April- November 2014
London, England.
By the time 2014 had come and gone I had managed to travel to London a second time, along with visiting various parts of California with a close long time friend of mine. Now, I was working at Home Depot to pull together as much as I could to relocate to London on a little more of a long term basis through a two year work visa I had managed to obtain.
By early spring I was ready to go, and I landed in London to my first job working at a hostel located in Pimlico, near Victoria Station. I was so excited to have managed to make such a big move happen at the age of twenty-two, and I was ready for the new set of adventures that were about to unfold.
Everything was great for the first month or so after quickly having made friends with the other hostel staff and even some other backpackers. I somewhat became an unofficial drunken tour guide that brought people I connected with to cool restaurants and bars, usually ending with one or more of them having to tap out when we got past three in the morning.
By this time I had heard enough stories from other people living in London that it was “just as depressing as the books and movies make it out to be; but poorer”. I’ll admit money was a little tight; but, I was comfortable- and I knew the hostel work was short term until I could find slightly better paying bar work. All in all, London was worth the cost. Well, at first_
I would say my view on the matter began to change when I managed to run right in to a railing while running across the road after the light changed quite quickly, smashing my shin in to the iron post and dipping upside down over the rail.
The pain was blinding, the witnesses were many, and my friends were asking me if I was alright; all while trying not to piss themselves laughing.
One of those friends was literally a nurse from Australia named Leesa, or sometimes Ana; but more on that later. Leesa was laughing the most, ironically enough- and all these years later, Leesa and I are still friends even after she ignored her medical oath in order to laugh at my injury. I played off the pain and kept working and walking around on it, even as it turned blue.
That was when I went to the hospital and was told I needed to stay off my leg for two weeks.
Yeah, two weeks.
How could that happen when I literally had to work 10-12 hour days to live in this place? I had barely been there a month- I was pissed off. So, I found a way to work half as much and otherwise had to stay on bed rest.
My dreams of London living grew a bit dimmer, until I began working at the SIlver Fox Pub in Trafalgar Square. First off, the staff became friends so quickly I couldn’t even describe it; it was as if we all knew each other for years. And the money? It was MUCH BETTA.
London was also where I felt comfortable enough to come out of the closet to the people I knew there. I felt liberated being able to finally explore being myself, and oh boy, did I have some fun exploring. London may be as depressing as everyone says it is; but, for this small city Canadian, London was G-A-Y. I mean, I literally went to G-A-Y Heaven multiple times a week- it quickly became my safe space.
Having grown up the awkward kid and teen, I was pretty oblivious whenever someone would hit on me- like, blissfully unaware as all hell. So, for my first month at the bars, I was mostly just taking things in (not literally and no pun intended, yet). One thing I knew from day one was that gay bars were far more fun than other bars, and I was living for it- the fact my work was two minutes away from Embankment meant this little new twink was right in the middle of it all- also no pun intended- after all, we aren’t in Paris- yet.
It was around five months in that the glam and sparkle of London started to truly wear off for me- mostly due to the fact I hated working and living in one of the busiest tourist areas of the world. My high functioning autism I didn’t know I had at the time absolutely had grown tired of it all.
What else could one do when tire of the city, aside from retire to the countryside like a lonely Duchess?
Well, my version was living in Hayes, Bromley, Kent, London inside a gorgeous old and haunted as fuck manor that was now a high scale restaurant that was also large enough to house five international staff members in relatively large private rooms with a well equipped kitchen and two bathrooms.
Oh yeah, and like I said, it was haunted ASF. First off, the manor was used as triage and essentially place of death during the Battle of Hayes. Meaning multiple, countless men died there during battle. Then add in the fact the building was over 300 years old and you’ll just have a lot of random death. I shall regale you with just a few of the horrid stories I heard and also googled about mine current address at the time.
- DEATH AND SHIT: It was used as triage, like I said.
- GHOST CHILD OF THE BRITISH CORN: A little girl died in the home in the spot that was now the location for the women’s restroom, her neck broken when a dresser fell on top of her, circa 1890’s. Now, every year during the middle of October women entering the restroom manage to have the door slam on their fingers, with a secondary wailing accompanying their own. The restaurant owner literally put in slam proof doors to avoid this; but, it still happens.
- PIPE FUCKER: Ok, so my manager Christine always told me about how the pipework in the management office makes a lot of banging noise; but, only whenever people in the room were trying to focus on something. She said she had even managed to get the pipes to stop banging consistently whenever she finally called out and said “I’m trying to get work done in here! STOP”. Of course I did not believe her; until she showed me each day over two weeks.
- TABLE 4: There was one section of the restaurant, where table four was located, that multiple women over the age of 60 had randomly died at while eating in the restaurant over the last three decades. Like, just chilling eating soup and then un-alived face down in their soup moments later.
Needless to say I didn’t sleep the best at nights in my rather large and echoing room.
My time there was nice, if not a touch boring, all ghosts aside. We worked all day, and drank all night - because our employer and management allowed us to do so after hours. Honestly, it was in London that I simply grew tired of drinking for fun; as I learned that if you do anything too often, even if you enjoy it, the good feelings it brings are less. Not to mention I also grew extremely tired of the fact that my co-workers were mostly high on cocaine all the time, and I was on an entirely different path with my weed smoking. Did you know people high on cocaine tend to fight A LOT?
I didn’t, until London. I had two roommates from Australia that were what seemed to be a gorgeous couple, madly in love when I first met them. Over time I learned that they both used cocaine heavily- how did I learn this? Well, they argued, LOUDLY at random throughout the night. So, my work and home were haunted by ghosts of the many who randomly died in the building or on the lands over the years, and two very pale, highly drug infused Australians who loved each other one moment, and sounded like they may kill each other the next.
Who knew the British countryside was more fucked up than London? Not me, not until I moved there.
Six months after moving to London, I finally had saved up enough for a three day weekend with one of my Contiki tour friends and her two mates, just in time before I would be going back to Canada; because_
Wait, wait, wait. I feel I need to pause here for dramatic effect; but, also to warn you lovely people. You know when you’re watching a horror movie and you know the person being chased by the killer just made a mistake running up the stairs in the house?
You know, that moment when you’re like ‘RUN, BITCH, RUN!’ ?
You know, that moment?
The call is coming from inside the house moment_
Well, in my life, this was one of those moments for me; and, just like that dumb bitch Sarah, I made a decision that was going to at first seem like the best idea; and would turn out only to be a grave, grave error.
Ah, I once again know what you are asking:
For why?
For how?
For when?
Por que?
Well, I had recently started met with and chatting with a somewhat older (ok, a lot older) gentleman located in Chicago- and I was due to fly out for a short stay with him just after the holidays.
There it is, we finally hit that moment that part of me has struggled to speak of for quite a few years; let alone write about- until now.
You see, I have come to be at peace with what was about to happen next; when I learned that living a life of luxury isn’t all it was laid out to be. I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be perfect- but I had no idea it would almost cost me my life in ways I never dreamed possible, until I said ‘I do’ to the wrong person.
Until I opened up the door to my life; and let in a monster dressed as a knight in shining armor.
England may have been haunted in its ways; but, the real terror was just about to begin.
It would start out as a dream, like Alice in Wonderland- all glitz, glamor, and a limitless bank account, and multiple homes- while slowly, but surely, a darkness crept in- turning all that had seemed golden in to a clutter of fucks so messy I could write an entire book about it.
Oh, wait, I guess that’s what this next part is_
A book within a book.
This one is about a young gay guy who falls in love with a man and lives a fancy life in Chicago, jetting off whenever and wherever and doing whatever he wanted- the cost being that he accidentally married the biggest mistake he had ever made in his young life.
What would end up being an eleven month marriage, would last longer in court than it did on paper- one year and a half, roughly.
It would cost my ex hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees and settlement, and it would cost me my feeling of safety, trust in others, and so much more.
And the worst part was, he wasn't all evil. He was just lost, and broken. Regardless of that, he was dangerous for me- as I would later learn.
I know what you may be wondering, how the fuck did I let myself end up in that type of situation?
Oh hun, aside from the fact that I was young and dumb; he was one hell of a charming personality; at least until it was a little too late for me to simply cut the strings and run. That’s kind of the point of why I am telling you this part of my story- a part I have kept between myself and those closest to me for seven years now, in hopes that maybe even one person who is in the wrong situation see’s this right now knows that there is a way out.
Or that after reading this, you’ll be able to spot some warning signs a little bit faster than I did all those -not so many - years ago.
Oh, and don’t go thinking these next few chapters are all misery and cautionary- I will be the first to admit that when things were good in my marriage they were simply amazing, and that I got to do so many things (thankfully even many without him). And that he was the sweetest of sweethearts whenever he stayed away from a certain habit.
So, I look forward to sharing with you the good, gorgeous, stunning, terrible, scarring, dangerous moments that would define my early twenties, and change my life forever.
Being perfectly honest, what happens next helped shape me from a somewhat lonely and scared little dude, in to a total bad-bitch.
What was it that Ariana Grande said?
Been through some sad shit, I should be a sad bitch; who would’ve thought it would turn me to a savage?
Yeah, this next bit definitely knocked the wind right out of me; but, what comes from it leaves me with no other choice than to say that I wouldn’t have changed it for the world if I had the chance now. Truly, if nothing more, my marriage taught me that I was far stronger than I thought.
With all of that in mind, this next section is hereby titled ‘All The Fancy Things I Got From Being Married And All These Little Red Flags I Probably Shouldn’t Have Ignored.’
Remember, I told you dark humour is my coping mechanism; so buckle up henni, this next round is going to make you either laugh even though you know you shouldn’t, or it will offend you- in which case I suggest you stop reading now.