Caught In the Net in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

I was cleaning out my computer and I found all my back entries dating back to 2003 up until shortly before I started here. I spent the last few days going back and reading entries at random, and there are so many things I’d forgotten… and honestly, I think it was better that way.

People that were so important to me are now perfect strangers. I re-read a whole series of entries about this guy I called Jeff the Jew (he came up with that name), and with the exception of the entry covering how we met, I don’t really have any feelings when I read all the terrible things he did to me. Except to say, in reading it, you can tell exactly how much has changed in the era of Grindr.

Then there was Nick, the religious refugee that I ended up having sex with and it ended in complete disaster. But even that doesn’t seem to have any color anymore.

Cher once tweeted (although, with her strange dyslexic writing): If it doesn’t matter in five years, it doesn’t matter.

I think I’ve seen that. Things don’t seem as desperate here than they did in America.

But just as I was judging myself while reading these relics that I’ve excavated on my hard drive, something very important occurred to me. This person that I’m reading is actually in the throes of a mental health crisis and completely unaware of it. He’s sick and fighting hard because he doesn’t know any better. He doesn’t know that these things swirling around his head aren’t real and are a product of a doctor that failed him.

Once I realized that, I realized not how dramatic I was, but how much I needed help. How much I still need help. Because yes I’ve made great progress, but it’s been slow, and I did it all by myself. Because I’m always all by myself. That hasn’t changed.