Looking through the doughnut hole into the mirror

I can't believe I was woken up downstairs shirtless, belt undone and completely out of my mind drunk this morning by my sister. I had one insane night last night it seems.

I'm not sure what the deal was with last night. Too much pent up frustration needed to be drown in alcohol or something more profound.

Living in a suburb of Ohio isn't always a pleasure walk for an overweight gay boy. Living anywhere as an overweight homo isn't easy, for that matter. The never ending feeling of isolation takes a pretty hard toll on self-esteem and progress in self motivation. This could be why I binge with drinking and especially with eating. I hear that we should take that frustration and put it into energy. Making ourselves stronger, leaner, more attractive. The only thing that that frustration makes me see is the mirror and a never changing image that fluctuates wider. My brain has a hard time seeing the truth. My body dis morphia is poison. I mask my body in hatred and jelly doughnuts...I don't even like jelly doughnuts.

The thing that is constantly in the back of my mind is, why sex? What is it about sex that drives us so passionately? Body image in this world we've created is insanely morphed out of control. A once optimistic lad can be forced into complete submission over the V riding atop his belt line.

Walking down the streets of Manhattan everyday for a year and a half changed my life and outlook on life dramatically. What is said silently in the eye contact made in Chelsea between two sexy gay men could fill the ocean with verse. The sound of falling sheet rock that is heard when a chubby gay hits the streets can also fill that same ocean. Only his story doesn't end with a trip to Old Navy for a new shirt to replace the one violently ripped off his chest by a savage, sex hungry romp through the piers. It could help if you carry a puppy. Or Zoloft.

I miss New York. I felt alive there. I definitely felt more love there. The cement was never even, the taxi's had to meet their horn blowing quota for the month, you'd always just miss the N train, the bike messengers were on a mission from God to destroy all non-believers and the lady behind you in line would never fail to piss you off, but it always felt right. Peaceful in mayhem. Even a chubs could feel a glance every once in a while.