Josh Hilden's Blog, page 4
September 27, 2023
Hot Pasta
I was thinking this morning about what I’d like to eat. I am craving this dish. I’m not sure if it’s just a thrown-together dish or something from a cookbook that I’ve always called Hot Pasta. It’s simple to make. It’s just spaghetti tossed with a concoction of onion, garlic, and red pepper flakes sauteed in olive oil. Sprinkle on some parmesan cheese, or dump it on like I do, and enjoy. We serve it with sweet Italian sausages and cottage cheese.
I know, we’re weird.
I realized I didn’t have the exact recipe. I wasn’t sure if there were any other ingredients. So I picked up my phone to call the person who introduced the dish to the family.
My Grandma.
My Grandma died six months ago today.
I miss her terribly.
The sad part is that she would know how to deal with the funk I'm in.
She was the best. She practically raised me until I was 14 and moved in with my Dad in Michigan. When I was little, and my parents were going through their "troubles," I spent every night with her. She fed me. Sometimes, she dressed me. And often, she helped me with schoolwork. She always had my favorite foods, and I had my own room at her house.
She doled out Grandmother love and Mother discipline.
She was more a Mom than a Grandma.
When she died, It felt like I lost my Mom (for the record, none of this negates my feelings for my real Mom) and that I, unless I wanted to draw unnecessary attention to myself, and if you’ve been following me for any amount of time you know I’d rather die first, I couldn’t grieve properly.
Other than my partner, no one was aware of the depth and breadth of my pain. Now, if you’re one of the family members who stalk my Blog, and I know who some of you are, and you’re reading this, you know too.
I think I’ve rambled on about my grief enough today. Maybe I’ll have more to say tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year. Until then, I’ll keep my mask on, and when I leave the house, I’ll pretend everything is ok.
On March 27, 2023, my Mom died.
- Josh (09/26/2023)
I know, we’re weird.
I realized I didn’t have the exact recipe. I wasn’t sure if there were any other ingredients. So I picked up my phone to call the person who introduced the dish to the family.
My Grandma.
My Grandma died six months ago today.
I miss her terribly.
The sad part is that she would know how to deal with the funk I'm in.
She was the best. She practically raised me until I was 14 and moved in with my Dad in Michigan. When I was little, and my parents were going through their "troubles," I spent every night with her. She fed me. Sometimes, she dressed me. And often, she helped me with schoolwork. She always had my favorite foods, and I had my own room at her house.
She doled out Grandmother love and Mother discipline.
She was more a Mom than a Grandma.
When she died, It felt like I lost my Mom (for the record, none of this negates my feelings for my real Mom) and that I, unless I wanted to draw unnecessary attention to myself, and if you’ve been following me for any amount of time you know I’d rather die first, I couldn’t grieve properly.
Other than my partner, no one was aware of the depth and breadth of my pain. Now, if you’re one of the family members who stalk my Blog, and I know who some of you are, and you’re reading this, you know too.
I think I’ve rambled on about my grief enough today. Maybe I’ll have more to say tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year. Until then, I’ll keep my mask on, and when I leave the house, I’ll pretend everything is ok.
On March 27, 2023, my Mom died.
- Josh (09/26/2023)
September 17, 2023
Michigan Roads Take Me Home
It's odd the kinds of things that will trip the nostalgia trigger.
I wouldn't have thought I had a lot to be nostalgic about. My pre-junior high life was awful. My high school years were a yo-yo of fantastic and horrible. My adult years have had their highs and lows, but I never thought I'd look back on an era of my life with longing and fondness.
I try to get back up to the homeland. I like to say Detroit when I talk to people, but it's really Detroit Metro, specifically Wayne, as often as possible.
Before I say more, let me put this right out on Front Street. I have no desire to change the path of my life. To be sure, there are a few horrible things I'd change in a heartbeat, but on the whole, this is where I want to be right here right now.
That said, the more time I spend up there, the more I yearn to taste the past. Not to change it but to relive some of my golden oldies.
I wonder if this is a symptom of a midlife crisis or just an aspect of the natural ebb and flow all people go through in their middle years.
On a positive note, or at least optimistic in that it offsets my questions of causation, there are many things in my past to remember fondly.
Yearning for your past is integral in remembering the good times so that you can hold on to them and cherish them. If you do, it can keep you happy.
Isn't that what life should be about?
Shouldn't it be about getting happy?
*Unless what makes you happy is hunting humans. If that's the case, I would like you to please seek help. Or move to an uninhabited island off the coast of Antarctica.*
I wouldn't have thought I had a lot to be nostalgic about. My pre-junior high life was awful. My high school years were a yo-yo of fantastic and horrible. My adult years have had their highs and lows, but I never thought I'd look back on an era of my life with longing and fondness.
I try to get back up to the homeland. I like to say Detroit when I talk to people, but it's really Detroit Metro, specifically Wayne, as often as possible.
Before I say more, let me put this right out on Front Street. I have no desire to change the path of my life. To be sure, there are a few horrible things I'd change in a heartbeat, but on the whole, this is where I want to be right here right now.
That said, the more time I spend up there, the more I yearn to taste the past. Not to change it but to relive some of my golden oldies.
I wonder if this is a symptom of a midlife crisis or just an aspect of the natural ebb and flow all people go through in their middle years.
On a positive note, or at least optimistic in that it offsets my questions of causation, there are many things in my past to remember fondly.
Yearning for your past is integral in remembering the good times so that you can hold on to them and cherish them. If you do, it can keep you happy.
Isn't that what life should be about?
Shouldn't it be about getting happy?
*Unless what makes you happy is hunting humans. If that's the case, I would like you to please seek help. Or move to an uninhabited island off the coast of Antarctica.*
September 16, 2023
Credit Union Inconvenience
September 12, 2023
Josh is pissed off.
I tried to access the rainy day fund, which lives in my old credit union savings account and found my account locked (Online portal and ATM card) for inactivity.
Alright, this is a severe inconvenience, but after half an hour with the customer service person's help, it was fixed.
Then I saw that they started charging a $5 monthly fee every month the account was inactive. I asked why, and they said inactive accounts need more monitoring instead of less. MORE MONITORING!? So yeah,
Josh is pissed. I feel like I was robbed and then kicked in the junk so I wouldn't notice the robbery.
September 13, 2023
Banking Update. My account is unlocked (online and ATM), and I was able to access the rainy-day fund.
On the advice of a friend, I asked how to avoid this from happening again (although I haven't decided whether I will close this account). They said everything would be fine if I logged in once every 90 days.
So... there's that.
Josh is pissed off.
I tried to access the rainy day fund, which lives in my old credit union savings account and found my account locked (Online portal and ATM card) for inactivity.
Alright, this is a severe inconvenience, but after half an hour with the customer service person's help, it was fixed.
Then I saw that they started charging a $5 monthly fee every month the account was inactive. I asked why, and they said inactive accounts need more monitoring instead of less. MORE MONITORING!? So yeah,
Josh is pissed. I feel like I was robbed and then kicked in the junk so I wouldn't notice the robbery.
September 13, 2023
Banking Update. My account is unlocked (online and ATM), and I was able to access the rainy-day fund.
On the advice of a friend, I asked how to avoid this from happening again (although I haven't decided whether I will close this account). They said everything would be fine if I logged in once every 90 days.
So... there's that.
September 11, 2023
Baby Powder And White Shoulders
Yesterday, we had the first actual family holiday event since before Grandma died.
We, the Spoose, most of the kids, both grandkids, my mom, and my grandfather, gathered at Mom and Grandpa's house.
It's hard not to still think of it as grandma's house.
We grilled hamburgers and enjoyed each other's company. I had a good time. I always love it when my kids gather with us, and I'm glad I attended.
That said, I'm sad.
The house looks the same. But I can't smell her anymore. She smelled like baby powder and her favorite perfume, White Shoulders. Being unable to smell her anymore makes the house seem like something from THE TWILIGHT ZONE.
It's the same house, but it's not the same house.
I'm glad we're doing Thanksgiving at my oldest daughter's home this year.
We, the Spoose, most of the kids, both grandkids, my mom, and my grandfather, gathered at Mom and Grandpa's house.
It's hard not to still think of it as grandma's house.
We grilled hamburgers and enjoyed each other's company. I had a good time. I always love it when my kids gather with us, and I'm glad I attended.
That said, I'm sad.
The house looks the same. But I can't smell her anymore. She smelled like baby powder and her favorite perfume, White Shoulders. Being unable to smell her anymore makes the house seem like something from THE TWILIGHT ZONE.
It's the same house, but it's not the same house.
I'm glad we're doing Thanksgiving at my oldest daughter's home this year.
22 Years Down The Road
So, it's 9/11 again.
I'm not be posting about where I was and what I was doing when it happened.
Was 9/11 the worst thing to happen to the United States as a whole?
No.
Was it the worst thing to happen to the ordinary people?
Yes, or at least if you discount chattel African slavery and the Native American Genocide. Although when I was taught about the genocide in school, they called it the Indian Wars.
So, no, I won't be talking about 9/11 anymore.
There's no point.
Why?
Because America has been forever changed, and not for the better. We've become a cesspool of hate and bigotry, the likes of which we haven't seen in a long time.
I like to think of myself as an optimist, but since 9/11, my optimism has left me a drop at a time.
Here's the god's honest truth. After 22 years of the war on terror, the failed invasion and occupation of two sovereign nations, and the Presidency of a monster who is still doing his best to tear us apart our country, we can only arrive at one conclusion.
The terrorists won.
I'm not be posting about where I was and what I was doing when it happened.
Was 9/11 the worst thing to happen to the United States as a whole?
No.
Was it the worst thing to happen to the ordinary people?
Yes, or at least if you discount chattel African slavery and the Native American Genocide. Although when I was taught about the genocide in school, they called it the Indian Wars.
So, no, I won't be talking about 9/11 anymore.
There's no point.
Why?
Because America has been forever changed, and not for the better. We've become a cesspool of hate and bigotry, the likes of which we haven't seen in a long time.
I like to think of myself as an optimist, but since 9/11, my optimism has left me a drop at a time.
Here's the god's honest truth. After 22 years of the war on terror, the failed invasion and occupation of two sovereign nations, and the Presidency of a monster who is still doing his best to tear us apart our country, we can only arrive at one conclusion.
The terrorists won.
August 16, 2023
Yeah, It Got That Bad
(Authors note – I wrote this essay while on vacation in Michigan. An essay about said vacation and the reasons for it will be up in the coming days)
I’ve always hated the summer.
It’s always seemed the bad things in my life happened between May first and the first od September. I know these are not the exact dates of summer, but I think it’s safe to say that most of us from the Midwest recognize those as the seasonal bookends for the jot days.
This year has been the worst.
As most, if not all, of you know my middle son died in April of 2020 from drug related complications.
This year my maternal grandmother passed from what I believe was medical negligence.
There birthdays are side my side. My son’s birthday is July 29, and my grandmother’s birthday is July 30.
Add to that my birthday being August 03 you can see how the last 45 days, give or take a few, have been very hard on me. I’ve spent the last month of my life barely showering. I didn’t shave for the entirety of the depression episode. I slept for at least twelve hours a day. And last, but not least, I wore the same clothes, underwear and all, for weeks at a time.
I stank, my breath was horrendous, my head and face itched from lack of proper grooming, my long finger and toe nails kept breaking and leaving me in pain. I ate like a voracious pigman and put on upwards of a dozen pounds. I could add a lot more but I believe you get the gist of just how low I was.
I’ve always said I’d never knowing lie in these Essays/Blogs or whatever the fuck you want to call them. You were warned Boils and Ghouls, it’s not all politics and hate. Sometimes it’s so low you can’t see the top.
I wrote the three following posts on BookFace and The Site Formerly Known As Twitter across the three birthdays under discussion here. Take them for what they are. They were my truth in the middle of one of the worst depressions of my life. They will always be the truth of the summer of 2023, the summer that almost broke me.
July 29, 2023
I've, once more, sequestered the family from this one. Today would've been Stephens's 35th birthday. Instead, he barely made it past 30.
If you're out there somewhere, I want you to know your father has always loved you and always will love and miss you. Happy Birthday, Boy.
July 30, 2023
Sigh, once more, the family is sequestered from this one. Yesterday was Stephen's Birthday, and today is Grandma's birthday. I know older adults die, but Grandma had a huge hand in raising me.
It's only been a few months, and it still feels like she's here. When I say I'm going to visit my Mom and my Grandpa’s I still say I'm going to Grandma's. It hurts every time. The last time I went there, the house no longer smelled like her. It broke my heart.
Happy Birthday, Grandma. I hope you find the peace you deserve in the next world.
August -03, 2023
Today is my birthday.
Today I am 47.
Today I am one year closer to meeting the reaper.
I hope she's as nice as I imagine.
- Josh (08/15/2023)
And now for a brief addendum.
I want people know that I am a lot better today. I’ve been shaving, showering, changing my clothes, brushing my teeth, and doing my damndest to not eat so much. I’m not suicidal, and as the days get shorter and the nights run cooler, I feel more like myself again. I’m sleeping less and when I do it’s in more concentrated blocks. I’m not feeling suicidal. Tell the truth and shame the devil it was getting a little too close for comfort there for a hot minute.
My point is I finally feel better.
Time is a cure of sorts. It brings closure to some things and relief, however temporary, from the things for which closure is not a possibility. With time we find a way to make it the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. While you’re waiting for the passage of time to do it’s thing just remember these things.
Be kind to yourself.
Give yourself a chance to do better and be batter.
Don’t blame yourself when you come up short to expectations.
You’ll always get another chance if you just give it time.
June 17, 2023
Happy Birthday, Little Brother
Today is my middle brother’s birthday. If we were young now, we would’ve referred to as frenemies. We played together a lot. We argued like two old church ladies. We fought one another a lot. But we also had each other’s backs. This was our dance until I was seventeen and he was thirteen,
He’s 43 now.
Now, a little context for constant readers and newbies alike. I suppose you need it so that this doesn’t sound like anything more than a bunch of nonsense. This is the brother I haven’t talked to since 2011. The cause of our falling out stopped being relevant to me, and I suppose to him, many years ago. Needless to say, it was intense and ended in harsh words, flipped tables (metaphorical tables), and hurt feelings.
Fast forward twenty-two years, more or less, and we are forced to be in proximity to one another. The event was our maternal grandmother’s funeral earlier this spring. Things were quiet, and my apprehension that we’d be forced into an awkward conversation with one another was dispelled. We didn’t actively avoid one another, but we never spoke or made eye contact.
Afterward, things were slightly different.
There were, and still are, issues that needed discussing following the funeral. Therefore our baby brother set up a group text for just three of us. We exchanged a few texts about dealing with my mother and grandfather’s situations after my grandmother died, but that was a couple of months ago. As of today, our planning for taking care of Mom is on hold. She’s doing ok, and I’m here in Dayhton if she needs help. My baby brother is in Columbus, and my middle brother is in Detroit.
There was a point in the recent (5 – 10 years or so) past when I was angry with him, but that burned out a long ago. Now I feel quiet toward him. I feel no ill will and also no genuine desire to interact. I wish him and his family ONLY good things, but I’m more or less neutral.
I’d talk to him if he talked to me, but I feel no impulse to contact him. We have always been two very different people, and we clashed a lot when we were younger.
I’m honestly pleased that he has a good life. I want him and his people to live long and be happy.
Happy Birthday, Little Brother. I hope it was a good one.
- Josh (06/16/2023)
He’s 43 now.
Now, a little context for constant readers and newbies alike. I suppose you need it so that this doesn’t sound like anything more than a bunch of nonsense. This is the brother I haven’t talked to since 2011. The cause of our falling out stopped being relevant to me, and I suppose to him, many years ago. Needless to say, it was intense and ended in harsh words, flipped tables (metaphorical tables), and hurt feelings.
Fast forward twenty-two years, more or less, and we are forced to be in proximity to one another. The event was our maternal grandmother’s funeral earlier this spring. Things were quiet, and my apprehension that we’d be forced into an awkward conversation with one another was dispelled. We didn’t actively avoid one another, but we never spoke or made eye contact.
Afterward, things were slightly different.
There were, and still are, issues that needed discussing following the funeral. Therefore our baby brother set up a group text for just three of us. We exchanged a few texts about dealing with my mother and grandfather’s situations after my grandmother died, but that was a couple of months ago. As of today, our planning for taking care of Mom is on hold. She’s doing ok, and I’m here in Dayhton if she needs help. My baby brother is in Columbus, and my middle brother is in Detroit.
There was a point in the recent (5 – 10 years or so) past when I was angry with him, but that burned out a long ago. Now I feel quiet toward him. I feel no ill will and also no genuine desire to interact. I wish him and his family ONLY good things, but I’m more or less neutral.
I’d talk to him if he talked to me, but I feel no impulse to contact him. We have always been two very different people, and we clashed a lot when we were younger.
I’m honestly pleased that he has a good life. I want him and his people to live long and be happy.
Happy Birthday, Little Brother. I hope it was a good one.
- Josh (06/16/2023)
June 5, 2023
29 Years
It's that time of year again, Pride, and that means it's time to retell the story of how I realized I was bisexual and what happened when I came out.
My coming out took 29 years to complete.
I realized I was attracted to ladies and fellas when I was seven. The revelation was facilitated by the movie RETURN OF THE JEDI. Every guy of a certain age fell in love (or maybe into lust) with Princes Leia in her gold bikini, and I was no different. What most guys didn't do was have the same feelings for Han Solo.
I didn't have the vocabulary of a world where LGBTQ+ people are openly out loud and proud. All I knew was that I wasn't like the other boys I knew at school and from around the neighborhood.
I kissed my first boy, a friend who was curious about kissing when I was 8. He thought that, like him, I just wanted to know what it was like to kiss somebody. He, in the end, turned out to be straight.
I, Of course, did not.
It wasn't long after that I heard my maternal grandfather use the F word, the one reserved for people like me. Not fuck. I asked my two step-uncles, one was my age and the other was a year older, what that word meant. Without realizing who and what they were talking to told me that what I was was evil and disgusting. They told me I was going to go to hell and burn forever.
For eight years, I didn't tell a soul.
Fast forward to when I was 16 and a junior in high school. That year I fell in love with a guy, and I also fell in love with a girl. But that is a story I've told before.
Teenagers, they fall in and out of love so fast, don't they?
In the end, my guilt over my orientation, the knowledge that the guy I was enamored with could never be told, and the first symptoms of my bipolar disorder rearing its ugly head caused me to make a suicide attempt. It was the first of two, but as with the love story, I've told that story before as well and won't be rehashing it here and now.
After that, I came out to my German teacher. She was amazing and was the shoulder I needed to cry on.
In the aftermath of the attempt, I allowed myself to be checked into a psychiatric facility. I got lucky. The hospital was very LBGTQ supportive, and in the end, the counselors were the first people (other than my teacher) who made me feel like I wasn't a freak.
In the process of getting all of my marbles back into the bag, I came out to a select few family members. It was a test to see how living my true life might work out. It went as well as you might have expected. Some were very supportive, some acted like it was all a hoax, and some (very few) used it as a tool to backbite and sew chaos.
I stayed closeted until 2004.
When I was in the hospital being diagnosed with diabetes, they pumped me full of morphine, and it did what narcotics always do to me in that drug-addled moment. My lips were loosened, and I spilled my guts.
I told my wife.
She was hurt that in the eight years we'd been together that I'd never told her. But, for some reason, she loves me and has always had my back on the subject.
I came out to the world in 2012.
There was no fanfare. No fireworks and air horns. I simply wrote an entry on my old blog and posted it for everyone to see. A few of the responses behind the scenes were negative, but for the most part, I received support and love.
That's it.
That's my story.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Pride. I know things look dark right now. I know people are trying to push us back to the 1950s. But never forget we are strong, we are resolute, and we are a community that looks out for one another.
- Josh (06/05/2023)
My coming out took 29 years to complete.
I realized I was attracted to ladies and fellas when I was seven. The revelation was facilitated by the movie RETURN OF THE JEDI. Every guy of a certain age fell in love (or maybe into lust) with Princes Leia in her gold bikini, and I was no different. What most guys didn't do was have the same feelings for Han Solo.
I didn't have the vocabulary of a world where LGBTQ+ people are openly out loud and proud. All I knew was that I wasn't like the other boys I knew at school and from around the neighborhood.
I kissed my first boy, a friend who was curious about kissing when I was 8. He thought that, like him, I just wanted to know what it was like to kiss somebody. He, in the end, turned out to be straight.
I, Of course, did not.
It wasn't long after that I heard my maternal grandfather use the F word, the one reserved for people like me. Not fuck. I asked my two step-uncles, one was my age and the other was a year older, what that word meant. Without realizing who and what they were talking to told me that what I was was evil and disgusting. They told me I was going to go to hell and burn forever.
For eight years, I didn't tell a soul.
Fast forward to when I was 16 and a junior in high school. That year I fell in love with a guy, and I also fell in love with a girl. But that is a story I've told before.
Teenagers, they fall in and out of love so fast, don't they?
In the end, my guilt over my orientation, the knowledge that the guy I was enamored with could never be told, and the first symptoms of my bipolar disorder rearing its ugly head caused me to make a suicide attempt. It was the first of two, but as with the love story, I've told that story before as well and won't be rehashing it here and now.
After that, I came out to my German teacher. She was amazing and was the shoulder I needed to cry on.
In the aftermath of the attempt, I allowed myself to be checked into a psychiatric facility. I got lucky. The hospital was very LBGTQ supportive, and in the end, the counselors were the first people (other than my teacher) who made me feel like I wasn't a freak.
In the process of getting all of my marbles back into the bag, I came out to a select few family members. It was a test to see how living my true life might work out. It went as well as you might have expected. Some were very supportive, some acted like it was all a hoax, and some (very few) used it as a tool to backbite and sew chaos.
I stayed closeted until 2004.
When I was in the hospital being diagnosed with diabetes, they pumped me full of morphine, and it did what narcotics always do to me in that drug-addled moment. My lips were loosened, and I spilled my guts.
I told my wife.
She was hurt that in the eight years we'd been together that I'd never told her. But, for some reason, she loves me and has always had my back on the subject.
I came out to the world in 2012.
There was no fanfare. No fireworks and air horns. I simply wrote an entry on my old blog and posted it for everyone to see. A few of the responses behind the scenes were negative, but for the most part, I received support and love.
That's it.
That's my story.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Pride. I know things look dark right now. I know people are trying to push us back to the 1950s. But never forget we are strong, we are resolute, and we are a community that looks out for one another.
- Josh (06/05/2023)
May 16, 2023
Happy Mother's Day Mom
I want to tell you a story that's very important to me. I meant to tell this story on Mother's Day but was busy and forgot.
Say sorry.
When I was 13, I moved out of my grandmother's house, where my mother and I (along with my brothers) had lived for three years, and into my father's and step-monster's house. For the first year that I lived with them, I was miserable. My step-monster turned out to be a horrible person who seemed to enjoy fucking with a 14-year-old kid.
Things might have spiraled and resulted in me being an angry young man who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But at the end of my Freshman year, I became friends with a guy whose family changed my life.
He quickly became my best friend, though I initially didn't realize it. He brought me into his home and introduced me to the people I will always consider the family that chose me.
It was his mom that took me in. I always had a place to stay when things were bad at home. When I was hungry, there was food to eat. And when I needed to talk to a parent, she always had an ear and advice.
She made me family, and I gained a brother and a sister in the process.
Mom passed five years ago, and I miss her. I wish I could introduce her to my grandchildren. She loved Katie-Bug. Even though I miss her, I feel so lucky to have known her.
Happy belated Mother's Day, Mom. You are remembered, you are missed, and you are loved. No matter where you are.
Say sorry.
When I was 13, I moved out of my grandmother's house, where my mother and I (along with my brothers) had lived for three years, and into my father's and step-monster's house. For the first year that I lived with them, I was miserable. My step-monster turned out to be a horrible person who seemed to enjoy fucking with a 14-year-old kid.
Things might have spiraled and resulted in me being an angry young man who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But at the end of my Freshman year, I became friends with a guy whose family changed my life.
He quickly became my best friend, though I initially didn't realize it. He brought me into his home and introduced me to the people I will always consider the family that chose me.
It was his mom that took me in. I always had a place to stay when things were bad at home. When I was hungry, there was food to eat. And when I needed to talk to a parent, she always had an ear and advice.
She made me family, and I gained a brother and a sister in the process.
Mom passed five years ago, and I miss her. I wish I could introduce her to my grandchildren. She loved Katie-Bug. Even though I miss her, I feel so lucky to have known her.
Happy belated Mother's Day, Mom. You are remembered, you are missed, and you are loved. No matter where you are.
April 26, 2023
I'm Sorry Kevin
Many months ago, I said I'd lost most of my respect for Kevin Smith, and I was done consuming his content. Jeebus Herman Christopher, do I feel like a piece of shit.
A very short bit of back story. Since I first experienced CLERKS in 1995, Kevin Smith has been one of the creative pillars of my life. He was right up there with Stephen King and George A. Romero. Hell, he might have been number one because I considered him my personal hero. I've always tried to emulate his openness, candor, and directness with the world. Even when he became a hardcore stoner following the failure of ZACK & MIRI MAKE A PORNI, I was still an uber fan.
Five years ago, things took a hard left turn.
Following his nearly fatal heart attack, Kevin changed. His openness seemed forced, and he stopped sounding like a natural person who enjoyed hocking his merch to the fans, but it never felt like pressure, and he usually used humor with his no-pressure sales tactics. Following his health scare, the sales tactic turned into a brittle patter that was painful to listen to.
I more or less bowed out as an active Kevin Smith booster two years ago.
A month ago, Smith announced he'd stopped smoking weed. I gave him mental "attaboy" at his decision and decided I'd give him another chance by watching CLERKS 3.
I still have yet to watch the film, but I'll get on it this week, primarily due to a YouTube video he released today (via PEOPLE). In the video, he speaks about his emotional/mental breakdown, the sexual abuse he experienced as a child, how being fat turned him into a miserable people pleaser for his entire life, and how he never put his emotional health and needs first.
This hit me like a bowling ball in the gonads. If you've followed me for any length of time, you'll know I suffer from two of these three of these issues. I've been fat all my life and emotionally scarred by children and adults alike because of it. But more than that, I am a survivor of childhood sexual assault. I even, like him, had a complete and nearly total nervous breakdown due to repressed trauma, plus a few other issues. So I can understand how his trauma, long suppressed, can affect him in the second half of his life.
Kevin, I'm sorry I gave up on you. I hope to one day make the journey]y back to New Jersey and attend one of your shows at the Smodcastle.
April 26, 2023
A very short bit of back story. Since I first experienced CLERKS in 1995, Kevin Smith has been one of the creative pillars of my life. He was right up there with Stephen King and George A. Romero. Hell, he might have been number one because I considered him my personal hero. I've always tried to emulate his openness, candor, and directness with the world. Even when he became a hardcore stoner following the failure of ZACK & MIRI MAKE A PORNI, I was still an uber fan.
Five years ago, things took a hard left turn.
Following his nearly fatal heart attack, Kevin changed. His openness seemed forced, and he stopped sounding like a natural person who enjoyed hocking his merch to the fans, but it never felt like pressure, and he usually used humor with his no-pressure sales tactics. Following his health scare, the sales tactic turned into a brittle patter that was painful to listen to.
I more or less bowed out as an active Kevin Smith booster two years ago.
A month ago, Smith announced he'd stopped smoking weed. I gave him mental "attaboy" at his decision and decided I'd give him another chance by watching CLERKS 3.
I still have yet to watch the film, but I'll get on it this week, primarily due to a YouTube video he released today (via PEOPLE). In the video, he speaks about his emotional/mental breakdown, the sexual abuse he experienced as a child, how being fat turned him into a miserable people pleaser for his entire life, and how he never put his emotional health and needs first.
This hit me like a bowling ball in the gonads. If you've followed me for any length of time, you'll know I suffer from two of these three of these issues. I've been fat all my life and emotionally scarred by children and adults alike because of it. But more than that, I am a survivor of childhood sexual assault. I even, like him, had a complete and nearly total nervous breakdown due to repressed trauma, plus a few other issues. So I can understand how his trauma, long suppressed, can affect him in the second half of his life.
Kevin, I'm sorry I gave up on you. I hope to one day make the journey]y back to New Jersey and attend one of your shows at the Smodcastle.
April 26, 2023
