September 1994

My arrest haunts me. My father's alcoholism scars me. My homosexuality weakens me.

This life isn't mine. There are periods of life- a week, a month, one long day- when I see only the bad things. The tragic things. And I get mad at myself and my mistakes. Mistakes that turn into regrets, not lessons. Rage. I called the Buddy System. The first voice on the other end was it. I took a cab to his apartment, this twenty-seven-year-old Art Institute student of Performing Arts. Not a beautiful boy. I won't worry, not about disease or dignity. It was another force. Hormones. Sexuality. I had to. Why doesn't my brother have to go through this? He seems so distant, so sheltered from my life. Why this weight? Why this mess out of nowhere, but frighteningly familiar, and dramatic? This life isn't mine. In my life there would be peace, happiness, control. I was doing well for so long. Doing well… like a patient? These stupid questions! So, you want to be a writer? You take your life and live it like it's fiction. A story. I gave him a blowjob. Then came home and flossed. What was I thinking? Danger. Alcoholic father. Alcoholic me. Insecurity. Could I do more, better? Death. The things we do to ourselves. To myself.

At the threshold. Complete surrender to chance. Learning reality, yet avoiding it. Will I survive?

Lena says I'm too high-strung, especially when I let dad get to me. She's right. Studying. Thalamus. Hypothalamus. Medulla. Pons. Cerebellum.

Why must I fear for my life when I am intimate with another? Drag! The guy I met on the Buddy System called. I'm not ecstatic but there's a part of me that's relieved.

I often wonder why battered women remain with their abusive husbands. I wonder no more. It is fear and dependence. I live here because I want to go to college, but I don't want to work harder than I already have to. I tell myself to just make it through this semester, to remain detached from life, never mind lovers, never mind fancy cars, never mind people.

Went to Arizona. The cacti were amazing.