Year End Retrospective: And All Hell Broke Loose
It’s one in the morning.
I’m sitting on my couch. There’s five days left in 2019.
I’ve finally lost my fucking mind.
At least, I think I have. It’s the only thing in a non-sensical situation that seems logical. I should be screaming right now. Really blowing my fucking stack and trying hard to give my best impression of Pele. But I’m not. I’m sitting here listening to Led Zepplin, tears dry on my face for the umpteenth time.
And I’m smiling. Despite everything I can still crack that crooked grin of mine, the one my friends really like. Which doesn’t make a fucking lick of sense.
This has been the worst god damn year of my entire fucking life.
I lost my dad July 15th. I still get calls from people who are just finding out. I can’t tell you how many times a week I say “it’s okay, it happened quick, at least it was in his sleep”.
I can still remember the agony in my mother’s voice as she yelled “it’s not fair! It’s just not fair!” over the phone at me. Sometimes I’ll be in the car, and a song will come on that reminds me of him. I’ll pull over and have to breathe deeply and try hard not to cry. I tell people I’m over it, but I’m still working through it.
Grief is long. Death is forever.
I miss him every fucking day.
With dad’s death came me having to step in for care of my grandmother. Who I hadn’t seen in years-because my father didn’t want me to “see her like that”. Dad’s death lead to me realizing it’s because she had dementia. She didn’t recognize me at all when I saw her, with her caretaker telling me she probably thought I was him.
I’d just happen to stop in on the same day he did during the week.
She died december 23rd.
Through all this was someone I firmly believed loved me.
Today-Christmas day that is-something fell into my lap so massive that it’s likely breaking us apart. It’s still fresh. My head and heart are telling me I should be screaming.
But I’m too tired for that. So I’m smiling instead. That god damn crooked grin that got me through the rest. It’s a tool that’s carried me this far. I figure I’ve plenty more mileage coming out of yet.
I’m smiling because things aren’t quite so scary when you smile. I’m smiling because if I didn’t, I’d look in the mirror and then the worry and fear would hit. Hard, at that. I’m smiling because despite all this shit, despite all the tears and grief and anger, I didn’t break. I might have cracked, but these hands of mine fix a hell of a lot more than grammar errors. They smoothed me out, word after word after minute at the mic.
I’m smiling because I’m still here.
I’m smiling because you’re still here.
I want to tell you a story. It’s not as sexy as the rest, and I’ve told it a few times. But it’s an important one. Mostly because it’s not a story at all.
I Am and Am Not This Illusion
I say it almost every day, and I’m going to say it again:
I’m just a guy.
No, really. I am. I’m no different than almost every single one of you reading this. In real life, you’d pass me on the street and not even notice. I’m incredibly shy. I’m an introvert. I have a horrible stutter sometimes, and I’ve tried so hard to get rid of it. So I just don’t talk. If you’re quiet, you can’t accidently trip over your own tongue. You can’t say something stupid.
I’m just a guy. Invisible as the rest.
But there’s this big, huge switch inside my brain. It’s flanked by occult books, cigarette butts and a weird stain I can’t get rid of. It’s wood and metal, built deep into the wall of my gray matter. The handle is worn with years of use, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t give one hell of a satisfying click still.
Above this switch is a sign that reads “JACK” in big, bold letters.
When I flip that switch, the most damning thing happens.
I’d love to say there’s some kind of profound transformation sequence. I jump into the air like Sailor Moon, ready to kick a dude in the head for justice. Or maybe I become this horrible beast. Howling like mad as I rip my clothes free, claws scuttling along the bricks. I wish it was that cool.
But it’s not. It’s really lame actually. I grin, and accept that I’m not just me anymore. I’m not just a guy, and never was. I’m “the most electrifying man in podcasting”, as I used to say. Here lately, I’m “Jack from Splat Speaks”. Occasionally I’m this nasally intern. Or a werewolf. I think I was actually sailor moon once, come to think of it. Regardless, I leave me behind. I become the act, and it’s grip is all encompassing.
When I’m done, I just flick that switch back down. I disappear back into the world, and it’s over for the time. At least, that’s how things used to be.
That switch, it made distancing myself from my work easy. It made me able to brush aside compliments with my hand. “Oh no, couldn’t be me,” I’d say, “I’m just a guy. A hack, I promise,” Then I’d laugh, and go about my day. But the comments and more, they kept coming. And I found myself leaving that switch “on” a lot more. Then came the point I forgot to flip it off at all.
All the compliments, praise and support-I finally was able to accept it. I was able to realize these things were aimed at me, and not just the act. I questioned it at first-and still do. Why the fuck would anyone want to be kind? To me, just some guy? But people were. They did so without qualm, without pause, without need. They befriended me not as some trick, but out of genuine warmth. They loved me effortlessly when they didn’t have to.
Those people are you. The very deviants reading this.
Being a performer is a juggling act. You’re constantly asking yourself what is, or isn’t, too much to show. You’ve a whole trunk full of masks and tricks. There’s the illusion of what you present to the crowd and the real you. The best illusions? The most convincing acts? They play it extremely close to the surface. There’s just a degree of uncertainty left, enough to keep people wandering. Enough to keep them wanting.
For a very long time though, that was incredibly hard for me to realize. Because I’d lived a life as a shadow. In some aspects, I still do. But through the light of my work here and the genuine love and validation you all have given me, it doesn’t feel like an act anymore. That switch, the one I used to flip in my head, it’s gathering dust. Always turned “on”-because I realized the act wasn’t an act at all.
It’s me. I really am the person you all say I am.
Realizing that I had all the potential, all the confidence and capability of the guy I pretend to be was like baptism. It’s burned away the shell I was before, and made me strong. I sit here now, after a year of grief and heartache.
I’m still here.
You’re still here.
Because of that, everything really is going to be okay.
A Magician’s Best Trick
Four years ago I started Splathouse as a joke.
No, seriously.
None of this shit was supposed to work at all. Not a single fucking bit of this was supposed to take off. And now I have a schedule and demand. But when I started, it was a fucking lark. The trick, at the time, was to see if I could write better sex scenes than a friend.
Four years of solid success and demand speak for themselves, I think. The trick hasn’t gotten smaller, but expanded to so much more of this stage. Writing became audio which became merch which finally hit Reddit (hey there r/AudioGoneWild). When that happened, I started getting mail. All kinds, really. But between the folks asking for feet pics and dick jokes, there were a few that gripped me.
“You make me not so afraid,”
“This audio made me cry,”
“You help me get to sleep at night,”
A magician is only as capable as his audience’s belief in him.
For once in my entire life I feel confident saying there are people that care about my well being. I can say with full authority I’m loved, valued and wanted.
And you can bet your ass it’s made me one hell of a showman.
So here’s a promise for the future.
The coming year will undoubtedly be better than the last. I’ve a hell of a lot of tricks left to pull. I can’t spoil a thing right now-but the show isn’t over. It sure as hell ain’t stopping any time soon.
I want to repay all the good will that has been pushed towards me. If that’s by being a better performer, then I’ll do it. If that’s by taking the powers I have and helping those that were like me, then I’m going to do it.
I’m on this stage until there’s a curtain call.
Thank you all. Thank you all so incredibly much for believing in me. Thank you for bringing me into your lives. Thank you for loving and supporting me. Thank you for being more than faces in the crowd obscured by the house lights.
Thank you for letting me be vulnerable and human. Thank you for teaching me both of those are okay.
Thank you for letting me be me.
I love you.