Adulting? 1

It is a fact that I need help sometimes. 

Modern society, everybody hides behind their phones and people’s never been more alone. Yet loneliness is a feeling that creeps out at midnight, when a day’s weary and sorrow got circulated back from every muscle cell to the brain. That is the time people feel bad about themselves. It is melodramatic for me to talk about this. Fact is, my friend Dee from Texas did call me out as a “drama queen” and on some levels I do identify. The main thought of writing this ridicule down sparkled when I was knee-deep in AO3 (Archives of Our Own), shamelessly binge-reading a 32 chapters long fan fiction of Destiel (Dean & Castiel) and to be honest as I was crying about the deadly romance between Dean and Castiel and experiencing self-loathe, then did I realize that was not the lowest low of my AO3 experience…that would be me reading Twist and Shout, and as a fan of Elvis Presley, Can’t Help Falling in Love was too much for me after that fic and I tear up every time I hear “take my hand / and my whole life too”. I can’t, just can’t. 

“I can dig Elvis.”

I recognize this as a form of PTSD. 

This also brought my attention to my wanting and desire for romance, the fictional kind. The kind that slowly kills you during the process but follows by hot sex and deep kisses quote on quote “the kind of kiss that melts you”. I am a sick motherfucker and I have to admit it someday. And being one hundred percent honest, the last time I felt that way was with Glen in his MG 71. Memory is never my ally and the details are fading away. It was an ordinary evening, I was complaining about how I never had food to eat at Dr. Dorado’s. The doc and his wife sucked ass when it comes to cooking. We were served with all sorts of shenanigans in a bowl and the mosts memorable one was the cup ramen: they heated up the water and poured it into the cup ramen then skimmed out the broth and served the cold, soggy noodles. As an asian, I feel strongly offended, not by the situation but by the shitty ramen noodles they call dinner. (The same thought goes through my mind when a white chick has the Chinese character “soup” tattooed on her shoulder. ) I drifted, oops. Well as I was procrastinating to him about the inedible dinner at home over texts, G was having pepperoni pizza at home thirty minutes away. So forty minutes later he showed up at the guest parking space next to my house and I had to sneak out to meet him(a Taylor Swift song?). He pulled out of 4 pieces of pepperoni pizza in a zip lock bag which was still hot and that was the first time I had real food in 2 weeks, I was so hungry sometimes I would try to eat the Italian sauce or mayonnaise in the fridge with a spoon. I would also froze bananas and ate them like ice cream because I could not afford ice cream back then. If God or Big Brother were watching they would see a sixteen-year-old boy sneaking out of his room at 2 AM to the freezer and eat his frozen bananas in completely darkness then carefully threw away the peel. I hope I did bring them some laughter. I drifted again. As I was saying, I saw the oil-dripping pizza slices, and the person with blue eyes sitting in the driver’s seat. Two seconds later I ravenously devoured his lips, and that kiss lasted for minutes. Lips are the softest place a person could ever own. His hands are in my hair and working on my shirt buttons and my hands are in his pants and fishing for the zipper. Nothing happened, his old MG 71 did not have air condition and we were in Florida. It turned into a sauna. So I would call me a food whore, because I literally put out for 4 slices of pepperoni pizza. But as I remembered, that kind of long, moist, French kiss that would “melt” me was my last experience of Love. Last as in the finale

The sunset that day was extra gorgeous. The sky was radiating red, soft beam of lights as a few clouds passed by. I remembered the red lights slowly blended into the darkness of the sky and it showed the outline of Glen’s nose. That sunset also brought new feeling to Florida for me. It had nothing to do with the kiss though. 

Well, it had something to do with the kiss.

I blocked him on Instagram. 

The pizza tasted like shit by the way, my favorite pizza is thin crust extra pepperoni from Pizza Hut, that shit is oilier than the Middle East. 

I also want to talk about Chris. When I type this down my friend Dee’s face just appeared in my head and it was bizarre so I want to put this to record. She’d probably say “Oh gross!” And I would totally agree. By the way also for the record, I harass her on a daily basis with memes and posts and Supernatural edits. I don’t know why we are friends because deeply somewhere I know that she blocked me. I would block me if I send myself memes everyday.

Just to clarify things more, I watch old Vines complications when I shower and I would quote them in the bathroom out loud. So if you hear me screaming “Don’t fuck with me, I have the power of God and anime on my side, ahhhh” in the shower, that means it is just an ordinary day. 

Back to Chris. Chris is my best friend. I felt like I’ve lost millions of them along the way with my social anxiety and watch-Vines-in-the-shower habits. Thanks to my almighty king Misha Collins I’ve learned throughout the year that being weird is ok. But then I found that Misha can be weird because he is famous and rich and has a wife who wrote books about flight attendants and sexual influences(which is not weird and entirely awesome), and she is completely ok with his quirkiness, and they can be weird together. And two people being weird together are not weird. With his pretty face Misha can do anything and I’d still voluntarily run marathon for him with LEGOs superglued to my bare feet. Chris in a way fulfilled the void of a listener in my life. He is also my target of spoiling. I know it sounds entirely awful and fucked up but please bear with me. I have endless love and caring towards my friends and I don’t make a lot of them. Which there is a fantasy in my head about dying for them or giving them my bone marrow or kidney. In a discussion, I classified these dysfunctional pipe dreams as “testosterone fantasies”. Dying for your bro is the ultimate dream. I do hope, however, that I am not the only one who would imagine jumping in front of your best bro to take the bullets. 

It is utterly picturesque. 

I once made a comment that I am ashamed of till this day and I am not afraid to say it since Chris does not like to read and he would never click into this shit and read till this paragraph. I said to Chris one day: you have very hairy knees. Real kinky people do not identify as kinky so I would not address more to this issue. And the next second I said that stupid sentence I rubbed my best buddy’s knee. That hairy knee got me so bad. And my delusional brain would randomly remind me of that moment at midnight and rewind that memory to shame me to the ground. 

Dee said I give out the vibe that I had a crush on Chris and I don’t deny that after rewinding that memory again and again and again. Identifying beautiful things is human instinct, and simple appreciation is ok and does not cause moral dilemma at all in my little closeted, fucked up, filled-with-daddy-issues world. I did put a lot of thoughts into Dee’s words because the wrong impression would cause unnecessary problems. Also something that is worth talking about is that after the Graduation ceremony Chris hugged me with strength, and that powerful hug pulled my head onto his shoulder, and made my spine crack. As I was drinking cola and eating m&m’s that tiny crack and his very muscular shoulder made me smile a bit. I admit, the last sentence is super gay, and Chris I hope you never come across to this I mean every word well. To be honest, I think no one has ever hugged me like that, not even my dad when he saw me for the first time in 2 years. Daddy issue is the best issue lol. And I would say that my so called “vibe of desire” on Chris is more of my simple selfishness and a sick sense of ownership. I want him to be my best friend and my only best friend so he can be hot and pretty and do his ninja shit around me. He can be Batman and I aspire to become Robin. Take his pictures from the back as he walks away from explosions, and watch him shine. Put it in the sense of Supernatural, I want to be the Castiel to his Dean: fight off the demons for him; watch him eat burgers; be that company roll. (If you cannot detect the strong daddy issues flowing within the sentences, then you do not have daddy issues. I have excessive amount of daddy issues I think I can give them out to every strip joints around Time Square. ) I would date Chris if he single, and now since we are nearly 8000 miles away and the chance of a reunion is so slim, I can finally put this out here to hurt myself. I hope you treat him well, Lib.

Lastly I want to talk about Wallace. Wallace came around when I was at the worst stage of my depression. And I never pointed out to him about the name he chose for himself. Fun fact, after translation, Wallace is the name of a small fast food chain restaurant in China that sells shitty sandwiches with cabbage (because we don’t use lettuce lol) and mayonnaise. I wanted to keep our relationship strictly “professional” because we met in “untraditional fashion”. He is a nurse. I think I will go to Hell for sure now. I do not have an appropriate adjective for him. All I have is guilt. The story had an interesting twist when he got too emotionally attached. My drama queen ass does not believe till this day that he was the one that got attached, and my low self esteem refused to buy that I am attractive in any way. I refuse to believe that. Stories with Wallace had nothing to tell because after we cross out the R-rated parts, the PG -13 parts there are only guilts. Just to clarify I did not harm him in any way. Or only in my emotional unavailability. Because nothing could happen in three months with a patient who had depression and PTSD. I was taking antidepressants and that took away the libido entirely. He continued to text me after I left Chengdu. 

I always believe that everybody is a writer, and the most hurtful literature we wrote is the texts we sent out. Reading shit he wrote me over the months became a burden. He asked me not to block him and I did not after 5 months of not speaking a word to each other. I just read those texts we sent to each other, knowing that now he is within 10 mile radius from my house. But I don’t have the courage to say hello to him again. For him not getting hurt again I guess. 

Here we go, I’ve come clean. This is what I want to talk about. Using two thousand words to talk about three actual men only because two fictional men were being stupid in other people’s stories. Plz let Destiel be canon, as it was my only sex life and I can’t watch Netflix. 

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