Almost Dead, Again

Another near-death moment.

By this point in my life, survival was less a triumph and more a pattern I couldn't explain.

Why did I keep making it through when the math said I shouldn't?

This episode is about the moments death showed up, looked me in the eye, and walked away.

I didn't understand it then.

But now I do.

Content warnings: This podcast contains discussions of childhood sexual abuse, addiction, violence, death, and trauma. But it also full of profound love, transformation, and hope. Listener discretion advised.

Transcript

The Archaeologist of My Souls: 1 in 8.3 Billion

Episode Eight: Almost Dead, Again

Content warnings: This podcast contains discussions of childhood sexual abuse, addiction, violence, death, and trauma. But it also full of profound love, transformation, and hope. Listener discretion advised.

Gary picked me up outside LuLu's, back when it was the South of Market spot—all concrete chic and lesbians with incredible eyewear.

I had just finished a dirty martini and a flirty conversation with a bisexual DJ who told me my aura looked "like candy with secrets."


Gary pulled up in his shitty little Honda—no shirt, pupils like dinner plates, and a bottle of Absolut Citron tucked between his thighs.


He was probably high as fuck on crystal.

But who cared? I had vodka, a head full of static, and zero survival instinct left.

"We're going to Napa," he announced, like he was offering me salvation instead of what would turn out to be a kidnapping with scenic views.


To stay in a yurt, no less. [PAUSE]
Because of course we were. We were insane. The sex was nuclear. The vibes were chaos couture. bottle and tossing it in the glove compartment next to a switchblade and some crushed Marlboro
And Gary always said shit like "We deserve transcendence" while pouring vodka into a plastic
Reds.



just for a quickie. To "take the edge off" before being all spiritual andi holistic in the woods.u know, One joke turned into two. Then wet were parked outside some crumbling pink motel that looked like So naturally, we got a room.
On the way up Highway 101, we started joking about getting a room  n the Tenderloin—yo
it had survived a small war and los .

team. Syringes in the corners .like forgotten party favors. No sheets. No air conditioning. A breeze
Filthy didn't begin to cover it  Shag carpet stained in places that should have required a hazmat
came through a cracked window and made the torn curtains flap like ghosts trying to escape. The bathroom? I kept my shoes on. That's all you need to know.

We were disgusting. We were so hot for each other. And then? Complete blank.

Like someone had taken scissors to my memory and cut out the next few hours entirely.


regained consciousness. But suddenly I wasi spinning, room tilting, all the contents of my beautiful My vision was so blurry it felt like someone had filmed me through Vaseline and then stomped on
I don't remember the sex, though I assume it happened based on the universal nakedness when I
black leather bag scattered across the floor l ke evidence.
the camera.

I sat up. Something was very, very wrong. 
The window was wide open. My ring—a platinum estate piece I'd worn like armor—gone. My
cash, six hundred dollars I'd withdrawn for the weekend, vanished.


And Gary? Nowhere to be found. 
no idea if I'd been raped or robbedror both. Just this bone-deep certainty that ,something terrible had Then, like a hallucination with car keys, Gary walked through the door carrying groceries.
Twenty minutes passed like cement hardening in my chest. I sat there crying  no energy to scream,
happened and I wasn't safe anymo e.
Actual fucking groceries. [BEAT]
His eyes widened like he'd stumbled into an art installation called "Crime Scene Chic." "What the fuck happened?" he said, all innocent concern.
I was crying, snot and mascara everywhere, looking like a raccoon who'd been through a blender. Andtthis motherfucker hands me a bottle of Absolut, fresh orange juice, and a pack of Dunhill "Here, babe. This'll help."
men hols like it was room service for the traumatized.
[PAUSE]

I'm sitting there with my soul leaking out of every pore, and he's treating this like a minor
inconvenience that could be solved with premium vodka and cigarettes.


And I drank it. Of course I did. I didn't understand what had happened, but I knew how to get
wasted. It was the only language I spoke fluently at that point.




confusion and telling myself I'd just had too much to drink. That I was being dramatic. That this
I felt fuzzy for days after. But the Gary show must go on, so I played along, drinking through the
was just another wild weekend with my wild boyfriend.


[PAUSE]

So we got back in the car. Still going to Napa. Still going to that yurt.

Because apparently getting blackout drunk and robbed isn't a dealbreaker when you're running on vodka and denial.


[BEAT]

We finally made it to Napa. Drove up this long dirt road to what was supposed to be some peaceful retreat center.


Pull up to the main office, and there's a sign. A handwritten sign.
"Clothing Optional Community. All Bodies Welcome." [PAUSE]
Gary didn't mention this part.

Turns out, the yurt was at a nudist colony. Surprise!
[BEAT]

surprised into a clothing-optional situationiwith a bunch of strangers while you're still coming down
Now listen, I'm not a prude. But there's a d fference between choosing to be naked and being
from incredible Tenderloin motel sex.


But fine. Whatever. We're here. We've driven two hours. The yurt is actually kind of nice—if you
ignore the fact that everyone walking by is naked and waving.


[SLIGHT LAUGH]

We settle in. Unpack our vodka—because that's what you unpack first, obviously. And Gary
immediately wants to check out the hot tub.


The communal hot tub. [PAUSE]
So there we are. Naked. In afhot tub. Surrounded by naked strangers who all seem very comfortable
with their bodies and their li e choices.


regular. He's telling us about his ceramics practice and his spiritual journey and something about
There's this guy—pottery guy, we'll call him. Probably mid-forties, tan everywhere, clearly a
kundalini energy.


Gary is eating this up. [BEAT]
And then I watch it happen.

Gary and pottery guy start moving closer to each other. The conversation gets lower. More intimate. Before I know it, Gary's getting railed by this pottery guy. Right there. In the hot tub. At the nudist
colony. In Napa.

[PAUSE]

And I'm just... sitting there. Also naked. Also in the hot tub. Watching my boyfriend—or whatever
he was—get fucked by a man who makes bowls for a living.


[BEAT]

This was my romantic getaway. This was "transcendence."
[SLIGHT LAUGH]

I got out. Wrapped myself in a towel. Walked back to the yurt.


conversation with the naked receptionist—and left Gary in Napa with pottery guy and his kundalini
Packed my shit. Called a cab from the colony's office phone—which was an interesting
energy.


[PAUSE]

A fewtweeks later, Gary got arrested for something else entirely—probably selling drugs, though While he was locked up, I was walking past his old room in our apartment—we'd been living
the de ails are vodka-blurred.
together, because my life choices were spectacular—and I noticed his dresser.

That's when I found the drawer. [BEAT]
time, .something—morbid curiosity or divine intervention—made me jimmy it open witht a butter [PAUSE]
His dresser had a locked top drawer that I'd always assumed held underwear and old pho os. This
knife
Inside: a tray full of crystal meth, organized like a jewelry display. A stack of naked Polaroids of me that I'd never posed for.
And my platinum ring—the one I'd mourned like a dead pet.

My six hundred dollars in cash, rubber-banded and tucked in the corner. [LONG PAUSE]
I sat down on the edge of his bed and let it all crash over me. The betrayal. The violation. The absolute fucking audacity.
then walkedfback in with groceriesrlike a concerned boyfriend. finding his girlfriend in distress.nd [BEAT]
It wasn't a robbery at the motel. It was Gary. He'd drugged me Roofied me—though I wouldn't
have words  or it for years. Photog aphed my unconscious body, stolen my ring and my cash, a
I called the cops, though explaining gay crystal meth drama to San Francisco police was like trying
to describe color to the blind.


taking dictation forsa soap opera. "You're saying your boyfriend robbed and possibly raped you on a
"So let me get this  traight," the female officer said, pen poised over her notepad like she was
romantic getaway and then brought you breakfast in bed?"


[PAUSE]

"Orange juice," I clarified, because apparently that detail mattered to my traumatized brain. "And
vodka."


[BEAT]

They arrested him when he got out of jail the first time. Double jeopardy, or something like that. [PAUSE]
I got my ring back. Got my money back. And I never saw Gary again after that. [BEAT]

around Halloween—our "anniversary." Nothing lsays romance like planning your anxiety attacks [OUTRO MUSIC BEGINS]
Well, that's not entirely true. I kept looking over my shoulder for years. Always super cautious
around a holiday where people dress as serial ki lers.