Fake it to make it...

It's hard to act happy when you're not.
But I feel like I had so much practice, I've got it down.
Sometimes you just have to fake it to make it, it's the only thing you can do, because sometimes you need to help the others around you.
It's what it all comes down to, I need to make sure everything else is taken care of... then I can rest...
Until then, I will continue to paste on my happy face in the morning, or just not see them so they never know...

XX
JW

Jagged Little Pill

“I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.”

~Jack Kerouac

It's weird to know exactly what I am going to write about. Usually it's 'C'mon Jerry, think think think think!' It's never just do. That was until Wednesday. My thoughts haven't stopped, not even the marijuana and booze calmed them down. I then realized that maybe that wasn't the way to go about things. Don't drown yourself in the things that possibly destroyed the life that you are mourning. I couldn't help it.

Wednesday I got drunk. The sweet taste of the Captain on my tongue, sliding down my throat and warming the insides of my body. I was lost. We all were and I could tell that I wasn't the only one feeling it, even if no one else said it. I wanted to cry, I could feel it coming but no tears would moisten my eyes. Instead I looked straight at the washed out curtains hiding the sad face of the window. Had this all really happened? Was this all a dream?

My thoughts wouldn't stop, I didn't know what to do. So I drank, but not even the company of friends pleased me at that moment. All I wanted right then was to be with him, Mike. I wanted to be talking with him right then about how I was lost and that I needed to find my way but I didn't know how. I wanted to tell him thank you for listening to me while I babbled on about boys, drugs, sex, and drama.

I could hear his gentle voice, which contrasted with his tough looking exterior.

“Don't worry Jerry,” he would say, his goofy smile across his face. “You need another shot is what you need.”

Then I would proceed to take another one and possibly one more with him. Instead I was taking a shot for him, not with him. It was simple to see that no one wanted to really be there, yet we all couldn't be alone, even though we didn't know what to think about the whole situation.

I could still remember gasping for breath in the UC as I clicked a picture of Mike on Facebook. It lead me to his page which was flooded with wall posts by people from Bozeman. I had read them all about three or four times to think, Oh my god, this isn't just a hardcore “trolling” scheme. Mike is... dead.

I made frantic phone calls, each time hearing the same response. Silence. It was the one thing I didn't want to hear at that point in time. I wanted to hear their voices to know that it wasn't real, I wanted them to tell me, no he is fine I'm talking with him now. It wasn't the case. All I heard was the agonizing and dreaded silence of my friends who wanted to the same fake response as me.

Through-out the night, none of us could believe someone so close to us was gone. I was looking at it now from the other side. It brought to light all the things I was feeling before, but in a different perspective, a new side of things that I hadn't experienced before.

As I drank, I sat and watched, much like the wallflower that I am. It was easy, but hard to do. Watch as these people argued about suicide, getting more drunk so they could mask their sorrows. No one was going to cry in front of each other. We all had to be strong and be there when the next person needed us; we didn't want a repeat to happen.

I watched and saw how my friends were acting to such depressing news and I wanted to yell at all of them to just stop and be quiet. I wanted to tell them to stop being angry at Mike. It brought me back to that numbingly cold night on the bridge, where I was faced with two decisions: End my life and feel happier, or continue my life for my friends.

I wondered that on the old orange couch that looked like it was from a bad '70s television show. Did Mike feel like he had to choose? Did that bring him down further? Did he even actually kill himself? Questions went through my head and I got on to the different possibilities.

If he did kill himself, I know that he knew what he was doing. By taking mass amounts of pills, he would think it was poetic. Ending his life with the very thing he was once addicted to; giving into the succumb of his addictions and loosing himself in them. He was a rational thinker. Just like me that night on the bridge.

No matter how angry it made my friends, or how selfish it made me seem, I was perfectly rational in my decision to end my life that night. I wasn't crazy, I wasn't psychotic, I didn't want to be hooked on prescriptions for the rest of my life. I knew exactly what my intent on jumping from the bridge, and it wasn't to hurt myself, my friends or family. Ending my life would make me happy once and for all.

The thing is, I could see Mike doing it for that reason, he was always rationally thinking. About everything. He was always somehow still him, still raw, still a big ball of emotions that made sure everyone was alright. He wasn't happy, never really happy. You could always tell, especially with nights when he started drinking a lot or doing a bunch of club drugs.

I couldn't help but think about how the tables were turned, how things actually went after this because I never have been through it. Wednesday night was a new experience that made me look over my life, my decisions, the people I called my friends. We all had a ton of unresolved issues Wednesday night.

It wasn't until stumbling back to my dorm, feeling the warmth of the Captain still in me, not leaving my stomach any time soon, that it hit me. Mike was gone, and he wasn't just gone on a visit to someplace, I would never see him again. I wouldn't be able to talk about my sexuality with someone like I could with him, I would never see that goofy drunk smile again, I would never be able to hear his honest opinion on things. He was gone forever. No coming back.

I stopped, a tear rolled down my cheek followed by a dam of water pouring down my face. I wanted to scream but I didn't want to scare someone on accident. I wanted to yell and be angry my voice stuck. I couldn't help but be jealous. I needed to talk to Mike and tell him what I was thinking. In that walk of tears I confessed my heart to Mike. I told him how I needed him to help me through this, I needed to know that he was truly alright and happy.

It was right after I asked for some sign to show me that he was alright that in the silence of my walk back to my dorm that I heard a single bird chirp. Now, however cheesy that seems, but after reading 'Buckeyes' that I finally understood the ending of it. No matter how cliché it was, it was true. The narrator of that book knew that the hawk was his father. It was that moment when that single bird was chirping that I knew, I knew that it was Mike. He was telling me that he was okay and that things would be fine.

I woke up the next morning with the worst hangover in the world, but strangely I felt relieved. I didn't feel an overwhelming feeling of sadness for the loss of my good friend, but rather a sense of refreshment for him.

However, while I felt better about things, Sunday night rolled around. Our day for our own personal memorial service and get together. By seven that night about everyone showed up. Fitting just about twenty people into Devan's little house was enough to make us all go a little crazy.

The night though, which I stressed to everyone, was about Mike. It was not ourselves and not our drama between each other. It was our time to put away our differences and come together for Mike and we did.

It was good for everyone, to see each others feelings, to see that we could all put aside our differences just for that time being. We shared our stories about Mike, how we all thought he was one of the purest person in our group of friends, mostly because he would tell you his honest opinion and not care about how you felt about it.

“He gave his whole heart when you only gave part of yours.” Kat spoke up.

It was true and we all took a moment after that to gather our thoughts and to let it all sink in. Of course the night ended in drunken tears and beautiful memories clouded in guava flavored smoke. It was at that point where I think most of us got closure of Mike's passing.

I see now, the other side of all of this. If I would have gone that fateful night at the bridge, maybe Mike might have saved himself. Maybe he would still be alive today and that would be what matters the most. Everyone was right, Mike had the most pure and beautiful soul I've ever known. He always helped people, no matter what, and I feel like I should have talked to him more after he left. I know it's no one's fault but now I know I can't leave my friends right now. I have to help them through this and if there is one thing Mike taught me, it was to help your friends and fake it till you make it. It is now that I also understood what Jack Kerouac said about a man living on in us after he dies, because there is no doubt that Mike is in all of us right now, giving us the courage to bring ourselves out more, even if it is in a purple tele-tubby suit, riding a skate board and smoking a cigarette while trying to pick up chicks like him. No matter what it is, Mike will always be with us and is giving us the consciousness of life.

'We are all mad here.'

I don't know what to do.
I want to leave,
runaway but I don't know how.
Can I just leave it all, everything, my family, friends, this life
and just start new?
I don't know what to do.

Skeleton Me

 “I live for the nights I can't remember with the people I'll never forget.”

If there is one thing in this world that I have learned this past weekend was that I the world can never have too many drunk nights. I know, that sounds super trashy of me, and I'm always like, yeah I'm classy and keep it that way. But sometimes you need those weekends where your rules and morals are thrown out the window. That was my weekend.

The great thing about this weekend was the fact that it started out on Thursday night, right around 5:30 pm. It didn't end until about 1 am Monday morning, or Sunday night whatever way you look at it.

It was this weekend that I found something out. It could have been the drugs and alcohol, but it opened my mind to something I thought I had already knew. I have been with the wrong people for a very long time. You might be wondering, what do you mean? Wrong people? And if you are those people, I'm sure you know who you are, I'm sorry. I'm not saying this to be mean or rude, but it's the truth and I'm working on being honest. This doesn't mean I want to be your friend, it just means that I have found a niche of people that I fit in better with.

It was Friday night that this realization came into my head. At once my heart felt like it was in the final lap for the Stanley Cup almost reaching the finish line and being first. I was flooded with all these different emotions, and stepping outside was not in my cards, I couldn't handle the cold at that point. So I sat down on the wood floors of a friends house. It was then that I looked around: Kat was cuddled up next to Chris, who was very drunk but seemed to be enjoying himself as Kat was petting his arm. A very lovely curly haired girl laid down in my lap, her arms wrapping around my leg, my hand getting lost in her curls. The sound of our friend in the back bedroom with the signs of having a too good of a night.

It was this simple picture that got me. It was simple and I was not feeling like I needed to leave or needed to get more fucked up. I was okay with where I was at. No I was beyond happy with where I was at and who I was with. I realized, I have been spending my time with the wrong people.

Again, don't seem offended but the people I would hang out with constantly before, I guess I was just around them tooooo much. I also feel like they don't understand me. I can't talk to them like I can talk to the group I was with at that moment on Friday and I realized why their bond was so strong with each other.

It was the fact that they could talk to each other about things and not feel judged, and that their feelings will be reciprocated. They are truly there for each other. That's what I want, and I know I have those but it seems that I haven't felt that way for a very long time except for with certain people like momma Drake, and very few other people.

It was this group that got me to stop and look at what I was with and what I was missing out on. Even the next day when I went back and hung out with the other group, I wasn't as happy.

I realized it. I realized why I didn't feel like I fit in. It is because they are still so young and innocent. Not saying that I'm old, I mean most of them are a year or two older than me, but they haven't experienced as much as I have, they aren't on my same level of things in where our lives are. For instance, while they are wanting to go watch a movie, or smoke a bowl, I will be wanting to go out and meet people and have fun. I don't want to just drink in a dorm room and that be it. No, I want to go to a random house party and meet new people and experience new things. They aren't ready for that.

They want to have a boyfriend, I want to have some one night stands. They want to go and walk, I want to go fuck something up. They want to talk about drama, I want to talk about and have sex.

My innocence is gone. I got that. But I can't pull myself back to other peoples levels so I can try to have a good time. I have to go out on my own and find others that are on my level. That's when I can find where I truly belong. I can't hold myself back, I have to go forward or else I'm just repeating the past again and for the longest time I felt like I was. With the old group of friends I had in Polson. They were too innocent. I was not. I was never happy with them. I want to be happy.

I am just happy that I have found the people that I have on that Friday night. They are the ones that have changed my life. They are the ones that I want in my life.

XX
JW

Teach Me How to Carrie

To be a columnist or to not be a columnist, that seems to be the question that is going on in my head right now. You see the University newspaper is hiring columnists and cartoonists. Yes, you did read that correctly, hiring! I saw that and just about sh*t myself. I mean I can get paid for writing about my opinion to about 4000+ people across this city! That's huge! It's something I've always wanted to do! I mean, sure my blog is nice, but the viewership I could be getting if I was a columnist, that would be amazing! Or I hope it would be.

You see from a very young age I always wanted to write stuff people would read. I even remember watching “Sex and the City,” (cliché I know, and out of order so I had no clue what was going on!) and I loved what Carrie did. I've never told anyone but I wanted to be like Carrie when I grew up. Living the “posh” life in New York, having lots of clothes, close friends, and parties galore! I wanted to write about it all.

I wanted to have a column where people would go and send me fan mail and get me noticed just enough to write a book (or maybe a couple). All I knew was that I wanted to be a writer just like her.

Maybe I was meant to see this, it was a sign from the all knowing universe that has been kicking my butt lately. I would like to believe so, anyways.

However, if I got this opportunity, I could give them a more diverse view on things. Being gay and growing up in Montana, you learn how to get a different view on things and find others with the same views. Because of that I have a very diverse group of people I know all around the city, that could give me inspiration and ideas to write about as well as getting a different audience as well. I can also help with giving more information about the LGBT community and events coming up. I think on this campus it's important to get this diverse voice out there for people to read and collect.

So see, I feel like I'm perfect for this opportunity. Or at least I would like to think I am...

Also... why are there so many attractive people on this campus? (I think that though is for another blog...)

XX

JW

An Internal Monologue

“A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?”

~Albert Einstein

I think I am going insane.
I know, I know. I have said this many times before, but I finally think it's true.
I am going completely insane. Soon my sentences will be unbarable to even look at or write.
I don't know why I'm writing this either.
I don't know what to blame my loss of sanity on either, because we all know that you don't just go insane. That would be silly.
I want to say I blame the drugs... maybe the alcohol... or maybe it's the stress of school and friends and trying to find a job.
Maybe it's my family. Or the lack there of.
Maybe it's my mind that's broken, or this stupid book that is getting to me.
Could it be the music? CocoRosie might not be sane music, but it shouldn't drive me insane should it?
I can't stop thinking and it's scaring me. All I do now is think, think, think.
Sometimes I think I don't have any friends, sometimes I think I have too many. Other times I feel like I just need to fly away, like a flamingo. Fly away to some tropical place to get my thoughts straightened out, cause isn't that what the commercials tell us to do?
Maybe it's the fucking media?
They are everywhere.
Who knows, it could be my roommate.
Can anyone listen? Will you understand?
They never understand. It's me against the world, because that's what I'm meant to believe due to the media.
Fucking media.
I am going insane, I know it. Look at this blog post? Have you not seen anything more none sane?
I cry a lot now. I don't know why. I can't help it.
I can't sleep a lot now either. I don't know why. I just don't.
I wish I had motivation, but I don't.
I wonder what's wrong with me.
Oh yeah... I'm going insane.

XX

Finding _________ (Marble House)

“The moment we believe that we have never met
Another kind of love it's easy to forget
When we are all alone then we do both agree
We have a thing in common this was meant to be...”

~The Knife- “Marble House”

One of the saddest realities that we all have to face at sometime in our lives if the fact that we can find someone and see them for a total of an hour and know that you will never see them again. You can hope and wish and pray to see them again, but then in sneaks the depressing reality that you will never see them again. You tell your friends, they tell you that you never know that if you will never see them again. You know, though. You know.

What is the worst part is that you can stop thinking about that person you met for a mere hour. That person who seemed to just make a big impression in your mind and you aren't quite sure how. It gets into your brain and wiggles its way into your head and dies in there. Stinking up your life and you can't help but always come back to the thought, well if I only would've just talked with them, if only I did take his friends advice and hooked up with him... If only...

It's the only thing that can go through your mind and you beat yourself up over all of it. It gets to the point where you are having dreams about this person and you don't even know them, yet you can't help any of it. In your dreams you are trying to find them and get them to notice you but you can't, or they won't. You get a friend with you to drive you around the busy streets of downtown, but still no luck. You travel to strange night clubs, music filling your veins as you get drunk off of the touch of a lonely girl in the corner. You search in this wonderland of sorts. Nothing still.

The only hope you have now is that maybe one day you will see them again and maybe something will happen.

Until then... you keep on living. Or try to.

XX
JW

The Stress of Being a Wallflower

I thought things were going better. That is until yesterday night, I was reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower and for some reason I knew what this book was about and it saddened me. I can't explain what I felt at that moment to tell me how I understood the book right in that section but I just did. For some unexplainable reason.

I've never had friends I could make mix tapes for. I've never been apart of something grand like Charlie has. There are only a few people that have made me feel that way. Otherwise I am a wallflower amongst “wallflowers.” I am by myself and I can accept that... I think.

The reason why I'm bringing this up is because I think I understand why my “friend” group is so divided and so hateful towards each other behind each others backs. No one listens. All they do is talk and they don't stop when it's important stuff, because now that they were told the burden of someone else, for some reason they feel that they now have that burden apart of them, even though it's not, and they need to share it with someone else.

Our information that we think is staying between one to two people is getting thrown around and used by each other like a very confused prostitute.

We think we can share things in confidence and not have that person tell anyone, because when you trust someone that's how it is supposed to go. It's when that trust is broken that you don't know who to turn to so all of the stress comes crashing down on you and you end up at the side of bridge, looking at how the water is calling your name so seductively.

What's even worse though, is that you know that they are talking about you after you show them that you are even just a slightly bit pissed. They talk about why you shouldn't be pissed and say some half way rude things because that is how it goes.

I want my friends to read this and know because it's my turn to talk.

It's my turn to express myself and not be the bystander that has to hear all of your crap about everyone else!

I know this all seems a bit angry, and it's probably not good that I'm writing this in a very angry mood but it needs to be said.

So to all my friends, if you read this, you know who you are, get over yourselves and start thinking about others, or your so called friends. Because when you only do the talking, and a lot of you do, it's hard for others who are dealing with the same thing to help you! And right now I'm done with helping because I'm not getting any reciprocation from a lot of you.

I need my voice to be heard too.

I know this sounds needy but I feel like I don't talk enough about me to my friends group. It seems to be always what's their problems and I'm tired. I can't do it anymore and I'm weeping while I type this because I can't.

I can't be there when you won't be there. And I know most of you are like, no I'm here for you I was there for you. But were you really? Think about it. “Be a filter, not a sponge.”

XX

JW