bflolocalpunk

[bflolocalpunk]

(Forgotten 2014 Post) - The Year of Steve Ardo

At the lowest point of my life I had made the decision to live on and fight for a brighter future. I didn’t have a set plan of attack, the only goal I had in mind was to survive the rest of 2013. As 2014 ends, I’m looking back on how everything has changed in just one short year.

In early 2013 I had began drawing up flyers for punk shows in the area. While I made 11 flyers across that span of year, I only attended maybe about 3 shows in total. I resolved to change that, starting on January 4th in which I became acquainted with 2 more local punk bands: Accidentals and On The Cinder. They were ecstatic that they met the guy who drew up the flyer and promises were made to talk later about artwork. I also introduced myself to The Howl, a four-piece touring from Chicago in which I bonded over printmaking with a the lead vocalist and guitarist Sam. Witnessing first-hand how much these bands appreciated my work gave me a special kind of warm feeling deep inside; this is where I belonged. In time I met more musicians and bands that welcomed me with open arms and became another family to me.

I made strides in the art community as well. As of December 31st, 2014 I still haven’t had an exhibition of my own, but I’ve created numerous friendships and connections with other artists throughout the city including some well-known ones. Established artists were going out of their way to introduce me to other resources. For the first time in my life I was getting recognition for my work and people knew my name.

I started to date again. I was still grieving James’s departure, but I wanted to at least meet new people and see what might transpire. I wound up meeting a med student from my alma mater over a few drinks. Kris was a transplant from NYC who grew up in the same small West Virginian town as one of my uncles. We hit it off right away. After a week of going on dates, we made our relationship official. He was 5 years my senior, but without even putting any real effort into it we fit together perfectly. The relationship lasted the entirety of March until the beginning of April before an old flame of his came into the picture and eventually ousted me from my boyfriend throne. It was devastating to me as once again I was just experiencing happiness with someone and things suddenly fell apart.

Spring wasn’t setback-free by any means. In the same month that Kris left me I also was let go of my full-time screen-printing job and once again someone very important was taken away from me forever. Seriously, fuck April. I was still homeless and the financial burdens of massive student loan debt bared down on me with every month’s end. Sometimes life happens like that, and even though I had no control over the circumstances I still endured them at point-blank range with full knowledge that I was no longer as weak as I once was.

Summer was fast approaching and I began networking within Buffalo’s LGBT community. Almost every month the Pride Center of WNY organizes a mixer for working LGBT professionals to meet-up and connect with others. I was out of a job and had no idea where to even begin looking, so I didn’t think it could hurt. While frequenting them I started to meet new friends and share stories of the DIY community I was now deeply a part of. At one such mixer I wound up hitting it off with a guy (confession: he happened to look like a lot like James, that’s why I approached him), and while he was already partnered he told me of a friend of theirs that was looking for a roommate. I had made new friends and finally escaped my indefinite homelessness.

The hot summer days also provided endless events that kept me busy. Every weekend was full of shows and festivals and it seemed like I was constantly on the go. Hell, I even had the chance to participate in a few and get some free press. Softball started up again and even if I was carrying a heavy heart missing a certain someone I still went to support my friends in the LGBT league. Before I knew it autumn had arrived and with softball now over I started joining a small group for karaoke every Tuesday night at Q on Allen. A new friend I had made earlier in the summer (1 of 2 Steves I became close with) donated an unused bike of his so now I had a lot more freedom to go places in the city. This would be a huge help as my car broke down right before Halloween.

I threw my hat into the dating ring again; for the period of about 3 weeks I went on 2-3 dates a week with different guys just to play the field. I soon realized that I wasn’t quite ready to date again; the majority of my past relationships were really emotionally intense, and I wasn’t quite okay with being single yet. Andrew and Tim were gone, I still had feelings for Kris, and I missed James (or maybe it was what might’ve been with James). Now I’ve finally accepted being single so getting to know guys and seeing where things progress doesn’t scare me as much. I’m still petrified of falling in love again, but someday that fear will subside and I will find someone to share the rest of my life with.

There was a bit of a minor shakeup in my life regarding the non-profit organization I’ve volunteered at for almost 3 years now. I’m currently on a break from there and using this time as a means of focusing on my own major projects. If I choose to return I know that I will be welcomed back without issue. After New Year’s I plan on making my official decision.

It’s a surreal feeling when I take a look back at everything that’s happened in 2014. Last year I was forcing myself to live until midnight just so that I could say that I survived a year of hell after a very close attempt at suicide. I’ve made some very amazing friends and have met and worked with some awesome musicians. On The Cinder, Accidentals, Hang Bob Ewell, B-Side Basterds, The Cran Tangerines, Seven Thirty Seven, Angstea, Battleship Crunch, Grain Assault, Creation Order Xtinction, Ballzy, Loudmouse, Everett Lonesome’s Nightmare, Robin and the Hoods, The Crack Horse... there’s too many wonderful and talented friends to list and I had the honor of becoming an artist/designer in the Aluminum Records family. The Northrup House, The Flower House, Hoyt and others have become more than the scenes of basement shows; they’ve become communities of individuals working together for something bigger. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting touring bands like The Howl, Samuel Powers, and Oh The Humanity! and even forming friendships with some of their members. I’m now part of a community where I’m putting my heart and soul into keeping the DIY spirit alive working side-by-side with others who share the same beliefs through art and music.

Last year I would never have believed that life would take me down this road, but then again last year I was not the same person I am today. Even now I couldn’t tell you what happened or why things changed. Dumb luck? Did “fate” decide to give me a goddamn break for once? All I know is that I resolved to never give up, no matter what.

[bflolocalpunk]

Buffalo’s Forgotten Son

Trigger Warning: suicidal ideation

Things aren’t okay. I’m not okay.

I know people say to keep very personal things off of social media, but fuck it. I’m not in a good spot, and haven’t been in one for about half a year. I have no job, have no money, and have been extremely depressed. I can’t afford to do laundry, leave the apartment to go anywhere, pay my bills, or even buy groceries. I’d apply for Food Stamps again but the amount of hoops I need to jump through is too much to handle right now. There’s too much going on to deal with, but god knows I’ve been trying.

I finally got back on Medicaid after around three months of being without health insurance. Now I can finally see my counselor again, it’s just difficult with his schedule to try and see me every week. I’ve also been without my medication for a little over a week, but after seeing my psychiatrist this morning we’re going to get me back on track. There’s a lot of work that needs to be done.

My current living situation isn’t good at all. My roommate/best friend informed me through an angry text last month that he was ending the lease on May 1st and moving out. I haven’t had a job since early September. I have until April-ish to somehow find a new place and gather 1st month’s, last month’s, and a security deposit. I’ve been applying to jobs, but for the past few months I’ve been lead on by heads of HR departments and business owners about getting me in for positions only for them to ghost on me. On top of that my friendship with my roommate has been slowly eroding for almost a year, ever since he met and started dating his now boyfriend. He stopped caring and wouldn’t put any effort into our friendship. Things got ugly along the way with major fights. We could’ve honestly taken the right steps to repair everything last year, but he just refuses to acknowledge that he’s to blame for anything. Instead all the blame falls on me.

I like to think I have other friends, but I don’t really have any that try to spend time with me or ask to do things together. I sit home alone for the majority of the week while I watch them post about hanging out with each other or go places. Over 99% of the rare times I was asked to hang out with a guy between last year and now is because they just wanted to have sex. Do you know how degrading that is? The first person to ever tread me like an equal and made me feel like I belonged was my ex-boyfriend of 3 1/2 years ago. I wanted to hold onto that feeling forever, but it was ripped from me and I’m still struggling to find any closure. After him, my best friend followed suit by constantly checking in on me, forcing me to go out and do things, and comforting me when life became too unbearable. Since he met his boyfriend he stopped all that and didn’t even care that I was all alone on Thanksgiving and New Year’s. I have maybe 3 other friends now that do check in on me from time-to-time, but the majority make it very clear they want to sleep with me so it makes it hard to really trust their intentions. I’m not left with many choices though on who to confide in. I’ve just been so alone and feel so inadequate and worthless to everyone around me. It feels like no one can bother with me anymore.

I can’t blame others for my personal problems, but Buffalo has failed me time and time again. I don’t share my stories because I want attention or pity, it’s to make other people understand how difficult my life has been and to help celebrate my accomplishments. I can’t even get people to do that, I feel so left out and ignored. It’s been almost 7 whole years since I graduated from college and I still haven’t been able to get my foot in the door of my own goddamn field. I’m surrounded by my own peers who literally have the resources available right in front of them, but despite knowing full well of my past and what I’m trying to do with my life it feels like no one can lift a fucking finger to point me in the right direction. I’m not asking them to fix my life, all I’ve ever needed was just simple guidance. I’m met with disinterest every single time. It’s like my mere existence is something they don’t want to acknowledge. I went to college to actually be able to make a future for myself, but I’ve been questioning a lot lately on whether it was even worth it. Maybe in a different city I could’ve gotten people to give me the time of day, but I’m afraid it’s never going to happen here.

I’m at a point in my life again where I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I’m not attempting a GoFundMe or anything like that again. I tried it a few times only to face the realization that people can’t be bothered to even get the word out. Even when that disastrous interview in Artvoice happened in 2016, I was told repeatedly that people wanted to crowdfund on my behalf. Nobody did a goddamn thing. Sorry, but I’m not facing that level of rejection again. You would think that trying to build a future for yourself while being a member of a marginalized community would get people to at least listen to you. It doesn’t. Again I’m sure that being in Buffalo where the gay, art, and design communities only fixate on those that are already established has a lot to do with it too. All these years I never had anyone hold my fucking hand for me, I was the one who repeatedly picked myself up and fought further. Why isn’t that good enough for people?

So what does this all mean anymore? I need to, once again, figure everything out on my own. I’ve been struggling with suicidal thoughts for months now, terrified of the uncertainty that lies ahead. I’ve gotten as far as going over in my head what I would say in my letter. It’s a fucking terrifying experience. (Full disclosure: I have emergency numbers saved in my phone if it gets to that point.) I’m not going to sit here and lie to you saying everything in my head is all right, but I am going to tell you that I have people working with me to make sure it doesn’t get that far. If it does, then I know what steps I need to take.

I just want to get all of this out there now so other people can be aware of what’s been going on. I don’t have plans to kill myself right now, please do not go into a panic or send the police to my door. Again, I have my counselor and psychiatrist helping me. This is just where my mind’s been at. Things are very dark right now, it’s just going to be another huge ass struggle to pull myself out of it. I’m angry, I’m confused, I’m exhausted, and I’m so lonely. I just want to feel like I belong. I want to have something in my life work out for once. I want to be able to take care of myself. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. Seriously, is it too much to ask?

[bflolocalpunk]

Final Fantasy XII character art by Akihiko Yoshida. Those artworks can be seen during the credits.

I finished the game yesterday and I was dying to know if HQ textless versions of them existed somewhere on the internet since the game has been out for a long time. Sadly my search wasn’t satisfying… But you know what they say “If it doesn’t exist then do it yourself.” Editing the text out of these pictures took a huge amount of screenshots and a huge amount of hours but now I’m happy to share the credit artworks of FFXII, restored as best as I could.

[bflolocalpunk]

A Decade Under the Influence

March 2008: When it all began. Those of you who are familiar with my story know about the origins of my struggle with homelessness and the nightmare that followed. Here I am, ten years later, and to be quite honest I had no idea where I would end up.

This is a personal anniversary of sorts; there’s nothing really to celebrate, but at the same time there’s a lot to acknowledge and reflect on. I turned thirty last September, and around that time it hit me hard on how much I missed out on in my twenties. I was forced to adapt and survive while my peers settled into graphic design careers, went on globe-trotting vacations, and celebrated the fact that they could celebrate. Seeing and hearing that on a daily basis (coupled with everything else I endured in my life) hindered my ability to embrace any real sense of self-worth. It’s hard to feel good about yourself when your primary goal in life is to wake up in the morning and make it through another day. I spent a long period of time in my twenties comparing myself to my peers, specifically how I defined “success”. 

I could write a book based on the past decade and all my experiences (maybe someday I will). It’s funny though, I can tell someone in detail about the key moments (including Tim and Andrew’s deaths or other significant relationships) while still leaving out a lot of information related to how things came to be or how it influenced something else. I honestly believe that no one can else can truly comprehend everything I’ve had to actually overcome these past ten years both physically and mentally just to still be standing here.

Never in a million years would I imagine that I would be stuck here in Buffalo for ten years. I do mean “stuck” in the literal sense as in I don’t have the resources or opportunity to move somewhere else. I’d like to go experience and grow someplace else, especially if I’m given the chance to attend graduate school for my MFA. A recurring theme I’ve noticed is that every time my world collapsed around me that I would have to try and prove to other people that I had a right to exist and have a better life. Even in those moments where I overworked myself to showcase my successes and accomplishments, I was still met with indifference. I honestly think, after all this time and experiencing it so much first-hand, that’s just how Buffalo operates as a culture. Despite your triumphs in the face of adversity, you still have to know the right people to have anyone else pay attention to you. It’s as simple as that. Yeah it annoys the fuck out of me to no end, but Buffalo has still been my home (even when I lacked one) for so long and has contributed significantly to my growth as a person.

For the first time in my life I actually found a stable support system in a group of friends that valued me as much as I did them. It may have taken twenty-six years of my life, but I had people that genuinely cared about me. From that I was able to shape my graphic design into something I was passionate about, without having someone tell me what I was doing was wrong. I also was in a relationship with a partner who supported my dreams without judgment, and who honestly wanted me to succeed and pushed me to believe in myself more. I also met someone who’s become one of my best friends in the world who also treated me as my pain was real, that my past mattered, and proved to me that I didn’t have to go at life alone. Those are some of the most important parts of my personal story, aspects that can’t be taken away by anyone else. Key moments like that, even if some were short-lived, wouldn’t have happened anywhere else. I truly believe that and I’m extremely lucky in that regard.

You can’t grow just by being surrounded by positive events; acknowledgement of all those times I hit rock bottom is really what shaped me the most. I wrote on here before about my first serious suicide attempt back in November 2013. Since that night, suicidal ideation never truly went away. It has ebbed and flowed in my mind from a simple “if I was gone, I wouldn’t have to deal with all this bullshit” to a deathly-serious, on-the-verge, “writing-a-draft-on-this-very-blog-to-be-published-after-I-died” mess that was the entirety of 2016. Maybe I’m not suicidal right this instant, but seeing and documenting how far I’ve come in my mental health and self-worth matters a lot.

In these past ten years I can really see the difference in how I react to and process events and setbacks. Mental health treatment from counselors and psychiatrists that actually cared about my progress and my life made a huge difference. Right now I’m extremely happy with my results. It may have taken a decade to figure out, but I’ve learned how to focus on things in my life I can change versus those I cannot. This doesn’t mean accepting horrible events and trauma as a new, unchanging new reality. It means adapting to circumstances while fighting on to shape things into a different outcome. That’s what really matters. There’s a lot in my life I haven’t had any control over and because of that I’ve felt so lost most of the time. Through perseverance and determination brought on by sheer instinct I’ve fought through it, and I’m currently at that point where I have the proper tools to actually process everything that’s happened and work my way through it all.

Despite maybe this past decade of living seven years homeless, being forced into continuous grieving, and suffering daily poverty (among other trauma), I know I’m capable of handling anything life throws at me. I’ve changed a lot since that scared, socially-awkward, closeted twenty year-old escaping his former home with no idea of what the next day would bring. Am I 100% happy in where I am in life right at this moment? Fuck no, I still have a long ways to go. A real, stable income is the next step in my goal of getting back on my feet. But I will say this, I’m a thousand-times more well-equipped at dealing with setbacks or disasters than most anyone else I know. My peers can’t compete with my life experience, and I will wear my scars as badges of honor to that effect. Maybe I’m not a paid-graphic designer or visiting other countries or having a night out on the town. Being who I am, with all the inner-strength I’ve had to find by myself... I’m successful in ways that no one else can ever touch.

[bflolocalpunk]

“Triggered”

Today I heard the last shitty joke in passing I can handle about my mental illness without speaking up. Not about the people making the joke, or even the joke itself, but about the illness - it’s extremely poorly understood, partially due to media presentation of it, and partly thanks to the internet hijacking the terminology of one of the symptoms and extrapolating it so far from it’s original, highly specific meaning that most people have no idea what they’re referencing. 

I don’t blame anyone who doesn’t know the first thing about PTSD, because I didn’t know what PTSD was until I was diagnosed with it. Not really, anyway. I had the same pop culture version of the illness most people have - it was something soldiers had, and flashbacks were hallucinatory caricatures about as accurate as most portrayals of what taking LSD is like in pop culture - with the character and the writer equally divorced from reality.

When my doctor handed me the preliminary screening inventory sheet to fill out while I was mid-sentence during our first meeting, it seemed so obvious. So many things that I’d chocked up to having depression and going through a… significant amount of stress, but that weren’t getting better and seemed to just kind of linger unwanted in my head, ready to flare up and shit all over whatever I was doing made sense. He explained to me what flashbacks actually are, that it wasn’t simply a hallucination and more a spiral down a memory well of horrible shit you’ve gone through, of feeling like you’re mentally and emotionally “unplugging” in response to something bringing all that up, and the feeling that everything is just as fragile and fight-or-flight as it was when you were actually in danger. He explained that the most common sufferers of PTSD aren’t soldiers, but survivors of domestic violence and sexual assault, and were more often women than men. He even explained the changes to my body that had occurred, that the acrid, metallic taste that would pop up in the back of my throat was *adrenaline* - that I was physically tasting the flood of “oh shit” that my brain was producing because parts of my body had a hair trigger for locking into survival mode.

I scored a 73 out of 100 on the inventory, and later my doctor would categorize my ptsd as “severe”, but told me with trauma-specific treatment I could hope to see that number lower into the teens. It’s been over a year since then and it’s taken *so much work*, but he was right. I’m a lot better than I was several years ago, especially before I knew what the hell was going on with me.

I’m a comedian and can find so much to joke about in my mental illness. When my doctor added a C for “complex” onto the PTSD I felt that combined with my ADHD, I had started collecting an alphabet. My doctor laughed when he prescribed me the medication that would take my extremely vivid, constant nightmares away and told me that it would also take my regular dreams with it, and I responded with “I’m sorry doctor I’m an artist you can’t just phrase things that way without spawning a million insufferable conceptual pieces”. Anything can be joked about - being a dick about it is more related to how you do it.

I make jokes because comedy can take the sting out of having a nasty knot of pain lodged inside my skull that my ex planted there when I took away his ability to hurt me himself. If I didn’t have the jokes, all I’d have is the anger and violation I feel at being someone who can go from joking with friends in a UPS store to a crying mess because someone grabbed my arm and spoke to me in the same place, the same way, as that ex the last time I saw him, before I had a friend stay with me for a while because I was so afraid he’d come back. I hate that I’m like this, and that even with all the work I put in and the therapy I do, there are still these little, extremely specific things that cause that familiar ember in my brain to ignite and immediately need to be dealt with. It’s a nightmare to feel like there’s any part of you that seems so frail where it was once strong, to be someone who has to be tough enough to put up with an enormous amount of shit but still have these things out there that can immediately pierce any armor you have, like the shittiest version of magic words. The sheer irrationality and the sense of lost control is such a deep and frustrating violation, it’s hard to write about without seeming too melodramatic.

There aren’t many things that will send me down that rabbit hole anymore, or make me taste adrenaline and feel the same fear that everything I have is about to be destroyed again. But they exist. They’re extremely specific, innocuous to everyone else but poison to my peace of mind. I’ve calloused over a lot of the minor ones, but there are two or three big ones that feel like a crack across my skull and immediately knock me on my ass seemingly no matter what I do.

You’d think the specificity of these things would make them easy to avoid or to tell people in my life about, but it’s kind of the opposite. I largely don’t bother, because the language around it has been so completely and utterly demolished and politicized in a way that makes it nearly impossible for me to use in a productive way without having to take on the additional, exhausting work of explaining my illness to people.

I’m talking about “triggers”. It used to be that only anime nazi assholes used it as a joke, but then “trigger warnings” became a cultural battlefield over imaginary “political correctness” and a ton of other shit I don’t remotely want to get into. I don’t want to talk about other peoples’ experiences when it comes to triggers, and I know triggers aren’t limited to PTSD - but speaking for myself, as the Discourse evolved, I felt completely left behind. My mental illness doesn’t have any political affiliation, it just exists. Now I see obnoxious “trigger” jokes just about everywhere, even people who are just parroting a “meme” 20 steps removed from the anime nazi assholes who send me the corresponding Junkrat UI image along with their misguided efforts to actually trigger me. It’s to the point where even nice people say shitty things without realizing it.

And that fucking sucks, man. Having a very real aspect of your mental health made into a meme and a joke that has seemingly worked its way into nerd culture at large helps make it feel impossible to actually talk about my mental health, especially when it’s an illness that pop culture constantly misrepresents. The last thing anyone needs when they’re trying to speak up and identify something to someone as being bad for them is to be made fun of. It’s like showing someone a knife in your back and asking them to pull it out for you, only to have them kick it a little to see if it’s real or not first.

Hearing “triggered” jokes is grating and tiresome, especially since bringing up what being triggered actually feels like makes you a huge no-fun killjoy (not to mention the inevitable backlash of people with underdeveloped empathy glands actively trying to trigger me after saying this), but here we are all the same. If it sounds annoying, trust me, I am *way* more annoyed that I have a mental illness than you are. I’m tired. I want to be able to explain to people what is going on with me without the baggage of other people misusing a word for cheap jokes with hidden costs, simply so I don’t have to do all the heavy lifting of educating people just so I can get them to understand that a specific thing messes with me. I’m not about to tell anyone what to say, and I largely feel that plenty of otherwise well-meaning people legitimately just don’t know any better (I know the people who want to continue being little shits will continue to be little shits, water is wet, don’t @ me about it). I want you, dear reader, to know all this so you know what you’re actually making fun of.

I want you to know all this so you know why I’m not laughing with you - it’s because you’re laughing at me.

(in b4 bland peepants hacks respond with lazy “triggered” jokes)

[bflolocalpunk]

Not Dead Yet

It’s been a while since I last made an update. I’m still breathing, don’t worry. Things are not grave, but they aren’t great either. My mind is still on autopilot and I can’t quite seem to focus at all. “Stuck in limbo” is the best way that I can describe how I have felt this past month.

So I moved all safe and sound to West Seneca at the end of July (albeit with some minor difficulties). I’m sharing an unfinished basement with my friend Andrew (along with my bed until he gets his from his parents’ place). My boxes are mostly still piled up in the center of the main room; I don’t really have a place to put any of my things down here. We’re staying in a house owned by two of his good friends who are truly wonderful people who don’t have a problem at all with me being here. We have full use of the living room, bathroom, laundry machines and kitchen. It’s a roof over my head, and I know many people would tell me that I should just be happy for that. I am very grateful to have friends like this in my life who care, but to tell you the truth, I’ve been completely miserable.

West Seneca is a suburb surrounded by strip malls, national chains, and sidewalk-less pavement. I’m trapped down here, mainly relying on Andrew to go to fun-filled places like “the store”. I can’t just go for a walk just to bump into friends, let alone if I wanted to ever get coffee. My friends back in the city seem so far away and pictures I see of them going to shows and enjoying each others’ company puts so much weight onto my heart. Sure, I can always spend $5 for an all-day transit pass, but that would take about an hour to get to where they are in the city and at least an hour and a half back because the buses aren’t suburban-friendly at all. The majority of time when I was homeless (well, I guess I kinda am sorta homeless now too) at least I had a car. I was resourceful because I had the means to get to new places. There’s just a crippling feeling of isolation that’s been gradually overwhelming me.

At least I have a job now, right? Well, I do, but it’s nothing to congratulate me for. I did get a job at the place Andrew works for --a customer service call center. But he did the phone interview for me (against my wishes, but the interview really only was for show), and I was hired after a group interview. You see, they hired absolutely everyone who walked through that door as long as they didn’t test positive for hardcore drugs and passed a background check. I wasn’t hired for my skills or my experience, I was hired because they needed more fresh blood and fast. They landed a big contract with a well-known telecommunications company and so I started a four-week training class from 3:30-11:30pm Sunday through Thursdays towards the beginning of August. The place is mismanaged from hell to back with no one taking responsibility for their actions or even seeming to care when mistakes or problems even screw up vital details like their own employees’ pay. The telecom. company they secured a contract with? I can’t say their name, but they’re rated #2 in the fucking country for the worst customer service. Go ahead, look it up on your own if you’re curious who it is. I tried so fucking hard, but the only place that would give me a shot turned out to be a corrupt, apathetic corporation that only hired me as a drone so they can milk their customers for all their worth in the most dishonest and immoral ways possible. Graduating with a degree from college? Building a solid portfolio in three and a half years from nothing? Surviving 7 goddamn years of homelessness? None of that matters to anyone at all there. God, I wish Elmwood Taco and Subs hired me for a fast food worker back when I applied. Even if it was $9 an hour in fast food at least I wouldn’t feel like I’m going against every single moral principle just by walking through the front doors.

My self-esteem is almost completely zero at this point. I can’t just up and quit because I need money to recover from my massive debt and especially if I want to make my way back up to the city. I still owe my old landlords about 3 months of unpaid rent totaling roughly $2,400 (one was for a bounced check) along with my cell phone to get it turned back on, credit cards, and god knows what else. My bank account was closed for being in the negatives and I’m sure I have at least 4 other things that have been reported to credit bureaus. I’m starting my first day on the floor answering phone calls in less than 12 hours from now and I’m absolutely terrified. Of all the jobs I’ve applied to over the years, the one that actually works out scares the hell out of me and I haven’t even officially begun yet. I’ve actually started drawing again to ease my mind (the first completed piece since my crippling depression was for my ex-boyfriend Kiul’s birthday back on August 3rd that he probably will never see), and there’s nothing more that I want to do than just quit on the spot and spend every day drawing instead of lining the pockets of a money-hungry corporation. But what would I do then to get by? I wish nothing more that my talent was actually valued by someone out there.... anyone. I’m stuck and I’m scared. Maybe I deserve all the bad things that have happened to me? I’ve been feeling that maybe I’m not meant to do great things. There’s no way to get out of this mess, the more I’ve tried the worse things have gotten. What do I do? Enduring a daily routine of dread and self-loathing all the while crossing my fingers that things will be better in a few years? What’s so wrong with a couple of years hating your self in a job you despise while being separated from those most closest to you? I mean, other people slave under corporate America bigwigs to get by, what gives me the right to complain? I’ll openly admit that after living through the hell that I did and having such a shitty life that I’ve acquired a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I always thought that maybe, just maybe something special would happen in my life to turn my luck around. A big break? Being in the right place at the right time? I’ve prayed relentlessly for at least a sliver of hope, but every time I’ve been met with disappointment or more setbacks. I’m not special. My story doesn’t matter. I’ll never be anything more than a selfish nobody who ignorantly ignores the realities of life to instead chase his own childish dreams.

I feel so empty and hollow. It’s funny, I’ll be turning 29 years-old on September 11th. For the entirety of my 20s I’ll have lived without any real stability in my life. Nobody’s ever made a big deal about my birthday or has done anything special for it. The closest I got was when I was dating Kiul last year who was so stunned when he asked what I wanted to do for it and told him I honestly had no idea. For the first time in my life someone actually wanted to go out of their way to celebrate my birthday. We broke up shortly before it actually happened, and I wound up spending my entire day sitting at Caffè Aroma by myself just wishing my birthday was over. Almost an entire decade has gone by since that fateful night when I escaped my ex-stepfather’s rape attempt in 2008. Over 8½ years where I had to learn about life and grow as a person under the most nightmarish circumstances ever. I want to feel like I’m special.

I’ve been selfishly proclaiming this as the “Year of Steve Ardo” when for over half of it I wanted to give up and die. You have no idea how many nights I went to bed and secretly wished that my heart would just stop, maybe if I even helped it along with some sleeping pills and alcohol. That’s how awful this year has been, but it never happened and I couldn’t bring myself to do it on my own. Sobbing and pleading to “God” for mercy didn’t change anything, neither did begging for Tim, Andrew/Castomel, Dad, or anyone who was listening for guidance. Hell, I even hoped for the small chance that someone would share my story with Ellen DeGeneres. To think that if things turned out differently that right now I would be in grad school at a top school in the country. A school rated #3 in the country for their Graphic Design MFA program actually chose me as an alternate. If only it had been this year, right? I’m sure they’ll really want me now after the trainwreck I became. There are so many things I wish turned out differently this year. So many things I wanted to experience and see. Instead, I’m miserable and forced to go through the motions because what other choice do I have? I’m expected to shut up and just accept the things I cannot change. That’s just the never-ending story of my life though. I wish I could wake up every morning with a strong sense of self-worth and pride in myself.

I just want to be happy again.

[bflolocalpunk]

Why?

I wish I could say that I’m doing all right. I wish I could say that everything has turned around since last time I posted, but it hasn’t. I mentally checked out a long time ago.

Well let’s start out by me catching you all up to speed on the current situation. I lost my apartment because I can’t afford to pay rent and am moving out on either Friday or Saturday. Why couldn’t I pay rent (or any bills at that matter)? Because I still don’t have a job. I tried my best, but it still wasn’t enough. Do you remember when I told you when I applied to the Lexington Co-op? Well I found out why I wasn’t even considered. The woman in human resources told a friend of mine that my résumé “didn’t stand out”. For a grocery store that employs college students, I “didn’t stand out”. I had to swallow my pride a long time ago and give up my plans for landing a graphic design career, and for what? None of these places understands that I have to pool a ton of energy into applying to these places and that each rejection (or silence on their end, despite initial optimism) negatively impacts my chances of surviving. It feels like my efforts didn’t mean anything despite the sacrifices I had to make. Speaking of graphic design, I was offered to contribute a logo design for an upcoming business (extremely corporate at that) through a “friend” who encouraged me to get paid for the work I did. I was dropped as a designer (which isn’t a big deal because I’m still not experienced with corporate aesthetic), but when asked to submit my invoice I was accused of lying about my billable hours by said “friend”. When I read that e-mail I shut down completely. Why did I devote so much time and energy into making graphic design and art a real possibility if every single time I’ve gotten shut down? It was my one real chance to get my foot in the door and instead it exploded in my face. It wasn’t worth it to me anymore; my dream finally died.

Buffalo has broken me in so many ways over the years. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do anymore. I have to move to West Seneca not by choice, but because it’s the only real option I have left. I’ll be staying with my friend Andrew, who’s probably been the only person who’s actively done what he can to help me out whether it’s monetarily or dragging me out of the house so I’m not wallowing in my misery. West Seneca is about a 20 minute drive from Downtown Buffalo and Andrew’s going to help me get a job at his place of employment. The problem is that I still don’t have a car and the job is evenings from 3:00-11:00pm. I’m going to be cut off from everything I’ve been familiar with for these past 3 or so years. It’ll be a way to very slowly get back on my feet, but I’m petrified of being torn away from what I’ve held dear --my friends, my resources, my “normal” life.

The past month I’ve just shut down completely, alternating between fits of rage, torrents of tears, and even numbness from extreme apathy. Yeah I know I’ve said before that I wanted to leave this city before, but I always wanted to do it on my own terms and not be forced out. Of course my life could get worse. My sister informed me that Fran (my abusive stepfather who attempted to rape me and who caused and has directly impacted my entire homeless adventure) put down my two cats in retaliation for my mom finally leaving him. Jack, my little boy, and Asher, my princess; innocent lives killed by a monster who should’ve been jailed 8½ years ago. I spent the day I found out sitting in the park, and my head wracked with pain as memories from my entire life came flooding into my mind. I’m lost and I’m stuck, and no matter how many times I reach out or ask for assistance from anyone I’m always forgotten about or ignored.

I can’t even begin to tell you how often suicide has crossed my mind. It’s funny, now I know what Tim meant when he told me that that having others in his life was the only reason why he kept going. I haven’t killed myself yet because there are people who it would drastically and negatively impact right now, but to be quite honest I ran out of steam and the eternal quiet of death sounds much better than the ongoing struggle of suffering through life. This doesn’t mean that I’m going to off myself, but this is how bad my life has gotten for me to even consider it. I’m so far in debt that it will take a long time to recover from, and I’ve poured all my energy these past years into a creative field that is getting me nowhere. Everyone has been repeating ad nauseam that things will get better and my hard work will pay off, but I’m so exhausted from being patient and sick of hearing it. They can’t promise that it will all work out and they don’t have to live my life day in and day out being forced to deal with my limitations and waking up every morning in fear. I know I’m strong and I know that I’m resilient, but there’s only so long that I can hold on while everything is falling apart. Why is my life like this? I’ve tried turning back to faith and pleading with God to have mercy on me to stop the pain and provide me some form of guidance, but still nothing. I’ve been powerless to stop everything from falling apart. I haven’t had any stability in my life. I lost my drive, the passion I had for my art, and the hope I had left.

I don’t have a safety net to catch me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I don’t know why my life is so hard. I don‘t know why my hard work and dedication doesn’t mean anything to anyone. Maybe I don’t have any hope left, but even if one other person does that means it’s still alive.... somewhere. I’m just so tired of bearing so many burdens all by myself. I feel so broken.

[bflolocalpunk]

[bflolocalpunk]

Freefall

I’m at a really strange part of my life. My world has been falling apart around me, but I’m not freaking out like I probably should. It’s been a few months since I’ve been able to pay on some bills... some being lines of credit while others were for my Internet at my apartment. The calls have been nonstop, but my life didn’t end when I missed my payments. I guess you could say that I’ve been running only on blind hope - hope that sometime soon things will finally work out. There’s no safety net anymore, nothing left to break my fall should everything give way. All that’s below me? Sharp, jagged rocks ready to devour me should I even trip. I should be more worried than I am, but honestly I feel apathetic to it. I’ve done what seems like a lifetime of worrying, I just don‘t have the energy to do it anymore. Maybe it’s a gut feeling that things will get better soon? I don’t know if it’s truly that or just a reality that I don’t really want to face. After the Artvoice debacle, I’ve become more withdrawn. It turned out kind of how I expected; people expressed an interest in crowdfunding for me or offering to look into legal options in the off-chance I can go after the paper for defamation of character and/or slander. A tiny spark of interest in my life followed by silence, it’s something I’ve been used to and it didn’t hurt because I half-expected it to happen. Have I really become that jaded? I haven’t been focusing on finding a steady income like I should be, but that’s not to say that I haven’t tried. It hit me that I’ve been trying nonstop for over two years since I was fired from my full-time job; that’s two whole years of disappointment and two whole years of the setbacks that occurred whenever I tried to make things change. That weighs down heavily on you, especially when you’ve lowered all your standards and expectations just to try and survive. I have been applying to any job, I haven’t been picky. I just need something that’s either on the bus line and is open when they run, or something that’s within walking distance. I think that’s pretty damn reasonable. I don’t even know what I’d even be qualified for anymore since it’s been so long. If you try so hard for so long and nothing ever sticks how else are you supposed to react? I’m trying one more time and started a Patreon because art is the only thing that’s kept me going. My dream of owning a small business has been my driving force these last few years. Graphic design and art is the only thing I know how to do, and it’s saved my life a time or two when all seemed hopeless. How do I get other people to realize that and understand? I have people all around me bark suggestions like orders at what I should be doing, but those people don’t know what it’s like to live inside my head having to deal with uncertainty and fear for so long. Ever since Dad’s cancer came back in 2006 and especially after he died in 2007, I’ve been forced to just deal with life dragging me along and forcing me to accept excruciating circumstances as my new realities. It’s been over a decade of having to “just deal”, with those wonderful moments of repose never lasting long enough before the next nightmare or disaster starts up. I have no more money. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. The unyielding stress causing over two months of insomnia with countless nights spent sobbing in my bed because I can’t even get myself to rest and recharge even though I desperately need to. I need things to change, but I don’t how to make that happen. Without stability there’s not a lot I can do. I’m tired of settling for going without. I’m tired of people expecting me to just live with my limitations. I‘m tired of living with a decade’s worth of setbacks and obstacles at every turn. For the love of God, I need some light back in my life. http://www.patreon.com/steveardo

[bflolocalpunk]

2016 election

News anchor: The new president has been elected.

The entire US population: *sweats in anticipation*

News anchor: and HIS NAME IS JOHN CENA

[bflolocalpunk]

Nightmare Mode

Dealing with the aftermath of the disaster that was the Artvoice article has shot my anxiety through the roof these past few days. I have no desire to eat or sleep, instead just sitting around doing absolutely nothing. It was supposed to be a story about overcoming obstacles and never giving up, so why did it turn out like this? Why were my words twisted to make it seem like I was so vindictive towards people who have helped me out in the past?

My struggle with getting a real professional job isn’t because people don’t want me to have one, it’s because I have no idea how to get others to give me a chance. Yes I have a portfolio from these past 3 years working with the DIY music community, but it’s not what agencies or in-house departments are looking for so they have no use for me. My problem is that I don‘t know how to make these changes they request without essentially abandoning my past work. Even glowing reviews and recommendations from friends at organizations I have applied to aren’t making the dents they need to, so I’m stuck not knowing what to do. I wasn’t portraying anyone else as a scapegoat in my interview with Jamie Moses when I was pointing out that even with these advantages I still couldn’t change anything, yet in the end that’s what people will think. Friends aren’t talking to me and I have no idea how to revert the damage. My reaction I posted on Facebook is getting a lot of views, but I don’t think it will fix a lot in the end. I regret ever allowing Jamie to interview me because despite anything I can say afterwards, my intentions will always be tainted. I should’ve trusted my instincts on this, my gut was telling me it wasn’t a good idea from the beginning.

The damage is done and I’m left all alone again with no real hope of a bright future anymore. What’s the point of trying again?

[bflolocalpunk]

Re: Artvoice

On Thursday, March 10th I eagerly walked down Elmwood Ave. with a spring in my step as I saw stacks of Artvoice in storefront windows and in front of doors. It was going to be a big day for me, the #yearofsteveardo I had teased a day earlier on social media. You see, in the fall I had met and befriended a wonderful woman at Sugar City’s Zine Fair and we both hit it off right off the bat. She was running her own zine about the diverse people that make up the city’s culture that you don’t normally hear about and was very interested in my experiences with the “do it yourself” (DIY) music community. A few months later I met her for an interview and after telling her how I got to where I was today and all I’ve endured, she was inspired, teary-eyed, and insisted that we needed to share my story with the city. For the first time in my life, a person in Buffalo (a new friend I barely knew, at that) wanted to spread my story as she saw it one of courage and determination. Shortly thereafter an opportunity arose when Artvoice contacted her about wanting to build a story centered on artists being left out of Buffalo’s “renaissance”, and after I gave her my permission to include my story it was green-lit by Jamie Moses, the newspaper’s owner and publisher. Seeing my smiling mascot Hobes Scruffingon McBeardsley grace the cover, I immediately flipped to page 6 and began to read my interview. I just got into the third paragraph when I noticed that something wasn’t right, as I read on my suspicions were validated and my stomach began to churn in disgust. I was mortified, and after explaining to her what had happened, she was too. “Buffalo’s Big Comeback – Struggling Artists Don’t See It” has a part of the author’s interview, but what a lot of people don’t know is that Jamie Moses did an interview of his own that he included into the published version. After sending back some corrections and revisions to the author I had for her draft on March 2nd, I received a text message from Jamie inviting me out to dinner to talk more. I accepted and we made plans to meet at Coco the following night. When we were seated he took out his phone, opened an app to record audio, and placed it on the table next to me and asked to talk about my experiences being homeless. I was very dumbfounded and confused as I had already done the interview with the author and there was no prior talk about a further one from him in our plans to meet. He explained it as since she was currently out of town he wanted some more information. I was not prepared to do another interview right on the spot, not to mention having the entire conversation recorded. I was put into a very uncomfortable position without my consent, but I really didn’t know what else I could do under that immense pressure. As I tried to talk about these very personal topics, I was met with interruptions from him that prevented me from going into further details about important facts and also some really confusing questions that I really just didn’t understand. During the entire ordeal he made really awkward flirtatious remarks towards the hostess and server that made me sink further into my chair. He asked about my experience with having my “Rad-o-saurus Rex” on the cover for The Public, and then afterward went on a rant explaining to me in detail about how they all quit on him to start it up. As he dropped me off at my apartment I was under the impression that he would send what he collected to her to go over and include in the article. As I messaged her later about the bizarre interview, she seemed equally confused. Jamie got a hold of me the next day requesting some artwork of mine to include (personally asking if I could color in some past flyers), a high-res image of Hobes for the cover, and to send him some more information about my Indiegogo campaign from last summer when I tried to kickstart my small business. I complied and didn’t hear from him again.

What I thought was an interview in strict confidence was twisted and warped beyond anything I could have imagined. Considering it was a very sensitive and personal topic, the author made sure I was completely okay with the information to be published, but Jamie did not even bother or just didn’t care. My jaw dropped when I read some of the quotations that were attributed to my name. The ones done by her were 100% accurate, while I am misquoted in almost every single one from Jamie’s “interview” with some containing additional commentary that never once escaped from my lips to him. Yes I talked about how the Pegulas were seen as saviors of this city, but I didn’t go into a long-winded rant that included failing schools or the new office building for Delaware North, yet there it is in quotes. Line after line I was reading opinions about entities and corporations I never shared with him. I was effectively used as a mouthpiece for Jamie’s own thoughts because I couldn’t come up with enough material that satisfied his own biases. He had made it very known during the interview that he thought the “renaissance” was complete rubbish.

Thoughtlessness was put into my story of trying desperately to seek employment in the graphic design field, and instead of mentioning that I had been seeking completely unrelated jobs he listed every single job that I had applied for. It was not the public’s business that I applied to the Lexington Co-op, Ashker’s, or Caffe Aroma just so I could earn a regular paycheck. Some of those applications are still very much active and under review, but with that atrocity being published they might not be for much longer because it makes it look like they’re worthless to me. What’s worse is that he listed other advertising agencies and organizations for a design career as if I held a grudge for not being hired in the past. Yes, I do know people at Block Club but I applied there before that was even remotely the case. I harbor a huge respect for them for being a LGBT-owned and operated company and because they are truly really awesome people that create amazing work. They are really the only real connection I have to understanding anything in Buffalo’s graphic design community, so why are they attributed to being a negative in my life? I also know a lot of people at Evergreen Health Services (and by extension, The Pride Center)  and have applied at jobs there, but they are also my health and wellness providers that have bent over backwards these past 4 years to make sure that I was always taken care of. Jamie deliberately naming these entities not only violates my right to privacy (he also continually confused a administrative assistant position to being linked to Abbey Mecca during our discussion when it wasn’t), but it also paints me out to be a bitter, vindictive man who publicly blacklists local businesses. If you know me at all, you know this isn’t true. Jamie Moses might have single-handedly prevented me from ever getting a professional graphic design position because of this juvenile tirade done in my image. By publishing all of this very personal information completely out of context and packed with lies, he is guaranteeing that no one will ever take me serious again and maybe even has destroyed my reputation. 

After talking to the author, I found out that she was just asked to submit her draft, and she wasn’t even allowed to see the final edits or information Jamie included even though her name was still attached to the article. She’s absolutely crushed because she feels responsible for suggesting me as a good candidate for the topic and saw me as a story that had to be told. The author had nothing to do with the finished product except for the draft she wrote that I pre-approved. I have assured her that it’s not her fault and that our friendship and working relationship has not been tarnished. If anything, at least part of my long story is now public. I hope that counts for something.

The sole individual to blame is Jamie Moses and his mad drive for power and control over the ideas that are published in Artvoice. Jamie could’ve focused on my struggle to even get my foot into the design community even with my 3 years of freelance graphic design experience (including branding, merchandise, print advertisements, etc.) because it was nontraditional. He could’ve discussed how much the DIY and grassroots communities were shaping the city’s culture, but still being overshadowed by expensive development projects like Delaware North, Harbor Center, and (because they fit) the Pegulas. Unemployment rates and homelessness were also major concerns that could’ve been talked about more. Maybe he could’ve delved more into my Indiegogo campaigns (the first to start a small business that earned less than $500 of the $15,000 goal and the second that followed because I found myself homeless again shortly after when I couldn’t get it off the ground), and how it was extremely difficult to get anyone in the city to pay attention. You see, those are topics I really did invest energy into discussing because they actually matter to me, not petty whining. Also, you would think Jamie Moses would have paid more attention to get my hometown right (it’s Utica, a point I always stress when someone asks), or the number of years I’ve been active in the arts community here (four, it began when I volunteered at the Western New York Book Arts Center in February of 2012). I don’t know why he did what he did, all I know is that he did more damage than good all the while publishing a photo of me he lifted from my Instagram account (@grandtheftardo) without my consent.

What was supposed to be a story about struggle and endurance was tainted with imagined angst from a man who was claiming to be me. Both the author and I wanted to believe that Artvoice would be a good medium to get my story out there, but we were both left feeling so violated from someone we once trusted. It’s funny, I don’t think Jamie will ever get the irony of that even after I disclosed to him what I went through and the origins behind my homelessness. The article is published and neither the author or myself can do anything about it. This is not the end of everything though, she is planning on a future issue of her zine dedicated entirely to my story untouched by outside forces. She is truly a remarkable and genuine human being, I am honored to have her in my life. I learned a very valuable lesson, it just took the owner of Artvoice tarnishing my image and possibility for any future employment in Buffalo just to raise a few eyebrows. The one who doesn’t “see it” is Jamie Moses, but all I’m left with is disgust.

[bflolocalpunk]

What’s the Lesson?

The last few months I’ve been paralyzed by my depression. Yeah I did eventually get a new apartment in December, but it was only after groveling on my hands and knees for help from other people. I thought it would help me move forward, but I’ve only felt more unhappy and alone. The first month I had severe nerve pain in my hands and feet (no doubt from sleeping on a couch for a long period of time along with intense stress), so I couldn’t do much without sharp, shooting pain that happened almost randomly. I’ve tried applying to jobs again (even to coffee shops!) only to be met with more disappointment. All the while my depression and anxiety have been increasing exponentially. There were more art markets that were going on, but why would anyone tell me about them beforehand or invite me to participate? I also missed Kiul... You have no idea how much I’ve missed him, but that’s something that will probably never be reciprocated again by him. He gave me a real reason to not give up on Buffalo and actually start building the foundation for a life together. That’s all been gone since September, and my heart’s been in so much pain since then. My mind and body have both become traps and I have no idea how to move forward.

I did get a new apartment and I’m slowly acquiring furniture, but I don’t know how to adjust. It’s been almost two years since I’ve last had a regular paycheck job. Dire circumstances over these last 8 years haven’t helped any, and to be honest I still don’t remember what it’s like to stand on my own two feet. It feels as though I’m an amnesiac being expected to perform brain surgery to the rest of the world. These struggles have been overwhelming me to the point where I can’t move. In a bitter twist of irony I’m only now being offered freelance graphic design jobs that are actually willing to pay me what I’m worth. I’ve had friends help me out for the last few months, but they can’t do the full amount nor should they have to take care of me. God, I wish I even had the money to go grocery shopping. Unfortunately it’s all coming too late and I will probably lose this apartment too because I just don’t have the money.

During these last few months I’ve found myself crying out to “God” (if there is one) begging for help, guidance, and a break in my life for once. I’ve felt so lost and alone, not knowing where I even belong here anymore. I don’t have the energy to do it by myself anymore, but my pleas have gone unanswered. I applied to grad school in Baltimore again to run away from Buffalo, but if I’m not accepted I am back to square one. I just don’t get what I’m supposed to do. Maybe the lesson this time around is that I should’ve snapped out of my depression sooner, but how is that supposed to be fair? I don’t understand concepts like self-nourishment, even though that would help ease my mind.  Poverty means I’ve been isolating myself into my room, wishing someone would ask me out to do something. Every day terrifies me and I’ve lost the drive to keep moving forward. “Giving up” has also resurfaced in the back of my mind, something that should’ve been gone for good 3 years ago. Life shouldn’t be about continually suffering or  experiencing “bad luck”, so why am I always subjected to it?

[bflolocalpunk]

‘Farewells Are Not Forever’ by Creation Order Xtinction is my new jam.

[bflolocalpunk]

‘Do The Whirlwind’ by Architecture in Helsinki is my new jam.

[bflolocalpunk]

Help

I tried so hard to make my life better this past year. I networked my ass off, I got some exposure for my work, and when it seemed I would never land a graphic design career I tried my hand at getting my small business off the ground. It’s now mid-September and the year has flown by right before my eye. I’ve survived the worst life has thrown at me and have come so far all by myself, but now I feel scared and uncertain about what I should do to get some stability back in my life.

I am now back to couch-surfing with all my possessions strewn across three different places. I never wanted to experience this again, but despite my best efforts it still happened. I found a friend to split a two-bedroom apartment with, but it all fell through when I didn’t have enough money to pay for the security deposit or even the first-month’s rent. He had to resort to finding a studio apartment because he couldn’t wait for me to find the funds. A perfect opportunity slipped by because I’ve been stuck in poverty. I haven’t slept in my own bed in over a month and a half. I forgot how soul-crushing being homeless was.

The last time I asked for help so I could be financially self-sufficient, the results of my Indiegogo campaign were far from where I needed them to be in order for anything to really get off the ground. I don’t regret trying, and I did have friends (and my mom) that believed in what I was trying to accomplish by donating and spreading the word. Ultimately they gave me a start, without them I wouldn’t have been able to purchase T-shirts, obtain my DBA, or participate in that art market. I was disappointed in the other people in my life who let me down when I needed help.

I couldn’t rely on the majority my friends to help me achieve my dream in a fundraiser I (and others) endlessly promoted. I was hesitant to turn to crowd-funding again because of that experience, but this might be the only chance I can to finally find a permanent residence again. The time it takes for me to save up enough money could take months, and that would mean I would have to rely on the genuine kindness of my friends to let me park on their couch and store my belongings in their attics and basements. With winter approaching in just a few months I’m afraid that it chances of me finding an available apartment will be slim-to-none. I set up another campaign through Indiegogo Life because I need help from others. I’m in a really dire situation and this time people can’t ignore my pleas for assistance. I’m asking for $1,200, which would hep cover first month’s rent + security deposit and utilities. In a two-bedroom this would help me out with at least two months, but if I have to resort to a studio or one-bedroom then it would help offset the cost of at least one month. With a new apartment I could finally launch my online store to sell my T-shirts and take as many part-time jobs as necessary (or if I’m lucky, a full-time one) to continue paying rent. Those are all dependent on first having a permanent residence. So far I’ve had two complete strangers donate, factors which give me hope that maybe this time it will succeed. However, I do have some doubts. The other day a fan of the Buffalo Bills started a GoFundMe campaign to raise money to get the Guinness World Records organization to come to a game. The goal? To prove that Buffalo has “the loudest” fans. How much did he raise? Over $9,000, more than the required $8,000 amount. I tried for 30 days to get Buffalo to take notice of my first Indiegogo campaign, opening up about everything I had been through and what I was trying to accomplish in starting a small business, but in the end I don’t know why I couldn’t get the community to pay attention. I am really afraid that this time wont be any different.

I’m taking a chance and asking again. I am crossing my fingers that people finally realize that I really don’t have any more options left. People assure me that one day my hard work and dedication will pay off and life will be amazing, a future that I really hope is right around the corner. I am exhausted from things continually falling apart, but if I had truly given up I wouldn’t even ask for help. I just want to have a home again.

Please help me get home.

[bflolocalpunk]

TakePrEP.com

Previously, we’ve shared a few components of the media campaign we created for Evergreen Health Services to help get the word out about PrEP, an important type of HIV prevention drug. The series of billboards and print advertisements we created have gotten a lot of visibility throughout WNY over the past few months in order to raise awareness. However, it is through the campaign’s website, takeprep.com, that we were really able to effectively dispel some of the myths and misconceptions surrounding the drug and hopefully connect people with the information they need to stay healthy and prevent new cases of HIV.

The layout of the site is simple, and direct—immediately addressing the three most fundamental questions a person might have: “What is PrEP?”, “Is PrEP right for me?” and “How do I get PrEP?”. The animated video we created lives at the top of the page as a helpful condensed overview while the accordion-style FAQ section provides more specific information to help address any other concerns. Finally, the “About Evergreen” section explicitly directs people to where they need to go in order to get protected.

We’ve incorporated the same design strategies here that we utilized elsewhere with this campaign—bright swaths of color popping off a black background with friendly illustrations—into an easy, single-page interface, so that the message is impossible to miss.

Hopefully this simple, yet information-rich site can be an important tool to help get more at-risk individuals on PrEP; a revolutionary step forward in the fight against HIV and AIDS. Visit takeprep.com today.

- Ryan

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