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He Seems To Take A Masochistic Delight In Comforting Uncomfortable Truths and other stories by Alex Antiuk

I have an entire drawer filled with empty pill bottles. I am tempted to take the drawer out, dump it on the floor and count each individual bottle. I don’t know why I hold onto them, maybe it’s a reminder of what’s happened over the past year, or maybe I find solace in knowing that even though I have upwards of 50 empty bottles, I’m still here, sitting at my desk, typing away. This past year has not been easy, I’ve been diagnosed with a hell of a disease, have little to no money, even when I went to the ATM to deposit a check today, the ATM was out of order, and I’ve developed all sorts of nasty habits. I’ve picked up smoking as an alternative vice to counteract the side effects of one of those pesky medications, I eat two unhealthy meals a day and have a compulsive addiction to muffins. I also don’t think I could even run a few blocks, especially those long city blocks without the ship of my lungs sinking. I went home the other day to try and clear my head, it completely backfired. I almost ended up in the hospital again and I realized how ignorant my family really is. There idiots, all of them. Well, not all of them, but the majority. They just don’t know how to react to situations, particularly those involving someone stricken with mental illness. A perfect example of this was a year ago, before I went to the hospital they begged me not to go, they said it would ruin my life, I said fuck it and it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. This example get’s even better because just a few days ago, all they wanted me to do was go back to the hospital. I woke up to my grandmother yelling at me about, “being on too many medications”, blah, blah, blah, and my Mother quickly followed suit. My grandmother also patted me on the stomach and called me fat, that black lip stick wearing, cold hearted bitch. All this before 8am. I gave in to my mothers request to go back to the hospital because my mother was losing her mind and whenever she crumbles I also begin to crack, however on the cab ride over to the hospital, I received a call from the psychiatrist who was covering for my doctor while he was on vacation in Cuba. He said he saw absolutely no reason that I needed to be hospitalized and that I needed to make a decision for myself… chose the path that would make me most comfortable, and so I did. The second I got out of the cab at Paine Whitney Hospital in New York, I told my mother I’m not going into a psych ward, said Bon Voyage and immediately got into another cab and headed straight towards the Port Authority Bus Terminal where I got on a bus and headed back to my warm little alcove upstate. That bus ride was the most relaxing part of what was suppose to be a fairly calm day and a half in New York. Even with all the craziness I had fun in the city, I saw a wonderful art exhibit, saw a great, sadly overpriced, independent film, and almost made it out of there with my head on straight, but you can’t always get what you want. However, I learned a valuable lesson, you need to make decisions for yourself. No one should ever tell you what to do, because once that starts your life is over. Your become an empty pill bottle among mounds and mounds of others, sitting in the dark drawer of a Bi-Polar 22 year old boy’s desk, waiting for his lease to expire in May so you can be thrown into a garbage bag, walked downstairs, placed in a bigger garbage bag and finally thrown out across the street, to save money on garbage, in the neighbors trash bin.


The Gold Standard of Love

Doesn’t wear red Converse and have short blond hair. She also doesn’t ask all your friends to take tequila shots with her in an effort to avoid saying hello to you. She may look at you from across the bar, but then quickly look away. There may be people talking all around, saying things of no true meaning, and she may be listening, but she doesn’t care. All she notices is the blond tip in the front of your hair. It intrigues her. It stimulates her enough to look at you again this time with a smile, or a crooked tooth grin. You look back across the bar, recognize the gesture and in a reserved manner smile back, but only for a moment, then you shift your glaze elsewhere. There’s a calm in the air. Silence. You have yet to exchange words but you know your looking at the most beautiful thing you will ever see and she realizes she’s looking at some big dummy. A dummy with a heart of gold, because in her eyes she’s always been told, look for the boys with hearts of gold. The moment only last a brief second, and then it’s backs to reality. This time your getting on stage, behind the drums, yelling at the top of your lungs about masturbation, castration, and needing a car, so you can leave your mindless job and go afar. After the set, you wipe your eyes, looking for the mysterious women who’s eyes you caught for only a brief moment. You search high and low, yet unfortunately it was your own music that must have sent her astray. Looks like the gold standard of love wasn’t the one for you anyway.


A Reflection On Past Love

Jeanine Hates Me. She wouldn’t even look at me at the show tonight. A blank, dead stare ran down her face. She looked pretty, but I could tell she was miserable. We said hello in passing, but that was all. She doesn’t want to talk to me anymore and that make’s me upset; but what’s a guy to do? I am happy being alone and glad I did what I did, she was being dragged along my sick and twisted mind. Honestly, I never truly thought she was beautiful, and after the initial burst of attraction faded, the spark also began to slowly decay. However I became content; she was available, even though I knew all along that my feelings towards her appearance could one day be a factor in our relationship. I had also fallen in love, we had wonderful sex and she was a wonderful support, as unstable as she was. However ultimately, she was not the one for me. She had sad eyes tonight. It made me upset, looking at her leaning over the wooden barrier of the basement wall frame, listening to the same 90’s nostalgia rock as me. Not even making the slightest gesture over to my side of the room for even a simple smile. But what do I expect? Her heart fell apart and I was the cause. In my fantasy, we would walk by one another, maybe even hug hello, say, “Hi, How are you doing?” “What’s new?” “How’s ____” “Meet anyone recently?” and after a few brief yet pleasant sentences part ways and go on with out lives with a new found feeling of warmth and comfort from the pleasant interaction we just had. I did however notice a cute girl. She was very short, and had shorts with too many buttons. I think there was 6 large buttons in total; a bit off-putting but never the less she was still cute in a Seventeen Magazine sort of way. She also laughed at my joke about Dom’s hair making him look like Rob Lowe. The Joke wasn’t even funny… Yet she and I shared a chuckle. I hope to run into her sometime in the future. I would love to get to know her and I don’t just mean fuck her, I want to get to know her. What she’s into, if she likes anal, what’s her favorite band, and has she ever watched Stranger Than Paradise by Jim Jarmusch.


About the author:

I am 22, a pisces and grew up in New York City, moved upstate to attend college, took some time off to work on my mental health during which I found a love for reading obscure New York and Moroccan authors, later I found a love for writing and continue to write each day.

1 Comment on He Seems To Take A Masochistic Delight In Comforting Uncomfortable Truths and other stories by Alex Antiuk

  1. those last lines – lulz..

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