The Eve Before More Surgery

I’m having surgery again tomorrow, but unlike last time, I’m not afraid because I already know what to expect.  Nonetheless, I’m not particularly thrilled about it, although it will be better to go through the surgery than to avoid it.

The surgery I had before, and the one that I’m having again, isn’t super serious; it’s purely a dermal procedure to ensure that I don’t have skin cancer and that I don’t develop it from what’s been considered atypical.  Despite this, the fact that I have to get surgery “to be safe” and “to check” for these things has confronted me with mortality more than before. Then, a month after my first surgery, my cousin was killed, which was devastating in itself while also further contributing to these thoughts about mortality.

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Almost Three Years Later

Yesterday (11 Oct) was National Coming Out Day, which caused me to think about my late cousin.  She was the first family member I came out to and the second person I told overall, and she insisted my parents would still love me if I was able to fall in love with women.  I miss her every day.  She was so easy to talk to and never judged me for whatever crazy shenanigans I was getting myself into.

Anywho, I didn’t write anything new to celebrate National Coming Out Day, but I attached the link to the post that includes the texts I sent to my cousin about my sexuality here.  Unfortunately, I didn’t include her responses…I’m sure I have them on my old phone or laptop, but I don’t have those items with me now.

For other “coming out” posts, you can just search that phrase on my website.  There is a variety of poetry, stories, and blogs about my journey, which has been difficult and long…it doesn’t feel over either.  Since the relationship that spurred me to come out in the first place ended two years ago now (wow, time flies), and since I’ve moved out of the house for most months of the year due to university, I sometimes feel like my sexuality has been…erased.

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I Think About You Everyday

I’ve been rather depressed since my cousin’s passing.  Depressed, scared, and pensive about morbid things.

I’ve been thinking about death…what was it like for my cousin to die?  It makes me feel bad to think about that since the accident was so violent…but it also makes me sad to think about how her last feeling may have been fear. It hurts me to think she may have been in pain too, although the doctor said she died upon impact, but who really knows?  Maybe they said it for our sake.

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Your Last

I hope your last emotion wasn’t fear.
Did you see it coming?
I hope your last sight wasn’t the glaring headlights.
Did you run?

I hope your last touch wasn’t the hard metal
Nor the rough pavement against your cheek

I hope the last thing you heard wasn’t the roar of the engine
Nor your roommate shrilly screaming your name.

I hope your last taste wasn’t the blood that flooded your mouth.
Did it choke you?
I hope your last smell wasn’t the burning rubber when the truck left you behind
Did you suffer?

I hope you didn’t.

© 2016 Vic Romero

My cousin was killed crossing the street on 3 September 2016.

Twenty years with you doesn’t feel like enough time, but I’m grateful to at least have that. Chris, thank you for being my big sister, I love you. RIP.

Greyness

Of course, he had decided to take the highway.  There was no traffic on the highway, so there was no stopping.  He must’ve known that if there was an opportunity to jump out of the car, I would’ve taken it.

I slumped down further in the passenger seat, my arms crossed over my body protectively as his words sliced through my skin.  He said we were having this conversation because he loves me, but I wasn’t feeling loved at all.  It wasn’t even a conversation; it was a lecture.  A lecture about me.  About what’s wrong with me.

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Three

Three years isn’t a long time in the grand scheme of life, but at my age (I’m nineteen), it feels substantial.

Three years ago I was in high school, which is a completely different world in contrast to college.  I was a minor at age sixteen and in the midst of my downward spiral of depression.  I also lost my best friend three years ago.  Not “lost” as in death, but “lost” as in, no longer friends.

I lost most of my friends three years ago, but only one of those losses wasn’t my fault.  That loss hurt me the most.

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