Soiled

A grandfather tells his grandson that inside every person, there is a battle going on, a battle between two wolves. One wolf is evil: it represents anger, envy, lust, greed, arrogance, resentment, lies, and ego. The other wolf is good: it stands for joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.

The grandson asked, "Which wolf wins?"

The grandfather replies, " The one you feed."

We all say it—

“Yeah, I remember it like it was yesterday!”

Yeah… yeah right.

Some days I can’t get out of that memory.

And some days I’m like—

“What are you talking about?”

It’s this constant shift:

This way,

That away,

But all roads lead back to the smell of bullshit.

Every day, dramatics.

Or, as I call it…

“Los Dramáticos.”

This day?

This day was insane.

The day my intelligence was used against me—

by a so-called War Hero.

Let me be clear:

I’m a bisexual man, married to a gay man.

So when I say the next part,

It comes with respect…

and a need

to flip the turntable.

IT.

THEY -

...HIM?

IT!

The so-called “hero” called the school—

said they were proud of me.

Said they wanted to celebrate.

To take me out.

And the school?

They knew my grades were up.

They’d called my family before with praise,

So when he asked to take me out—

It made sense.

They let me walk home that day.

Alone.

I opened the front door.

Unlocked.

Odd, but okay.

I stepped in—

FIST.

To the floor.

I hit the tile like a ragdoll.

And I saw him.

It.

The attacker.

Naked.

Hiding behind the door,

next to an old iron sewing machine—

1800s maybe.

A ghost of a tool.

Witness to this horror.

I ran.

Up the stairs—

No!

My foot—

No.

My ankle—

“AHHH!!!”

I have to choose.

I HAVE to choose.

Why?!

…

No.

FUCK THAT.

[ The truth is—

Whether it happens now

Or not never— Fuck it.

You take me at my best.

Because I’m not afraid anymore.

This story hasn't been told before, but I was always told that you must face your fears head-on. For me, this means writing it all out for the world to see. I guess I'll just have to accept it. But if I didn't share this most vulnerable part, then can I call myself a writer of truth? So I just said F it and went ahead to publish this as well as more experiences, and hopefully this can help someone out. We are not alone in our suffering. It was during a time when I was doing well as a child. It was this point that my story started to take its turn for the worse. Shortly thereafter, I began a downward spiral. Anyone who cannot realize just when they began a negative spiral hasn't taken the time to understand themselves. The fact that I was inside a concrete box for 13 years with no windows or comfort, left there to rot away, something amazing happened, a transformation, a metamorphosis. Something that was created out of a lot of pain. Being in a room that has no windows and is all concrete on all four walls kind of makes you feel as if you have died. The way it was designed was to make you lose your sense of reality because you interact with no one, you forget that there is a world outside these walls, and then you start to question whether you, too, exist at all. But when I died, my whole life flashed before me, and I broke down and cried. There was not a dame thing that I could do except to look inward, and so I did. And now I am here with all of you. Thank you all for this opportunity!