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Pretend It's Not Me #4
My Life Experience
I left the little house in Heredia I had loved so much, got into a cab and took myself downtown to the doctor's office, the same doctor who had kept my stash of morphine ampules and valium blister packs constantly replenished. I always paid him well and he never made me wait, he was one of the most pleasent and agreeable people I had ever met. Oh yes darlings, a valuable contact to be sure, never questioning, always accomodating and fast with a pen. If I ever meet a man I like I hope he posesses those exact characteristics! I was in and out of his office in less than forty five minutes. I just told him I was going to Drake Bay on the pacific coast for a few months and needed a prescription for at least a hundred 10 milligram valium. It was a non issue, he wrote it out, handed it to me, I said thank you and off I went. I wasn't unfamiliar with suicide. Having survived a lifetime of trauma, of ridicule and hostitility from the very people who had adopted me and had vowed to give me a safe and stable life, the thought of suicide had been on the surface for years. However, this time I felt different, I really tried but couldn't see my future getting any better. And strange though it may sound, the one theme I kept coming back to, that I couldn't ignore, was how lucky I had been. I know that doesn't sound very logical, if I felt so lucky why did I want to die? Because at 14 when I was dumped at the Child and Adolescent Ward of the Lakeshore Psyciatric Hospital there wasn't a single person in my life who expected me to survive. The assumption was that I was so stupid, so useless, and because I was gay I had to be so sexually perverted that I would die right where they had left me. It was inconceivable to them that I would actually get up and walk away with my faculties intact. The pain of being abandoned in such a horrible place was overwhelming, there wasn't a night I didn't cry myself to sleep because when I first got there I did feel the way they expected me to feel. Defeated. Hopeless. Broken. Resigned. But with youth comes the ability to be resiliant and if you have that you can bounce back from anything. I was young, curious about the world, about music and books, I wanted to discover new lands, mysterious cultures, unusual cuisines and religion's and people.I wanted out of that place so bad I could taste it. The most exciting part of running away from my past, from Toronto and all the horrible things that had happened to me there, was the chance to live my life the way I wanted to live it. I had never experienced the freedom of making my own decisions, of wearing what I wanted to wear or eating what I wanted to eat. By the time I had turned 14 I must have lived in at least 10 different places and gone to just as many schools, each one with their own set of rules and expectations. There hadn't been a single month in my entire life where the routine was consistent. I had to do what I was told by whoever was in charge of wherever I was placed. By the time I ended up in the nuthouse I was so tired, so wiped out. But within a few months of my incarceration there something started to happen. I became stronger and more determined than ever to make something of myself, to become the kind of person no one in a million years ever thought possible. I was a good boy, I had always been a good boy. Even today in my 40's I've never had any trouble with the law, and even though I ended up homeless on the streets of New York at such a young age with only a grade eight education, no money or support, I did what I had to do to survive without ripping people off or beating people up. I didn't become the kind of street criminal one might expect given those kind of circumstances. So there you have it, those were the reasons I felt so lucky as I sat in the back seat of a taxi heading to a hotel in San Jose Costa Rica, determined to "cut my losses"!
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