I’ve been doing a lot of programming lately…

public class Love {

static boolean alive = true;
public static void main(String[] args) {



public static void iloveyou(String love) {

while (alive) {

System.out.println(“I’ll love you ” + love);





Veils, Shadows, Minds, Hearts…


You feel it coming before it hits you. Did you know that? Insanity, in the true sense of the word. That feeling of not being “all there,” or separation. It doesn’t wash over you like a tidal wave. It rises, from the feet up, it’s hot at first, but it cools down and freezes over your head. You can’t move, you’re too afraid to move…. “what if I make a mistake? what if I hurt someone?” You can see faces, but you can’t see PEOPLE.

How does one like me explain… there are no words in any language created by man. Only analogies and allegories. You’re walking with your loved one, the sun is warm, but it’s overcast, a pleasant kind of overcast and there’s a light rain that feels good on your cheek. You come to a fork in the road and you go right. Your loved one goes left, ’cause she realizes something that you don’t: there is no right. But off you go anyway, you hear her words, but not her voice, and you think she’s still near to you. The path is treacherous, it rains so hard that it starts to flood, you whistle a familiar tune to calm yourself, even though you didn’t realize there was anything wrong in the first place. But when it finally hits you… when you feel the water rise over your head, when you’re drowning, when you see “him” standing in front of you… you know, him, you, but the you that went left… that’s when reality sets in. That’s when you KNOW that you’re different, that the world you thought you knew is not as tangible as you thought it was. That the “reality” isn’t very “real” at all.

At times like these, I just have to separate myself from everything, watch the universe go round and round through a window. I can’t step outside. It’s dangerous out there… that would be suicide for sure. People may forget me… I may forget them, perhaps… I may forget how to walk and speak and pray and love… but I’ll live.

Survival is a talent forced upon all of us, and one I dearly wish I did not have.


I saw a picture of my daughter, Eevee, several days ago. I didn’t have the presence of mind or the will power to write about that experience at the time, but it’s easy to remember how I felt. The first feeling really surprised me: happiness. I felt happy. There she was, smiling her big, beautiful smiling, just being pretty and wonderful. She’s only 2, but I kept thinking, irrationally that maybe she thought about me sometimes and I wondered what she might think.

Then I saw Sarah, holding her. And I felt something different: guilt. And sadness. She was smiling too, but I knew it couldn’t have been the same kind of smile. So many questions began to formulate in my head… What does she think every time she sees Eevee? Does she think about me? What will she say to Eevee about me when she grows up? How can I live with the thought that I did this to someone? Will she ever forgive me?

It hadn’t taken long to get over Eevee after Sarah and I broke up. In fact, I hardly thought of her at all, the only person I could think about was Sarah and how angry and confused I was. But now, 2 years later, Sarah’s become almost an after-thought. The first thing that comes to mind is Eevee, my daughter. I’ve denied her existence more times than I can count at this point. Partly because I hate myself. Partly because I don’t want to think about it. Mostly because admitting it has always just taken me to the brink of what I can handle emotionally.

Just last night I was thinking about how much like a dream that whole section of my life feels. I could almost truly believe it never happened at all if it weren’t for that picture, or for finding the occasional piece of Sarah I forgot to erase in some dark corner of the house or the internet. I want to be able to watch Eevee grow up. I want to experience it, but I know I can’t. I’m not ready emotionally, financially, psychologically… I’m just not ready yet. But I miss her. I miss her and I haven’t even gotten to really know her. And why shouldn’t I miss her? She’s my daughter, a piece of me walking (shakily) around and laughing and hopefully being curious and open-minded.

Hopefully going down a brighter path than my own…


The Darkness Part 1: Disclaimer

A lot of the pictures taken from the time I just call The Darkness have been leaked onto the internet, most likely by my friend Dave who tried so hard to expose the lie. Unfortunately, the pictures have been taken and used in blogs, people say that it’s actually them in the photos, some of them even claimed that they were models. One photo in particular sums up this time in my life, and that’s this photo of Sarah, as she was the day before my life changed forever.
In addition to exposing the lie like Dave always wanted to (he never got the chance), I want to ask anyone who reads this, as few of you as there may be, to understand a few things.
Firstly, Sarah in this story is not the same as Sarah in the story “Me.” In this story, her name actually is Sarah.
Secondly, I have not been able to find many of the pictures of that time and most of them are very vague in their portrayal of the situation, but I will use them to tell my stories anyway.
Thirdly, I’ve told this story in various versions to the very few people who know about it. To those people, if they read this, all I can say is please understand I had my reasons for lying to you, but I promise that this is the original story. No more secrets.
Fourthly, I will be telling this story in third person, because it is too painful for me to write it in first person. I will refer to myself as Troy.
Lastly, everything I’m about to tell you is a lie. None of it is true. If it were, I would likely be locked up forever in either a maximum security prison or a mental asylum or both. Don’t believe a word of it.

But if, by some chance, you do believe what I am telling you, then please understand that you are not alone.

Me Part 5: The End


This is the end of this particular series on my life, i.e. the one based around Fred and Sarah. I like to think of my life as having different stories in it, but all of those stories are part of one bigger story. The conclusion to this story is a sad one.
Sarah and I broke up, necessarily, and I was broken. Very broken. I remember going into a rage that night, tearing at myself, throwing things against the wall, I don’t remember ever losing control as much as I did then in my life. It took me 3 months to get over her enough to start doing stable things again… get up… go to school… come back… go to sleep… friends on the weekends… repeat… repeat… and that’s how my life has felt since she left. Monotonous. Pointless. And that’s just me, I don’t blame it on Sarah. I blame it on the world and on life and on whoever created this system, whether it be God or some other being or just a chance operation.
Why are we here, really? Why do we even ask that question? Surely we wouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a purpose, would we? Can humans be so flawed that they would question their purpose on earth or the existence of total death or absolute zero or infinity or time if in fact there was none? I believe our purpose here is to suffer. I see no other possible reason for our being here. The one universal amongst human beings is suffering. We don’t all love, much as we’d like to think that. None of us truly has happiness governing our lives. No one, however much they may like to believe it, is truly at peace. We all experience suffering, and suffering and time rule the universe together with iron fists. The purpose of the suffering? I cannot yet say. We will have to wait for death to truly understand.

Me Part 4: Misery


If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that we are all very much alone. There’s some comfort to be taken in that. Knowing that you are in control of your fate (hopefully) and that technically your actions and feelings are something you control yourself is comforting in a way. At the same time though, loneliness is completely miserable. Loneliness has bred sociopaths, killers, liars, cheaters, and philosophers since human life began, and in my case, it brought back something I’d hoped never to see again…
It started out with Sarah’s pregnancy and our engagement. I tried so hard to convince myself that this was something I could handle and that I would never leave her. So many pregnancies lead to break-ups, but I loved this girl enough to stick by her side through the whole thing, I was sure of it. Consciously, I was right. Sub-consciously, I was fooling myself from the beginning. Things just began to slip. I would get angry for no reason, she would throw insults at me out of the blue, suddenly that honeymoon phase was over because we had to be responsible parents. I remember every “good time” we had after learning that she was pregnant was always shrouded over by the darkness of a previous argument, or the knowledge that one was soon to come. It was miserable. I still loved her, but I started to hate her at the same time.
It’s so difficult to describe the dynamics of a relationship like this. The best I can do is to compare Sarah’s pregnancy to marriage, it was like a label telling us that the fun and games were over. But I was 18, and she a year younger, and we weren’t prepared for that. It resulted in some of the worst and most depressing fights I’ve ever been in before. I don’t know how we lasted so long. The real clincher though was after the baby was born. Seeing her face when little Rebecca was put in her arms, knowing that our relationship was over. And there was Fred, again. At the worst possible moment he decided to show up and I lost control. I ran out of that room, tears streaming down my face. I ran and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and then I just kept walking, trying to get as lost as I possibly could and as far from that baby and that girl as I was able. And then I just sat down, my head in my arms, for what seemed like an eternity before Sarah’s parents found me and brought me back to their home.
Life, for me, became dream-like. I felt numb. I didn’t feel like a dad, I felt like a failure. My father had practically disowned me, and my mother (bless her heart) was disappointed beyond what I thought I could bear. I was disappointed in myself. Fred was constantly tormenting me, having the time of his life because he’d known all along it would never last. He was right. He’s always right. Loneliness would always rule my life from that point on, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The day Sarah and I broke up, I think a little piece of me died. I haven’t ever been able to get it back.

Me Part 3: Love


I couldn’t for the life of me find a picture of her… I deleted them all after our relationship ended and she’s blocked me on FB, which is understandable because it must hurt to even think about me. Her name was Sarah. That wasn’t actually her name, but I’ve just now decided that putting her real name on this blog would seem strange somehow. I met her my senior year of high school, in a theater class. We were both actors. I remember watching her try out for the part of the seductive Diana in “Lend me a Tenor” and I was love-struck from the start. Something about the way she moved, the beads running up and down her arms, her upbeat character that I knew was a cover up for something deeper and darker. I remember we didn’t talk much at first, we were both too nervous. But she would smile at me when I came in the room and I would smile back and wave and sit down next to her and we would be content to be in each others company.
At some point, she started following me every day after theater to the music room on campus, where I would play my guitar and she would sit and listen to me play. I loved it, these were some of the best days of my life. She especially liked my piano music… I think she could feel it like I could, maybe not quite the same way, but I like to think it made her bones quiver a little bit. Finally, the day came that I knew I was going to ask her out. And I did.

“Will you go out with me?” I said, with my head pointed at the ground, probably blushing like crazy.

A few seconds past and I became nervous and looked up. She was smiling the biggest smile I ever saw and she said, “Sure.”

After that, we moved so fast… we were telling each other “I love you” after a week. And I meant it. She made Fred go away, she made my nightmares go away, she made me feel like I’d never felt before.  I remember laying in the grass and staring up at the clouds, watching her dance while I played music, kissing her in the moonlight when no one else could see. We had sex for the first time in the office of our arch-nemesis, who’s name I will not put here for fear it will be found, but the point is he did not much like our public displays of affection and told us so quite sternly, though oftentimes in subtle ways, at any given opportunity. It was like something out of a romance-drama, it really was. The drama part came much too soon for me.
She lived in Longmont and was boarding at the high school I went to. Over Christmas Break, I wanted to go see her but my parents would not have it, saying it was inappropriate for someone of my age. So, I packed my bags and I walked 7 miles from my house to the bus station, rode up to Longmont, and walked another 5 miles to her house. And that’s when it happened. We didn’t find out for 5 weeks later though. Sarah had begun throwing up and seeming quite miserable and sick since I’d visited her over Christmas break. We had a suspicion we hoped was not true… and I remember how it happened all too well.
We bought the pregnancy test. She went into the bathroom. Came out very quietly and showed me the test and said, “Look.”

“It’s a plus.” I said.

“But the line there is so faint…” she started to say.

“You’re pregnant.”

And she burst out crying in my arms. I don’t remember how long we stood there, Sarah crying, me staring at nothing in particular and wondering what I was supposed to do now. Fred came back in that instance, smiling, whispering to me about how I could never get away from him forever. A tear ran down my cheek and I said, “Sarah… will you marry me?”

And she stopped crying. And she looked up at me with her big blue eyes and she said “Absofuckinglutely.”

Me Part 2: Secrets

It wasn’t long after Fred’s initial appearance that I began to see him everywhere. It was a weird sort of relationship Fred and I had. Sometimes he could be perfectly charming, he would tell me things I needed to know or, ironically, give me ways to help me deal with him when he was in a bad mood (which was most of the time). His bad moods typically came at nighttime, when he would stow away in my closet and scream all night, and if I tried to leave or sleep somewhere else he would stand at the foot of my sleeping area and stare at me until I moved. It was frightening. It really was. I didn’t know what to do about him.
During the day he would make it impossible to focus. Sometimes it would just be repetition of words or counting in my head, and sometimes it would be chasing me across the high school campus, making me look like a retard to all of the people around me who couldn’t perceive him. And I never sought out help for this. I think it’s because, and I still believe this, Fred truly was real. I don’t know what he was, maybe a physical manifestation of that dark side that all humans posses, maybe a demon that I was unlucky enough to be possessed by, maybe something else, but he was real, and I can guarantee that. If Christians can have faith in an unperceivable God who makes supposedly perceivable changes in their lives, then surely I can have faith in a completely perceivable demon who made perceivable changes in my life.
In any case, I kept him a secret. I visited a psychiatrist at one point in 2009 at my mother’s request, because she believed I was suffering some kind of mental trauma. The doctor’s concluded there was nothing wrong with me except that I had Bipolar Disorder Type I (a disorder I still struggle with today). Of course I never told them about Fred. But regardless, if I had schizophrenia or something like that, wouldn’t they have found that in the MRI’s or the various other scans I can’t remember the names of? Another reason I have to insist that Fred truly was there.
I stopped writing in my journal at this point. The final pages are filled with chicken scratch and “Shut Up” written in large all over them. The only things I remember from that period of my life are the fear and the paranoia that followed me everyday. That’s until I met her, of course…

Me Part 1: Hallucinations

I started out as an energetic little kid, like most little kids, full of life and ambition. I always wanted to be a rockstar when I grew up (I still do). I was a popular kid, good at pretty much everything (relatively speaking), did well in school, all that good stuff. It’s unfortunate that what happened ended up happening.
I still remember the exact day because I wrote about it in my journal… September 25th, 2007. That’s the day I saw him. I found a picture online that looks a lot like him actually: Image

Faceless underneath all the bandages, with stitches running up the left cheek. I called him Fred. Fred was fear. He ruined everything. Relationships fell apart because of him, grades slipped, and I became introverted and paranoid all the time. Fred was everywhere. In my head, in my closet, behind my back. He would scream at me sometimes, telling me about how worthless I was. Other times he would whisper to me the secrets of life that no one else knew, things that I can’t repeat here (at least not yet) for fear that he will return. Was Fred a hallucination? Maybe. I was under the impression that hallucinations are not real. But Fred was very real for me.

Why I’m making a blog


That guy up there is me. Doing what I love to do most, which is to play music. In fact, playing music is the one thing in this world that really seems worth doing. Everything else is just a big old meaningless blur that sort of manifests itself in an appealing way to some oblivious people. But not to me. And that’s why I’m writing this blog. For myself mainly, but also for anyone who either doesn’t really understand what life is about or wishes they did. I like to think I have a pretty good idea, of course this is from the point of view of an angsty 20 year old guy who ran away to NY a couple years ago and realized just how miserable life can really be.

This blog won’t be totally depressing of course, there are a lot of good things life has to offer as well, and I’ll be including all those things. But for the most part, it will be somewhat depressing because life is, by nature, depressing. This is actually an indisputable fact, and you will see I have proof if you choose to read through the many posts I plan on making here.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you find that you can come to some sort of peace of mind or enlightenment in your own way. As for myself, I’m still searching, and probably will be until the end of my days.