Spilling MORE Tea, Part 6: Series Finale, Straight People Ruin Everything

Disclaimer: The following post contains strong and offensive language, including mentions of violence and sexual assault -- which could be triggering to some.

Hello dear reader,

I apologize for my absence. I know I said I’d be here next week, but if I’m being honest, I’ve had a mental block writing to you. Not only is this the last segment of ‘Spilling MORE Tea’, but this is the last time I’ll be writing to you for the foreseeable future. I feel like there’s so much more I want to say, and trying to find a way to spill the rest of the tea to you has inadvertently created a mental block, because I still have one major issue I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.

This is the time I spun out of control, over being called the 'F' word...

One night in early February, I decided to return to the scene of the crime again. I returned to the place where I had been stood up, ghosted, and the same place I found and lost myself again.

I went back to the drag bar.

While at the drag bar, I went by myself with no expectation. However, after arriving, I had quickly built it up in my mind somehow that by going back, I’d be walking into a bear trap of sorts. I had run into my ex there before, and to add, it was at the workplace of the two drag queens who played with my heart just a few months prior. But I was going for me, not them, so why would it bother me?

As I walked into the building, I looked around and didn’t see anyone I knew in sight.

I let out a big sigh of relief.

Then, as I walked outside to the patio, I opened the door and hit someone in the face who was on the other side.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I quickly said.

I bent down and extended a hand out and helped them up. 

As they stood up, I quickly realized that it was Samantha in full drag.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, honey, it happens with these doors often and —“ they said before stopping mid-sentence and looking up at me.

“Oh, it's you,” Samantha said as they quickly realized that it was me. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said as I began to die inside. 

There was an awkward silence between us as we both tried to avoid looking directly at each other. 

“So, are we okay?” I asked as my heart began to beat out of my chest.

“Yeah, babe, we are. There’s no reason why we wouldn’t!” Samantha replied with relief.

We both looked up at each other and smiled. 

Then, in my peripheral vision, I saw Lipstick Teeth walk onto the patio from another door. As I did, I turned around and walked back inside. I walked over to the bar and turned around, and as I did, Lipstick Teeth and Samantha walked in together and walked past me — not noticing that I was standing there. 

“Thank God,” I said to myself as I let out a sigh of relief.

Then, my concentration was quickly broken as I heard the voice of a gentleman order a drink.

“Rum and Red Bull,” I heard the man say to another bartender. 

I looked over to see Forehead — the gentleman who told me months earlier that he couldn’t be with me unless I was able to give him ‘good sex’. 

Quickly, I turned around and walked over to a crowded dance floor. As I slipped away, Forehead promptly glanced at me, but I disappeared into the crowd before he could recognize who I was.

Considering how large the gay community is, it's really too fucking small at times. 

While on the dance floor, I danced in the middle of the floor near a Go-Go dancer. As the songs played, and as the lights flashed, I flipped my hair back and forth and moved with the tempo of the music. I closed my eyes, listened to the music, and disappeared in the crowd. I stood in one spot, didn’t move my feet, and looked around to see other gay couples dancing with each other, kissing each other, and enjoying each other’s company. The more I looked around, the more I noticed I was one of the only people there by themselves. The more that I noticed this, the more insecure I got. 

That was, until twenty minutes into dancing in place, I looked over to my left as ten college-aged white girls all rushed to the dance floor. One of them was wearing a tiara with a sash that read ‘BIRTHDAY’ in silver glitter, while other girls in the group dragged their boyfriends onto the dance floor with them. They made their way to where I was standing and began to dance. 

However, despite being the straightest group in the club, they were also the sloppiest group of people in the club.

One of the girls to my right stepped back and bumped into me, causing her to spill her drink on my new Nikes. When she did, she said, “Oops, I didn’t see you there! You made me spill my drink. You should buy me a new one!”

I looked at her blankly in the face and quickly replied, “You made yourself spill your drink. You should buy me new Nikes.” 

She looked down at my wet, newly-orange-stained shoes, said “yikes” under her breath, and quickly turned around and acted like I wasn’t there. 

Then, to my right, one of the other girls in the group drunkenly waved for her boyfriend to come over to dance by her. He stumbled his way through the crowd, walked over to me, and started dancing with me. He took another step backwards and stepped on my foot while falling back on me.

"Hey man, I’m right here!” I said as I put my hand on his shoulder and guided him off me. 

He sternly turned around, struggled to make eye contact with me while shouting, “Don’t fucking touch me, or I’ll kick your ass, you faggot!”

I froze up. I was pinned between this man and another drunken white girl, who was now grinding on me while grabbing my hips. I tried to pull her hands off of my hips, but she wouldn't budge.

I then looked up at the Go-Go Dancer who was on at the podium by me. He looked at me as I mouthed 'help'.

He reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me up on the podium with him.

“I thoguht I heard him call you a fag. Did he?” The dancer asked shouted in my ear over the music.

“Yeah, he did! He also threatened me as well," I shouted back. 

The Go-Go dancer then waved over a few security guards, who made their way through the crowd. The Go-Go dancer then pointed at the drunken gentleman, as the two bodyguards and the Go-Go dancer all grabbed the gentleman by the arms and escorted him off of the dance floor and out of the club.

The Go-Go dancer came back to me, hugged me, and asked if I was okay.

I replied,“Yeah, I am. But, this is our space. It's supposed to be safe for us, and now I got threatened and called a faggot by a straight guy in a gay club while simultaneously being sexually assaulted by a straight woman!”

The Go-Go dancer then replied, “Straight white women are the worst. They think they have come comrade with gay men, but all they do is dilute our safe spaces and make them unsafe. They come here and idolize us like some sort of fashion accessory, bring their homophobic men with them, and make it all about them. It’s selfish, and they’re wrong for it.” 

Suddenly, I began to feel dizzy. My head began to spin as the flashing lights on the dance floor began to make me disoriented. Despite that, I didn’t drink anything, I was feeling faint and light-headed. My face turned flush as I began to stumble my way off the dance floor, out of the club, and back to my car. 

As I got to my car, I began to uncontrollably hyperventilate. I squeezed the steering wheel as I started my car, pulled out of my parking spot, and continued onto the highway.

20 miles per hour

While driving forward through a green light and onto the on-ramp, I began to question everything I had been through over the past year. It all started with seeing three of my failed dates at the club at the same time. 

I did everything right, and yet, I’m still doing this by myself. 

I have a lot of people in my life, and yet, I'm still more alone than ever. Maybe I chose the wrong people. But, how was I supposed to know they were the wrong people, until they proved themselves otherwise?!

30 miles per hour 

I then started to think about how I  put my focus and attention on some of my pre-existing friendships instead. Since dating had hit such a brick wall, I thought I could rely on my friendships even more. 

Instead, I found my friendships to be more draining than anything. My former-best friend from late last year (who I called 'Entitled White Woman' for the story) not only dismissed the book that I worked on all year, but she was also being conceited with her relationship as well. So, what about my other friends?

I remember one night, a month prior to this, I called every single number in my phone and not one of my friends answered. Only two people texted back, the rest never acknowledged it.

They made me feel more alone, so why are all of these people in my life?!

50 miles per hour

I merged onto the highway and got over into the fast lane, as I squeezed the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turned white.

I then started to question: Why do I keep putting bad people in my life? Where are all of the good people at? I moved from Texas to Missouri to recover from a car accident, and moved from Missouri to Texas to begin living life once I recovered. I re-started my life twice over, and yet, I’m falling into worse patterns. I’m lonelier now than I ever was. 

I then started to think about my upbringing and how it made me the person I am today. I grew up with a mentally unstable bi-polar narcissist mother who couldn’t control her emotions, and a conceded father who was a lazy alcoholic, who also gave up on life and let himself die when I was fourteen. I grew up in a household where my parents often fought, and eventualy divorced.

After they divorced, my dad let his health go. I remember being in the hospital with him when he got really sick and watched his blood spew out of him until he flat-lined. I remember when the doctors rushed to bring him back, and when they did, he was not the same. He became miserable, and while miserable, became abusive as well. He eventually died a year later due to health issues, but I went no-contact with him three months before he died. I never got closure with him as a kid.

In the end, I was still the product of parents who were unstable in every single direction they made in life.

60 miles per hour

Maybe my adult life is chaotic because I had a chaotic start to becoming an adult. I didn’t get to grow up, because as a teenager, I was in fight-or-flight mode. I never learned what healthy relationships looked like, and didn’t have a chance to build life-long bonds. Between my parents, and between being medically and physically abused as a child, I never knew what normalcy was. When I was made homeless at nineteen for coming out as gay, I had no chance at making it in life. 

70 miles per hour

Wait, did I just say to myself I was abused as a child? Was I? Despite my dad dying, I didn't talk to him for three months before he died. He became angry, and he hurt me. But he wasn't the only one who hurt me.

My mom did, too.

Then, I immediately recalled a memory of when I was in high school and my best friend came out to me as a lesbian. She meant the world to me, and was someone I would have considered a sister, and I was someone she'd consider a brother.  However, all of that changed when one day I was in the car with my mom at a red light. This friend of mine called, so I answered the phone. 

“Whose on the phone?” My mom asked.

“It’s Maybelle,” I whispered while answering the phone. 

“Oh, that gay lesbian bitch? The one who's bringing evil around you?” My mom questioned out loud.

My mom then grabbed my arm and started screaming in the phone, “Why are you calling my son, you n- lesbian bitch? N- bitch! N-!!!!”

I immediately hung up the phone and pushed my mom off my arm, and when I pushed her off, she hit her head on her windshield. She screamed, turned the car around, and drove to the ER. She told the nurses that I had hit her and that I was mentally unstable, dangerous, and I needed mental health help.

The cops came and questioned me while she was in the ER, and upon questioning, they saw the mark my mom left on my wrist from when she grabbed my arm to yell into the phone. They stopped questioning me after they saw the mark.

I looked down at my phone, and Maybelle was upset, and said we couldn’t be friends anymore…

80 miles per hour

These types of things happened on a regualr basis. There are too many to count.

However, I do remember another time when, after the car incident with my mom, my mom drove me to a doctor's office to put me on mood stabilizers. While there, I told the doctor I didn’t think I needed anything for my moods. I told him that Mom pushed and pushed until I had a meltdown, and I just wanted to be left alone. The doctor felt conflicted and referred us to a psychologist. He couldn’t make a determination of the situation, and didn’t want to prescribe us anything since he felt something was off between us. 

When we got back to the car, my mom slammed the door, got in my face, and started screaming at me. She was screaming at the top of my lungs that I tried to make her look bad in front of the doctor. I asked her to stop, and she wouldn’t. I then began screaming “STOP” at the top of my lungs because she was still screaming. 

I eventually un-did my seatbelt, leaped out of the car, and slammed the car door while screaming “STOP” at the top of my lungs. 

One of the nurses came out of the office to see why there was screaming in the parking lot. 

My mom then got out of the car and screamed at me, “Cody, stop! You’re in public and you’re creating a scene!”

I covered my ears and screamed, “STOP SCREAMING AT ME” again, and as I did, I kicked her car door and began to storm off. 

The nurse in the parking lot called the cops.

As the cops showed up, the doctor came out of this office and gave us a prescription for lithium and told my mom to put me on a high dose until I was able to see the psychologist. 

90 miles per hour

When I came out of the closet, my mom had no words. She started crying, said I was confusing, and she went to her room and shut the door. I went to my room and went to bed, scared.

Later that night, at 3:00 am, I was awakened to the sound of my mom kicking open my door and turning on the lights. 

“Get out here!” She demanded.

When I stepped out in the hallway, she was swinging a shovel in my face and screaming that she was calling the cops on me. 

I quickly packed a bag, got in my car, and left. 

I was then homeless.

100 miles per hour

Long after the fact, I remember yelling on the phone to my grandmother and questioning, “You saw the abuse we went through growing up! You saw that Mom suffered from mental illness and took it out on us!! You and Grandad knew everything that was going on, and yet, talk sat by and watched like bystanders!!”

My grandmother replied, “Well, your mom is an adult. What she does is not our business.”

I replied, “But we were kids! We were defenseless! We had no one to protect us from any of it! How were we supposed to make it into adulthood?”

She then said, “But that’s not our business! Our daughter is a grown adult; we can’t control her. She's not our problem anymore."

I then started to cry as I shouted, “She is your daughter, but I am your grandson!”

I hung up the phone and blocked her number.

As I drove upon my exit, I realized I was about to miss it and quickly turned onto the off-ramp. As I quickly tried to slow down, I cut the edge of the road with my tire and spun out of control, throwing my car into the grassy median off of the exit. As my car spun out of control, I squeezed even harder onto my steering wheel while closing my eyes as hard as I could. My foot’s brake pedal was flat on the floorboard of the car, as the car came to a complete stop -- slamming my head into the headrest. Once my car stopped spinning out of control, I opened my eyes and looked around as I began to scream while still gripping the steering wheel.

I drove out of the ditch, made my way to the ER, and checked in for a panic attack while wearing Sex on the Beach-soaked Nikes. While there, my resting heart rate read 185/100, and they gave me a lorazepam to help calm me down.

0 miles per hour

The next morning, I sat on the couch and booked an appointment with my doctor to go on antidepressants to help with my panic. 

In reflection, I began to deal with the fact that I was abused as a kid. I never had these realizations until the previous night, and the more I pondered it, the more I realized how awful the extent of it was. I was wrongly put on medicine for severe mental illness for many years, and to this day, I have no idea how much of my emotions I’m unable to regulate because I didn’t need lithium. I didn’t need medicine. Because I was manipulated and drugged because of an abusive household run by people who should never have had kids.

 What I needed was peace and quiet. I needed love. I needed to be a kid...

However, that was then and this is now. But, t’s affecting me now, which means I need to deal with it now.

Maybe it’s always affected me? But who knows.

Don't get me wrong, I love my mom and my grandmother, and they’ve worked really hard to try and have a better relationship with me. However, these experiences shaped the way I function as an adult, and I’m tired of functioning off of this as a base. This isn't working for me, and it hasn't been for quite a while. I'm buringin at both ends, and I cant sustain this anymore.

I can't change anything else, but I can change myself.

The next thing I can do is start all over again, and start with myself.

So, dear reader, I’m going to go away for a bit and keep taking my antidepressants and work on my panic disorder. I'm going to clean-slate with all of my friends and start all over again, and I’m going to double-down on loving myself again.

I also recently got a bike, and I started biking. I also picked up racquetball and tennis, and started volunteering at a coffee shop as a mentor who employs special people. On top of this, I’m going to keep seeing my doctor and try to rebuild myself from the ground up again. I've laid out the ground work, and is it up to me from here to put in the hard work.

Above all else, I’m going to give myself patience, and give myself the love I never had and hope I attract the right people along the way. 

All I can do is work on myself, and make sure that when I make it to the other side, I’ll be doing better than my parents did, and I’ll have the life for myself that I truly deserve — a life full of love and peace. 

I just have to be the one to give it to myself.

Dear reader, I’m sad that we’ll be parting ways again, but when we meet again, I’ll hopefully be writing to you from a different place. I’ve got a good game plan set in place, and I need to start moving forward again. Just, I’ll be moving forward differently this time. 

Now, my speedometer read, “1 Mile Per Hour”.

Here I go.

I’m on my way…

~Cody Wade

Aka The Oolong Drunk

“Blissfully Tea Drunk”