Throw Back Thursday: A Bit of My Story

I don’t really know what I do when I am blinded by the bottle, or the pipe, or both.  Often times I think I just drool on my self while petting my dog.  At any rate, last night, somehow, I found myself on my computer posting on this post at 80 Proof Oinomancy.  I didn’t understand the post last night, and could only muster enough motor skills to post my distaste of the song.  I actually never really listened to Led Zepplin, I skipped the 70’s aside from Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea, but the post itself is a well written piece on darkness that permeates the brain.  I can fully relate.  I said I’d post some shit that I’ve been stewing on, and here it is.  

I wasn’t very sexually active as a young kid / teenager.  There were girlfriends, and what not, but never to the point of intercourse.  I wasn’t a eunuch, girls fascinated me but something kept me from going “all the way.” Being raised as a catholic from a private catholic school, I had my ideal of how I would lose my virginity.  I think that was part of it.  I always envisioned some euphoric bonding between me and my virgin queen, and we would make sweet love, enamored by each other.  Nice movie right? That’s not how it went down.

Someone taught me a power chord in 7th grade, and from then on (I also played classical piano) it was all about the punk rock.  I started a band, and we played pop anthems at a high tempo.  It was juvenile and delightful.  A lot of fun.  This drew attention to me even though I was a waif like nobody.  When I was 16, shortly after cutting our first demo, of which I was extremely proud, a punk chick three years my elder took a liking to me.  She was your typical crust punk and she was very aggressive.  She had her own apartment, she liked to drink, and she gave me my first blow job.  However, I told her, I was not going to have sex with her (I know, shitty double standard) because of my idyllic fantasy pop a cherry as I broke my seal.  Plus she had banged 5 other guys, and blown who knows how many others.

On Valentines day, we had gone to a party, she was pissed because it was filled with high school kids, and a number of the girls were flirting with me.  We went back to her place, where I was going to spend the night and she asked what I wanted.  Of course I wanted that glorious blow job so she got to work.  I closed my eyes and sunk into licentious pleasure.  However, when I opened them, she was on top of me, riding my man hose.  She saw the look on my face, slowed her pace, and said “Don’t be sad, I’ll still call you virgo the virgin.”  I’m not a fucking virgo.  I flipped her over and went to town, cherry popped, fantasy over, I was tainted.  All while Morrissey moaned in the background. I fucking hate Morrisey.

She seemed to lose interest shortly thereafter.  Or well, her sexual interest seemed to decline.  She moved to a new apartment, I think she might have had a roommate, I can’t recall, though all the smells, feels, sights of that period are pretty fucking clear.  I went to her place one day, and caught her shagging some crust punk from Berkeley.   It was the worst feeling.  That doesn’t do justice to the feeling of shame and betrayal I felt at that moment, but I’ll let your imaginations run with it.  On top of that, I felt like I could argue some sense into her, returning later that day to hash some shit out.  Instead, my douche bag, name dropping, bass player was there, and she postured the question, “Well Douche bag bass player, who would you rather be friends with, Rojo or me?”

He did not answer with my name.

At that point I had no where to turn. I couldn’t talk to my family, they would just say “I told you so.”  And my friends could never understand.  We were all outliers and barely socially acclimated.   So I did what any depressed teenager would do in a situation like that, I carved “No Love.” into my abdomen and knuckles.  The only person to ask about that was my English teacher.  His response was “maybe that will change.”  This chick really got to me, and she went as far as to threaten a future Ms. California, who would ask my younger brother if she could carry my books (because she was into me) and scare her off from ever talking to me for the rest of our high school bullshit, and she was fucking banging.

What I felt back then was a huge sense of anger, more than the typical “Me against the World” shit a teen feels.  Or I assume a teen feels.  I was an angry cat, but this was way bigger than I ever knew, but underneath it, was a huge sadness.  I’d like to say it tainted every interaction I had with girls from then on out, but the truth is, after I hit rock bottom and got clean off of crank (different story, and not started until years later), I was at square zero with no self esteem.  Thus, I almost forgot how much that shit hurt.  I really didn’t want to write this post, but I think I needed to get it off my chest.


9 thoughts on “Throw Back Thursday: A Bit of My Story

  1. It’s weird how feelings from the past can come back every once and a while. I was ostracized pretty harshly in elementary school, and despite it being 10 years ago and seeming literally like a different lifetime, the shame/self-loathing/depression that kind of haunted those times never really goes away. I had on okay time in high school and an even better one in college, but memories of those stupid fucking events that happened when I was 11 just stain it all sometimes. Certainly not often, and personally I’m able to shore it up/rationalize it away, but man, even last year I had a short episode with a girl who really fucked with me and twisted the pretty confident, self-assured person I am 95% of the time now, and for a few days I sure as hell felt like I was back at square one.

    • I hear you there man. I went through about a week of the what the fucks after a couple weeks ago. I really had to take some time and be like, why the fuck am I making this my problem, you’re way better than that. But the reminder and pain was still there. I was always an outcast though and fraught with anxiety in grade school due to being targeted by older kids and even kids I didn’t know. Not sure why. Thanks for reading.

  2. I’ve always used writing as medieval men used bleeding.

    To release the “bad humors”.

    Thanks for sharing and I hope it brought you some small measure of peace.

    • I remember someone mentioning that writing a blog becomes cathartic in a way. That’s starting to make more sense. Thanks for stopping by, I appreciate it.

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