!  I immediately had a flashback to the time I discovered I had syphilis about six months into my sojourn in Atlanta, and the three shots I had received in the posterior assets. Long story for another time. 

 “Do you have syphilis or HIV, Jorge?”  He told me no, he had the flu.  I explained to him that I had gone through the syphilis thing, and it sounded like that with the three shots deal.  As far as his car was concerned, he told me there was no way his car could make a 6-hour trip like that.  I wasn’t hearing any of this. 

Well, I gently told him how disappointed I was, especially in not receiving a call or a card for Valentine’s Day.  He was silent.  He then told me that he had shown my card to Hector, and Hector had remarked to him that he was lucky to have a man like me for a boyfriend.  How nice, but I wanted Javier with me.  But that wasn’t THE phone call.

THE phone call came on February 28, 1996, between 12noon and 1 p.m., because sometimes he’d call me during his lunch.  I was extremely glad to hear from my man.  I remarked that his English was much better.  He said it was because he was talking to me.  Well, he had also been going to school all this time!  I hadn’t heard from him, and I was worried that I had been dumped.  He laughed and said no, that if he were going to dump me he would stop calling.  How comforting.  (Well, he DID stop calling!!!!) He was at work, but it was a new painting job, because he had gotten fired from the other one.  Oh.  Then he told me that he wouldn’t be able to move to Atlanta because of his nephews.  He would have to take them with him, and he just couldn’t do it.  And he even used Israel’s old phrase “I’m just not free.”  Well, okay so he wasn’t able to move down; it didn’t mean the end of our relationship, right?  He never said so, so when I got off the phone with him I really didn’t think too much of it.  I should have, because that was the last time he called me.       

THE SEARCH FOR JAVIER MURO/JORGE CORTEZ

Just to sum it up, my acting internship fell apart during their production of Three Sisters. But that wasn’t the only thing that fell apart.  

Following Three Sisters and when I had time, I decided to at long last, return to N.C. and ask Javier why he hadn’t called me.  Dumb.  Very dumb.  I actually believed that maybe he had gotten deported.  Or perhaps even hurt and in the hospital. So, I booked a motel room on the outskirts of Durham, and left on Friday April 19, 1996, for Durham, N.C.  I was thankfully escaping Freaknik, telling myself ‘Yes, this is what and why I am escaping.’ 

I got there and checked into the Howard Johnson off Hillandale and immediately began my search.  In my motel room I began calling all the area hospitals such as Duke Memorial, Duke General, and UNC Memorial.  None of them had either a Javier Muro or a Jorge Cortez listed.  ‘Okay.  I’ll ride over to his apartment.’  I thought.  It was dark by the time I got to Juniper Street.  I ascended the metal steps that you could break your ass on and knocked on the door.  No answer.  I knocked again.  Still no answer.  Okay.  Out of the corner of my eye I could have sworn I saw someone peeping out of the window. I left and went back to the motel to rest.  The plan was to go to The Power Company that night.  Surely I’d run into him there. 

I got to The Power Company and made my way into the night.  I went upstairs to the upper bar and looked around.  No Javier.  I went back downstairs and searched in the dyke side, the white boy’s side, the mixed side, and the black side.  No Javier.  I went downstairs to the lower bar.  NO JAVIER!!!  Okay.  So, I went back upstairs, ordered a drink, and sat in the mixed side.  Soon, an older gentleman, who claimed to be the CEO of a major computer corporation, joined me.  He tried to pick me up, and  under normal circumstances I would have gone along with him.  These weren’t exactly normal circumstances.  When I think back on it, I should have.  I slid out of the proposition, and he soon left me alone.  I finished my drink and left.     

The next morning, which was Saturday, I decided to head back to Juniper.  I got over there convinced that someone would be there.  No answer when I knocked.  Just as I was leaving I noticed a family preparing to go somewhere.  I decided to ask them where the leasing office was.  I figured I could at least find out if he had moved.  Again. I learned from the mother that the leasing office was located on the boulevard and that it wouldn’t be open again until Monday.  Damn!  But all was not lost.  I wasn’t leaving until Monday anyway.  As I was leaving, I jotted down the number to the leasing office, which was located on the side of one of the buildings in the complex.  I decided to try yet another angle.  I remembered that Javier had written me once and told me that his friend Rafael worked at a fast food Chinese place at Northgate Mall.  I hopped in my Corsica and headed for Northgate.      

I got to Food Court and searched in vain for this Chinese restaurant.  I did eventually find the Chinese restaurant, Formosa.  No Rafael.  Okay.  Time to head back to the motel and regroup.  I took a nap when I got there and decided to eat and go back to Juniper Street.  When I got there, I noticed a light on in one of the rooms.  ‘He’s home!’  I thought.  I calmly walked up those metal stairs and knocked.  The door opened, and I was staring face to face with some Hispanic guy I’d never seen before. 

                “Hello.”  I said.

                “Hola.” 

                “Is Jorge Cortez at home?” 

                “Huh?  Jorge?  You mean Javier?”

                “Yes.”

                “He moved.”  The guy replied.

                “Moved?  Where?”  WTF???

                “I dunno.”  The guy stammered.  I obviously had awakened him from his nap. 

                “Does he live in Durham?  Chapel Hill?”  I asked, the desperation rising in my voice. 

                “He in Durham.”  He replied.  We were at last getting somewhere.

                “Where in Durham?” 

                “I no remember.”

                “Please try.  Is it near here?”

                “No, it near Duke.”  Okay that’s better.

                “Do you remember the name?  The apartment number?”  I continued.

                “I’m sorry, I don’t.”  This was like getting blood from a turnip. 

                “All right.  Gracias.  Does he at least come by here?  Have you seen him?”

                “Oh.  Si!”

                “Good I want to leave him a message.”  I quickly got a pen and paper from my car and left my phone number and hotel room number of where I was staying.

                “If you see him, please give him this.”  I said.

                “I will.”  The tiny guy replied.

All right.  So at least he hadn’t been deported.  And he wasn’t laid up somewhere in some hospital. But the question was why hadn’t he called?  Then I thought ‘Maybe he’ll be in Raleigh!’  So, off I went:  TO CC!!!!!!

No, he wasn’t there either.  Midway through the evening I decided that the little asshole just wasn’t worth it.  It FINALLY began to sink in that yes, I had been dumped. The oldest game of not returning calls now known as ghosting. We didn’t have a name for it back then. LOL

I began to drink rather heavily, and soon I found myself across the street at Legends.  I wanted so desperately to pick someone up, to get picked up, and this is when I noticed this cute Hispanic guy standing a few feet away.  I was in the dance area at the bar, and this guy was standing on the other side of the bar.  I began smiling at him, and he noticed me and began smiling back.  The next thing I knew I was motioning for him to come to me.  He shook his head and pointed to where he stood.  What the hell, I was tipsy and I didn’t care.  I went over to him and began talking to him.  His English was not good at all.  He was cute though, but he looked awfully familiar. I managed to find out his age, which was 25, thanks to his companion who stood next to him.  The companion looked familiar, too. Well, I continued flirting with the first guy, but I liked the way the 2^nd guy looked as well until I looked at them both and said, “I know both of you.”

                “We’re friends of Javier’s!”  the interpreter said. 

OH SHIT!!!!!!!  IT WAS RAFAEL AND HECTOR!  No wonder they looked so familiar!  I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or relieved to have found a true connection to Javier.  I just dove right in.

                “Where is Jorge?  I haven’t heard from him.  I understand he moved.  Where?”  I asked.

                “Yes.  He lives in University Apartments near Duke.”  Rafael replied.  YES!!!!

                “Which apartment number?”  I asked.  Rafael thought a moment.

                “2-C.”  WONDERFUL!!!

                “Thanks, Rafael.”

Soon after our exchange, Hector and Rafael left, and I was left armed with this valuable piece of information.  ‘I’ve got you now Jorge Cortez or Javier Muro or whatever you’re calling yourself!’  I thought. 

The next day the plan went as follows:  I checked out of the motel, and I went to Orange Grove Baptist, the same church Teresa, Javier, and I went to back in January.  Afterward, I changed clothes at the park (the same park I went to with Javier when he confessed who he really was, and the same park I went to after my HIV test that time when I thought I had it. I quess this park has seen a lot of action) and set out to find University Apartments.  After asking directions, it finally dawned on me that I knew where it was.  Many years ago back in the summer of 1989 when I attempted to drive to a friend’s house, I ended up on that road in front of a series of apartments.  I remembered that one of them was University Apartments!!!! 

I got there, parked in front of the apartments, and went around back in search of the C-building.  I found it and nervously made my way inside.  I looked at all the doors to see which one was #2.  Turned out it was upstairs, so I climbed the stairs and stood nervously outside the door.  ‘Knock, dammit.’  I thought.  I did and heard a female voice ask, “Who is it?”  ‘It must be Maria!’  I thought.  ‘But where’s the accent?’

                “It’s Derek.”  I replied.  The person came to the door and opened it.  Well, it wasn’t Maria.  This chick was an older-looking lady. 

                “I’m sorry.  I’m looking for Javier Muro.” 

                “No one by that name lives here.” 

  “Well, thank you.”  The disappointment was rather high.  I left thinking that Rafael did say 2-C.  I decided to see if the leasing office was open, so I walked all the way to the front.  No dice.  Sealed tighter than Fort Knox.  ‘What am I going to do?’  I thought.  I headed toward the back again and entered the B-building, thinking Rafael meant “B”.  I went upstairs to 2-B and was about to knock when I noticed the name “Jackson” on the door.  I also heard voices inside.  Very American.  I guess it wasn’t Javier’s apartment.  I was getting very frustrated with the whole thing.  Not B.  Not C.  Maybe D?  I tried that and knocked, but no one was home.  Maybe Javier’s place?  Hmmm.  I looked at my watch and noticed that it was nearly 5 p.m.  I knew Teresa, who was in D.C., would be back soon, and I figured I should just give up and go there. 

 I was leaving the D-building when I noticed a guy who looked sort of familiar coming out of the G-building.  He was Hispanic, attractive, in his early 20s, but he wasn’t Javier.  Yet there was something vaguely familiar about him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it … 

I was walking down the sidewalk to my car when I swear to God, a voice in my head (not to be confused with the other voices in my head) told me to drop my keys and pretend to pick them up as I turn around.  After I did all of this I noticed a heavy-set female in the distance at a clothesline hanging sheets.  I walked slowly towards the female, and the closer I got the more I realized that she, too, was familiar.  She kept staring at me like she knew me, too.  It was Maria!  When I got close enough she said, “Derek?”  I responded with, “Maria?”  She smiled and then walked up and hugged me.  I dispensed with some small talk and then asked what I was dying to know: 

“Where’s Javier?”

“He spent the night in Cary.  And he’s sleeping.” 

So, he was inside!  FINALLY!  All of my detective work had paid off. Nancy Drew would be so proud!!!! Maria took me inside to “2-G!”  Rafael meant “G!”  (Either that or he was trying to throw me off the scent.) Once inside, I also saw the same guy who had walked out of the G-building previously.  He was one of Javier’s nephews, which explained why he looked so damn familiar! 

Maria led me to one of the bedrooms, and she went to get a chair from the kitchen for me to sit.  She then sat on the floor and smiled at me.  I just assumed that she had gone to wake Javier when she got the chair.  I stared at her for a second, then I told her that I thought Javier was there.  Miscommunication.  Turned out that in her broken English, she was actually telling me that Javier had spent the night in Cary and that he was still in Cary!  He had gone to a party and had stayed over.  He was coming back that day.  She promptly informed me that Javier didn’t have a boyfriend, as far as she knew.  Thanks for the info, Maria.  I asked her when he was returning.  She figured he’d be back around 8 p.m. that night.  I told her I’d be back, but first I left Teresa’s number where he could reach me. 

I caught up with Teresa at her apartment around 6 p.m. and began to explain to her why I was there and what had happened.  We were interrupted by a visit from a friend of hers, Sharon.  Without shame I told my tortured saga of Jorge Cortez.  Midway through the story the phone rang, Teresa answered it and told me that IT WAS JAVIER!  I calmly walked to the phone. 

“Jorge!  How are you!” 

“Fine.  And you?” 

“I’m fine.  Jorge, I need to see you.  Where are you?” 

“I’m at a pay phone and then I gotta get some groceries, but then I’ll be home later.” 

“Do you mind if I stop by to see you later?” 

“No, I don’t mind,” he replied.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes.”

“I mean it is all right?”

“Yes!”  He sounded a little irritated.  I guess it was all right.

We set a time of 9 p.m.  I got off the phone with him and told Teresa and Sharon what had happened.  I also explained that I was leaving to meet him.  Teresa told me that she’d see me tomorrow.  I chuckled and said that I’d be back that night.  She said no, she’d see me tomorrow. 

I was late arriving at University Apartments.  I went to the same outside door to G-building I was at earlier that day, but this time it was locked.  I should have taken that as a sign.  I knocked and knocked and knocked until a short, sexy little man wearing no shirt came to the door!  It was Javier, and damn he looked good!! 

‘I am not going to let him seduce me.  It is over.  I am going to tell him off and then I’m going to leave.  He’s going to have to have a damn good reason for not calling me, to make me stay!’  I thought. 

He opened the door, and smiling, he immediately hugged me. 

“Why did you come to the back?”  He asked.

“It’s really the only entrance I know.” 

He led me upstairs to 2-G and to his bedroom.  The same seat that Maria had for me was waiting for my confused ass to plop down into.  So, I parked it and Jorge sat on the floor opposite me, staring at me wide-eyed.  I just jumped right in, telling him that I wasn’t going to put up with his not calling me anymore, that basically I had had to look for him, and I did it to say good-bye.  He sat there in silence.  Then he said, “Give me another chance.”  I looked at him, for I really didn’t know what to say.  He then told me that his brother, the father to his nephews, had been murdered in Mexico!  I sat in stunned silence!  I don’t remember the details of Javier’s story, but I remembered what I had thought previously about that good reason.  I guess this was it.  I asked why Rafael, Maria, or Hector hadn’t said anything about it?  He told me I would have to ask them.

Well, I gave him that 2^nd chance and we made up.  He stood up, walked over to me, and sat in my lap.  We kissed and then we stood up.  He grabbed my ass, and I picked him up and we ended up on the floor, rolling around smooching. He then asked if I was hungry and wanted to get something to eat.  I told him sure, then we took off for Ham’s on Franklin Street.  As we were leaving the building, Maria, Rafael, and Hector, who were outside at this point, stared at us. 

While we were there, Javier kept asking me if I noticed anything different about him.  I studied and studied and studied and studied him like he was a piece of sheet music I had to sightread at All State.  I couldn’t tell a thing.  Finally he told me he had shaved his eyebrows in the space between his eyes where it connected.  Okay.  He didn’t order anything to eat, just Coke, no ice.  By the time we left, it was close to midnight.  I didn’t want to leave him, so we drove to Carrboro Park.  We couldn’t get in because the gate was up.  So, I parked outside the gate, and he and I talked. 

I wanted to know more about his brother.  He didn’t say a whole lot about him.  He had brought a Spanish magazine with him and began to read aloud from it.  Something he read kind of reminded him of his brother, and he sort of teared up.  I touched him and we looked at each other.  Soon we were in each other’s arms again, kissing and nibbling.  I suggested we get in the back seat.  We did; he pulled off his shirt, and I undid his pants.  And yes, we had sex. Afterward, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.  

Bright and early the next morning we drove to Teresa’s.  Javier stayed in the car while I went inside.  I was a bit embarrassed because she had been right; I did stay out all night with Javier.  She had company of her own; a man was asleep in her bedroom.  She didn’t waste time.  We said our good-byes there, and I promised I’d call once I got back to Atlanta.  Then I took Javier home.

Javier helped me take my bag inside so I could shower and change.  After he showered and changed, he came back clad in only a towel.  He shyly put his underwear on underneath the towel and took the towel off.  I remarked on what a magnificent body he had!  His legs were so muscular, and his stomach had ripples!  And his chest was slightly built!  I told him we should go swimming sometime.  He grinned.  I noticed a picture of his 3-year-old daughter, Jessica, and remarked that she was going to grow up to be a heartbreaker like her father.  He laughed. 

After we both got dressed, we dined in high style at the Waffle House on Hillsborough.  He then asked me to take him to check on his car.  It wasn’t ready so we drove back to Carrboro Park, where we walked and talked and spent one of the most romantic moments I’ve ever experienced in my life. 

He told me that one day he’d like to build a house in Mexico.  I would never want him to leave.  We walked around the park until we got to the spot where I broke down in October 1989 after Phil rejected me.  If only Javier knew…  We laid a blanket out, and I got my boom box, and we lay on the blanket.  It was midday and yes, there were people there.  It did not stop us from kissing each other.  I remarked that there was a couple there, and they saw us.  I then asked if he cared.  He said no, because it was his life.  Good answer!!

Our conversation consisted of me possibly wanting to move to California some day and him not wanting to.  And I also proposed to him and told him that if it took 1 year, 2 years, 5 or 10, one day we would be married to each other! 

We continued kissing, and soon Jorge stretched out in my lap and fell asleep.  The strains of SWV’s You’re the One For Me could be heard coming from my box.  It just didn’t get any better than that.  I was so in love, so deeply, fully, madly in love with the man who called himself Jorge Cortez!

After the park we went to the Northgate Mall and hung out.  I then took him to check on his car.  Still not ready, so we headed for his apartment.  In front of the McDonald’s on Morgan Street, I asked him if we were still committed to each other.  And he said yes.  I also made him promise to call me.

He said he would.  Outside his apartment, we said our good-byes.  He didn’t want to kiss in front of his building, so I took him around the corner of his apartment building in my car where we shared what was to be our last kiss.  I then brought him back to the front of the building after I made him promise he’d call me.  Once again he said he would.  He then sat on the stoop outside his building and watched me pull off for Atlanta.  Good-bye Javier.  BECAUSE THIS TIME IT WAS GOOD-BYE!

As I pulled away, I got this feeling that it was over, that it should probably be over.  I made a promise to myself that if he didn’t call me within a week, that I would deem it over and go on with my life.  AND A WEEK WENT BY AND NO PHONE CALL!!!  GOOD-BYE JORGE CORTEZ/JAVIER MURO!!!!

So, that was pretty much that. However, what was VERY strange is that I DID continue to run into him. The day we buried my grandmother in February of 1998, afterward I went to CC in Raleigh and saw him at Legend’s!! We chatted. He supposedly had a boyfriend at this point. However, he stuck to my side like glue the ENTIRE night! Come to think of it, I had no idea where the boyfriend was. And other people noticed and thought we were a couple.

Later that year in 1998, I was working for a certain touring troupe, which shall remain nameless, and we actually traveled to Raleighwood!! I did get in touch with him then, and he actually came to see me perform! Also, later that summer, I traveled back to North Carolina to do a show at Snow Camp and ran into him at a club in Greensboro. One time only the entire summer. I believe he gave me his number, too, which I called and he had already moved!!!

And a couple of years after that, oddly enough, I started running into him in Atlanta!!! Once was during one of our gay pride celebrations at Piedmont Park. And another time actually at the club formerly known as Burkhart’s. (And he had the NERVE to give me his number, which I never used. At this point, I knew how the game was played!) What was stranger, is that my brother was visiting that weekend, and I had dragged him to the gay bars with me!! LOL He and Javier actually met!! On the ride to the Eagle, I told him how Javier almost ended up being his brother-in-law. Yeah. Right.

Another time I even ran into him at Taco Cabana, the picture from above, where he told me he was going to move to Atlanta. 😂😂😂. And of course that NEVER happened. That night, he also told my friends that I had changed. That I was ‘mean and I used to be sweet and kind.’ What. Ever. I suppose dealing with men who make promises they don’t keep has a tendency to do that to someone. 😁🙂🤩

And I was to later learn that a friend of mine’s ex-boyfriend had a brief encounter with Javier! He actually SAW the twin once and thought it was Javier! I can’t make this stuff up! Me and this guy spent a lot of time swapping stories about Javier/Jorge!

In summation, when I read over all of this, it actually makes me sick to think that I was so stupid and so gullible. You see, all of the above is part of the reason why I am still single and don’t fall for men and their lines any more. Bitter party of One?? Perhaps. But I don’t have time for foolishness like this, because it is not good for my overall mental wellbeing.

And to this day, I have no idea where he is. And I don’t care. Actually, just for funsies last year, I decided to look him up on Facebook. And I found that he lives in Arizona, but the year of his profile pic was from 2017 or 2018. So, he could still be there. Or somplace else. He, of course, enjoyed being nomadic. Wherever he is, I do wish him well, though.

I learned A LOT during this experience. For one, NEVER chase after a man. Also, accept that when it is over, it is over, as well as accept things at FACE VALUE, i.e. the use of another name, not returning phone calls, excuses, etc. And most importantly, that I am a damn good super sleuth!! Especially that one!! LOLOL

Well, that is going to wrap up this sad, sad tale, yet a great learning lesson. I will be back in TWO WEEKS with another post. So, be on the lookout. Until then, please be mentally well!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Welcome back, my dearest friends! Hoping you had a great holiday and Happiest of New Year’s!!

As promised, here is Part 2 of my Javier story from 26 years ago! Enjoy!

Jorge would call me, and we chatted incessantly on the phone for what seemed like hours, though they weren’t really.  He had to use calling cards to call me from a pay phone.  He would constantly ask in his broken, yet sexy English, “When you come here?”  He knew all about my then-acting internship and how hard it was for me to get away.  He missed me, and I missed him terribly.  However, we did get a chance to be together the weekend of January 19, 1996. 

I arrived at The Power Company around 11:30 p.m.  I was brimming with excitement as I stood in line to get in. After I finally gained entrance, I made my way into the crowded bar and upstairs to the mezzanine to see if I could spot him.  While there, I saw him on the dance floor.  Oh, how I loved to watch him dance, the way he moved.  It was part erotic in a cute, boyish way.  Part methodical, part slave to the music.  He was wearing dark slacks, red shirt, and a black vest.  He looked so good!  I kept watching, staring until I noticed he wasn’t dancing alone.  There was some black guy dancing with him!  Shit!  Suddenly, I was struck with a twinge of jealousy.  ‘What the hell?’  I thought.  Well, I didn’t exactly freak out like that, but I was still curious as to who that guy was.  Had Jorge  replaced me that quickly?  I somehow remained calm.  I guess all those years of experience with Darrell and Israel had prepared me for such shenanigans.       

I coolly made my way to the dance floor to get a closer look.  They weren’t touching, which was a good sign, but Jorge at one point had his back to him, like he wanted him to freak him from behind (or so I thought), but the guy never did.  Another good sign.  I got to the floor and stood near where they were dancing in hopes that Jorge would see me.  He didn’t, so I got on the dance floor and danced near them.  I got so close to him and actually touched him before he realized it was me.  (I later realized Jorge really couldn’t see that well in the dark.)  Child, his face was like daybreak at dawn when he realized it was me.  He grabbed me and hugged me tightly.  He grabbed his coat from the floor nearby and without a word to that other guy, he took my hand and led me upstairs to the upper bar, and we sat down on one of the couches. 

                “I didn’t want to interrupt.” Me still being calm, cool and ever so collected. 

                “Whaddaya mean?” 

                “That guy you were dancing with.”

                “Oh, him.”  He laughed.  “No, that ‘s the boyfriend of my friend Hector.  No, I was waiting for you!”  With that he leaned towards me and we shared a steamy kiss. 

He smelled so good and he tasted even better.  We kept kissing and pulling back and looking into each other’s eyes and smiling.  I WAS IN HEAVEN!  Unlike Darrell Mitchell, Jorge’s eyes never drifted away from mine to look at anyone else.  And I never let mine drift away either. 

As we chatted, he kept squeezing my hand and looking at me.  I could feel his soul slowly creeping into mine, and I didn’t want it to end…EVER!  He asked me if I wanted something to drink.  I asked for a Coke, and when he brought two Cokes back, it was then that I learned he likes his without ice.  We continued our conversation, then we went to dance.  He had this wonderful way of dancing where he moved his feet with small steps and swung his arms outward in a circular motion.  I couldn’t help but copy that, the way I used to copy Charles’s rotating hips when he danced …

Our evening at The Power Company was magical!  And my God, we closed the place.  We shared a lovely slow dance, and I was finally with a partner (with the exception of Charles) who wanted to slow dance with me.  We ended up downstairs in the video area on the sofa, cuddling until they told us we had to leave.  We went to coat check to get our coats, and Jorge couldn’t produce his ticket.  They wouldn’t get his coat, and I was ready to do battle for my man.  Did I say that?  Damn straight I did!  😂🤣 Jorge began to pull me away, but suddenly the coat check girl, who saw how fiercely determined I was for Jorge to get his coat, gave it to him anyway.  Then we left. 

We got to his car first, and we were trying to figure out what to do next.  We were at his trunk when I noticed a bumper sticker that said Culican Sinaloa.  He told me that it was his hometown.  I then asked about Maria, Hector, and Rafael, and he said that he had told them he was coming to The Power Company by himself because he was meeting me.  He didn’t want them tagging along.  A man after my own broken, yet rapidly mending heart.  We got into his car then we drove to mine, which was parked on the bar level of the deck.  He parked, and then I retrieved a gift from my car that I had made for him.  It was a copy of this Love Sounds tape I had made for myself years ago.  It contained a lot of slow, romantic songs from artists such as Lisa Stansfield, Hall & Oates, Janet Jackson, and Kenny G.  He was overjoyed that I gave him the tape.  He smiled, staring soulfully into my eyes as he leaned forward and kissed me sweetly yet again.  He then put the tape into his deck, and soon we were listening to Lisa Stansfield’s You Can’t Deny It.  We began kissing passionately and by the time we got to the 3^rd cut on the tape, Kenny G’s Songbird, we were – well, let’s just say it’s again PRIVATE! 😁😀🤣😂😅 

It was North Pole outside, but oh so Cancun inside. Turns out we both had colds, but I was NOT about to let that stop me from returning to North Carolina to see Jorge. And apparently, it didn’t stop Jorge either.  He had been painting outside in the cold, poor baby.  But I didn’t care how sick I was; I wanted him. 

We collapsed in a sweaty heap into each other’s arms.  We were positively drenched in an ocean of wet!  And Jorge ‘s windows were steamed, I kid you not.  We soon fell asleep in each other’s arms listening to Songbird.  The tape had looped back around.  As a matter of fact we ended up sleeping there in his car the entire night.  And every now and then I would awake and hear the strains of Kenny G’s Songbird coming from the stereo.  It was amazing how I picked up on that song.  No, his stereo wasn’t broken.  I would slightly hear the other songs in my slumber, but for some reason I would only clue in to that particular song. In my sleepy, dreamy state I decided that that was OUR SONG. 

We awoke to the sun breaking into the car later that morning.  Jorge sat up and kissed me.  He then stared at me, smiling sleepily.  Oh, I must have looked a sight!  I don’t think he cared.  I told him I couldn’t believe we’d spent the entire night in his car.  He told me he was glad he could spend it with me.  AAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                “Te quiero mucho, Jorge!” 

                “Te quiero mucho, mi nino.”  He smiled. 

I asked him what he was doing that day. He was supposed to have worked, but he took off just to be with me.  I told him I wanted to go back to Teresa’s and shower and change, and then I would be back to pick him up, because Teresa and I were supposed to meet my friend Becca in Raleigh.  I wanted to pick him up early enough to steal some alone time with him. 

After returning to the apartment and getting some rest and showering, I returned to Juniper Street in Durham to pick up Jorge. We spent the day together simply walking around and talking.  I showed him Carolina’s campus, and we walked through my favorite place, the arboretum.  He was wearing his white coat, the one that had gotten accidentally locked up in CC last month, the night I met him. We had a remarkable conversation about – SEX!  He admitted to me that he had bought a box of condoms, just in case!  😍 I marveled at meeting someone who thought ahead and who was also willing to use condoms unlike some other bastard I knew and despised, my first boyfriend, Darrell. Anyway, we left soon after to get Teresa, and head to Raleigh. 

In Raleigh, we had dinner with my friends Becca and Teresa at the Olive Garden. The evening was fabulous as the girls got to know more about Jorge, and I played footsy with him under the table.  I was overjoyed to have this moment with my 2 best friends from N.C. and a new man that I liked a lot.  Jorge hardly touched his meal.  His stomach was nervous.  So was mine.  Being around him gave me not just butterflies but Mothra, and I loved it!            

We finished up and after dropping everyone off at their respective places, Jorge and I decided to return to Raleigh.  We stopped for gas, and he paid without me asking.  We went through Durham, however, and stopped off at the Community Park because he had something to tell me.  He said he wanted to be honest with me.  I guess this was coming from me having told him that I was going to be honest with him, that there was no need to lie about anything.  What Jorge admitted to me was that his real name was Javier Muro Aguirre.  There was no Jorge Cortez, except he had a twin brother, and his name was Jorge!  I really wasn’t too surprised, considering the night I met him I saw his full name on his driver’s license, Javier Muro Aguirre. 

So, he was really Javier Muro.  Of course I asked him why the pseudonym.  He hated the name Javier. Just like I hate my first name, William.  

“Why?”  I asked.  “After all it is such a beautiful name.”  He just didn’t like it.  I told him I understood, because my first name was William, and I really hated that.  He still wanted me to call him Jorge.  I nearly launched into my entire split personality story, but decided against it, remembering the damage it had done to my relationships with both Darrell and Israel.  For some odd reason around Jorge I was at peace, and I didn’t feel a need to splinter off into other personalities.

We continued on to Raleigh and CC, where I glimpsed Phil and paid no attention to him. Javier and I sat at one of the small tables and watched the moving bodies on the dance floor, that is when we weren’t watching each other.  We were listening to tunes such as These Sounds Fall into My Mind by the Bucketheads and that Spanish-sounding song Magic Carpet Ride.  We were hugging and holding hands and being quite romantic, until we joined those sweaty, gyrating bodies on the floor.  They were playing Mariah Carey’s Fantasy.  Yes, it was like a fantasy, a sweet, sweet fantasy baby!  They were playing a real funky remix that slowed down to a halt in the middle, then sped up.  Jorge and I held hands the entire time, gazing into each other’s eyes longingly.  He never took his eyes off me, not for a second, and I never took my eyes off his.  There was this strong, STRONG connection between the two of us that I had NEVER experienced with another PERSON ever!!!!  We continued to gaze into each other’s eyes until we melted into a very deep SOUL KISS that seemed to last for a wonderful eternity.  As a matter of fact I could have spent an eternity locked in his arms like that.  We broke from our kiss and I spoke.

                “How do you say ‘I want to make love to you’ in Spanish?”  He smiled then he whispered, “Yo quiero hacerte el amour.”  I repeated it to him.

                “Yo quiero hacerte el amour.”  He smiled and repeated it back to me.

We then kissed once more, left the dance floor, got our coats, and walked out of CC hand in hand.  At the door, he helped me into my coat.  What a gentleman!  He held the door open for me, too.

We decided to go back to his place, because Hector, Rafael, and Maria were not supposed to be there.  Thankfully they weren’t, so Jorge led me into his bedroom.  The lights went out, except for the TV and we began staring at each other.  I slowly began to peel off his clothes, beginning with his coat.  Then I began unbuttoning his shirt, as he did the same for me.  He slowly slid out of his shirt, and he helped me get out of mine.  We hugged each other tightly, then I unbuckled his pants and unzipped them.  He let his pants hit the floor.  I pulled his yellow boxers down until they were around his ankles.  He proceeded to unbuckle and unzip my pants as well.  Soon we were both naked, standing in front of each other eagerly anticipating the next move.  We just fell into each other’s arms and fell onto the bed. 

We began to make love on top of his bed.  Such energy he had!  It was like having an aerobic workout my heart was pounding so hard!  We were all over each other.  I was on top of him; he was on top of me.  We were in the throes of passion, when suddenly we heard someone try to enter the room.  (Fortunately, Jorge had locked the door.)  Rafael, Maria, and Hector had returned and we were banging on the door!! I could hear Maria’s voice sputtering Spanish left and right!  Jorge and I got off the bed and began dressing quickly.  When we were dressed, he unlocked the door and Maria stormed in followed by Hector and Rafael.  She was pissed, but Hector and Rafael were amused.  When they saw me there, they knew the 411.  Maria, however, kept right on yelling in Spanish.  Javier gave her a look and quietly threw out a couple of phrases as we were leaving.  Outside the room he told me what she had said.

                “I’ll have to use Clorox to clean the sheets!”

                “Well, that’s not very nice!”

                “Oh, she was just joking.” 

                “No, she wasn’t.” 

I was not surprised that she would say something like that, because Jorge told me once that she was jealous of me.  I don’t know why.  Javier had assured me there was nothing between the two of them, and I believed him.  (Well, girl you know how men are, particularly Mexican men and their big women!)  But the question was where were we going to go to be alone?  Perfect solution:  A motel!     

   

We hit the Durham streets and headed toward the boulevard in search of  a motel.  The Carolina/Duke Inn was booked solid, so we tried the Travel Time Inn across the street from Darryl’s.  No telling what the clerk thought when he noticed Javier in the car.  Nope.  I was finally involved with someone who was single.  Ha!! At last we were together again uninterrupted. We went upstairs, undressed, and crawled into bed. 

I awoke around 7 a.m.  I had told Teresa that Javier and I would be accompanying her to church that morning.  While he was in the bathroom, I called her and told her we were still coming, but I had to take him back to his place to change. 

Outside at the car, Javier held my coat for me, and he opened my door and held it for me, too.  Teresa watched all of this with disbelieving eyes.  We made a stop in Chapel Hill, and he even helped Teresa wash, clean out, and vacuum her car.  He didn’t seem to mind.  After that we went to eat at a Chinese restaurant at University Square.  Javier shocked both of us when he picked up the check!  

Afterwards, we got back to Teresa’s, and Javier and I decided to go to the movies.  We ended up at Timberlyne and decided to see Eye for an Eye, with Sally Field and Kiefer Sutherland.  I paid for the movie since he had paid for dinner.  Once we found our seats, Javier helped me out of my coat, and I helped him out of his.  There was no one else in the theater yet, so we had carte blanche to do what we wanted.  We sat in the very back so we could be alone and smooch.  We immediately sat close and held hands and kissed.  I looked at him and marveled at how sexy he was.  His eyes were so beautiful, brown, and sparkling; his lips were thin, yet sensuous; his moustache was missing this time (he shaved it off by accident), yet he still looked so good; and his eyebrows were bushy and connected, sort of like Eddie Munster, except Javier was much better looking.  And his smile was probably his best feature, the way he sort of half-smiled.  I found that soo sexy for some reason.                

We were enjoying ourselves when we began to realize that people were filing into the theater.  Soon the previews were rolling, and Javier and I settled back into our seats holding each other’s hands.  Though I did want to see the movie, we ended up kissing in the middle of the movie several times.  One of my eyes was on the screen, the other on Javier, until I gave up and totally gave him my 100% undivided attention.  I began to realize that my feelings for him had really begun to take off and grow.  They were getting deeper and deeper and stronger and stronger.  I had been falling for this man basically since I met him.  He had wanted me to stay with him on this trip, but I had politely declined, not because I didn’t want to sleep with him in his bed, but because his place was way too crowded.  Suddenly, Javier announced that he had to go to the bathroom.  I smiled at him and said okay.  When he returned I noticed he had two drinks with him.  The little devil had bought us drinks without even asking if I wanted anything.  How thoughtful!

                “Two Cokes.  No ice!”  He smiled sweetly.  I nearly started crying, because it was one of the most thoughtful things that any man had ever done for me.  It was then that I knew exactly how I felt about Javier Muro/Jorge Cortez: 

I WAS HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!!!!!!

Hopelessly in love with him!  REALLY IN LOVE WITH HIM!  CRAZY IN LOVE WITH HIM!  After he sat down again and he kissed me, I whispered it to him.

                “I love you.”

He smiled at me, and I think he blushed.  He pulled me into yet another steamy kiss. 

                “Te amo, mi nino.”  He whispered in the dark.

                “Te amo, Javier.”

I never thought I’d ever feel that way about another man again, but I did.

After the movie, and being the gentleman that he was, he helped me back into my coat and I did the same for him.  After we left the movies, I took him for a ride around UNC’s campus.  He began telling me about his life in Mexico and how he was a cop.               

“A cop?”  Registered shock hit my face. 

                “Yeah.” 

                “And what would you do if you were a cop here in your squad car and you pulled me over for speeding?”  I asked, with a devilish gleam in my eye.  “Would you give me a ticket?”  I asked. 

                “If you liked me I wouldn’t give you a ticket, but if you didn’t like me I’d have to give you a ticket!”  He chuckled.  I smiled back at him. 

                “I love you.  I mean Te Amo, baby.”  I whispered.

                “Te Amo, mi nino.”  He then leaned over and kissed me.

After trips to the bookstore and Caribou Coffee, we ended up at The Carolina Coffee Shop on Franklin Street where I learned more about Javier.

When he was 15 years old, his mother shipped him off to the army.  Why?  I never knew.  I don’t think Javier knew why.  I figured with him being a Cancer and Cancer males were especially notorious for loving their mothers and getting along with them, that he and his mother got along.  Javier said he did not get along with his mother.  Oh, well blew that theory.  Growing up with 8 other brothers and sisters, which included a twin brother, was not always easy.  In school and at home, people confused him with his twin.  Whenever the real Jorge got into trouble at school and at home, Javier was the one who got blamed.  A whack up side his head at home by pops.  I don’t think he got along to well with him either.                

At any rate, Javier spent five years in the Mexican Army, and while he was there he ended up (1) falling down a hill and breaking a bone and (2) falling out of a helicopter!  A man after my own heart, one as danger-prone as I!  After he got out of the Army at about 20, he became a cop for 2 years.  I think it was towards the end of his stint as a cop that he met the woman who bore his daughter, Jessica.  But it just wasn’t meant for him to be a family man or for him to be straight.  He was introduced to homosexuality following a motorcycle accident, the accident that broke his right leg.  Maria helped him out back then when he couldn’t get around. Towards the end of his recovery, a male friend took him to a gay club and well, the rest is history.  He came to the U.S. early in 1995 and lived with a cousin in L.A.  He hated it.  When Hector called up and suggested he move to N.C., he gladly went.  Lucky for me.  

 Javier chatted incessantly, and it was so much fun just listening and watching him talk and talk and talk.  He was so animated! 

“Don’t let me talk so much.  You tell me something.”

                “All right.  Te amo.”  I smiled.

                “Te amo, baby.”  He dropped his eyes and lifted his head and smiled.  I just let him talk on.  It was the accent.  Awww, mushy, icky shit, I know but how many chances do I get?                  

I paid the bill and we left.  We walked down Franklin practically arm in arm.  Once we got to where BK Lounge used to be (Burger King), we were arm in arm.  We crossed the street just like that.  The time had come for me to take him home, and neither of us wanted that.  After we got back to Juniper Street, I asked him to give me another photo of him, and I promised I’d send him one of me.  He gave me a picture of him when he was in California, a photo of him in a tree, his feet propped against the limbs, and he was wearing a white “husband beater” tank T-shirt and olive slacks.  He really looked ethnic in that photo.  His hair was a little longer and he had his moustache.  He was so sexy!  At first I didn’t think it was him.     

                “Is this your brother?”  I queried.  He punched my arm and said, “No.”  I took it and I hugged and kissed my new (and hopefully last) lover.

                “I’ve got to go.”  I whispered.

                “I know.”  He whispered back.  Once we got outside and while we were standing on the landing he looked at me and said, “I’m starting to hate Atlanta!”  Those words rang in my ears like the blare of 1,000 trumpets.  I was beginning to hate Atlanta, too.  It was separating me from the man I truly loved!!!! 

                “Goodbye, Javier.”

                “No goodbye.  Hasta luego.  Until the next time!”

                “All right.  Hasta luego.  Until the next time.”  I smiled.  With that I climbed down those metal steps, climbed into my car, and drove off into the night as he watched from the landing.  And as I drove off, tears formed in my eyes and streamed down my face.

                “Hasta luego, Javier.”  I missed him already. 

Okay, so this ends Part 2. If you’re enjoying the story thus far, come back for the third and final part next week! Until then, as always, be mentally well!!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

Good day, my friends! Welcome back for another rather personal, yet light-hearted – light and airy – story from my past. My own little Christmas story, without the BB gun. 😂

My gristly little tale – kidding – started on my usual return home, back to North Carolina, for the holidays. The year was 1995, and I was already living in Atlanta. Back then, I would return to The Power Company in Durham to hang out and stay with my friend Teresa rather than get a hotel, because I’m a cheap Taurus. Ha!

It was December 23, 1995, and after hanging out with Teresa, I set out for The Power Company (which still featured prominently in my life at this time, following the Phil, Charles Enzor and Darrell storylines!). Please click on the Charles Enzor link to see last week’s post talking about The Power Company, on which I probably should do a blog post LOLOL 😂🤣

Anyway, before I left, I remember joking to Teresa that maybe I would go out and meet a Hispanic guy and end up with Hispanic in-laws. At this point in my story, I was starting to really desire Hispanic men in a big way!

Anyway, I arrived at The Power Company and no doubt parked on that same deck where I shared MANY kisses with Charles. The memories came flooding back of him and even Phil, but mostly Charles. However, I didn’t wish to involve myself with anyone at this time. My relationship with the married man of two years was over, and I did not want to meet anyone. That was most certainly not my intention. LOTS of backstory that I promise to cover in another blog post down the road. 😉😀

But anyway, I paid the usual cover and entered the bar. The first thing I did was enter the main bar. There are three floors to The Power Company: The middle main bar with the dance floor; the downstairs part with coat check, a bar, a bookstore, and a huge video screen and lounge area; and the top bar and mezzanine.

As soon as I entered the main bar, I was surrounded by the thump, thump, thump of the bass, pounding from the enormous speakers pumping out whatever dance song was hot at the time. (It could have been the above song, which was hot at the time.) I wanted to get my cocktail, which I believe at the time was still Brandy Alexanders or Kahlua and Cream. Fancy! So, I went up on the mezzanine and into the top bar and got my drink. I sat down, first, on one of the many rather cushy and comfy couches surrounding the top bar. My first thought was actually, ‘maybe I’ll run into Phil.’ But this time as a friend, not trying to pursue him. That was over. My how I’d grown up in the past six years! LOLOLOL

The top bar had a huge window that stretched across the length of the bar so you could look out onto the dance floor and see all of the hot guys grooving and vogueing. I watched the show for a while, and then I went back to the mezzanine to further observe, peruse and survey to see who I knew, something I often did there in the past.

My eagle eye finally caught a former trick from when I lived there. I recognized the face, but the hair was different, much shorter.  But I knew that because he hadn’t worn his rock-star type hair real long since that first night I met him at The Power Company six Christmases ago!  I suddenly had a flashback to Christmas 1989!  I remembered when Nick took over that night and slept with Ricky Mann at the Heart of Durham Hotel!  I snapped out of my catatonia and made my way over to Ricky and spoke.  He looked up and grinned, then we embraced.  He was there with his cousin, who was black.  Don’t ask.  Okay.  Ricky, who was white, had black in-laws.  Brief introductions were made.  Tony was his name, and before long we were on the dance floor.  At first we were dancing, but soon Tony disappeared and it was just Ricky and me.  There was one time we were standing on one side of the bar – where the lesbians normally stood – taking a break when I first laid eyes on HIM.                

He was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen at The Power Company, EVER! Hell anywhere! He was short, slender, had dark-hair, dark eyes, and a hint of a moustache and goatee.  He looked Mexican.  Oh, God HE WAS HOT!!!  He was on the dance floor, and he was wearing this bone white coat that hung slightly below his ass.  I noticed he was dancing with this tall, heavy-set girl, and I wondered if they were together together.  I didn’t care, because while I was talking to boring Ricky I kept stealing glances at this guy. 

This is how the night went on, me talking to Ricky while simultaneously checking this guy out.  The bar had thinned out, which STILL left a rather huge crowd of people in the bar. Ricky and I were dancing, and I noticed that this guy was dancing alone.  And he was so cute.  He was still wearing his coat.  I would try to dance near him, and of course he noticed me.  I wanted him to say something, but he never did.  At least I got a glance or two out of him.  Well, Ricky and I eventually tired and sat down facing the dance floor on the opposite side of the bar. I noticed that my guy from the dance floor and his female companion had returned and together they ended up standing exactly above Ricky and me. Hmmm.  Could it be I was being spied upon?  Could it be they were not together together?  Hmmm!

Ricky and I sat and talked, and it didn’t take me long to realize that Ricky was quite depressed.  I tried in vain to shake him out of it, but to no avail.  He just wanted to be miserable.  I tried to ask why he was feeling so blue.  His response?  Loneliness,  mostly due to the holidays, which is understandable. I tried to seduce him, figuring maybe that would cheer him up.  No good.  He was too far gone. So, I kept turning around and staring up at that sexy guy, exchanging glances with him.  He had the darkest, sexiest eyes.  It was sort of hard to tell in the dark if he was actually staring back at me, but when the strobe lights hit his handsome face, I could tell that he was. 

Ricky and his depressed state were getting on my damn nerves! It was hard to believe that this was the same man who picked me up six years prior.  He was a shell of his former self, complaining that he had gotten old and fat.  While he was throwing the pity party for one, I managed to get a smile out of that guy because I smiled at him.  I wanted so much to say something to him. 

Finally Ricky’s cousin came over and announced that he was ready to go.  Ricky and I exchanged hugs and wished each other a Merry Christmas.  And then they left, leaving me to stare up at Mr. Moustache. At one point, though, when I was glancing out at the dance floor pondering what to do, I noticed that his female companion was pushing the sexy guy out the door, literally!  He was leaning back against her, resisting her as if he didn’t want to go.  In that instant I felt sad, yet good at the same time.  Sad because he was leaving, but good because he obviously wanted to stay, maybe because of me.  I thought to myself, ‘Oh, well, he’s gone.’  So, I waited another 5 or 10 minutes, then I left, as well. 

I was heading for my car (this time I was able to get a space in front of the club as opposed to the deck) when suddenly from out of nowhere this big, tan Cadillac came barreling through the parking lot nearly striking me!  I instantly turned around and noticed it was him!  That sexy guy was driving!  He apparently never left, though his female companion was in the car with him.  Did he stick around because of me?  I wanted him to stop, but he kept on driving.  Christ, he was fucking beautiful!  But I thought, ‘Oh, well.  Who cares?  I’ll never see him again.  I’m through with men anyway!’  I had just broken up with my married man.  I didn’t need the aggravation.  However, that night on Teresa’s couch, I dreamt about that mysterious stranger …

The next day I did not mention the guy or the dream to Teresa.  I figured I just dreamt about a really hot guy and that was that.  Teresa and I had breakfast and hung out that day until nightfall, then I got ready for Capital Corral.  We had planned to leave together at 8 a.m. the next morning to go home for Christmas.  That meant I was supposed to cut my trip to CC short.  Except it didn’t happen that way …

I got to CC and for some reason, I thought that maybe I’d run into Mr. Moustache again, though it was unlikely that I’d get a 2^nd chance.  However, I was proven, like, SO WRONG when I realized lightning can strike twice.  I was posing near the entrance to CC, and he walked by me into the area where the pool table was located near the barber’s chair where Charles sat that time I fed him and Victor popcorn all those years ago …  Memories …  And now Charles was gone…forever.   

Anyway, I knew I had to say something to him, because what if I didn’t get another chance?  Moments later I saw him standing by the entrance to, I suppose was, the ladies’ room.  I walked up to him and stood there a moment behind him.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder.  He turned around and smiled at me.  Oh God he was as gorgeous as ever!!!!  Those dark piercing eyes, that moustache and goatee, and that jet black hair that looked just a little slicked back.  He was definitely Mexican, and he was most definitely HOT!!!!!  I then opened my mouth for the very first time to speak to him, praying I didn’t say something stupid or sound stupid:

                “Hello?  How are you?” 

                “Fine.  And you?”  He replied with a thick accent I found incredibly sexy. 

                “I’m all right.  Do you mind if I ask you how old you are?”  (Dumb!) I was in the company of such gorgeousness, I didn’t know what else to say.    

                “Guess!”  Oh he was sharp.  I stared at him for awhile.  He looked to be in his 20s, maybe mid-to-late. 

                “27.”  I guessed.

                He smiled and said he was 24.

                “You carry yourself older.” (Dumb and dumber) But isn’t that what everyone told me? 

I continued.  “My name is Derek.  What is yours?”  I asked eagerly.

  “Jorge.” 

Jorge.  Jorge.  Jorge.  So, his name was Jorge.  What a beautiful name for such a beautiful, little man.  He was wearing a tan, long-sleeve cotton shirt and matching tan jeans.  I asked him if he wanted to sit and talk, because clearly he was interested from the way he continued to grin this cute, sexy little half grin and cock his left eyebrow up.  He said yes, but he wanted to tell his friends first.  We marched up onto the dance floor where his female friend and about 3 or 4 other Mexican guys were sitting or standing around the blocks up there.  Jorge said something to them in Spanish, and then they all looked at me and began checking me out.  They must have thought he was going to take me somewhere and duck my brains out!  No, instead we went back into the main pool area and sat on the couch behind the pool table.  This is where I began to get to know Jorge. 

 I learned his name was Jorge Cortez and yes, he was from Mexico.  He had only been in the United States about 6 months, having first gone to live in California with relatives.  He hated it until a friend suggested he move to N.C.  He liked N.C. much better.  He was a painter, no not Rembrandt.  He painted buildings for a living, working for some company in Raleigh.  I noticed a bracelet that he was wearing that bore the name “AGUIRRE.”  I asked him about that, and he explained that it was one of his names.  We continued to talk, and I boldly asked him if he had a boyfriend.  He smiled and said, no.  He then asked me the same, and I told him, no not anymore.  I told him that I had just broken up.  And that is all I told him.  And to this day that’s all he knows about that.  He said he had broken up, too.  He then launched into this very strange tale about his ex.  He told me he dated this guy for about 6 months, but it took a bad turn.  He said that the guy called his parents in Mexico and told them that Jorge was dead!  That wasn’t very nice.

During the entire time we were talking, I was holding Jorge’s hands.  I looked up and saw Phil standing near the barber’s chair!  I remember thinking ‘Eat your fucking heart out Phil, and choke on it, bitch!’  I should have realized the two of them looked an awful lot alike… perhaps I do go after the same type of guys.

We continued to talk until I asked him if he wanted to come sit in my car and talk some more.  He smiled and agreed to go out to my car and talk.  It was so cold outside.  The chill in the air reminded me of previous December nights at CC.  Yes, one in particular:  The night I saw Charles, and he was so emaciated. But that was a black, ICE COLD night.  No, this one seemed to have a little warmth in the air.  

We got to my car and I stared at the small figure standing and shivering at my passenger-side door.  He was oh, so gorgeous!  I was grinning like a naïve schoolboy about to have his first kiss.  I must admit I was a little nervous and didn’t know what to expect.  I opened the door for him, and he climbed in.  I decided to do like that Italian kid in A Bronx Tale starring Robert De Niro where his son, that kid, lets the black girl into his car.  This older guy had told him if he wanted to know if this was the one, walk behind the car, and if she leaned over and unlocked the driver’s side for you, you’d know.  Guess what?  Jorge did!  Silly I know.  But what was that, again, about Hispanic in-laws? 😉

Anyway, he got inside my car and we continued to talk.  For some reason he ended up showing me his driver’s license, which said “Javier Muro Aguirre.”  His license showed that his birthdate was July 13, 1971 – A Cancer.  Compatible with my sign, Taurus.  Of course I asked why his license said “Javier Muro Aguirre” and not “Jorge Cortez.”  His explanation:  His entire name wouldn’t fit on there, and I believed it.  Uh-huh.  I didn’t care who he was.  I just wanted to talk. Besides, you know I was no stranger to giving out other names.        

I told him I was from Atlanta and he grimaced.  “That’s a long way,”  he said.  “Oh yes,” was my reply.  He told me that his wicked ex- boyfriend resided in Atlanta.  I didn’t care about that either.  (Years later, I met a guy living in Atlanta, who also knew Javier. They hooked up a couple of times, but this was AFTER I was with Javier. Interesting …) 

He continued to stare deeply into my eyes.  His stare washed over me like slinky silk.  He was drawing me in little by little with his gaze.  We continued to talk, and it didn’t seem to matter the subject.  Just listening to him turned me on.  His accent was very thick, and I found myself melting. 

                We got on the subject of Spanish, and I got him to teach me some Spanish phrases. 

                “What do you want to say?”  He asked me smiling. 

                “Ummm.”  I thought a moment.  “I know.  How do you say ‘You are handsome’?  Because you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

                He looked at me as if I was joking, then he said, “Yeah right.”

                “No, I mean it.  So, how do you say ‘You are handsome?’

                “Tu eres hermoso.”  He whispered seductively. 

                “Tu eres hermoso.  Now, how do you say, ‘I think you are cute’?”

                “Yo pienzo que eres muy guapo.”

                “Yo pienzo que eres muy guapo.  How do you say, ‘I like you’?”

                “Te quiero mucho!”  He whispered smiling at me.

                “Te quiero mucho!”  and I meant every syllable.

He smiled at me as I said, “I’d better write all of these down.”  I reached into my armrest and pulled out a pen and my notepad and with his help, jotted down the phrases.

                He then told me, “There is one you forgot.”

                “Oh?”  I whispered hoarsely.

                “Si.  Te amo; I love you.”  I got so wet when he said that. 

                “Te amo.”  I repeated. 

                “You are learning so fast!”  He smiled sweetly.

                “I have a good teacher.”  I replied, smiling back at him.  And then I said, “Te quiero mucho.”

He responded with “Te quiero mucho, mi nino.”  He told me that ‘mi nino’ meant, my baby as in my little boy.  I hadn’t been someone’s baby since – all right since the married man, but it sounded nice and felt so natural coming from Jorge.

 I said “Te quiero mucho” again to Jorge, and he responded in kind.  I couldn’t stand it anymore.  Between his accent, his smoldering good looks, his smile, and his piercing brown eyes, I just couldn’t stand it.  I had to kiss him.  We leaned closer to each other and then it happened, the spontaneous connection.  Our lips were the first to touch.  Then our tongues began searching each other out in our mouths.  It was pure bliss!!!

He would pull back and stare soulfully into my eyes and whisper “Te quiero mucho, mi nino!” I repeated the phrase.

I WAS HIS!!!

Whatever he wanted!  He suddenly maneuvered himself across me to the lever of my chair.  He reclined me back and then lowered his small, but wiry body over mine.  We continued to make out and talk and whisper Spanish phrases to one another, until I realized I had to go back to Teresa’s.  We were leaving to return to Anson County that morning!  I told Jorge I had to go.  And I swear to God he looked into my eyes and with tears in his eyes whispered, “Don’t go.”  IT BROKE MY HEART!  I wanted nothing more than to stay with him.  I’d rather stay and get to know this handsome stranger who called himself Jorge than face my family with their pressures and demands and bullshit.  I told him I had to go, but I didn’t.  Not quite yet. We kissed some more, ok lots more. 

Several million kisses later, I glanced at my watch and was shocked to see that it was 5 a.m.!!!!!  Omigod!  I hadn’t meant to stay out that late.  Being with Jorge just stopped time.  I told him I really had to go.  We kissed one more kiss and then he realized he had to get his coat, which was still inside CC!!  We crossed the street and pulled on the door only to find it locked.  Poor Jorge’s coat was locked inside, his friends had left him, and there wasn’t a soul in the parking lot.  Our cars were the only ones left, my Corsica and his tan Hoop-D.  I had to pee so we went into the dreaded dirty bookstore and into the video area.  More memories, mostly Nick ones, but they didn’t bother me because I was with Jorge Cortez er Javier Muro!

We walked back out into the colder-than-a-witch’s titty air, and I stared at him shivering.  Poor baby had no coat on, and he was freezing.  So, I did something I would normally not do; I took off the ski jacket I was wearing and draped it around him, though he protested.  When he saw I meant it, he smiled and thanked me. 

“Gracias.” 

We then hurried across the street to our cars.  I took him to his, and he returned my coat and got in.  He tried to crank his car but it wouldn’t start!  He kept on trying but no deal.  He looked so sad.  For a split second I thought he’d planned it just so he could spend more time with me.  How silly, but how romantic.  I couldn’t just let him stand out there to freeze.

                “I’ll take you home!” 

                “Gracias.  Thank you.” 

 So, we climbed into my Corsica and took off.  He lived in Durham, so it was on my way and we could be together longer.  On the way, he snuggled up to me really close.  I loved it, because for some reason it felt as if we were an old, in-love couple and that we had been together for years.  It felt really nice.  We once tried to kiss, but then he advised me to keep my eyes on the road since I was about to run off of it!  So, we settled for snuggling.  Anyway, we took the Durham Freeway and got off at the Alston Avenue exit.  He directed me down this dark street with rows of houses, then suddenly he told me to pull over.  It was time.  He was HOT!  I was HOT! 

 Let’s just say that what happened next was VERY private. 😂😘

Afterward, we continued on our way to his apartment, which was Juniper Street Apartments located on Juniper Street.  We parked, smooched a little more, and then went up the metal stairs to his apartment.  He had told me that he lived with his female friend Maria, and friends Hector, Rafael, and his two nephews.  Damn!  We were quiet as we walked into the kitchen and sat.  We stared at each other for a full minute; we smiled, and then I suddenly asked for a picture of him.  He thought a moment, then he found this picture of him taken at Christmas, perhaps the year before.  This is the picture from above. I thanked him for the picture, telling him I’d have to send him a picture or 2 of me.  So, we exchanged addresses, and I gave him my number since he had ran up a $1,300 phone bill calling Mexico!  He had no phone, so he had to use a pay phone! All of this before cellphones!

He walked me back outside, and he promised to call me.  We hugged and then I climbed down the stairs to my car, got in and pulled away.  He stood at the railing staring down at me smiling… longingly.  I missed him already!

By the time I got to Teresa’s, it was 7 a.m. and daybreak.  We were supposed to leave at 8 a.m. for Anson County.  She was already up, but still in bed watching TV.  I apologized for not being back sooner, but she just gave me a knowing look. 

Anyway, back home I was on such a high, because all I could think about Jorge.

When I returned to Atlanta, everyone I was around at that time knew I was in love. Everyone said how I was “beaming” and “glowing” like a Roman candle. And it was all true! LOLOL And later that week after meeting Jorge and right before New Year’s Eve,  there was a message from Jorge on my answering machine (how archaic!!!) saying:

“This is George …I mean Jorge Cortez.  I just called to see how you’ve been.  And I think I love you.  Or something like that!  Bye!”  It was so cute!

 So, that was the beginning of the Jorge Cortez Movie!!!! 

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That is it for now, my dear friends. Stay tuned for Part 2 of the story. Wishing you a very Merry Christmas, Season’s Greetings, Happy Holidays and whatever you do or don’t celebrate. Be safe and enjoy, and above all, be mentally well!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

              

Welcome back my fellow friends in the fight against mental illness and for mental wellness!

I am honoring my promise to keep things light and airy during Christmastime, and I shall. And speaking of the phrase “light and airy,” that is what today’s topic is about – or rather, the person from whom I got the phrase: Mr. Charles Baxter Enzor.

I first met Charles at The Power Company, a gay bar in Durham, N.C., way back in 1990. It was during my Phil phase (which is another long story – which I shall also endeavor to keep brief someday 😂). Anyhoo, I was hanging out with people I met at the bar that night, and another friend, Herman Best, when I looked across the bar, and I glimpsed this rather hot and sexy, silver fox, who bore a striking resemblance to Sam Elliott! I couldn’t help it, but I found myself drawn to him, and I was so bold back then, that I decided to go over to him and say hello.

He was sitting alone on a stool at the foot of the stairs that lead up into the top part of the bar. I should insert here that I was NOT myself that night; I was one of my alters – Nick Montraire!!! And I hadn’t realized that until I saw the manuscript in which all of this is detailed (I kept journals detailing my experiences with Charlie B). Anyway, it was NICK, the slut, who approached him. We had seen him before at the bar. So, it was Herman and Nick who went up to him. I introduced myself as Derek (confused??? 🤣). Oh Charles was absolutely sexy! He had a thick, bushy moustache and salt and pepper hair that hung almost to his shoulders. He was a Hollywood dream! And as I said before, he bore a very striking resemblance to Sam Elliott!

Well, “Nick,” Herman, and Charles chatted for a while until Herman decided to rejoin the other two guys we were with earlier, THANK GOD! Thought he’d never leave! That just left Nick and Charles.

Fortunately, during the course of the conversation, Nick vanished and I reappeared. And I learned that Charles was an ex-limousine driver from Charlotte. He was in art restoration. When I told him that I was a Carolina student, he admitted that he, too, had attended Carolina years before. Charles said that he was 38 years of age; I was a mere child of 22 at the time. I was just coming out at the time. I had only been out about six months or so when I first met Charles.

We chatted for a long time that night. And I – Derek – made it a point to look for him every Friday night at The Power Company, as that is when he said he was normally there. And so, over the next several months, we did run into each other.

Well, fastforward to the Friday night following my birthday in May 1990 when I ran into Charles.  We chatted again as always, and we had a great time talking and dancing.  Oh, what a fantastic dancer he was!  Charles could really move those hips of his, around and around in a circular motion to the music.  It was so erotic! 

Anyway, as the bar was closing, I was about to say good night to Charles when he asked me where I parked.  I told him that I had parked on the deck.  He offered to drive me to my car, and hell yeah I accepted!  When we got to where my car was on the deck, I fully expected to thank Charles, get out of the car, and that would be that.  However, Charles never gave me that chance.  I couldn’t believe my ears over what Mr. Man had to say:           

“Finally, we are alone!  No Herman!” 

“Yeah, I know.  He’s your friend, but I didn’t want to be rude.  But he has been getting on my nerves!”  I explained. 

“He’s not really my friend.  I know him through another friend.  And Herman gets on my nerves, too!”  He chuckled. 

“I’m surprised to hear that.” 

“Don’t be.  It’s true.  But enough about Herman.  I finally have you alone, which is what I’ve been wanting to do for a long time!” 

The next thing I knew he kissed me!  (And I didn’t have to BEG him the way I did Phil the previous year!!) Our lips touched, then his tongue found its way inside my mouth, and my mouth graciously accepted!  Our tongues played with each other for a bit.  Then Charles would pull back, look at me, smile and go “Woof!  Baby!”  (So, I knew about the whole “Woof” thing before it was a thing 😁.) Then we’d continue kissing.  I was in pure heaven!  Finally, one of my dreams was coming true, and I didn’t need a plot, scheme or a faux alter to make it happen.  Charles was actually attracted to ME!  He obviously had felt the same way I did; he had wanted to get me alone as much as I had wanted to be alone with him. 

We stopped kissing after what seemed like an eternity, and we began talking again.  During the course of our conversation, I learned that he was from a small town three hours away from Chapel Hill called Fair Bluff, N.C.  I also learned that he worked at JR Short & Sons, where he did the art restoration.  In actuality, he did a lot of running around for his roommate John Short, who owned the biz.  Charles had been working there for the last 10 years or so.  He began doing that following his stint as a limo driver in Charlotte in the late 70s.  He and John owned that business together, too.  This is when I learned that John and Charles had actually been lovers!  Duh!  He told me that they were no longer lovers, more like roommates.  I didn’t question it any further than that. 

Over the next 2 to 3 years, for the most part, I spent as much time hanging out with Charles at The Power Company and The Capital Corral (more affectionately known as CCs in Raleigh located on Hargett Street) as I could. We had several little adventures/misadventures, and it was all such a blast!! So, much fun!

I remember how I would run to him with all of my adolescent problems with my college friends back then. He always took the time to listen to me, a messed-up twink who was still coming out, and he never dismissed me. We would dance and kiss, and kiss and dance some more. One of the biggest lessons I learned from him was to keep things “light and airy” between yourself and people. That way you don’t let them get too close and too comfortable, (and you don’t get hurt), a lesson I would forget over the years in my endeavors to be – close to people.

Needless to say, after all the dancing, kissing and wanting to be with Charles, I was in love with him. I couldn’t deny it. Hahahaha. I even finally admitted to Charles that I wanted to sleep with him. However, he sort of put me off, because in retrospect, I think he was afraid of giving me something. And I don’t mean a diamond ring.

You see, it was in December of 1990 the day before his 39th birthday, when he returned from a business trip in California, and he showed up at The Capital Corral looking extremely emaciated and exhausted!! He did not look like the same sexy and husky man I knew. In my heart I knew he was sick. I had never seen him look so thin and gaunt. When we talked, he said that he had had the flu and a sore throat, several times over the course of the last couple of months. But I knew.

I remember driving home that night being so depressed. The next day on Sunday, I couldn’t get off my couch. I canceled my private trumpet lessons that I was teaching at the time, and I did not go into work. I cried all day. I realized that part of the reason he was putting off sleeping with me was not because he didn’t want me, but because he was afraid he’d pass AIDs on to me. He even almost once said so!! Sitting in the piano room at the Capital Corral, we were talking about sleeping together and even planning it, but he said “I don’t want to be the one to give you …” and he stopped. And I asked what? And he never told me, and I never pressed the issue. Because again, deep down I knew.

Eventually, I ended up in a rather abusive relationship with Darrell Mitchell. So, I didn’t see much of Charles. Darrell and Charles did meet one night when we were all together at The Power Company, and Darrell was IMMEDIATELY sooooo jealous of Charles. He would even taunt me and say I wanted to be “with my old man.”

Following an HIV scare with Darrell (among other horror stories) and him moving to Atlanta, (and before I, myself, moved to Atlanta), I reconnected with Charles. It was then that Charles admitted that he did, in fact, have AIDs. I didn’t tell him I suspected as much. I just listened to him.

I moved away to Atlanta in 1993, and I never told Charles I left. And I don’t know why. I could have certainly called him. To this day I don’t know why I did that. Upon a return to North Carolina (and The Capital Corral), I learned from a former friend of Charles that he had indeed passed away in 1994. I was deeply saddened – and guilty – that he was gone and that I never told him I had moved away. What is so ironic is that I was with ANOTHER boyfriend (the married one) who had traveled with me back to N.C. for a visit!! I seem to have a penchant for learning of the death of former boyfriends/love interests when I am with a current beau!! WTF???

But Charles Baxter Enzor was gone. My only regret is that I never said goodbye …

Anyway, Charles had such a profound effect on my life, to the point that I even based one of my characters in my web series on him!!! The hunky, limo driver from North Carolina.

I still think of him fondly. All the nights we spent dancing and talking and yes, kissing, were magical and heavenly. I wouldn’t trade my time spent with him for the world, even if it was just as friends, bar friends. But I don’t care. It meant so much more to me than that.

I wish he was still here, because I often wish I could run to him with my problems LOL! He was a great listener and advice giver, something I have sorely lacked all. These. Years.

And as of the writing of this post, today is his birthday. He would have been 70 years young.

Here is one of the songs we used to dance to, “Nothing Compares to You,” Sinead O’Connors’s version, not Prince’s. And yes, we danced in each other’s arms.

Well, that is it for today, my friends. I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane with me. Until the next time, and as always, please be mentally well!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  There are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).

TRIGGER WARNING: I talk about an active shooter scenario in this post.

Hello, my fellow bent minders and friends!

This month, I am going to keep things “light and airy” since we are in the holiday season. Some posts may or may not have anything at all to do with mental illness. The December posts are designed to be fun. And some blog posts may actually be about Christmas! Ho! Ho! Ho! So, stay tuned!

But this first one, as we start off the month of December, is on one of my very favorite topics: Dreams!

I had these dreams earlier this year, around summertime, I think. But they were so vivid and memorable and worth noting. So, stick around …

The first one started in my hometown of Wadesboro, N.C., near my house.  I was walking down the street, and the next thing I knew this rather cute guy, dark-haired and moustached, was walking next to me.  I think he had a ballcap on.  Anyway, it seems we were walking to J.R. Faison Elementary School, the school that served as the hub for all buses heading to the elementary, junior high and high schools. 

The next thing I knew, we were on a bus heading God knows where.  Suddenly, this guy wanted to … well, you know – 😉😉. And we did and nobody seemed to notice. 

Flash forward to Atlanta several years later, and I find myself walking – or rather stumbling -down Piedmont toward where Smith’s Olde Bar is (or used to be???).  I don’t pay attention.  Anyway, there were a row of condos there, and one of them was mine.  I assume I was coming home from the bar, probably Hideaway, but I was soooo drunk.  I managed to make it home, but I couldn’t get in at first.  Suddenly, the door opens and it is this same guy.  Apparently, we are partnered and have been for several years at this point.  And it seems he was at the bar with me, but left me there because he wanted to come home, and I didn’t.  He wasn’t angry, but he wasn’t too happy either.  The next thing I knew we are upstairs in a fabulously decorated condo, and in bed. He is naked, and well, we – you know.  😉😉. 

Flash forward to what appears to be my college alma mater – UNC Chapel Hill.  And I think we were at Hill Hall where I spent the majority of my time there in the music department.  There are a lot of students around, and he is working as a janitor, I think, because he wore a uniform, and he was carrying in lots of bottled water and appeared to be mopping and sweeping.  I was trying to get his attention, but he wouldn’t talk to me.  No matter what I tried, he ignored me.  And the kicker is it was our 15^th anniversary, and I kept trying to talk to him about what he wanted to do, but he continued to ignore me.  Then the dream ended. 

The next dream a couple of nights later started off with the current object of my love – a different guy than the previous dream and whom shall remain nameless. In this dream, he won $9,000 in some lottery game, I don’t remember which.  The next thing I know I am his chauffeur, and he wanted to go to Jimmy Dean’s restaurant, which I thought was very, very strange.  We started off on a bike, a two-seater, with him in the back, which turned into a car.  We pull up to the drive-thru, which I don’t even know if Jimmy Dean’s has a drive-thru, and he orders.  Then he is in the seat next to me, kissing me.  He tells me that he knows that I love him, and he loves me and why don’t I just marry him.  I say yes. 

Then the dream shifts to the two of us working a concert, whose I don’t know.  But the place is packed.  We are handing out programs, and he is on one level and I am on the one above.  Something told me in the dream to watch out, because there was going to be trouble.  Sure enough there is an active shooter.  All the people around me duck for cover, as do I.  But he ends up shooting several people, and he escapes.  I panic and run to the lower level to discover that my lover was one of the victims!!!  And Maxie Jones, from General Hospital, was his doctor😂🤣😅.  (Believe me, this character is NOT a doctor on the show!!) He was shot in the chest, and she was applying pressure to stop the bleeding.  I sat there and held his hand and kept telling him, through tears, to hold on.  I mean, it was something out of a soap opera.  Of course.  But he appeared to be dying.  He was not responsive, but after all my begging and pleading, (and Maxie’s brilliant work LOL), he squeezed my hand.  I was beyond overjoyed, screaming rapturously as he squeezed my hand over and over.  He was going to be okay.  Everyone around us applauded. 

Then fast forward to him leaving the hospital with me by his side.  He was leaning on me, but I think he was on crutches, too, which was also odd.  I mean, why not a wheelchair?  And we were walking.  But anyway, he said that God told him that I was supposed to take care of him and live with him and love him forever.  I said yeah, right.  And there was funny banter back and forth between us as we went along.  Then suddenly I was in front of this woman or man, I don’t remember which who said the strangest thing, that we are the exact same souls we both have always been through time, but just in different bodies during this lifetime.  Those were the words.  Then I wake up, pondering things …  

The next dream had me in an episode of Charlie’s Angels, which isn’t a shock.  I dream this all the time.  But what was strange was – well, let me tell you.  It is the Season 4 episode “Angels at the Altar,” yes with Shelley Hack, and of course Kim Cattrall of Sex and the City fame guest starring as Kelly Garrett’s best friend.  Well, the cast is there, including Bosley, and I guess I’m an honorary angel.  I remember Cheryl Ladd wanted to go swimming, and Shelley Hack and David Doyle were just kinda hanging out.  So, I started talking to my favorite angel, Jaclyn Smith.  The subject of pregnancy came up.  So, I brought up her son Gaston, and I said to her – wasn’t he born in 1979?  And she said no.  It was 1982. 

So, later when I was awake I realized it couldn’t have been 1979 since she was on the show at the time, and that would have been close to impossible.   So, I looked it up and sure enough, Gaston was born March 19 – in the year 1982!! I nearly fell out.  How could I have known that???? Insert Twilight Zone theme here …  

I am just wondering what is going on in my mind to conjure up such fantastic and incredible dreams. Hmmm I think it bears closer examination down the road …

But at any rate, that is it for today, my friends. I do hope you enjoyed this.

By all means, if you have any thoughts on the above dreams, leave me a comment below. Also, tell me about your strange dreams.

And until the next time, and as always, please be mentally well!!!

DEREK’S DISCLAIMER:  I am not a medical professional, neither am I giving any medical or legal advice. If you are seeking help from a doctor or an attorney, please consult said professionals.  These are my personal thoughts and feelings on the subjects discussed, and my blog is my own personal experiences and journey with mental imbalance.  Thanking you in advance!

AFFILIATE DISCLAIMER:  I am now an Amazon Affiliate! So, there are products on this page.  By clicking on the links, you will be redirected to that page at no cost to you.  However, I will receive compensation if you purchase something (which I hope you do 😊).