Examined: The Tux

Ryan Gosling


There are many things I want to cover, and I refuse to waste your time without first attempting haste.

In a broad sense, this particular blog project is aimed at fashion. In specific, I will be examining trends in the world of fashion based on 5 criteria: Function, Attractiveness, Wear (casual, versatile, etc.), Purpose, and History.

For example, take The Tuxedo. Imagine who’s wearing it. Whether it’s George Clooney or Jack Black is not important. 

Functionally, the Tuxedo is versatile across formal ceremonies and occasions. Homeless men do not sleep in tuxedos, drunk men with something to celebrate would be lucky to, however, provided they don’t ruin it next to the bucket in the morning.

Are tuxedos attractive? On their own; massively. Not only as expensive attire one can aspire to, but whilst wearing it, a man can look taller, healthier, more socially dominant, and feel enormously proud. Outwardly, a gal is typically impressed more by Jack Black in a tux than Jack Black in a pastel, hippie tie-dye tee shirt with a lobster bib around his neck containing ketchup stains. 

The wear of a Tuxedo is strictly for Formal occasions. One does not visit his doctor in a tux unless he is about to murder him, possibly taking his prescription pad to start a criminal enterprise in a fit of vengeance. Tuxedo wear is simple, but wait until we cover more controversial and possibly difficult topics – i.e. high heels, the thong, the vest, the little black dress, or the skate shoe.

In terms of Purpose, the tuxedos intention was originally based on informal outdoor wear for the British upper class. What makes it a go-to for evening wear, weddings, and upscale dinners nowadays is a matter of time and direction of the men’s suit entirely.

Throughout history, the tuxedo is best known for its presence in films. The James Bond franchise, most notably. But it’s presence in the United States formed very early in the 1880’s by showing up on the backs of wealthy men who attended a highly upscale men’s club in Tuxedo Park, New York, where the name of this suit comes from. Apparently a fellow by the name of James Porter brought the idea to this location after being introduced to the fashion by the Prince of Wales around the same time.

There you have it. The 5 criteria for examining any trend in fashion today. In addition to these criteria I will offer a, hopefully short, opinion on each fashion trend.

The Tux is a mainstay. It’s longevity will be attributed to it’s requirement in the dreams of engaged couples, if not royalty itself.

I bid you adieu.

Be Well

Taking Weight Loss Seriously

Guys, raise your hand if you wanna look like this guy.

I’m out of excuses.

Before today I could blame everything from “What do I wear?” to “these antipsychotics are making me fat.” But today is different. Today I’m on different, modern antipsychotics that haven’t been shown to cause weight gain. I even weighed in at 9lbs less than before the switch.

And I have exercise outfits now. My favorites are a pair of basketball shorts from Target (black) that I can just add to any tee with Asic or Reebok active shoes and a pair of Hawaiian yoga pants that are blue but just as versatile.

But back to the conversation at hand: Taking Weight Loss Seriously.

I know, it’s the end of the year and it’s time for New Year’s Resolutions once we officially enter December and weight loss is America’s go-to resolution. But I’m talking about right now. If not tomorrow morning (because I’m blogging alongside my big brother as we continue a tradition of hard liquor and episodes of The Big Bang Theory – No, I’m not drunk. Believe me.).

My main motivation is to test out what I can do with my new psych meds. Formerly I did that with drugs to see how long I could stay high and other follies connected with mad science (a good story, I’ll have to tell it sometime). Secondarily though, I’ve been looking forward to losing weight for good and for real for a very long time.

Of course, I want my young body back. But since I don’t want to ACTUALLY be that skinny, I’ll settle for being a hunk of meat stuck to bones and sweating only in the gym (or while running) or in bed.

Concretely, I want to run. I still haven’t worked out the right conditions to begin or maintain a running schedule. I think the pressure of run clubs is only necessary if you’re headed to 5ks and beyond. But for me, this is going to be something I do until I die.

And isn’t that what we all want at the end of the day? Something that will last a lifetime?

What if that something was taking care of your physique? What if it were a daily practice? What if it were possible…?

At some point, the conditions come out in your favor, and it’s up to you to either take the opportunity before you or suffer the stagnation of your decision to remain complacent.

I refuse to stagnate. For me; that was the former medication. Now that I have this “remedy”- this new shot at wellness- I want to know how healthy I can be.

I want to know how well I can thrive, how far I can jog, how lean I can get these thighs, how much tone and mass I can get in my arms and chest, and if I can get a mature set of high quality (exposable) abs.

When I meet and surpass these goals, there’s a reward I want at the end: A back tattoo across the shoulder blades reading: “Relentless”.

And hey- I’m not dreaming here. I’m planning. I’m reapproaching my thoughts to support the habits I want to pick up.

And no- this isn’t a resolution for the new year. I’m too excited to wait for all that.

It’s time to thrive.

Focus = Physique.

Let’s do this!

Be Well.

Spoiler Alert: Cruella

Film: Cruella

Release: 2021

Director: Craig Gillespie

Written by: Dana Fox, Tony McNamara, Aline Brosh McKenna, Kelly Marcel, Steve Zissis

Based on the Novel: “One Hundred and One Dalmatians” by Dodie Smith

Main Cast: Emma Stone, Emma Thompson, Joel Fry, Paul Hauser


In the film, an orphan reclaims her lavish birthright. Embracing her dark side along the way. Chipping away at the reason behind an overpowering alter ego… that’s slightly talented.

Cruella was dazzling. An unexpected triumph, yes, but a very beautiful story.

In general, I thoroughly enjoyed the film. I thought it popped visually, that Emma Stone was brilliant. Powerhouse brilliant. I loved the soundtrack, I loved the clever dialogue, I was enamored.

In deeper terms, the story is about Alter Ego. About playing the social hand one is dealt in youth, and finding, in this case, a better game to play altogether. 

To fully examine Cruella herself would spoil the movie in a way that is quite unforgivable at this stage of my film review project. 

However, I can assure you that the dialogue was so clever that statements twisted upon each other easily. With, at times undeniably humorous, but always plot driven overtone.

I can admit that I completely dig the soundtrack.

But honestly…

Emma. Fucking. Stone.

She passed powerhouse performance at the fountain in the park roughly an hour through the film and I was far more riveted then I planned to be after that.

Not to be outdone…

Emma. Fucking. Thompson.

You hated her. You would think she had been typecast into the imbecile teacher from Hogwarts if you misjudged her entry into her first scene, but when you realized she was a fish out of water fashion mogul with the envy of London but the idea portfolio of a trout, you understood you were supposed to hate her. And she let you like an actor should.

But back to Emma Fucking Stone who’s voice narration was, and I quote my notes, “classy, flawless, and rich in the required accent.”

I was mimicking her on smoke breaks during the film and in conversation with my family as I watched, hardly interrupted, at my desk.

I wasn’t prepared for Cruella. I mean that of the alter ego. The former girl who had attempted to be a model child, Estella, was agreeable. But the Cruella she grew into… the fashion statements, the party crashing, bold, vengeful fashion stunts through the rising action were- agreeable, yes, but- the words I’m looking for are; “shocking”, “fierce”, “fashion-transcendent”, even.

Surprisingly enough, my favorite “stunt” included a garbage truck. 

(See the film.)

Thumbs Up.

Oh, and I have to mention, that any time you can add to the stages of grief; Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance to make an honest point, you have played the game of dialogue well. For even if it isn’t a stage in balanced psychology, any mania-prone animal who can understand the science of grief would agree that if one added the stage of Revenge, it would be a much more complete process. 

My kudos to the writing team, on that note.

Be Well.

Spoiler Alert: The Dark Knight

Film: The Dark Knight

Release: 2008

Director: Christopher Nolan

Written by: Jonathan Nolan, Christopher Nolan, David S. Goyer, Bob Kane

Main Cast: Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Aaron Eckhart, Michael Caine, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Gary Oldman, Morgan Freeman

The Batman hanging on to the van is not Christian Bale.

But this is no time to muse…

“Who Rachel spends her time with is her business.”

-Bruce Wayne

“Batman has no limits.”

-Bruce Wayne

The recast of Rachel Dawes was controversial around the time of release. (Note release date) Maggie Gyllenhaal grew on me through this movie. But I haven’t seen her in anything else since this film.

And Katie Holmes was brilliant in Batman Begins.

In the first 20 minutes, we hear the most famous quote in a superhero film of the last decade:

“You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” – Harvey Dent (played brilliantly by Aaron Eckhart)

The Joker’s Apparent Ambition:

“It’s simple, we kill the Batman.”

The “Gotham Team” of Gordon, Dent, and Batman Apparent Ambition:

“We’re going after the mob’s life savings.”

The second most famous quote in a superhero film comes just 10 minutes later, this time from The Joker:

“Why so serious?”

The Gotham Team want’s Lao, the mob’s money, and then the Joker.

Strange how the Joker must prove himself worthy of Gotham’s attention. As a startup criminal no less.

What is Christopher Nolan up to?

Reframing the idea of Batman. Keeping a few key elements the same, this reinvention paints a complicated Bruce Wayne. In the animated series from Warner Bros. Bruce Wayne is not complicated, he is a tool for tale of Batman. Here, Batman has an entire life, much more like the Batman of, say, Batman Returns.

Nolan may have seen more cinematic Batman than cartoon Batman. I’m just thankful he didn’t put him in Adam West style tights and give him terrible dialogue.

But who steals the show and at the most tragic of real life costs is the quite unforgettable Heath Ledger. About that, I’d like to say that no star rests in peace. They rest in memory. No life you’ve enjoyed ends with you here not thinking of them ever again. When a mark is made, it lasts. Like Heath.

One hour into the movie, just before the assassination attempt on Gotham’s mayor, and this fragility of life hits me. What’s darker than that? Being alive isn’t a choice we make. But staying alive is. Before I carry on with this review, I’d like to mention that if you or anyone is struggling with thoughts of suicide, there is help for you. The National Suicide Hotline is available 24 hrs. Just call 800-273-8255 and speak with someone today.

Concerning the dark side of Harvey Dent: He lived up to his own words. He lived long enough… to be desperate enough… for the cost of his efforts to come to the point he was ready to kill. Once Gordon went down and Rachel became… vulnerable… Gotham’s white knight started to dim in his brightness.

Bruce Wayne: “People are dying Alfred, what would you have me do?”

Alfred: “Endure, Master Wayne. Take it. They’ll hate you for it, but that’s the point of Batman. He can be the outcast. He can make the choice that no one else can make. The right choice.”


“The night is darkest just before the dawn.” – Harvey Dent

Though Dent was trying to explain that Batman would have his day to answer for the damage he’d done to Gotham.

So how does Batman come back from this shame?

Dude. Batman is in no real trouble. In this movie, Batman almost let’s Gotham know its been Bruce Wayne all along. And he would have if Dent didn’t claim to be the Batman during that press conference the above quote comes from.

Dent gives Batman a second chance. And the film’s action begins to rise more dramatically.

Spoiler alert: The Joker shoots the Batmobile with a rocket launcher (bazookas are out of cinematic style nowadays). The vehicle doesn’t survive. But Batman does.

The Caped Crusader isn’t even mad about it.

Measure for measure, Batman flips over The Joker’s semi.

Enough play by play.

You want my opinion? I have a tattoo of the bat symbol from this particular trilogy. Not because I’m a huge fan, which I am, or because I needed the ink, which I did. But because of the need to feel pain that wasn’t in vain. To scratch the itch on my forearm when I couldn’t afford long sleeve shirts to roll up. A friend of mine did it but he didn’t know my main reason was to cut myself. It’s not exactly my wrist, but it bled satisfactorily enough.

My point is, Batman is with me forever. So is the Joker. And Bane, and Catwoman, and the Scarecrow, and the list goes on.

I give this movie a thumbs up. For Nolan’s cerebral creative genius. For the sheer thrill of the ride. A ride that’s hard to catch in film sometimes. And sure, there have been other films that have killed it’s actors. Some have killed their crew. 

This one killed the hero’s girlfriend too.

Beat that.

The Dark Knight will remain one of history’s greatest films. In summation, I dare you to watch it again.

Be Well.

The Extraction Distraction

I am better at trying than I am at succeeding lately. Plenty of opportunities arose from a challenge between my sister and I that had the aim of getting me a job after the recent end of unemployment benefits. The challenge was simple: Put in 15 applications and you get 2 packs of cigarettes.

“You’re on,” I said.

15 applications later I got my packs. The applications themselves held another challenge. Do I take the job offers? Am I ready?

Some I rejected for disinterest reasons. Some rejected me based on the background check or other reasons. Then there were the ones I highly wanted, but the problem wasn’t the job, it was my readiness.

I have been dealing with a tooth extraction for two weeks now. It isn’t healing properly and the pain hasn’t let up. Add to that how little sleep I’ve been getting as the weather turned cold and the intermittent heat pattern of the thermostat has kept me waking up shivering every two hours. A difficulty made worse by the space heater I bought to help with this which apparently isn’t to be left on while one sleeps and has led to cold sweats and overheating in bed.

It’s been hectic trying to deal with these issues. On the call with my therapist that should have been weekly, schedules determined it had to skip a week – nevertheless – when we spoke, I broke down and cried about the pressure, pain, and loneliness of the entire month of October.

It was great to have such space to let the reality of my feelings have their outlet. I realized I hadn’t been writing much either and figured that once I did, I would have the organization of mind to be able to know what the next move should be.

There are some applications that have survived and those I look forward to prying work out of. I think my tooth could be infected, but instead of avoiding the dentist as usual, and since my insurance refuses to cover more pain medication stating that the issue should have lasted so long and that “prior authorization” is required for more… I’ll be seeing my dentist first thing in the morning, quite honestly.

As for therapeutic work, I was to lay out what a year would look like if I followed the plans I had made in my depression, and what one would be like if I followed healthier paths.

I realized I could probably get my school loans dropped through what’s called a Total and Permanent Disability discharge (TPD), requiring proof of disability and an application mailed, faxed, or emailed to those concerned. How long it would be before I could borrow again is unclear, but my credit would look better and I may be eligible for federal grants if not loans soon after the discharge is approved. (One of my sisters has debt customer service experience.)

Were I back in school, a lot of stress would be alleviated by the fact that I was actually doing work I enjoyed. Despite my psychological handicap I am an avid learner. It has given me quite the edge to master a subject when presented with little information for problems that contain various solutions. I can only imagine what more information can solve for my life.

If things go truly well, I can fulfill my dream of a lifelong education starting with a bachelor’s degree and then on my deathbed I’ll probably be trying to decipher the possibility of how to record the sound barrier being broken in the space between the moon and the earth’s atmosphere. Or perhaps attempting to record such data in zero gravity.

Or something else I can imagine within the perspective I have while in college.

One of the things I learned from reading the work of Bruce Lee, is to find balance while in motion, not always in stillness.

Be Well

One Bad Motha…

The reason fathers don’t have their children and the mother does is simple. Mother’s without children are bigger liabilities for law enforcement than men without children.

Women lose their minds when they lose their children. To the point that medical attention is required.

A father handles this pain much easier. After all, no one spent 9 months in his belly to be ripped away before they could be raised.

I’ve seen it all too much.

My ex girlfriend? Had 4 children before we started dating. They don’t trust her with them. She has felony kidnapping in her past. Charged. She now tries to find her way through a maze of homelessness and disregard as a mother.

One of my sisters? Had 3 children before she broke up with the father. He left her. Just took the kids and relocated. I don’t now all the details of their breakup. But now she’s holding on to a delusional, exaggerated sense of power. She lives in a homeless shelter as of just a few days ago. 

My ex would attract police presence while she had my son, enough to make them pull the child away from her and open the dependency/neglect case that cost me my parental rights ultimately.

My sister would call the police on her own brothers and sisters while we tried to get her out of the house, then another time while my brother was riding with her in another sister’s car she happened to be driving. Luckily she dropped him off before any law was scrutinized in the matter. According to him, he was just headed to a college campus and needed a lift. They must have argued along the way.

Nevertheless, as heartbroken as I am about it, I’m not about to make matters worse and forget that the law could make a full mockery of me in court because I (still) don’t know it well enough. 

My brother I cannot speak for, but he doesn’t give the police any problems either. We both seem to have learned not to tango with the law unless we have the evidence (or chutzpah) to succeed.

The law may or may not be skewed compassionately towards women’s plight in legal arenas, or it may be as I’ve explained: women who have lost their children are bigger problems to the legal authorities.

I may be off-base here, or perhaps I am completely wrong. But the evidence around me backs me up on this. 

It isn’t a conspiracy theory. Quite the opposite. I’m attempting to disprove a conspiracy; namely that law enforcement has conspired to work against men with records who have become fathers. 

And I don’t have the blog space to tackle that. Huge. Anthill.

Be Well.

Sick, Mental, Absolutely Mad.

Sick. Mental. Mad. Off his rocker. Screws loose. Afflicted. Nuts. Cah…razy.

My mental disorder means a lot about me, but one word I haven’t used to describe myself yet is: sick.

Yet it’s the truth. I’m sick in the head. I literally am treating the sickness with prescription antipsychotic medications. Do you know what it takes for a medication to be anti-something?

It means your body can’t fight it off without the help of additional treatments.

I have a therapist, a psychiatrist, a primary care physician, three go-to hospitals, one clinic and two pharmacies. That’s my medical support system.

What am I sick with, you may ask. Good question. 

Bipolar schizophrenia:

Mania. Depression. Hallucination. Insomnia. Anxiety.

Is it any wonder I need cigarettes, coffee, and a beer every now and then?

With God’s help, I don’t suffer from an addiction beyond those three. That’s a past life.

Am I sick? Yes.

Am I getting better? Yes.

Will I heal? Not completely. There is still no cure for either diagnosis, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia.

But it could be worse. Usually when you’re sick, your body reacts to infection. Instead of infection, my brain is, for lack of a better term; out of order. And no one knows how it got that way. What threw the switch? When did the brain stop functioning in an organized fashion and begin to jump, stall, involuntarily invent, stay alert at night, and panic?

Therein lies the true illness. 

As for causes, it could have been the lengthy heartache or it could possibly be the very first lengthy homelessness. It could have been the time I was homeless and took strange DMT and ended up curled up, in the fetal position and in an empty underground parking lot in the middle of the night, hallucinating and trying unsuccessfully to get to sleep.

So if there are screws loose in my head, there are clear markers on the roadmap of my life that have more or less “drilled” the screws nearly out.

Some of this information is for myself and my medical support only, but more than that, I’d like to speak to any scientist studying either bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. As a well-treated patient, I have a lot to share with Science.

Be Well.

…And I Shall Never Have Sex Again

I want to go in depth about a problem below the belt. No, I’m not turning into a woman, chimpanzee, or bat. Not that I know of. Anyway, I’ve had an issue with it for long enough and my doctor’s aren’t treating it like it is it’s own problem.

    I’m being treated for a sexually transmitted disease. But the illness isn’t presenting like a typical STD. While sex is contraindicated for the duration of symptoms (kill me), that didn’t stop me from sleeping with one woman again and again.

    We’ll talk about my obligation to speak to this woman about our mutual problem in a moment. For now, let’s get into the nitty gritty of what ails me…

    Symptomatically, my right testicle is swollen for weeks at a time. It’s painful, affecting my right leg with radiating pain. X-Rays taken at two hospitals each determine it is Epididymitis, a condition that isn’t Chlamydia or Gonorrhea yet is treated with the same medications.

    Possible causes are: STI’s (STinfections) like C or G above, Urinary Tract Infections, Urine flow into the Epididymis, Trauma to the area, or Tuberculosis.

    Bring in the urologist, right? They’re impossible to schedule with. I haven’t successfully made an appointment yet.

    Also, I can’t remember having these symptoms before I started seeing the aforementioned woman. Up until this point I haven’t outright blamed her for this. But when we first laid together (just before the pandemic hit) she had her own problem down there; it was a terrible stench that she had the next time we slept together too, aside from those two times, she has smelled better, but she has problems keeping up with her domestic duties. The trash. It sits around the inside of her apartment and the mosquito infestation is…

    It could have been a mosquito that bit my testicle (Yeah, that’s it!). But that would mean tuberculosis. Let’s goddamn hope not.

    I wish I could point at other sources for this problem but at this point she and I aren’t on talking grounds. She doesn’t know about Myra.


    Myra who?

    My right nut.

    She doesn’t know because I haven’t told her. And for a while, I thought it was blue balls so I would just schedule time to have sex with her at her place and then leave immediately. Only for it to hurt still.

    Now that I’m experiencing more prolonged pain, and my epididymis feels like it’s about to swallow my hole testicle, and my leg can hardly take it, I’m headed back to the doctor tomorrow. 

    What worries me the most about her story, is that she has her tubes tied. Is it possible the other men she may have been with have left me a painful gift? Is she a flimsy floozy, or is it all because her hormones ain’t right? I don’t understand women on that level. I’m no gynecologist. 

    To top it all off, I was unprotected each time. No jimmy, no rubber, no training wheels, no hand rails, no – you get the point.

    So guess what the moral of this story is, kids!

    “Take out the trash!”

    “Get a tube tie!”

    “Bros before Ho’s!”

That all sounds strangely logical, but it’s very simple: Wear protective equipment when you go to have sex. A condom can be found at your nearest gas station or convenience store.

    I don’t know how long I will have this problem, but I know I’ll do the best I can to keep myself healthy for as long as possible.

Be Well

(Power) vs Love

No one’s ever given up power for love.

That puts duty before love. 

… and by extension, work/career must come first. What else is duty?


It is important to discuss what we are reaching for.

Lend me your imagination here:

It is as if a man and a woman danced together formally. In such an instance, the man leads.

If there were crowns involved, and the woman were to to take the man’s crown as he wore it and knelt facing away from her, that is, behind his back, she would put it on, he would rise and behold her as she faced away and donned the crown on her own head with much personal satisfaction. She has taken power. If for an instant.

In another dance involving a crown, the woman would kneel before the man and he would bestow it upon her, giving her power instead of her taking it.

In yet another, the man/woman dances alone with their crown.

Better yet, they both wear their own crowns and once again the man leads.

The point is: a man’s duty to lead goes beyond his obligations to power, a woman’s duty just the same. But without love…

Perhaps a better example is required.

One’s power is their ability to carry out their duty. 

Duty to self and duty to another. 

Duty to the world.

To sister.

To brother. 

Duty to home and duty to neighbor. 

Duty during battle and duty at labor.

Love itself is not a duty. It is a feeling, however strong, that has never matched ambition, intention, or devotion. Especially when that devotion is to a country.

It is noble to choose one’s duty over one’s heart. This is how you attain things that one cannot truly live without.

But one should not chase love through their duty or through their power. For surely love will bring you weakness and downfall should it never arrive, or worse; leave you.

Love is fleeting, complicated, and with a well known shelf life if commitments are made to the wrong individual or circumstances deteriorate.

Duty outlasts love. This alone gives it all the power that duty, or you, will ever need.

Be Well.


There once was a girl named Sonya. I loved her. From the moment I first saw her at recess in 2nd grade, until high school when I finally struck up the nerve to actually speak to girls about my romantic intentions toward them. 

There were times, like in fourth grade, when some of us would put glue on our palms and wait for it to dry so we could stick them together and as they pulled apart it would look like webs from a spider. The fun part was peeling all the dry glue off of your hands piece by piece. The larger the peels the better. Sometimes Sonya would join in and we’d all have fun. Even if some of our hearts were pounding harder than the others at her closeness.

Well, she had long brown hair. Unfinished, lightly brown skin. The most adorable face with crooked teeth. She also flirted and was always trying to be close to this other boy I knew. It hurt. This boy was always dominant at recess. He played soccer, he played basketball– he was good too. Better than I was. That hurt, too.

I dreamt of Sonya. Boyish dreams I don’t remember the details of. Being nowhere near puberty at the time I don’t have many jokes from the dreams. I remember my feelings being of quite a serious nature. So much so that I kept them a secret and felt that if anyone knew they would either worry about me or force me to confront the lovely gal.

But I positively burst with the desire to do so. There was a period in middle school, which was a different building but with most of the same students from elementary years, where I became obsessed with writing her a letter that might describe my feelings for her. But my fear of rejection had been heightened back in 5th grade. 

It was the year I had sat at a computer and wrote from memory the entire Disney’s Hercules film into a Microsoft Word document over the course of a few days with the free time portion of the day.

Two reasons I love to write are the letter to Sonya, and the discovery of Microsoft Word that year. Though, admittedly, the letter was to be handwritten. I didn’t own a printer and there was no way I would let anyone else read the contents.

That year, I wrote a different girl who I had a smaller but still significant crush on a very small question on a piece of folded paper and set it on her desk. There, with my name at the bottom, was the query: “Do you like me? Yes or no.”

I watched her open the paper and read it. I didn’t expect her to write something on it. I couldn’t wait to read what she wrote. But before I got to, she balled it up tightly and threw it in the trash can nearest to me.

Great vote of confidence.

I was devastated. So I never gave Sonya the letter. I never even wrote it. Constantly I would rewrite and edit it time and time again in my head. But never were these words shared. Never did I speak to her about my love for her for fear it would be unrequited.

Did I want her to love me back? Hardly was it a prerequisite, but if she would even grow to, I’m sure I would have had no need for heaven, church, or food, or a silly old QWERTY keyboard.

My hypothesis is that the constantly edited letter going through draft after draft in my head and then getting constantly suppressed by my fear of rejection, fueled by that intense love for that… damn girl, has been the source of what would later become the voices in my head.

The doctors speak of it as a “split”. The voices themselves sound typically like my desires. The problem with the voices is that what they say, need be said, yet doesn’t come out because once the sentence is formed, it’s echoed inside in a timbre that isn’t recognized as myself. So I react by listening as if someone else has read my mind and said it out loud. Which, by the way, is EXACTLY how it feels. Every time.

My assumption as to the cause of my auditory hallucinations is that once I distanced myself from the sound of my heart’s deepest desire – in this case: Sonya – by denying myself the love I obsessed over, and by the suppression of my inner voice (and all that beautiful poetry)for all those years, my mind has split into at least two parts. The suppressed voice and the expressed mind. This results in the third voice, the psychological shadow, the sound of the original mind, the unconscious… along with it’s frustrated tone.

It’s just a hypothesis, I don’t know for sure. The causes of schizophrenia are as unknown as the number of sand on the shore.

Maybe the idea she would ever go for me was my first delusion. Think of those implications. Granted, you don’t know someone’s preferences if you don’t ask or they are unwilling to tell. And 2nd grade is a difficult time to enter puberty. At any rate- that’s early. 3 years early by today’s data on when puberty starts and how old children are in that grade.

Love hurts. But unhealthy obsession is what leads to mental health issues. Since I never confronted the girl and told her how I felt, I’m sure it was an unhealthy obsession. I’m also sure I have other problems that stem from my life’s first prolonged heartbreak. But at least time has gone by and I’ve gotten over, more like “past” her. Just be careful out there, you could really mess yourself up if your self esteem is dependent on who you love and you must obsess over when you will finally win them over.

It’s so unfair.

Be Well.