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The Pandemonium Chronicles: The Merge Between Heaven and Hell

Trials and Tribulations

Harbinger of Memories

Where The Sun Don’t Shine

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One-Eyed Dreamworld

The past is dead, but the nightmares live on. The nightmares are tangled with the real memories of my stolen innocence. For the first time in my life, I’m having insomnia. Sleep was my only escape, but now my Dreamworld seems to be tainted…

Where will I go now? Must I seek refuge amongst reality, a daydream yearning to be the real thing?

You are my nightmare. You are who I fear to be. A man encumbered in self-hatred and greed. A man who never appreciates a sunrise. A man who seeks power from those who cannot control it.

I defy the need to die at this present time. There is a time and a place to die, but this isn’t it. I am grateful for the present, even if it isn’t a special occasion right now. Or perhaps life itself is a gift and the past is merely the opened present unraveled haphazardly at the edge of the bed…

Where will I go now? Must I seek refuge amongst reality, a daydream yearning to be the real thing?

I’ll never know unless I try. To make dreams a reality, I must first find the courage to get out of bed…

Bear Minimum

I prod the wound until it weeps. The pain seems so familiar, yet I know for a fact that I never experienced this before.

A car engine roars to life in the driveway just a few feet from my bedroom window. Wheels grind on the asphalt until the engine’s noise diminishes little by little until there is nothing left.

Screams echo throughout the alcove. It took God knows how long before I realize I am the source of such grotesque sounds.

I quickly learn how to walk again before I reach the bathroom. Both my hands hold on to the edge of the sink so tight that my knuckles feel like they are going to burst out of my skin. Courage aids me in the daunting task of gazing into the mirror before me. Black and blue tints circumvents both my eyes like a sad clown at a pity party. My lower lip is split open. My body aches because it took on more than it could handle.

Blood and semen soaked my white briefs. I should have rinsed off before putting them back on. I’m drenched in sweat and tears.

I could have tried to fight him back, but I didn’t. I let him use me as a means to relinquish his sexual frustrations. He had to compensate for my mother’s gradual act of abstinence. Besides, I’ve always been prettier than my mother. I am honored that he chose me over her, even if it was just for a little while. It felt right knowing that I hurt her when he was hurting me. He needed release and I was the easy target to endure his relentless onslaught of rage.

I could barely feel anything. My mind is numb. That’s its way of dealing with all the complex emotions excreting from the black and blue. Those are my two favorite colors.

I smirk at my reflection in realization of this opaque satisfaction.

Freedom and its Predecessor

My name is Freddy and I would like to share my story so you can better understand how I envision recovery. Maybe someone out there can relate to me. Who knows?

I was pain. That’s all I was. Everything else, every chance given to me, every promise I’d made, all of it was pain. What use is pain? What use is being just pain? It’s not dignified. It’s not kind. And if it’s not dignified and it’s not kind, then maybe it’s not worth anything. Maybe it’s better off as nothing. Gone. Dead. Ashes. Rising. Breath. Rebirth. Freedom.

I try everyday to find my own, valid definition of the word “Freedom.” This is my journey, and just because it had a rough start and then got worse before it got somewhat better, it doesn’t mean the negativity has to be a be-and-end-all. I don’t have to define my life with “heartbreak” or “trauma.” The DSM-V suggests that I have Major Depressive Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Bipolar II (“the sequel”). The DSM-II would have mentioned “Depathologizing Homosexuality” in my case study if I was born prior to 1973. There’s no need for me to label it and generalize it based on a few instances in my life that were quite less than pleasant.

I’m not going to apologize to my mother because I failed to reach her perfect, cookie-cutter expectations. I’m not going to apologize to my ex-fiance because I was the only one out of the two of us that was even capable of love! I’m not a failure! I’m not a coward! Society tends to chastise men for expressing emotions because, supposedly, it’s perceived as weakness. But I am not weak! It takes a lot of strength and resilience to talk about memories I’ve repressed for so long. To face these memories that yearn to break the ice of every conversation I shared with anyone, just to receive any kind of sympathy. I am so much stronger now than ever before! I once was the scared, little boy cowering in the corner, fearing for my life. No more! I gaze into the filthy mirror in my bathroom, and I embrace the man I have become!

I lived in a halfway house at one point in my life. Sleeping in the next room over were registered sex offenders, gangsters, and drug addicts. The whole ambience of that place made me feel anxious and hopeless. One day, I sat on the window sill of my assigned room on the second floor. I looked down and after some consideration, I jumped and I broke two bones in my lower vertebrae, an act I pay for with chronic pain every day of my life. I recalled, afterwards, thinking “shit! I should have jumped off from the third story or even from the rooftop. Why only the second floor?! What a fucking wimp!”

My injuries are a constant reminder that life may not be for the faint of heart, but it is worth it. The near-fatal injury led me to physical therapy which then inspired me to get into yoga. It’s been three years since I began doing yoga. It took some getting used to, but now, I can do splits, backbends, cartwheels, and I can press my whole palms on the ground from a standing position without bending my knees. The chronic pain is still there, but it’s not as severe.

The fact that my suicide attempt eventually lead to my aptitude in flexibility and an entryway into a whole subculture where I’ve met so many great people and accomplished so much – is quite extraordinary.

My mother kicked me out on my 18th birthday because my lifestyle went against her religious beliefs. Homelessness was the best present I ever received. For so long, I thought I was going to hell simply because that’s what she told me every night. She was afraid that some boys at school would bash me one day because of who I am. It’s ironic that she was the worst part of my childhood. She tried so hard to make sure my life was planned safely and accordingly. The Muslim faith insisted that my fate would be tied to a girl I grew up with. Her parents befriended my parents long before. My 18th year was meant to be the year I would marry her. But that arranged marriage never happened the second my mother found out I was gay. It’s sad how a friendship between two kids would end so catastrophically simply because of such high expectations being placed on it.

For a long time, I blamed myself for all the pain I caused. I thought hell was my only home. After several years, the pain has finally ceased. I choose to believe that the destination of my afterlife is still undecided. I can believe in anything I want.

When I was 21, I came so close to marrying a Narcissist. I avoided a lot of emotional and psychological abuse when I called off the engagement. For a time, I was in such a rush to give my heart away to someone who didn’t deserve it. He would say that everything that went wrong was my fault. His word was law. Apologizing was not in his repertoire. A sense of grandiosity would placate his identity until apathy took its pound of flesh. Empaths and Narcissists don’t mix well at all. The Empathic-Narcissistic relationship is a silver cord wrapped between two souls, the Empath rendered immobile and helpless as they try relentlessly to ease the Narcissist’s pain that is hidden so well. Energy is siphoned from the Empath into the Narcissist willingly, at first, until the Empath is used up completely, squeezed dry like a sponge, wanting nothing more than the sweet, gentle release of death by only the Narcissist’s hand. At least that’s what I desired, what I felt I deserved. I thought I knew everything. But the wisest people can admit that they know nothing. Now I relish in this uncertainty. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to leave him. I had to walk away from someone that I was still madly in love with.

I just wanted to die. I was in shock. It felt like he died. I wanted to join him, wherever he went, even if it was hell. If I had suddenly developed cancer during that time, I would have felt relieved. I grieved over him, even though all he did was break my heart and leave to find something else to do… someone else to do… his next victim. There were so many questions left unanswered, but maybe it was better off that way. Sometimes, I try to force myself to believe that he was just a figment of my imagination. But once in awhile, a family member of mine asks me about him. A part of me dies inside when I hear his name. It took me a little over two years to finally force myself to go back into the world of dating.

Today, I pay my own bills working at a job I don’t necessarily like, but appreciate. I go to college to pursue a career in Psychology. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to live my life. I’m doing just fine. It’s okay to not be okay sometimes. Yes, my life is a lot better than ever before, but there are still days when panic attacks and anxiety ensue. I enjoy the independence. Just me and my cat. Yes, sometimes, it gets lonely. Yet I refuse to sell myself short for someone who doesn’t deserve me. I’m not ever going to alter my morals and my beliefs just to be accepted. I will never pretend to be someone I’m not simply because I’m deemed socially deviant. I will be the loneliest man in the world if it meant that I can just be myself.

I was pain. That’s all I was. But now, I accept that it all happened in the past. The past happened. It happened! Why feel any regret or guilt on things I can’t change? Why should I let myself suffer when the source of the pain subsided long ago? I am safe. I am wise. I am loved.

Good Stems From Evil

I had a friend who asked me one time, “Why does evil exist?”

And he caught me off-guard, but then again, he was very religious and he tends to question a lot of arbitrary things, to the point where he becomes a nuisance.

So I told him that “the existence of evil is necessary.”

He said, “What? Why? Why would you say such a horrible thing?”

And I said, “Yes, there’s a lot of horrible things that go on in the world but there’s so many beautiful things that go on too. And it’s the evil things like the natural disasters and hunger and homelessness and things like that that bring people together. For instance, like charity, nonprofit organizations, soup kitchens… like people are actually willing to volunteer some of their time without getting paid just to help someone else get fed. How great is that?! And there are state benefits for people who aren’t as fortunate in paying their bills or taking care of their children financially. And nonprofit organizations… People, who spend their whole lives creating something from nothing to aid others, and they don’t even expect any compensation either. I don’t think there’d be as much compassion for each other if we were all perfect… Okay, not perfect, but fortunate, if we were all… good. We wouldn’t need to be compassionate. It would be like, okay, so that person is okay, I’m okay, so we’re just gonna keep it moving.”

My friend nodded slowly at me. It looked as if he was going to interrupt me, but then, I guess he wanted to give his loquacious nature a rest.

“People wouldn’t be able to relate to each other on a deeper level, they wouldn’t be able to have opportunities to help each other because there would be no need for that. So yes, horrible things do occur in the world. Murder, rape, poverty, starvation, violence…”

His eyes widened at the mention of the word “rape,” as if it was an evil incantation of some kind, a form of dark magic. I’m surprised he didn’t utter a prayer or something.

“However, I wouldn’t suggest overlooking the good either. The good that already exists, and the good that stems from evil. I believe, with all my heart, that there’s more good in this world than there is evil because odds are that someone else went through something as horrible as you. Maybe not as severe, or perhaps more severe than you. I don’t always say ‘oh, woe is me’ because we are all in between two very opposite extremes.”

My buddy smiled as his eyes phased into a more crimson tint. I felt the sensation of flattery because I knew he was now resisting the urge to indulge in potato chips that were becoming stale in his cupboard.

“And that’s okay! We’re all in different walks of life. Just the fact that we can stick together like at AA meetings or at psych wards where we can meet new friends, we can meet other people who understand what we’re going through in one way or another. How wonderful is that? And the fact that the human experience doesn’t comprise entirely of the good and the bad, it’s not all black and white, there’s a gray area. And that gray area gives birth to so much life. And I’m just grateful that I’m a human being, that I’m a person, and that I can analyze and accept and acknowledge that good stems from evil. The existence of evil is necessary indeed. It seems like sacrifices must be made for the greater good. For society to evolve, for people’s perspectives to broaden, and open minds to cherish all the new innovations and new ideals that come from the darkness.”

My friend just stared intently at me. He probably thought I was some sort of prophet at this point. Or maybe I’m just overselling myself, and he’s just stoned off his ass. But I like to think, at least, I finally rendered him speechless.

Safe Apparatus

I see the longing in your eyes,
As we dance to our demise,
My hand lightly grasps your thigh,
I’m so happy I could die,

I stare into your gaze,
Shooting stars blaze,
Your hand rests upon my shoulder,
My heart is getting bolder,

Your lips are slightly parted,
In awe of this euphoria that’s started,
I lean in to seal the deal
To confirm if this is real

My eyes flutter open as I’m horizontal,
Hope resurfaced so accidental,
I hold my pillow to my moist phallus,
Paired with my empty bed is a safe apparatus

The Hookup Daze

On my house phone I called him

he picked up immediately and said hello

and I went with the flow

I came over the same day

to a variety of pornos neatly organized on his table

next to a punch bowl full of condoms

and lube packets

and the TV was playing one of the pornos at a very low volume in the background

and I did what I came there to do.

On my flip phone I texted him hello

he replied within the hour

and I came over to his array of pornos thrown haphazardly on his table

a handful of condoms and a few lube packets

and the porno on the TV was a bit louder this time

as if he didn’t care what the neighbors thought of him anymore

and we did what I came there to do.

On my iPhone I texted him hey

and he didn’t respond until later that evening

and I came over and there was only one porno on the table

a couple of condoms

and no more Lube

and the TV was blaring with the porno without a care in the world

and I did what I went there to do.

On my iPhone 5 I texted him hi

and he didn’t respond until the following Monday

and he told me he moved a few towns over

and I almost got lost on my way there

I came over

there was no pornos on the table

no more condoms nor lube

and the TV wasn’t on

it was in the middle of the night

and I try to leave but he begged me to stay

and so I did until 5 in the morning

I missed my shift at work and I got fired.

On my iPhone 6 I sent him a nude photo of me

but he didn’t respond for a whole week

and when he did he told me he had a boyfriend

and for me to back off

I looked at the indent on my right ring finger where my wedding ring used to be

And drove to my new job.

Loveless Millennial

Loquacious behind the screen,

Bilious outside cyberspace,

Social media encourages autonomy,

Yearning for a concupiscent embrace,

Hearts are surreptitiously encased,

Castigate another if they get too close,

No love will get in if you stay chaste,

You’ll be safe tightly nipped in a prose

Yearning for Adventure

Born with a void

Hard to destroy

With love

Swimming in your eyes

Infested with lies

But desperate to connect

Yearning for adventure

So cold and unsure

But it’s best to stay home

Your voice is so soft

My heart aches so loudly

My boundaries are sensitive

As I dance upon a tessellate

I keep the dying light exposed,

In hopes it will expand,

And if it was to fade away,

I would die by my own hand

Rhetorically Existential

What would society be like if the concept of religion never existed?

Would we feel more inclined to be ourselves?

Would we finally accept sin as a natural part of life?

Would sin, itself, have a face at all?

Just another part of our daily routine?

Would it be defined by something else other than a book written many years ago?

Would classification of sin be personified by other social norms?

Or would sin just be synonymous with lawbreaking?

Would there have been less wars?

Would there be less judgment amongst each other based on our differences?

Would families still be torn apart because their children didn’t become a certain way?

What drastic changes would occur if religion suddenly ceased to exist,

rather than it not existing to begin with?

Did God create us or did we create the idea of Him?