It is currently 3:17 AM on December 21st, and I'm sitting at work waiting for the next round of patient checks. I just finished rereading last year’s essay, “27,” as a refresher. Contrary to last year, I decided to start my birthday essay a few days early this year, since I have big plans which would hinder any chance of writing another. Last year, I started my essay right as the clock struck 12 AM on December 23rd, and finished it, after celebrating the day, on December 24th at around 4 AM. I wrote it mostly for myself, but to my surprise, it was well-received by my family and friends, even acquaintances. It meant a lot to me that people took the time to read what I had to say. I am a writer at heart, and it only felt natural to spend time writing down my reflection on the year and what it was like for me.
Being a Christmas babe, my birthdays have always been hard on me, growing up less fortunate than other kids, and silently wishing it fell on a different date. I used to imagine picking another day, sometime in the summer, to celebrate my birthday; this way people wouldn't be too stressed from the holidays and it would feel special and worth remembering. However, with age comes realizations, and I've grown accustomed to being born near Christmas. It is part of what makes me special. I've also come to see that I am not the only one born around the holidays to have felt this way—even January babes share similar woes. As you get older, you stop caring so much if others care for your birthday. Ultimately, I think it is up to you, and the people you choose to keep around, to help make it feel special.
My dad even asked me sardonically, "Who writes an essay for their birthday?" Although it wasn't a genuine inquiry, the answer was easy: me! So, I've decided to do it every year, both as a way of honoring the past and preparing for the future. Psychologically, I think it also helps with processing my thoughts and emotions, and compartmentalizing the experiences. So, naturally, I think the best place to start is where it ended. As I’ve already written, the year was big for me at 26: graduating with my bachelor's, earning honors with a research publication, being the best man at my dad's wedding, applying for Clinical Psychology PhD programs, and growing my business in the exotic animal industry. I started the year knowing what to anticipate, which was the fruition of my hard work. However, I ended the year not knowing what to expect. It felt unusual for me, but I kept my hopes high, as is another character trait of mine. Here, the essay will detail the unfolding of the unknown and how I learned to navigate this treacherousness at 27.
[Note: It didn't go as planned, but it was filled with pleasant surprises.]
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I just got done eating lunch. It was a new meal for me, that Ty and I brainstormed together: Cajun sausage with pasta in vodka sauce flavored with Cajun and Garlic & Wine seasoning. This year I have eaten more different types of pasta than I ever have in my life. I think such is life with an Italiano boyfriend. While he doesn't cook, he has wonderful ideas for meals that I enjoy making. Vodka sauce is another new one I was afraid to try at first, but I've learned it is quite good: Oh my, flavoring it with the Cajun seasoning was exquisite! I ended up taking a 45-minute lunch, which gave me time to enjoy my meal and decompress before going back onto the floor.
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The year started off tragically for me. As I noted in my previous essay, I lost my male Virginia opossum to old age the day before my birthday last year. At the time of writing the essay, I still had my female, Phoebe. I knew she would soon follow suit with her old age, and my predictions were correct. I lost her on the 6th of January. Losing both Opie and Phoebe within such a short time frame took a major emotional toll on me. Of course, I knew it was to be expected, but that didn’t make it any less painful.
My opossums meant a lot to me. Before getting them, I spent around a year preparing for their arrival. I applied and was granted a personal pet permit from the Florida Wildlife Commission to keep them legally as pets, and I followed all the rules and regulations set by the United States Department of Agriculture to keep them. I spent around $1,200 to custom build their cage in compliance with their regulations, although they only used it for sleep and mostly just roamed my house at night. Opie would only go inside the cage to make his clicking noises if he knew Phoebe was still in bed, “Hey, I’m here for you!” I purchased them as captive bred animals from USDA-certified breeders, in accordance with both the law and my own ethics. I wanted to do it the right way, so that I didn't have to keep them secret and give them the best life possible.
Unlike Opie, Phoebe's decline was very sudden. It all happened so quickly, which I think added to the pain. She had already lost her eyesight from old age, but she didn't allow that to hold her back and remained the same. Phoebe had the ritual of sleeping in an armoire that I kept in her cage, but would wake up every night around 8 PM to groom herself, and eventually make her way to the kitchen where she stayed until it was time to eat, drink, or use the bathroom. Unfortunately for me, Phoebe didn’t take to potty training like Opie did.
I originally got two, a male and female (or jack and jill), with the intentions of hopefully breeding opossums. I didn’t get so lucky, as Opie and Phoebe were extremely incompatible. Opie loved Phoebe, but Phoebe did not love Opie. There were a few times he managed to copulate with her, but it didn’t result in babies. I always looked forward to their shenanigans, as Opie would continuously follow her around when she would be roaming. If he got too close to her, she would let him know by making this god-awful noise that sounded like two cement blocks rubbing against each other. As soon as Opie would hear that noise, he would go running! Their social dynamics were comical and reminded me of something you would see in a children’s book. I’ve always said I wanted to immortalize them by turning them into characters for a children’s book.
On the 5th, I noticed she wasn’t able to climb back up into her bed, so I helped her. Shortly after, I learned she was able to climb just fine, but wanted to sleep on the floor. That’s when I knew. The night of her passing, her breathing became labored and she appeared frightened. It showed me that even animals know when their time is coming. I held her and gave her as much comfort as I could. Phoebe wasn’t as affectionate as Opie, but she showed her love in other ways. She loved when I went to her “spots,” and when I’d pet her, she’d “pet” me back. She came from a noisy pet store, which I think made her a bit antisocial. That was okay with me, though, and I loved her all the same. She taught me that love can be nourished at a distance.
Phoebe’s death also taught me that us humans are not so special in acknowledging our own mortality. Keeping these opossums brought a lot of joy and light into my life, regardless of the fact they are short-lived. They were the ones up with me late at night doing university work; they were the ones that gave me purpose when I was alone. They kept me busy, and I loved being their caretaker. Even acknowledging the pain, I still have no regrets keeping them and bringing them into my life. In the future, when I’m able, I’d like to do wildlife rehabilitation with opossums, and possibly open up a sanctuary for them. At the very least, I want to be able to contribute financially to helping save these precious animals, which are always on the short end of the stick with humans.
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In March, I decided to visit family and go back home to Tennessee. It had been a few years since I’d been home, and it was certainly long overdue. It was a goal of mine to connect with my niece and nephew while I was up there, as well as use the trip as a small vacation. I’m not great about calling home, but I missed my family dearly. I also missed the beauty of where I grew up in the Upper Cumberland Plateau region of Tennessee.
My car needed new wheel bearings and an oil change before I left. I paid my neighbor and helped him change one wheel bearing. It ended up taking way longer than we both anticipated, and I didn’t have time to change the other. I had already taken the days off from work, so I decided not to postpone the trip and rested easy knowing we had changed the one that was bad. I went to Valvoline to get my oil changed, and I was off.
The drive up was pretty easy and uneventful. From Fort Myers to Hilham, it took about 13 hours, stopping for gas three times. My cousin, Dustin, and his wife, Summer, were kind enough to let me stay with them and their new baby, but I stopped by my nanny Carolyn’s house first. They were so happy to see me. They were all shocked by how skinny I was. Of course, losing almost 80 lbs comes with a dramatic change in appearance. To be fair, I was shocked by how skinny my nanny was, too. I got to see my nephews, Memphis and Zek, as well as my cousins Sadie Rose and Walker, who were also very excited to see me.
I went back to Dustin’s house, met their new little one, and went to bed. I was exhausted. I told my nanny that I’d spend the day with her and the nephews the very next day. I wanted to spend time with them before doing anything else so that no feelings would be hurt. Of course, I was up there partially to connect with my nephews, but I know my family well enough to know things would be said if I didn’t do that first before going off to have “fun.” I didn’t mind at all, and we ended up planning a really good day.
We decided to go to Standing Stone State Park, which is just over yonder—about ten minutes away. It was me, my sister Aspen, her fiancé, my nephews, my nanny, and my cousin Donnie. We mostly played in the creek and on the playground. We took a bunch of beautiful pictures: me with my sister, me with my nephews, everyone together, and some scenery shots. It was a lovely, relaxing day that I desperately needed. The most memorable part for me was going “Indian money” hunting with my nephews and teaching them what was taught to me—the folklore behind the fossilized coral. They were so eager to find more and more, and it truly felt like we bonded that day.
Heading out, the day took a turn. Driving up the hills was too hard on my car, and my other wheel bearing gave out. I was unable to use my car for the trip after all, but my nanny let me borrow hers while I was there. Thankfully, she is a very gracious woman.
The next day, I went to the River with my cousin Dustin. The River is land my family leased from the Langfords for probably 50 years or more, until recently. It has Roaring River running through it, with mountains, bluffs, small creeks, and gully-trenched trails. Many people go down there to go mudding, but we use it to camp, look for animals, or simply connect with nature.
We mostly ended up fishing. Dustin also showed me how things had changed; the river was constantly reshaping the embankments. We went to the Big Rocks, which are a bunch of boulders that fell from the bluff decades ago. We really had a great time, and I enjoyed hanging out with Dustin. Although we’re cousins, I’ve always felt a brotherly bond with him. Afterwards, we all went out to the local Mexican restaurant, Casa Mexicana.
Beyond that, I also wanted to see my brother, Kameron, and connect with my new niece, Juniper, in Kentucky. Although they live only about 45 minutes away, they don’t tend to drive back to Tennessee very often. Hell, driving more than 15 minutes in my family is considered a long trip. So, I packed up with my nanny and our family friend, Judy, to go see them.
We had a blast. Both the drive there and back were serene, getting to see the beautiful countryside of both Tennessee and Kentucky. I met and connected with my niece for the first time, as well as meeting my “bonus” nephews, Jameson and Hudson. We mostly just played with the toys at their house. Kameron’s mom, Kim, and a couple of her grandkids also stopped by, which was great to see. In the end, we took some family photos and said our goodbyes. On the way back, we stopped at a charming country restaurant and had a fantastic meal.
I also ended up meeting up with some old friends. September, my old girlfriend from seventh grade, was anxious to see me, so I stopped by her house to catch up. I tried very hard to meet up with my old best friend, Lacy, but unfortunately couldn’t make it happen with her busy schedule.
Needless to say, I had a lingering stress about how I was going to make it back home to Florida with my car broken down. I called all the local mechanics, and everyone had a two-plus-week wait. Thankfully, my cousin knew how to fix it—I just had to get the part to us. I already had the part, but it was back in Florida. Thankfully, my roommate pulled through and sent it next-day after I created the label and scheduled the pickup.
Just like with my neighbor, it took Dustin longer than expected to get it fixed. He kept saying, “Kota, I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to do this.” We ran into one issue after another. Not only was I dealing with the stress of my car, but I was also dealing with stress from work. My boss was catastrophizing the situation and mostly focused on what was going to happen with the animal I was in charge of caring for. To be fair, I understand why he was freaking out, since he was on vacation himself. The person I chose to cover for me for when I got the job in behavioral health pulled through after I sent a very long list of what needed to be done.
With my luck, it turned out I also needed new tires; mine were bald with wires showing. So, just before I left, I went to the tire shop and got new ones. While I ended up spending way more money than I anticipated, I made sure to save enough beforehand, which helped.
Somehow, I was only one day behind schedule. Dustin ended up fixing my wheel bearing, and I was ready to go. I got back in one piece, and my car was in great shape. It was certainly a challenge coordinating my time to see everyone, but I thoroughly enjoyed my visit. They really did make me feel like I was some kind of local celebrity. I’ll forever value the time I spent with everyone, and I look forward to seeing them again next year.
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I just took a sip of water as I continue writing this essay on my new iPad. In fact, I was gifted this by my boyfriend as an early Christmas gift. I told him he was crazy for spending so much money on me like that. He knew I needed and would appreciate it with all the things I do, such as art, business, and writing. I did a practice drawing of a realistic-looking eyeball that stunned even me. I drew it on a shift that was rather quiet, and took it around to show my colleagues when I finished. I loved seeing their reactions.
Moreover, this iPad is equipped with a keyboard and pencil that allows for multifaceted use. It took me a little bit to get used to them, but I'm finding it feels more natural with practice. I think maybe I'm at a point I can retire my old laptop, which barely even works anyways. Although materialistic, having an iPad has always been a dream of mine.
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The biggest thing I was looking forward to was being accepted into a graduate PhD program this year. Being accepted into a program would’ve greatly determined how the year would have turned out for me: saving up to move, deciding if I wanted to live on or off campus, and figuring out how I would be moving my pets with me. I had such high hopes with graduating with honors, doing advanced research, and actually knowing exactly what I wanted to study. I applied to multiple programs within the state of Florida and crossed my fingers.
I vividly remember getting my first letter from a university. I was at Eric’s, my reptile keeping position, when the email came through. I told myself, “You can wait until after work to check it.” I immediately called my dad with my anxiety; I was getting overwhelmed by it. After I got off the phone, my head started buzzing and I was increasingly feeling nauseated. It shocked me how this anticipation affected me. I just had to check it. So, I did and read, in essence, “Thank you for applying. We’re sorry to inform you that you have not been accepted into the program. We’re not able to explain why. Please try again another year!” I was heartbroken. Surprisingly, it made me feel better, physiologically, but psychologically, I was in shock. I said to myself, “That’s OK, I still have 4 more to hear back from.”
The letters came in, one by one, with each of them rejections. I couldn’t believe it; I felt so embarrassed. I was very open about sharing my journey with applying to these programs, and I knew I had so many people that believed I’d get in. In a way, it felt as if I’ve fooled them somehow. Perhaps everyone saw more in me that wasn’t actually there. The rejections hurt, and it was one of the more difficult things I’ve had to reconcile in my mind. My ego was scalded.
I knew I needed to process it, feel the hurt, and not let it overcome me. I knew I was applying to incredibly difficult programs, and I knew I was competing with people already with their Master’s degrees, as well as people already having professional experience working in mental health. The luck I had by my side had been all used up. So, I kept it to myself apart from close family and friends. After a few weeks, I emailed my recommenders for the programs, as well as my mentors, of the news. I remember the tears rolling down my face as I wrote those emails. I suppose this was the hardest part for me. However, writing those emails evoked something in me that felt empowering. After about a month of acceptance, I finally decided to let everyone know with an announcement and an increased confidence. I was not about to give up, and gained even more motivation to try again. I told everyone in my announcement to please not feel sad for me. The rejections certainly forced me to go from Plan A to Plan B, but that didn’t mean it was the end of the road—it’s just a different road to the same destination: the moon.
I thought long and hard about the things I could’ve done better. There were many unexpected challenges that came with applying that I certainly did not anticipate. One being unable to take the GRE and forcing me to apply only to universities that didn’t require it. This unfortunately excluded me from applying to the university I graduated from. I paid and scheduled to take the GRE, which was very expensive, but my computer couldn’t handle the software requirements and forced me out of the test. I was kicked out, not allowed back in, and was unable to afford to schedule another one. I also thought more about Plan B, and what it is I needed to do now to set me up as a better candidate for when I apply again. It was time for me to get professional experience in the mental health field.
The experience ultimately showed me, and perhaps others, that I don’t get what I want, when I want it—and that is okay. Sometimes it is for the best. I still believe I gave them the best version of me at that point in time, and I am very honored to have been in a position to apply to Clinical Psychology PhD programs.
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A close friend called me and said, “You’re not gonna believe what just happened. I was awarded money in a lawsuit.” He said, “I’d like to invest some of my money in your business.” He was right, I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a dream! You see, I spent around 3 years or so building up my business, and it all started with some cheap isopods a close friend was going to throw out. In the trade, these isopods are considered pests, “the devil’s rice,” because they somehow manage to infiltrate every enclosure and they are almost impossible to get rid of. I helped this friend bag up all the soil that had the colloquial “devil’s rice,” or more accurately, the dwarf white isopods. He said, “If you want them, you can have them.” Of course, I obliged, and packed them in my car. I had always wanted to keep isopods ever since they started booming in the exotic animal community; they reminded me of when I was a child, lifting up rocks, and finding these “rollie pollies.” To my amazement, they did exceptionally well. So well, in fact, I was able to start trading among the other isopod keepers.
This is where the entrepreneurship truly began. People that had more expensive isopods didn’t tend to bother with these “pests,” but they are excellent feeders for smaller animals like dart frogs, baby arachnids, etc. I kept trading with others, and went from around $100 in inventory with only one species to around $10,000 very quickly of multiple species. The most amazing thing about this is I didn’t have to spend a single penny of my own money on any of the isopods. This is because I started creating milestones for myself to justify expanding this endeavor, and began networking with the local pet stores to wholesale them to. The money that was coming from sales would go directly back into the isopods with buying additional enclosures, soil, food, and air vents.
My friend ended up investing multiple thousands in my endeavor, which prompted me to officially register my business within the state of Florida and start a business bank account. I intricately itemized how I would be spending this investment, which consisted mostly of chests to keep the isopods, more enclosures, a new website, and a logo. In return of this investment, my friend would be getting a small percentage of revenue from my business. Thus, the birth of “Dakota’s Critter Studio.”
My business is somewhat eclectic, or perhaps multifaceted, as it serves as a hub for all my endeavors, such as wholesaling isopods to pet stores, helping other exotic animal keepers with my expertise, as well as creating both wildlife art and pet portraits. “Why would you hire an artist to do your logo if you’re an artist?” Well, for one, I do not consider myself a graphic designer which does logos, and for two, I wanted to be able to support another fellow artist in this process.
I said in my last essay that I wanted to continue expanding my business, and I would say I was very successful in doing so. As of today, I have 2 pet stores that I regularly wholesale to, I'm working on a very large artwork featuring Florida wildlife and scenery, my logo is finished and being used for marketing, I've created a Facebook page, and my website to set to be finished soon. I would say the biggest learning curve in being a business owner is dealing with the bureaucracy of it, which is mostly doing my taxes on time and correctly.
It feels amazing being a business owner and seeing how it is now compared to bringing those dwarf white isopods home 3 years ago. My dad always liked to say to me growing up, "You can do anything you set your mind to." May you see my business in a pet store near you. I am incredibly grateful for my friend that believed and trusted in me enough to invest in my business.
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I’ve got I Love Lucy playing on the TV. It is certainly my favorite show, and I’ve probably seen every episode at least three or four times. Sometimes I’ll get lucky and catch an episode I barely remember. Personally, I enjoy how timeless it is; while it was filmed in the 50s and 60s, it aged surprisingly well, particularly in how it avoids overt prejudice toward marginalized groups. Lucille Ball herself was known for her acceptance of gay colleagues—rare and risqué for the time.
Each episode follows a relatively simple format (of course, with some nuance): Lucy gets herself into trouble with her harmless shenanigans, there’s miscommunication between her and Ricky, or something unfolds involving their landlords, Fred and Ethel Mertz—or some combination thereof. As noted before, the show deliberately strives to be harmless, and whatever consequence arises is either resolved or ultimately not a significant issue in the grand scheme of things.
While the real-life relationship between Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz was not as effervescent as the one portrayed on screen, their personalities and relationship dynamic remain undeniably endearing. I’ve always said I wanted a love like the one depicted on the show. Despite the infidelity, divorce, and remarriages in real life, Desi said on his deathbed that he always loved Lucy.
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In March, I had the pleasure of meeting up and having dinner with Kathy Love and other prominent members of the reptile industry, including Daniel Parker, Lisa Parker, and Chris Lechowicz. Kathy is famous for her work with corn snakes, advancing captive husbandry, and advocacy for reptiles. She and her husband, Bill Love, spent decades in the industry pioneering and connecting with others that share the same passion.
Kathy and Bill's book "The Corn Snake Manual" introduced me to the world of herpetoculture when I was just 10 or 11 years old. Before their book, I only had field guides to learn about local wildlife. As a kid, I remember being captivated by the idea of producing reptiles in captivity, and their book totally inspired me.
Kathy approached me about three years ago to commission me as a wildlife artist. This led to the creation of my largest piece of artwork yet, "Speciosa laqueo" (Latin: "Beautiful Snare"). I was given the honor of presenting this for her in front of the Calusa Herpetological Society last year.
Despite us all being professionals in the reptile industry, we mostly talked about our other interests like music, movies, and even psychology. It was wonderful being able to talk with other musicians and learn about their experiences.
Intersecting with our discussion on movies, Kathy informed me that she was headed to go see a friend, Gino Sassani, who is a member of two critic associations and part of the governing board for one. I started talking to her about my passion for writing and film, which ultimately led to her connecting me with Gino.
The following Monday, I had a brilliant phone conversation with Gino that lasted almost an hour. Writing cultural or scholarly critiques of film is something I found myself having fun doing. I even wrote a cultural critique as the abstract of my honors thesis. However, I wasn't sure how I could get myself in the field, which is naturally filled with other aspiring writers trying to make a name for themselves as well. I was offered an intern writing position with Gino on UpcomingDiscs.com, where I focus on reviewing foreign and independent films, using my expertise.
I thoroughly enjoyed the dinner and left feeling like a million bucks. With the bad news from the universities, I felt excited for the opportunities ahead. I especially felt grateful to have found "my people."
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The summer was awesome. As a graduation present from my dad, I was gifted a one-day pass to Welcome to Rockville festival. It was a surprise—I didn’t expect a gift at all. For him to give me that pass felt monumental. I had always wanted to go to a festival, much less a rock festival.
I attended the festival in May. It was held at the Daytona International Speedway. Walking into the stadium felt so ethereal. You go through this long tunnel with a bright light ahead, and when you come out, it feels like you’re in a new world—like Alice in Wonderland. The shift from shadow to light made everything feel unreal, like stepping through a portal.
My first stop was to get sunscreen. The week of the festival was calling for record-setting temperatures, and they were right. It was hot. The sun was beaming, and people were passing out like flies. Even with the sunscreen, I got terribly sunburned.
I saw a lot of bands, and honestly, I couldn’t even tell you all their names. As a teen, I loved Asking Alexandria; however, hearing them live was so disappointing that I walked away. I got to see GWAR and their hilariously absurd theatrical performance. As soon as the show started, a huge cloud of weed smoke engulfed the crowd—it was kind of amazing. I was pleasantly surprised by how well Three Days Grace sounded live. They were the first rock album I ever bought.
The most memorable moment for me was seeing Rob Zombie live. I have always loved his horror-themed, almost trashy style of music that pairs so well with his aesthetic. It was a packed show, but I managed to squeeze about halfway to the rail. I made the most of it. I knew every song he played and was dancing and headbanging the whole time. It was my first time getting truly lost in something like that. It was euphoria. I remember seeing him come out and having a hard time believing I was actually seeing him. I thought, "Is this real life?"
Someone even came up to me and started headbanging with me. I’ll never forget that. We talked to each other for a bit, but I had a hard time hearing him. He gave me his name, but I forgot it—oops! After the show, we parted ways, and that was all she wrote.
I went to the festival with no agenda other than to enjoy it. I stayed off social media and used my phone only to check the map and set times. I hardly even took pictures. I wore my old-school Nightmare on Elm Street shirt, and about five or six people came up to me to compliment it. I was alone on this trip, but I never once felt lonely. I felt liberated. As soon as I got home, I downloaded the concert someone else had recorded and started jamming again. I was high on life.
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I’m sitting at my desk typing with this with my Santa Claus robe. I actually got this as part of my Halloween costume this year, dressing up as Krampus, the Christmas demon from Germanic folklore. I’ve been fascinated with Krampus since watching the movie starring Toni Collette, Adam Scott, and Conchata Ferrell in 2015; I have literally watched the movie hundreds of times. The dark lore coalescing with traditional gay cheer is the appeal for me; I’ve always been drawn to the creepy, dark, or odd.
In essence, in Germany, it is believed that Krampus is the shadow of St. Nicholas, existing to punish the naughty children, while St. Nicholas leaves gifts to the good ones. Philosophically, he acts as the moral duality in conjunction with St. Nicholas, teaching children their actions having consequences—both good and bad. He is an axiological and existential figure through which children begin to understand value, responsibility, and willpower.
After all, the robe is quite comfortable, so I started wearing it in leisure while I’m home.
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To my amazement, I didn’t end up spending the year alone. Actually, I found myself in love with someone special; someone that wanted me as much as I wanted them. It seemed like a yearly phenomenon for me, historically, that I become involved with someone where it ends up with me feeling more than what they felt. It created this cruel and cursed cycle of “situationships,” which is just today’s term for unrequited love that go nowhere or never amount to anything. Last year, as noted in my essay, I dealt with one that left me shattered.
I’ve always considered myself a romantic, and this part of me is something that I grew to understand as a character flaw until this year. I was always too much for those that only knew casual encounters. Finally, I met a man that made me feel perfect.
The biggest lesson I learned, and what I wish to empower others with is simple, yet cut-throat: Mixed signals are a no. There will come a time when everything the other person does feels intentional and genuine, never leaving you guessing, complete with compassion. The sparks that bewitched you become a flame which is easily stoked, that is passion, and that is where the magic really is. I feel lucky to have finally found that person. I learn that the effort I put into those past experiences simply wasn’t meant for them.
It feels amazing to have found someone that is on the same steps as me—that sees me as I see them. To have finally found something that feels healthy. To be loved for who you are, not what you are or what you can do for them. Someone you can spend time with to recharge and not be drained by their presence. Someone you don’t have to worry about. Someone that vows to never hurt you as a partner never should.
I spent the first half of this year alone with the anticipation of potentially being accepted into a graduate program, as well as healing from the experiences I put myself through with failed candidates. I simply did not want to rush into a relationship only to have my heartbroken if I had to move away and that not be an option for them; it went against my moral compass. So after I had accepted my fate of not getting into a program, I decided to try dating and went online to find a mate. I still believed I deserved love.
It was a very rare time I actually did so, checking online in a neighboring city. I dealt with a lot of messages, mostly either people that simply wanted a casual encounter or someone I didn’t feel attracted to. Then, one day, I got a message from a faceless profile, which I tended to avoid.
Since he first messaged me, we instantly clicked. He was easy to converse with and we had similar passionate attributes, respectively. He sent me a picture of himself, and he turned out to be a gorgeous Italiano. He introduced himself to me as Tyler, although I later learned he preferred to go by, “Ty.” I really enjoyed talking with him, and it was like we never stopped since we first started. I ended up asking him if he’d like to meet at a nearby park to get to know each other better. Although we didn’t do much other than hang out on our first date, he felt right and what I was looking for. We kissed and I knew then I wanted more.
You see, Ty had similar experiences as me, dealing with other guys that never amounted to anything. He was romantic, passionate, and loved with an open heart, which are treacherous qualities to be instilled with in the gay community. He was a gentleman, very respectful, followed his moral compass. He had a sensitivity to him that I could relate to and wanted to be in charge of protecting. After meeting up almost everyday since our first date, I asked him on July 5th, “So, what are we waiting for?” We were both ready to be boyfriends and made it official.
Everyday with him feels like a gift. I am his first boyfriend, and I like to think he is my last. He is truly the person that I’ve been searching for all this time. We celebrate our love together, even in the smallest ways, and for the first time, I feel like he is as crazy about me as I am him. The seemingly endless chapters of unrequitedness had abruptly come to a close.
Ty was made fully aware of my traumas, both in childhood and in adulthood before we became official, and his response was to hold me and make me feel safe. He knows the unspeakable abuse I suffered since I was a child, and never turned away. He knows the betrayal I had branded onto me in my last serious relationship. He vowed that it all ended with him. Ty, himself, has his own traumas that I honor, as well. I remember the day I realized I was holding his heart, and made a pact with myself that it was a responsibility I wanted to take seriously and hold it gently.
In the (almost) 6 months we’ve been together, we have created some of the most beautiful memories we shared that I hold dearly. We’ve traveled to Daytona at the National Reptile Breeder’s Conference, attended Universal’s Halloween Horror Night in Orlando, regularly go to the movies, have dates both indoor and outdoor, and even attended a Stevie Nick’s concert. He treated me to fine dining when I got the job working in mental health, he helped make me feel special both on my birthday, and really, everyday. We share our love together, and he is someone that I can see myself spending the rest of my life with.
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As noted before, I knew my next course of action was to use what I learned through both of my undergraduate degrees in a vocational setting. One of the major flaws in my graduate résumé is the fact that I worked in a completely unrelated field while attending classes. This was, of course, out of necessity, to survive and to have a job I genuinely enjoyed while being an online student. I’ve spent the past four years working in the exotic animal industry, primarily with reptiles.
I began my search by going to Park Royal Hospital and asking to speak with the hiring manager. My goal was to make an impression and gain some footing in navigating employment within mental healthcare. The hiring manager wasn’t available, and the woman at the front desk didn’t believe they were hiring at the time. However, she gave me the contact information for a business called Centerstone.
I looked into Centerstone and found that they were only accepting volunteers at the time. Still, I applied and completed a phone interview. I never heard back afterward, so I shifted my focus to SalusCare, a mental health clinic I knew was very active in the community. Fortunately, they were hiring for paid positions. Because I didn’t yet have direct care experience, I couldn’t apply for a role I would otherwise be qualified for, such as Emergency Services Clinician. Instead, I applied for a Behavioral Health Technician position, which didn’t require a degree but would allow me to gain direct patient care experience and work toward becoming a clinician within the year.
I got the job.
It took about two months from my initial interview to my first day of training. Training itself lasted roughly a week, followed by two weeks of shadowing on the unit. Getting this job meant everything to me. My excitement overshadowed any nerves I may have had. I was hired to work on both the adult and children’s crisis stabilization units, which gave me direct, hands-on experience with patients. I was also cross-trained at the detox unit at another location.
Life has been going well since starting work in behavioral health. It feels deeply fulfilling to be in a position where I can make a meaningful difference in people’s lives, especially while working in crisis settings. It’s been eye-opening to witness the full spectrum of mental health—from acute psychosis to depression and anxiety—and to work with individuals who are suicidal or even homicidal. Being on the front line, you see firsthand the disparities that exist in society and how deeply mental health affects everyone.
I truly thrive in the environment I work in. My colleagues are exceptional and welcomed me with open arms. I’ve become known as the “bookworm,” having already read six books and starting my seventh. My company also offers tuition reimbursement, which I hope to take advantage of in continuing my education. I plan to apply for my Master’s in Clinical Psychology next year, in addition to PhD programs, which was my original goal. While I still aim for a PhD, I’m comfortable pursuing a Master’s first, since it is earned along the way in most doctoral programs.
I’ve been working hard, often 50 to 60 hours a week. Family and friends have noticed that I’ve been more distant, and some have reached out wondering if they’ve upset me because of my slow response times. In reality, I’ve had to loosen the constant tether that phones and social media create. I simply don’t always have the time or energy to respond, and sometimes I need space for myself. That, too, is okay.
Naturally, working in healthcare requires strict adherence to HIPAA laws, which exist to protect patient identities. As I’ve alluded to before, I already have many meaningful stories, but I want to share one in particular—while ensuring full anonymity.
It was my first night working in Emergency Services as a Behavioral Health Technician, alongside an intake specialist. This isn’t a shift I normally work, but they needed additional help up front. Emergency Services is where individuals are brought after being Baker Acted, a 72-hour involuntary hold in Florida for those deemed a danger to themselves or others. The night began quietly, but around midnight, things escalated.
A patient was brought in by police. He had been found naked inside a cruiser and was clearly experiencing psychosis. He believed it was his first time being human. He was whimsical, danced lightly, and spoke with excitement. Though detached from reality, he remained aware enough to compliment people on their appearance and character. Initially, I thought it might be manic psychosis, but his drug screen came back positive for amphetamines, indicating substance-induced psychosis. He was profoundly disoriented and needed guidance for even the most basic tasks.
He told me he had been sent from above and that we were all in a hell dimension. I stayed with him, calmly helping him put on his clothes and offering reassurance so he wouldn’t begin crying. His emotions shifted rapidly—joy one moment, deep sadness the next.
As the night continued, other patients arrived, including one who was more grounded in reality but visibly irritated. He became frustrated by the psychotic patient’s behavior and made disparaging comments. When the psychotic patient continued wandering the hall, the irritated patient stepped out of his room and threatened him, saying, “If you don’t go back in your room, I’ll put you in your room.”
In an instant, everything changed. The psychotic patient shifted from whimsical to commanding. His voice dropped, and with a single punch, he knocked the plexiglass window out of the door frame. I immediately called for staff, and the team responded quickly to de-escalate the situation. It was startling to witness how quickly the dynamic changed. Even the agitated patient immediately cowardly backed down (funnily enough). The psychotic patient was eventually transferred to his unit and given medication to help stabilize him.
I didn’t see him again for a few days. Then one night, I was assigned to his unit. To my surprise, he remembered me. He spoke kindly, told me I was smart and gentle, and thanked me for being there. I told him simply, “I’m just here to help.” He had a visitor that night, and before leaving, he did his familiar little dance and wiggled his fingers. Later, he asked if we could connect on social media, and I gently explained that I couldn’t, out of policy.
He stands out to me as my first truly psychotic patient. I often think about how he arrived and how he left, and it fills me with a quiet sense of gratitude. I’ve since connected with many patients in similar ways, but he was my first. I’ll never forget the power he demonstrated when he knocked out that plexiglass with a single punch. Sometimes I still think about him and hope he’s receiving the support he needs.
Ultimately, I left my job at Eric’s, where I helped maintain his reptile collection. This had always been part of my plan once I settled into SalusCare; working twelve-hour shifts followed by another four hours became unsustainable. I used to pride myself on being able to “play Superman,” but with time, I’ve learned that spreading myself too thin isn’t strength, it’s self-neglect. I still work with Eric in a limited capacity, primarily handling sales, but most of my energy is now devoted to my work at SalusCare and taking time for myself.
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I'm staring at the lava lamp as I become lost in the memories. I enjoy how dissociative they are, which is a major reason I’ve always wanted one. This one is red liquid with orange lava. In a way, they are hypnotizing. Sometimes you find yourself invested—not in thought exactly, but in the quiet act of watching motion exist without purpose. The mind loosens its grip, drifting somewhere between awareness and absence, where time feels suspended rather than measured.
There’s something ancient about it. Humans have stared into fire for thousands of years—not to find answers, but to sit with themselves long enough for something honest to surface. The flame doesn’t speak, yet it invites reflection. It softens the mind, loosens its edges. In those moments, decision-making feels less like choosing and more like noticing what has already been waiting.
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I also wanted to write a section on the holidays this year. Since getting with Ty, every day has felt special, and the holidays this year felt magical. For Halloween, I dressed up as Krampus, and Ty did a lovely photoshoot that truly captured how scary I looked. It had been a long time since I had done anything for Halloween—over five years, in fact—when I did a face painting of the horror character, Babadook. For the past few years, I thought about dressing up as Krampus, but it never amounted to anything. This year was different.
Finally, I had a good paying job that didn't allow me to just survive. I was also able to spend a little bit, if I so pleased. So, I went all out on my Halloween costume. I bought horns, special effects makeup, whiteout sclera contacts, and a full wardrobe—robe, custom fur leggings, hooves, a belt, a hat, and a sack. It was fully “decked” out. I probably spent close to $400 on everything in total. I glued the horns to my forehead with spirit gum. I painted my face white with an upside-down Star of David in black. I had eyeliner only on my bottom lids. I looked like a scary monster from a movie, and I loved the feeling.
Ty and I also went to Orlando for Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights the night before Halloween. It was packed! We waited hours in line to see each house, but we somehow managed to see just about all of them. My favorite was definitely the Terrifier house that featured Art the Clown, a Machiavellian clown from Hell. I got lucky with it being the first one we saw! I didn’t really know what to expect going to Universal, but it certainly did not disappoint me. We had such a good time. During this trip, we also went to a nice restaurant called Voodoo Bayou and played at an arcade before heading back home.
Thanksgiving was also very lovely. I ended up cooking a small one for Ty and me at home, as well as my roommates Steve and Stephen. This year, instead of a turkey, I cooked two Cornish hens and country fried ham. I also cooked sweet potato casserole, dressing, baked beans, and baked mac n cheese. Then we went over to Dad and Sandy’s for a lovely Thanksgiving meal she had prepared. I was in charge of bringing my bacon green beans, but she had everything else done, including both a turkey and a spiral ham. It was delicious! Needless to say, we all ate good and gained some of that holiday weight.
Christmas was dreamy. We actually got a real tree that we both decorated. It was somewhat thrilling riding home with it on top of my car; it almost flew off when we were going over the Midpoint Bridge into Fort Myers! I bought vintage lights, as well as a handmade tree topper from Eastern Europe. The tree topper was dark gold with intricate designs and sparkling glitter. It truly glistened. We got pinecones to hang on the tree with the ornaments, as well as a bunch of holly berries. It was a gorgeous tree. It's still up in my dining area. I'm going to be somewhat sad to take it down.
We both made lists for what we wanted—something I haven't done since I was a kid. For our big gifts, I ended up getting him FL Studio for him to dabble in making electronic music, and he got me an iPad Pro to do art, write, and run my business. We also exchanged a bunch of smaller gifts, too. My favorite is probably the Cobra Squishmallow that I named Cubra. I got him Peach and Goma plushies. They are GIF characters that are often depicted in love and doing funny things together. I am Peach (white), and he is Goma (grey). Ty loves cuddling up to Peach the most.
For New Year's, we decided to stay in and enjoy the fireworks the Dunbar neighborhood has to show. I'll be making chicken and dumplings (German American, not Chinese), chocolate no-bake oatmeal cookies, and he wants to make empanadas. Naturally, we’ll be drinking and popping champagne when the ball drops!
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As I mentioned before, my birthdays have always been hard on me. Part of the reason I get so involved with the holidays is a way to supersede any sadness that may come with my birthday. I truly do believe in the human spirit, and I also believe it can be touched. I believe this through my own observations of how the world works and the facts of the human mind. Collectively, there is a spirituality that we share during the holidays that, once embraced, can heal and transform.
I also mentioned before that Ty knew of my traumas and honors my past. He has told me that it ends with him. He takes our relationship very seriously, truly a very rare, genuine, good man. He knew that I have a hard time with my birthday, so he took it upon himself to make me special.
Ty had been planning for months, apparently. I think he got a taste of why Christmas babes usually share their special day with the holiday—because it is so expensive. He had the wherewithal to plan ahead so that it would be feasible.
I was working on the night of the 22nd, so I came home on the morning of my birthday. He had balloons and a gift bag waiting for me when I walked in the door. I couldn’t remember the last time I ever got balloons. It made me cry. Of course, I waited to open them until after I woke up because I was tired from work and it was still very early.
Ty woke me up later that morning, and we opened my gifts. He got me a bunch of nice things, including a lava lamp, an I Love Lucy collectible, some toys, and candy. It was unusual to have them all out and open, but definitely something I could get used to. Afterwards, my cousin Dustin called me to wish me a happy birthday. We went to Sally’s Beauty Supply to get dye to do both our hair. Ty doesn’t usually dye his hair, but he wanted frosted tips. I got my usual to keep my hair platinum. We went to his house, and I shared my ritual of dyeing my hair with him. I loved it. Both of our hair turned out amazing, and he loved his a lot. Afterwards, I went home to nap a little longer, and then we got dressed for the main event.
Ty had told me months prior that he intended to take me on a Murder Mystery dinner train here in Fort Myers. So, we planned it by coordinating our outfits. We dressed up! I wore a nice suit with a red undershirt, a satin gold vest, a white tie with pinstripe dress pants, and shiny black shoes. He wore a white undershirt with a dark green vest, a red bowtie, white pants, and maroon shoes. We were certainly the best dressed there, and a few people even commented on how good we looked. The food was amazing, the acting was amazing, and the experience was amazing.
We went home and just relaxed for the rest of the night. Just as he promised, I had the night of my life. It was the best birthday ever.
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It is currently 6:09 in the morning, on New Year's Eve, and my shift is almost over. I started the shift on the children's unit but going to be ending it on the high-risk adult unit. The patient I was doing observations for last night in seclusion had an epiphany tonight: I'm here to help. I love when that happens.
This time last year, I was ending the year with high hopes and fingers crossed. I truly began the year in a liminal space marked by transition, and, ironically, that stayed the same. I truly had no idea how the year would unfold, and I never expected anything like how it did. Healing from grief in multiple respects, learning how to navigate the unknown, and finding true love. Learning who I am in the face of uncertainty and putting that to the test.
This year didn’t make or break me—it recalibrated me. I found myself moving away from chasing an imagined version of who I thought I needed to become and instead learning how to stand more firmly in who I already am. I stopped measuring my worth by outcomes, acceptances, or milestones, and began grounding it in presence, care, and endurance. What changed most was my relationship with uncertainty. I learned that stability doesn’t come from knowing what’s next, but from trusting myself to move through the unknown without losing my sense of self. I learned that I can grieve, hope, work, love, and wait all at once—and that doing so doesn’t fracture me. It steadies me.
I have many things to look forward to this year, but for the most part, I am excited to leave myself open to both new opportunities and new experiences. This year didn’t reward my plans, but it rewarded my capacity. I want to see myself keep growing and becoming the man I'm proud of. I am both the dandelion growing from the cracks of impossible environments and the orchid flourishing only under perfect conditions. I am at peace.
Cheers,
D. Nivens
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