BRONTEZ 💋
It was January 3rd, 2020 when Brontez came down from Oakland for what I assume will be the first of many visits to LA this year. My brother, my best friend, my surrogate husband and my most consistent boarder at the Caballero home for wayward gays.
He knew something was up. I had been short in text, refused more than one FaceTime call over the holidays. I knew he was going through a lot and I knew not to lay my burden down, at least not with the weight of a text. Insensitive are those texts, without context and assumed lack of perspective. Was radio silence better?
“I really don’t want to talk about it.” I said as he crawled in my quiet room. Me, cozy under blankets, bloated from eating my feelings, lazy from weed and edibles. I wanted to eat the lotus flowers with the lotus eaters and get lost in the garden of ill repute. He nodded and told me I didn’t have to say a thing. I asked him how things were and what his plans were for the weekend. We exchanged simple words and before I knew it I let out problem #1 and then query #2 and by challenge #3 & 4 I was in tears.
Through deep breaths, bear hugs and more flower I caught myself, took my ‘cry face’ photo to snap me back and I was up. Ready to take on problems #1-4 and knew #5-10 would be waiting there for me. One at a time I told myself, one at a time.
Cry face photos are increasingly therapeutic for me. I like to cry or at least I like to allow myself to cry. A commercial pulling heartstrings, sad reports in the news, a dramatic show or movie, anyone talking about death or the death of animals, anyone relaying a harrowing immigration story and babe, the water works are flowing. That’s when I grab for my phone. That selfie photo a reflection of the obvious “look how orange [crazy] you look” it says in Alyssa Edwards voice. I immediately snap back to reality, deep breaths, new opportunity to start fresh. I’ve been collecting these photos since 2016 and let me tell you... I LOOK FUCKING CRAZY IN ALL OF THEM. What a hoot.
Brontez hadn’t seen me cry in some time. Probably 3 years, if that (tbh 3 years ago I cried all the time, so I assume everyone saw my bleeding corazón pinned to my sleeve). He was as always so comforting. He didn’t give me advice, he didn’t tell me where I was wrong, he just held me and told me it was going to be ok. The weight of him crushing my fear and smelting it into hope and love. Cancers always have a way of making space for you and are truly the best listeners. I aspire to be that open every day.
My depression is always challenge based. It’s very infrequently “from out of nowhere”. If I’m sad either I have been slighted in some way by someone or something or, more frequently that I’ve painted myself into a corner with love, friends or work. It’s always acute and focused. As challenges are solved I can fall away from a depression quicker than a fool on a thin branch.
I am silent and proud and fearful and often distrustful of everyone and my ego abounds with embarrassment. That is my depression. It digs its heels in sand like stilettos on a wet beach. The sand irritating my skin between my toes with every movement or responsibility. I find myself lost and unclear of the next steps.
2020 seems hopeful. I have a clearer picture of what I need to do. I have a sense that Ive known what to do for some time. Brontez has always trusted me and inspired me to keep moving along and for that I am here telling you this. He left this trip reminding me what he always tells me “baby don’t you worry, soon I’m gonna be rich and I’m gonna take us away from all these problems.” Knowing that even when things are at their worst someone is out there who knows me and is there for me and inspires me to express that in every way can make me so emotional.
Let me grab my phone and take a picture, this ‘cry face’ I’m gonna look SO CRAZY.