From Chaos Comes Clarity

I must admit I am possibly at the lowest I have ever been in my life. My alcoholism has returned full force, work is completely stressing me out, I have no money, I am fatter than ever.

I get mad very easily, but then I cry even easier. I get asked to leave pubs because no one likes to see the gay man crying into his beer. It's just not pretty.

Its been very hard to find find any motivation over the past few months. It feels like I've been treading water for so long, just barely staying afloat. There are days where I think it would be easier to stop trying, and let myself sink.

But today I've had an epiphany. I was walking home from breakfast with a couple of friends, and it just hit me...

It's all going to be OK.

Not much of an epiphany, but it actually made me stop in the street for a moment.

Yes - this year has been hell so far. Floods, relationship failures, moving house, flooding house have all taken their toll. But it can, and will get better. Because I will make it better.

I am in control of this life, and I'm the only one who can change things.

There are many hurdles I have to overcome, but I have more support and love than I ever realised.

Why has it taken me so long to work this out?

Grief cake for all...

My grandmother died on Tuesday after a three month battle with just about everything they could throw at an 79 year old woman... chest infection, a minor stroke, stomach cancer, a major stroke, another chest infection which then lead to pneumonia and her death.

I got to see her on Sunday afternoon, for which I am glad. She was very weak, but alert and actively participating in the conversation. I was shocked to hear she had died two days later. I really thought she would kick on, and be around for a lot longer.

Work have been extremely supportive. Days off approved. Flowers, chocolates, indoor plants, cards all bought and given in kindness.

The funeral was today. A full catholic mass. I was asked to read one of her favourite passages.

The wake was at the community centre in her retirement village. Cakes, slices and sandwiches to help the grieving and/or happy memories flow. I smiled and talked to a mix of relatives and old ladies as they expressed their grief and sorrow at losing a loved one.

So why do I feel like an impostor in this process? It's not like I don't care that I've lost my grandmother, but it feels like I've just been going through motions, because that's what a good grandson does.

I haven't cried, I haven't wailed, I haven't punch a wall in anger at the unjustness of it all (as some of my cousins have reportedly done). I have just gone through the motions of telling people and acting appropriate manner of a person in grief.

I'm just too caught up in grieving for myself, to really care about anyone else right now.

I cry during Futarama.

I cry on the bus home.

I cry on the dance floor.

I cry in bed with bed with a man.

I cry when talking to mum.

I cry in bed when I'm alone.

I cry in the toilets at work.

I cried walking home from the gym tonight.

I have never cried so much in my life.

It's always silent, and rarely do people realise what is actually happening.

All it takes is a compliment, a smile, the smallest amount of praise on a job well done, and it brings me crashing down.

What will happen when I can't go out and dance with my friends, can't go to the gym, can't do my job, can't find a man to take me home?

For the first time ever I am not in total control of my life.

This fucking sucks.

I'm all discombobulated...

I've got an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a knot of frustration, anxiety, sadness, and anger all mixed together.

Work is shitting me - a million and one requests for HR support that everyone thinks will be actioned immediately when in reality you can go fuck yourself. Oh, and don't bother trying to tear me a new arsehole because you hired someone without the proper authority and now she hasn't been paid in 6 weeks. NOT MY FAULT YOU CAN'T FOLLOW DIRECTIVES.

I'm driving a million miles a day at the moment - mum and dad are away for three weeks so I have to go out to feed the dog. I've been staying over night, but it takes me almost two hours to get work in the morning, so I'm frazzled before I even get here.

Men are confusing me, well one in particular - drunken comments left on a post, leading to drunken flirty texts, and then general chit chat emails, with a bit more flirting thrown in. I want him, and I think he wants me, but where to from here? I'm no good at playing it cool.

I just want everything to be sweet and easy and cool. Is that too much to ask for?

Yes... because Jesus hates me for being a poof.

(And yes, I know if I want to be happy, I need to make my own happiness, take charge of my life, and all that shit… just let me vent).

The formula...

Here's the standard formula to Benji's love life of late...

Meet a man - be it on line, pub, club, gym, supermarket, gutter - give him my number

Texting - huge amounts of SMS back and forward. Cheeky, funny, naughty. Then a date is organised.

1st date - share, talk, learn, laugh, generally have a good time. May be no sex this date if I really like them. I don't want to look like a slut.

More texting - may progress to actually phone conversations. But talking on the phone is sooooo 1990.

2nd date - more talking, then sex. YAY.

Phone calls - long, deep, revealing conversations that give a great insight into each other.

3rd date - something more romantic, with extra thought and care put into the planning process, that will lead to unbelievably great sex.

4th date - meet the friends/housemates at the pub, in a no pressure situation. They tell me you've been so happy since we've met. I talk to them for ages, before we retreat home for sex.

5th date - I get dumped. You've just come out of a long term relationship, you're now enjoying your singledom, have too much going on with work. You don't want to hurt me.

Too late.

He's just that into you... because you're a big sloppy man whore

Things were very quiet on the dating front (or mindless, drunken sex front depending on the night) for Benji over X-mas and the new year period, but over the last few weeks my romantic leanings have been getting an airing again.

But, sadly, every man I meet this year seems to be jerking me around.

First there was Mr Mercedes Convertible - he's the guy who dated my house mate's friend, but we worked out that I had hooked up another ex of his last year. Confusing? Yes -but it's explained (badly) here.

So Mr Mercedes Convertible does, in fact, drive that sort of car. Nice. He also has fantastic taste in just about everything - nicely decorated house, nice clothes, nice wine choices, and he took me out to a fantastic restaurant.

We met on-line, and as such spent several nights chatting via MSN, then moved onto SMS and finally an actual telephone chat. Conversation flowed freely. We laughed about the multiple connections we had, but also laughed about a lot of other things as well. A date was set for Thursday night.

That's when I got to see the house, the car and when he took me out for the best pizza and steak I've ever had. It was a fantastic date, so I stayed the night.

And then that was the end of it. He stopped returning my calls, stopped responding to my texts. Three days later I got the "Thanks, but no thanks" text. I wasn't even worthy of a telephone call. Apparently, he was having issues with the fact that I shagged his ex, and he wasn't really looking for a relationship right now.... blah blah blah.

OK. Thanks. Message received loud and clear. See ya.

But this is the year of Positive Benji. I'm not going to let one guy get me down.

So onto Mr Footy Shorts. Once again, met him online. Well, really he tracked me down after we had had a massive pash on the dance floor at The Beat one night last year. Can't say I really remembered him, but we chatted on line, moved to SMS, then the phone calls.

When the night came for us to meet, her came to pick me up wearing footy shorts and a singlet. Not really a great outfit for a date, but looked so fucking hot. So hot, that we didn't make it out at all.

Things went a little bit better after that first date - texts continued to come my way, he even called most afternoons for the following week. Then when he didn't call me back one day when he said he would, I just assumed this was going down the same track as Mr Merc.

So for a whole week, nothing at all. Until last night when he calls and says he wants to cook for me and we'll watch a movie at his place.

I said yes in a second, and once again he picked me up in the footy shorts and we had a really nice night.

So this afternoon, I texted him to say thanks (Mum taught me to be polite) and told him that I'd like to see more of him. Of course - nothing.

Why am I not surprised? It just follows suite from every other fucking man on the planet. But this is really effecting my mood today. I went to the gym but couldn't concentrate, so came home and ate a shit load of food. Typical Benji response to emotional turmoil.

I feel like a total fucking loser - not for putting the feelings out there, but for letting it get me down like this. This is type of response is not a new thing for me. Men are jerks, but how many times did I go through this bullshit last year, and how many times this year?

But I've been a jerk, in the past too - I've not returned emails and texts, so maybe its just karma getting me back.

Maybe my man slut ways of last year have now established a reputation for me in the Brisbane gay scene. Maybe the word out on the town is that Ben is a good root, but you wouldn't more than one date.

It's probably just because Jesus hates me.

A phone conversation I didn't want to overhear...

I got to sleep in today. Yay for sleep ins! So when I rolled out of bed at 11:00am, I was feeling fresh and relaxed and oh-so-happy. It makes a nice change from the grumpy, cranky, desperately-in-need-of-a-few-more-hours-sleep Benji that appeared out of my room all week.

So I chucked on some shorts and an un-ironed Tee, found my havvies and headed up to the servo to grab the Sunday Mail (hardly worth the walk, but I like to read something as I have my morning coffee).

As I was getting close to the gates of my complex (there's about 50 or so townhouses and we're right at the back) I saw one of the cute young guys that seem to inhabit the place pacing up and down outside his unit.

When I got closer I could see that he was on his mobile and was having a friendly chat. "... So it was a big night then? Yeah sounds like fun. Sorry I missed it."

Sounded just like a normal morning after debrief between mates where one didn't get their act together in time, so missed out on some of the night's entertainment.

Been there, done that.

But the conversation continued...

"Hey, um, the reason I called is that my mum died last night, and I can't make it today."

My heart sunk for the poor guy. From the way his tone changed, this wasn't the first person he'd told today, and there was potentially a lot more that he needed to call. His voice cracked a little bit, but I didn't hear anything else because I sped up to give him his space.

It's the type of phone call that I fear having to make. I've been very lucky in my life that I haven't experienced much death. I've only been to four funerals, and they, of course, were not much fun at all.

When my maternal grandfather died from a massive heart attack a few years ago, I was the first of the three children to make it back to mum and dad's place after hearing the news. I walked in to hear mum on the phone to someone relaying that exact same conversation.

When I looked at her phone book she was only up to the D's, so she still had a long way to go. But you could hear that from the tone of voice that she'd relayed the bad news many times, and that she had already become versed in accepting people's condolences and kind wishes.

After she ended that call and we had a bit of a cry together, she asked me to help call some of her friends, as she couldn't face telling those ladies.

So I made the call to her three best friends. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. How do you tell a casual acquaintance that some one has died suddenly? I'm not sure how the words came out of my mouth, but I got the message across.

I still remember Caroll (who is my favourite non-aunty 50 year old woman) immediately becoming suspicious when she answered the phone;

"You never call me. What's wrong? Shit, is your dad OK?" she asked. When I explained what had happened and that mum needed some help with the calls she said, "Fuck! Tell her she's a stupid bitch and I'm coming over now to help". (You can see why I like this woman).

And she barrelled through the front door 10 minutes later with two bottles of wine and promptly took mum out the back to have a chat.

I didn't have to make anymore calls after that, and I hope its a long time before I ever have to make another one. My folks are still young, but you can't pretend its never going to happen.


As I walked back down from the servo with my paper and a bottle of coke zero, I saw the cute guy sitting on the bench outside the pool gate. Just sitting, staring.

I caught his eye and gave him a nod and a smile, and he smiled back. But you could see in his eyes that he was hurting.

Then his phone rang, and he had to start it all again.

Sounding like a Pink song much?

I'm having an identity crisis. For the last couple of years now I've been selling my self as a "gay, former fatty and potential alcoholic" - shit even one of the boxes in my side bar says pretty much the same thing.

And as a way of describing yourself, that is a pretty shitty way to do it.

I'm by no means ashamed by these things though (well the excessive grog is a bit worrisome sometimes), but should I be defined this way?

I only came out in 2007, and after spending so many years hiding it from everyone that was close to me, I found myself slipping it into conversation with new acquaintances with in a couple of minutes;

"So you're a hairdresser? My ex-boy friend was a hairdresser". Nothing sleazy, nothing sinister, but it probably wasn't necessary 9 out of the 10 times I did it, and most of these strangers who I've never seen since probably didn't give a shit anyway.

It's the same with my weight loss. There was a stage after I'd lost the 35 kilo's where all I could talk about was the gym, weight watchers, and low-fat eating. I surely was boring the shit out of anyone in ear shot, but a lot of the women at work would ask me about it, so I happily obliged. But I've been this weight now for almost two years (apart from some minor fluctuations), so is it time to leave that part of my life behind?

And now with the grog, I've obviously made enough comments about my drinking shenanigans that the first thing my boss asked me this morning was "Did you have another boozy weekend?". And how often do I regale people with stories of me being refused entry to every bar in the Valley for being drunk out of my skull?

Well enough is enough.

I don't want to be defined by the place I like to stick my dick.

I don't want to be remembered for being the guy that used to be morbidly obese.

I don't want to be the guy that people put bets on will pass out first at parties because he drinks so much.

But when you take all that out, what is left? Well plenty really.

I'm a fantastic cook and love whipping up great meals for my housemates and sharing recipes with the ladies at work (of course they're low fat ones).

I have a very strange sense of humour - dark, sarcastic, definitely left of centre, but people that like that sort of thing, love my jokes.

I love to write (though the last month or so I've not been getting to it as much due to work and the house move), and people actually enjoy reading my words. I'm taking some steps to become semi professional this year. I've enrolled in a short course on freelancing, and am about to submit a couple of features to various magazines and street press.

There is so much more to me than I used to let the world know. I just need to change my own marketing and sell the positives.

You dropped the soap...

I've been known to enjoy a drink or two. I've long been a fan of a 15-year-old single malt scotch, sipped carefully over ice on the deck while chatting to dad, while savouring the subtle flavours.

Civilized. Calm. Mature.

I've also been know to drink massive amounts of alcohol in a single sitting. Two weeks pay gone on happy hour at the Shamrock Hotel in Toowoomba? Sure. Vomiting out of a moving car as it travels through the intersection of Margaret and Ruthven streets in the old T-Bar? Yeah... did that too.

Civilized? Fuck no. Calm? Absolutely not. Mature? Oh, in-deedy no.

Sadly, most of my worst boozing happened while living in Toowoomba, and there is one night in particular that will go down as the absolute lowest point in my life....

It was my work Christmas party when I was gainfully employed by the Toowoomba City Council at the Aquatic and Fitness Centre about ten or eleven years ago. Way too many a scotch and dry, followed by gin and orange, followed by black Sambucca shots were imbibed by young and innocent Benji. Many hugs were given, and many declarations of undying mateship and love were proclaimed around the group.

All stock standard for my work colleagues at the time.

As with most of my drinking sessions, I only left when the cash in my wallet got dangerously low, and stumbled out the door in search of a hot dog and taxi ride home.

The hot dog was found easily enough (and came with bacon and cheese), and eaten as I stumbled down the street looking some way of getting home. Unfortunately I tripped on an imaginary rock, twisted my ankle and tumbled over into the gutter.

Classy as, especially when I stood up and realised I'd torn the knee of my trousers (I never used to wear jeans out in those days) and now had blood pouring down my leg. But the number of Sambucca shots I'd had stopped the pain from the ankle and my leg from dampening my mood. However, the combination of Sambucca shots and the bacon and cheese hot dog was not sitting too well in my belly, and the need to vomit became overwhelming.

So I now hobbled as quick as I could into the the gardens of a nearby church, bent over and let fly with the contents of my stomach. It was one of those monster chunders too. You know, the one that you will think will never stop coming.

I think I must have been onto hurl number 5 or 6 when I noticed a set of legs behind me. I turned around mid-spew and worked out the legs belonged to an old fat police officer. Unfortunately as I turned to face him, the vomit was still flowing out of my mouth and I managed to get my quite a lot of it on his shoes.

"Sir, are you OK?" Mr Policeman asked me. My reply was to fall down and spew some more, but thankfully that seemed to be the last of the vomit.

"Sir, why are you in these gardens?" he now asked. My head started reeling with the realisation that I could possibly be in the shit because of what I just did.

"I really needed to be sick and I didn't want to do it on the street," is what I tried to say as I stood back up, but I'm sure it came out as "I dsagrasd chunder dfbfbwerbewfbr fucken argfdgvbd meh" and then fell over again.

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to come with us." Oh fuck.

I did the only thing I could - just resigned myself to the fact that I was gonna spend the night in lock up. I didn't put up a fight. I didn't plead or whine or bitch or moan to them. I didn't get violent and aggressive. I just let them put me in the back of the cop car and take me away to the Toowoomba watch house.

I was processed with polite efficiency. They took all my details on a triplicate sheet of paper. I would get a copy for my records the next morning I was told. I was asked to remove everything from my pockets, my belt and my shoelaces. The next sound send a chill up my spine.

The snap of a rubber glove.

Any remaining colour must have drained from my face, and the guy with the gloves said "No, we're not doing a strip search, I just need to check all your pockets to make sure you don't have a weapon"

Whew.

My pockets were duly checked, my property was bagged and tagged and I was handed a blanket as I was herded down a corridor into a massive holding cell. Thankfully it was deserted. No one else but me, so I grabbed all the mattresses and tried to go to sleep in the corner.

After what felt like 10 minutes I was prodded with a steel capped boot. It was a different officer telling it me it was six in the morning and I had to leave. I had managed to sober up significantly and was now able to string full sentences together. "Ummm... will I have to go to court over this?"

"No. You could have been charged for what you did to his shoes, but it meant too much paper work," the guy at the desk told me as I put my shoe laces back on.

"How big is the fine?"

"You've been charged with being drunk in a public place, so there is no fine. You are very lucky."

I just nodded, put my belt on as quick as possible and got out of there ASAP to get to work by 7:30.

Like I said, lowest point in my life.

Stress management 101...

It was the week from hell, so how did I deal with my stress? Meditation? A good long work out? Some quiet time alone, reflecting on my thoughts?

Fuck no... I did the only sensible thing and went and got absolutely shit faced at The Beat, and picked up a random guy.

Such a mature way to deal with my problems.

Welcome to hell.

Life is shit.

Housemate hates my guts. That's fine, can't stand the sight of her right now either.

Landlord not renewing lease, so have to move house by 4th Jan. It's hard finding rentals that will take a dog. Expecting WWIII to erupt over cleaning and other costs as we move out.

It looks like I've been dumped. Well he's not returning calls or responding to messages.

Construction on my Enrolments Project 1 has finally started (3 months late) but staff members are calling me constantly to complain about things. How can you tell what it's going to look like after two days of work?

Got completely slaughtered in a staff forum over my Enrolment Project 2. Had a teacher call me a "fat fuck" in front of about 80 people. Nice.

HR project deadline bought forward two weeks to this Friday.

Reflux has returned with a vengeance, and my numbness is back to make life hell (left arm goes numb, can't move it properly).

But there is some good news... I've lost a kilo already this week. My appetite is gone, and I'm exercising like a fiend.

Enough bitching... back to HR reports.

And so the dance comes to an end...

Well, it's over people. I made the call yesterday and ended it with Greg.

While I'm sad at it being over, I think I'm more relieved than anything else - I hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks, we were barely talking, we hadn't had sex in far too long. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder - but in my case it didn't.

I did fall in love with him though, and that is the part that hurts the most. I could see me introducing him to my parents. I could see us moving in together. In my mind, he could have been "the one".

But unfortunately things change. We were both going through stressful times with work and other shit, and it just became easier not to make the effort.

There's so much that I'm going to miss about being with him. He treated me with respect, he made me feel important. I felt like I was the only one in the room when we were out at the clubs. He cooked breakfast for me, he bought me lindt dark chocolate, he knew how I liked my coffee. I just loved sitting on his couch with him laying across me, holding my hand while we watched crap TV.

The sex was great too.

But it just wasn't enough. Something was missing, and I can't really put my finger on it.

I've got no bad feelings towards him, and I really hope he doesn't either.

Welcome to splitsville...

...population me

Let me know for fuck sake

Hmmm... a bit extreme, but does sum up how I'm feeling about someone right now. If he comes back to me, all is forgiven. Otherwise, See ya!

Damn you Laura Linney

Love Actually is on TV again. I just happened to switch over as Laura Linney's character manages to snare the hot man from her office (you know, the hot hot Italian looking guy).

It kinda makes me happy... no not in a horny happy way, but in that idealistic "Wow, no matter how much of a social retard you may be, you can find a really beautiful person to hold you," kind of way.

Yeah... Benji's feeling a bit needy tonight.

So They're making out, and its all hot and heavy - even some boob action from Ms Linney. Oh and that guy has the best body, when the phone rings. Its her brother, and she can't not talk to him.

And that ends the night of passion for Ms Linney. In fact, it pretty much ends her entire story arc in the film.

And that makes me sad. She's the only character that doesn't get a resolution, doesn't get closure. She just goes on as if nothing has happened.

So that moment of happiness, the moment of true potential for a happy life is fleeting and can be easily taken away. Never to be repeated.

Kinda feels like my life right now.

The Date

You gave me a star on gaydar, that's the only reason I messaged you.

You weren't really my type, more than 16 years older than me.

But at 6 foot 4 tall and toned - I was interested. I was being shallow, but still interested.

I knew who you were. I knew you were a grand champion. I knew you had intelligence, wit and style. I was interested.

I googled you.

We met for coffee and tapas.

Conversation flowed. You asked all the right questions.

You shared, I shared.

You started to promise me the world. You would treat me with respect, you would respect my space, you would be a perfect boyfriend. You would never cheat on me.

I was definetly interested.

You dropped me off in town. We made out like teenagers.

You promised a second date in two days time. It would perfect.

You sent me a text to remind me of the time and place.

I wasn't going to forget, but it seems you did.

You stood me up.

I am no longer interested.