I am out to my friends. I’ve had amazing friends who’ve stood by me on my journey of getting used to myself… Getting past the denials, locking myself up to cry on the shadows so no soul besides mine would hear. I had an amazing group of friends that have stood by me every step of the way. It feels good being out. I like it. No weight holding me down. My health is stable. Only one hospital stay in the last four months!

I started dating. For the first time. David, saw him twice he wasn’t right and… I couldn’t stand him blowing smoke in my face. Roy and Austin were too focused on hooking up over taking a chance at a long term relationship. I don’t want to screw around. I want to settle down. Fall in love. Be hopeful. Find that partner, a partner in crime. One day have kids. Heck… Marriage may seem archaic but I want it, even if it’s simple. I want a wedding ring on my finger to show off to the world in taken. I dream of this. To have someone there. Always there. Just there for you. Someone that will become your true partner after we learn one another over the years.

A few days ago, I was contacted by a guy named Scott. He was sweet. He has a gentle nature. I think he’s adorable and such a strong person. I like him thus far and I’m getting far too optimistic. But talking to him feels right. He seems to connect to me on some level. I’m at a loss of words around him. He’s genuine… I want that boy. Dammit.

Here’s to the future and hope. I never thought I would one day have a serious boyfriend because I would never find the right person. I think I found the first real contender. I’m so worried I’d screw things up. :/

Nick. < my real name.


Out. Coming Out. These are words that strike fear in me. And these are the very words that strike fear into a great deal of gay men around not only this country, but around the world. A great deal are younger than me, and yet a great deal live in societies that are even worse than mine. It is hard to fathom at times how large our world actually is. We may be a tiny pale little blue dot in the vastness of a great and powerful universe, but, we on the little blue dot is where everything we are is. The sum of everything that made our civilization and everything we’ve ever known has been on this planet, so small compared to the vastness of the universe.

So. About a week ago. I came out to my sister. This was a hard move for me, because I’m actually pretty damn close to my sister. Probably closer to her than any of my siblings… Well the fourteen year old brother and I live in the same house, but he’s still fourteen and is in the xBox live phase where everyone’s a ‘homo’. I’m gonna let him mature a bit more first… Though, my sister instantly was okay with it. She was disgusted by gays a lot in public. But, now her brother’s gay? She seems to be perfectly fine with it. She didn’t have a lot of questions. She’s been supportive, and had actually agreed to take me to my first LGBTQ meetup here. I felt amazing for several days after that. I felt a new high, it felt great. She did ask if anyone else knew, my siblings all do now… And I told her how one of my brothers straight out asked me when I was a teenager and that’s how he found out. I don’t think my sister realizes that this means a great deal to me. She’s one of the few people I love talking to on a regular basis, we share interests, love of plays, broadway… TV shows. Now, being completely open with my sister feels amazing.

So, now two nights ago… I was standing around with my grandmother, I blurted it out. My grandmother was an important milestone to me… Very important. I live with her. She didn’t have a problem with it and her response was basically, “That’s a problem why?” She only has a problem with it, if I would date a girl to cover it up… That makes it good on me. She did tell me not to shy away from girls if I ever have feelings for one… Just in case. Good advice grandma, pretty sure I’m still gay however. So, this made me happy. I then tried to talk to my father, but my father’s attitude when I got anywhere near that subject was he didn’t care and my personal life is my personal life. So… That’s always good, right?

My mother is a different story. Her and her friends were questioning my virginity… Because two of my brothers are teen fathers. I don’t have a kid yet and I’m nearly twenty-four. So they were arguing over it. I was on speaker phone and just yelled I slept with a guy. Hung up. It’s not the entire truth, I broke out in laughter over it, so did my father and my mom’s best friend. My mom didn’t talk to me for a while, now she thinks it’s a joke. She did go on complaining later about a local gay teacher… How she doesn’t want her grandkids in his class. My brother’s girlfriend (mother of his kid) and my brother both agreed on a point and I am proud of what they told my mother, “My son will not hate gays.” They told my mother that bluntly, she was taken aback… This pleased me a bit.

My mother’s a good person, really she is. She tried so hard. She’s been through a lifetime of pain. She raised kids on her own, she was beat when she was a child. She is homophobic, and she puts PHOBIC in homophobic. I found out my biological grandmother is lesbian! Apparently gays used to abuse her really badly as a child… She’s slowly coming around and seeing them more equal as long as they’re not “pushy” to her. But she still coughs “fairy” at guys she thinks is gay. Well, at least she’s coming around.

I want to be more out. I really do want to actually start dating, meet someone… Have a good time. Actually kiss someone. I know, this sounds cheesy. But, I do want it. Badly. I regret I bottled myself up for so long. I wish I hadn’t as a teenager, and just gotten out sooner instead of staying to myself. But, the past is the past… I can’t redo it. If I could, I’d change so much… So freaken much.

Anyways. I have a long way to go. I need to stabilize my health… I have extremely bad news in that department. But, I do want to get off of government aid one day, if my health stabilizes (please do, health). I want to work, be able to have a disposable income so I can go see the world. I want out of my state. I have a lot of wants… One step at a time, I’m guessing.


I sit here in great thought of events that have transpired over the past week. I revitalized this blog. I haven’t forgotten about it, I just felt nothing to write. I had several strokes. I’ve had several issues with my health when everything was looking like it was going to become better. I wanted to become better. I really did. I still do. But, there’s some nagging feeling inside of me saying that I would not.

Anyways, from the thoughts I’ve been in. I’ve had a great deal of support from this blog I have done, and I cannot thank Kate enough for encouraging me to write it. It has allowed me to give a great amount of thought into everything instead of bottling it up. I may cry when I write the posts… Okay, I usually do. I’ll admit that. But, I feel better afterwards and I don’t act out on impulse.

Keith Rhydderch, the name the readers of this blog know me as… I wanted to apologize to everyone. But, I feel I must admit. Keith Rhydderch is not my real name. You see, I’m a great fan of post-by-post role play forums. I love to write a post that is a part of an even bigger story and work over time to create a beautiful story and a rich character. Rhydderch comes from one of my favorite active characters that I have had for over two years now. Keith is my favorite male name in the English language. I had great difficulty with Keith when I was young as I had issues talking, thus is why Keith became a favorite name of mine and I find it a great deal of fun to say.

Alias. This is the title of this post. I’m hiding behind an alias. I feel bad for it, but it stops people I know personally from searching and finding about my life in such detail I’m writing here. When I was talking to Kate when I originally started this blog, the idea of an alias was a great idea as very few people can make the attachment of Keith Rhydderch to my real name. I do dislike my real name to an extent… It’s a common name, yes. But, it was so common in my years that eight kids in my school classes had it, and another few girls had a name that was similar. Way too many with my name, which is why I came to hate it because I was always referred to as and a number.

But, isn’t it funny how you age and grow up… Your name comes to fit you? Names seem to become stereotypes… And these are all intriguing stereotypes and I enjoy them all. I’m slowly coming to like my name more, and heck even my middle name even though half my family seems to have my middle name as their first name.

Alias. This blog, the krhydderch blog is everything I want to scream out at the top of my lungs to the world. This blog is the real me. This blog is not an alias. In fact, it feels like the life I’m living is an alias, hiding the real me which is this blog. I want more, I want so much more out of life. I want to break out of my alias and settle into my life. I dream of moving to a city, more liberal, and more open so I could be open myself and make and forge new friendships which I do desperately need. I would love to have a life working a great job in a city that I love… A city that I could thrive in.

I’m not a high means person. I don’t drink alcohol, because I cannot and I don’t break those doctor rules. I don’t go out on a whim to the theaters each night. I know how to cook for myself. Heck… My diet is actually cheap, because I don’t eat expensive meant all the time… Thankfully my taste for meat is a bit low. Don’t get me wrong, I see nothing wrong with eating meat. I just stopped when I was a child for a while after some recommendations and it stuck as I grew up. My entertainment needs aren’t that expensive either. I could easily live off of low means and be happy. The only thing that’s difficult, the field I want to be in is in an area that is so entirely expensive that it costs a leg and an arm to even locate there.

If I were wealthy, I would love to do what Ellen DeGeneres has her employees do. I would love to travel around the country and meet interesting people that actually need help and spend a day with them to find out what their life’s hardships are. Heck, I’d even make this a blog. But, I’m not rich… So we can dump that image out of the mind.

So. Here I am. I am hiding behind an alias in real life by pretending I’m someone I’m not. But, online… At least on this blog? I am Keith Rhydderch, an alias name that writes about real issues effecting myself.


Once upon a time I had five core friends. People made fun of me all my life. I was the deaf kid. The kid with giant glasses. The kid that looked different. The kid that had no friends. The kid with a crazy mother. The kid that talked funny. I got called names. A lot. I hated myself growing up. I truly did. Why? Other kids. But, in second grade I met a girl named Naomi. She had a hard time talking. She had cystic fibrosis. Soon a normal girl named Katie begun hanging out with us. These were my first two friends that were my age.

The school was impressed with the girl for making friends with me and Naomi. They called mine and her parents in and gave us both awards. For being good people. This pleased me. A lot. I also had other friends, adult friends as a kid. A woman named Dollie, she used to watch me a lot. Owned a dairy, was active, understood me. Always knew how to make me smile. And a neighbor, Wilson. Wilson played games, inspired a fascination for the Internet, challenged me to read, introduced me to Harry Potter, Stargate, Battlestar Galactica… So much more.

So there was five. Me. Naomi. Katie. Wilson. Dollie. When I was twelve I made a new friend, Jessica. Dollie died… Was my first experience with death. Next year? Jessica died… Radiation overdose. Time went on. Katie disappeared, her family won’t talk about it.

Teenager now. I secluded myself. I didn’t want friends. I wanted to be alone, it hurt to be alone. But, I wanted it. I read, stuck to myself. Role played on forums. Nothing coped and helped with the great physical and emotional pain I had. I’ve begun having strokes and chest pains. My mother said I was faking… Bad one came. Rushed out of school on an ambulance. Came back next week to find a girl slamming me against a wall twisting my arm furious at me for disappearing and scaring her, and asked me for my number… That’s how I formally met Dawn.

Few good years minus pain. I loved my friends but I was so afraid I would hurt them. Senior year. Naomi died in March… We were two months. TWO months after a decade of friendship to graduating. Naomi dragged an oxygen tank to school with her. It broke me. Hard. This was the hardest death I dealt with in my life. My grandfather died the same year, he was one of the few people in my life I looked up to and would call a great man. Next year I had surgery, sickest I’ve ever been. My “fake” pains apparently were discovered to be real and an issue.

Twenty. I survived the teen years against incredible odds. I lost Dollie, Katie, Jessica, and Naomi. The original five… I lived. I was supposed to die before them. Young twenties, weak, getting older, no job because of health care issues. Heck… I even stalked Automattic’s jobs pages, but I’m nowhere near as talented enough to work for them or anyone. Other places I liked cost far too much to live there, and I have no support network besides in an area with air so bad that only China rivals us. I just have a lot of medical baggage. Wilson died recently. My friend Dawn hates me because her boyfriend thinks I’m a threat. I have no intention of going after her… This hurts me. But in December 2009, I met an awesome person by chance online named Kate.

To make matters worse… Naomi’s mom called today. Just moments ago. And last week. This hurts. I hate my memory. But, now I’m reminded. I have no real life friends left. The only people I could call friends are Kate… List stops there. Kate called me a great friend. I don’t think Kate will ever realize how much this means to me. Kate brought Cassie whose blog lights me up when I need it. I do have others I’d like to call friends, but I barely talk to them: Heather, Josh, Destiny, Lily, Kesra and it ends there plus a few more. Not much more or less. There are some new people like Taz, Moni, or Jay that are starting to mean a lot to me. But… I never physically met any of them.

I’m in a dilemma. I want to be remembered and do something great in my life… But, I don’t want my passing to cause pain.

I feel horrible. I feel like curling up in a ball and crying. I suffered too much in my life. My life is dictated by worrying about surgery and my heart. I hate this.


I never really had a crush before. Isn’t that odd? I’m almost twenty-four years old and never really had adult experiences such as sex, alcohol or the feeling of having adult friends that I could joke around with.

All my real life friends have pretty much died. There’s one main one left, but she’s gone. My social aspect of my life is nonexistent. I live off of social security. I’m a survivor, I know. But, does it hurt to want more?

You know what? Survivors guilt sucks. I’ve been feeling it all day. I hate having memories of Nay come up. Or the others, Katie. Jessica, Dollie… And I recently lost Mr. Wilson the main male role model in my life. He taught me to be tolerant, taught me to read, helped me learn to talk, encouraged my writing and my fascination with the Internet. His loss… Hurts. The rest still hurt. Why did I survive when I was sicker than the rest of us? But guess what? Besides bad blood imbalances my heart seems strong. But, I feel guilty. What I wouldn’t give to have any of them back. How did I survive?

Anyways. I got my first serious crush. My stomachs been tied in knots for too long to count. My heart flutters when he signs on or sends me a message. I’m really liking this boy. I’m also scared of screwing it all up. I feel guilty that I even had a dream about him. A dream! I rarely even dream! Ugh. He’s so sweet, considerate, loves the same things I do. Gets lost in games… I love this. He even rambles on… I love this even more. A crush? Who would’ve thought? I’m a loyal guy, I’m also monogamous. I dream of meeting someone that is accepting, is a gamer and forum rper, loves life and can make me smile. He fits thus far.

But, I’m also afraid. And lost. I do not have any adult experiences. I still haven’t had my first kiss.

And in three months I’ll be another year older. I want 2013 to be better. Please let it be better. I need it to be better.

How I feel – Kiwi Mad World

Sometimes people ask me how would I describe myself. What animals. Kate found a really awesome shirt that describes me perfectly that I will buy eventually. But, I wanted to give the reason behind it. Kiwi is a flightless bird that desires to fly. A bird that wants to soar, but, cannot due to being flightless. This is exactly how I feel in today’s world. Exactly how I feel.

What If?

I cannot help but to think of the all mighty and important question, what if? It is a question that approaches my mind quite often. I often wonder what my life could have been like. What life could be. Where I would be if circumstances were different for me.

What if I were female? When my mother was first pregnant with me, the doctors actually believed I was going to be a female! Get that! The doctors did believe there might be some trouble with the fetus, due to an abnormal and elevated heart rate. But, set that aside for now. When I was born, I obviously was a boy. My parents were wondering how the doctor missed that fact I was a boy, not a girl. What would my life be like if I were born female? Would I be different in personality? Would I view life differently? I cannot answer this question myself.

What if I never got sick? Within the first few days of my life the doctors told my parents it would be a miracle if I survived. Chances were low. I had a major surgery when I was three weeks old on my intestinal track and stomach. The exact condition I had was called infantile hypertrophic pyloric stenosis. Basically, this only happens in male infants in the early stages of life. The cause is unknown. Children with this have extreme vomiting and it gets worse as time goes on. The symptom is called projectile vomiting for a reason, it is because it is forced. Can you imagine being a parent with this? Seeing your child vomiting constantly and nothing you do can stop it? Children with this become extremely dehydrated, won’t have tears, have trouble gaining weight, constantly hungry and bad colic. I had all of that. So, basically, I was a problem child from day one. Funny enough, this is common in children with Jewish ancestry.

What if by some way I was still born, but, my ancestors never left my home country? I know, likely I won’t be alive, right? But, let’s pretend it can happen for a while. My family line has been traced back a long, long, time. I spent countless hours digging through family records and questioning my grandparents about what they remember. I found a box of funeral statements, etc, and I was successfully able to trace my father’s line down to the 1600s. My mother’s line is extremely difficult because my mother was adopted. But, my father’s line roots from the Scandinavian lands. I believe it was Norway my grandfather said his line hailed from. Though, they lived there a very, very, long time ago, five hundred years is a long time. But, now, today, Norway is a world power and one of the best countries and with a socialist economy. I very much like the idea of a capitalist-socialist country. New technology, motivation, and profit is all good, but, things like healthcare socialized.

If healthcare in the United States were socialized, I would’ve never had to worry about coverage. If I lived in a country like that, I wouldn’t have to worry about coverage. But, now, I must think of the topic: Medical technology. I had some of the best doctors in the world. So, I might have died in a socialist country, not because of lack of coverage, but, because they simply did not have the resources on hand to treat me. One of the diseases I contracted was Kawasaki Disease, cause is unknown but it is believed it is genetic. But, at the time it was unheard of in Europe. So, what if they had been clueless? I would’ve died as a toddler. When I first got it, it was considered an Asian disease and unheard of for a Caucasian to get it. So, make that two things, apparently by genetics I’m an Asian Jew?

What if my heart wasn’t failing? I had a bad heart since I was born. But, it was manageable. I survived the tough years, and if I would’ve made it to around age 7-8, I would’ve been alright and a normal kid that would just have to have regular cardiac appointments. But, fate did not have that. I got Kawasaki Disease. Recently, House did an episode on it, which was really good and pretty accurate. Kawasaki Disease is very rare, and even rarer in non-Asians. Many people say it’s caused by carpet cleaning chemicals, but, this is unproved. There are theories it is wind topography, genetic, or possibly a series of dominoes both genetic and environmental that fall. This condition was discovered late in me, and possibly worsened my heart. Now, my heart is basically, crap. It had repairs, and replacements and my heart’s inside of a plastic ball.

So, what if my heart wasn’t failing? What would life be like if I had a normal heart? Well, I have no clue. But, I cannot help but dream of this. If I were normal, I’d never have been held back. I could’ve played sports. I might had made more friends, a different circle of friends. Not being in the hospital all the time? It was my biggest dream. But, if I was never sick the defining moment of my childhood would’ve never happened: meeting the president of the country through Make-A-Wish. I probably would have never met my original circle of friends, of which now, I’m the only survivor. The rest died.

But, the problem is. Would I have ended up like my brothers? I grew up with two of my seven siblings. These two siblings dropped out of high school. Both been arrested. Both joined gangs. One was a teenage father. One was arrested for attempted murder. The other for armed robbery. Both for drugs, graffiti, and they even became drug dealers. It’s funny, my dad left when we were little. My mom hardly let him see us and shafted him constantly. For as long as I could remember I’ve always been a glass half empty type person. I admire those whom are optimistic and glass half full. They make me smile. But, my brothers were neither. They were the glass was full of air type and in their own worlds.

Would I have become a criminal like my brothers and never finished high school and now with such bad criminal records cannot find a basic minimum wage job before the age twenty? My parents couldn’t afford college, and we were at the magical barrier where financial aid is ruled out, but, yet, parents don’t make enough. But, if I had been normal and showed up at school every day with my personality… Maybe I would’ve been a straight A student and got a scholarship? I could only dream. But, now, I cannot fathom the idea of college. The cost will give me a heart attack.

What if I knew my own sexuality? I know. This question isn’t fair. But, what if? I think I’m gay because it was the only feelings I had ever experienced as a teenager. But, I stopped myself in the tracks. I controlled my own thoughts. I stopped myself from crushing on people. I stopped myself from making friends. I purposely secluded myself because I was sick and lost a good friend and wanted to spare others that. My fault, really. But, what if I’m bisexual? I never really found out, and to this day, I really don’t want to. I dream of one day being married with children, but, if what I have is truly genetic, why would I? Now, if I were straight or bisexual? I don’t think it’d change whom I am. I wouldn’t be motivated by sex. I’m not hormone driven, nor was I as a teenager. I liked being alone. Perhaps I’m really asexual! That’s what I tell my parents… Anyway. I think it would be the same. Perhaps, one day, I’ll have the chance to find out what I am.

Though, I talked to someone recently. She’s married with a husband that loves her. His love for her cannot even be doubted. He’d drop everything for her. If she comes home and wants to watch something on the television, he gives it up. He does anything for her. She controls what they do, what they eat, where they go, and he always has a smile. He says a happy wife is a happy life. He’s content, and happy. He doesn’t make the decisions. This girl was pissed, because he’s too kind, nice, and giving to her. She didn’t like that he didn’t have an “edge”. He doesn’t speak up for himself. She told me he’s been waiting for a movie to come on the television for a few months. He didn’t even ask for the television or change the channel to watch it, because, she was watching one of her favorite television shows. She hated that he missed something he really wanted to do for her. She then started talking about divorcing him. Poor guy. If I were normal and in a relationship with a woman, I’m pretty damn sure I’d be the exact same. I’d let her control it. I’m not a dominant person. I’m not a clever man.

What if I’ve been born rich? Oh, this is a dream. I think life would be different. Never having to worry about money? College, everything, probably would have been clear to me from the first moment. My health wouldn’t be a problem in things. Of course, I’d still have a bad heart… But, with money? I wouldn’t have to worry and be afraid for myself and coverage. But, honestly, if I had the same personality, I’m a very giving person. I would find myself volunteering a lot.

If I didn’t have to work a day in my life because I had money not to? I’d probably travel the world and spend days working with people in lesser situations. Go to community schools in cities that are struggling, help out. Soup kitchens, etc. I have a strong belief in helping those whom struggle. I personally believe we need to work on our own country first before we help another world. My heart goes out to the struggles in Africa, South America, and the Middle East. But, we have problems in our own country and millions of starving. I think we need to help them first before we send these resources to another country.

What if I weren’t American? Don’t get me wrong. I love being an American. As I said above, the disease I had was pretty damn rare. Most doctors couldn’t even spot it back when I was tiny, almost twenty years ago. Today, most doctors know of it. But, putting that aside for now. If I were Canadian and sick? Well, the Canadian system from what I’ve learned from Canadians is pretty damn bad, so, I’d be in the same situation, but, with coverage. I had to wait eight months to get coverage for an “emergency surgery” that I should’ve gotten immediately, in Canada it would’ve been the same. Looking at Britain, it’s the same. Most socialist countries would be the same except for Finland, Norway, and Sweden. It looks like I probably could have had much, much, more potential in those countries in today’s day and age.

I love my country, I just wish things were different. If I ever get on my own two feet with a good job and good health coverage and I don’t have to worry? I’d be pretty damn glad I was American due to the advantages I would have. We have better television, more choices, more resources in entertainment. Though, we do have very slow internet compared to the modern world and an aging infrastructure that badly needs to be updated. That aside, we are the most powerful capitalist nation on this earth. We have more entertainment avenues, more choices, more culture, and we are our own culture. I love being an American, I just wish we had socialized health care, and we would rival the other nations once more.

So, now I wrote this. Maybe I’m better off being that sick kid that the world does not care about? Maybe I’m not. But, what if is not a fair question as one would never know. I swear, if I were an all powerful being with powers that rivaled a god, I would create multiple universes and set events in and be endlessly happy with watching things like what if the Greeks overtook Rome and stuff like that. I’ll write a new post soon, I’m trying to blog more often. I think my next post will be adult experiences but I’m not so sure. We’ll see when I do write more.

What if something in your life was different? Do you think you’d turned out differently? 

I’m done.

I hate myself.

There. I said it. I look and see people and the adventures they’re off on. It’s amazing. They’re falling in love. They’re off to new heights that they, themselves never dreamed of. Across the world they soar.

I cannot help myself but wonder. What if I have been normal? I can’t help myself but to think that. What if I could play sports? I keep wondering. Would I have done better in school if I weren’t sick? The questions are nearly endless and they go on and on.

I an twenty-two years old. I have been through more trials in my life then people would ever fathom. I died. I suffer from incurable heart failure. I’ve had my aortic valve replaced. I got threatened with a gun. Several of my closest and best friends all have died. I never been in love. I have very few friends and become a hermit. I am far too dependent off my parents to make a living.

Why? Because of my health. My health prevents me from doing a lot of things. I was never allowed to play sports. I am not allowed to run. I am not allowed to lift more then fifteen pounds. I’m on a strict diet. I couldn’t afford college, my parents aren’t wealthy either. I didn’t grow up with every advantage in the world thrown at me. I grew up in a broken house-hold riddled with crime. I lived with an attempted murderer next to my bedroom. A brother that committed armed robbery, not once, but twice. Another brother that’s a drug dealer. Witnessed a parent cheat on my step father.

But, yet, out of all of this. I caused the most pain to my friends and family. At times I wish I had none. There are times I wish I ceased to exist. Would I be missed? By few. But, perhaps the world is better.

There was a very strong reason I refused to make friends for most of high school. My parents thought something was wrong with me. I was diagnosed with an okay mental capacity. Why did I refuse to make friends? It was my choice. When I was thirteen I lost a dear friend. I lost another dear friend not long after. In fact, they were kind of the only friends I actually had. When I started high school, I met an old friend from elementary school once again. I was pleased, but, I avoided others. I stuck to myself. I didn’t have friends to go to the movies with. People thought I was odd. People stared at me like something was wrong when I clutched my chest in pain.

I remember going to a baseball game. I was fifteen years old. Arguably that was the toughest summer of my life. It was the summer that defined whom I was. The summer that defined my character. The summer that shattered my entire world. It was the summer I came fully to the realization that I was gay. It was the summer when my health begun to fail once again. It was a summer of memories and yet… Terrible shame of myself.

That was the summer I had a stroke. A fifteen year old boy. A stroke. Massive pain in my chest. I collapsed to the ground. A crowd gathered, yet, nobody called for help. It was the first time I didn’t feel invisible. Someone my age spoke to me, “Dude. That sucks.” Those are the words that follow me to this very day, now, that I’m invisible once again. I was at a baseball game with my grandfather. I ruined the rest of my summer vacation by being in the hospital. It was the only sport I ever truly liked. The reason why? I felt like a normal teenage boy without a worry in the world. I had such high hopes for myself.

I hated being invisible. I had made some friends in my freshmen year of high school. I finally had a social life. When I went back, things got worse. My freshmen year had been great. It was the first time I nearly got all Straight As (Got a B in Art, which I sucked at). Sophomore year I got more jolts of pain. I kept getting sick, hence, a lot of absences. My family got kicked out of their home. And yet, my high school required things to be typed. My mother refused to let me use her computer. So, I couldn’t keep up with my homework anymore. My grades dropped. My tests were decent, grades dropped.

I had a teacher that was extremely shocked when she read an essay about me. She was shocked that I knew I was atheist. This teacher was the first person to ever make me question the being whom I was. She was the first teacher to get to know who I was. The first teacher to get down to my level and challenge me for what my mindset. I appreciated that more then anything. Oh, how I wish I can tell her how much she helped me.

I refused to make friends once again. One of my closest friends approached me one day. She finally understood when I was a junior. I had been taken away from school the previous day on an ambulance. She spoke to me and spoke a view point. The teacher that I admired so much, that challenged me and been a great friend, had told her what had happened. I had a bad heart. A very, very, bad heart. My friend found out from classmates when I was younger, that I had met the President of the United States… Through the Make-A-Wish Foundation. I hid my illness the best I could. But, the chest pain gave it away. There was nothing the doctors could do. I couldn’t even take pain medications.

It was the day that I actually stopped avoiding her. I’ve been avoiding my friends. I didn’t want any friends. I knew I’d probably never make it to adulthood. I’d die at a young age and be forgotten by the world. I did not want anyone to get to know whom I was. What kind of person I was. I stayed away from people. I ate alone, or stuck with the Special Education kids because they were the only people in the world who could make me give a genuine smile. Why didn’t I want friends? I did not fear death. I knew I would die. I knew the pain it felt when you had a dear friend die. I suffered it multiple times. I did not want to inflict that pain upon anyone else. I wanted the entire world to forget me. I wanted to cease to exist. It would make it easier on everyone.

My health continued to decline. My junior year was in complete shambles. My grades were horrible. My mother grounded me for six months because she thought I was faking my chest pain. Though, the doctors did say I was really feeling the pain. My mother called me a hypochondriac. My pain became so frequent that when I experienced the pain, instead of sending me to the nurse the teachers would call for an ambulance immediately and notify the nurse last.

Oh. I had the most terrifying experience in my junior year. I couldn’t move my legs. My skin turned blue. I couldn’t breathe. A teacher I barely knew found me. She sat down next to me and gripped me into a hug and held onto me until the ambulance arrived. I would never forget that gesture. It saddened me she retired within a month, so, I never really had the opportunity to get to know her. At the hospital… The vice principal herself showed up to see how I was doing. The hospital kept me over night. The next day my mother became simply furious because of my supposed “lying”.

Senior year. There was finally a Gay-Straight Alliance club. I showed up one day, nervous as heck. I felt welcomed. People were kind. They treated me, as me. Myself. Not the kid that was always sick. The weird kid that has heart attacks. They treated me with respect. Before then, the only time I ever felt that way was when I volunteered to help during my breaks in the Special Education classroom. Not once did these people in the Gay-Straight Alliance asked my sexuality. They didn’t care. They never cared about that detail. I was seventeen years old in a world of hormone driven teenagers. I’d always look fondly and support these clubs with every fiber of my being.

Senior year wasn’t much better either. My grandfather died. I missed the first half of my first semester because I was in another state. I fell so far behind. Later my senior year, I was approached by my Biology teacher. He asked me if I’d be willing to spend a few days with a lady from the Blood Bank, for the school’s first blood drive. I agreed to it after some thinking. She had me talk about how blood transfusions saved my life.

The school was filled with rampart rumors about what I had. I explained to them I had a bad heart. I had life risking surgeries. Blood transfusions were the only option to make sure I get through the surgery as I’d lose so much blood. I was a reason why, people like them were called to donate. It was an amazing experience that I enjoyed. It relieved a lot of pressure.

One of my dear friends, whom I knew since elementary school died my senior year. She was in the special education class, but, that did not make her any less of a friend. She was an amazing person with an appetite for knowledge. Her last days were hard. She carried an oxygen tank to school. She died. Cystic fibrosis claimed her life. I hated this. I also hated the fact that the year before a football jock died and the whole school held a memorial. She was the second person to die in our school, and nobody but me seemed to care. After some arguing with the school, I got them to agree to a fundraiser in her memory. We got her a brick installed in the front of the school. Raised a lot of money for charities. They let me choose where. I choose 50% to Valley Childrens, the hospital that took care of us, and the other half to the Cystic Fibrosis foundation.

I never came out in high school. I never had someone I fell for. To this day, I never fell for someone. I simply won’t allow myself. I know what I am. I still don’t really want to accept it. Not long after high school, my health took a turn for the worst. Really bad. Really, really, bad. Constant pain. The doctors became increasingly worried. I graduated high school and the first thing I did was move to where my dad lived. I did that in a heart beat. My mother of course got mad. But, I had to do it. For me. My dad got me on social security insurance, so, I had a doctor look into my problem… A good doctor. She was freaked out as hell and immediately sent me to a cardiologist. The cardiologists did several tests and had me come back the next week.

His diagnosis: I needed an emergency surgery. They made arrangements with my last surgeon, as they’d prefer him to cut me open again. Though, I was eighteen… No longer a child, the surgeon agreed. They set a date and everything. Guess what happened when it approached? The great and awesome government of the United States of America rejected the surgery and dropped my insurance. It made my doctor mad. My dad found a lawyer and the lawyer sued on my behalf. It took eight months of fighting and finally a judge ruled in favor of me. I got my insurance. Did some more tests, and, actually collapsed two days before the test and I woke up during the middle of a cardiac cauterization screaming in pain and freaked out as hell.

The problem was far worse then they realized. Surgery happened, a lot far worse then they realized. The surgeon said I should have had this surgery done over a year previous. I actually died during that surgery. I bled to death, my inominate vein ripped apart in the first hour. The scar tissue attached itself to my chest cavity and my heart. The repairs wouldn’t hold, so they had to replace those parts. Finally, after, all of those years in pain they discovered the root cause. The surgery was a success, though, a very, very close one. A five hour surgery turned to over fifteen hours. I was in such bad shape that my surgeon wouldn’t leave my bed side and they kept, not a nurse, a doctor at my side for almost a week. I had a nurse at my side for two weeks, before I was moved to the general rooms to recover for another two weeks. I was in the hospital for thirty days total.

Now. I see my friends soaring through life. People my age marrying off. Falling in love. People starting to have their first children. People leading into huge careers, happy, moving to cities far from home. My dream has always been to move away and be on my own, alone. Someplace where I can be me… I envy these people. I envy them for being normal. If there is a god, I must ask, why has he forsaken me?

I’m fed up in this screwed up world. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t get a job. I can’t go back to school. My grades in high school were abysmal. Yet, nobody understands. I wasn’t one of the lucky sick kids born in a socialist country. I was born in a greedy country that would be pleased if I die, because I save the taxpayers money. I ran up millions in medical bills, I’m surprised they still bothered to pay for me.

I’m doing nothing with my life. I won’t have an effect on anyone. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of life itself. I’m simply tired. There are few pleasures left in the world for me. My health is stable for now. But, how long until I collapse again? When will my next stroke be? Will it get even worse? I’m done with fighting. If I get sick again, it’d be my last chance. I’m done. I don’t deserve to be on this earth, nor have I ever been.

Why did I have to be sick? Why did I have to survive? Why did my best friends die, but not me? Why was I the survivor of my friends? Why am I the last one left? Why couldn’t I be normal? Why? Why? Why? Why? I wanted to be normal. I wanted to play sports. I wanted friends. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted many non material things… Things that people take for granted every day on this earth. I’m jealous. I envy everyone.

I’m simply done.

It hurts.

People don’t realize what pain can be at times. People ignore others. Say things that can hurt. Others can say things in fury or have opinions that can pierce right through the soul and make you question if you have a soul or not. Makes you wonder if you even deserve to be around or not.

I’m gay. I’ve known for years. I’m afraid as hell to say anything. I’m extremely dependent upon my small network of family and friends. I got good news recently. I’m no longer considered terminally ill. That’s awesome and all. But, rally? Is it with it? Is it worth to survive one of the worst diseases humanity has ever faced because I was born with a heart defect? I think not. Now I’m left with some issues.

I was raised never even dreaming of adulthood. I wondered if I’d see next year. How long I can avoid the hospital. I survived against odds, some brutal odds. I’ve even died on the operating table a few years ago. I never told anyone this before, but, recovery was hard as always. I seriously thought right then and there that it wasn’t worth the fight. I had to hide whom I am. I am afraid of friends. Afraid to be myself. My best friend in the world was Jessica. Guess what? She died when I was fourteen. My other friend, Naomi died when I was seventeen. Another friend died when I was thirteen. Now, my best friend ever… Just moved across the country. Oh, get this. She’s homophobic.

I always wondered why life would be like as an adult. But, I was never, ever, prepared to be an adult. Hell, I’m not even college material.

I was just told that gays don’t belong in this world. You know, when called out to my face like that, especially when it takes a great deal of confidence for me to admit whom I am to you… It hurts… Badly. You might as well used a frakkin dagger.

I’d never grow to be a productive member of society due to a complex heart problem. But, my mind is fully capable. I wasn’t born into wealth, so hence, health insurance is the biggest issue on mine and my family’s mind when it comes to me. I cannot risk telling them I’m gay. What would happen if I do? I depend on them for everything.

I’m afraid to go out and make friends in the flesh. To even fathom the idea of one day falling in love. These are dreams. Not meant for people like me. All that ends up happening is my health gets worse and I sent someone through a world of pain. Let alone. I don’t even love myself. I hate myself. I hate that I was born sick.

Does it really get better? I think not. Nobody really understands. For the first times. A while my face is covered in tears. I’m a boy. That’s not right, nevermind society. Society says I’m less. I guess I am.

I feel hurt. Betrayed. I wonder if there is a god, why the fuck did you do this to me? I’m cursed. Always have been. Always well

Goodbye. I’m going to go disappear now.


Exercise is what all the buzz is about. People are constantly telling you to eat less and exercise more. This helps you gain more resistance, build up muscles and burn off fat, right? Well, the eating less can be switched from eating unhealthy to eating healthy. So when it comes to food, I think I eat pretty damn healthy. I barely even eat processed meats and I’m on strict doctor dietary guidelines. My friend Kate once said I made her day by being unable to eat yogurt!

Recently I’ve read articles about how you can improve the quality of your life by doing simple things, such as a minute of push ups and a minute of sit ups a night before bed. That doesn’t seem too hard, right? But, my god! It is. I have never done either. I have horrible body strength. I must be a shame to all males because I cannot lift more then twenty pounds. No, seriously, I can’t. I can barely struggle holding a 24 can case of soda!

I have been very weak all my life, but I have 4 brothers. All of them can pick me up off my feet. Me to them? Hell no. I barely can pick up my nephew whom is turning one in a few weeks! I can’t pick up my dog, an awesome little pug that likes to sleep in the pond.

I have very wimpy body strength. There are stereotypes going around saying that all gay men are strong but flamboyant. I’m neither.

I really hate being limited by physical abilities. My brother broke the bike, so I cannot ride a bike much anymore. I don’t really want to walk outside as we have horrible weather. No, really, it has been a hundred degrees since May and will continue to nearly the end of September, maybe, October. That’s tough! That is over 120 days of pure triple digit heat. Horrible weather.

So, I decided today and done this in the last half an hour. I done push ups for 45 seconds. I managed to do only 3 and then collapsed from exhaustion. Then I waited for about five minutes, tried again. I managed to get another 45 seconds and 4 this time. I waited ten minutes and did so again and managed to get 7 in a row before I simply collapsed. My form was probably horrible. But, my heart was pounding.

Then I took a break and did some sit ups. I have this heavy nightstand. I watched videos for tips. Then read some articles. Over at WikiHow I read an article on how to do sit ups. It’s where I got my push up tips too. I realized I could use my night stand instead of the floor which I was failing at doing alone. The nightstand worked perfectly! I did a great job! I was able to get all ten in a row. But my god, those last 3 sit ups were hard! My sides felt so tight! But, I did it.

My heart is beating fast! It’s like wow! I feel great! I am sweating a lot while writing this. I’m gonna keep this up. My doctor encouraged more exercise, I’m doing more cardio exercise that is push ups and sit ups. My doctor told me I could do some cardio workouts. I cannot afford a gym membership. In fact, I don’t even know where my closet gym is. Let alone, I don’t have transportation. I cannot afford exercise sets! I don’t even have weights. I don’t have a treadmill or any of that fancy equipment. I have my floor and a nightstand I can use.

I know. I shouldn’t be pushing myself. I’m not gonna go further then this. I feel amazing now, probably because it’s the excitement. But, I want to keep this up! Please remind me to keep this up friends! I want to see how I come in a month. A friend told me to take a photo of myself shirtless, even if its horrible to compare it with myself in the future if I manage to keep up with what I’m doing.

But… damn. I haven’t sweat like this for a long time. Or like, ever.

Thoughts? Tips? I have a bad heart condition and cannot do much! I’m gonna try to get better every few days, more and more. Any other simple things I can do? Please let me know.