January 1992

I'm asking myself those questions that people my age ask. I just need to get to know myself again. We've made it this far, haven't we?

Melisa, her boyfriend Geoff, and I were in my car. Geoff seemed tense about something so I told him not to worry so much. He said rather rudely, "If your life had a hole in it you'd worry too, man." I drove on and thought about this. Then out of nowhere started to cry because my life felt like it had a hole in it, too. I couldn't help it, the tears just came. Melisa rubbed my neck from the back seat.

Got fucked up at Lisa's birthday get-together. I was in a peaceful mood. Arlan, who's straight, asked me, "So, are you gonna suck my dick, Emil?" I only said, 'If you want me to.' Kelly and Greg ended up having loud sex in Lisa's room. Arlan, Lisa, Marcelo, and I played strip war in the dark living room. Arlan and I had to take all our clothes off. I've never sat totally naked in front of others before. I covered my crotch with my shirt. Arlan stood up and showed us his dick. Sex. That's all we think about. It's so important to us.

Marcelo and I went to Sidetrack for showtunes night. We got there early and made small talk with some high school English teacher. People started to come in. Michael walked in. I turned away. Later, on my way back from the restroom I ran into him. I was smiley and nice. It wasn't so bad. Had a wonderful carefree time. Marcelo and I talked about our lives and friends. I flirted with the really hot bartender and finally introduced Marcelo and myself to him. His name is David. I told him that he's hot. He thanked me and asked if I was Greek. Found out he's taken. Afterward, Marcelo and I drove around and looked dreamingly at really beautiful expensive homes on the Gold Coast. I decided then to let things be, to let whatever happens happen. Otherwise I'll just destroy myself.

I forgot my school stuff in Marcelo's car and it was too early to call him, so I just didn't go to school. I smoked out of a six-foot bong today. I'm eighteen and look at the life I lead.

I have a social life that I hate and is out of control. We went to a lame sports bar where there were five hundred guys and twenty girls. Preppy college assholes. Beers were a quarter and watered down. Some girl told me her friend liked me. They were short little underage suburban dorks. Another chick said she lived in a gay neighborhood and everything she said was "fag" this and "fag" that. All I could say was, 'I have a friend who's gay. He's very nice!' What I should have said is, 'I'm gay! Bitch!' I was bummed and disgusted with everyone around me, and needed human touch and conversation. I left the bar and went to the White Hen across the street to buy cigarettes. 'Here I am trying to quit smoking and what do I do? I buy Marlboros,' I said to the woman behind the counter. She let out a sarcastic laugh and said, "They all say that." Maybe it's me. Maybe I was being too sensitive, but I hated being clumped up in an anonymous "they-all". I didn't go back to the bar where some of my friends were still drinking, but walked toward the lake. I peed in the bushes and sat on a park bench in the cold and cried. I let myself be devoured by the negative thoughts and feelings that took over me. Sometimes you just have to surrender to them so that you can see them and be rid of them. A bunch of drunk people walked by singing, "Doe, a dear, a female dear." I walked back to the bar and stood outside watching people and cars. I sat in the back of a cab and talked to the driver who was white and quiet. When I complained about the awful drunk people he said, "That's why weed should be legal." 'Yeah,' I agreed. Saw my friends pull up and bid the cabdriver farewell and left. It had been an awful night. And who did this to me? I did it to myself.

Marcelo gave me the book "On Being Gay". The inscription reads: Dear Emil, A few years back I read most of this book and found it wonderfully entertaining, enlightening, and inspirational. You are one of the most special people whom I am privileged to know, and I hope you get as much out of this book as I did. Merry Christmas. Love you, Marcelo.

Maggie and I went to Wright College and registered for two classes for the coming semester. I masturbated for the first time in a long while. It felt really good.

I think too much. I dream too much. I feel too much. Dad and I kind of talked. He told me to be strong. I said I have been. He talked about how you have to work hard in America. Our talk reminded me that there is so much to do, so much to learn, and all I do is sit there and get sad about things. Maybe taking only two classes at a community college will give me the time to get a handle on things. On knowledge, goodness, and peace of mind. I feel so mixed up right now. Impure.

I feel guilty for hating school. What a terrible school year.

In Fashion I gave my lame presentation. I asked Dennis if I was wasting my time. He said yes. "You have a natural sense of style and you're talented, but you put no effort into school."

Lisa and I were on our way to get hits of acid when we saw a man slip and fall in the snow. He tried to reach for a pole but missed and fell again, this time flat on his face. I got out of the car and helped him up, smelled alcohol on his breath. He was old, had a foreign accent. He was bleeding profusely from the nose. The blood stained the front of his shirt. It was disgusting, but I felt sorry for him. I told him he shouldn't be out on the icy streets when drinking. He waved his hands. I walked him home. Poor man.

Is there anyone out there? Hello?

Lisa and I tripped and played war. It seemed the cards were playing with us! We ended up at Stacks & Steaks and there finally the game ended. We talked as the high wore off, my legs itching, my jaw still clenching. I realized that I have to go through all this to grow.

I got pot from Geoff and went to Lisa's to smoke a bowl. She told me not to smoke too much because I get obnoxious. I was offended. Came home and cleaned.

I got high in the bathroom today and watched "Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?" It scared me that I could relate to Baby Jane. Maybe I won't smoke pot for a while.

Got high. Did laundry. I'm afraid of life. Am I crazy? A part of me has died. I fight myself every minute of every day. 'No, don't think this. No, don't say that!' California, being gay, writing, drawing, smiling, thinking, poetry, dad, acid, pot, the world, the pen- all these float in my head. The more I admit to being afraid the more I hate myself, hit myself over the head, tell myself to be more of a "man". But I feel like a child. There's nothing solid about me. I have a hard time separating myself from the things around me. I don't know what's good and what's bad for me. I don't even love the people around me enough. I don't think I ever grew up. I think I need a cold glass of water.

Isn't this the life! Sipping wine, smoking a cigarette, listening to a millionaire sing. I've lost God. But I know I can come out of this. Rachel asked where I've been. Too much pain. I don't know how to make others happy.

Was I slightly dramatic last night, or what?

I feel like I have to plan my personality around my own friends, that I can't be myself with them. I got a letter from my English teacher saying that she had to go against all her rules just to pass me. She did me a favor because she likes my writing and me. I was touched. I was ready to fail. Had not anticipated the favor. I had no control over anything today. It was awful. I decided tonight as I walked home that I love pot. It calms me down. It relaxes me since I'm always so high-strung. I hope I never have any regrets no matter how things turn out in the future.

I took Melisa downtown for a dentist appointment and masturbated in the men's room.

I want so much to help others.

I read the introduction to "The Pupil" by Henry James. I wish I could write like that, bring characters to life. Dad said that women who get raped invite the assault. I argued that no one "deserves" to get raped no matter what the circumstances. He chastised me and told me not to speak English to him. I reminded him that in the past he has yelled at me for not speaking English to him. 'Which is it? English or Assyrian? Farsi or Turkish?!' I screamed. After our feud I went into my room and wondered when I'll ever meet someone who'll love me for me. Someone who'll think about me, call me, and want to be with me. I know that everything happens for a reason but where does my homosexuality come in? What good will it ever bring me? I guess it's made me who I am, although that might not be much right now. Will I have to hide my significant other from the family? Am I ever going to come out to mom? Is it worth it? Although my brother and I are the closest we've ever been we don't discuss my sexuality. I realize I'm living in a world of fantasies and hopeful thinking. It's not healthy. It's silly. If only I could have a glance into the future- then I'd know if I should go on or not. To be honest with you, which I feel I can be, I have this awful feeling like I'm wasting my time.

Last night I cried while reading "On Being Gay" because it talked about the loneliness most gays feel around the holidays. I cried for all of them, not just myself. I read about the sexism and heterosexism that exist within the gay community. Things I, too, need to conquer. I also read some of "The Pupil" and lit a cigarette pretending I was in Paris. I know that I daydream too much and that this is a part of my depression. But I've always had this strong imagination. When I was fourteen and lived in Santa Rosa, Ca. my next-door neighbor Molly said to me, "Emil, you live in a fantasy world." I was swimming in the pool and she had climbed up over the fence. She was right.

Telling myself not to be so mad at myself for not being a gifted writer, a heavenly singer, and an altogether well-rounded homosexual; that I am who I am, but that there's always room to get better; and no matter where you are in life you should be happy with yourself; that I should always have morals, values, ethics; that I need limitations; that these things will come to me through my actions throughout life. I love being young and preparing for the future, but I wish there were no sexism, racism, and homophobia. What an ugly word: homophobia. That suffix "phobia", fear. I hate it. How could anyone fear me? An age-old question.

Marcelo, Lisa, and I went to St. Greg's to see some of our old teachers. Our choir director Mr. Van had a free period, so we talked. Marcelo broke the ice by inviting him to Sidetrack with us for showtunes and that's how we all came out to each other. It was such a wonderful experience. Mr. V even talked about his lover, which was nice. All those years of knowing but feeling the separation. Today I was happy to be gay. Mr. V, you're a wonderful man. I've always loved you so. Found out that my wonderful Humanities teacher is also gay. I knew it! I knew it! My gaydar worked so hard, but since he was so old it was just hard to tell. Talked to Ms. Cahil, we hugged. I said to her, 'I heard about your mother passing away. I'm sorry.' She kept a straight face and said, "Thanks Emil, but it was my father." Did I feel stupid! But she laughed.

Melisa says that I'm a "passionate person." I just wish I could spell it! Then her boyfriend Geoff and his straight friends came over and I felt really uncomfortable. But I decided then and there that I wouldn't let others make me feel inadequate. Most of the time, though, it's not that others say or do things to upset me, it's my own reaction that gets me into trouble. So, to break the ice, I made a joke about me being gay and everyone laughed. Then I felt better.