Notes from Nathan: Coming Clean

esterday, I announced on Facebook that it was my 18th month of sobriety from cocaine.  I am so grateful to be free from that beast.  For so long, I was in it.  My friends were doing it and having fun, so I figured it was harmless, but it wasn't. It led me down a dreadful path.  The friends I thought I had disappeared when the 'magic' was gone.  It didn't resonate for me that my so called friends were using me until one day it clicked.

It was God who brought me up from that downward spiral.  It had to be.  I mustered up the courage to tell my mother about my addiction to cocaine and several other drugs at the time.  Naturally, she worried, but couldn't do much considering we were in two separate states.  She told me to be careful and prayed nonstop.

I cried my eyes out thinking about the obscene amount of money I spent on something that I will never see again.  It wasn't an investment.  The bible and church became my new friends.  I needed to unplug from the wicked nightlife that The Big Apple offered me at the time.  I watched friends regularly vacuum that powder up their noses with straws, dollar bills and extended pinky nails.  I watched them become what I knew they were not.  Evil.

There I sat. Just under seven days deciding to quit for life.  A patron at  my own party watching the transactions between the dealers and the clients.  Tracking the number of trips to the bathroom.  Eavesdropping on conversations between men searching for party favors.  It was a mess!  But there I sat, completely sober.  No liquor.  No drugs.  100% Nathan.

If you are suffering from an addiction and need to talk to someone, find someone, you don't have to go through it alone, you don't have to suffer.  Choose today to COME CLEAN!

Call me, I'll talk to you!  (917) 771-6611.  No anonymous calls please.

Coming soon...BOYPUSSY!

Dear Diary,

Everyday, we comb the streets draped in psuedo-masculine drag. Donned in designer labels showing off our swag. Lips barely part to acknowledge, on the city's bustling streets. Plotting our seduction hoping to prey beneath the sheets.

Our eyes meet uncertain of each others game. Never been taught to look eye to eye so we look away with shame. Stolen glances become temporary works of art. Lives intertwined yet worlds apart. Mirrored thoughts, filled with with relentless pain and voyeuristic lust. Digitizing our arousal with an eagerness to bust.

Hormones rage, as passwords and screen names become our entry into the underground. Faceless images hungry for attention, receive shameful disgrace. Our consciousness takes us to a site named after the man from whom we borrow our sins.

Exposed our naked stature. Asses and dicks, escorts, raw seekers and tranny chicks. Skinny boys, fat men, black and white. Dial-toned messages inviting uncharted perils into the night. A hot body to satiate the loneliness behind the blank stares into our screens. Who have we become? Who do we seem? Creatures of habit and hating from within. Stealing sips of rawness, skin to skin.

We know to protect ourselves, we have all seen the signs. To the education we are numb, we've lost our minds, but the cases, they seem so rare. One thing that's safe to say is: we just don't care.

BOYPUSSY