Hello, blog. It's been a while. Many things have happened, many changes, and many things still the same.
I've found a huge level of happiness over the years since coming out of the closet, leaving the LDS church, and essentially taking control over my own life. I feel like I've grown up a lot, especially in the past year. I started and ended one of the worst relationships I've ever experienced (I don't think I'll ever write about it so don't ask or wait for it), I moved to another state, bought a house, and started asserting myself at work more (I'm still working at the same place I've been for the past 10 years), which is something that I should have been more diligent at before, but there were reasons I never asserted myself and it was hard to confront it, and I'm still trying to confront it.
What I'm getting at is Social Anxiety.
It has been the biggest thing I've struggled with, and at times has turned what would otherwise be fun and rewarding experiences into complete terror. And to the extent that I've been able to gain a level of self-awareness of it, it still eludes me in many ways. Although, I've come to realize that it has been rooted in and played a huge role in all the areas of my life where I seem to constantly fail. (Even in this blog.)
For so many years I've been extremely self-conscious about my appearance, hobbies, interests, they way I talk, what I say, you name it. No matter what it was, I would find a way to feel like I was being harshly judged for it, and that fear of judgement, and subsequent rejection was devastating to me. I could only find value in myself only if others valued me. And, of course, that value from others was always fleeting. I would end up just turning it all back on people and reject them before they had the chance to reject me. I found solace in being alone. Unfortunately, that solace became a prison over time, especially once I started to find myself. I realized that even though I was an introvert, I was still very much in need of socialization, even with people I don't even know. In other words, I'm not a strong introvert. In the Meyers-Briggs evaluation of personality, I'm just a hair to the right of the midpoint between Extroversion and Introversion. And just for the sake of completion, my Meyers-Briggs personality type is INFP, which explains a whole lot of why I have trouble in other areas, but I digress.
For me, social anxiety is highly dependent on context and for the most part it's pretty much what I bring to the table in regards to my own personal beliefs about myself. In talking with a boyfriend the other day, we discussed what it was that kept us both hiding in our little hobbit holes most of the time. We talked about what it was like to be in crowds, why some crowds felt safe and energizing and why other felt draining and threatening.
I related my experiences going to Dragon Con in Atlanta, GA. Four days of shoulder to shoulder crowds reaching as many people as 100,000 during the Saturday parade. I feel fine for the most part, except in the elevators. But going to Ocean City, MD in the summer time to walk the boardwalk, it's all I can muster to just get the walk over with and get the fuck out of there. And then there are places like MAL where I have this cognitive-dissonance of feeling fine but also out of place. What was the underling thinking in each situation?
Well, with Dragon Con I feel like we are all equals. We are all there to have fun and share in our appreciation of science fiction, fantasy and its associated pop culture. It's a very liberal and progressive crowd for the most part, which invites creativity, acceptance and even celebrates our weirdness. And for the most part, even the ones who are rowdy and drunk the entire weekend are tolerable.
Ocean City, on the other hand is a place of very limited social diversity. Mostly east coast working class vacationers, hetero-normative families, and often there are loud, obnoxious, young adults who binge on alcohol while cat calling from the balconies at the bikini clad girls on the boardwalk below. Daily sexual harassment is the norm there. And the air is thick with tobacco smoke. And as such, I judge these people harshly. I feel as if I'm much better than they are and it disgusts me that they pollute places making them unsafe for women and gay people.
But then, events like MAL, and even in small ways, Folsom Street Fair and Gay Pride, the crowds can be a bit rowdy but they are friendly, and I feel safe. They, after all are my people or at least friendly to my people and I know I'm one of them. But, at the same time, and this is especially true at MAL, I feel like they are all much better than me and that I'm really not good enough to be there. I'm not gay enough, or I'm not good looking enough or whatever I believe I don't measure up to.
The troubling thing about all this is that it's not rational to believe these things even when at times my beliefs have been validated by certain events. The thing is, those times were because of outliers, they did not represent the group, and I know this. But it's just so easy to cast aside the reality to reinforce the fears. And those fears run deep, and they are strong and overwhelming. And even though I can play logic games with those beliefs to talk myself out of them, it doesn't' always work. And I feel like I'm not making any progress at all. But really, I have made a bit of progress. I've realized how I've been unknowingly contributing to the social anxiety which I wasn't aware of before. I've learned a bit of nuance about my judgement of others and myself. Also, medication helps, so there is that.
So, now, what's next?
I've started a new chapter in my life this year. I'm putting myself out there a bit more than I ever have before. I started vlogging on Youtube. It's a way to confront my self-consciousnesses and social anxiety in a rather detached way. I'm forced to confront myself when I do this. I have to watch myself back while I edit the videos, I have to look at myself in a third person and know that the person I'm looking at is me, even though it doesn't feel like me.
This has been an interesting exercise to see where I have been self judging and self-censoring and where I continue to do so and what I've been doing to divert it and try to get people to focus on something else. It's also interesting to see what ends up being the "something else" I try to use. It's a strange thing to view myself in a detached semi-objective way.
I've been heavily editing and trying to polish my videos for the same reason I edit and try to polish my writing. But, no matter what I do, the video shows a much rawer individual. One prone to stammering, not talking in complete sentences and otherwise eviscerating all that is proper and eloquent grammar. All of which are things I'm very self-conscious about. Sometimes I'm sliding in and out of Utah/Maryland/New Zealand/North Carolinian accents. Something that I had no idea I did until I started this vlogging project. I'm finding it more interesting than disturbing now and I'm becoming more aware of how I'm perceived and in small ways, I'm starting to like the person I see in the video.
In all, it's been fun and frustrating at the same time. Frustrating in that I have a very boring life with nothing to really vlog about and I'm constantly battling with technical problems such as sound problems and crappy white balance. But its fun in that the editing process is creative yet very challenging like piecing together a puzzle. I've always had an interest in filmmaking and this has re-sparked that interest, which I had long thought had died.
Showing posts with label assumptions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label assumptions. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Disillusion
It hurts.
When one set of friends talk total shit about another set of friends,
it compels me to question the value that I am to people.
Especially If someone's value can be so easily tossed aside.
So, as I sit in stunned silence for a moment,
I am deeply afraid to say anything, and not sure what to say.
What I fear, if I do say anything at all, is what my rage will say.
Which, if left unchecked, will make me the new object of scorn.
It all makes me feel isolated.
More so than I already am.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
What Have I Really Lost?
Over the past few weeks since my big friend fallout on Facebook, I've been thinking about what happened with the breakdown in communication. Why did it break down? And why did it break down so badly?
I had a lapse in good judgment, vented publicly some old hurts, didn't use the best choice of words, and managed to offend some, despite the fact that none of it had been directed at them or anyone in particular. Sometimes I'm rational; sometimes I'm not. That time I was not. When others rant and vent about things, whether it's directed at me or not, I have an understanding about what is going on. I know that they may be irrational, that what they are saying is not really about me. I know not to take it personally. That's why I allow others the space to vent. But I had forgotten that not everyone has that same understanding and some things I said were taken personally.
There was no way I could help them see the error in what they were saying, believing, and assuming about my meanings or intentions. But that didn't really matter; I didn't know what my intentions were at the time, which was why I was venting. We were talking past each other. So I just stopped talking all together and let the other person say what they needed to say and believe what they wanted to believe, about me.
All these years of progress, of letting go and moving on, trying to become a whole, self-defined individual, by reprogramming my thinking, vocabulary, humor, self-expression and identity; they all had no idea of who I was anymore, what I was about, why I felt the way I did. And I was trying to explain it. Albeit, poorly, but I was trying. They just didn't understand; they also didn't really care. They, for the most part, really wanted me to return to the way I used to be. That wasn't possible. So in the end, I lost their friendship. This was more than a stupid Facebook de-friending; this was the real deal.
But, was losing them as friends really what hurt so much? No, what really hurt was the profound realization that when leaving the Mormon religion, letting go of god and all such religious belief, learning about a bigger picture of the world and how it worked, I had actually lost my ability to communicate with them. I had lost my ability to see things through the eyes of Mormon politics, theology, culture and dogma. I can still understand all these things, but I no longer understand them from the point of view of a believer. But, when I was a believer, my understanding of them troubled me. Could that have been because I was never a true believer? Or was I simply noticing things that others were not seeing? And then getting frustrated and hurt as any attempt I made to describe or inquire about my observations were mocked and dismissed.
It reminds me of the story, Flatland by Edwin A. Abbot, a story that has had a subtle but profound impact on my life ever since I was introduced to it in 1986. In that story there was a Square who lived in a two dimensional (2D) world who suddenly, albeit with much drama, found himself in a three dimensional (3D) world. After that experience, no matter how hard he tried, he was never able to convince anyone in the 2D world about the 3D world. That's what happened to me. I could no longer see it only in 2D; I had the 3D version. And the 3D language wouldn't translate to 2D without losing much of its information and meaning.
But, unlike the Square, who seemed perfectly content to live in 2D, until he was forced into the 3D, I was never satisfied by 2D. It had stopped working for me. I saw too many contradictions and conflicts. Many were essentially swept under the rug, and dismissed by those who claimed to have all the answers. I needed something different, deeper, more meaningful and more applicable to now rather than only looking at that the imaginary future. So I took a different path and learned things about my world that now make sense to me. But they all seemed diametrically opposed to what everyone else believed. At which point the communication gap went from a crack to canyon. And all this time, I hadn't realized just how big that canyon had become. And just like in the story, the misunderstandings across that divide would often elevate to frustrations, insults, and conflict. Especially when I was reminded of the hurt I had felt while living in my old 2D world.
I can't force anyone to see things from my point of view. All I can do is just say it and those who are looking will find it. That's how it worked for me; I went looking for it. But now that I've found it, I want to talk about it. But, not everyone will like what I say. I know it's not my problem even though they all may think it's my problem. I have to let them believe what they wish, and if that means they want to believe I'm a bad person, then that is their right.
I'm not saying this to mean that I'm better than they are. 3D vs. 2D is not an "us" vs. "them" idea. It's just that in one particular aspect of our lives we don't see things from the same perspective and understanding. My thinking shifted perpendicular to theirs. What they see as a circle, I can now see as a sphere or a cone, or a cylinder. All they see is a circle. But the huge irony of all this is that we both claim to have "the big picture".
Throughout the story of Flatland, there are several events where a higher dimensional being is trying to communicate to a lower dimensional being about what they really are, and failing every time. The only time it was successful was when one of those beings, the Square, was physically moved into the 3D space. At which point it all became clear to him. But by doing so, he crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. And even though, in the end, he remained trapped in the 2D world forever, his thinking had permanently changed the way he viewed that world.
And like the Square, there just isn't any way I can go back to thinking in 2D. 3D is so much more engaging, enlightening and rewarding. And there is a hell of a lot of stuff in 3D to learn and experience. I just can't spend a lot of time thinking in 2D anymore. And yet, I must caution myself. The Sphere in his arrogance, refused to accept the Square's suggestion that higher dimensions were thinkable. And quickly showed that he was just as limited in his thinking in 3D as the Polygons were in 2D or the Line was in 1D. Those worlds worked for them just fine and they saw no reason to look beyond them.
In my haste, I've found myself getting too attached to my new 3D world and assuming that it is a complete picture, and in my own arrogance have tried to force in on others who have no desire to know if it. Also, my attachment has in the past closed me off from discovering 4D, 5D, 6D and so on, in other areas, until something drastic hits to knock me out of it. The funny thing is it took a nervous breakdown to make that "leap of faith" in to the 3D realm for me. I would hope that it doesn't always have to take such drama to gain new perspectives. Many people seem to have done it without all the drama; it seems silly to keep doing it with all the drama. But, I guess that's probably a bit optimistic to make such an assumption. Whether that drama is internal or external, there is always going to be drama. The Sphere was offended and chastised the Square for suggesting that 4D or 5D could be possible. And the Square was imprisoned in 2D for attempting to talk of the 3D world, which had been made illegal. At least it was better than execution, which was the other option. And in all cases, the object in the higher dimension would arrogantly try to impress upon those in a lower dimension a differing view of the world. Conflict ensued. Drama.
I guess the easy thing to do is just say nothing, keep it too myself and shut myself off from the world in order to avoid the pain of rejection and ridicule. Or, say something, and just accept that all my old friends believe that I am their enemy. Compartmentalize, perhaps? I don't know. I really hate it when people tell me that if my friends can't accept me now, then they never really were my friends. Is that really true? I just don't buy it. Or, am I just stubbornly trying to hold on to the past? I prefer to think that we can no longer have expression in friendships because we no longer speak the same language. Or is that just being naive? I would hope not. I've had friendships suddenly "come back" to me the second I found myself in 3D. When all that time I thought they had turned their backs on me, they were really there, just standing outside my range of vision, waiting for me to turn and face them.
I had a lapse in good judgment, vented publicly some old hurts, didn't use the best choice of words, and managed to offend some, despite the fact that none of it had been directed at them or anyone in particular. Sometimes I'm rational; sometimes I'm not. That time I was not. When others rant and vent about things, whether it's directed at me or not, I have an understanding about what is going on. I know that they may be irrational, that what they are saying is not really about me. I know not to take it personally. That's why I allow others the space to vent. But I had forgotten that not everyone has that same understanding and some things I said were taken personally.
There was no way I could help them see the error in what they were saying, believing, and assuming about my meanings or intentions. But that didn't really matter; I didn't know what my intentions were at the time, which was why I was venting. We were talking past each other. So I just stopped talking all together and let the other person say what they needed to say and believe what they wanted to believe, about me.
All these years of progress, of letting go and moving on, trying to become a whole, self-defined individual, by reprogramming my thinking, vocabulary, humor, self-expression and identity; they all had no idea of who I was anymore, what I was about, why I felt the way I did. And I was trying to explain it. Albeit, poorly, but I was trying. They just didn't understand; they also didn't really care. They, for the most part, really wanted me to return to the way I used to be. That wasn't possible. So in the end, I lost their friendship. This was more than a stupid Facebook de-friending; this was the real deal.
But, was losing them as friends really what hurt so much? No, what really hurt was the profound realization that when leaving the Mormon religion, letting go of god and all such religious belief, learning about a bigger picture of the world and how it worked, I had actually lost my ability to communicate with them. I had lost my ability to see things through the eyes of Mormon politics, theology, culture and dogma. I can still understand all these things, but I no longer understand them from the point of view of a believer. But, when I was a believer, my understanding of them troubled me. Could that have been because I was never a true believer? Or was I simply noticing things that others were not seeing? And then getting frustrated and hurt as any attempt I made to describe or inquire about my observations were mocked and dismissed.
It reminds me of the story, Flatland by Edwin A. Abbot, a story that has had a subtle but profound impact on my life ever since I was introduced to it in 1986. In that story there was a Square who lived in a two dimensional (2D) world who suddenly, albeit with much drama, found himself in a three dimensional (3D) world. After that experience, no matter how hard he tried, he was never able to convince anyone in the 2D world about the 3D world. That's what happened to me. I could no longer see it only in 2D; I had the 3D version. And the 3D language wouldn't translate to 2D without losing much of its information and meaning.
But, unlike the Square, who seemed perfectly content to live in 2D, until he was forced into the 3D, I was never satisfied by 2D. It had stopped working for me. I saw too many contradictions and conflicts. Many were essentially swept under the rug, and dismissed by those who claimed to have all the answers. I needed something different, deeper, more meaningful and more applicable to now rather than only looking at that the imaginary future. So I took a different path and learned things about my world that now make sense to me. But they all seemed diametrically opposed to what everyone else believed. At which point the communication gap went from a crack to canyon. And all this time, I hadn't realized just how big that canyon had become. And just like in the story, the misunderstandings across that divide would often elevate to frustrations, insults, and conflict. Especially when I was reminded of the hurt I had felt while living in my old 2D world.
I can't force anyone to see things from my point of view. All I can do is just say it and those who are looking will find it. That's how it worked for me; I went looking for it. But now that I've found it, I want to talk about it. But, not everyone will like what I say. I know it's not my problem even though they all may think it's my problem. I have to let them believe what they wish, and if that means they want to believe I'm a bad person, then that is their right.
I'm not saying this to mean that I'm better than they are. 3D vs. 2D is not an "us" vs. "them" idea. It's just that in one particular aspect of our lives we don't see things from the same perspective and understanding. My thinking shifted perpendicular to theirs. What they see as a circle, I can now see as a sphere or a cone, or a cylinder. All they see is a circle. But the huge irony of all this is that we both claim to have "the big picture".
Throughout the story of Flatland, there are several events where a higher dimensional being is trying to communicate to a lower dimensional being about what they really are, and failing every time. The only time it was successful was when one of those beings, the Square, was physically moved into the 3D space. At which point it all became clear to him. But by doing so, he crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. And even though, in the end, he remained trapped in the 2D world forever, his thinking had permanently changed the way he viewed that world.
And like the Square, there just isn't any way I can go back to thinking in 2D. 3D is so much more engaging, enlightening and rewarding. And there is a hell of a lot of stuff in 3D to learn and experience. I just can't spend a lot of time thinking in 2D anymore. And yet, I must caution myself. The Sphere in his arrogance, refused to accept the Square's suggestion that higher dimensions were thinkable. And quickly showed that he was just as limited in his thinking in 3D as the Polygons were in 2D or the Line was in 1D. Those worlds worked for them just fine and they saw no reason to look beyond them.
In my haste, I've found myself getting too attached to my new 3D world and assuming that it is a complete picture, and in my own arrogance have tried to force in on others who have no desire to know if it. Also, my attachment has in the past closed me off from discovering 4D, 5D, 6D and so on, in other areas, until something drastic hits to knock me out of it. The funny thing is it took a nervous breakdown to make that "leap of faith" in to the 3D realm for me. I would hope that it doesn't always have to take such drama to gain new perspectives. Many people seem to have done it without all the drama; it seems silly to keep doing it with all the drama. But, I guess that's probably a bit optimistic to make such an assumption. Whether that drama is internal or external, there is always going to be drama. The Sphere was offended and chastised the Square for suggesting that 4D or 5D could be possible. And the Square was imprisoned in 2D for attempting to talk of the 3D world, which had been made illegal. At least it was better than execution, which was the other option. And in all cases, the object in the higher dimension would arrogantly try to impress upon those in a lower dimension a differing view of the world. Conflict ensued. Drama.
I guess the easy thing to do is just say nothing, keep it too myself and shut myself off from the world in order to avoid the pain of rejection and ridicule. Or, say something, and just accept that all my old friends believe that I am their enemy. Compartmentalize, perhaps? I don't know. I really hate it when people tell me that if my friends can't accept me now, then they never really were my friends. Is that really true? I just don't buy it. Or, am I just stubbornly trying to hold on to the past? I prefer to think that we can no longer have expression in friendships because we no longer speak the same language. Or is that just being naive? I would hope not. I've had friendships suddenly "come back" to me the second I found myself in 3D. When all that time I thought they had turned their backs on me, they were really there, just standing outside my range of vision, waiting for me to turn and face them.
Friday, November 5, 2010
The Missionaries Are Coming
Formspring Question: "what do you do when you see missionaries coming?"
This is a good question, and quite frankly, I'm not sure the best way to answer this. The reason being is that I live in a region of the country that doesn't have any missionaries, so I don't get to see them coming in the first place. The last time I had missionaries in my home was in 2006, when I was still trying to be a good Mormon. But they weren't even working in the boundaries of their own mission.
I live on the edge of the Pennsylvania, Philadelphia Mission. Physically, that's only five miles from the border of the Virginia, Richmond Mission. The missionaries that visited me were from the Virginia mission and had been working this area by special permission from the Philly mission. Not sure why, it was just one of those things. But when that stint was over, they never returned to my little town. Sure, the Philly mission then put some Elders in my ward which was 40 miles away in another city, but they never ventured outside of that other city.
Incidentally, it was interesting to see all of the "letter of the law" church members throw up their arms in disgust that these missionaries were not following mission rules because they left the boundaries of their mission. Whatever, some Mormons seem to think they know better than the missionaries or even the mission president for that matter. There is sort of mistrust they have with them. I know I felt it when I was a missionary in New Zealand, especially amongst the American Mormons who were visiting or living in the country.
But, I digress.
So to answer the question, at this point, I can only speculate while looking back this last summer when I "stumbled" across a pair of Elders while visiting the big city. In that case, the only thing I did was take their picture. But I consider that to be a situation where I was the one who the missionaries saw coming. They were already there and I walked into the area. That's not going to give me any reason to engage them at all.
The thing with all of this is that I really have nothing to say to them. I honestly don't think there is any sort of conversation I could have that would be meaningful to them or me. I've let the idea of religion go and the whole concept of god, priesthood, Jesus and church and stuff really has no meaning to me. In fact, the way I look at the world differs so greatly that I find I end up talking past people regarding the way I view and experience spirituality.
And besides that, missionaries only have a single duty and that is to find people to teach. People who want to learn about the church. I don't fall into that category. I could care less and I'm even less interested spending time on a conversation that would bore the ever living crap out of me. But I'm not going to say that I would outright avoid them either. After all, they are just a bunch of cute young men doing what they think is right. You can't blame them for that, can you?
Anyway, I've rambled on long enough. I really should try to answer this person's question in a more meaningful way as in, what I would do, or how would I interact with them...if I absolutely had to. In that case, I'm going to need to ponder on the possible scenarios if they came knocking at my door.
They are as follows:
- What I could do.
- What I'll probably end up doing.
- What I really wish would happen.
2. What I'll probably end up doing is being very polite, not really say anything other than to tell them that I'm a Gay, Ex-Mormon, Atheist, Liberal, and let them continue so I don't waste their or my time. But if they persist, and some do, I'll resort to flirting. In either case, I'll be trying to take their picture, which might require flirting anyway, or at least a little flattery, which is almost the same thing. I guess scenarios 1 and 2 don't seem to be all that much different in the end except for the part about them finding out I'm a Liberal.
3. What I really wish would happen is that they would come knocking while I have half a dozen boyfriends over for a heavy, gay, BDSM fetish, play party. And without batting an eye, I would nonchalantly invite them in as if they were expected. How would I know if they weren't the friends of a friend, probably the naked one over in the corner, bound to a St. Andrews Cross and being flogged? Who knows? He did say he had two friends coming over, right? And if they did want to talk about spiritual experiences, perhaps I could demonstrate how a bondage table, sleepsack and carefully placed electrical probes could be used to induce them.
Yeah, I think I just lost a few followers to my blog right there.
Anyway, the looks on their faces would be...priceless.
And, there would most definitely be a camera ready to take their picture.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Demagogic Seeds
Back in 1985, I attended a Mormon fireside in one of the North Logan, Utah stakes where some music "expert" talked about how the evil music industry used reel-to-reel recorders for evil and other such nonsense, reasoning that because they had the ability to play the tape backwards, it allowed them to create or manipulate this so called "back-masking". He used several examples including the infamous Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" to prove his point. (See videos posted at USU SHAFT)
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| The Akai GX-4000D, one of my many tools I used for Evil. |
couldn't hear anything in it. However, before he played it again, he made sure to read to us what it was suppose to say. Then, while he was playing it, he would lip-sink to it to make sure the suggestion registered. I thought it was a stretch but many in the audience gasped in horror during the demonstration.
I lost a friend that night because I just happened to own a reel-to-reel recorder. Never mind that the model I had was incapable of reverse playback, it didn't matter, he berated me in front of everyone, then got in his car and left. He was my next door neighbor. He had driven me there; he was my only ride home. I was left to ponder his and the speaker's words with frustrations and shame on that long, cold, dark and lonely walk home. For a few months after that, he continued his efforts to embarrass and shame me in front of other peers at school and church. The bridge was burned. No matter how nice he was to me later in life, I never gave him any more of my time.
Looking back, that whole thing reminds me of something... ah yes, Alma 32:28-43, where Alma compares the word to a seed. Go ahead and read it, I'll wait. I'm not going to get into a detailed word for word analysis, instead I'm going to simply state my own cynical and biased summary of it which is: Plant that seed whatever it is, and nourish it with your own misguided beliefs, fears and prejudices, and it will grow into whatever irrational zealotry you want it to be. And no, I don't care if you believe that that is a gross misinterpretation. It doesn't really matter. As scripture, it makes as about as much sense to me as JRR Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings".
But, I digress.
That night at the fireside, the words of a religious demagogue with his fears and prejudices were planted in the mind of my former friend. The words appealed to his ego so he nourished them until they bore fruit to which he based his faith upon. The result, conflict where there never was before and would never have been at all. So, is that a good seed or a bad seed? It's hard to say because for him it was a sweet fruit, for the rest of us, it was rotten.
I think too many Mormons are oblivious to the fears and prejudices they use to nourish the word because of how easy it is to get caught up in the fears and prejudices of the people they trust. It's not hard to see such fruits in the Mormon church when it comes to pretty much anything involving homosexuality. Fear, fear and more fear.
When I got to college, I was able to escape much of that stupidity, but my fear of rejection had been amplified that night. Sadly, I still don't have it all out of my system. I still get paranoid that I'm going to be rejected for something stupid like, for instance, being gay. I really don't need to go on anymore about what those demagogic lunatics, Mormon or otherwise, have to say about homosexuality. And since I never know what new shit they are going to stir up, I'm constantly playing it safe, especially around the ultra-religious people I have to work with everyday.
Nonetheless, I get the urge to want to poke them a bit to get the rejection over with quicker rather than tip toe around all of the time. I really get tired of holding back my life to make sure someone else's life remains comfortable. I'm tired of nourishing myself with my own fears and prejudices just to protect someone else from facing theirs. I want to move on and put all these people behind me for good. But, I don't do it. I don't poke them. I'm too afraid to be alone.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Mormons and their Missionaries
The Heretic, over at Heretic, Rebel, a Thing to Flout, posted a fun story about distracting Mormon missionaries.
Ever since becoming a heretic myself, I have been looking forward to new opportunities to distract missionaries. So far I haven't had much success living out in the middle of nowhere.
But this summer, over the July 4th holiday, I ran into a couple of Elders setting up a display in Alexandria, VA. One Elder was so distracted by me that he was watching me rather than paying attention to the fact that the folded-poster he was setting up was upside down. At which point I started to fumble for my camera.
I was standing about 30 feet away when I finally took a picture but unfortunately, in the mean time, the other Elder noticed and had him correct it. Bummer, it would have been awesome, a picture of a Mormon missionary watching me as he was setting up a poster upside down. I was tempted to walk over there and ask him to recreate the scene for me so I could take a picture.
Lesson learned. Never put away camera!
They were sort of giving each other "high fives" for whatever reason as they noticed me take their picture. I was with two other somewhat regular looking gay guys who both looked like tourists, but I stood out, I was wearing knee high boots. I would like to think he was enamored with my boots. Many people are. I mean I totally understand if he was as I can totally relate.
When I was a missionary in New Zealand back in the early 91, I found myself distracted, ...erm VERY distracted by guys in those one piece motorcycle leathers with matching boots and helmet as they zipped down the road on their matching sport bikes. I HAD to watch them! I could not look away! Every time they went buy I twisted my body around in the car seat to continue watching! It's just one of those things. Leather clad male bodies drive me wild! My companion, however, was in his own world. Staring down the road. Lost in his own head somewhere thinking about his girlfriend at home or the fact he was leaving the mission in about a month anyway. He had no idea.
Anyway, here's the picture I finally got:
So young, so earnest, so naïve. Those were the days. I'm glad they're over.
And here is a shot of me in my boots:
Yeah I know, I'm not quite ready to show my face on this blog yet. But that is a picture of me...and my boots! (It takes me about 7 minutes to lace them up.)
Ever since becoming a heretic myself, I have been looking forward to new opportunities to distract missionaries. So far I haven't had much success living out in the middle of nowhere.
But this summer, over the July 4th holiday, I ran into a couple of Elders setting up a display in Alexandria, VA. One Elder was so distracted by me that he was watching me rather than paying attention to the fact that the folded-poster he was setting up was upside down. At which point I started to fumble for my camera.
I was standing about 30 feet away when I finally took a picture but unfortunately, in the mean time, the other Elder noticed and had him correct it. Bummer, it would have been awesome, a picture of a Mormon missionary watching me as he was setting up a poster upside down. I was tempted to walk over there and ask him to recreate the scene for me so I could take a picture.
Lesson learned. Never put away camera!
They were sort of giving each other "high fives" for whatever reason as they noticed me take their picture. I was with two other somewhat regular looking gay guys who both looked like tourists, but I stood out, I was wearing knee high boots. I would like to think he was enamored with my boots. Many people are. I mean I totally understand if he was as I can totally relate.
When I was a missionary in New Zealand back in the early 91, I found myself distracted, ...erm VERY distracted by guys in those one piece motorcycle leathers with matching boots and helmet as they zipped down the road on their matching sport bikes. I HAD to watch them! I could not look away! Every time they went buy I twisted my body around in the car seat to continue watching! It's just one of those things. Leather clad male bodies drive me wild! My companion, however, was in his own world. Staring down the road. Lost in his own head somewhere thinking about his girlfriend at home or the fact he was leaving the mission in about a month anyway. He had no idea.
Anyway, here's the picture I finally got:
 |
| July 3, 2010: Alexandria, VA |
So young, so earnest, so naïve. Those were the days. I'm glad they're over.
And here is a shot of me in my boots:
Saturday, May 22, 2010
A wedding day.
I'm going to a wedding party tonight. And I'm not looking forward to it. Sure, I'm happy for the new couple but I don't share the same enthusiasm for celebration that everyone else does. It's a reminder of everything that I don't have, can't have and never will have.
The heterosexual privilege of this nation will see to it that us gay folk all remain second class. Even if we did have all the rights and privileges under the law, it would be naive to think that it would really change anything. Just as racism in this country is alive and well, homophobic, bigotry will always be there too.
So while I'm sitting there at that party, "pretending" to be pleasant and knowing full well that many people there despise my true nature and assume that I'm "one of them", I'll be thinking how glad I am that I'll never have to see any of these people ever again.
The heterosexual privilege of this nation will see to it that us gay folk all remain second class. Even if we did have all the rights and privileges under the law, it would be naive to think that it would really change anything. Just as racism in this country is alive and well, homophobic, bigotry will always be there too.
So while I'm sitting there at that party, "pretending" to be pleasant and knowing full well that many people there despise my true nature and assume that I'm "one of them", I'll be thinking how glad I am that I'll never have to see any of these people ever again.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Am I still hiding?
Again, I wonder what I'm doing with this blog. I've noticed a few things about myself recently with how I relate to this blogging stuff. This blog, its title, the moniker I use, the tone and subject matter, etc. all contribute to creating an identity, an identity that I'm not so sure that I personally relate to for the most part. I think this blog has presented a highly skewed perception of the real person behind all of this stuff.
I don't feel like it's a very good representation of me. I don't feel like I'm really helping people know the real me. Perhaps what I should be doing is using this blog to simply help myself know the real me. Either way, it seems I need to talk about myself more, rather than about the angst that occasionally passes through me.
Everyone mostly sees the troubling issues in my life. Or, if they follow my other blogs, they might see a sample of my sense of humor or what I do for fun. I wonder sometimes if the humor comes out on this blog or not. It is hard to put casual humor across in writing, especially when it's juxtaposed with confusion, anger, depression, cynicism etc. Or is it? Is my humor cynical? Is self deprecating humor cynical? OK, not all of it is self deprecating. Actually, I don't really know how to classify humor. I just know what I find funny.
Anyway, it takes more than just bad humor to know a person. It's obvious that the subject matter of my writing is shaped by my experience, but when do I simply write about the experience as opposed to simply mentioning it as means to convey my feelings toward something. And by doing that, the experience as a story itself is diminished to much less than an anecdote. Obviously, I know what is in my head when I write it; there is a lot of momentum behind it as a thought. But what ends up on the page are a few words that summarize it into an idea that means only a fraction to the reader as it did to the author.
An example, looking back at my last post, my simple statement, "Even though I wore tall black boots and long hair, I still had to conform in some things to keep the peace." carries behind it 20+ years of attitude shaping moments with people, enough that I could probably write a book. And although they were life shaping moments, they all seem too mundane to write about the specifics. So the best I can do is to oversimplify it into boots and hair vs. conformity and piece, assuming that such things carry with it the right cultural information to allow for understanding and bring about a shared experience between the writer and reader. Barring that, I would need to write about a few specific incidents to get the point across. Who knows though? If I started to write about myself more than the angst, those moments might actually get mentioned. But then, I might bore people. Hell, I bore myself sometimes in my own writing.
I haven't had a profound angsty moment since January of this year. Sure, I still have angst but it has really tapered off. A small moment in March and April but nothing even close to what I went through last year. I think that's a great thing! I'm thrilled! But the result is my drive to write things here, which were purely to work out my angst, have diminished. I hardly even journal anymore. Besides, my journaling was never about writing down a journal of my life. It's just free association writing to clear my head. I would say that 99% of it is garbage.
So I'm wondering if it would be a good idea to push myself to writing things here anyway.
About anything. Make this an honest effort to journal "properly". And just let it free flow more and not put so much effort in editing and presenting a polished post. Not being as articulate in person as I try to be in writing, I have a bit of insecurity about presenting my writing more casual. It's as if I'm over compensating for my slow verbal acuity. I'm actually a bit frustrated by my slow verbal acuity. So, yeah.
But I have been experimenting with making it more casual and off the cuff. Like the way I speak. I say a lot of things that are incomplete sentences; sometimes I don't even complete a word. I say lots of non-sequitur shit sometimes. And sometimes I say sequitur shit that doesn't make any sense. And many times when I comment on blogs and Facebook I'm saying what's on my mind with little editing. Mostly it's cynicism. Although when I've started to comment on blogs I've found myself rambling between many different ideas. I end up deleting most of them because I can't find coherency. I'm really just trying to find words for things that I have never had before. Words I've never let myself have or have always let other people make for me. So in that respect, I could write posts that have broken ideas and incomplete narratives, and jump around and just say shit.
Life is just a big experiment anyway, right? Well I see it that way. At least, I do now. More so than ever.
I don't feel like it's a very good representation of me. I don't feel like I'm really helping people know the real me. Perhaps what I should be doing is using this blog to simply help myself know the real me. Either way, it seems I need to talk about myself more, rather than about the angst that occasionally passes through me.
Everyone mostly sees the troubling issues in my life. Or, if they follow my other blogs, they might see a sample of my sense of humor or what I do for fun. I wonder sometimes if the humor comes out on this blog or not. It is hard to put casual humor across in writing, especially when it's juxtaposed with confusion, anger, depression, cynicism etc. Or is it? Is my humor cynical? Is self deprecating humor cynical? OK, not all of it is self deprecating. Actually, I don't really know how to classify humor. I just know what I find funny.
Anyway, it takes more than just bad humor to know a person. It's obvious that the subject matter of my writing is shaped by my experience, but when do I simply write about the experience as opposed to simply mentioning it as means to convey my feelings toward something. And by doing that, the experience as a story itself is diminished to much less than an anecdote. Obviously, I know what is in my head when I write it; there is a lot of momentum behind it as a thought. But what ends up on the page are a few words that summarize it into an idea that means only a fraction to the reader as it did to the author.
An example, looking back at my last post, my simple statement, "Even though I wore tall black boots and long hair, I still had to conform in some things to keep the peace." carries behind it 20+ years of attitude shaping moments with people, enough that I could probably write a book. And although they were life shaping moments, they all seem too mundane to write about the specifics. So the best I can do is to oversimplify it into boots and hair vs. conformity and piece, assuming that such things carry with it the right cultural information to allow for understanding and bring about a shared experience between the writer and reader. Barring that, I would need to write about a few specific incidents to get the point across. Who knows though? If I started to write about myself more than the angst, those moments might actually get mentioned. But then, I might bore people. Hell, I bore myself sometimes in my own writing.
I haven't had a profound angsty moment since January of this year. Sure, I still have angst but it has really tapered off. A small moment in March and April but nothing even close to what I went through last year. I think that's a great thing! I'm thrilled! But the result is my drive to write things here, which were purely to work out my angst, have diminished. I hardly even journal anymore. Besides, my journaling was never about writing down a journal of my life. It's just free association writing to clear my head. I would say that 99% of it is garbage.
So I'm wondering if it would be a good idea to push myself to writing things here anyway.
About anything. Make this an honest effort to journal "properly". And just let it free flow more and not put so much effort in editing and presenting a polished post. Not being as articulate in person as I try to be in writing, I have a bit of insecurity about presenting my writing more casual. It's as if I'm over compensating for my slow verbal acuity. I'm actually a bit frustrated by my slow verbal acuity. So, yeah.
But I have been experimenting with making it more casual and off the cuff. Like the way I speak. I say a lot of things that are incomplete sentences; sometimes I don't even complete a word. I say lots of non-sequitur shit sometimes. And sometimes I say sequitur shit that doesn't make any sense. And many times when I comment on blogs and Facebook I'm saying what's on my mind with little editing. Mostly it's cynicism. Although when I've started to comment on blogs I've found myself rambling between many different ideas. I end up deleting most of them because I can't find coherency. I'm really just trying to find words for things that I have never had before. Words I've never let myself have or have always let other people make for me. So in that respect, I could write posts that have broken ideas and incomplete narratives, and jump around and just say shit.
Life is just a big experiment anyway, right? Well I see it that way. At least, I do now. More so than ever.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Claiming My Life
This blog isn't working for me anymore. In particular, the current format of trying to maintain my anonymity. What was this anonymity suppose to help me with anyway? It's has a good side but it's mostly been a curse.
The good side is that I was able to work out my feelings somewhat publicly and vent my real frustrations openly and without restraint and fear of retribution from someone that would take offence of what I would say. Although there isn't that much evidence that I'm in any danger of retribution. But, I certainly don't want my co-workers, relatives and friends to read a lot of this drivel. Even so, a few co-workers and family have read this blog. But then I actually went as far as inviting those people to read it. Duh!
The curse is that I feel restricted in what I can talk about as long as I'm trying to stay anonymous. I thought anonymity would make it easier but the way I see it, the situations, conversations and events that happen in my life, the ones I want to write about, are so bloody public already that mentioning them here would give me away. There are many things I would like to have posted but didn't because the events were too specific. I've tried to avoid mentioning specific people and, if I do, avoid using real names, but even that isn't good enough. I realize the chances of the wrong person finding these posts are slim, but they are not none.
But one thing is for sure, this anonymous game has taught me that I'm still in the closet. I'm still trying to live a double life. The life of how I really feel verse the life I want people to think I feel. But ultimately, it's apparent that anonymity isn't my real problem. It's just the symptom.
My real problem is that I worry about what people think. Especially if I believe it's negative. I don't usually get hurt by negative comments like I used to but I still have my moments and naturally want to avoid them, especially here when I'm trying to express my more authentic self.
Most of the rude and negative people I've had to deal with were in email, on Facebook, and in person. So, I naturally assume that the same thing is going to happen here. This is 100% public. Not limited like Facebook and email. Any crazy asshole can post here. But, it's not the assholes that worry me. It's everyone else. The ones I care about. The people that have gotten to know me here. And the ones I know in person. I care about people. I care too deeply. And I'm embarrassed because I haven't been 100% truthful. I'm still hiding myself, I'm still afraid of letting people into my life and letting them see all that I'm about.
So, part of me is bristling to shed the anonymity and bust out of my shell. The other part is still scared as hell of rejection. The more people I know who read this blog, the more I plague the course of my writing with assumptions about what I suppose people want or don't want to read. I thought by making it anonymous I was avoiding that. But it didn't matter. They didn't even have to say anything. I assumed what they were going to say before they even say it. And 100% of the time, my assumptions are wrong.
So, when the comments came, very few were negative, most were encouraging. The ones that were negative came from my mom. But she didn't post a comment; she called instead. What she said actually didn't bother me. This seems ridiculous but what she said actually didn't bother me, it was the positive comments that fed my ego.
By avoiding certain subjects or areas of my life, I could continue writing about things that would appease to get more pleasant comments, rather than go in my desired direction. I did more than keep the status quo. I started to gear it back. In one of my posts, I even made a big deal out of not taking a direction that I really wanted to take because I was afraid of possibly displeasing my readers and eliciting negative comments. I even found a way to convince myself it was what I wanted to do. Looking back at that, I am still angry with myself for copping out. This non risk-taking pattern had been building for the past three months in all aspects of my life. As I fell into the trap of not thinking for myself, the frustration and anger built up and I exploded.
Even so, the comments that I've received have meant such a great deal to me I can't even begin to explain how. Even the simple acknowledgments that I'm not alone are very rewarding. But I continue in fear that I will write something offensive and drive someone away. Hell, it may have happened a few times in the past as I've seen my followers list shrink. But then I've stopped following blogs before, and getting upset for losing a follower makes me a hypocrite. They went a direction that didn't interest me so I left, ironically the ones that have offended me I still follow. So, I would hope that they left because I'm not of interest as opposed to being offensive. Yeah, I see it as rejection either way and I hate it but I hope I'm getting better at not caring about it.
Some aspects of my self-esteem are still dependent on outside validation. And thus, I want comments. I want to know what others think. I want people to interact with me and be frank and honest. If they don't like what I say, and feel a need to disagree, then by all means I want them to. So far the only comment that came close to stating a disagreement was in green and purple's comment when he said, "I agree with almost all that you say." I'm curious what the little bit was he didn't agree with. He's right in that it doesn't matter, but still, my curiosity gets to me and ultimately the disagreements can be learning experiences in and of themselves as they challenge my ego; help me understand the holes in my self-esteem.
But, with that being said, I've started to get a sense that the comments left by readers are not always there for me. They're for the readers. As I've been poking around the blogosphere making comments on other people's blogs, I've noticed that when I've written comments I was essentially venting. That, in effect, actually helped me clarify a thought in my head. In the end, the comment was just something I needed to get off my chest and didn't matter if the author of the blog read it or not. Although, whether they agree or disagree, it's still quite satisfying when the blogger or someone responds to it or references it in a future blog post. At least it's evidence that someone noticed it.
The other aspect of all this is that I'm lonely, desperately lonely. I'm acutely aware that my desire to fill that loneliness hole, a hole that severely depresses me often, feeds my desire for comments. And that is a hard thing to admit openly because this depression and unhappiness is all some people in my life need as evidence to fuel their anti-gay religious shit and throw it in my face. If I can put on that happy face they have no case and will leave me alone with their silly "wickedness was never happiness" bullshit and how turning way from God and the church is the reason I have these holes in my soul.
It's so fucking pathetic. I'm right back to where I was a few years ago when I was a miserable, Mormon, fuck with a plastic smile so that I wouldn't make the church look bad. Now I'm a miserable, lonely, fuck with a plastic smile so I don't make the Gay, ex-Mormons look bad. Fucking bullshit! And I'm being a drama queen! Yes, it still makes me angry; I still have a lot of bitterness left in me. But I should be 100% honest, I'm not as miserable now as I was then. But still, any misery sucks and I hate it and I just want to scream.
But, as of late, not all of the bullshit has been related to Mormons or their silly beliefs. It's been bigoted and ignorant co-workers, slummy landlords, thieves breaking in to my house, distant family, shitty job, distant friends, my shrinking bank account, and no one to talk to about any of it at the end of a hard day. For the last few months I've been wondering, what I am going to do? Where am I going to go? And with all of that, there is the added frustration and anger of not finding an answer. Again, another aspect of all of this apparent misfortune is that those silly Mormons are going to use it as evidence that God is punishing me for leaving the church to have gay sex.
It just keeps coming back to worrying about what people think. And it goes back as far as I can remember. Hell, just read some of my past posts! I totally dwell on shit from my past over, and over, and over...ad nauseam. Yes, we all know now that my past sucked and I'm still not over it. Give it a rest, right? Easier said than done. Besides, I get to decide when to give it rest anyway.
I've been struggling for a long time trying to find a way to reconcile or connect in constructive ways with my past. I wanted to remember all of those times were I got misdirected so that I could change or realign the beliefs I formed around them, beliefs that misinformed me later in life and continue to do so; such as why I still care what other people think of me. But it got daunting. My past was so vast and my memory so jumbled and broken, I was getting frustrated with that alone.
A few days ago, I stumbled across a photo album that my dad sent to me few years ago. In it were miscellaneous photos of me mostly between the ages of 3-16. Many of these struck me as odd because I had no memory of the event captured in the image. Others, I had a clear memory of them and was surprised by the memory. Some were good, many were bad. But all of them invoked a thought or emotion of some kind. I realized that some of these pictures captured events in my life where a belief was forming or being exercised, a belief about myself, about the world or about life. Some were positive. Most were negative. That's probably why I had the photo album shoved deep in the back of the filing cabinet rather than on the shelf or with all of my other pictures.
I've been told that worrying about the past is a waste of time; it does nothing to serve the present moment. And exploring those moments would just be wallowing in the past. So, I've convinced myself that these moments are not important. These moments are all just shit that happens. They don't affect me now. But is that really true? I feel like I'm wallowing in my past more than ever because I refuse to accept it. All this drama I face in my life came from somewhere and the same shit keeps happening to me over and over again. Why?
So I'm going to call bullshit on the non-importance of my past. I've come a long way by looking at my past, piecing it together, and figuring out what happened. How dare anyone tell me it's a waste of time. It's bad enough that the feelings are not easy to confront, I don't need people telling me that I'm doing it wrong just because they think they know what's important to me.
Fuck them. This is MY life.
Through the course of writing this post, I continue to have moments of worrying about what people are going to think. It's always been my problem even before I realized it. I'm more conscious of it now. The anger for it has surfaced so as I move forward, I'm going to be confronting that head on, even if it means starting every post with the phrase, "This is my life, if you don't like it, then fuck off." Anger serves a purpose. I have not been honoring it and so now, it is seething. If I don't let it out, I will continue to wallow in it. I definitely know that that doesn't serve the present moment.
Because my life is so multifaceted, so esoteric and so gut wrenchingly depressing, sometimes I'm pressured to spare people the "Too Much Information" (TMI) that will eventually come. Of course, I'm only assuming it's going to be TMI mainly because I've had many people who were eager to point that out to me. Having people do that only feeds my habit of editing myself, smoothing things out or censoring things so that I can spare other people my most intimate details, the most important things to me. What I end up with is a thick layer of orange paint that covers or obfuscates who I really am. And I resent that. Orange is a nice color; it's just not MY color. This orange paint represents that nasty habit of self-deception, a habit that has managed to totally fuck up my life and continue to make it difficult. Well, no more. If anyone thinks that any aspect of my life is TMI, then they too can just fuck off.
The good side is that I was able to work out my feelings somewhat publicly and vent my real frustrations openly and without restraint and fear of retribution from someone that would take offence of what I would say. Although there isn't that much evidence that I'm in any danger of retribution. But, I certainly don't want my co-workers, relatives and friends to read a lot of this drivel. Even so, a few co-workers and family have read this blog. But then I actually went as far as inviting those people to read it. Duh!
The curse is that I feel restricted in what I can talk about as long as I'm trying to stay anonymous. I thought anonymity would make it easier but the way I see it, the situations, conversations and events that happen in my life, the ones I want to write about, are so bloody public already that mentioning them here would give me away. There are many things I would like to have posted but didn't because the events were too specific. I've tried to avoid mentioning specific people and, if I do, avoid using real names, but even that isn't good enough. I realize the chances of the wrong person finding these posts are slim, but they are not none.
But one thing is for sure, this anonymous game has taught me that I'm still in the closet. I'm still trying to live a double life. The life of how I really feel verse the life I want people to think I feel. But ultimately, it's apparent that anonymity isn't my real problem. It's just the symptom.
My real problem is that I worry about what people think. Especially if I believe it's negative. I don't usually get hurt by negative comments like I used to but I still have my moments and naturally want to avoid them, especially here when I'm trying to express my more authentic self.
Most of the rude and negative people I've had to deal with were in email, on Facebook, and in person. So, I naturally assume that the same thing is going to happen here. This is 100% public. Not limited like Facebook and email. Any crazy asshole can post here. But, it's not the assholes that worry me. It's everyone else. The ones I care about. The people that have gotten to know me here. And the ones I know in person. I care about people. I care too deeply. And I'm embarrassed because I haven't been 100% truthful. I'm still hiding myself, I'm still afraid of letting people into my life and letting them see all that I'm about.
So, part of me is bristling to shed the anonymity and bust out of my shell. The other part is still scared as hell of rejection. The more people I know who read this blog, the more I plague the course of my writing with assumptions about what I suppose people want or don't want to read. I thought by making it anonymous I was avoiding that. But it didn't matter. They didn't even have to say anything. I assumed what they were going to say before they even say it. And 100% of the time, my assumptions are wrong.
So, when the comments came, very few were negative, most were encouraging. The ones that were negative came from my mom. But she didn't post a comment; she called instead. What she said actually didn't bother me. This seems ridiculous but what she said actually didn't bother me, it was the positive comments that fed my ego.
By avoiding certain subjects or areas of my life, I could continue writing about things that would appease to get more pleasant comments, rather than go in my desired direction. I did more than keep the status quo. I started to gear it back. In one of my posts, I even made a big deal out of not taking a direction that I really wanted to take because I was afraid of possibly displeasing my readers and eliciting negative comments. I even found a way to convince myself it was what I wanted to do. Looking back at that, I am still angry with myself for copping out. This non risk-taking pattern had been building for the past three months in all aspects of my life. As I fell into the trap of not thinking for myself, the frustration and anger built up and I exploded.
Even so, the comments that I've received have meant such a great deal to me I can't even begin to explain how. Even the simple acknowledgments that I'm not alone are very rewarding. But I continue in fear that I will write something offensive and drive someone away. Hell, it may have happened a few times in the past as I've seen my followers list shrink. But then I've stopped following blogs before, and getting upset for losing a follower makes me a hypocrite. They went a direction that didn't interest me so I left, ironically the ones that have offended me I still follow. So, I would hope that they left because I'm not of interest as opposed to being offensive. Yeah, I see it as rejection either way and I hate it but I hope I'm getting better at not caring about it.
Some aspects of my self-esteem are still dependent on outside validation. And thus, I want comments. I want to know what others think. I want people to interact with me and be frank and honest. If they don't like what I say, and feel a need to disagree, then by all means I want them to. So far the only comment that came close to stating a disagreement was in green and purple's comment when he said, "I agree with almost all that you say." I'm curious what the little bit was he didn't agree with. He's right in that it doesn't matter, but still, my curiosity gets to me and ultimately the disagreements can be learning experiences in and of themselves as they challenge my ego; help me understand the holes in my self-esteem.
But, with that being said, I've started to get a sense that the comments left by readers are not always there for me. They're for the readers. As I've been poking around the blogosphere making comments on other people's blogs, I've noticed that when I've written comments I was essentially venting. That, in effect, actually helped me clarify a thought in my head. In the end, the comment was just something I needed to get off my chest and didn't matter if the author of the blog read it or not. Although, whether they agree or disagree, it's still quite satisfying when the blogger or someone responds to it or references it in a future blog post. At least it's evidence that someone noticed it.
The other aspect of all this is that I'm lonely, desperately lonely. I'm acutely aware that my desire to fill that loneliness hole, a hole that severely depresses me often, feeds my desire for comments. And that is a hard thing to admit openly because this depression and unhappiness is all some people in my life need as evidence to fuel their anti-gay religious shit and throw it in my face. If I can put on that happy face they have no case and will leave me alone with their silly "wickedness was never happiness" bullshit and how turning way from God and the church is the reason I have these holes in my soul.
It's so fucking pathetic. I'm right back to where I was a few years ago when I was a miserable, Mormon, fuck with a plastic smile so that I wouldn't make the church look bad. Now I'm a miserable, lonely, fuck with a plastic smile so I don't make the Gay, ex-Mormons look bad. Fucking bullshit! And I'm being a drama queen! Yes, it still makes me angry; I still have a lot of bitterness left in me. But I should be 100% honest, I'm not as miserable now as I was then. But still, any misery sucks and I hate it and I just want to scream.
But, as of late, not all of the bullshit has been related to Mormons or their silly beliefs. It's been bigoted and ignorant co-workers, slummy landlords, thieves breaking in to my house, distant family, shitty job, distant friends, my shrinking bank account, and no one to talk to about any of it at the end of a hard day. For the last few months I've been wondering, what I am going to do? Where am I going to go? And with all of that, there is the added frustration and anger of not finding an answer. Again, another aspect of all of this apparent misfortune is that those silly Mormons are going to use it as evidence that God is punishing me for leaving the church to have gay sex.
It just keeps coming back to worrying about what people think. And it goes back as far as I can remember. Hell, just read some of my past posts! I totally dwell on shit from my past over, and over, and over...ad nauseam. Yes, we all know now that my past sucked and I'm still not over it. Give it a rest, right? Easier said than done. Besides, I get to decide when to give it rest anyway.
I've been struggling for a long time trying to find a way to reconcile or connect in constructive ways with my past. I wanted to remember all of those times were I got misdirected so that I could change or realign the beliefs I formed around them, beliefs that misinformed me later in life and continue to do so; such as why I still care what other people think of me. But it got daunting. My past was so vast and my memory so jumbled and broken, I was getting frustrated with that alone.
A few days ago, I stumbled across a photo album that my dad sent to me few years ago. In it were miscellaneous photos of me mostly between the ages of 3-16. Many of these struck me as odd because I had no memory of the event captured in the image. Others, I had a clear memory of them and was surprised by the memory. Some were good, many were bad. But all of them invoked a thought or emotion of some kind. I realized that some of these pictures captured events in my life where a belief was forming or being exercised, a belief about myself, about the world or about life. Some were positive. Most were negative. That's probably why I had the photo album shoved deep in the back of the filing cabinet rather than on the shelf or with all of my other pictures.
I've been told that worrying about the past is a waste of time; it does nothing to serve the present moment. And exploring those moments would just be wallowing in the past. So, I've convinced myself that these moments are not important. These moments are all just shit that happens. They don't affect me now. But is that really true? I feel like I'm wallowing in my past more than ever because I refuse to accept it. All this drama I face in my life came from somewhere and the same shit keeps happening to me over and over again. Why?
So I'm going to call bullshit on the non-importance of my past. I've come a long way by looking at my past, piecing it together, and figuring out what happened. How dare anyone tell me it's a waste of time. It's bad enough that the feelings are not easy to confront, I don't need people telling me that I'm doing it wrong just because they think they know what's important to me.
Fuck them. This is MY life.
Through the course of writing this post, I continue to have moments of worrying about what people are going to think. It's always been my problem even before I realized it. I'm more conscious of it now. The anger for it has surfaced so as I move forward, I'm going to be confronting that head on, even if it means starting every post with the phrase, "This is my life, if you don't like it, then fuck off." Anger serves a purpose. I have not been honoring it and so now, it is seething. If I don't let it out, I will continue to wallow in it. I definitely know that that doesn't serve the present moment.
Because my life is so multifaceted, so esoteric and so gut wrenchingly depressing, sometimes I'm pressured to spare people the "Too Much Information" (TMI) that will eventually come. Of course, I'm only assuming it's going to be TMI mainly because I've had many people who were eager to point that out to me. Having people do that only feeds my habit of editing myself, smoothing things out or censoring things so that I can spare other people my most intimate details, the most important things to me. What I end up with is a thick layer of orange paint that covers or obfuscates who I really am. And I resent that. Orange is a nice color; it's just not MY color. This orange paint represents that nasty habit of self-deception, a habit that has managed to totally fuck up my life and continue to make it difficult. Well, no more. If anyone thinks that any aspect of my life is TMI, then they too can just fuck off.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
My Two Dates
Online dating is a bitch. Well, dating in general is a bitch. At least it is for me. Much of the time it's just awkward but every so often it seems like people act stupid, unfair or cruel -- especially on the Internet!
Sometimes I get guys who start off flirting with me but then never seem to get past that stage. It's always nice to start like that but if I put any effort into starting a normal, sane, conversation and it just kept going back to this flirting, it's not fun anymore, it's obnoxious. The worst ones are the ones that sound like a broken record. Who knows, they are probably drunk. It's just one of the many experiences that put me on edge about the whole Internet dating game.
And then there are the ones who try to converse but don't seem to have much to say. The conversation is really just two and three word sentences. Minus even more points if they insist on using all of the internet/texting alternate spellings.
Him: "hi"
Me: "Hello"
Him: "wut u in 2?"
Me: "Oh, lots of things. It's all in my profile. Anything specific you would like to talk about?"
Him: "like 2 c u."
Me: ...
Sorry, conversation is over.
Now sometimes I'll let the alternate spelling slide by if there seems to be intelligent and earnest conversation getting through. I realize that it can be difficult to type for some people and the ironical things is I'm a notorious misspeller over the chat myself.
Many, many months ago, I was contacted by someone named Dan. The conversation started off much like above but he had just enough to say that kept me interested for longer than usual but I found myself still getting put off by the exchange. His was acting coy, truthful but terse. He surmised a lot of correct information about me but refused to answer specific questions I posed to him. A few times he stated that he would prefer not to answer when I asked him the exact equivalent question he asked me. WTF?
Despite all of that I did learn that he has a current boyfriend or "bf" has he put it. And they had been together for around 15 years. That frustrated me. Why was he so interested in me? He already had someone. Was he looking for an affair? I know a few people like that and I'm not a fan of that particular lifestyle. Although, I did wonder if this was an open relationship. I might be OK with that but at the time I just didn't want to deal with it. So, I left the conversation hanging and ignored him. It was stupid, I felt like he was being unfair and I assumed he had cruel intentions. Besides, I'm more interested in friendships or serious relationships rather than hookups. And it felt like at this point he was pursuing a hookup.
As the months went by, it appeared like Dan was stalking me, which didn't improve my opinion of him at all. I could see that he was checking my profile for activity every few days. He could tell when I logged on but I assumed that if he could see that I wasn't visiting his profile he would get the idea that I wasn't interested in him. I just wanted him to go away. Although, he wasn't harassing me so I didn't feel the need to block him.
Then many months later he contacts me again. This time, for whatever reason, I was more relaxed but I was still a bit defensive and felt determined to stay in control of the conversation. I replied in a curt manner -- or as curt as could be perceived over a short text communication. He was a bit more open with me this time. Almost immediately he told me wanted to have a threesome. WHAAA?!
OK! That wasn't what I expected.
But I was still suspicions that he was looking for an affair so I asked him in my most snippy tone -- albeit lost in the text only communication - who I would be having a threesome with. When he told me his boyfriend, Scott, well, of course, this was one of those types of couples. What is one of those types of couples? I have no idea, just lots of assumptions and labels and shit that I had been taught over the years about "those" types of couples. I had so much negative vibe about it all I couldn't even give you specifics.
But, all this time, he wasn't playing the game I thought he was playing. After several more exchanges about why he was so coy and discreet I realized I was being a huge hypocritical asshole. Considering the place we live and the culture of the community and the type of work they were in, etc., I would have done the same thing had I been in his situation. It was still a game but I had completely misjudged what game he was playing and I immediately thought it was one of those shitty type games.
Although I was skeptical about a threesome, I was curious, and I was also looking for friendship. I wanted to get to know them and try to understand what it was they were looking for. Besides, I didn't have any friends out here who were gay. Dan and Scott offered to take me out to dinner and I accepted. We had a pleasant time talking about the weather, work, religion, and life.
For whatever reason, whether it was Dan's approach or perhaps just the awkwardness of using simple text based communication, I had gotten it completely wrong. And I had thought the worst of this person, these people. The stupid, unfair and cruel thoughts. My assumptions were simply my bias based solely on labels about people that I had grown up believing. Stupid, unfair and cruel labels that had become deep seated beliefs fully ingrained into my thinking -- in other words, emotional baggage. The kind of emotional baggage you don't know you have until it suddenly slaps you upside the head and turns you into an asshole.
Scott did say he wanted to keep in touch. And I feel like I could be friends with these guys but that part about the threesome...I don't think it will happen. I'm just not that drawn to the idea enough to really care about it. Besides, it just brings up a completely different set of emotional baggage. This time it's a matched set that has never been used. Boy, they sure look spiffy with their reinforced zippers, castor wheels and rather pleasant blue floral pattern. Who knows what may be lurking in those bags that will dial up my asshole mode to eleven.
Sometimes I get guys who start off flirting with me but then never seem to get past that stage. It's always nice to start like that but if I put any effort into starting a normal, sane, conversation and it just kept going back to this flirting, it's not fun anymore, it's obnoxious. The worst ones are the ones that sound like a broken record. Who knows, they are probably drunk. It's just one of the many experiences that put me on edge about the whole Internet dating game.
And then there are the ones who try to converse but don't seem to have much to say. The conversation is really just two and three word sentences. Minus even more points if they insist on using all of the internet/texting alternate spellings.
Him: "hi"
Me: "Hello"
Him: "wut u in 2?"
Me: "Oh, lots of things. It's all in my profile. Anything specific you would like to talk about?"
Him: "like 2 c u."
Me: ...
Sorry, conversation is over.
Now sometimes I'll let the alternate spelling slide by if there seems to be intelligent and earnest conversation getting through. I realize that it can be difficult to type for some people and the ironical things is I'm a notorious misspeller over the chat myself.
Many, many months ago, I was contacted by someone named Dan. The conversation started off much like above but he had just enough to say that kept me interested for longer than usual but I found myself still getting put off by the exchange. His was acting coy, truthful but terse. He surmised a lot of correct information about me but refused to answer specific questions I posed to him. A few times he stated that he would prefer not to answer when I asked him the exact equivalent question he asked me. WTF?
Despite all of that I did learn that he has a current boyfriend or "bf" has he put it. And they had been together for around 15 years. That frustrated me. Why was he so interested in me? He already had someone. Was he looking for an affair? I know a few people like that and I'm not a fan of that particular lifestyle. Although, I did wonder if this was an open relationship. I might be OK with that but at the time I just didn't want to deal with it. So, I left the conversation hanging and ignored him. It was stupid, I felt like he was being unfair and I assumed he had cruel intentions. Besides, I'm more interested in friendships or serious relationships rather than hookups. And it felt like at this point he was pursuing a hookup.
As the months went by, it appeared like Dan was stalking me, which didn't improve my opinion of him at all. I could see that he was checking my profile for activity every few days. He could tell when I logged on but I assumed that if he could see that I wasn't visiting his profile he would get the idea that I wasn't interested in him. I just wanted him to go away. Although, he wasn't harassing me so I didn't feel the need to block him.
Then many months later he contacts me again. This time, for whatever reason, I was more relaxed but I was still a bit defensive and felt determined to stay in control of the conversation. I replied in a curt manner -- or as curt as could be perceived over a short text communication. He was a bit more open with me this time. Almost immediately he told me wanted to have a threesome. WHAAA?!
OK! That wasn't what I expected.
But I was still suspicions that he was looking for an affair so I asked him in my most snippy tone -- albeit lost in the text only communication - who I would be having a threesome with. When he told me his boyfriend, Scott, well, of course, this was one of those types of couples. What is one of those types of couples? I have no idea, just lots of assumptions and labels and shit that I had been taught over the years about "those" types of couples. I had so much negative vibe about it all I couldn't even give you specifics.
But, all this time, he wasn't playing the game I thought he was playing. After several more exchanges about why he was so coy and discreet I realized I was being a huge hypocritical asshole. Considering the place we live and the culture of the community and the type of work they were in, etc., I would have done the same thing had I been in his situation. It was still a game but I had completely misjudged what game he was playing and I immediately thought it was one of those shitty type games.
Although I was skeptical about a threesome, I was curious, and I was also looking for friendship. I wanted to get to know them and try to understand what it was they were looking for. Besides, I didn't have any friends out here who were gay. Dan and Scott offered to take me out to dinner and I accepted. We had a pleasant time talking about the weather, work, religion, and life.
For whatever reason, whether it was Dan's approach or perhaps just the awkwardness of using simple text based communication, I had gotten it completely wrong. And I had thought the worst of this person, these people. The stupid, unfair and cruel thoughts. My assumptions were simply my bias based solely on labels about people that I had grown up believing. Stupid, unfair and cruel labels that had become deep seated beliefs fully ingrained into my thinking -- in other words, emotional baggage. The kind of emotional baggage you don't know you have until it suddenly slaps you upside the head and turns you into an asshole.
Scott did say he wanted to keep in touch. And I feel like I could be friends with these guys but that part about the threesome...I don't think it will happen. I'm just not that drawn to the idea enough to really care about it. Besides, it just brings up a completely different set of emotional baggage. This time it's a matched set that has never been used. Boy, they sure look spiffy with their reinforced zippers, castor wheels and rather pleasant blue floral pattern. Who knows what may be lurking in those bags that will dial up my asshole mode to eleven.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
I Must Needs Be Labeled
Over the past few months I've been thinking about how I would go about resetting my blog. I felt like I had gotten to a point where I was writing myself into a corner on account of how I talked about my goals for the blog vs. where it ended up going. Ultimately, I was using this blog to search for my identity. But upon trying on different things in that attempt, I found myself getting locked into conditions that I wasn't comfortable with. I started to worry a lot about being consistent, as if I was writing to an audience that was expecting me to only write a particular way and only about particular things.
I wanted to present myself in a way that showed that I was mature, refined and intelligent. Am I any of those things? Who am I? What am I? What does it mean to be something? I have been trying to figure that out my whole life. I needed a definition. I wanted to find my voice. And I was searching for a role. What is my role?
It took me awhile to realize that when trying to define who I am by assigning myself a role, I'm no longer myself. I'm that role. And what was defining this role? Perceptions? Who's perceptions? Mine? Or my opinion of how I think others would perceive me. Yeah, not just how I think others would perceive me but my opinion of how I think others would perceive me. Such that I would attempt to predict how they might perceive me in a particular way, and then I would add to that judgment a judgment, good or bad, based solely on what I judge they might be thinking.
Complicated? Yeah, and fucking ridiculous too. It's all a judgment of a judgment of a judgment of a judgment where all judgments are pulled out of my ass. I could probably channel that creativity into something more productive.
Unfortunately it's a bad habit from decades of habitually not thinking about the habitual thinking patterns that feed themselves with more bad habitual non-thinking.
Wait, does that even make sense? Yea, it does now that I've reread it a few times. I just had to think about it.
We are taught in our youth that labels matter. Yes, we are taught this. We are taught to identify ourselves by those labels. Is that why insults and name calling hurt so much? Is it no wonder why we are cautioned not to use them to intentionally hurt people? If labels didn't matter, we couldn't use them to hurt. But they do matter and we do use them to hurt. All the while we tell ourselves that we don't mean to hurt people. But we do. And we hurt ourselves too.
We give others permission, we give ourselves permission and sometimes we think we've been given permission by The Lord God Almighty™ to use labels, sometimes to intentionally hurt people. The scriptures are full of labels. Lists and lists of them. All based on the author's personal bias. Who is the author? God? It depends on who you talk to but many believe it was god. Many of those believers gave themselves important, authoritarian sounding labels which gave them power over those who didn't.
I spent decades being deceptively beaten into submission and subjected to the dictates of importantly labeled people. So, any of my efforts to define my existence had basically been done for me. I didn't have to figure it out. I took it for granted that the labels placed on me, as to my identity, were who I really was?
It started with simple labels that put an identity to how my behavior was being perceived by others: shy, quiet, bashful, funny, obedient, mature, depressed, arrogant, obnoxious, intelligent, annoying. These were incidental moments, but over time, I adopted them as to who I was. I could identify with these things easily. The definitions came from a dictionary.
Then there were the more abstract and complicated labels. These were to deepen my identity and give it greater responsibility: Son, Brother, Friend, Student, Christian, Mormon, Child of God, Sinner, Homosexual, Abomination, Sodomite, Pervert, Pedophile, Apostate. These roles were harder to define. Too many different perspectives and opinions as to what these roles meant. It was harder to adapt to these roles. They kept changing depending on the time or the place or the other person's perception. I resisted many of them but they would stir in the back of my mind, beckoning me to define and attach to my identity.
What did they say about me? Obnoxious? Christian? Sinner? Mature? Pervert? Child of God? Pedophile? Am I these things? How do I know? How do they respond to the idea of each of these things? If they think the label is positive can I meet their expectations? Should I meet them? If it's negative is it true? What is my experience? If I believe their perceptions are valid then those labels might be true, even if I don't like them, even if they are not true. What do I do? If they are not true am I going to need to take on opposing roles so as to appear unpredictable and inconsistent, also labels, in order to hide or disassociate from them? Hopefully those labels would be taken away if I did. Or do I just resign my identity to the labeling authorities' and live accordingly so as not to counter their expectations of what I should do thereby avoiding unwanted conflict?
It's psychotic. Once these labels are assigned, they taint how we perceive others and ourselves; we distort who we really are.
So, all this time I've been caught up in labels, caught up with needing a label for my identity. Who am I? What am I? What am I right now? Does it have a label? Writer? Brother? Son? Homosexual? Pervert? Etc.? Or can I just believe that I am mature, refined and intelligent? At least that's what I tell myself to counter the negative labels that I've been forced to identify with. But, ultimately, that just causes me to take on a role of self-righteousness and arrogance as it's only a reaction to anyone who I perceived as not being mature, refined and intelligent.
No. I'm not any of these things. They are all someone else's version of me. And in the end these roles require that I behave in ways that are also defined by someone else. None of them describe the being that is me.
Does it matter?
I want to understand myself but, again, the moment I think I have an understanding I've already assigned it a role, a label, based on someone else's perception. It's the classic physics problem wherein the attempt to measure the event causes the event to change. We are only ourselves when we are not trying to define, label or categorize ourselves.
Our existence seems to evade traditional definability. Are we then indefinable? We can't even say we are human as that is really only a label to describe our physical from. It's not who we are. The best I could say as a definition is that we are beings who are aware of ourselves.
So, when I'm not thinking about who I am, I'm not trying to be someone. At that point I'm just me. If I can be content to never understanding who I am does that mean I've finally found who I am? I can't really put my finger on why, but this actually makes sense to me.
So, anyway, back to this blog... I've decided what I'm going to do about it.
Nothing.
It is what it is: a public presentation of some guy's journey in life marked with specific points in time by long strings of words that reflect the contents of his brain as he dumps it from a big dump truck and pipes it into the series of tubes that is the Internet.
He'll think whatever, and write whatever.
You can read whatever and think whatever. If you feel inclined to comment, you can write whatever.
Win-Win!
Yay!
I wanted to present myself in a way that showed that I was mature, refined and intelligent. Am I any of those things? Who am I? What am I? What does it mean to be something? I have been trying to figure that out my whole life. I needed a definition. I wanted to find my voice. And I was searching for a role. What is my role?
It took me awhile to realize that when trying to define who I am by assigning myself a role, I'm no longer myself. I'm that role. And what was defining this role? Perceptions? Who's perceptions? Mine? Or my opinion of how I think others would perceive me. Yeah, not just how I think others would perceive me but my opinion of how I think others would perceive me. Such that I would attempt to predict how they might perceive me in a particular way, and then I would add to that judgment a judgment, good or bad, based solely on what I judge they might be thinking.
Complicated? Yeah, and fucking ridiculous too. It's all a judgment of a judgment of a judgment of a judgment where all judgments are pulled out of my ass. I could probably channel that creativity into something more productive.
Unfortunately it's a bad habit from decades of habitually not thinking about the habitual thinking patterns that feed themselves with more bad habitual non-thinking.
Wait, does that even make sense? Yea, it does now that I've reread it a few times. I just had to think about it.
We are taught in our youth that labels matter. Yes, we are taught this. We are taught to identify ourselves by those labels. Is that why insults and name calling hurt so much? Is it no wonder why we are cautioned not to use them to intentionally hurt people? If labels didn't matter, we couldn't use them to hurt. But they do matter and we do use them to hurt. All the while we tell ourselves that we don't mean to hurt people. But we do. And we hurt ourselves too.
We give others permission, we give ourselves permission and sometimes we think we've been given permission by The Lord God Almighty™ to use labels, sometimes to intentionally hurt people. The scriptures are full of labels. Lists and lists of them. All based on the author's personal bias. Who is the author? God? It depends on who you talk to but many believe it was god. Many of those believers gave themselves important, authoritarian sounding labels which gave them power over those who didn't.
I spent decades being deceptively beaten into submission and subjected to the dictates of importantly labeled people. So, any of my efforts to define my existence had basically been done for me. I didn't have to figure it out. I took it for granted that the labels placed on me, as to my identity, were who I really was?
It started with simple labels that put an identity to how my behavior was being perceived by others: shy, quiet, bashful, funny, obedient, mature, depressed, arrogant, obnoxious, intelligent, annoying. These were incidental moments, but over time, I adopted them as to who I was. I could identify with these things easily. The definitions came from a dictionary.
Then there were the more abstract and complicated labels. These were to deepen my identity and give it greater responsibility: Son, Brother, Friend, Student, Christian, Mormon, Child of God, Sinner, Homosexual, Abomination, Sodomite, Pervert, Pedophile, Apostate. These roles were harder to define. Too many different perspectives and opinions as to what these roles meant. It was harder to adapt to these roles. They kept changing depending on the time or the place or the other person's perception. I resisted many of them but they would stir in the back of my mind, beckoning me to define and attach to my identity.
What did they say about me? Obnoxious? Christian? Sinner? Mature? Pervert? Child of God? Pedophile? Am I these things? How do I know? How do they respond to the idea of each of these things? If they think the label is positive can I meet their expectations? Should I meet them? If it's negative is it true? What is my experience? If I believe their perceptions are valid then those labels might be true, even if I don't like them, even if they are not true. What do I do? If they are not true am I going to need to take on opposing roles so as to appear unpredictable and inconsistent, also labels, in order to hide or disassociate from them? Hopefully those labels would be taken away if I did. Or do I just resign my identity to the labeling authorities' and live accordingly so as not to counter their expectations of what I should do thereby avoiding unwanted conflict?
It's psychotic. Once these labels are assigned, they taint how we perceive others and ourselves; we distort who we really are.
So, all this time I've been caught up in labels, caught up with needing a label for my identity. Who am I? What am I? What am I right now? Does it have a label? Writer? Brother? Son? Homosexual? Pervert? Etc.? Or can I just believe that I am mature, refined and intelligent? At least that's what I tell myself to counter the negative labels that I've been forced to identify with. But, ultimately, that just causes me to take on a role of self-righteousness and arrogance as it's only a reaction to anyone who I perceived as not being mature, refined and intelligent.
No. I'm not any of these things. They are all someone else's version of me. And in the end these roles require that I behave in ways that are also defined by someone else. None of them describe the being that is me.
Does it matter?
I want to understand myself but, again, the moment I think I have an understanding I've already assigned it a role, a label, based on someone else's perception. It's the classic physics problem wherein the attempt to measure the event causes the event to change. We are only ourselves when we are not trying to define, label or categorize ourselves.
Our existence seems to evade traditional definability. Are we then indefinable? We can't even say we are human as that is really only a label to describe our physical from. It's not who we are. The best I could say as a definition is that we are beings who are aware of ourselves.
So, when I'm not thinking about who I am, I'm not trying to be someone. At that point I'm just me. If I can be content to never understanding who I am does that mean I've finally found who I am? I can't really put my finger on why, but this actually makes sense to me.
So, anyway, back to this blog... I've decided what I'm going to do about it.
Nothing.
It is what it is: a public presentation of some guy's journey in life marked with specific points in time by long strings of words that reflect the contents of his brain as he dumps it from a big dump truck and pipes it into the series of tubes that is the Internet.
He'll think whatever, and write whatever.
You can read whatever and think whatever. If you feel inclined to comment, you can write whatever.
Win-Win!
Yay!
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