Sizzle

Stefan, was an up and coming young fashion designer. After his first eponymous runway show he attempted suicide. This desperate act was followed by consequences; at one point he found himself in jail wondering what went wrong. Mental illness, it destroyed his chances at the top, and all the while he has been trying to find his sexuality before being damned to solitude.

"It began with what was a vacation and business trip to my homeland, Moldova. It was months and no business, I closed my fashion design office after my first show and decided to travel back to see if maybe I could find work in Moldova. Maybe with another designer or a factory. There I met with some people and I was also introduced to a KGB director, a friend of my stepfather's and owner of the bed and breakfast where I was staying. I didn't know what I was feeling at first, it wasn't dread but a light anxiety. It was not until I left and was in the airport traveling back, specifically at a transfer in Frankfurt that the sensation began throbbing in me. I thought I was being followed or watched. By the time I was out of the plane in JFK I was panicked, frantic and sizzling with paranoia.

The next day, in the morning, I went to a nearby grocery store to get some juice. I was standing with the juice in one hand at one end of the store; a big tall man walked in, looked directly at me, then walked over to the shop keeper and said something. I don't know what he said but I became flush and the paranoia started up again. At this point, my mind was off rails and I began thinking that someone was after me, that the conservative people in Moldova and possibly my parents were trying to harm me. I thought it was because I was living a gay life. I thought they wanted to change me, convert me, that they intended to hurt me. I was unwell, but it all made sense.

Back at the apartment, I tried to calm myself but something snapped and I felt betrayed and full of despair. I decided I was going to kill myself. Then and there.

I couldn't contain the paranoia and I couldnt stand the feeling of betrayal. I thought it was betrayal. I wanted to die and wake up somewhere better. I didn't want to live with this illness. I drank a bottle of wine and took about forty pills and fell asleep.

I woke up at The Medical Center, then I was transferred to the mental ward for two weeks of observation. It was also the week of my 30th birthday; and one of the nurses gave me what looked like a Twinkie on my birthday. I didn't know then, that sixteen years later I'd still be sick. That after multiple hospitalizations and even a few arrests I'd still be sick with mental illness and alone with my sexuality. "