I’m in the process of writing a book called #SociallyAwkward, a two-part biography aimed at young men who have found themselves in social situations that they can’t seem to find their way out of. I am writing the second part right now, and since some of my future blogs may play into the events that take place in the book, I may use codenames at some point when referring to certain people. Earlier today, I did a dream log retelling a rather ominous hallucination from overnight. Feeling messed up in the head, I spoke to “Teacher” who inspired me to write #SociallyAwkward in the first place. He was taken aback, but he also insisted that I really think back on the dream, exploring why I felt the way I did both asleep and awake. Typically, I do delve into the finer points of the dream, but for this one, I sort of scratched the surface. That caused Teacher to question why I had such deep hatred for someone I had only known for a few months. As I said, I’m writing the second part of the bio, so I’ll try to spell out this dream without giving too much away.
See, the person in the dream, “Bitters,” was someone I met through “Ol’ Dude,” the latter having been a thorn in my side for five years. I met Bitters in February 2012 with him adding me as a friend on Facebook days later. We eventually started texting, and we had a near-encounter late that March, I believe. In April, I was supposed to go to his place late one night, but after he insisted he’d be awake, he ended up falling asleep, not answering his phone at all. I needed to call him because I couldn’t remember the apartment number. Angry, I drove back home, posting a rather ugly Facebook status that indirectly addressed him. He did call in the middle of the night to apologize, but due to similar occurrences with other people, I didn’t want to hear it. He found the Facebook status, liking it before unfriending me.
At work the next day, I decided to vent, telling Bitters why I was upset about what he did and how rude it was. My thing was this: if he was tired, A) he would have known it and B) he could have saved me time instead of wasting it. But it wasn’t so much as that which pissed me off, but the cavalierness of it. From there, he responded like the little kid I was warned that he was, giving me every victim-like excuse in the book. He texted back a string of curse words about how he was tired and whatnot, telling on himself like a kindergartener, and I shut that down like a grown up, free of profanity. Through Ol’ Dude and “Chihuahua,” Ol’ Dude’s other minion, I learned that Bitters had been talking mad shit about me, telling blatant lies to the both of them which caused me to whip out the texts to show them the facts.
We went two weeks without talking until he came back about not wanting any awkwardness between us. Willing to bury the hatchet, I gave the fool a second chance, and he began telling me about how he liked me, how he wanted to go out and some other nonsense. Already on overload from a bunch of other people I had ill will towards, I stupidly went to his space once again for another near-encounter, leaving there itchy because of the dog hair and other allergens. I’m not sure if Ol’ Dude was lying or not because his name here in Baton Rouge is probably as bad as Hitler’s, but according to him, had I acted out of my gut instincts and gotten involved with Bitters, my life very well could have been in danger because he was still seeing this notably unstable basket case.
With all of the drama from them and others, in addition to more stimuli, I bailed on everyone, keeping to myself and becoming quite the angry person throughout 2013. Bitters was the first foe that I walked away from, telling him why and feeling bad about it for some reason. He didn’t understand, but he told me to “stay cool” in the end. Since then, I have been filled with so much rage for ever having allowed myself to get involved in their drama, especially since I was warned about it repeatedly. Ol’ Dude had been a walking display of disrespect for as long as we knew each other, but there was something about Bitters that still brings the most hatred out of me—violent rage. In August 2012, before I shut him off, I was supposed to go over to Bitters’ apartment to settle a score. But on the way, I got into an accident with a truck that cut me off, totaling the car I valued like no other, and that was what actually caused me to end things with all of them. While I called him on the scene of the accident, the only thing he could focus on was whether or not I was still coming by, barely giving a damn if I was okay or not.
Since then, the anger just grew and grew, manifesting itself even in my dreams. Teacher, in so many ways, asked if I liked this person. I never liked them enough to want more than an acquaintanceship, but they did embody one of my physical times, which was Bitters’ only redeeming quality. But the hate probably stems from the fact that out of all of the social run-ins that I’ve found myself in, the worst ones always involved him, twice in which I easily could have gotten killed, and that’s why deep down, I feel like I want to reciprocate—and I know I’m going to Hell for saying that. I was so messed up after talking about this with Teacher, I could hardly concentrate on washing the dishes.
I basically called Bitters ‘Satan’ in the last blog because that’s what he looked like: frail, red undertone, a bald, pointed head with teeth like fangs and ears that remind you of devil horns—he was Satan…in the most eerily attractive way. My rage towards this person intensified once I learned that he was friends with someone else I met on Facebook over the summer. This new guy insisted that we meet and make amends, but I refuse to. As a side note, this new guy is loosely a part of Ol’ Dude’s circle as well, and I hadn’t spoken to him since I learned about this.
You know, I’m not using these entries to peddle the book, but it’s simply a great platform nonetheless. But I’m at point in my life where if I continue to hold this stuff in, with respect to my more recent behavior at home and in public, the end result won’t make me proud.
My Space Shuttle will be launched for the tenth time on January 28, 2014, paying tribute to the 28th anniversary of the Challenger accident. Now a two-part bio, this entry will be a part of #SociallyAwkward, coming to your shelves and e-readers very soon. Until then, check out my other blogs, follow me on Twitter and check out my work on here, YouTube and also Soundcloud. Toodaloo.