Last meals of wrongfully-accused individuals who were later proven to be innocent of the crime

 

Dec 29, 2024 (Sun) vlog

 

Music: Dungdungwen Kanto

My papa used to sing this lullaby to us kids when we were young.

Dungdungwen Kanto            I Will Love You

Dungdungwen kanto unay unay                      I will love you and cherish you always

Indayonen kanto iti sınamay                            I will cradle you to sleep in a soft-cloth swing

Tultuloden kanto't naalumanay                        I will swing you ever so gently

Pagammuanen inka mailibay                           And soon enough you will be asleep

Annay, push, annay annay                               O, my aching heart, it aches, it aches

Nasaem, naut-ut la unay                                   It hurts so badly, it hurts to the core

Itdem kaniak ta pannaranay                             So, please, please your nurture give

Ta kaasiak a maidasay                                      For it would be a pity if I should die

Apaman nga Incanto makaturog                     Ás soon as you have fallen asleep

Iyabbongkonto ta rupam daytoy paniok          I will cover your face with my handkerchief

Tapnon dinakanto kagaten ti lamok                So no mosquitoes can bite you

Ken maimasmonto't maturog                          And so you can enjoy a good slumber

Apaman nga inkanto makariing                      Á soon as you awaken

Dagdagusen kanto a sappuyoten                     I will immediately hold you

Nga iliilili kas maysa nga ubing                     And dandle you like an infant

Ta nanamem sam-it ni issem                          So you can enjoy my sweet smile

Goofy guy with a big dick - pics from the interverse

 

Poetry

By @studmavati on IG

My Spotify Wrapped 2024

Music, any genre, makes such a good soundtrack to whatever it is that I'm doing.

Dec 15, 2024 (Sun) vlog

 

Some vids of me playing with my friend Neil

I met Neil (a pseudonym) a couple of years ago at Steamworks.  We instantly hit it off because he's a really good sex partner.  He's the same buddy I had a foursome with in this blog post.

This was taken at one of the times we met at Steamworks:

Here, you can hear us engage in sex talk in Tagalog:

My triggers

Having been an intravenous drug user—or, in other words, someone who "slams Tina"—there are many day-to-day things that trigger me. For instance, I get triggered by objects like plastic straws (because I used a bias-cut piece to scoop meth out of its bag), small metal spoons (used to heat meth diluted in water), eyeglass cases (where I kept all my paraphernalia), and lighters (for obvious reasons).

Other triggers are more contextual, such as seeing needles at my doctor’s clinic during routine blood tests, public washrooms (because I used to wander downtown Toronto, high as a kite, searching for private enough spaces to use), or even glancing at my bulging veins at the gym while lifting weights.

Being triggered is an interesting feeling because it reminds me that sobriety has never been, and will never be, the ultimate goal. Maybe it was at first, but I’ve since learned that being sober isn’t the endgame. I’ll never be “cured” of my addiction. The prospect of using will always linger, never quite disappearing. It’s an ongoing process. Being triggered by something as simple as being given a plastic straw at a restaurant reminds me to stay vigilant and maintain awareness. These are concepts I learned from Manny—my husband, whose name I use here as a pseudonym—during a conversation about triggers over dinner at a nearby Thai restaurant. Between bites of pineapple fried rice for him and khao soi chicken for me, he explained these ideas as part of Buddhist philosophy. Vigilance and awareness work together to free oneself from suffering. They must operate in tandem to help us release attachment.

Then I wonder: What is the goal? What am I working toward, if not sobriety? What is the assignment?

About two months ago, Manny and I were driving back to the house from our apartment. At the time, we were trying to reconcile my sister and her former partner, at least to the point where they could be civil. While sitting in the passenger seat, I received a barrage of texts from my sister.

I love my sister. Manny and I will always be her biggest cheerleaders. However, she can sometimes be overwhelming, as she’s not always mindful of others’ time. That day, she sent me a long list of things she needed me to do that week, including communicating with her ex-partner about childcare. As I read her texts, I began to feel flustered. My heart raced.

I don’t have time for this! I thought. It was month-end at work, I needed to handle bookkeeping for two non-profits I volunteer for, assist the Healing Lodge with accounting, manage my parents’ finances while they were in the Philippines, and prepare for our upcoming move into the house.

I was about to fire off an angry response when I remembered my therapist’s advice from the previous week. They had helped me realize my tendency to avoid intense emotions—or, worse, to let them control me. Taking a deep breath, I held my phone at arm’s length and said to Manny, “I’m feeling angry right now.”

“I want to yell at Manang,” I continued.

Manny, eyes on the road, simply replied, “Deep breaths, love.”

I paused, repeating the words I am angry in my head, then put my phone down. Almost instinctively, I smiled, feeling a bit lighter.

“Anger is trying to teach me something,” I told Manny, and myself. “I wonder what it is.”

We went straight home that night without me replying to my sister’s texts.

The next day, reflecting on my emotions, I recalled something my therapist had mentioned weeks earlier: the distinction between being a supporter and being a savior. Supporting someone wholeheartedly facilitates healing and reconciliation. It requires presence and accountability, and it encourages loved ones to grow. This space of support is energizing.

Being a savior, on the other hand, is draining. It allows others to take endlessly from me while I feel I have nothing left to give. It breeds passive-aggressiveness—agreeing to help but feeling resentful. It’s a powerless space.

Eventually, I replied to my sister, setting clear boundaries. I love her deeply—she’s the one who chased off my bullies in elementary school. We share a close bond, and I hope all three of us siblings, along with our loved ones, grow into better human beings who respect each other’s time and capacity.

My therapist says anger can be destructive if we let it, but it can also be a teacher. That’s a lesson I wouldn’t have learned if I hadn’t paused during that car ride to ask myself what my anger was trying to tell me.

Today, I had a thought: maybe my goal is simply to ask questions. To pause and stay curious. I know I’m in my 40s—my body reminds me, haha!—but I feel like I’m just getting started. There’s so much to learn, so much to experience. Can I experience it all while getting high on meth? Maybe. But I’ve learned that doing anything while high is like walking around with dark shades on, day and night. Eventually, it just gets in the way.

So why not just stay curious? Sobriety may come in its own time, but curiosity will anchor me.

Music: Ruby Ibarra's A Thousand Cuts

 

    A Thousand Cuts 

If I fall I stand up, break these walls I rise up
Even when I lose it all, I always got my eyes up
They prayin' on my downfall but I’ll never give up
A thousand cuts won't be enough to keep my fists in these cuffs

And I'm never breaking down with the odds against me
Brown girl gold brown with the gods within me
Yeah! I was the flower that bloomed in a dark room
Flows like monsoons from the womb when I write
Move ruins and resume I grew ’till I soon
Prayed to many moons that my wounds would not bloom
Where we from, death looms so we hum you this tunеs
And hope it sparks light like a night in mid June
My hеarts consumed by hate here
It's harden when you live fear
How can you see clear when you don't see you in the mirror, ugh
I lost too many peers, they seem to disappear
But they livin' through these words that I'm paintin' here

Pre Chorus:
Tell me you remember me
I'm here to build a legacy
I got the ground movin' under me
A thousand cuts ain’t never stoppin’ me
And I swear I'm never givin’ up
Who I am or who I'm standing up
And I never need an ounce of luck
To understand myself cause that's enough
Yeah that's enough

Chorus:
[*Ann One*, Ruby Ibarra]
*Yeah, I can live a thousand cuts*
I can live a thousand cuts
*Yeah, I can live a thousand cuts*
Than live a life just coverin’ up
Ugh, what would you die for?
What do you live for?
When it's resistance met with uproar
I'm trying to love more ,we've had enough war
Too many stones and these hands are guns down
They try to pressure me, pressed me 'till I stumble down
But not this time I go zero to a hundred now
They'll never silence me, my voice won't be denied
And I'm challenging the system, no, it won't be televised
And I'll never compromise, cause I'm writing to survive
When the freedom ain't free and so let's keep the hope alive
Yeah, I see it in me form the Claras to Makilings
From the martyrs to the artists and the writer breakin' ceilings
It's life in these times with lives on front lines
A test to these times, so we question these minds
And If I ever bite my tongue that'll be the death of
Everything I stand for, no I won't be any less

And P.S. tell me you'll remember me
I'm here to build a legacy
I got the ground movin' under me
A thousand cuts ain't never stoppin' me
And I swear I'm never givin' up
Who I am or who I'm standing up
And I never need an ounce of luck
To understand myself cause that's enough
Yeah that's enough

Chorus:
[*Ann One*, Ruby Ibarra]
*Yeah, I can live a thousand cuts*
I can live a thousand cuts
*Yeah, I can live a thousand cuts*
Than live a life just coverin' up
And I swear I'm never givin' up
Who I am or who I'm standing up
And I never need an ounce of luck
To understand myself cause that's enough
Yeah that's enough

*Yeah, I can live a thousand cuts*
I can live a thousand cuts
*Yeah, I can live a thousand cuts*
Than live a life just coverin' up

I can live a thousand cuts
*I can live a thousand cuts yeah yeah*
*Swear I'm never givin' up ohhhhh*
I can live a thousand cuts yeah*
No I'm never giving up
*I can live a thousand cuts yeah yeah*
I can live a thousand cuts
I can live a thousand cuts
*I can live a thousand cuts yeah yeah*
*You're never gonna break me down*
*I swear you're gonna here me now*
*They're never gonna shake my ground*
*It's only being me right now, ohh*

If I fall I stand up, break these walls I rise up
Even when I lose it all, I always got my eyes up
They prayin' on my downfall but I'll never give up
A thousand cuts won't be enough to keep my fists in these cuffs

Hot pics from the internet sphere

 

Dec 12, 2024 (Thu) vlog

 

Some words of wisdom

Apr 15, 2014 (Tue) vlog from my archives and a reflection on family (updated)

 

As can be seen from the title, I recorded this video diary just over 10 years ago.  What follows is my reflection on it.

There was something that my aunt said to me a couple of months ago this year that I can't seem to shake off.  My auntie D, or, as myself and my siblings like to affectionately call her, mommy D, is my dad's younger sister who lives in Taber, Alberta, and works as a tax return specialist.  I was chatting with her about the possible tax implications of me giving my former brother-in-law a share of our home's equity. 

Just to give some context, my sister and her common-law partner lives with my parents at our family home in North York.  My parents and I are the legal owners of the house, with our names being the only ones on the title.  However, when we purchased the house almost ten years ago, the agreement was that my sister would withdraw from her personal RRSP account to contribute to the down payment, while my brother-in-law would contribute more to the home expenses, compared to everyone else's contributions.  By home expenses, I mean the mortgage payments, utilities, cable, heating, groceries, etc.  I would collect all our monthly contributions and deposit them into a separate house account in which said expenses would be withdrawn out of.

In the summer of this year, in 2024, my sister informed me that she will be separating from her common-law partner.  This began a very difficult summer and fall months, not just for her and my former brother-in-law, but for everyone in the family.  There was gaslighting, long family meetings, accusations of abuse, mental meltdowns, weaponization of the justice system, my sister being kicked out of her family home and essentially being homeless, etc.  It was a mess.  And, to be honest, there were times when I didn't help the situation.  At first, both my sister and her former common-law partner looked to me for support for their own interests.  My sister didn't want me to give any equity share of the house to her former partner, while he looked to me to honour the spirit of our original agreement.  My parents, for their part, deferred their decisions to me on all things related to the family and the house.

I'll make this reflection short because I want to get into what happened with the separation in more detail later, but, to go back to what my mommy D said that gave me pause, was when she told me that she can't imagine how I've been keeping it together because she thought it must be hard for me to be the "head of the family" and have to make such difficult decisions.  When she said those words, I almost cried.  I never, in my wildest dreams, ever imagined myself being seen as the "head of a family".

I thought, "Is this how people see me now?  When did this happen?"  In my heart, I still feel like a little boy, ever looking up to someone wiser than me, waiting for lessons to be learned and passed on.

These are my reflections when I watch this video today.  Back then, I was the one looking to be heard.  I was the one looking for approval.  Some folks, when they watch this video, might ask themselves, "Why didn't he just up and left them?  If I was him, and my family refused to validate me, I would just tell them to go to hell.  I'll go and find my own chosen family."

For me, that was not an option.  It wasn't my path.  What rings true to me is that they are my family, for better or for worse.  For me, I had a right to be among them, and they needed to be in my life.  So, what did I do?  Well, it's interesting because, from watching this video, it looks like I fought really hard for them to see me.  I fought hard to claim my space among them.

Today, my sister's separation process is still going on, but we are slowly, as a family, reconciling with each other.  Some of us may have taken my former brother-in-law's side, while some of us sided with my sister.  But, with the help and wisdom of my husband, I've tried really hard to heal the wounds from all sides.  Because, in the end, as I keep reminding all the adults in the family, we all want what's best for the youngsters among us: my parents' grandchildren, my nephews, my sister's and former partner's children.  They are, and should be, at the heart of our decision-making process.

There's also something to be said about my struggle between being my family's supporter and my tendency to be the rescuer.  I think being the latter has been one of the factors why I found these past few months very difficult.  But, that's a topic for another blog post.

I'm happy to say, we're all on the road towards healing.  I may not be willing to take on the role of the head of the family, but I'll definitely up to contributing as much as I can towards harmony, accountability, love, and peace.  I may be soft-spoken, but believe me when I say that I will fight tooth and nail for the things that I want, including ensuring none of us gets left behind.  My challenge is recognizing where my boundaries are.

Chad Upham

I first used crystal meth sometime in late 2004 or early 2005 when a hookup offered me the pipe.  I'll write more of what was happening in my life at that time that made it so easy for me to be quickly addicted to it. However, I'd like to write here about how a person I met online became one of my lifelines during my early struggles with the drug.  They were my lifeline because they impacted me positively when I met them, and they gave me a lesson that I still carry today.

By 2005, I was already heavily addicted to it.  I don't quite remember which platform I met Chad that year, it might have been X (then Twitter).  He was posting about his sobriety from the same drug by taking selfies of him with a note of how long he's been sober on that day.  I reached out to him privately, and we started emailing back and forth.  I don't think I have those emails anymore, but I do remember him lending an empathetic space for me to talk about my own struggles.

Eventually, after a few emails back and forth, I lost interest and stopped replying to him, as I continued to go deeper into my addiction.  One day, I saw him post the below picture on his social.  I don't remember if I ever reached out back to him to thank him, or to let him know that I was still around.  However, we eventually lost contact, until I found him on IG in Jan of 2023.  I immediately sent him a DM, where I said, "Hi Chad, I don't expect you to remember me but you and I exchanged emails many years ago where you coached me when I was struggling with meth addiction.  You inspired me to get better.  You even sent me a pic of you holding a note saying "For Joey", which is my nickname.  I hope you are well.  Sending you lots of love and greetings."

He replied with the picture below.

When I saw this picture for the first time in 2005, I felt seen.

Like, SEEN.

One of the many reasons why I think I got so easily addicted to meth was because I felt invisible, that I didn't matter.  That I was inconsequential.  When Chad posted this pic and I saw my nickname written on the piece of paper - my nickname that only my family calls me by - I felt the first stirrings of being expansive and impactful.  Someone knows me!  Someone cares!

I'll write more later about other lifelines I've met in my journey, such as the Haitian restaurant manager who gave me a free meal and a place to sleep in in Montreal after I went in to their restaurant and told to them that I was stranded in the city with no money, coming down on crystal, and very hungry because I hadn't eaten in days.

Lifelines are crucial.  Be open to them, because they come in all different forms.  Just as important, to pay it forward, if one has the resources and are able.

Apr 10, 2014 (Thu) vlog from my archives

TW: Discussions of drug misuse

Dec 8, 2024 (Sun) vlog

Big news and big move!

Mar 9, 2014 (Sun) vlog from my archives

Mar 7, 2014 (Fri) vlog from my archives

 

Me and Ash

This is a video that Ash took as he ate me out when we first met two summers ago.  We met thru bbrt.  He looooves rimming.  And he's great at it!

Nov 30, 2024 (Sat) vlog

A pic of Manny and I from our Miami Beach trip this past Aug

 

Manny and I went on a vacation for about a week this past summer to Miami Beach.  The highlight of the trip was definitely hanging out with him.  It was nice to just get away.  We went to a bathhouse one night where we had a foursome with two other strangers.  Manny and I were hanging out in my room with the door open, when two cute guys came in from the hallway.  Both guys, it turned out, were both tops.  Manny and I were just as happy to bend over for them as they both fucked us side by side.  I've been with Manny since 2017 and it was the first time that he and I have had sex together with other guys.  Since then, we've talked about exploring group scenes a lot more together.

Some hot pics

My recollection of my time in rehab almost twenty years ago (updated)

I use pseudonyms here.

I first used crystal meth in 2004, at the age of 23.  I was reminded recently that it was in May 2006 that I was diagnosed with HIV and neuro-syphilis co-infection.  It was most likely the reason why I started to seriously deal with my addiction.  I don’t know exactly how I found out about the in-patient Rainbow program at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH), but I do remember asking my general practitioner (GP) for a referral.

“Of course, I’ll write you one,” I distinctly remember her saying with a determined voice.  Her referral made sure that I entered the rehab in either Dec of 2006 or early 2007 (my recollection is spotty).  I believe the fee was subsidized, as I don’t remember paying out of pocket.

The rehab facility was at CAMH’s Brentcliffe location at the time, near Eglinton and Laird, in the North York area of Toronto.  As I understand, the facility has since closed down.

To get to the building, one must walk north up Laird, all the way to the end, past all these nice, detached brownstones.  Behind a tall wall of trees was the two-storey Brentcliffe building, and it backed out into a ravine with walking trails.  It felt secluded, ensconced within its private location.  Our two counselors for the duration of the program were Jocelyn and Dale.

The Rainbow program at CAMH is specifically intended for folks from the LGBTQ2SIA+ community.  I was put in a cohort with 8 other individuals: there was a white woman who worked at Children’s Aid Society (CAS), an older gentleman, a guy whose substance of choice was crack (I later found out that he lived in the same building as my dealer), I remember there was a guy named Kelvin, then another white guy named Harry (who was playful in his speech, I remember, and roomed with Kelvin during the program), there was also Rachel, a two-spirit Indigenous woman who came from northern Ontario, and another young white lesbian woman (let’s call her Fay) whose substance of choice was alcohol (she also came from a middle class family, I realized, as she wasted no time telling us that her mom was a high school principal who’d just received a salary increase that made her reach the $100k/annual salary milestone).

I was chosen to be Nathan’s roommate, the guy whose substance of choice was crack. Our bedroom had two single beds, placed on each end of the room, and a washroom.  I can’t remember if the washroom had a shower in it.  The first week of the program was nice because Nathan and I would talk well into the night, getting to know each other, as we lay in our own bed in the dark.  He was older than me, tall, lanky, with curly long auburn hair.  Soft spoken and timid, he kept a teddy bear on his bed, and he would hug it as he slept.

Each day of the program consisted of workshops on things such as how one can create daily routines so that our days have a structure that would be conducive to recovery.  There were also workshops on spirituality, many counselling group sessions with Jocelyn and Dale, fitness, etc.

I remember enjoying the food that we got from the cafeteria.  They fed us well.  It was intentional because, I later learned, folks who were entering rehab and suffering from addiction were usually suffering also in their eating habits.  The program made sure that we had access to as many calories as possible, so that we could regain our strength.  

One of the things I remember learning was when I was having breakfast and was clumsily trying to cut up one whole hard-boiled egg with my spoon.  Fay saw me struggling, so she said, “Hey, here’s how you cut up your eggs,” and she pressed her fork down on the egg, took her butter knife and pressed the edge down between the tines of the fork, until the egg was sliced nicely and separately.  To this day, I still remember her whenever I eat a hard-boiled egg.

While our Rainbow group were going through our own in-patient program, there were also Men’s and Women’s groups happening concurrently to ours.  On break times, and during some select gym activities, our group would be able to play volleyball with the other groups.  The only memory I have with the other groups was a conversation I had with someone from the Women’s group in the elevator.  We were making small talk, and I had asked her if it was her first time being there.

“No, this is probably my third time in rehab,” she said.

Ok, that’s one thing I don’t want to do, I thought to myself.

I acted like a sponge as I went through the program.  I wanted to take as much of it all in, so that I learned, not wanting to repeat rehab again.

We were allowed to go back home, if we could, on weekends.  Nathan decided to head back to his place on the first weekend of the program.  I believe I stayed behind, not really wanting to be in my home space at the time.  Some of us stayed over the weekend, and so we just hung out.

When Sunday came, he came back to Brentcliffe.  I can’t remember what really happened, but I do remember being in a conversation with my other group mates about how odd he was acting that day.  Eventually, Nathan confessed to the counselors that he had used that weekend.  Unfortunately, that meant he broke the rules, and that he was no longer allowed to continue in the program.  So, he left.

This meant, of course, that I had the room to myself from that day on.  And for the rest of the program, I enjoyed the extra privacy.  I do remember thinking about him a lot after.  We had grown close, having told each other stories about our childhoods and our upbringing until we were too tired that we had to go to sleep.  I never saw him after, but I wish him well to this day.

We were allowed to have visitors, and Fay had her girlfriend come visit.  If I remember correctly, the only people I knew who came to visit me were my friend Cris and my best friend from junior high, Amy.  I don’t remember well what Cris and I talked about when she came to visit, but I do remember she brought me pho from Ginger restaurant on Yonge street.

On the day that Amy came to visit, I met her at the front door, where she had to sign in with the guards.

“Write your name on the tag, please, and keep it on while you’re in here,” the guard instructed her as he handed her a blank sticker.

“Should I write, ‘Sane’?” she joked, referencing Homer Simpson.

I felt like I was on vacation.  It felt good to just slow down, and to just focus on myself.  I felt cared for.  Naturally, this showed in my temperament.  I went about my days in the program light and carefree.  Even jovial.  At one point, Kelvin asked me, “Why are you always so cool, calm, and collected?”

I just shrugged.

I do remember that I had entered the program around the time that I started dating an Argentinian guy named Martin, whom I had met in a pnp session.  I can mention his name now because he has since passed away.

We both bonded over our struggle with crystal.  Martin was smart, funny, and had a taste for the finer things in life.  We had promised to each other to stay away from crystal, and he was emotionally supportive when I told him I was going into rehab.

Maybe my budding relationship with Martin also made me more easy-breezy going into the program.  Maybe the promise of a new beginning with Martin made me feel like anything was possible, including getting over crystal.  In any case, I was treating rehab like it was a day at the spa.  But, this time, it’s several weeks, not just a day.  I also liked using Margaret Cho’s material during one of the group sessions where we were discussing whether sex was intertwined with our use.

I said, “I like using when I go to the bathhouse because I become uninhibited.”

“I just keep my door open and tell guys to ‘stick it in!” I joked, plagiarizing Margaret’s jokes, and causing everyone in the group circle to laugh.

Dale, smiling, said, “So you were the one…,” throwing me a scolding look, adding to the group's laughter.

It was very nice to get to know the others in the rainbow program.  We had become closer because we spent a lot of time together.  On our second weekend, some of us decided to go on an excursion to Dufferin Mall.  I don’t quite remember why we chose Dufferin Mall, as it was a bit of a drive from Eglinton and Laird.  But the woman who worked at CAS (let’s call her Grace) offered to drive us there.  If I remember correctly, Rachel, Harry, Kelvin, and myself all had a good time riding in the car while Grace drove us to the mall.  When we got there, some of us stayed together to do our own shopping.  Rached and Grace went on their own, while Kelvin and myself hung out.  We ended up staying a bit, but, eventually, we all piled into Grace’s car and went back to Brentcliffe.

The following morning, during a group counselling session, we were going around for a check in.  When it was Rachel's turn to talk, she paused and said, “I’m hurting.”

“What’s going on?” Dale asked.

Rachel said that Grace made her feel unsafe the previous night at the mall.

“Grace asked me to try on a dress, so I did,” she said.  “When I was inside the dressing room and was undressing, she asked me to come out and show her the dress.”

Everyone was silent.

“She just kept asking me to come out of the dressing room, but I didn’t want to come out.  She wouldn’t listen to me.  You persisted in asking me to come out of the dressing room,” Rachel addressed Grace.

I can’t remember what else she said, but I do remember that Grace eventually started crying during that circle.  In between sobs, she said that she didn’t mean to make anyone feel unsafe.  I’m totally not giving this story justice because my recollection is spotty.  But I do remember Grace eventually getting up and leaving the room.  We found out later that day that she had decided to leave the program altogether.

Looking back, I feel that I was still young and getting used to speaking up.  In my own imperfect way, I tried to speak truth to power.  However, there were times when, as I look back, I stumbled in balancing between speaking out and being a kind person.

For instance, I remember that in one of the group sessions, Harry was speaking about his struggles in life.  For the life of me, I don’t remember the specifics of what he talked about, but I do remember responding, by saying, “wow, Harry, I’m shocked to hear a white guy like you talk about how much you’ve struggled,” I commented.

“The reason why I say that is because I feel that all the systems that we live in - educational, justice, political - are built for you to succeed,” I continued without an ounce of self-awareness.  I don’t remember how he responded, but I think even Dale was speechless.

I wish that I could take that back.  It was not helpful.  Definitely not supportive.

I remember one day during a group session with Jocelyn where the subject was about confronting past memories of us facing homophobia, or any kind of hate towards us.  After we had gone around for each of us to speak, Jocelyn asked us to go up to the white board that was on one side of the wall of the room and write the words that come to mind when we think of community, connection, and love.  Each person went up and wrote something.

I wrote “brothers and sisters,” on the board and sat back down, facing the board.  Each person continued to get up and wrote on the board, and I sensed that some of us were getting emotional.  I looked to where Rachel, the indigenous woman, was standing and saw that Kelvin had her in his arms as she quietly sobbed.  Everyone was hugging each other.

Brothers and sisters.

I sat on my chair, and, for the life of me, I can’t remember the reason why now, but I started crying.  The emotions started coming slowly first, like light rain.  Then, the next thing I knew, I started sobbing.  I sobbed and sobbed.  I couldn’t move from my chair.  My legs felt like bricks.  It seemed like every sad feeling I ever felt just engulfed me at that moment like torrential rain, and there was nothing I could do but bow down and let the tears fall.  It felt like I was crying for every sad memory I ever had.

Brothers and sisters.

The words kept repeating in my head.  I just cried and sobbed.  I couldn’t stop.

I don’t know how long I had my head down, but I eventually looked up and saw that Jocelyn and everyone else had gathered around where I sat.  Through tears she asked, “Jose, can I give you a hug?”

The entire group embraced each other in a comforting cocoon.  Disengaging, we slowly calmed down.  We eventually managed to sit around in a circle for a check-in.  One by one, each person talked about what they thought of ‘community’, and how they felt after the exercise.

When my turn came, Jocelyn took a deep breath, and kindly asked, “I’m curious, Jose, how are you feeling?”

“Well.  Cool, calm, collected?  Out the window!” I said with a smile as the group erupted in laughter.

As the program came into close, Jocelyn had asked us to sit in a tighter circle at our last group session.  She brought out a colourful ball of yarn and held on to the end string.  She asked us to give the ball to another person in the group and say something about that person that struck us as memorable or nice or wonderful about them.  One by one, the ball of yarn was passed along.  I remember it was H who handed me the ball and who said some nice things about me.  I can’t remember who I gave the ball to, but, at the end, what resulted was what looked like a web of yarn in the middle of our circle, each person being connected to each other by a string.

I remember asking everyone to pause so that I could take a picture of the web of yarn.  Unfortunately, I’ve lost the digital copy of that picture, but I still remember it to this day.

The next memory I have was at our program graduation.  All groups, including the Women’s, Men’s and Rainbow, all graduated at the same time.  We were encouraged to invite our friends and families.  I didn’t.  I don’t know why I didn’t invite anyone I know.  Maybe I just didn’t want to bother them.

All the graduates sat in a row next to the stage, facing the audience in the gymnasium.   What I do remember was seeing an elegant woman clad in a luxurious, black fur coat and dark sunglasses waving at F as the woman found a seat among the audience.  We each stood up and spoke for a few minutes.  I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember feeling like I took my speech unseriously, cracking a joke about finally finishing the program, and seeing Dale in the audience laugh at my joke. I sat back down right next to Harry.  Kelvin went up to speak next.

By the end of the program Harry and Kelvin had become very close, having spent the entire time as roommates.  I remember Kelvin mentioning Harry’s name in his speech, and Harry breaking down in tears right next to me.  I reached out and patted him in the back, consoling him.

That’s the last memory I have of being in rehab.  After its conclusion, I went back home to my parents’ apartment in the Church and Wellesley area of Toronto.  I didn’t keep in touch with people from my program.  I just left and went back home.  I continued my treatment in CAMH through their after-care program, which meant attending group meetings within the rainbow program.

Maybe it’s because it’s been almost twenty years since I went to rehab that I don’t remember whether I made any serious attempts at self-exploration within it.  Maybe I did and I just can’t remember.  But, what I do remember was having fun, and feeling safe and cared for.  It was nice to have my own room, at least for a while.  Because, I didn’t have that at my parents’ apartment in the village.

What I think I got out of it was learning some basics.  Learning that consistently making one’s own bed every morning sets one up for a good day.  Learning that fitness is just as important as balanced nutrition.  Learning that prepping one’s meals before a busy week would be extra helpful and creates structure to one’s week.  Even learning that one can use their fork and knife  to efficiently cut a hard-boiled egg.