All posts by Nick Capra

Freedom 2014

Trauma. Pain. Scars. The past.

These are the things that we have been molded by. Enslaved to.

I have, in the past, always hated my birthday. I couldn’t ever really figure out why. Every year, like clockwork, about one week prior to my birthday, I always get a sinking feeling in my heart, and lots of anxiety surrounding my birthday.

I loathed making any plans for it. Inviting people freaked me out. And anyone making a big deal out of my birthday would get me so overwhelmed, I would sometimes be reduced to tears.

It has nothing to do with the aging process. In fact, I turn 40 years old in 30 minutes, and I look and feel better today than I have in years.

So…what is it? Why am I so inclined to feel dismal on what is supposed to be such a happy occasion?

Looking back and taking inventory of all of my birthdays, going back to childhood, I remember something that really affected me. My 11th birthday. It was the last birthday I celebrated while my parents were still married.

Like any child, I was ecstatic. Big birthday party at Chuck E Cheese. Friends all coming. Gifts. Excitement. And happiness. That innocent happiness that only a child has.

I remember skipping down the corridor of my house, expecting my dad to be dressed and waiting with a big smile on his face. He usually would  swing me up in his arms and call me his “little monkey”. But, that wasn’t how I was greeted. Instead, my dad was sitting on the couch, still in his bathrobe, unshowered. I ran to him. “Daddy..why aren’t you dressed? My birthday party is starting soon.” He replied, “I can’t go, son.” It felt like I was being slammed into a wall. I ran to him and jumped in his lap. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Please, daddy. Please come. I don’t want a birthday party without you there!” Tears were already streaming down my face. Just then, I heard my mother’s heals clicking down the corridor towards us. My father said to me, “Your mother doesn’t want me there.” At that moment, my mother appeared in the living room and responded to my father’s remark..”Not this time, Joseph. You’re not using me as an excuse for not showing up.” I pulled away from my father. I ran. I ran as fast as I could. Out the front door.

Emotionally, I never stopped running..for over 25 years.

The moment I realized my father wasn’t coming to my 11th birthday by his own accord, a great darkness shrouded my young, impressionable soul. I believed it was my fault that my dad didn’t want to come to my birthday. I told myself form that young age that I was not lovable. I was a bad child. And I hated myself. I carried those beliefs with me for years. In fact, whenever a person (especially a man I care for) flaked on me, didn’t show up for me, etc…I became angry, resentful, hurt, and self loathing.  I became that 11 year old child, being abandoned by his father all over again.

It got me to thinking…Do we all take unresolved pain and trauma from the past and displace it into other areas of our present day lives?

How does that serve us? It never served me. In fact, I allowed that single incident to mess with many events and occasions in my life…for decades!

My father is dead. That incident is nothing more than a memory. It’s really just a metaphorical photo in a scrap book, in my mind’s eye.

It is my choice today, to either close that metaphorical photo album of sadness and hurt, or strap it to my back and carry it with me everywhere I go. Do I want to be free, or do I wan to continue to suffer from the weight of a memory that darkens my soul?

Today, on my 40th birthday, I will celebrate.

I start my celebration by telling the truth about my past. Allowing myself to be honest and vulnerable. I celebrate by living in the solution. And, I let go of the painful memory of my childhood.

How do I do that?

I write.

Once I’ve written the truth it sits before me. Right there on paper is My soul. My truth. My  covenant to myself.

And once I post this story, it is no longer a painful secret, weighing on my heart. It has been set free.

My birthday wish for all of you, is for you to trace your pain back to its source. Understand that it is not happening to you in the present. And, find a healthy outlet to free yourself from it.

I’ve said this before…this is not a rehearsal. This is life. Let’s not waste it by chaining ourselves to the pain of our past. Let’s go for freedom in 2014.

“Cuz my heart is sick of being in chains…” ~Tori Amos

Resurrection 2014

My past blogs got deleted from here when I switched pages, so here is something that was written earlier this year.



Resurrection – 2014

November 25th, 2013…

Dear Mom,
There are so many things I want to say to you. But, I am at a loss for words. The truth is, I am lost. I am so sorry that we will never share laughter, never share tears, never share that special bond that you and I have always had. You’ll never know just how sorry and ashamed I am. I love you with all my heart.
Your son,
I wrote that last year, fearing for my life. I was having minor convulsions. I was pale. Underweight.
I remember looking in the mirror and crying. I looked awful. Like an animated corpse. But, most of all..It was over. I was done.
I would never smile again. I would never take another beautiful picture again. I would never harness the power to write something profound, that other gay men would feel connected to. And sadly, I would never love again.
I was drowning in a pool of mercury. Shredded by guilt and remorse. Pain. Sadness. And the only solution I had was to continue to the bitter end, using alcohol, dope, and pills.
This was the end for me. I could only hope that I would mercifully OD, because I was too much of a coward to put a bullet through my head.
I can’t tell you exactly what happened on that particular November evening. What I can say is that somewhere deep in the depths of my despair, I heard the voice of reason. It came from deep within me.
I heard these very words:
Somewhere between darkness and light, there is truth.
I had no idea what that meant. Maybe I still don’t. But, that night as I drifted into a state of unconsciousness, I felt safe…for the first time since Tony had committed suicide on May 7, 2013…I felt safe. When Tony took his life, I felt like a part of me died as well.
But, I knew that the Gods were sparing my pitiful life, in order to help myself get better. Contingent on me sharing my truth with others. The whole truth. All of the darkness I had experienced. And all of the light, as well.
At the risk of being judged. At the risk of being criticized. At the risk of being completely vulnerable.
I awoke the next day, and the pitiful man, drowning in a mushroom cloud of emptiness, who only knew the words: “I will never.”
Suddenly began to ponder whether or not he just might be able to try one more time.
I got out of bed. I called the man who is now my sponsor, and I asked him to take me to an AA meeting.
I was 179lbs on November 26th, 2013. My first day sober.
That first week was hell for me. The scars of Tony’s suicide that were slashed across my soul were swollen and enflamed. My head pounded. My depth perception was off. My skin crawled. I had the chills. But, I kept trying.
2nd week sober. I did little things to make myself feel like a human being again. I shaved. I got a haircut. I purchased supplements at NurtiMart, and I attempted to train at the gym again. Leaving the gym that first day of training, I threw up. I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained.
I considered giving up again. But, I refused to surrender. I no longer told myself, “I’m going to try.”
I told myself, “Yes, I can”
I continued going with my sponsor to AA meetings. I shared openly with my peers about the tremendous pain I was feeling, revolving around Tony’s suicide. The gay men at the meeting held my hand, kept me company, and when I said, “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it. ” They said, “Yes, you can!”
I took my thirty day token. I extended my workout periods and began training seven days a week. I started seeing a cognitive therapist to help me with the grieving process. And most importantly, I began writing again. Writing about the truth. I was tempted to write some fluff that only offered you glimpses of who I really am, but I remembered those powerful words that came from somewhere inside me on the night of my last debauch..”Somewhere between darkness and light, there is truth.”
So, I honored what I had promised myself and I wrote about all of me. I felt a force flowing through me, enabling me to harness the power again.
I took my sixty day token. I stacked over fifteen pounds of solid muscle. And somewhere around my sixty day sober mark, an idea was born. Something that would take more than just the twelve steps. It would require patience. Dedication. And most of all-truth.
I knew how I was going to share my story on a larger scale than just an AA meeting or a blog. I wanted to be able to share my story-my entire story with as many gay men as possible. I wanted to write about everything. I wanted to write about growing up with a monster for a father. About the men who had brought me to my fire. About my adventures in the Porn industry. About my life as an International escort. My body dysmorphia. My drug addiction. My recovery. And surviving the suicide of the greatest love of my life.
It occurred to me that a cautionary tale about a gay adult film star who had last shot four years ago was not going to carry the depth and weight of a current adult film star. I considered the options. Could I come back to an Industry that is as quick to recycle it’s “stars” as one does their weekly plastic? I hadn’t filmed in four years. My first XXX film had been shot twelve years ago. The chances of my doing this again, of my being even considered again were slim to none. I couldn’t possibly. Could I?
Yes, I can!
I was going to need current photos. I needed a photographer who could not only shoot amazing male erotica, but who was familiar with shooting me. So, I called Paul. He agreed to shoot me outside of Los Cabos, Mexico. I began alternating cardio, weight training, and yoga. Eating mega proteins, power carbs, and ditching breads and pastas. In eighty days, I went from 179lb to 202lb.
Right before I left for Los Cabos, I messaged Chi Chi. I told him I was gonna do another round in the Industry. I asked him if he thought I needed representation. He told me I probably didn’t, but thankfully referred me to Ducati Models.
I spoke with both partners and they agreed to represent me.
I continued writing. I continued attending AA meetings. I hung out with my sober buddies several times a week.
The obsession to use drugs, drink alcohol, or abuse prescription pills was removed.
I began working the twelve steps on Tony’s suicide.
Things got better.
I shot four amazing pictorials with Paul in Los Cabos. I stayed sober through it.
I received my ninety day token. I felt elated.
Now, at 100 days sober, I am heading up to LA tonight to shoot my first scene in four years for 
Interestingly, this particular website is owned by Jake Cruise. The last scene I shot was for Also owned by Jake Cruise.
I’ve completed the first chapter to my autobiography.
And I feel a sense of harmony with the world. Something I haven’t experienced in quite some time. My life is far from perfect. Some days are still absolute shit. But, I also know that a new day always follows. And inside every day there lies a, “Yes, I can!”
So, for anyone out there who is feeling hopeless, less than, judged, worthless, and without a solution…I say this to you:
If I can do it, so can you.
Just tell yourself:
Yes, I can!
And you will!!
“And the days go by like a strand in the wind, in the web that is my own I begin again…”


It’s interesting how pain and sadness never really leave us.  I have been processing the suicide of my ex lover, Tony, since his death on May 7, 2013. Strangely, I was at a Tori Amos show in San Diego on July 24th of this year. I’m a huge Tori fan. This was actually my 19th Tori show since 1996. However, she covered a song on that particular night. It was that song titled, “Say Something”…

When that song was playing on the radio 6 months ago, I would simply turn it off. The lyrics were too painful for me to listen to. Hearing Tori sing it live the other night, well, it shattered my heart. I found myself crying uncontrollably, clinging to my mother’s hand. I’ve been sitting in the pain, hearing that song in my head for 3 days now. I finally processed it the only I know how. For me, as writer, nothing gets processed until it is written…so…

Inspired by Tori’s version of, “Say Something”.


I heard a song , it pierced right through. Into the night, still cry for you. It sang of us, back to the start. Of how we met, of how we part. It wasn’t meant to be this way, In my dreams I hear you say…”Don’t look back.” But, I still turn, as tears cascade, as tears they burn. My love, my heart, he fell so deep..into a dark, eternal sleep. I ran so fast to get to you. I couldn’t grasp, as you slipped through. Your spectral image deep within my heart, emulsifies; as now we part. We part for now, but always know. I lost you then, but I’ll never let go.



Here is the link to the version of the song that inspired this: