Who’s Choosing?

I’m sorry for how I made you feel.
I see your hurt, I know it’s real.
I was in a frantic, dying, panicked state,
my resultant actions were far from great.

It looks like I’m flipping you all the birds,
like I don’t care about you and your words.
I can see how the sentiment is being conveyed.
I can imagine the news must’ve made you dismayed.

I feel stuck in my pool of drowning hurt.
I can't seem to strip this sweat soaked shirt.
Last night I lay awake thinking of you,
and the core I’d been missing finally shone through.

I can recognize the validity of your reality,
I fondly reminisce on our past congeniality.
It feels like this can only ever be a one way street.
I can travel to meet you, but cannot remain and be meet.

I miss my family and friends that my world contained for the first ~20 years of my life.
It feels like they were stolen from me because I wasn’t born to have a wife.
That made me angry, furious with the audacity of the universe’s needlessly cruel jest.
I could tell you my story, but it feels like you would still think you know best.

I tell you this is simply the human that I am, but you feel I’m fucking up by not suffering for fam.
It frustrates me endlessly, as I helplessly cry. Instead of me being me, you would rather I die.
This isn’t a choice, it isn’t an accident, it isn’t a question of where my unwavering faith went.
It is who I am, who I will always be. It kills me to not be who I am, for that façade isn’t me.

Unwillingly I’m forced to live without you, and may die in the same condition.
I will fade from memory, not by my choice, but because those I love cannot Listen.

I know it seems like I’m purposely choosing to live the way that I exist.
There’s a sticking point that tugs at your mind, and you unknowingly resist.
The truth that lives behind your denial, and I hope you will one day see.
There is a choice made since I came out, and it isn’t being made by me.

Crossroad Cigarettes

One of my favorite things to do growing up, I was around 16/17 years old.
Late at night, sometime after 11 PM at the earliest, I would go out and have one last cigarette and think about my future.
I’d stand in the middle of the intersection, lining myself up with the faded yellow lines dividing the lanes. I would take long drags and spin slow circles, staring as far as I could down the road. Sometimes a car would come and I would have to leg it off the street, loitering on the corner and waiting for them to pass. I usually jumped the fence and hid behind a bush, waiting for them to pass so I could get back to my midnight musings. Alone in the dark, I’d think what life contained.
Where would the roads lead me? Where would they go? I could stare in the dark, imagining, but I’d never really know.

A few specific nights stand out, not for the thoughts they contained, but the scene that was set.
My favorite of all were the rarest wind to blow, a sleepy town nestled under fluffy flakes of snow.
It felt like the entire world was stopped, holding its breath. Even nature didn’t want to interrupt the soft stillness that draped reality.
Frosted cheeks and a Marlboro Red, the snow dancing in lit cones under the aged street lamps.
I even thought quietly during these sort of nights, I wanted to drink it in as vividly as I could.

5/13*/22

The Lilac tree

ghost in the graveyard

fireworks burning the bush

sneaking out

jumping out of the tree

the tree fort - rope or climb

the relationships with neighbors

casual racism

the sock basket

all the traditions

seeing each other every weekend

I was part of a very special and unmatched group of friends, and now I am not.
My life hasn’t gone the way I’ve planned at all, but I’ve learned that’s the point.

You can’t plan it out, you can only feel it out.
Should you move across the country? How do you feel?

When you look past the fear, the doubt, the shame, all the feelings that stand tall and mighty. . .
How do you feel?
Is there a spark that hurts to look at?
A burn that looks at all these obstacles and says “Oh shit, but. . . we can do it.”
That light is you, and you say you can do it.

So do it.

It will be scary.
It will be hard.
That’s what she said.
It will be strangely surreal.

Do it.
You can do it.
You know you can, but there are a number of things that will try to convince you that you can’t.
They’re very hard to ignore, like a leaky faucet, or your fathers snore.

But if you pay attention, and look past all those factors, you’ll see it.
That bright little light. It’s in there, and it’s not giving up.
You aren’t either, because that light is you.
Push aside all those shadows and obstacles and let it shine through.
It’s shattering sticky strands that muffle and cling.
No one needs to listen, but you need to sing.

5/12/22

Everyone I interact with is living the same story.

Not enough time or money to live.
We work too much, and we don’t live enough, which is why I suspect everyone is depressed.
If not depressed, they’re struggling with some mental health unbalancing.

Help one another, be the good we want to see in the world.
If someone does something bad and you do something bad back, the average bad goes up.
If someone does something bad and you do something good, the average doesn’t go down.
If you seek to do good regardless of the good or bad you are faced with, the average should go up.

That’s the theory anyway, if we’re all on board with it, I reckon life would be pretty nice.
Too bad changing our reactions is pretty difficult, and we’re predisposed to dislike.

I hope we figure it out someday, else it’s going to figure us out.

3/31/22

I am a past with no future, a future with no past
Plagued with the feeling that this life won’t last

2/19/22

I want to be authentic, vulnerable, completely open.
I thought the internet would be the best place to do it, jump in with both feet.

It turns out, this is actually the safest ‘vulnerable’ place - there is a safety in the anonymity afforded by the screen.
I don’t have to see your face when you read this.
I don’t have to answer your questions.
I don’t have to do anything except shout my experience into the void for myself.

Anyway, here’s my experiences.
*innately a biased and opinionated experience, as is all of ours.

I grew up in a family of 6 at first, and finishing at 11.
Mom. Dad. Brother. Sister. Brother. Me. Sister. Sister. Brother. Brother. Sister.
I have always loved them with a brilliance that stings to look directly at.
I don’t mean that in ‘ooooeee I sure am brilliant’ but ‘when I look inside myself at that love, it blinds me and tears run from my clenched eyes.’

When I came out to my family in 2015, I gained 10 holes punched in my soul.
The thin scraps flitter fluttered away, whipped dancing along with the wind.
I desperately tried to catch them, but they whispered through my fingers, leaving paper cuts that sting in everything I touch.

When I cook, I think of my mother. She floated about the kitchen, graceful assuredness I admired and have pursued off and on.
Anything she touched, she learned and ran with; great confident bounds unhampered by hesitation.
It hurts to make food, but I love it and find enjoyment between the memories that obscure my efforts.
I’m sorry I hid myself from you for so long. It hurts to carry secrets, and it crushed me every day.

When I work on my car, I think of my father. I don’t know how an exhaust really works, and he worked with machines with apparent ease.
I love to watch someone work on something they are an expert in. They don’t have to think; they dance with their work, and it is a hidden beauty in the world.
Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me, you are still waters that run deep. I’m sorry I don’t get to geek out about cars with you.

My oldest brother was at one time my worst enemy, and at others, my best friend. Looking back, I had a lot of similarities in myself I hated.
I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you sooner, and I’m especially sorry for the end.
You have hidden depths of unmatched treasure. Thank you for being my brother and friend.

My older brother was like my dad. He knew automotive in a way I can’t comprehend.
He approaches each one like he’s visiting an old friend. There’s no blank looks, or What Is That? stares.
He wrenches them into shape, and off they go. In all he does, he really cares.
Thank you for being my brother, every time I do car work, I want to rave about it to you.

My oldest sister was sanguine golden grace, a laugh in her eyes and a smile on her face.
She was always so adult, so grown up, I tilted my head back and wondered how I was ever going to match that standard.
Thank you for being my sister, and SO cool. You taught me how to be confident, Love, Drool.

My little sister is a sunbeam, and shines her light on everyone she happens to meet.
She is a brilliant light in so many people’s lives, they huddle around to enjoy the warmth.
Rooftop selfies, bonfire bottoms, no matter what, you’re having fun.
Thank you for being my sister and friend, and helping heal every hurt.
I love you forever and always, you’re my favorite broccoli squirt.

My little sister is tall and slender, a deer that was filled with fire.
I love how fierce she is, she isn’t afraid to say what she thinks, and stand by it.
She is wicked sharp, and deviously clever. Will I underestimate her? Never.
Thank you for being my sister, and my twin with the scope eye.

My little brother seemed to exist so casually. He was The Definition Of Chill, clever and quiet.
Nothing worried him, and his hair was phenomenal. I was so jealous of it, for so long.
Thank you for being my brother and friend, it’s me ur brother, till the very end.

My little brother, the lifelong outcast and we’re surprised he pushed away?
I regret how all of us treated him, and will every single day.
He is mischievous with good intent, he’s finding his flame and I admire the bravery.
I believe in you Benji, you do too. I’m proud of you, Love, yah boi, Drew.

My little sister is a star that fell out of the heavens and landed in our life.
She has the best of our qualities, I admired how she has always been her.
She is rock solidly in her skin, it echoes in her laughter and lights you with joy.
Thank you for being my sister, all your jokes slam.
You have a way with words, who knew? A writing ham!
All my love, Drewski

Every single one is breathtaking, intelligent, and pure.
Thank you for teaching me how to be good, I seek to go forth and do it.

I’m sorry I don’t have you in my life.
I’m sorry I don’t have you, I’m sorry you don’t have me.
I have been so caught up in my own shredded shadows, that I didn’t stop to recognize yours.
You each have a Me shaped hole in your hearts, and I wish every day that I could fill it.
I don’t want you walking about with the same pain that pounds against my chest, fluttering every breath.

I’m sorry I didn’t respect you, I was being the me that I thought myself to be.
So I did Bad Things, because I thought I was a Bad Person.
I was a broken and worthless thing. I didn’t feel worthy of attention, respect, kindness or love.

I am not.
I have fought to be better, clawed and crawled to who I am.
I am always pushing to do better, be better, in all I do.
I’m sorry I hurt you in doing that.

I thought I was a mistake, a smudged ink outline of human that wasn’t supposed to be.
I was adrift for most of my life, never really here. Pounding at the glass, but no one can hear me.
We could have a conversation, but you weren’t able to see me.
There is a ‘me’ you know, but it’s not the entirety of me.

I realized I was different in 4th grade, but it was a dread itch that I stuffed down in my pits.
In 7th grade I was fantasizing about my math teacher and simultaneously in Full Blow Denial.
In 7th grade, the other students realized I was different, even though I wouldn’t admit it. (Thank you, Denial, for carrying me <3)
I realized quickly, the key to survival was to dig a hole as deep as I could, stuff these dangerous, disgusting, dreaded parts of me inside, and then fill it in and clamp it down.
Well, it turns out you CAN’T actually forget about a part of yourself, because it isn’t to be forgotten.
So it would flare up here and there, and I would still see myself as a straight guy that just happens to be into guys and not girls.

Well, fast forward and a lifetime of hating myself wasn’t a healthy lifestyle, nor was it going to be conducive to a Whole Life Without A Surprise Early Ending.
I used to go into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. Contemptuous of the freak that reflected back.
I hated it. Why couldn’t it just be normal? Why wouldn’t this leave? What did I do wrong?
I tried to kill myself by force of will, and when that didn’t work…

I got lucky. I have always been so incredibly lucky, and I will always be thankful for that.
I spotted The Guy in a Costco. I saw him all the way across the warehouse and the world went away. It was just him and I for an eternal second and he walked out of view.
I knew it was him. He was The One For Me. From the second I laid eyes on him, I knew.
I thought “If there was ever the perfect dude, if I had an ideal, it’d be him. He hits all my targets.”
I never talked to him, I couldn’t approach him, I could only look. I caught his name when I whispered through his line once.
Phillip. I had a name. Phillip.
I was a man in a desert and he was a cool glass of water. If I didn’t have him, I would die.
6 or 7 months go by, filled with me lurking about Costco, a shy, scared, stalker.

On the side, I downloaded a dating app to see if he was on it.
He wasn’t, and I scrolled about aimlessly. I ended up chatting with a delightful fellow, but it didn’t feel… right.
Well, in a lot of ways, it didn’t feel ‘right’ but my baseline was severely biased.
Still, we hit it off and planned on meeting up for a date.
I was a wreck. My first actual date? I’d gone on coffee dates before, but that didn’t seem like a proper Sit Down At A Restaurant date.

Two days later, I’m checking the aforementioned dating app and see I have a new message.
PNWGuy : Hey Cutie
I pull up his profile.
Me : PHILLIP!?
PNWGuy : haha do I know you?
Me : ahh let me back up and explain.
Me : See, it’s a funny story

Very quick backstory - I met a girl, calling her M - when I was 18, she was 13.
We met through some chat app and ended up shooting the shit.
She was clever, dry, and depressed. Me too. We really hit it off.
She lived in a different state, so we texted all day, every day.
Over the years, we grew close, she was an adopted little sister, and I her older brother.
She was the first person I came out to, and she… didn’t give a shit.
I remember sitting outside a police station at 12:00 AM wondering if they could contact the police in her city because she wasn’t answering her texts. Her last one was dark, and I was panicking.
I ended up sitting there for half an hour, and then driving home and laying awake in bed. She texted me at 2:00 AM.
M : Haha sorry about that, I was eating pizza and watching movies w/ friends
All this panic and fear evaporated, I was so relieved and delighted.
I didn’t mind she’d not replied, I only minded she was okay.

Ok, now that we’ve established a very important character in my life, let’s rip them out of it.
Her best friend messaged me when I got off work. (We’ll be calling her MBF)
MBF : Hey. I have some serious news. I figured no one else would let you know, so just message me back when you’ve got the chance.
Me : Let’s hear this totally not a scam news.
MBF : I’m serious
MBF : There was a hiking accident this morning with M
Me : Shit, wait what?
Me : I thought you were a different MBF
Me : How bad is it?
MBF : She passed away

I drove aimlessly, I didn’t see the road or remember how I got there, but I ended up at a graveyard.
I sat, alone on a Friday, in a graveyard on a cold stone bench.
My friend and little sister was dead.
I had a date with a guy that wasn’t Phillip tonight.
Phillip was real and he was for me.

I texted my first boyfriend and now ex - we remained good friends.
Ex : No brainer, go out, have fun with the guy, and then go out with Phillip.
Me : I can’t do that, it doesn’t feel right.
Ex : Ok, then break off the date and then go out with Phillip.

It was a good plan, and it’s what I did.
I reached out to the other guy. I explained a good friend had died and I drove home.
M died and I was going to live. I wasn’t going to die without being me.

Phillip and I hit it off immediately, and I moved in with him.
I couldn’t tell my family I was moving in with a guy, I didn’t want to deal with their discomfort as well as my own grief.
Spoiler : I ended up take me out of the deep dark hole and burying that grief in there instead.
I managed to fit an impressive and depressing amount of grief inside.
I was numb, I couldn’t process my feelings, let alone someone else’s.
I was frozen in emotional time, I had to process the queue before I could get to the most recent.

Anyway, I’m at the point I’m ready to be done with writing.
So I am.
tl;dr : read the above
P.S. I’m not going to go back and edit anything, will it read like a wreck? Maybe. Gotta be bad before you be good.

Love,

Drew Theodore Falter (Aliases : Drool, Drew-Ha Stinky-Ha, Drewski, Drooster, Drewbert, Drewsh-bag and more)

1/26/22

Today I felt like I wanted to leave work and get in my car.
I wanted to drive until I ran out of road, and keep going.
I wanted to run out of gas, open the door and step out.
I wanted to start walking until my legs gave out.
I wanted to go until I could go no more.

Have you ever challenged yourself?
Running, breaths ragged. Pushing for one more block before slowing.
You had to stop, you were dancing on the edge of your body’s limit.

You claw for each step, teeth grinding for just a little more.
Body will break before the mind.
You reach the goal, and stumble to a shaking walk.
Lungs aching, desperate gulps of air that hurt to eat but you can’t get enough.
Hurt all over, but it feels so good.
I beat my Self just like I thought I could.

2/14/22

Sun freckled barbeques on the lawn,
whispered smell of summers long gone.
Chilly school mornings, cereal in front of the fire
running late to face the hate, so I run the wire.

molten mallow float upon my cocoa
“you kids are going to drive me loco!”
squeaky springy trampoline tree tricks
"Keep it down or I’ll throw bricks!”

Cycle through names until you reach the one,
Meals and Get-To’s compounded the fun
stomp ballons tied to my ankles
”Calm Yourself” and Mother rankles

Waffle blocks created premium seats
hide ‘n seek racers in virtual streets.
”I’mgonnacatchyoubythetummy” ahh no thanks
turn to leave and he spits out “nakedladyyodashanks”

spit the pits from fresh feasted cherries
suffer the consequence of too much berries
eat a little too much of those plums
experience the solution of risky sums

oil stack shaded abundance of blackberry
fill up containers, scurried home, all we can carry
”don’t climb those” the owner warns
picked plunder’s worth the bees and thorns.

Summer is hot and we need a pool,
lay at home sweating, free time, no school.
Visit the 608 Corner Flower Stand
The finest smelling bundles in the land!

other flowers may smell of manures,
this business fuels young entrepreneurs.
team sibling united, worked arm and leg,
have a problem with kids? Go Suck An Egg.

eat the rice fast to be the First One Found,
the rest poke with their portioned mound.
round and round the whole clan sings
all together 5 GOLDEN RIIIIIIIIIINGS

I remember so much of my life,
so many details, peace and strife.
Summer sun and winter rain.
Some hold joy and others pain.

I scribe them down, love and care
telling my stories, I want to share.
times that glow, warm and funny
some moments so cold my nose is runny.

2/7/26

Do I hate myself so much that I hate existing by proxy?
Every day I am myself, and I exist, ergo, see previous.

This is a very run of the mill rumination when depressed.
I talk about suicide and all the grim painful bits of being human with no filter.
I seek to understand it as well as I can, for I am committed to finding a way out of it.
I’ve blipped out of depression in rare flashes of air that keep me swimming, I want to crawl up on an island, lay on my back, and gasp the air.
The knowledge that there’s an existence possible that isn’t This Reality Smothering Existence.
I tear myself apart, but simultaneously give myself credit. I keep fighting for me, because I know I’m worth fighting for.
I realized it wasn’t the typical worldview when I called into the doctors office to schedule a follow up on my antidepressants.
It’d been 6 months or so, time lost all meaning so I don’t know offhand, and I needed to keep doggedly keeping on the trail.
They ask standard ‘are you depressed’ and ‘are you going to harm yourself’ sorts of range finding surveys when you call in about antidepressants.
I thought they were standard routine for all doctor related visits, but it occurs to me now, this may be because all my visits are related to this.

This is the first time I was asked to stay on hold while the nice person on the other side of the line went to find me a nurse to talk to.

“I know you can’t fully believe someone when they are depressed, talk about killing themselves, and then assuring you that you have nothing to worry about.”
The person on the other side of the line paused. “hahaaaaa” they laugh. “You’re right, can you hold while I find a nurse for you to talk to?”
"I get it, it’s procedure, I’ll wait!" I reassure her and lean back in my desk chair.
”You’ll be here when I get back.” I don’t know if it was a question, command, or them telling themselves.
”Of course.” I am glad they take this seriously, and zone out while waiting on hold.
I chat with a nurse whom I must’ve convinced, because she let me go back to schedule my physical.
Good Drew, Good Job Following Up
and, I’m scheduling a physical, so I think this means I’m a proper adult.
ok don’t get carried away

1/25/22

I didn’t make the list

1/22/22

When I am disconnected I chase activities that cause disconnect.

A small victory to feeling in control when I am not.

I’m going to make a list of things that make me feel connected and chase those instead.

1/21/22

I don’t feel like I’m here.
I wanted to say never, but we become to story we tell, so I’ll have to lean into it.
I don’t feel like I’m here, yet.

Why do words run rampant in my head all day long, but the flee from my fingertips when I record their song.

1/11/22

Hello

It’s been awhile, and it’ll be a while yet.
I’ve been afraid to change for so long. Even when I am changing, I am afraid.
I’m afraid.

I know a lot of certain things, but I do not feel them.
This creates all manner of doubt and internal conflict.
I spend most of my time in my head, debating and pleading at a lectern for myself to be convinced.

I am a distrustful jury, so even if I am making relevant points, they linger in the air like a faint ocean breeze.
I know I will eventually win this case, and when I look in the mirror I will see MY face.
I am patient. I am intelligent. I am kind.

Buckle up, Jury.
We’re just about to get to the good part.

1/9/22

Everyone’s infinite shades of gray,
only showing white the light of day.
Hiding all of our darkest hues,
buried beneath from prying views.

You don’t have to hide from me.
I love every shade I see.

1/6/22

This is a type and see yah tomorrow kind of day.

See yah tomorrow.

01/04/22

I’m a bit at a loss as to what to say.

Shame feels like I ought to explain my absence.

Doubt feels like no one noticed, and feels like I don’t deserve to be.

Guilt feels like I’m a failure to myself.

Fear feels like I’m going to be.

Well, that’s all of their problems, because I feel like I’m not a failure, I’m not an idiot, and I’m definitely not doomed to a miserable pit of clutching regret and anxious roots.
I’m doomed to a long and happy life.
I’m doomed to bring the best I can in all I do.
I’m doomed to love, and love alike.
I’m doomed to a happy ending.

Oh shit I feel doomed.
I feel doomed for being me, and the alternative it to not be.
I’m going to live my life, not try to perfectly plan it.
As far as being doomed? Motherfucker, I amn’t.

Here’s to more of my words let free from the cage I keep them in.
Here’s to you, for catching and admiring them before letting them go again.

10/4/21

I am trying.

It seems like I am not, but I am trying so hard.
I’ve been trying so hard for so long, all I want to do is curl up, roll into a hole, and stay there until I cease to be.

I feel that feeling, overwhelmingly, every second of every single day.

When will it not take a herculean amount of effort to brush my teeth?
When will I cease this unending cycle?
When will I want to be, consistently?

When?

Now. I assure myself.
Never. I whisper in my ear.

I’ll wake up tomorrow and keep on trying.
I’ll keep on trying even though it feels like I’m dying.
It feels like I’m dying.

Is it because I do not know how to live?

How frustrating it is to be me, but on the surface I live calm and free.

I’ll get this down eventually, but what will is cost?
Will I find everything I’ve wanted once everything is lost?
There are some prices I am not willing to pay.
I turn away from the night and return to the day.

I welcome me back, an old friend I haven’t seen in years.
I hold me tightly, and fight back my tears.
I don’t know what I need to hear or say,
but the feeling never lasts and it goes away.

I miss me.

I’m not the only one who does.

9/28/21

I didn’t know what day it was today.
I never know what day it is.
There is only awake and asleep.
a subtle pulling call from the deep.

I snapped into reality.
I’ve been trying to get back to feeling this way, and I spend the entire time the feeling glows worried that I’ll lose it.

There is a wall of glowing red letters telling me to kill myself.
I feel dead. I can’t get out of the cell inside my head.

That, 24/7/365.

You know when you have a sound present so long you tune it out?
Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was the lack of something.
The color bleeds into the world and I pour in with it.

It’s all quite pretty, there’s so much color in the world.
I am but one of the colors that shines around in it.
What beauty we can paint when we throw our colors together.

9/26/21

Tired of pretending to be glad

Tired of always feeling so sad

Logically, I can comprehend I have so much reason for joy

Emotionally I am stuck as as sad, lonely, little boy.

What can I do to fix this?
I find myself bent sideways, bemused, thinking “Is THIS rock bottom? Is THIS it?”
- because I am on the constant hunt for the incremental and upward trend.
The feeling of realization that my life is on the mend.

From the outside, it doesn’t really seem that broken.
That’s because it’s not.

I am.

I can’t stop smoking.
I can’t stop drinking.

”This must be proper shit for you” I think, as I am a proper motherfucker day in and out.
It sounds so callous and cold, and I can’t tell if it is, or it’s what I am creating in order to fulfill the narrative I am spinning.

I am not shitty, but I seem like I am.

9/25/21

I can’t get over you, and I don’t want to.
Over seems so final, and that’s because I’m seeing it as an ultimatum set in stone.
That relationship is done, it lived and died.
Our selves at the time did what they could, they tried.

I’m not getting over you, I’m getting over us.
I’m a little excited, getting to know you all over again if you’ll let me.
Like coming across your favorite book, nostalgia floods when you give it a look.
You want to pull it off the shelf, peel back the pages and smile to yourself.
Locked away in the library of my past, I drown in moments that were The Last.
The Last walk through Home, a strange ghost weeping all alone
The Last time we went on a drive
The Last I saw you laughing & alive
The Last kiss when I broke your heart
So many lasts, they overwhelm all The First.
I huddle in the glow, hiding from The Worst.
The First time I drove The Bug
The First time I had a cigarette
The First time drifting in the snow
The First time we met, little did we know
The First time my heart broke
The First time I landed a solid joke

I’m going to stop coming to this library so much, after I clean up and get it all organized.
I’m looking forward to exploring the outside world, travelling far and near.
I’m excited to be finding my feet, I’m going to live with less fear.