One Night in Bangkok

One night in Bangkok, Thailand I woke up from a black-out sitting on a chair in a small, white room on the side of a hustling street. A businessman was rambling away to two police officers, pointing at me, and throwing his hands up in the air. The officers were alternating between listening to him and looking at me, probably wondering to themselves, “This guy?”

The police officers began to question me in Thai. I couldn’t understand them, and they couldn’t understand me. Then, I stood up and ignorantly tried to explain in a loud, clear voice that I PAID THE MAN as if it would somehow make them understand. The business man didn’t tolerate any of that. He began to yell and overrode my voice. It was useless.

The realization of how serious this situation was settled on my mind. I began to do all that I could to make them believe me. My voice became strong and loud as I tried to urge them that I was telling the truth. My hands were up in the air trying to convey my message through sign language. I don’t know sign language. I emphasized my expressions as if I was acting in an Oscar nominated film. I was panicking. Apparently, I owed the businessman a large quantity of money. All of the money that I had on me that night was gone. I lost my cell phone. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there, and I was on the verge of being arrested.

My hand covered my mouth in disbelief at the predicament I got myself into. It quite literally reached the point where I was supposed to put my hands behind my back to be cuffed. Just when all hope was lost two white men raced through the door with their arms reached out trying to calm the situation down. Thank God the door was left wide open! As they passed by the door they saw me in my hopeless despair, the two cops about ready to cuff me, and the businessman pointing and yelling at me. One of the men began to inquire about what happened in fluent Thai. The other was grasping onto my arms asking me what happened in English. He spoke with a heavy British accent. I pouted, “He is trying to make me pay him even if I already did!”

Then, both of their heads turned to one of the police officers who began to explain the whole situation. As soon as the officer was done they immediately looked at me and frantically explained that I needed to pay the business man. “I already did!” I exclaimed.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, if you don’t pay the man they’ll arrest you! There is no use in trying to make them think otherwise! You either pay the money or you don’t, and trust me, you don’t want to end up in a Thai prison!” he insisted.

I can vividly remember him saying that. My defensive posture loosened and I explained that I didn’t have the money. Without hesitation the older man took out his wallet, grabbed a thick wad of cash, gave it to the business man and told me, “You’re coming with us!”

They both grabbed me by the arms, probably so I wouldn’t stagger all over the place, walked me to the curb like a raggedy doll, waved down a taxi, threw me in, and we left. “Go! Go! Go!” they asserted the taxi driver.

I sat in between the two men. They immediately inquired, “Where are you staying.?”

I uttered, “I don’t know the name of the hotel.”

Then, they asked, “Where is your hotel card?”

Without permission they surveyed my pockets, found the key, and read the hotel name to the driver. As the driver directed the cab the two men fell back into the seat and instantly began to scold me. “What are you doing renting men? You are far too beautiful to be wasting your money on prostitutes!” the seemingly older, wiser man to the left of me yapped.

The younger looking man to the right backed him up by saying, “You could easily meet guys out there who would want to be with you without having to pay him money, honey.”

As they slapped my chicks back and forth with their words I obliviously stared out the window at the free for all traffic trying to comprehend what just happened. By some sort of miracle two complete strangers saved me from being arrested in Thailand. I often find myself playing out that night in my mind trying to connect it all; it came down to the door being left wide open.

They eventually grew bored of snapping their fingers ‘round the way and wanted to hear what I had to say. The shame was pretty evident in my silence. They were right. What was I doing renting men? After a little sympathy was shown my way we subtly worked our way into small talk. Being an Alaskan Eskimo always sparks up a series of questions. After my act of explaining and describing, and using my hand as a map was over, it was their turn. They were a couple, of course. The last thing I remember was walking down a street with gay night clubs lined up on both sides with go-go boys trying to lure me in at each main entrance. They hailed from London, England, and often traveled to Bangkok on vacations. The seemingly older, wiser man was a professor. His younger mate was a dentist. As we conversed in our effeminate gay language, we eventually pulled up to my hotel. Once again, they both grabbed me by my arms to aid me in presenting the illusion of walking in a straight line across the lobby. They walked me all the way up to my room, and tucked me into bed. “You remember what we told you. You’re beautiful inside and out.” The professor told me. “And you better not leave this room until tomorrow!” He snapped one last time on their way out the door.

Just as they had come, so they had left. Had it not been for those two amazing men only God knows what could have become of me that early morning. My careless alcoholic behavior nearly landed me in a whole heap of trouble with the Thai authorities. I don’t even remember their names, or what they look like. All I remember them by was the kind words they left me with that night. I desperately needed to hear that, but more importantly, to believe it for myself.

I know that isn’t the most pleasant memory to write about, but it perfectly portrays the last chapter of my life; I was so out of it that I just didn’t care about anything, and my alcoholism and depression were bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

Throughout my teenage and adulthood life I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression. I attribute that to how sensitive I was growing up, and the experiences I’ve been through that had a negative impact on my life. It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder at the age of thirty one that I was finally able to understand why I am the way I am, and what I needed to do in order to improve my life for the better.

Looking back at my life in retrospect, it makes perfect sense. I experienced euphoric phases in which I believed I could do anything. I always had this idea that I could become rich and famous through comedy or story-telling, but when I found myself not living up to that unrealistic expectation I set for myself, I fell into deep stages of depression that were beginning to last longer and longer the older I became, and alcohol became my coping mechanism.

You know there is a small voice inside of your mind that tells you what is right from wrong. You can’t fool yourself. Everybody has the answer. The voice from within speaks the truth. All my life I listened to that voice, but I refused to believe what it had been telling me because it just didn’t add up in my eyes. Right from the get-go I picked up bad characteristics that grew deep into my character. One unfortunate experience after another molded me into this sad, ugly person; and the poor decisions I was making validated my self-perception. Characteristics are one of the most difficult things to change in general, but when substance abuse and mental health disorders are involved, it's can be a hopeless cause. It was only a matter of time that I would either be arrested, commit suicide, or worse, kill myself and/or another person or people while drinking and driving. For once in my life I’m going to listen to the voice from within. I am a beautiful person, inside and out.

Looking back at my life in retrospect, it makes perfect sense. I experienced euphoric phases in which I believed I could do anything. I always had this idea that I could become famous through comedy or story-telling, but when I found myself not living up to that unrealistic expectation I set for myself, I fell into deep stages of depression that were beginning to last longer and longer the older I became, and alcohol became my coping mechanism. For once in my life I’m going to listen to the voice from within.

A person has to know who they are and where they came from in order to face the future, and a huge part of that is knowing your personal heart story. As shameful and embarrassing this particular part of my story may be, it’s mine to know on an intimate level, and it’s mine to share for the first time.