Uncomfortable Transparency. My Story, piece by humiliating piece.

Posted: August 20, 2013 in Insight, Rants
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

To say that my life has been a bi-polar roller coaster on unstable tracks would be a severe understatement. This makes me no different than any of you. Everyone’s life has its ups and downs, generally more ups than downs. I’m not here to give my sob story or to attract pity or attention, rather, to detail every awesomely miserable occurrence that has happened and will continue to happen sporadically for the rest of my life. I’m not a doctor or psychologist or even so much as someone well informed on life’s lessons – I’m here to trudge through the shit with you. I’m angry. I’m stressed. I’m miserable. I’m depressed. And I’ve even contemplated suicide. I’m there now, in fact. I’m not a ‘cry-for-help’ kind of person, so keep in mind that every bit of this insight will be typed with a cringe and blushed cheeks throughout. Speaking to in-person crowds nets a fraction of the multitude online mediums such as this reach. Also, I can hide behind my words until I’m comfortable enough detailing my fuck ups to the point of making a daily video log rather than this blog. The point is, I’m not only here with you, but someone whose aesthetic appearance would connote one whose life is “together.” Shit happens to everyone – good looking, wealthy, charismatic, whatever – we’re all at the mercy of the human condition. I’m simply a regular dude going through the same life struggles each of you are, and I’m going to get through every last bit of it with you, for you, because of you.

I moved to Arizona 6 years ago almost to the date – August 8th. I said almost, nit picky fucks. When I made the move, it was to be with my then girlfriend, Satan, and to better myself by going to Arizona State University and eventually law school. Also, the town I grew up in had no opportunities for me and the ones I did have I had either fucked up or capitalized on. For a thousand different reasons, it was time for me to move on from Washington. So I did. The girl and I had been together for quite some time, though we had never lived together. We were perfect then. We got along beautifully, never fought, had just the right amount of interests to get along and still grow with each other. Fuck that noise. It took 2 months of living together to tear that house of cards down. So here I was, a new state, nowhere to go and I knew no one. I decided I’d stay. I couldn’t go back home with my tail between my legs, broadcasting that I had failed miserably. So I made a life for myself here. At the time and ever since, I tell people that the reason for the move was school and the girl. And it was, to some degree. The main reason, though, was because as an idiot teenager/young twenty-something I earned a criminal background for myself. Awesome, Ross! Fucking idiot. Being a felon at the age of twenty meant a lot of things were going to change – mainly, my demographic. I’ll fill you in on those specifics at a later date.

Common lie #1: I didn’t move to Arizona just for the girlfriend and school. I moved to Arizona to escape my criminal background and start fresh.

So here I am. A felon, in a new state, with no girlfriend, no friends, no money, and no hope. I wanted to crawl in a hold and die, but I persevered. I owe that in its entirety to my sister who was my rod and staff at the time. And still is. Why is this important to you or this blog, you ask? First, don’t ask questions yet, asshole. Second, it’s important because life itself is already tough, add a criminal background to that shit and see how easy it is to find a place to live, to get a job, to get people to trust you. I might not go through the same exact struggles each of you go through, but given mine, I can relate. That, is my point.

The journey onward. Fragment. Bite me. After the ex and I broke up I had nowhere to go, so I decided that Craigslist would be my best bet for finding something cheap, quickly. Sure enough, I found a room for rent for piddly in a house with a pool and 3 other roommates. Awesome, I thought! New friends potentially! I moved in 2 days later and immediately made friends with the dude in the room next to me. He was a quiet guy but I could tell he was unhappy in general. I know this because he said so, often. I’m a regular detective. Tommy Nine used to talk to me constantly about his ex-girlfriend who broke his heart, along with the myriad of other reasons why he was miserable. He opened up to me a lot, actually, telling me about seeing a shrink to help his depression, taking numerous pills to try to feel some semblance of stability. I came home from work one day to Tom crying, so I cracked open a beer and he and I sat outside talking about why he had bought a gun. He told me he bought it just to feel like there was a way out, but that he’d never actually use it. I told him I’d hang on to it if that were true, so he’d still know it was there, but of course never be able to get his hands on it. He refused. Long, sad story short – I came home from work about a week later to the house smelling like hot garbage. We live in Arizona and it was summer, mind you, so the hot garbage smell was common, especially in a house full of single bachelors. I paid no mind to it, walked to my room and started packing as I was headed to the airport to fly back to Washington for a weekend visit. As I continued packing I realized that the smell was far more toxic toward my room and was getting worse. I called the other roommates and asked if they’d noticed the smell, none of them had. You know how you’re busy doing something and suddenly something just hits you and everything makes complete sense? That happened. At that moment I realized that there was a package outside Tom’s door that I had set out there 2 days prior. This meant he hadn’t left his room in 2 days. I knew what had happened, and my heart sank to depths it has never returned from. After building up the courage I opened the door to see Tom on his bed, his head a mess, and blood splattered all over his wall and a shotgun in his arm resting next to him looking guilt-free and accomplished. Unless you’ve seen something similar you will never understand that feeling. I’m not even going to try to describe it. I felt responsible. I felt angry. I felt sad. I bawled like a little girl for him, not for myself. After hours and hours of replaying the past few weeks over and over in my head I had another epiphany – one that I wish I hadn’t. A couple days prior to finding him in his room, I was in the shower getting ready for work and I heard a loud bang; it sounded like someone threw a bowling ball against the wall. I paid no attention to it then, but days later realized that I heard the actual shot. I’ve never told a single person this. You, readers, are the very first and I’ll tell you, I thought it’d be a lot more liberating. It isn’t. At all.

Common lie #2: I heard the shot.

After ten minutes of reading you now know more about me than most people I’ve known for years. I’m going to continue tomorrow, hopefully on a lighter note, but I’m basically just winging it so who knows. I’ll leave you with this, though: grasp onto anyfuckingthing that makes you feel sane. I don’t care what or whom it is. Grab it. Hold it. Squeeze the fuck out of it. Suffocate it like it’s your lifeblood. For me, music and writing are these safety nets. Do whatever you have to. Clearly I understand that life is a difficult journey, but I’m telling you now and I’ll tell you years from now – it gets better. Slowly but surely. And after it gets better it gets worse. It’s a back and forth cycle that will make you feel crazy but stick with me. Mainly because I need you, but also because you’re still reading this for a reason. Read more tomorrow. I’ll be here. And the day after.

Ignore the shitty quality. Pay attention to the song.

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Comments
  1. EvaRoads says:

    Ross, I’m sorry to hear you’re having a hard time. While I feel nothing I could possibly say can turn things around for you, please reach out if you need anything.

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