Becoming Dann: My Battles with Booze, Sex, and Becoming a Man
"You have every excuse in the world to be a failure. But you haven't."
A friend once said to me. I replied "I just never gave up. Ever."
Becoming Dann : My Battles with Booze, Sex, and Becoming a Man is a book about how a boy becomes a man in his 30's after a lifetime of abuse at the hand of others and himself. Passed around amongst family members and never having a real sense of family, Dann struggles with no real sense of normality. His family becomes those he "adopts" and deals with the truth of absentee parents. Drinking goes from a social activity to a full-fledged addiction. The struggles of a life filled with sexual addiction, sex, sexuality, and the real meaning of love. Some loves ended. Some ended badly. Some ended in restraining orders. You see how a man goes through hell but always claws his way back to the top. A man who never gives up. Ever.
You get to see inside the life of me. The things I've been through, and the things I've ever told a soul. How I've struggled. It's not been easy, and I've had my share of bumps on the road. Hell, some would call them craters, I call them growing up. The best part? The story has just begun...
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Don't fuck with a broken heart.
Some of you sons a bitches don't think I have a heart, or have said "I don't like your sad post on Facebook or your blog. Be happy."
Go fuck yourself.
Now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you something. I feel a bit broken lately.
Things are going well, money in the bank, I'm looking great, about to ride my motorcycle for the first time this year, etc. Things are looking up. But you know what, I'm conflicted. I'm missing somebody I can't have. It's the fire in my heart that I can't extinguish. The fire extinguisher is right there. But I can't break the glass. Falling in love sucks. If I could write a song, I would. Instead I write this blog with hopes that someone might see it and see something besides a pretty face. Is that weird or just hopelessly romantic?
Part of me has tried to move on, and the other part has said "Dann, you still love somebody else." You can't cheat on yourself. I'd love for it to be as easy for me as it was for him. I didn't think he had it in him. I was foolish enough to think he was in love with me, and like he said "I'll love you forever." When I say things I mean them. I said it back. Some mens words are golden. Others are worthless. Ironically, everyone thought I would have been the heartbreaker. Instead mine was shattered like my fucking leg.
I've only been in love once.
Once in 31 years.
Pathetic or real?
I say real. I've never felt such a fucking amazing feeling in my life. A feeling like I finally belonged to somebody. Somebody who unconditionally loved me even at my worst. I've had my worst moments with Ben. He had his with me. At the end of the day, I still loved the bastard, and forgave him. Forgiveness is a drug more powerful than heroin. You do it once, and you'll do it again and again. You add love to forgiveness and your heart fucks you. It fucks you so fucking hard that you'll never sober up from the drug that got you hooked. I didn't.
Maybe that's why I've had 50 first dates (so to speak) but never a second one. Never. I picked the poor bastards apart to the color of their shirt. They never had a chance. Why? Because they aren't him. Getting over someone is fucking hard. Fucking terrible. Fucking awful. Dealing with a broken heart is worse. I can't express in words the pure outright terror and helplessness I feel when I still dream about him. Weekly. The worst part is, you can't control your dreams. You're stuck. Stuck in some fucking purgatory until your mind and body decides to shut it off. Sometimes I wake up crying. 4 am or later. What do I naturally do? Look for him. Subconsciously for several moments until I gather myself, I'm looking for someone that's not there. Someone that hasn't been there in nearly a year. He was there for over a year. When I would have some fucking terrible night terror that was brought on by some fucked up childhood catastrophe that was beyond the control of a toddler, he was there.
Now he's off doing God knows what with God knows who, and I'm the one sitting her sobbing and writing this damned blog. How the hell do I always get the short end of the fucking stick? One of my best friends and I were talking tonight. He says "I don't think you're ready to date. You're too wound up. It might be 10 years before you settle down." Ouch. I was settled down. With Ben. I keep my dick in my pants. I tried. I tried real hard. I did the best job I knew how to be the best partner I could be. I'm not perfect. I'm nowhere near. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard to make him happy. I tried to the best of my ability. I think he found it easier to hate me than to love me. Such conflict.
Let's be honest.
I'm not the easiest bastard to get along with. I'm opinionated, old-school, bullheaded, narcissistic, and hard-nosed. I don't budge. I'm probably a terrible boyfriend. But I try. I really do.
Missing you,
-Danny
(you know I let you call me that and only you)
Go fuck yourself.
Now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you something. I feel a bit broken lately.
Things are going well, money in the bank, I'm looking great, about to ride my motorcycle for the first time this year, etc. Things are looking up. But you know what, I'm conflicted. I'm missing somebody I can't have. It's the fire in my heart that I can't extinguish. The fire extinguisher is right there. But I can't break the glass. Falling in love sucks. If I could write a song, I would. Instead I write this blog with hopes that someone might see it and see something besides a pretty face. Is that weird or just hopelessly romantic?
Part of me has tried to move on, and the other part has said "Dann, you still love somebody else." You can't cheat on yourself. I'd love for it to be as easy for me as it was for him. I didn't think he had it in him. I was foolish enough to think he was in love with me, and like he said "I'll love you forever." When I say things I mean them. I said it back. Some mens words are golden. Others are worthless. Ironically, everyone thought I would have been the heartbreaker. Instead mine was shattered like my fucking leg.
I've only been in love once.
Once in 31 years.
Pathetic or real?
I say real. I've never felt such a fucking amazing feeling in my life. A feeling like I finally belonged to somebody. Somebody who unconditionally loved me even at my worst. I've had my worst moments with Ben. He had his with me. At the end of the day, I still loved the bastard, and forgave him. Forgiveness is a drug more powerful than heroin. You do it once, and you'll do it again and again. You add love to forgiveness and your heart fucks you. It fucks you so fucking hard that you'll never sober up from the drug that got you hooked. I didn't.
Maybe that's why I've had 50 first dates (so to speak) but never a second one. Never. I picked the poor bastards apart to the color of their shirt. They never had a chance. Why? Because they aren't him. Getting over someone is fucking hard. Fucking terrible. Fucking awful. Dealing with a broken heart is worse. I can't express in words the pure outright terror and helplessness I feel when I still dream about him. Weekly. The worst part is, you can't control your dreams. You're stuck. Stuck in some fucking purgatory until your mind and body decides to shut it off. Sometimes I wake up crying. 4 am or later. What do I naturally do? Look for him. Subconsciously for several moments until I gather myself, I'm looking for someone that's not there. Someone that hasn't been there in nearly a year. He was there for over a year. When I would have some fucking terrible night terror that was brought on by some fucked up childhood catastrophe that was beyond the control of a toddler, he was there.
Now he's off doing God knows what with God knows who, and I'm the one sitting her sobbing and writing this damned blog. How the hell do I always get the short end of the fucking stick? One of my best friends and I were talking tonight. He says "I don't think you're ready to date. You're too wound up. It might be 10 years before you settle down." Ouch. I was settled down. With Ben. I keep my dick in my pants. I tried. I tried real hard. I did the best job I knew how to be the best partner I could be. I'm not perfect. I'm nowhere near. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard to make him happy. I tried to the best of my ability. I think he found it easier to hate me than to love me. Such conflict.
Let's be honest.
I'm not the easiest bastard to get along with. I'm opinionated, old-school, bullheaded, narcissistic, and hard-nosed. I don't budge. I'm probably a terrible boyfriend. But I try. I really do.
Missing you,
-Danny
(you know I let you call me that and only you)
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
I think I still have a heart.
At 31, I've done a lot.
A lot of good, a lot of bad, and some shit that was just pure fucking evil.
I've been through a lot. A whole hell of a lot. I've seen things and been through more than most men should to at my age. Things that harden you. Change you. Sometimes for the better, though often for the worst. When you've lived a life as hellacious as the one I've been in for over 31 years, some habits die hard. Some never die. Others you have to try like hell to fix yourself. I lost something last June 13. Something that was more dear to me than I'd ever known. How did I know? Because I had never experienced it. It was love.
After 30 years on this Earth, I finally found love with a great guy named Ben. It was the most precious feeling in the world, and a feeling I'd never felt before. Sure, I was engaged before and said "The L Word" before, but this was different. Some incredible human connection that was far more than just a pretty face or sex. My soul felt warm. I could relax. I could be me. I could breath. It was so amazing until it started to unravel...
and I was the culprit.
Those old habits I was talking about die hard. Real fucking hard. You see, while I was in the middle of the best thing that ever happened to me, I still had to keep one eye open. Why? Being conditioned from the time you're a child that "right now" won't be here tomorrow. You spend you're whole life waiting on the other shoe to drop. Scared to death that it's going to change in a New York minute. In my life, it has. Parents leave. Parents move. The next thing you know, you're 18 and pushed out into society to fend for yourself. So conditioned to this "life" that you don't let anyone in even when it's time, and you know it's real.
I fucked up.
I royally fucked up.
Bad.
I'm sorry.
I truly am sorry.
From the bottom of my heart I still have.
I still have a heart.
I know I can be a prick. I often am. I spend my days being this guy that I'm really not. It's this facade placed in a glass case that I can't break out of because I'm just too goddamned scared to let anyone in. Do you have any idea how it feels to be trapped inside yourself? I sure as hell hope you don't. It's a awful feeling. Fucking terrible. I've spent time in therapy to get past it. I've changed. Finally, for the better. But at the end of the day, I'm still alone. Still without the one thing I want and cherish the most. Him. When I broke my leg, I secretly hoped he would find out and come see me. Call or something. Fucking something. I can't express in words how much it hurt my soul and my heart to be in a hospital alone. Knowing that if something worse had happened, I wouldn't have anyone there to make those decisions. Not having him there to hold my hand and assure me it would be ok. Being alone sucks. I did it to myself. Unintentionally.
It's like a self-inflicted gunshot wound without the bullet. You can't see the pain but it's real. Very real. I can honestly say, this is the only time in my life I've been in love. I never thought I would know what if felt like. A taste of love is a drug stronger than heroin, a good bottle of bourbon, or the smell of man. This is the only instance of love I've known or felt other than my grandparents. They're a hard act to follow. Very hard.. The only people that have truly loved me unconditionally since the day I was born. They brought me home from the hospital. My mother wouldn't have been there if she didn't need the ride. Of course, my father wasn't.
How do you fix something that's been broken for over a year?
How do you get back the one you truly love?
How do you right a wrong?
How do you show someone you've changed...for the better without looking like a total pussy?
How do you show you can have a sensitive side and aren't always a hard-nosed prick?
I don't know what to do but, I know what I want. I want Ben. I want things to be normal and how they should be. Is that too much to ask?
A lot of good, a lot of bad, and some shit that was just pure fucking evil.
I've been through a lot. A whole hell of a lot. I've seen things and been through more than most men should to at my age. Things that harden you. Change you. Sometimes for the better, though often for the worst. When you've lived a life as hellacious as the one I've been in for over 31 years, some habits die hard. Some never die. Others you have to try like hell to fix yourself. I lost something last June 13. Something that was more dear to me than I'd ever known. How did I know? Because I had never experienced it. It was love.
After 30 years on this Earth, I finally found love with a great guy named Ben. It was the most precious feeling in the world, and a feeling I'd never felt before. Sure, I was engaged before and said "The L Word" before, but this was different. Some incredible human connection that was far more than just a pretty face or sex. My soul felt warm. I could relax. I could be me. I could breath. It was so amazing until it started to unravel...
and I was the culprit.
Those old habits I was talking about die hard. Real fucking hard. You see, while I was in the middle of the best thing that ever happened to me, I still had to keep one eye open. Why? Being conditioned from the time you're a child that "right now" won't be here tomorrow. You spend you're whole life waiting on the other shoe to drop. Scared to death that it's going to change in a New York minute. In my life, it has. Parents leave. Parents move. The next thing you know, you're 18 and pushed out into society to fend for yourself. So conditioned to this "life" that you don't let anyone in even when it's time, and you know it's real.
I fucked up.
I royally fucked up.
Bad.
I'm sorry.
I truly am sorry.
From the bottom of my heart I still have.
I still have a heart.
I know I can be a prick. I often am. I spend my days being this guy that I'm really not. It's this facade placed in a glass case that I can't break out of because I'm just too goddamned scared to let anyone in. Do you have any idea how it feels to be trapped inside yourself? I sure as hell hope you don't. It's a awful feeling. Fucking terrible. I've spent time in therapy to get past it. I've changed. Finally, for the better. But at the end of the day, I'm still alone. Still without the one thing I want and cherish the most. Him. When I broke my leg, I secretly hoped he would find out and come see me. Call or something. Fucking something. I can't express in words how much it hurt my soul and my heart to be in a hospital alone. Knowing that if something worse had happened, I wouldn't have anyone there to make those decisions. Not having him there to hold my hand and assure me it would be ok. Being alone sucks. I did it to myself. Unintentionally.
It's like a self-inflicted gunshot wound without the bullet. You can't see the pain but it's real. Very real. I can honestly say, this is the only time in my life I've been in love. I never thought I would know what if felt like. A taste of love is a drug stronger than heroin, a good bottle of bourbon, or the smell of man. This is the only instance of love I've known or felt other than my grandparents. They're a hard act to follow. Very hard.. The only people that have truly loved me unconditionally since the day I was born. They brought me home from the hospital. My mother wouldn't have been there if she didn't need the ride. Of course, my father wasn't.
How do you fix something that's been broken for over a year?
How do you get back the one you truly love?
How do you right a wrong?
How do you show someone you've changed...for the better without looking like a total pussy?
How do you show you can have a sensitive side and aren't always a hard-nosed prick?
I don't know what to do but, I know what I want. I want Ben. I want things to be normal and how they should be. Is that too much to ask?
Monday, May 16, 2011
Always trust your gut...literally
I hadn't dropped a deuce in 2 days, then tonight after sushi, I had a cup of coffee. I'm still on crutches after my accident, and went home. As I'm about 4 miles from home...the pain started. I had to shit.
NOW.
I hit the flashers and drive my ass off, as I'm on the highway. I pull in my (shared) driveway and try my best to climb out of the car...with crutches. A terrible idea that I can tell isn't going to end well. As I put one foot on land it starts.
I shit my pants.
Every step I take, I'm still shitting. I can't stop. My bowels explode. I can't stop shitting.
For the love of baby Jesus my FRESH out of the dryer jeans now smell like a monkey's ass after a night out with 3 sailors drinking whiskey.
To make matters worse, my place is on the second floor. I can't hobble my girth up the stairs fast enough. As I make the landing, I fart and shit at the same time, and I feel it run down my leg. I'm in full emergency mode. I finally get in the door, after I of course drop the keys, to walk into a bathroom only 50 ft away...ONLY. As I get in the bathroom, I drop trow and the stench is of death. WTF DID I EAT! OMG! I sit down on the throne, and have 5 minutes of a massive movement. How the hell did I have that much shit in me? Jesus, I'm full of shit! When I was done, I stand up to see my ass is covered. The toilet is covered. Shit on the floor. Shit in my soft cast moonboot.
Shit was everywhere.
Literally. I just wanted to cry. I've never seen so much shit in my life. I've never seen so much shit. I start the shower, and clean the toilet. For once in my life, I wish I didn't live alone, and was glad one of my manservants wasn't here to witness this horror.
I get all the shit cleaned up, and I get dressed to go back out. I hear a horn beeping. I don't give a fuck. I just shit my pants, my leg is throbbing, and I just wanna get to the store for milk and ironically, toilet paper. I take the shitty pants downstairs to the washer and my cool neighbor ask what's going on when the dumbfuck Audi TT driving douchefag neighbor (yeah I said, it) come up barking at me to move my car. I laughed in his face told him to FUCK OFF, don't talk that way to me or I'll beat you ass, while I'm on crutches. Oh yeah see these things in my arm pits you self-centered FUCK, those are crutches. I would say suck my dick, but you'd enjoy it. Cool neighbor tells him he'd better get the fuck outta our building, because he'll beat his ass.
Douchefag retreats. I take my jeans downstairs to wash, and Fat bitch walks in telling me to move. I tell her the same thing as douche. She then tells me "Well you shouldn't be driving". I proceed to tell her "I didn't know you were my doctor. By the way, stop eating and get the fuck out, you cow." I'm in no mood. So finally after 10 more minutes, I get done and go to the store.
That's the story how I shit my pants...at 31
NOW.
I hit the flashers and drive my ass off, as I'm on the highway. I pull in my (shared) driveway and try my best to climb out of the car...with crutches. A terrible idea that I can tell isn't going to end well. As I put one foot on land it starts.
I shit my pants.
Every step I take, I'm still shitting. I can't stop. My bowels explode. I can't stop shitting.
For the love of baby Jesus my FRESH out of the dryer jeans now smell like a monkey's ass after a night out with 3 sailors drinking whiskey.
To make matters worse, my place is on the second floor. I can't hobble my girth up the stairs fast enough. As I make the landing, I fart and shit at the same time, and I feel it run down my leg. I'm in full emergency mode. I finally get in the door, after I of course drop the keys, to walk into a bathroom only 50 ft away...ONLY. As I get in the bathroom, I drop trow and the stench is of death. WTF DID I EAT! OMG! I sit down on the throne, and have 5 minutes of a massive movement. How the hell did I have that much shit in me? Jesus, I'm full of shit! When I was done, I stand up to see my ass is covered. The toilet is covered. Shit on the floor. Shit in my soft cast moonboot.
Shit was everywhere.
Literally. I just wanted to cry. I've never seen so much shit in my life. I've never seen so much shit. I start the shower, and clean the toilet. For once in my life, I wish I didn't live alone, and was glad one of my manservants wasn't here to witness this horror.
I get all the shit cleaned up, and I get dressed to go back out. I hear a horn beeping. I don't give a fuck. I just shit my pants, my leg is throbbing, and I just wanna get to the store for milk and ironically, toilet paper. I take the shitty pants downstairs to the washer and my cool neighbor ask what's going on when the dumbfuck Audi TT driving douchefag neighbor (yeah I said, it) come up barking at me to move my car. I laughed in his face told him to FUCK OFF, don't talk that way to me or I'll beat you ass, while I'm on crutches. Oh yeah see these things in my arm pits you self-centered FUCK, those are crutches. I would say suck my dick, but you'd enjoy it. Cool neighbor tells him he'd better get the fuck outta our building, because he'll beat his ass.
Douchefag retreats. I take my jeans downstairs to wash, and Fat bitch walks in telling me to move. I tell her the same thing as douche. She then tells me "Well you shouldn't be driving". I proceed to tell her "I didn't know you were my doctor. By the way, stop eating and get the fuck out, you cow." I'm in no mood. So finally after 10 more minutes, I get done and go to the store.
That's the story how I shit my pants...at 31
Rider down.
Sorry I've been MIA lately. I broke my fucking leg. Being a badass has it's occupational hazards...
I've been riding since I was a kid. Daily riding. I typically ride 600's and have no problem with keeping on the heels of my buddies that ride R1's, in the twisties. For the past few years, I've been riding a Seca II. It's a ok bike. Super reliable. Good fuel mileage, and fast enough to get myself in trouble.
Last summer I had a terrible separation, and didn't ride much. Didn't like getting on something that made me thing about what I had to deal with. A new position followed later, and I didn't have time to ride. Over the winter, my riding buddies gave me enough hell about not riding with them last year, that I decided to make the steps to buy a bike I always wanted. A Buell Lightning or a Ducati Monster. The Monster was ruled out because of my size. But the Buell fits my like a glove. The ergos are fantastic, and most importantly, no lower back pain from previous car accidents.
As I troll eBay time and time again, I really wanted a yellow XB. But I've never seen a yellow XB. Low and behold, on Craigslist I found one yellow and a black in my price range. The yellow one was a few hours away but the owner sold it before I could go look at it. The black one was 6 hours away, and I don't have time to travel on my only off day. Then I found THE bike on eBay. Yellow, low mileage, new tires, a few mods, and lower than my price range. I made the deal the same day.
I finally was a Buell owner. A reward for the hell I've been through personally, and professionally in the past 3 years since I've been on top. I'm the happiest I've been in years.
The bike gets delivered 6 days later. We agreed on 5 pm, and he called me at 1 saying he's half hour out. I was on a weekend getaway and was still two hours away. I couldn't get home fast enough. I get home at 3, and he's not answering his phone. SEVERAL CALLS and I'm starting to panic. What happened to my new bike? Did I get scammed? Did something happen to the guy? He calls and tell me he stopped at his families near my town (ironic a guy from SC has family 20 mins away from me in OH)
I pull up to my bike getting unloaded. I'm in love. It's exactly as described and pictured. He starts it up. The sound of the V-twin, with a rich bass sound, had my giddy. I can't remember the last time I smiled this much. I was happy again. We unload it, he shows me a few things, and I hand him a check. I said to him "You know I'm in the car business so before I hand you this check I wanna take it around the block to make sure it shifts and rides as good as it sound." He said "I don't blame ya! Go ahead." I take off around his truck, throw the yard, back on the driveway, and to the street. I'm in first gear, slow rolling it to get used to it. I know these are powerful torque monsters. (My first experience on a Buell last year I pulled away from the parking space and promptly popped a wheelie) I pass my neighbors driveway, and go into a slight turn. As I come out of the bend, I just start spinning. Right. Left. Right. Left.
Rider down.
I scream for the seller, and he comes running. I pick myself up and I can't stand. Extreme pain is coming from my lower left leg. I sit Indian-style in the middle of the road, and my leg above the ankle is laying there like a wet noodle. It's limp. It's broke. A neighbor calls 911, and within 2 minutes, police and ambulance are there. I'm rushed to the local hospital where I spent the next 5 days going through surgery and rest.
I never knew realizing your dreams could hurt so God damned much.
I've been riding since I was a kid. Daily riding. I typically ride 600's and have no problem with keeping on the heels of my buddies that ride R1's, in the twisties. For the past few years, I've been riding a Seca II. It's a ok bike. Super reliable. Good fuel mileage, and fast enough to get myself in trouble.
Last summer I had a terrible separation, and didn't ride much. Didn't like getting on something that made me thing about what I had to deal with. A new position followed later, and I didn't have time to ride. Over the winter, my riding buddies gave me enough hell about not riding with them last year, that I decided to make the steps to buy a bike I always wanted. A Buell Lightning or a Ducati Monster. The Monster was ruled out because of my size. But the Buell fits my like a glove. The ergos are fantastic, and most importantly, no lower back pain from previous car accidents.
As I troll eBay time and time again, I really wanted a yellow XB. But I've never seen a yellow XB. Low and behold, on Craigslist I found one yellow and a black in my price range. The yellow one was a few hours away but the owner sold it before I could go look at it. The black one was 6 hours away, and I don't have time to travel on my only off day. Then I found THE bike on eBay. Yellow, low mileage, new tires, a few mods, and lower than my price range. I made the deal the same day.
I finally was a Buell owner. A reward for the hell I've been through personally, and professionally in the past 3 years since I've been on top. I'm the happiest I've been in years.
The bike gets delivered 6 days later. We agreed on 5 pm, and he called me at 1 saying he's half hour out. I was on a weekend getaway and was still two hours away. I couldn't get home fast enough. I get home at 3, and he's not answering his phone. SEVERAL CALLS and I'm starting to panic. What happened to my new bike? Did I get scammed? Did something happen to the guy? He calls and tell me he stopped at his families near my town (ironic a guy from SC has family 20 mins away from me in OH)
I pull up to my bike getting unloaded. I'm in love. It's exactly as described and pictured. He starts it up. The sound of the V-twin, with a rich bass sound, had my giddy. I can't remember the last time I smiled this much. I was happy again. We unload it, he shows me a few things, and I hand him a check. I said to him "You know I'm in the car business so before I hand you this check I wanna take it around the block to make sure it shifts and rides as good as it sound." He said "I don't blame ya! Go ahead." I take off around his truck, throw the yard, back on the driveway, and to the street. I'm in first gear, slow rolling it to get used to it. I know these are powerful torque monsters. (My first experience on a Buell last year I pulled away from the parking space and promptly popped a wheelie) I pass my neighbors driveway, and go into a slight turn. As I come out of the bend, I just start spinning. Right. Left. Right. Left.
Rider down.
I scream for the seller, and he comes running. I pick myself up and I can't stand. Extreme pain is coming from my lower left leg. I sit Indian-style in the middle of the road, and my leg above the ankle is laying there like a wet noodle. It's limp. It's broke. A neighbor calls 911, and within 2 minutes, police and ambulance are there. I'm rushed to the local hospital where I spent the next 5 days going through surgery and rest.
I never knew realizing your dreams could hurt so God damned much.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)