I know, it's been toooooo long since my last post. I apologize for the hiatus but so much kept me from blogging...and you have every right to know exactly what happened. Here's what you missed.
I graduated from University of Hartford, on May 16, 2010: majoring in English, with an emphasis in Creative Writing.
I was hospitalized for an entire month and (wrongfully) diagnosed with a (fcuking sad excuse for a) mental illness.
I've recovered from my "mental illness."
I am now working with a temp agency, that finds me jobs that pay $16/hr. (I work Mon-Fri, 9am to 5pm. I've been employed with them since March 2011 and I've only been "unemployed" for only two weeks.)
And I now have a (Black Card) Gym Membership with Planet Fitness.
Yes, it is a lot to take in. But I shall elaborate on each update...except for graduation. I mean, I did my four years at UHA. I did naughty things: almost got in trouble with Public Safety for some illegal things, played with boys between classes, struggled through my Capstone class (which was the biggest pain in my ass...and I've had quite a few pains in that area), and graduated with Magna Cum Laude Honors.
Now, to the heavy stuff. I think you all need to know why I was gone for so long. My family doesn't like talking about this but I don't care. This really happened to me and it's my story to tell.
Everything I'm about to share are true facts. There may be a few jokes here and there. But humor helps me heal.
During my last semester of school, I became severely depressed. It got so bad that I actually contemplating ending it all. I know, crazy right?! Since I was younger I've always been put under a never-ending wave of pressure to achieve something greater than everyone else in my family. Before May 16th, 2010 I was the only one in my immediate family to complete a 4-year college.
I was militantly trained.
**(This is an actual picture of my 2 year-old self.)
I was taught how to read by the time I was 2. Yes, I've been able to read since I was 2. As most kids were given cookies and treats, I was given the same and a plethora of new words to master. My favorite word when I was 5 was "astonished." I was such a snobby kid. I was always dapper, dressed in tennis sweaters, polo shirts, and other pretentious garments.
To determine the worth of other kids, when I was 5, I would go up to them and say...
I was a dick.
Anywho, during my last semester in college the pressure got the best of me. I was juggling my college radio show--"Gabriel and Friends"--by myself (developing topics, inviting guest DJs, finding new music, etc.), I was the go-to building manager in the morning for my school's Student Union for most of the week, I was a registered party planner on campus, I had 18 credits to fulfill (4 of them being a class I had to take again because I failed it the previous semester), and my Capstone class was fucking ridiculous...
If I can remember clearly for this one class we had to read 5 books and give a 4-page minimum report on each of the books; develop three lesson plans and teach them to an actual high school class; attend ALL the readings that were hosted by the University, on campus; coordinate and participate in at least two events of April's "Day of Poetry"; create a theme for our portfolio; research authors' work that matched the prevalent theme that we had to create for our portfolio, (using at least 3 books outside of class); write a 15-page introduction about the authors' work, in relation to our theme and work; (the finale) create a polished portfolio, with a minimum of 30 pages, in addition to the 15-page introduction.
Mind you, that was just one class. And this class happened to be scheduled 7:30pm - 10pm on Thursdays...and our professor never let us out early.
Okay, I'm sorry. I often get sidetracked when talking about sass. This is the Sass Corner.
Back to the story.
As said before I was always pressured to become something great. The pressure got the best of me and I cracked. I was so worried about getting a job right after school and moving out that I actually thought I had the ability to do so. I believed that I had everything I needed to begin life as a liberated college grad. I was... delusional.
Toward the end of my last semester in school, my friend Shelby and I were planning on birthing a PR Firm. We were called Innovative Relations. We even ordered business cards and everything. (Oh and FedEx, sorry I never came to pick them up...or pay for them.)
We rushed into this business and we even got some attention from some very promising clients. I got so whisked away in the idea of living the life before I had the funds. This is where everything turned to shit.
I built an entourage of three of my close friends, appointing them different positions to help me fulfill my dream. Not only did I recruit them, I pretty much treated them like unworthy subordinates.
I didn't realize I was treating them like shit until it was too late. And by too late I mean overdosing on my friend's ADD medication. Yup, it got that crazy. I'm not gonna lie, I did use prescription drugs, mainly Adderall, while I was in college. I used them to stay awake to complete papers or last-minute projects. But that's when you take one pill at a time.
I took six pills...at once.
I was up for a a total of four days straight. And in those four days I did some ridiculously crazy things. I growled at people when I was angry. I thought I was in a magical land where I could perform spells. I believed that my mother sold my soul to the devil. I also thought that my grandfather was a vampire. (That I still think is true.)
During those days it was as if I had awaken a dark, shadow personality that dwelt within me. He was too sassy for words, bossy, and a straight-up dick! (I don't know if I mentioned this to you before, but I do have a demon inside of me. His name is Baklahdah.)
Around midnight of the fourth day, after watching "Sherlock Holmes" I came up with a brilliant idea that in order to make it big I had to make a sacrifice to God, but through a ritual that required a blood sacrifice. But I didn't know how to do it exactly.
A few hours later my stepdad was getting ready for work. And I told him that I needed some guidance. Being the devout Christian that he is, he told me that I should read the Bible.
Duckies, the worst thing you can say an emotionally-unstable person, who has been awake for more than 80 hours, is read the Bible.
Have any of you duckies ever read the Bible? Excuse me, but that shit is fcuked up. It's full of judgement, magical stories, and punishment. NEVER read it without a guide.
(Side note: Does anyone else think it's weird that J.C. had his disciples--and current C'tians--symbolically drink his blood and digest parts of his body? I'm sorry, why am I doing this? Your blood has magic? Oh, you must be a vampire or a demon. Think about it.)
Anyway, I started reading the Bible and I began crying. I skipped around to random parts and read about the destruction of the world, the devil's reign on the Earth, punishment for sins, leviathans in the deep, and Hell. I immediately ran to my bedroom window and ripped out my screen. I started shouting scriptures from my window because I thought the world should know that we were all doomed.
After about 20 minutes of recite-shouting religious scriptures from the Bible and weeping, I knew that no one was listening. I did the only thing I felt was right. I prayed for God to help me.
Remember how I told you I had awaken a dormant, shadow personality inside of me? Well after I prayed, I felt empowered and invincible. It was as if I was another person. I believed that I had come into contact with an actual angel. I believed that a warrior angel commandeered my body.
The angel told me that I needed to make a sacrifice unto the Lord. Before I knew it I had swallowed about six pills of my friend's ADD medication. (Duckies, at the time I thought I only took two. I later found out that I had consumed close to eight pills that day.)
Since I was up all day, I made a cocktail which symbolized the blood sacrifice needed to commence the ritual.
I mixed fresh strawberries, lemonade, and spiked it with vodka. I made about half a gallon of the "blood." Two of my best friends were sleeping over my house and but both were sleeping (in different rooms) even through my weeping and chanting. I blacked-out for most of the ritual but I do remember going back and forth, Bible in hand, reading random scriptures and taking the offering of blood (the cocktail) and telling my two best friends to drink it.
I could tell by their faces when I woke them to drink that they felt something was wrong, but didn't say anything. But I wasn't in control of my own body so I couldn't ask them to help me.
I was all alone, possessed by a fallen angel.
TO BE CONTINUED...
("The Return of Gabriel Anderson: Part Two" will be posted at midnight/12am of July 26, 2011)