My Life-Story

10 Dec

I have thought long and hard about whether I should use my picture on my blog and I have finally came to the conclusion that I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t because of what I intend to write about here: that being myself. I know that no-one will find my blog interesting without the wonders of visual stimulation but that is something I will have to live with. All I can do for you is write that both scares me and excites me. So here comes chapter 1 of my life-story. Thinking about publishing it scares me, I am letting anyone with a computer have access to things that I can’t tell to the people closest to me but here I am about to write this for the world to see.

I’m Cal a tall, handsome (I would like to think), gay man which are things you can tell by just looking at me. There is a lot that you can see in my eyes; but even though they are the window to my soul there is a lot you won’t see through them. They say still waters run deep, that statement could never be more true of me. Behind my dark placid eyes is a fire, which burns brightly, and like the sun’s light: mine comes from violent collisions. That sparkle in my black pools (pupils) comes from my fire, a fire deep inside which burns violently, consuming everything in its way.

I can continue using crazy metaphors to describe myself or I can tell you about the craziest thing I have done (I know which I would choose so here it comes). I left home one Wednesday, inside me was this need for escape and some distant voice told me to run away. I ran. I packed a bag and left home for about two days and spent time out on the streets of Johannesburg. Let me just skip a few details until I get to the really crazy part. I decided that the best way to fight all the anxiety, I have inside crippling me, was to masturbate out there in the veld I had made my residence for that evening. It sounds stupid, I know, but that is really what I did. I have problems, but then again so does everyone; I have stupid ideas, but then again so does everyone: with this logic I am perfectly normal, I suppose (then again my psychiatrist may disagree). But at least I feel normal. I feel good about myself for the first time, I can write about myself and think that it is an interesting story people would want to read. Who wouldn’t want to know about a guy who went crazy stripped naked and wanked on a hill, one night? Well, I can tell you this, the choice was simple do it and everything will be better or don’t and… well I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t. Unfortunately now I don’t feel much different, but at least it gave me a starting place for my story, my life.

If I ever have a book written about me I want my night-time wank to be the starting point. I would choose this because before then nothing in my life made any sense. Trust someone like me to say that masturbating in the veld makes more sense than anything else in my life, I am SO FREAKING DRAMATIC but that is what I am saying and I am sticking to it. From that point on I have become more rational, my mind is clearer and I can see a future ahead of me (this may be from my Zyprexa -but I would like to downplay its importance in my life right now). For the first time in my life I can see my life ahead of me. I know it will be short and glorious because now with a pen in my hand and my other hand stroking my forehead (obviously this came before I started typing), I can feel my life pull away. I feel it slipping onto these pages. My entire being is being consumed and reflected simultaneously by this simple act – writing.They say all good novels have an ending, that couldn’t be more true, I can feel myself being made right now, this is the start, each pen-stroke draws me closer to the ending. I used to write for therapy but now I write to live; I live to write There is so much that I want to do to write, and all we can do is wait until my pen feels the smooth warmth of paper. This is only a beginning and there is more to come; an end must come as well,and I will not try to stop it. This is my life: my story.

I sat and wrote this two days before I left the psychiatric institution. I wrote this because at that time I felt brave and alive. I felt I could open up to the world, I could share myself with others and myself (I am still not brave enough to show you my photos though). I know that it is only me who can tell you my story, and that is what I will do.

I woke with a song in my head, on the day I wrote this, it was a slow song unknown to my mind, yet on and on it played. I can’t explain it when things like that happen. The  soft song played, it was a song soft and slow that played making my head swing. The gentle tones made me sleepy, the  music in my mind controls my movement. Everyday a new song plays, everyday it’s different; yet one constant remains the thrill of music.

It beats in my head sometimes slow, sometimes fast; it plays constantly, I am a slave to the rhythm. When I wrote this it played with the silence of an echo waiting for me to dance. My heart refused its charm, but still I was left with its eerie resonance: “the storm is coming” it says ” thunder will sing in the skies and you will be free”. I wait for its promise. On the night that  I ran away it rained. There was plenty of thunder and very little rain, but the music played. I took a stance on the rocky terrain , I stood tall and stripped: “If you can cum here then surely anxiety won’t affect you. Relax and enjoy the thrill”. I listened to the music and it lead me away from home it lead me to that hill where I stood boner in hand, I looked unto the storm carved area of a hill. Right on top of the hill was a house, its lights dim in the distance. “This night isn’t a true night,” I thought because of all the lights around. Still I was secluded at least 500m from the nearest person, hidden in the bushes and rocky mountain terrain. But still in this city I could not be swallowed up in darkness; people could see me if they tried hard enough.But still I stood tall, I stood and I moaned. Yet every now and then my pleasure was washed away by panic. Why am I doing this? They will see. What am I doing? I must have lost my mind? And I did lose my mind. I had completely lost it. I was pulled in by the tug of my hand on my erect penis, the pleasure of the strokes on myself. I was pulled out by the thoughts of my family, thoughts of life thoughts of wtf I was doing that night. I was both excited by this mischief and disgusted by my own act. I had lost my mind, but now I am writing about it, praising this temporary lapse in my judgment. Without it i would have no place to start my story. I listened to the music that night and I managed to ejaculate. I always listen to the music even though I don’t always dance to it.

The music in my head right now is different, its feeling a sense of joy for telling you this, although it will likely change to a song of shame once this post is published. But still I am glad for the music. A new song everyday, everyday I listen to the sound in my head and typing this is what it lead me to today.

I really hope that you have enjoyed this. It shames me to say that I have nothing better to do then give you my life story. It sounds all crazy now but you will see that I have nothing to be proud of nothing good, my life is sad and meaningless, I am just…



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