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Robertson Blvd.

Hello hello hello.

Ok so last week I kinda, sorta mentioned AA.


I went to AA… only because my therapist made me. I’m the type to do something but within my own time. I clearly needed a push so she very sweetly did. I wasn’t happy about it but hey, we both know its a ticking time bomb kinda thing. I can overdose any day and getting myself into some type of program is needed.

I went.

I hated it.

Fucking. Hated it.

First thing is first, my therapist warned me about having to try multiple classes in a variety of cities before judging the entire program. I legit thought, eh i’m sure it’ll be easier than that. I’m sure I can find a group I can relate to, I’m not difficult. I chose my first class in west hollywood since I thought the gay community was my best option.

wrong. lol.

I parked my car and scratched my rim… cool.

Fed the meter… the meter ate my credit card, WTF. Luckily I had a pair of tweezers in my car and was able to shimmy it out. At this point, I’m already annoyed because I’m late, almost lost my card and scratched my tire rim… I know it’s little things but when you have anxiety, little things pile up and trigger you.

I’m power walking up the block and start being negative; I hate being late because now I’m unable to slip in quietly and unnoticed. I’m stressing myself out knowing it’s going to be the complete opposite.



I walked passed Sur restaurant and thought about the Abbey further down the block. “i threw up there”, “I fell right over there”, “a friend popped a squat on that corner”, “I bumped into an ex at this parking lot”. Now a new memory… walking into my first AA meeting on this same street.

From partying on this block, to seeking help on the same block. weird.

I walked into the building, walked down the hallway, passed the table of cookie and coffee (that I very much wanted, but too nervous to touch). I walked my ass to the back and sunk into an empty chair in an empty row.

No one sit next to me.

I don’t want to introduce myself.

I don’t want to smile, I don’t want to talk.

I don’t belong here. I’m only here because I was told to be here.

Fuck off.

I thought to myself.

I sat nervously surrounded by middle aged gay men. Not that there’s anything wrong with middle aged gay men but I couldn’t relate. They’ve all known each other for years which was nice to examine. They’ve all been here for years, encouraging each other, hearing each others stories, they were family, they were a support group. But for my first meeting, this wasn’t the type of personal comfort I wanted or needed.

I sat and played with the promise ring my girlfriend gave me and thought, you’re not only doing this for yourself but you’re doing this for your sister, your brother, your nephews, your friends, your girlfriend, your future children… there’s so much good that is going to come out of this.

I started to tear up, not only was I listening to a speakers story but what made me cry was the thought of needing help.

How did I get here?

I mean fuck, I know what and who got me here but I felt really sorry for myself and really sorry for the people around me. I fucked up and I need to better myself, I felt guilt. All of these emotions were hitting me and hated it because I had to face them… in this room full of strangers, full of discomfort. This is my own battle therefore I must handle it alone.

This is what we must do to move forward, face our fears and push through the anxiety, push through the embarrassment, through the mistakes, through the shame…

When the speaker was finished, they announced they had three birthdays.

three birthdays?

What the hell.

3 people were born on the same day in the same room? That's really fucking weird. They brought out one cake at a time and sang happy birthday to each one. They were congratulating them on another year of sobriety. This was definitely my favorite part and wanted a taste of all three but instead I picked up my shit and walked out the back door…

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