It’s 11:45pm EST. The Brewers are tied up at two with the Rays in the 11th inning of game four of the World Series. That’s a lot to spit out all at once. The game went on so long it outlasted the battery on my Bluetooth speaker. I mailed my Dad the coming out letter I wrote a month ago, and my stomach has been in knots since I closed the lid on the mailbox this morning before heading to work. The Brewers have never won the World Series before. Their only appearance in the fall classic up until this year was in 1982, back when they were in the American League. I have an old friend in Madison, WI who is probably going nuts right now.

They just scored and are up 3-2 in the 12th inning. I have my first therapy appointment tomorrow evening. I still don’t know how I feel about it. I should be preoccupied by a whole mess of other things right now but I just can’t bring myself to care about anything right now. All I can think about is how much I think about shit I have no control of. Maybe I need to talk to someone to help me sort all this out. I’m tired of being in limbo. Mailing that letter pretty much concludes coming out to my family. I’m sure my mom has told my sister already. I suspect that’s why she didn’t invite me to either of my niece’s birthday parties a few weeks ago. It’s whatever – I’m not really that close to my sister anyway. I’m just ready to have it over with at this point so I can move on to the next steps in my transition. Keeping this a secret from my family for the past few years has done nothing but hold me back.

It’s now the bottom of the 12th inning. They just need three more outs to put this series in the history books. I’m going to buy one of their gold trimmed hats as soon as they’re available; I collect hats and old habits die hard. I’m wary of how much I should share with the therapist. I was placed with this one because they’re trauma certified, and I scored high on the PTSD survey. I had already picked a different therapist that’s nonbinary and I feel like would be a better fit. Shared experiences and all that jazz. But they wanted me to see someone sooner than mid November so I guess I have two of them. My last experience with therapy was a nightmare, as I was forced to talk about things I didn’t want to while I was in rehab. They said if I didn’t open up they were going to hold me back and possibly fail me from the program. I’m not going to go into it here because talking about it makes me uncomfortable.

I want this game to be over with already so I can go to bed. I want the postal service to hurry up and deliver my letter so I can get that heartbreak over with too. I just want to feel normal again. I’m tired of worrying about this shit all hours of my day and I’m ready to get back to doing things that bring me joy. I went camping this past Saturday and it was nice, but not as refreshing as usual. The Rays just tied the game in the bottom of the 12th with a runner on. It’s now 12:26am. The bases are now loaded after a series of singles.

12:29am and the Rays win game four. 4-3 in 12 innings. Brewers still lead the series 3-1. I’m going to sleep. If I can sleep. -af

I went to my second No Kings Rally today, and the first time being kinda visibly trans. I was the youngest person there by far, which is worrying, but it was mostly okay. I have never been cussed at and flipped off more in two hours in my life. 😅 It’s pretty unnerving standing on the side of the road in the south and being the only representation of such a hotly debated community. Afterwards I went to a local brewery and had several drinks, by myself, with people giving me the side eye the entire time. I then destroyed a whole food truck pizza in the parking lot before I headed home and took a nap.

I guess this is my life now.

I say let them stare. -af

I keep finding myself looking at old photos at night when I should be sleeping. I have over 40,000 photos sorted loosely by year in a folder on my external harddrive. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I used to think I knew who I was. Now I just see pictures of a person that was still just as lost then as I feel right now.

I was late asf to work today; probably because I was up until 2:30. I saw photos and videos of my dead best friend. Interactions I’ve already forgotten about and that seem foreign now. Stupid political memes from before Trump and the mess that has brought on. Things that seemed important then that no longer are. Happier times where I see a glint of hope in my own eyes, but also sadness. A sadness that is now largely dulled, but still present.

Why the fuck did I wait so long? -af

One of my closest friends took his life during Labour Day weekend 2020. We met in high school back in the early 2000’s but weren’t friends until I returned home from military service in 2012. We originally bonded over a shared interest in mountain biking and as we continued to do stuff together a deep friendship formed. I originally hated this kid in high school because of his friend group and how extroverted and loud he was. What I didn’t know at the time was how great of a listener he was, and how open minded he was to people of all different backgrounds. I didn’t really give him a chance though to be honest, just had a couple of chats with him and did my best to stay away from him. If I could go back in time I would have given him a chance. Maybe we could have been friends for longer.

I was in rehab in the spring of 2012 due to the Navy thinking I had a drinking problem. I was going through a messy divorce and trying to drown myself to keep from having to think about it all the time. I was given the option of going to a six week in patient rehab facility on the base or getting discharged. Midway through my treatment, I had some free time and was browsing Facebook and saw a recommended friend that just had a mountain bike as the profile picture. I had been active in the hobby for a while at that point, and knew I needed a new partner to ride with once I got back to Georgia in a few months. What the hell, might as well strike up a conversation and see if he knows any good trails. Friend request sent.

I moved back home that Fall and we met up to go ride after talking to each other frequently on messenger. We both liked to go hiking and camping as well and did that quite a bit until he moved to Tennessee in 2019. He had a blue 2009 Jeep Wrangler and we went offroading in it a few times and I fell in love with them. (It’s his damn fault I own three of them now!) He was my support in so many ways it’s hard to describe. I would eagerly call him a few times a week for years to run something by him or to get his opinion on something. He did the same and I felt like we were siblings. He was one of the smartest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had were sitting in the woods around a fire ring, pouring our souls out to each other. I told him my deepest secrets and we often talked about suicidal thoughts. That was always a trait I wished we didn’t share but it was nice to talk about it with someone who understood.

It had been a couple months since he had begged me for a revolver I had just traded for. We were standing in my shop and he offered me several of his prize possessions in exchange for it. I kept making excuses; he kept upping the trade offerings. First it was his telescope, then his gaming pc, and finally a Jeep Grand Cherokee. I knew deep down why he wanted it and I just couldn’t do it. I’ll never forget his face and the look of disappointment once he finally gave up asking.

I saw him for the last time that May. He invited me to a party he was having for his birthday over the weekend in Chattanooga where he had moved the year before. I drove up there and stayed the night with him and his girlfriend “K” and a few of his local friends. We drank and listened to music, and had a great time talking about all the dumb stuff we had done over the years. K dyed and cut my hair like the tiger king because of a bet I had with some of my coworkers back home. She had told me a few days before about the revolver he had bought without her knowledge, and how upset she was with him, threatening to leave him if he didn’t get rid of it. He somehow convinced her that he was okay and that he only wanted it for protection and for target shooting. He even let her hold onto both keys to the trigger lock to ease her mind. I woke up hungover the next morning and mowed their grass as payment for the haircut and then headed home.

That September, K visited her folks that weekend and while she was gone they had a disagreement about their relationship. He went out to the Jeep Wrangler he’d purchased a few weeks before and sat and drank a few beers in it. At some point he put the Taurus model 692 in his mouth and fired a .357 bullet into his skull. She came home the next day and found him. She said he looked at peace finally. I was the first phone call after she called the police. We were getting ready to go to a cook out that afternoon that quickly became a makeshift memorial after we shared the news.

Life hasn’t been the same since, and I often think about him and wonder what could have been. Where would he be now if he hadn’t done it when he did? Would it have happened later on anyway? The wasted potential. I so badly want to pick up the phone and give him a ring and tell him about my life now and how much better it is five years later. How I finally found the key to my own happiness. I have so much guilt and sadness about his passing. I just miss my best friend. -af