Under the Neon Sign.....

       In 1978 it was a very tumultuous year on the whole from the deaths of two Popes to the mass suicide of the Jim Jones followers. This decade was also a very insane time in the Philadelphia era of Mayor Frank L. Rizzo and his debacles with Philadelphia race relations. It was the year of Grease and Saturday Night Fever and the sounds of disco could be heard outside storefronts of the city's decaying Market Street. It was about 6 or so months after my first sexual encounter ( what I now know today was a rape) and oddly enough I found myself in the area of Upper Darby where this happened looking for another encounter. I have had therapists tell me it is not uncommon for a victim to seek another encounter  because they really do not think of the incident as a rape.
      The Balcony was your typical head shop/record store of the time. The smell of bamboo incense and sounds of the 70's pumped through the massive store and in the back of the store were a group of six or seven teenage boys who seemed to rule the store.I was introduced to the group that summer when I was picking up some disco album or another and that was the beginning of a slow descent into the world of hustling,drugs and the self degradation of this individual.
        Philadelphia has a labyrinth of pedestrian tunnels that run dozens of blocks around the City Hall area of the downtown district.It is here back then in the 70's and 80's that crime and anonymous sex and drug use was the norm in these tunnels. I met this kid Joseph at the Balcony who reminded me of Vinnie Barbarino from the sweathogs,with his bed head hair and eyelashes that made me weak. Joey brought me downtown one Friday afternoon into Center City ( what we here in Philly call downtown) and to suburban station.I followed him into this small area with a shoeshine stand and into a large bathroom area. It was one of those dog days of summer so the heat was intensified underground with the train station below and the smell of shoe polish,urinal blocks, the senses where assaulted at all various angles. The men's room was packed with men standing around and mysterious goings on in a back corner. I was scared but with Joey here I felt a little safe. I watched at the long line of urinals and what was a secret code of cruising (this of which would later become a regular thing in this teens life)slowly come to light as men would saddle up upon a target and the adventure would begin.Joey sided up next to a business man and I watched as hands went into each others space and next thing I know Joey is coming up and with the businessman and we are off into Suburban Station. I am listening to the two talk of "places to go" and I have no idea what is going on with this situation. We come out up onto Market Street and the summer heat slams you twice as hard as you emerge from the subway stairs. We went into the Reading Terminal area and the vast expanse of the train shed. Joey seemed to know where he was going and I could sense the man was getting a little nervous which did not help me at all.  Joey waved to someone and went into a stairwell that took us upstairs into a long corridor then back into another stairwell. The businessman fell silent as Joey turned and with a blink of an eye he had the mans pants down below his knees. Joey's hands fumbled and found the man's chest and played with his tie and without knowing the man grabbed for me and almost pushed me down a flight. I pushed him away and to my surprise Joey stood up quickly and started to kiss me with such force I  had no idea what was happening. The man reached over to both of us and forced his tongue down my throat and I tried to pull away when Joey pushed my head down and with my knees buckling I was pushed onto Joey's cock. With the exchange of fluids and a few 20's I did what I thought I had to to keep my new friend Joey and thus began the degradation of a human spirit and the snuffing out of a child's dream of success.
      In 1991 I began my journey into recovery and for years I found myself thinking I was not deserving the rewards  of recovery. It was not until January 27th of 2003 that I had given up and let the degradation all but kill me. I would get a few years and go out and another couple years and go out. I always went out when I became lonely and the only way for me to get attention was with either a gram of meth or a bundle of rock...you see I think I was the only meth head who gained weight instead of lose it and the once pretty kid was now the overweight gay guy who had to buy love with drugs. I always had this nagging feeling I would miss out on life without something...what..... I can not tell you. I sit in meeting and watch as friends lives blossom and success achieved. I wanted to know why I wasn't the one in love or the one with other success. It's not promised we will receive anything except the desire to stop using in the 12 steps...but I think all of us want something bright in our lives that gives us hope.
     This weekend I experienced an emotional cleansing that can only be explained by one of those little things in recovery we call a miracle. I had attended a meeting for the LGBT community and was really not expecting anything. I had been sitting as usual alone in my head and once the meeting began I watched as the room filled to almost overflowing capacity. I have lived my life in a shell and never thought as giving up the drugs as a way of life....if I did how would I ever love again. The meeting was impressive and I seemed to hear some of my personal story...it was different this time and I listened and of course if you know me....I wept.
     I went to the opening speaker of the convention and found myself in a cavernous room that echoed with cheers and voices of all nations. I was hit with this overwhelming desire to flee and found myself choking back a sob. The corridors were filled with friends and strangers all with these smiles that welcomed the uncomfortable or the newcomer. I came upon the great hall where a food court was and some recovery art pieces and for a brief instant I felt a calm come over me and watched some people with cell phones and looked up at a young woman in about her late 30's with what appeared to be her son standing underneath this huge neon logo of the Narcotics Anonymous sign in this soothing blue tint. I stood back awhile and scanned the auditorium and realized I was in the shell of the Reading Terminal train shed and it was here 35 years ago I began my descent into a hell that lasted for so much of my life it became routine for so long and sadly I did not know of a better life.I backed up into this woman and she grabbed me in a bear hug introduced herself as Pia from Sweden and told me welcome to a better life....I was numb with emotion and walked back to my room and showered and let lose a flood of tears that calmed and comforted me as if I was in my mother's bosom.
     It was a weekend for firsts for me and one being was being in an incredible atmosphere where I did not have to have a bottle or can of pop in my hand to feel comfortable and I danced by myself to tunes that reminded me of some good friends and the days of NYC. I came home when I felt overwhelmed, I made it and I know it's okay to be scared but I'm not alone in this world and the beauty of it was shown inside a building that took something away from me long ago and gave it back in the presence of 40,000 others who had been lost at one time or another and that was my soul.