It's been a while

Get ready for a long one, folks. And let's face it: Who doesn't love a long one?

I'm sitting down around 12:30 a.m. to pour my heart out into a little box of plastic, silicon and metal, watching "Breakfast at Tiffany's," listening to the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." It's been a long day, and it's been an even longer week.

I guess I'll start at the beginning. Or, at least, where I left off last time – heading to Kansas City for my stepfather's visit with the doctor. Come to find out, all the doctors so far were apparently wrong. The PET scan revealed no cancer.

However, the three options that remain are not pleasant. Either he has Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or he has asbestosis, or his heart is failing.

It's a mixed blessing, really. While it appears that death is not imminent, what remains of his life will not be pleasant. And I don't really know what to think about this.

I was ready to deal with the worst, or what I thought was the worst, and life, of course, threw me a curveball. In some ways, I think I might have been hoping it was cancer. It seems somehow that it would have been more humane.

And this really is selfish of me. I mean, I have friends who recently have lost parents, and I still have mine. Here I am thinking that it would be better for one of mine to die sooner. I have more time with him; I should be thankful.

So there was that.

My doctor doubled my dose of Wellbutrin on Wednesday, and I think it really is starting to make a difference. The absolute giddy happiness that I initially felt has subsided, but I am starting to feel a real inner happiness and finding some confidence in myself.

That fact is compounded by the fact that I weighed – what the hell, I'll tell you – 256 pounds. A lot to be sure. But in 1999, right before I got married, I weighed 336 pounds. I nearly cried on the scales that day, and 9 years later, I nearly cried again when I realized I have officially lost 80 POUNDS!

And then I started thinking about the fact that if – WHEN – I lose 20 more pounds, I will have lost 100 pounds. I legitimately see this happening by summer at the rate I am going. I'm so excited and proud of myself that it's not funny.

Thursday night, my roommate graduated from the police academy and officially became a cop. I'm so proud of him for that. Jerod and I have had our differences and fought and had a rough time the last several months, but seeing him on that stage, accepting his badge and finally achieving his lifelong dream brought tears to my eyes.

Friday, I got word two of my best friends, Sarah and Landon, that they both had serious personal issues that they were trying to deal with. And given that the two of them really have carried me (others have helped, too, and I will get to them in a bit) through the last few weeks – hell, months – I was worried sick about them.

And it killed me that I couldn't physically be there for either of them, as I had to work that night. I realize looking back that I was taking their problems and making them about me somehow. Which certainly is not good.

That night, we celebrated Jerod's graduation at a popular bar here, and had a good time. Up until I started to have a panic attack. I think it was just the combination of me being tired, the increased dosage of medication, all the anxiety about Sarah and Landon, trying to make sure Jerod had fun, the incredible mass of people there and the lesbian who was trying to give me fashion tips that did it, but I had to leave the place.

Getting home, I did see Landon for a bit and was able to talk with him some. That gave me relief, but again, I was making it about me in my head, I realize.

Saturday, I spent most of the day helping him with some things, and I had a long talk with Sarah about how things were going for her. It was nice, for me, to be able to do nice things for them both. It made me feel better. Needed. Even though, I think, I pushed my way into helping Landon. Again, I made his issues about me in my head. Very unhealthy.

I ended up hitting the gym, and after a bit of a change in plans, I met my co-worker and dear friend Gabe downtown for a few beers. It was sort of a weird experience; on a Saturday night in a crowded downtown bar full of slutty-looking women, the only two guys in the place not chasing poontang (ew!) were the two homos at the bar eating nachos. It was priceless, really!

That night when I got home, I got a few drunk dials from friends. I love drunk dials from friends; in fact, they are among my favorite things. The first two were significant because they were from two of my dearest friends and both of them ended the conversations by telling me that they loved me. And it gave me such a great feeling.

I tell my friends that I love them all the time. It's something I've done since high school. My theater director taught us to do it because, as he said, you never know when you won't be able to say it to the people who need to hear it.

This was the first time, though, that I think either of them said it to me first. (I'm withholding their names here – they know who they are – because they're not the important part of this anecdote; rather, I want to share what it meant to me to hear it.) I have such issues trusting that people will like or accept me. If you've been reading my previous posts, you understand this. Hearing these words from these two people, "unsolicited" so to speak, for some reason just filled me with an amazing amount of trust. I was so happy that I thought my heart would explode.

Sunday, after a SUPER intense workout, Landon and I went out and met up with Jerod and some other friends. It was one of the most fun nights I have had in a long time. Jerod met a guy, Landon got some numbers and a really sexy man said some really provocative things to me and told me I am hot. So I wasn't as productive as they were, but hey, it's a start! Not a bad night at all, in my book.

The night was made all the better because of how I felt before I walked out the door. Looking in the mirror right before we left, I actually thought to myself, "Hey, I look good." For someone with the self-esteem issues that I have, this is HUGE. Mostly because I actually meant it!

I wish I had a picture of myself from Sunday, but here is one that was taken recently:



Anyhow, it's not the best as far as photo quality, but it's pretty much what I look like right now. And I'm starting to like it!

I fact, I was so confident that I actually sang karaoke. That's nothing new for me. But I was sober when I sang karaoke. (For the first song, anyhow!) And then... In a gay bar... I karaoked Cher's "Dark Lady." It was a hot mess, though not a tranny hot mess!

More proof that a fun-loving, confident Jason is starting to come out of his shell. I'd like to be able to say coming back, but I honestly don't know that he's ever really been around. Maybe on the surface, but I've never really known him.

I've been on antidepressants before, and I've been to therapy. I KNOW what is right and what is wrong, what is healthy and what is unhealthy. I know that I've thought I've been well before, but it was never in a period where I was totally "out." I mean, I always was hiding something about me from someone or someplace. And now I am not.

And for the first time, open and accepting about my sexuality, I am starting to like myself. There is a long way to go, I know, but dammit, I see light!

This whole period has taught me a lot about people, about who my friends are and about who really matters.

I've mentioned Sarah and Landon; they have been rocks for me recently. For that I love them deeply as though they were my own family. Jerod, about whom another friend once told me she knew he and I always would be friends because no matter how bad things got, we never give up on each other. It's been rough, but I really think things will get better. Soon.

That other friend was Carrie. She has been such an unexpected source of comfort and inspiration for me lately. She always has a smile and kind words to say. Twice recently, I have received cards in the mail from her just letting me know that she was thinking about me. Such a generous, loving gesture. I hope she realizes that she doesn't need to be or do everything for all people because she deserves to be happy, too, dammit!

And another friend, Jimmy, who I knew pretty well, but who has become a great resource over the last couple months. Thank you, thank you, thank you... your empathy has been a tremendous source of courage.

But most of all, I think I need to be proud of and thankful for myself. It's not been an easy life. I'm not saying I've had it exceptionally rough, but it seems like it's been one trauma after another, and dammit, I'm still here. I'm still kicking. I'm still learning.

I like the glimpses of what I am seeing happen. I've got a lot to do still, I know. I've got good people to help me, though, and I am starting to believe that I have the strength to make a good life for myself.

And I think I am starting to have the courage to let myself be happy.

Well, if you've made it this far, thanks for staying with me.

The movie is ending now. I think it's time for bed, my huckleberry friend.