PART XXI - More Therapy? Get a Life

     I "fell out of love" with Corey but was stuck living with him—sadly like an old couple dependent on each other for monetary reasons.  I couldn’t afford to move out, and with only one income supplying two people, it took awhile to save money.  In fact, it took me a year of working harder than ever, while cutting all my expenses, to put aside a decent amount of money.  That was due to the cheap food in Flushing and its pricey rent being less exorbitant than Bayside.  

     While I lived there, I also hoped to get acquainted with another potential lover or roommate so I could escape Corey.  Did I have luck?  No.  Working against me, the Universe chose to introduce me to guys when I couldn't interact with them!  So frustrating!!!  I always always ALWAYS—encountered them when Corey was at my side.  For weeks, I rode buses back and forth on my terrible commute, yet there were no attractive men to admire.  But on the few days that Corey and I took the bus, I was face-to-face with a cute guy who signaled an attraction for me.  Corey always saw it and flared up, "Why are you looking at that boy?  I'm trying to make our relationship better.  I'm slaving away to help you find a new job.  We just had an intervention with your friends and you're going to do that?!"  His unnerving tirades scared away the guys… and continued in my ears for hours.  I became afraid to acknowledge men when I was with Corey, for fear of his tirades… and always fearing that he might get me kicked out of the sublet.

     Remember that my retail schedule gave me a rotation of days off during each week.  So, it was unbelievably agonizing that whenever I rode a bus or subway with Corey, that was the day that Universe put an attractive guy next to me.  It was almost done tauntingly so I couldn't interact with the fellow.

     For weeks, I did errands on Main Street and only saw old women and slovenly shoppers.  Only when Corey was beside me did I notice attractive guys at the food markets and fruit stalls.  Of course, I couldn't try to meet them because Corey was there.

     Sometimes, my discreet eye contact emboldened a guy to get to know me better.  He might signal me or make a gesture.

     Tortuously and invariably, Corey saw it and made sure that I  didn't respond.  Some guys got offended because I avoided eye-contact, and others figured that I was with a boyfriend.  Either way, they lost interest in me.  Do you think I saw those cute men again?  Nope.  I never had a second chance to meet them.

     Other situations were equally miserable.  For example, a guy who "made eyes" at me at a restaurant—

and whom I wanted to flirt with—was then sitting on the EXACT subway car that Corey and I entered.  So I had to ignore him.

     If Corey hadn't been there, I would've flirted and maybe swapped phone numbers.  It was maddening!  The timing was incredible.  The probability that such things continually happened to me was unbelievable!  It was insanely coincidental!  I felt tormented that I never encountered him again when I was alone.  I saw the same homeless men, the same panhandlers, the same rude commuters... but not him.  How torturous!!!  How teasing!!!  Thanks Universe.  

     Or the instance when an Indonesian named Jeff (seen below)—whom I was friends with on Facebook—was drunk and saw that I was online.  

     Proud of his culture, he believed in polygamy (just like the princely family in Bali which had one of the first interracial royal marriages in 1977).  He regretted how I acted cozy to him at TONY, but he always disregarded me.  Feeling lonely and horny, he messaged me via Facebook.  His message was as hot as the tropical island where he was born.  The message appeared on my computer screen just as Corey walked past.  I should be so lucky to win the Mega-Millions lottery!  Jeff invited me to come over to his Manhattan apartment and f*ck him.  Simple and concise.  Naturally, Corey flew into a tirade—screaming after me into whatever room I went to.  I tried to explain and showed the Conversation Log that I hadn't initiated anything with that guy in over a year.  I was innocent, but it became "evidence" for Corey to use against me.  Thanks again, Universe.  It seemed that the whole scenario was done to give me misery.

     My Texan one-timer, Chance, was on the subway, and Corey prodded me, "Who's that guy staring at you?  Do you know him?  He keeps looking at you."  Maybe Chance wanted to jackhammer me again, but I was still offended at him for treating me like a "notch on his bedpost" and never replying to me, so pretended not to see him.  He didn't approach me.  The next week, I noticed him at the Time Warner Center.  Corey was beside me, so I didn't approach Chance, as he walked past me.

     There was an excruciating moment when the Bulgarian lifeguard passed me on the sidewalk while Corey was walking beside me.  He noticed me and waved, but I pretended not to see him (to avoid Corey's tantrum).  I never saw him again.  The probability of that type of cock-blocking was utterly unbelievable!  Not having the guy's phone number or email, I could not contact him again.

     Another time, Corey and I boarded the subway, and a former fling (the Chinese guy who was overworked by Citibank) was sitting across from of me.  He started to chat with me, but I sensed Corey's impending explosion, and I pretended that I knew the guy from my job.  He got the hint but also lost interest in talking anymore.  I never saw him again.  Why couldn't I have met him during all the times I was solo on the subway or bus?!  I was so frustrated that I could scream!!!

     Making matters worse, MOST of the time that I was away from Corey, I only seemed to be surrounded by old Chinese women!  It was so unfair!

     No, Corey never improved our "sex life", and he never thought it mattered. 

Again, a friend weakly consoled me:

     There was also the unfortunate time that my ex-beau, Anthony (the flight attendant), was back in town and telephoned me to meet up.  He intended to call me later to confirm a time, and we'd pick a place to go for dinner.  I was excited.  Yet, in a weird series of events, my cellphone somehow fell out of my pants pocket and into my toilet... and kept slipping out of my hands as I desperately tried to retrieve it.  When I got it out, the phone was dead and I lost all my stored telephone numbers.  I wasn’t able to call Anthony again, and he never contacted me again (even after I got my new phone with the same telephone number).  How unfair!!!

     Oddly, in the same timeframe, I got an invite from another former fling for lunch in Astoria.  His career was in Information Technology—often from home, where he did some weightlifting. 

     He wanted to apologize to me for how he ended things with me.  I told Corey that I was seeing a friend for lunch in Astoria.  I met the guy, complimented his new beard, and we chatted happily at a vegan restaurant.  He was "seeing" a guy but was looking to end it.  He suggestively offered to show me his new apartment.  As we walked there, Corey called me to say that he was on the subway heading to Astoria—figuring that I should be done with lunch by then—and he wanted to meet me.  The guy overheard and said sullenly, "It seems like you have things going on.  I guess I'll let you go."  Despite my encouragement, he didn't invite me inside.  He merely gave me a hug and said Goodbye.
     As it did many times before, Fate finally gave me guys, but then revoked my chances to interact more deeply with them!

     Anything I did wrong invoked Corey's rants, his hysteric phone calls to Bob or Joe (getting them involved for advice), sleepless nights of arguing, his threat of throwing me out of the apartment, et cetera.  Could I trust Corey’s insanity with my personal possessions when I wasn’t at home or when I was sleeping?  Thus, I didn't do anything too risqué.  I decided to bide my time and save up enough money, so that I afford my own place—as meager as it might be.  

     Corey didn’t make our stale relationship better either: he just didn’t want to release me.  I realized that I must calmly "end things" on the basis of a lack of true love and pray for a somewhat-normal "roommate" situation.

     There were two times that I finally "broke up" with Corey... only to have him call my friend Joe in a panic for another "intervention".  The first time, Corey knelt down sobbing uncontrollably, begging me to forgive him!  For what?  For using me, for making me do all the chores and dirty work, for probably cheating on me, for letting me suffer so he could have a comfy non-working life for a whole year?  Did he really feel guilty?  

     The amazing thing is that as soon as I “broke up” with Corey (we were still “roommates”—who comically but torturously shared the same bed), random men popped into my life... almost as if my "bottled up" karma was overflowing.  

     One instance was with a fellow whom I encountered twice on Flushing's Main Street: alongside me at a food market, and at a nearby table of an eatery, a week later.  His name was Alan, and he was from Changchun, China.

     We exchanged looks, he gestured me to join him, and we ended up having bubble tea together.  Sexual innuendo arose, and he invited me to his place.  Like many Asian men, he displayed great hospitality: he made sure I was comfortable, offered me water/juice, and had a clean bedroom.  He danced while undressing, and I admired his chiseled physique!  As he slid down his jeans, every curve and muscle seemed glued right in place—just like my eyes, as they traced along his butt, thighs, and calves.  He was perfectly defined, from his toes up to his talented tongue.  But it soon became evident that neither of us had privacy at our homes; his roommate arrived!  "Blue balls"!  On my next meeting with him, he was twice was eager.  We walked around Flushing in the evening air... for a long time.  After awhile, my feet got tired, and that’s when he revealed that—all along—he was scouting for a quiet spot in some bushes or between buildings to have oral or anal sex with me.  I was stunned.  Flushing was 50-times more populated than Bayside, so his intention seemed as risky as having sex in a grocery market! (which he dared me to do).

No, there were no areas with privacy.  Soon, I was taught where to find it.

     Seen below, Steven (from Nanjing, China) told me that the darkened park/handball court was the only "hook-up" spot that he used... after sundown...

...on a park bench.

(Yes, his fetish was "outdoor sex").  Seen in the picture below, he wanted to use the bench on the right... behind the tree and wall.  It gave privacy.  He was calmly confident that nobody would see us while he rammed me.  (After all, hasn't everyone been f*cked on a park bench?)  

*I did return to watch the shirtless basketball and handball players...

...but nothing materialized from them or other male spectators.

     From a local restaurant, I met a macho chef from South Korea named Alex.  He only wanted to "plow me" in his building's basement hallway... at night.

     He always led our interactions, and he chose sexual positions that satisfied him and were uncomfortable for me.  He loved to bend me forward with my legs apart in a mix of a crouch and a squat.  It was a kinky thrill for him to f*ck a white guy in a public place, but I got tired of being on my toes, with my knees bent (to offset our different heights), and my hands on the grimy floor where cockroaches scurried.  

     I suggested that we try using his apartment when his roommate was gone or asleep, but he hissed, "No I can't risk that!  Why can't you be respectful of my situation?!"  In the end, he was also too rough as a sex partner, so I stopped.  I already compromised to be with exhibitionists who craved public places, but I prefer guys who use lube, and he started to want "dry sex".


     Ivan was from the Kingdom of Thailand.  We met online.

In his homeland, it was easy find (or hire) guys for homosexual fun.  He didn't understand why NYC, which claimed to be the biggest gay mecca, had scarcity (unless you used websites or phone apps).  He suggested using a cheap hotel that charged by the hour.  That occurred twice.  His "equipment" was slim and longer than average, he had longstanding stamina, and I enjoyed being with him.  He liked the softness of my facial cheeks and the firmness of my other cheeks.  His work schedule altered, and he became unavailable.

     Days later, I spotted a Chinese guy at Starbucks, whom I recognized from his "gay" online profile.  (That's him, in shorts).

When I had a moment with him at the counter—out of earshot of his friend—I mentioned his profile name.  My grin was returned with a look of impressed interest.  He asked bluntly if I was horny.  To my reply, he told me to discreetly follow him, as he walked his friend home.  Parting ways with his buddy, he turned and gestured for me to come home with him.  The sex was memorable.  He didn't want it to end, so he paused and put a cock ring on himself.  It was a compliment!  

When he finally let himself climax, his face was priceless.  I anticipated more times, but he was a "non-repeat" lover; he never slept with the same guy twice.  Too bad.

     One afternoon, I caught sight of a cute Korean on the subway who had lovely legs.

     To my delight, we both walked to the same bus stop and boarded the same bus.  He exuded gay vibes.  We made eye contact several times.  As I got off, he exited the bus, too.  I waited for him.  He asked me for directions to find an apartment building.  It was the same one that Chef Alex resided in, which was mostly occupied by Koreans.  (In Queens, people tend to cluster within the same nationalities; a building will be mostly Vietnamese, Korean, or Indian, etc.)  While I looked at the piece of paper with the address, I discreetly held his hand, and he gave me a flirty smile.  His name was Jun.  We chatted/flirted as I escorted him to the building.  Being freshly-transplanted from Korea, he told me that he wasn't interested in starting a relationship yet.  (That meant that sexual fun was okay, but nothing too serious).  I told Jun that I was fine with that.  Without an apartment yet, he couldn't invite me inside, but we drank tea in the area.  We swapped phone numbers.  With the aide of another Korean whom he knew in the building, Jun got an apartment there.  Several days later, he invited me to go out for dinner.

     After eating, he told me to follow him to his new home.  I did, and he showed me his beautiful erection.  The tip glistened with moist excitement.  Fun ensued: standing sex, against the kitchen counter, kneeling on his ottoman, his momentum pushing me off the bed, and with my legs over my head on his armchair.  We fit into each other perfectly; every thrust was wondrous.  Our chemistry was amazing; we shattered glass!  We rendezvoused every night of that week.  By Friday, we knew how to excite ourselves to provide "two rounds".  Delighted with me, Jun asked me to stay longer with him.  Without much furniture, he suggested walking in the neighborhood and talking.  We did... until the stars came out.  He made plans with me to meet during the next week.  Days later, he cancelled them.  A week passed, and he finally agreed to meet me again.  But there was a sudden change in his demeanor.  Jun told me that he could not risk appearing to be gay, or he would lose his apartment, and shame could befall his family in Korea (whom he was trying to hide his sexuality from).  I was expendable, and he never met me again.  (Later, Alex told me that Jun stopped living in the building anyway).

     On another day, I recognized a hunky Latin American from my time in Bayside.  I approached him (seen below).  

     I quickly realized that he didn't remember me, but he thought I was cute and flirty.  It was fun for me to act like I was getting to know him; I already knew how to flatter him.  Aroused, he took me to an apartment and topped me.  After thoroughly awesome sex, he said, "You felt great!  I loved being inside you.  You remind me of a young man I knew in Bayside.  It was amazing!"  I discovered that he was only spending the weekend at a friend's apartment in Flushing, and then he returned to his area of Queens.  His schedule prevented us from reuniting again.  Still, it was a tremendous compliment; even if he didn't remember my face, he couldn't forget my ass.

     Corey soon made promises to fix things between us.  I agreed.  He continued to do things exactly the same, and I ended our relationship again.

     As if a magic spell ended, as soon as I did that, the Universe permitted me to encounter attractive guys while I was unaccompanied (instead of only when Corey was with me).  I cherished a tryst with a martial arts instructor who preferred to be a top and was capable of impressive sexual positions.

     My tightness induced him to climax sooner than he wanted, so he began the ritual of jerking off next to me—or asking me to give him a handjob—before we had sex, so he lasted longer.  It required him to rest for 20 minutes before sex, but the strategy gave him two eye-popping orgasms, and I had double-fun.  Jae and I did that four times, and then he relocated to a nicer area.

     After that, I was waiting in the hot sun for the homeward bus after work.  Amidst undocumented day-laborers, cleaning ladies, restaurant kitchen staff, and a few retail salespeople, a cute stranger (below) locked eyes with me.

     He held his gaze much much longer than normal and smiled slyly, checking me out.  I glanced away and then back, and he was still looking at my eyes.  I held his gaze, and he pursed his lips and jutted his jaw out with a nod of approval.  I licked my lips, and he broadly smiled and did the same.  After a long day at work, I was getting "cruised" at the bus stop, and I was thrilled.

     We sat together on the bus.  Carlos was a Barnes & Noble employee in Manhattan.  That day, he rode the train to visit a friend in Great Neck.  Before returning, he felt an urge to walk a few miles "in a new direction" (to explore), and he was delighted that he encountered me.  

     I was astounded.  During the 45-minute bus ride to Flushing, we talked, he flirted, and I smiled hungrily.  With politeness, he stated that he wanted to sleep with me.  Hallelujah!  As a huge coincidence, he lived in my neighborhood!  I couldn't believe it!  His work schedule fluctuated, but he was working the late shift in two days, as was I.  We swapped phone #s.  Carlos invited me over for a "morning romp" before work.  
     His home was bright, cheerful, and tidy.  He offered French-press coffee.  He began a sensual undressing, massage, fingering, and oral play.  His physical efforts were amazing!  He loved to take his time, work the muscles, work his suction skills, and keep his lips/tongue/hands busy.  He loved my moaning... and leakage.  He loved foreplay, and I happily kept up with him.

     We intended to share a second orgasm—including him finally getting inside me.  I sooooo wanted to take advantage of that last muscle of his, but I soon realized that I was VERY late for work!  My cellphone started ringing, with Corey trying to find out why I wasn’t at work (he called the store to tell me some trivial complaint about our apartment and learned that I wasn't there yet).  I could’ve said, “Screw the world” and enjoyed more time with Carlos.  My mistake.   Apologizing to Carlos that there wasn't more time, I politely left and rushed to catch the next bus (afraid of what my micro-managing store managers would belittle me with, because of my tardiness).  
     My penalty was that Carlos succinctly told me that we weren’t a match.  No second chance.  No understanding.  How could I have possibly offended him so much?  His vocal enthusiasm and the spray he gave me showed how satisfied he was.  I helped clean up and kissed him lots before I left.  He knew that I had to go to work.  What test did I fail?  Wasn't me "hooking up" with him a sign that I did have adventure and spontaneity?  If Carlos hadn't judged me and gave me another chance, it probably would've been a big bolster to my aura of happiness.  Alas, I had been given a blessing of sexual excitement, and I was frustrated that it was easily snatched away.  Not to give up, I texted him politely.  His reply was "No".  I went to every Barnes & Noble in the city until I found him, and then made it seem accidental as I tried to smile and restart our conversation.  He was uninterested.  Twice.  In movies, such efforts let the lovers reunite... but not for me.  I let myself feel upset and dejected.


     A week later, a gay acquaintance—who was a twink—texted me.  Previously, we had great sex twice, but he decided that we were better as friends because I lived too far from him, and I worked on the weekends.  

     He said, "I took your advice!  I decided to finally 'get out there' and meet men.  I went to Union Square.  Instead of bringing a friend, I went alone and looked available.  But, I retreated to my own world and soon went into Barnes & Noble to look at books.  Later that night, I get messaged by a guy who I have a crush on from Instagram.  He asked if I was at B&N today?  He was shopping there and saw me buying comic books.  Out of all the people in the world, he saw me!  On top of that, he works in Union Square, near my job!  And he's so hot.  I knew you'd be proud of me.  Your notions shockingly worked."  
     Yes, I was pleased for him... but agonized that my own advice wasn't helping me.  

     Watch this short video.  If I behaved like this person, I could understand why I was suffering...

     Since I didn't behave like that, I couldn't understand why I was plagued with so many years of misery.  I would've leapt at the chance to be helped in such a way!

     Corey investigated my computer's internet history and saw my attempts to get away.  He created several "interventions" by calling Joe.  Joe volunteered to either come over, or pick us up and host us at his home.  His wife, Kathy, gladly tried to help, too.  Most of the time, Joe drove to me and brought us to his apartment, in another part of Queens.  Kathy cooked hearty meals, and I helped.  She was happy to share her Pakistani heritage with me.

     Despite being created as a Muslim nation in 1947 (Hindu and Sikh followers stayed in India), Pakistan's third-largest religion is Christianity.  Kathy was Christian, and her parents experienced British rule until 1947.

Kathy had a mix of conservativeness, bubbly energy, and tradition.  It blended with her husband's Catholicism, Italian vivacity, and love of cooking.  The meals that we shared were affordable but plenteous, and Kathy always had handmade desserts and sweet tea (from a teapot into teacups with saucers).

     Then, the discussions began.  Corey blamed our troubles on my “sex starved” attitude, and blamed how miserable I was on my lowered compensation at work and my miserable existence.  As proof that I was "a sexual deviant who didn't deserve intimacy with him", he cited the pictures of cute men in that occasionally popped up on my screensavers—amongst pictures of great architecture, gardens, nature scenes, fashion, and memories of friends.  Joe actually agreed with him that the pictures might be disturbing.  (??!!)  Joe asked why I needed them?  (As if his son didn't have pictures of scantily-clad girls in his room?!)  The same man who encouraged my Assistant Manager to seduce a stock girl—in my bathroom, as you recall—actually told me to "tone it down".    
     Joe and Kathy seemed curious to learn about my sexual habits.  Then, they discussed them with Corey.  Can you imagine my level of discomfort?  I was appalled.

     Joe also questioned my desire to have other gay friends in my life?  I tried to answer that it was the same reason Corey wanted to see his friends on weekends.  The same reason gay guys go to gay bars together.  Seen below, I'm not sure that Kathy or Joe understood.

     To their credit, Joe and his wife actually put their life on hold—several times—to intervene in my life, which I appreciated as best I could.  However, it often ended embarrassingly for me, with them learning—from Corey or from them questioning me—about my masturbation habits, sexual preferences, what kind of body odor I might have (when I returned from busy days at work), eating habits, and exercise habits.  Corey told them about every little thing that I did wrong, but never answered questions about himself.  

     Could you imagine having to discuss/defend your masturbatory routines with a parental-age married couple who are friends and a former coworker of yours?!  

     Constantly explaining your life, and having to justify your sexuality, is exhausting.  Even when the questions appeared to be well-intentioned, their nosiness was evident.  The feeling of being surveilled was incredibly oppressive.  
     I realized that it was hard for my two friends to offer advice on something they knew nothing about.  It was hard for them to emphasize because straight couples didn't act like gay ones did.  Throughout all of our late-night chats (ending after midnight), my well-meaning friends simply pried and exposed more of my privacy in the hope that I would be consoled.  Not to fault them, Joe’s other "intervention phone calls" were life-savers.  His calmness kept me grounded during Corey’s tumultuous “shrieking sessions”, and during Corey's threats of going to the landlord to have me thrown out.  Without Joe's comfort (since I didn't get comfort from anyone else), I might’ve lost all my sanity.  So, I faced the embarrassing conversations, did my best to glean something from the discourse, and tried to show my friends that I was willing to make my life better.
     Corey broke the rules (below), and I didn't understand why he kept floating irresponsibly through life—on the backs of others?  Are we sure that those rules work?  If you notice the pattern, it seems as if breaking the rules HELPS people!  Damnit!

     Corey DID slip up and admit that he went through my cell phone at night and checked my Internet history.  He never found anything, but he kept vigilantly invading my privacy… just in case.  He was paranoid!  I was insulted and outraged.  Corey also admitted that he followed me to the basement whenever I did laundry, to make sure I didn’t call anybody or meet another guy.  Who did he think I'd meet in the laundry room?!  I wish it had been somebody like this...

     Corey told Joe how he called me daily at work, at lunchtime, just after closing time, and within the estimated time of when I should be arriving home… to keep tabs on me.  He wanted appreciation because he was supposedly “killing himself” looking for jobs for "both of us", managing his stocks, and finding ways for me to save money.  I argued that if I lived with a boyfriend who paid his own way, I would save LOTS of money AND be able to do some nice things for myself!  Joe and his wife got Corey to promise never to throw me out of the apartment. 

     I couldn't handle being with Corey, which I told Joe privately.  Nevertheless, Joe and his wife advised Corey and I to take "Couple's Therapy" via my insurance, which we did.  Therapy is supposed to be helpful.  Ours was a stressful "production", worthy of a comedy movie—where you laugh at the character's misfortunes.  Thanks again, Fate.  
     I called the Therapy Agency's head guy (pun intended), named Dr. K.  He sent us to a psychologist for initial evaluation, saying that doctor would choose the “perfect” therapist for us.  Corey and I met with her for an hour, discussing our needs.  I paid out-of-pocket.  A week later, we were referred to “our” psychologist on the Upper East Side—even though Corey insisted I needed a psychiatrist who could prescribe me drugs to level my mood (or perhaps to make me complacent to him).  He declared that the drugs would be helpful because he wanted me to pay for a trip for both of us to Hong Kong to “meet his family”. 
     The doctor began the weekly sessions by having Corey wait outside each time and talking only with me.  After four weeks, we impatiently asked when Corey would be allowed to speak?  The doctor was bewildered, saying the treatment was only for me!  She knew nothing of us wanting couple therapy!  By then, my insurance deductible was depleted, and I fumed on the phone with Dr. K, demanding him to find us a “couple's therapist” immediately.  With Corey hysterically upset at me, I vented at Dr. K, calling the entire thing unprofessional and citing that we specifically asked for Couple Therapy at the initial evaluation!  His staff's mistakes cost us precious time, used up some of my insurance allotment, and put undue stress on our troubled "relationship".  You're supposed to be able to trust your therapist, right?  The whole thing is supposed to begin on trust!  Dr. K hadn't been listening!  Corey insisted that we be treated by the first doctor who evaluated us.  Dr. K said that the woman didn’t normally do “couples” and she was pricier… but he’d see what he could do.  Great.  Two weeks later (we weren't a priority) it was all arranged.  Finally!

     On our way to the therapist, Corey insisted that we cross between subway cars before the 7-train left the Flushing station terminus.  It's illegal, and it was the first time that I did it.  As Fate arranged it, two policewomen saw us and gave both of us tickets for $80.  Instead of Corey apologizing to me, he berated the police and was in a huff towards me.  Great start.    
     We began six weeks of couple therapy, but it was punctuated with constant delays when our therapist cancelled several times for personal reasons, and then her end-of-year holidays.  The only positive results were the books that she assigned:

     Upon the New Year, our relationship was so strained that I could hardly stand the sight of Corey.  I demanded my owed money from him.  He was in the habit of giving me shouting matches for hours about how terrible I was to him, how I stressed him so that he was losing weight, and how his “friends hated me for what I did to him”!  He said that he should have never sold his own place.  I accused him of ditching the place because he couldn’t afford it at that time, since he lost his last “Sugar Daddy” and was living in squalor.  I accused him of living off of me like a leach, feeding me to keep me making money, but never really romantically attracted to me—yet demanding the “home life” benefits that a domestic partner would get from me.  We never had sex!!!  Affection did not exist.  I did nothing wrong to deserve that!  
     When we finally met our psychologist again in January, she noticed that my eye twitched, and she attributed it to tension.  (The tension was partly her fault).  She listened as Corey did his usual run-on ranting, then she stopped him and said, “I don’t see why you two are together!  You don’t love him.  Why are you with him?”  Corey lacked an answer.  It officially confirmed what I knew.  She assessed me as miraculously well-adapted and sane, considering my life.  That ended our therapy, and I told her to get the money from my insurance company without bothering me anymore.  I was also finished with Corey, and with him sucking energy from me with the depth of his Need.  It had been a year of phycological torture.

     My life didn't have to be so scary for me, or so horrible.  I was fed up being poked and prodded, having my privacy invaded, being blocked from my intentions (career advancement, relationships, social fun), being deprived, being cheated, being "dumped on", having miserable people constantly telling me all their problems, working so much for such miserable compensation, and having good people being kept away—as weirdos were ushered continually into my world—while I watched other people enjoying whatever life they chose.  

     I hadn't chosen to move in with Chris.  I was funneled into living with him, like I was funneled into Bayside... and my slow attorney.  I hadn't rejected other good homes for my first Flushing apartment.  Corey found it for me, and it was the only one available within my deadline.  Speaking of whom, it was not as if I rejected other boys' offers to start dating Corey.  It's also unfortunate that soon after I began exploring a dating life with him, my life spiraled down even further, causing me to grasp him like a life preserver.  It's not like I rejected other job offers to keep working at my job.  My diplomas got dusty, while my attempts to get new jobs failed.  My company declined while I worked for it, just like my three prior jobs!  
     I spent years striving to make many other people's lives pleasant and comfortable.  Where were they to help me?  The Secret says that what you put out comes back to you.  I enriched so many lives, but who reciprocated?  I was fed up with the current people in my life—all draining me.  Instead of finally breaking free, I turned each corner of Life and got more terrible people.  Despite all the helpful advice and warnings I gave out to others, nobody was able to properly advise me or warn me or shield me.  Many hadn't bothered trying.  
     Similarly, all the fund-raising, organizing, streamlining, planning, collaborating, people-magnetizing, and success-creating I did for so many organizations & careers left me practically penniless & alone, with little to show for it.  It was akin to the biblical character, Job (in the Book of Job).
     You know how it felt to be seemingly fighting against Fate?  It felt like driving full force in a bulldozer into the Pacific Ocean and seeing how far you moved the ocean that is coming in against you.
     Why couldn't things be any better?