Comming Up For Some Air...But Still No Air

Well, needless to say...wait, if it's needless to say then why say it?

I'm going to ramble on with a few things.  For people who are interested in where I'm at, read on.  The rest of you who don't know me will probably not care.  It's one of those types of posts where I'm not writing anything thought provoking.  This is more of a journal entry.  So, with that being said...

When I set out to blog many, many, years ago, it was a way for me to find myself, figure out who I was and discover, if not rediscover, what was truly important to me.  It was a place to find my truth, my voice, and to express it in a place where I wouldn't feel censored for speaking it.

Obviously, over the years I had many ups and downs, most of which I never documented on this blog.  And for the most part, I've pushed passed a lot of the religious bullshit that shaped much of my insecurity and self loathing.  And now here I am, with little to say about most of that and when I do have something to say, I have little desire to express it all that much on here.  In fact, I much prefer to voice it with my own voice, face to face, one on one, with people in person.

When I first started my YouTube vlog, I thought there would be times where I would voice what I needed to say on there, but even then I didn't feel strongly enough about it to sit down and make the video.  But when times came where I had the thought to say something, and I felt strong about it, even  motivated and ready to put it out there, but a few days later the strong feelings would pass and I no longer had any interest in it.  And then there were even several times where I actually started work on the video, even recorded many things, and then, never did anything with them.   And with all that, I've found that I've been losing my inspiration for not just vlogging but other many things. 

One of the things driving this is the realization that I don't want to start arguments with people on YouTube.  A discussion, perhaps, but even then I'm not really wanting to spend the time going back and fourth in comments.  But what I usually end up getting is nothing but a few trolls posting some bullshit comment that does nothing to add value to anyone's lives.  Of all the places where some of the worst trolling happens, it's YouTube and I certainly don't want to deal with the level of bullying that goes on there.   Even though I'm a very tiny slice of that one billion plus member community,  where the majority of which are passive users, it's the tiny, narcissistic, trollish group that gets to me.

Every once in a while I'll get a notification on a comment I made on someone's video several years ago. Someone replying directly to me with a sarcastic, trollish, ad hominem.  The best I can do is just flag the comment and delete the notification.  So far, I've only needed to block a few people when they persist.  I don't ever wish to engage with people like that.  I actually feel like smacking them up side the head, but that's not practical or even possible.  In reality, I wish I didn't have to even deal with them in the first place.   For some reason, of all the social media I deal with, YouTube has some of the worst people in the world on it.

Another reason is the fact that I've screwed up the audio on several of the videos I took which made them almost useless, and that alone has killed much of my motivation for doing any more with them.  I had done a whole bunch of video for Gay Pride in DC, talking to people in the Mormons for Equality parade contingent, and interviewing an old friend from college who was there marching with them.  Only to get home and realize that the audio track was completely unusable.  Ugh!! That really sucked the life out the entire project.

Still, other reasons is because this is challenging work, and I don't have the support from any of my friends which just makes it all that more challenging.  And it's not that they just don't help, often they get in the way and even try to sabotage my efforts.  Either by doing and saying things that compromise the usefulness of the video or by just not being supportive in what I want to do when I need help doing it.

I need better friends.

I really feel like I'm entirely on my own here, and quite frankly, I don't live in an area of the country where the local community has much of a collaborative spirit anyway.   I have wondered about what it was that made this place so frustrating to live, and why everything I've tried to accomplish at work was a constant uphill battle with other egos just to do a simple task. That is, when they aren't actively working to create a crisis in order to jump in to save the day for extra pats on their backs.

Well, after 10 years, and several years talking with my therapist, I finally put my finger on it.  Up until the mid 50's-60's, this place was entirely isolated from the rest of the country.  And much of it still is isolated to this day.  The locals, in order to survive, completely relied on themselves.  They only saw others as a tools to get what they wanted.  And once they were set they didn't care what others needed.  You would think that such a place would drive a more collaborative environment but that's just not the case.  Outsiders were even treated worse and only as a possible source of money.  And even to this day, outsiders are still treated this way.  Sure, visit and spend your money but you are not welcome to stay.  I've lived here 10 years and I've found no friendship with the locals.  The only people I'm friends with out here are also outsiders like myself.

To make my point, I mentioned to one of friends here, one who had been living here for 20 years, and I asked him if they have any friends who are true locals.  They thought for a moment and realized that all of their friends, every single one of them, were not originally from the area.  Then I asked him to take note of all the people in the high level, high profile, management positions at work, many of them who were younger and less experienced and hired within the last 5 years.  Every singe one of them were locals.  Born and bred here.  What was wrong with this picture?   I've felt for a long time that I was really in a dead end position here, and there is no doubt now that it's true. 

Anyway, back to the crap.  I suppose I could be more positive, after all I've been doing some fun things this past year, what with Dragon Con in Atlanta and the Maryland Renaissance Fair.  (All activities that I have to travel many hours to attend.)  But much of it has gotten a bit overshadowed by the stress of not having a car.  The  engine died on mine and I don't have the cash-flow for a new car.  It's going to take a huge chunk of my savings to get it fixed.  I have to essentially buy a used car.  But in this case I'm buying a used car to get the engine out of it and put it in mine.  Thereby  keeping my old car for the price of a used one and I don't inherit any of the issues that come with the used car.  Sort of.

What made the whole issue so much more frustrating was that it happened pretty much the week I was to leave for Dragon Con.  I couldn't even get a rental, The rental places were all out of cars.  This place is rural and I have to use a car to get anywhere.  There is little to no public transportation out here.   I drive a minimum of 45 miles one way just to visit my doctor or buy groceries.  Not having reliable vehicles is a death sentence to one's well being out here. And in the last two years I've had to deal with a government shut down which caused me to lose two weeks of pay, then not getting any cost of living raise because my company wanted to invest it into buying out two other companies rather than support it's employees, and then a sudden influx of unexpected expenses such as hitting a deer, and later losing an engine, and a new threat for another government shutdown, I've been feeling the terror of being forever stuck with little hope of relief.   And getting a job elsewhere has not been successful in the decade I've been trying.  Every few months I look into it and I field a few calls but in the end it all dries up rather quickly.

And then more feelings of isolation come from this weekend being Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco.  I'm seeing my friends talk about it and post their pictures and I'm feeling especially left out.  I should stay off social media because, yes, it does make me fell like I'm missing out.   My 2011 trip to Folsom Street fair was an awesome and very memorable time of my life and it's something I wish could be a regular thing. And it burns me up that it's so far away and so inaccessible to me now.

God damn, as much as I've been getting really comfortable and complacent living out here, with a new and nice house and a rather lenient although frustrating job, I've been feeling more and more isolated from what I really want in my life.  People who are on the same page as me.  And for all the things I want in my life, this place has to be the furthest from all of it that one could possibly imagine.

As one, rather wise, life-coach tried to implore to me, "Are you ready to give up something good for something great?"  And I've been thinking about that for a few years now.  And I'm getting there.  I'm starting to find my courage.  And as my relationship with my boyfriend has grown immensely in the last year, I'm starting to see that I do have support in that relationship.  The trouble is, it's a long distance one.  5 hours drive between us.  It's time to close that gap somehow. 
 
In closing, I took this just before complete eclipse and before clouds rolled in.
It's not great but not bad for a simple snapshot camera.

The Super Blood Moon of 2015. 

Moving Along

It does go without saying that it has been a while since I've written anything on this blog.  My last post doesn't count because I was reposting something I originally wrote for Facebook.  But, it was something that should have been posted here.

Things in life have a way of changing.  I haven't been all that busy, but I have been remarkably lost in activities of distraction, which fed my writer's block.   Not that my writer's block was a problem per say, but that I was allowing my distractions to take over, not letting myself mediate on anything long enough to develop something to write about.  In essence, I've been coasting and not doing much with myself.  Letting my job any my living situation be an excuse for not participating in life, depressed mostly.  It's been like that pretty much since July.

The beginning of 2012 right up through June was intense and left me somewhat numb.  Aside from a few outings such as Dragon*Con, hurricane Sandy, which I chose to spend with a friend in North Carolina instead of suffering through the intense anxiety I went through with hurricane Irene the previous year, and a Christmas holiday in Seattle with some friends, I basically coasted on that numbness.   But all during that time, I noticed that I have been markedly feeling and thinking differently about things.  And I've been feeling the need to get back to writing as the dawning of this new year has given me a sense of allowance for renewal and awakening.

It's been a few weeks since MAL 2013 and yet I still find that I'm decompressing.  It was, as always, a remarkable experience for me as all socially intensive situations are.  And with that I've been able to measure how far I've come in the last few years as well and get a sense for how far I still have to go.  And the results are, I've come along way, and I've got a long way to go.  And with that, I would like to put this out there as a way to say thank you to the universe and the people involved, even though I've already thanked them in person.  

It's embarrassing to admit that I walk into these social situations with a tremendous amount of anxiety that paralyzes me and overwhelms my senses.  I'm quite often frozen, inhibited and shut off during these moments.  The social anxiety is often all consuming and takes away my ability to be engaging and cheerful.  It's all driven by my fear of judgment, rejection, and dismissal, for being imperfect and lacking in knowledge and experience, and unworthy of love.  And for the most part, I think I hide it pretty wall, except from the most astute observers.  But in the end, I just end up angry at myself for putting myself in social situations that creates more anxiety. I literally shut down emotionally from that anxiety leaving me in a state of mind that I was afraid of being in in the first place.    Last year at MAL that's pretty much how it went.  Even though I left there a changed person with some new found awareness about what it meant to be authentic, I was still stuck in not accepting that I deserved a place there.

This year at MAL, I had a very different type of experience that gave me some new and profound perspectives.  I learned some amazing things about myself and what it means to be a person of love, worth and value which is allowing me to feel much more gratitude than I ever have before.  I'm feeling a shift in my outlook and in my inward look, that is permissive of myself to be myself, whatever state that may look like, in whatever amount of stress I might be under, in whatever might be holding me back from expressing my wants and desires.

I'm allowing myself to be OK with the person I become when I don't know what to say, the person I become when I feel vulnerable and scared or when I'm calm and funny.  I'm allowing that person that I am at that time, and not judging him with expectations of what he should be doing or could be doing. I'm allowing myself to be what I am and only what I am in the moment and state that I am, which is now.

I can't say that I did all this on my own. Sure, it took a large amount of self awareness and willingness and book knowledge, but it took some education and wisdom that many wonderful friends have been able to give me, and some select moments of trust with some other friends at MAL as they literally, and figuratively, held my leash through the process without judgment, criticism and rejection, giving me the permission I needed to be who I am during all those states.  The simple act of going through the motions of all these states, practicing within a safe environment, which I have all the book knowledge of but I don't have the actual practical experience, in order to start that process of deprogramming decades of self doubt and self hatred.

What happened was a profound healing experience that lifted me to a higher plane of self love.

Sometimes, it really does take someone to help.  To literally be there with me and give me the permission, safety, and respect that I need for that healing experience to happen.  I've always been taught I can only do it on my own.  But I know now that's not true and in some cases, not possible.  I'm now more willing to not only ask for that help, but more importantly, allow myself to receive that help when it is offered.

But most importantly, I've learned that I can trust again.

Thank you all.  I hope that I can carry this with me as long as possible.

But I Was Only 5

2012 has been kicking my ass.  And yet, I feel stronger now.  At least I feel strong when I'm not actually feeling hopeless.    

I started off 2012 just diving right in to some of the most intense social situations I've ever had.  I wanted to push myself to get out there, overcome my shyness, meet people, and make new friends, get connected to others and be part of something.    

The first situation was by choice.  But the second one was not.  The third one was. The fourth was not.  And so on and so forth.  Back and forth it went and continues on that way.  Each event, situation, trial, confrontation, mistake, was/is pushing me through, in what appears in my dreams as, mountains of rushing water, a metaphor for my emotions.    Sometimes I come out of it with a new grounded sense of who I am, but other times I'm left wondering what in the fuck is left of me.  What have I learned?  What am I getting out of this?  I'm still working on it.  I'm still trying to sort it out. 

But here is what hit me lately:

A new found awareness of what it feels like when I leave authenticity.   I've started to notice the twinges of emotion, pangs of anxiety, eagerness to please while concealing my resentment.  All of these signal to me that I've stepped out of authenticity.  Awareness of where I stop loving the people around me, stop loving what is happening around me, and I start to judge the situation not as it actually is but as my suffering ego imagines it to be.  It's paranoid, hurt, afraid, and it tells me stories about what it thinks is going on.  Stories that have nothing to do with reality but I'm lost in my emotions, I'm not acknowledging them for what they are, and I'm feeding them these stories.  I don't know why, but it keeps the pain alive.   Leaving authenticity is something I do more often that staying in authenticity.

It's pretty fucked up. 

I've been jumping into things too fast, too eager, too afraid that if I don't do it right now, I may never get to do it ever.  I'm not realizing that I have not fully accepted myself so I still put on a mask, I still try too hard to play a role that I think is expected of me.  And I fail.  I fuck it up.  My sense of confidence, that confidence that I think others are looking for, is not real.  I conjured it up and pretended to be something I'm not, something that I know I can be but I'm not ready to be.  I'm not ready because I'm not doing it from my own personal center and awareness.  I'm doing it as a mirror of how I see it in others.  

This time it put me in a situation where I hurt someone.  I unintentionally inflicted serious physical injury.  And I've destroyed, permanently, a trust that I had just started to earn.  The ripple of that is not only losing his trust, but the trust of an entire social circle because of how he will warn others; spread the word that I am a bad person.

What was I thinking?  I don't know.  I wanted to be perfect.  I wanted to be what that other people expected of me.  I only wanted to please. 

Later that night, as I was making the long drive home from my disastrous weekend, I was talking to my mom about what had happened.   I was already feeling out of place from things going on all month but this weekend pushed me over the edge.  My body, thoughts, emotions, were all exploding.  I was feeling fear, frustration, anger, worthlessness, rejection, guilt, shame, regret.  I had hurt someone.  Seriously hurt them.  

I was reminded of an indecent that happened when I was 5 years old of a little boy, struggling, one step at a time, heaving a heavy stroller carrying the crying baby of my baby sister up onto the front porch, trying desperately to get her in the house.  She was crying; I was trying to comfort her. I had no idea what to do but get her in the house so that mom could make it right.   But I was afraid that I would be punished for making her cry; after all it was my fault that she was crying. 

I was spraying the lawn with the water hose, playing, pretending to be the little Rainbird sprinkler, as I smacked at the water stream with a plastic spatula. And she, for whatever reason I don't know, was alone with me, sitting out in the sun.  Was I supposed to be watching her?  I feel like I was.     But why would a 5 year old be responsible for a tiny baby just barely a few months old?  I don't remember but I do felt like I had been given the responsibility to tend just because we were alone together.  I don't recall being told to do it though, but it was common for my dad to tell me to do such things.   So, there I was, just hoping nothing happened and that mom or dad would come and get her soon before she started crying.   But then I slipped, I turned too far and a blast of cold water hit her face, startling her and she screamed. 

I was ashamed, I had accidently hurt her, I got her wet, and now I was going to get yelled at, punished, whipped with the belt or whatever, I don't know.   She needed comfort, she needed to be held, and she needed to stop crying so that I wouldn't be blamed for causing it.   But I was too small to pick her up.  And I didn't know where mom or dad where.  I didn't call for mom because I knew she couldn't hear me.  If she hadn't come by now from my sister screaming, she couldn't hear; she had no idea anything had happened. 

I'm sure mom was in the house somewhere but I didn't dare leave her alone. If anything were to happen to her because I left her alone, I would surely be punished.   So I did the only thing that made sense to me at the time, get her in the house so that mom could hear. 

The stroller was heavy, it was awkward, and the handles were as high as my shoulders.  The best I could do was tilt it back and drag it backwards, heaving the back wheels one step at a time up the concrete stairway, one, two, three, steps, then pausing to rest for a moment and regain my grip.  Each step hit her with a profound jerk and bump, each one seemed to make her cry worse.  Four, five, six, I was at the top.  Tilted the stroller back on all fours and then turned my attention to opening the door.   Once I managed to get the door open I turned just in time to notice the stroller had rolled toward the stairs, out of my reach and the front wheels had already hit the first step. 

I was literally frozen as I watched the stroller tumble down the stairs. Each jostle of the wheels as they dropping down onto each step sent shards of adrenaline through me and amplified the sound of terror I was hearing in her crying. When the front wheels hit the bottom the stroller flipped forward, head over heels, landing upside down, smashing my sister's face into the concrete. 

I no longer heard any crying, it had all gone silent. 

I rushed down the stairs; I was shaking, and muttering to myself, "Oh my god!  Oh my god!"  I was so weak; I was trembling; I could barely turn the stroller on to its side.  "Oh my god!" I kept muttering trying to unfasten the seat belt.  But I was shaking too much; I could barely grasp the buckles.   Her face was contorted as if she was trying to cry but couldn't catch her breath, she just shook, trembled and twitched.  There was a bit of rocky dirt on her chin and forehead and blood was starting to drip from the edges of her mouth.  "Oh my god!  Oh my god!"

When she finally caught her breath, in what seemed like a lifetime, she let out the most disturbing cry I had ever heard and don't want to ever hear in my lifetime again, a frantic screaming cry of terror, panic, pain, trauma. 

This was bad, this was serious, this was my fault, she was hurt, really hurt bad and I couldn't do anything, I didn't know what to do, and I had caused this. 

It was shortly after this when mom finally heard the screaming and came rushing outside to see what was going on, all the while screaming at me in panic, and demanding answers.  "What's going on?!  What happened?!  Why is she bleeding?!   What in the hell were you doing?!  What have you done?!  Get away! Don't touch her!"  I don't remember what I said or if I was even able to say anything.

Mom took her in the house, at which point the details of my memory have faded to images of her trying to get my sister to suck on popsicles or bottles but she couldn't do it.  Images of streaks of blood on anything her mouth had touched, the unending crying that seemed to last for days, and then I have no more memory. 

But this memory of my baby sister has been with me, haunting me my whole life, playing over in my mind from time to time, but only as a bad dream, disconnected and disassociated from it.  But now, I was suddenly reliving it all over again while driving home that night. 

I had to stop the car, before I passed out and crashed.  I was convulsing with intense wailing, soaking my clothing in sweat, releasing emotion it seemed from every pour of my body.  Even now, as I retell this story here, even rereading it as I proof read, I crumble in fits of sobbing.

I had found out a few years ago that I had actually broken her jaw.  I had broken the jaw of a baby only a few months old.  She is now in her mid 30's and has had to cope with problems as a result of that her entire life. 

And now, out of some twisted turn of events, I'm still paying for my mistake.  And continue to do so as I keep replaying my history.  Doing it all over again; hurting people while trying to play a role that I am not ready to play.  Just like when I was 5 years old.   But then, I was also forced into that role.  It's no wonder I feel such intense anxiety when I'm forced into roles, jobs, obligations, commitments, that I'm not willing to do or I'm not ready for.

That is why I hated being in the Mormon church so much.  It was an obligation, a commitment, a role, that I couldn't fill.  No matter what I did, I was never good enough.  But I did it anyway to keep the piece.  To protect myself from the anger and wrath of those who had authority and control over me.    But I'm not there anymore, and yet, I have been continuing to force myself into a roles I'm not ready for today.  Why?  To please others in hopes of earning their respect? 
Respect that I can't ever earn?  Am I doing it to try to redeem myself for the harm I've caused?   That seems ridiculous, as I'll just keep causing more harm.   I don't know. 

The Thoughtless Police

Lots of discussion going around on Facebook, on blogs, amongst distant friends in distant cites and elsewhere, all talking about all the great people in their lives, all of the wonderful dates they have been on all the wonderful support and sex they have with their dates, partners and spouses.

The envy, the jealousy, is difficult.  I do not like being alone,  I do not like going months if not more, with no one to touch.  And what makes it all worse is that I have no idea when the next chance will come.   And for whatever reason, some of those people are drifting away.  And some are now starting to avoid me.   I respect their rule of not sticking their dick in crazy.  I'm sorry I'm crazy.  I don't mean to be. 

Every status I see, every post I see, every picture I see setting on the desk of a coworker where they are flaunting their heterosexually, every god damn moment my co-worker has to talk about his fucking girlfriend, is a moment I want to die.  

I would really like to be happy for them.  I would really love to feel the joy and happiness they have. I would love to be able to have it so that I could share it as well.  But then, would I share it?  Would I do that so that I would be an insufferable prick to someone else who is dealing with profound isolation and loneliness? Would I be so insensitive that I would thoughtlessly share my happiness with others in ways that taunt, and mock them?  

I probably would.  

 

My Blog

This.

It needs saying even if it's wrong.

A sure fire way to affect change in a difficult emotional thinking pattern is to state it.  Give it voice. Put it into words, whether spoken or written.  And sure enough, whatever beliefs that arise out of that exercise will suddenly dissolve; especially if that belief was not formed from a rational headspace.   

I don't know why that is.  But it is why I write in this blog.  And it is why I need to keep doing it and continue to give voice to whatever is on my mind regardless if it's rational or not.   Because, for whatever reason, only writing in my private journal seems to have stopped resulting in parsing the jumble of thoughts in my mind.  This writing, this blog, has been necessary for me because of one basic thing, the awareness that what I write has the potential of actually getting read by someone.  That truth changes my entire thought process.   I don't even need to know who reads it or when, just that the words I write are going to end up in a place that can be found and read.  Without that concept of "public", I don't seem to be motivated to process any thoughts at all.  My private journal writing has essentially turned into an exercise in avoidance. 

So here I am, putting more time in to free-writing publicly about my journal writing being an avoidance mechanism so that it will dissolve and go back to being a catharsis.  Wait, isn't the awareness of what I'm writing about change the scope and purpose and end up sabotaging it?    Damn it! 

Nonetheless, I still want to take a moment here to state something about a post from a few weeks ago (April 7).  It was a post that exposed more about me and my messed up state of mind at the time I wrote it than it did about anything or anyone I was whining about.  

It's real, it's how I was feeling at the time, I can't deny that, but there are parts of it that are big red flags to me that I was not rational.  But in order to discover this, I had to forget about the post for a few weeks, finish a story I had been working on for a year, write a follow up post to that story, and then, by chance, go back and read the old post and realize that I was not resonating with whoever it was that wrote it!  Yeah, I wrote it but, I don't really know the person who wrote it.   Does that make me schizophrenic?  Not really, but it does expose how depression manifests itself to me. 

So, what do I want to say about the old post?  Not much other than to say that the feelings of isolation and loneliness, and the belief that I've been the recipient of judgments and rejection, have actually been ME doing most of the judgments and rejecting.  In turn, I've ended up imposing more isolation on myself, well beyond the physical isolation that I actually can't control right now.  Yes, the communities are generally dogmatic, cliquish and exclusionary, but that's over generalizing and unfair to the many individuals in the communities who are not that way and disrespectful to those who desire and need such closed door policies.  I mustn't forget that what seems like a clique is actually a close nit family.  One just doesn't walk into someone's family and expect to be treated as if you were always there.  It takes time, lots of interaction and the right chemistry.  And if it doesn't happen, it's OK.  It wasn't meant to be.  The problem I face is that I so rarely get interaction I never get the chance to ever know where I stand. 

Now, quite honestly, at this point, I need to be careful here because dwelling on my current physical isolation is one of the many major triggers that have literally shoved me into the hell of depression.   And even though I'm aware of how depression manifests itself at this moment in time, it doesn't mean I will recognize if and when I fall into it again.  So, will stating what I just stated mean that I will recognize it next time?  That's the expectation.   But now I just stated that the stating of it will now change its outcome.   Damn it!

Reclaiming Complex and Nuance

This post is about my anger, frustration, pain, anxiety, fear and all that baggage that is associated with my inability to know what to say about my dear sweet friend who attempted suicide yesterday. 

But before I get into my shit, I want to direct you to Mr. Doodle's:
Top 10 Reasons Why I Left the Church
Top 10 Reasons Why I Came Back to the Church

Feel free to leave Mr. Doodle a comment or write your own blog post about your top ten reasons you left.   If you haven't left the church then write a top 10 reasons why you stay or came back.  But by all means, avoid calling people to repentance if they don't agree with you.  It's not going to convince anyone.  Mr. Doodle has every right to do as he please for whatever reasons he has.   As do I and as do you.  But just know, if you say I should do things a certain way, convince me first how your life's path can possibly have anything to do with the reality of mine when it comes to your own self-awareness of what I perceive.   In other words, if you can get inside my head, you would know what to say to convince me. 
  
I don't have a top ten reason why I left myself.  It's more like a top three.
#3 Co-dependency runs rampant and is self-sustaining.
#2 A dogmatic culture of "one life fits all" philosophy.
#1 It's a twisted, abusive, homophobic, fallacy, of conditional love which imposes unnecessary complexity and nuance into the social lives of vulnerable people where there otherwise would be a naturally simple existence. (see #2 & #3)  

Yes, I'll say it; my life is still being complicated by the baggage that comes with deeply imposed, completely unnecessary, fallacies of religious belief, which create a complex and nuanced social climate that only an omnipotent god could navigate, a complexity and nuance that must be danced around and walked on like a fucking, god damn, eggshell so as not to frighten the overly sensitive egos of the superstitious, busy bodies.   If you are offended by that classification, ponder it for yourself why that is the case.  You may have a blog post you could write for your own blog. (Post a link to it in the comments if you like.)

I used to love the word 'nuance'.   As a music composer it was the nuance of the performance and harmonic selections that separated a good piece of music from a great one.   I used to love the word 'complex' because, as a composer, I could stun my rhythmic sensibilities with layers of poly metered rhythms that was both invigorating and meditative.

But I've learned to distrust these words.   I've seen them used against me.  Thrown back at me as yet another means by which I am to compromise my feelings, sensibilities, life experiences and just plain life, so that fearful superstitions will not be challenged in their inability to look at anything other than the shadows on the fucking wall.   

Navigating these waters, wading through the mud, balancing on a pin head, opening a fucking window, is now this delicate and unattainable "complex and nuanced" perfection that must be played in just the right way or they revoke their love, shut off all dialog, close down all ability to communicate and then they take their ball and go home, a ball that was gifted to them by the one seeking an understanding dialog in the first place.  All the while, as they leave, they are screeching the need for empathy and understanding.   

Empathy?  Yes, amongst the complex and nuanced wash of social engineering is the word empathy, a concept that is imbued, in this case, with conditions that only go one way because only one side of that dialog understands and practices it.   The other side can only pay lip-service to it.  

I sit and watch with full understanding, yes, even empathy, all of the struggles and fears that have embodied those who can only pay lip-service.  And I can understand why they can only pay lip-service, but I can't say a single thing about it.  I can't tell them what my path of life has been, I can't talk about my experiences, fears, struggles, joys, loves.  I can't even begin to express how our experiences are wrong for each other.   All I can do is just listen and let them tell me I'm a perverse and evil miscreant because I cannot believe and live as they do.  I understand why they believe and say that  but I can't say anything about my reality.  They won't listen.  They can't listen. They can't understand.    They are like little babies who only know the world as it exists inside of their heads.   I understand why they can't understand even if the words fail me in explaining it.  But I can only sit there for so long before I have been drained of my will to live.  I resent having to babysit these adults. I've got a life to live; I can't waste it away trying to open a dialog with unreason.  And yet I keep trying.  It's leading to insanity.

I have, for the most part, learned to no longer believe that I am a perverse and evil miscreant, but only when I'm rational.  But the strange nuanced and complex world of the human psyche can still be triggered into readopting those old beliefs, and often in subtle and gradual ways.  Before long, the mind has switched into a new consciousness, into another space, another reality where I only know, understand, and experience these irrational beliefs and nothing else.  If the head-space is irrational,  I can't think my way out of it.   I become the baby who must be babysat.  And now I'm the social burden that only a nuanced and complex pandering of my fragile ego can pull me out of.   And if I'm lucky, I'll get the empathy I need before I've convinced myself that I must die.  This is fucked up!

Nuanced social navigation is an unnecessarily activity when religious dogma is not imposed on a person's identity, thus warping the very reality that is our existence.  Life is not complex when religious dogma is not imposed into every aspect of it, especially aspects of life where it  cannot offer anything of value, which is all of it.

I would love to say that religious dogma is to blame for this social dysfunction but I can't.  All it really does is use us and abuse us and keeps us stuck in it.  There is no way around this.  We are like this because we evolved to be this way.  What I can only hope for is that we will eventually evolve out of it, so that the words 'nuance' and 'complex' can go back to being words to describe aesthetics rather than the navigation of social dysfunction.  But, religious dogma doesn't believe in evolution.

where no one wants to be

Why don't I write here anymore?  I think a part of me doesn't want to answer that question here.  It's not safe anymore.  After all this time, all these months, I've realized that I've been bullied to keeping my mouth shut about some aspects of my life.  The realm of my mind that needs a voice doesn't have an understanding ear.   And I'm sick and tired of trying to say what it is, without saying what it is.  But then, don't expect me to say it now that I've mentioned I'm sick of keeping it to myself.    

What I want to say, I want to say it to a person.  To their face.  I want to read their expressions and watch for sparks of understanding, insight, inspiration, and I want to hear what they have to say about what I said.  I want them to talk to me with the desire to know what I have to say about what they said.   I want to hear and feel the tone of the voice, read and experience the body language.  I want to be someone to them in real life, and I want them to be someone to me in the same living space. 

This medium of text, a string of words which only convey just a microcosm of information is cold, empty, shallow.  It is not the essence of the person; it's not the essence of me. These are just my words filtered through hours of thought and rewriting.  I don't talk like this; I don't express my essence this way. 

When someone experiences me in the flesh, they don't see the formality or the humor they saw in my writing.  I don't think that fast, I don't talk that fast.  I stumble with what to say, I constantly misspeak my thoughts and often repeat myself.  Many times the words I want to speak never seem to reach my mouth leaving me to frustratingly search, strain and grasp for them. Often in failure.  I know what they mean, I know what I want to convey, but that damn word won't come forward.   So I pause, think, ponder, clear my head, wait for the word to come to the surface.  "Ses...sees...serrs...serrr...serpe...serep...what the fuck is the word I'm looking for?"

This is not stuttering.   I'm vocalizing in an attempt to stir up the word to come forward. Perhaps, desperately, give the listener, who I would hope hasn't tuned me out already, a clue so they could offer a suggestion to trigger my memory.   All too often they have tuned me out or take my pause as a queue instead to change the subject or worse, walk away.

Things haven't always been this way.   But they are getting worse and I fear that in time I will have lost all ability. 

Nonetheless, with that frustration aside, speaking my mind, has given me more than any writing has done because it has connected me to people in deeper ways, given my mind a chance to reprogram all of its errant beliefs about body language, mannerisms, vocal tone, and the intent behind it, undoing years of social malignment from growing up with emotionally abusive parents up in a deeply judgmental culture.  It's allowed me to find a community of likeminded people who can relate to my ideas and feelings and given me perspective and companionship.  

But, only to a certain extent. 

I've come to a moment in my life where I have found that I can no longer speak an important aspect of my essence.  I've tried to speak it but I get blank stares, disapproving glances or just plain antagonistic comebacks to shut the fuck up about it.  Bullying.  This place, this blog, is actually not a safe space for me to explore those thoughts either.  For this aspect in my life,  I'm not in the right community.   I'm stuck, alone again, without a community for the thoughts in my head. 

But I do know where those communities are!  And even though I don't know the right words to use, I give it a try anyway.  And if it doesn't fall apart right away, or never starts because I'm not versed on using the correct language, it eventually falls apart anyway.  Why?  Because I'm too far away.   I'm not worth the trouble or the time because I'm too far away.   But what do they mean by that?  Many of them are willing to travel 5 to 10, 20 hours away, or even fly across the country.  But they won't for me?  Why?  Because I don't live in a city or an area of the country that interests them; I don't live in a place where there is a community.  It's just me.   And because of that, I seem to have nothing to offer them, despite my ability and willingness to travel to them.  So our communication ends. They no longer return my inquiries or express any interest in what I have to say.  No more email, no more chats. Alone, again.

That triggers me.  Anxiety, frustration, anger, hurt, rejection, abandonment...

The only thing left is to delete them from Facebook so I don't have to subject myself to a constant barge of all the great things they are posing about the community.  And as I'm quickly losing my ability to freely travel, I can't help but think to myself,  "what's the fucking point of any of it anymore?"

All, I've got right now is my isolation in my dead end job in a corner of the world where no one wants to be.  

Reset Please

Some days I wish I could just hit the reset button on my life.  Just fucking start over with a clean slate and do things differently.  Not so much by going back in time but more getting up and leaving it all behind, go someplace where no one knows me, and start my life off with how I want it to be.   

No expectations or surprises at how I've "changed".  No one trying to get me to revert to doing things the way I used to, or rather doing things the way they are all used to seeing me do.

I get to dress the way I want, I get to drink what I want, I get the live the way I want, and no one will ever know I have "changed".  No one will ever care.  They will take me at face value and accept that package they get. 

But no, that's not how it works.  I have to, in effect, be a nasty, evil, rebellious, bastard and hurt everyone's feelings. 

God, I fucking hate this.

To My Younger Self

Formspring Question:   "If you could go back in time, knowing what you know now, what would you tell yourself (being the best and worst) about being gay?"

To answer this question, I will share with you a past journal entry where I essentially did that in a way.  I wrote a few of these over the years but this one was actually coherent.

Hey little [Gay Dot],
It's been a while since we've talked. Sorry it's been so long. I want to talk to you just as you're completing puberty to tell you what to expect from here on out as it relates to this new physical change you have just gone through.

As things are now, you are already feeling the sexual urges. And when you get older things will get more and more confusing, where people in the church will start to talk to you about masturbation, dating, sex, getting married, having children. Some of this will scare you. Don't get discouraged thinking that you must do anything that doesn't make sense to you. Don't get down on yourself for not understanding what is happening.

As it turns out, there is something special about you. It's called homosexuality. Gay. You've already heard fag. Yeah, I know it hurts to hear those words. They are bad words to many people you know and they will continue to be bad words to many people you will soon come to know.

I want you to know, to understand, there is nothing wrong with you. This is normal in human sexuality. It's healthy and natural. Unfortunately, you will be told many lies about it. And you will know they are lies because they will be contradictory. Remember this one? "The natural man is an enemy to god", and "homosexuality goes against nature". Well, which is it? These lies will hurt and confuse you because you will not understand them. But you will come to understand over time and know from where they came.

Also, as you've already become aware a few years ago, you are physically and emotionally drawn to many exotic physical pleasures and role-playing behaviors. You have since come to know these things as Bondage, Discipline, Dominance, Submission, Sadism, and Masochism. But, again, in time, you will come to understand fully what they are about, why they are part of your psyche and why they are special. These really have nothing to do with you being homosexual but they will play a large role in helping you come to understand your homosexuality and the role you will play in life. These things are also normal aspects of what it is to be human and are part of what makes you special. Again, you will hear many lies about these things that will hurt and confuse you. But you will learn to trust your spirit and it will help you discern what is real and what is not.

You have a unique way of looking at the world that defies society's traditional notions of sexuality, and gender roles. All these special things you have are gifts that give you profound paths to spiritual enlightenment that will serve you and those you interact with very well. And you will come to understand why that's important. And even though you feel very alone, from time to time, I understand as I still feel that on occasion. In time though, you will find many people, and discover thousands and thousands of others who feel the same way as you. And even though you feel very alone and scared right now, it will be Ok. We will be Ok. The more you come to understand, the more you will realize there is nothing to fear.

But as with all things good, they do come at a cost. I really don't need to tell you this as you have already experienced it. The world and the church are not accepting of these things at all. They don't know anything about them. They don't understand them. In fact they are deathly afraid of them. And they don't know what to do about their own fears. Forgive them. Let it go.

When you turn 16, and that intrusive bishop asks you about this stuff. You will be too ashamed to answer him. It's Ok to feel upset, confused and hurt. Don't feel ashamed for feeling that way. What he will do is wrong. You will come to understand that what you do with your own body is none of his business. But, forgive him for asking. He is merely doing what the thinks is right. He has no understanding of what to do if you told him about those things anyway. You will come to understand that these men have no power over you. And you will be able to let those shameful and manipulative moments pass.

When you turn 19, you will be confronted by some who will ridicule, and threaten to bash you. They will hate you because they are afraid of what you are. And many will continue to hate you. That will never change. Even though the panic you feel will seem all consuming, but remember, they have no power over you. This life belongs to you. It does not belong to them, the church, your peers, or your family. It's yours. Leave them behind. In time, Many people will come and go in your life. Those that truly care for you will stay in your life and accept you for who you are.

If I could truly go back in time and take on this confusion with more courage, I would. But the past is gone now. What we do now, is move forward, forgive them and let them go. In the process, we will take back what has been taken from us, our self-esteem, our self-worth, and our ability to love. Some days you may just want to die, and you may wish something to happen so that it will end. And some days, it may be you who contemplates how to take your own life. But you will survive this. I know this is to be true because I'm sitting here today telling you this.

The world is changing for the better. The church not so much but they will come along eventually. But, don't wait for them! You already know you don't need them. Let it be Ok that you don't believe in it. Just go out and do what works for you. Let go of the expectations. Let go of those that want you to be like them. They will accuse you of being selfish but you will soon understand that it is they who are being selfish. Let them go. And when you do this, you will soon find yourself on the path that truly works for you. And you will find friends who accept you for all that you are.

What has happened to us cannot be changed, but the emotions we have from those experiences can be changed. Don't feel ashamed of that. It's OK. We will figure this out. As I impart my adult knowledge onto you, you can revisit those awful moments in the past with new understanding, and change that belief you created about yourself at the time. That new belief will come forward to the present and empower us on this journey.

I love you little [Gay Dot]. Be well.

sorry

Sigh.

I need to apologize for my post on Saturday.  I'm still wondering if I should delete it or not. I guess it could stand as an example as to why I shouldn't write things off the cuff.

My "friend" doesn't deserve to be bad mouthed that way.  Just because I had a problem with him that day, doesn't give me the right to slander his character and I wasn't being completely rational either.

The truth is, having a place to go and a person to keep me occupied, no matter how narcissistic, kept me out of my head long enough to let the suicidal feelings pass. I was at least rational enough to realize that.

But, I'm still in a dilemma.

You see, there are two issues I'm dealing with.  My occasional depression with its  suicidal feelings and my increased health problems with my heart, which have made the depression worsen.  Neither one happens at any predictable schedule.  Neither one will put me in any immediate danger.  The real danger is going to be when they both hit at the same time.  If that happens, I will not be willing to seek medical attention when my heart lapses in to fibrillation.  And if it doesn't kick out within 24 hours, I'll be killing myself with the inevitable stroke or strokes.  This scared the shit out of me.  There is a chance that I can kill myself, or rather allow myself to die, if such conditions align.

This realization hit me last evening while I was out walking in the dark, on a deserted beach, many miles away from a road or any sign of life other than the birds and mosquitoes.  At that point, I knew my depression had lifted because I realized that I was now in a position where if my heart went into fibrillation, I wouldn't have the strength to walk the 5 miles back to my car, passing out in the process of trying.  I also wouldn't be discovered for days if at all, at which point the strokes would have killed my brain by then and my body would have been carried out to sea when the tide came in.  That too, scared the shit out me.  I almost started running back to my car completely freaked out because I no longer wanted to die.

I have no idea what to do about it.  Depression makes me irrational and I don't realize it until after it's passed, at which point I'm glad I don't do what I had been thinking of doing while depressed because during the depression, the irrational seems completely rational.

As for being alone?  I don't know what to do about that either.  It's not as if I know anyone who I can share those long, isolated, no moonlight, walks on the beach with.  FUCK!   It's statements like that that trigger me to get depressed!  God DAMMIT!  fuck this shit!  And fuck my life.

Today used to be my Birthday

Without trying to sound dramatic, today is my birthday and I'm just waiting for it to get the hell over with it.  I HATE being alone on days like these.  Sure, there is an expectation of what I think a birthday should or could be, a happy celebration of my birth, but birthdays are also like the holidays to me, empty and void of genuine well wishing from most people.  There are a few exceptions, VERY FEW, and those few are the only ones that keep me here.  It's too bad they are all thousands of miles away.

I can understand everyone wishing me a "Happy Birthday". It's expected and many do mean well.  But they don't stop there.  They have to rub it in with things like this:

"I hope you're having a fabulous day, filled with lots of happiness, friends and/or family with you!"
"Hope your livin' it up today. Have a good one."
"I hope you get to go do something fun to celebrate the day."
"Hope you do something fun"

Etc.

Everyone expects birthdays to be a special day where you get to do something special, and I'm one of them.  But its specialness is really a stupid idea that I need to let go of, because here is the cold hard reality:

It's no different from any other busy, late summer day.  And today was typical of what happens.

I had asked some other "friends" if they would like to do something today for my birthday but, either they were already at some other event (that I was not invited to) and couldn't hang out, or they just didn't want to do anything.   So I was just going to find something to do on my own.  I was feeling the depression start to hit me early this week so that was not helping it.

So, this morning I woke up groggy and frustrated from a restless night caused by an unbearably stressful and mindless job.  Immediately I got a call from a "friend" who wanted to drive out to The OC* and watch the Red Knights motorcycle procession honoring the fire fighters killed on this day in 2001.   That sounded interesting so I agreed to go.

On the way, I told him that it was my birthday today.  He was surprised and actually thought I was joking. I wasn't surprised that he would do that.  You see, this person doesn't really pay much attention to the thoughts, feelings or lives of other people.  If it's not about him, it doesn't matter.  When he called me -- and he calls me often -- he was merely just bored and looking for something or someone to entertain him.  I've known him for 5 years.  I have to tell him every year that it's my birthday.  I don't expect him to care.  But he will at least buy me dinner, because by his own definition, it's expected.  He'll just do it.  I'm not manipulating him, I'm just taking advantage of his predictability.  But it comes at a cost.

We get to The OC* and I have to listen to him complain about... oh, I don't know.  Who gives a shit anyway?  I stopped listening to him after the fifth time he mentioned how he regretted wearing a black t-shirt in the heat... the whole time.  I finally told him to either walk in the nearest shop and buy a white t-shirt, (there being a shop every 100 feet for the next two miles of the boardwalk) or shut the fuck up.  After a little back and forth about how he would never do that etc. he finally stopped complaining.   But it doesn't stop there. His excessive narcissism kicks in and he as to express himself on every little thing he thinks, sees or does.  And I'm expected to listen with deep interest and even laugh at his non jokes.  Also, I must be prepared to be outwardly and aggressively dismissed, sometimes quite rudely if I dare express anything that interests me and doesn't interest him.  No, I'm not exaggerating here.  And No, I'm not pretending to care about his interests either.  I pretty much ignore him but he really thinks I care, even if I tell him I don't!   He really is that narcissistic!

There is nothing as depressing as being surrounded by people and still feel utterly alone.  But, being out in the sun on a crowded boardwalk with an asshole is better than the alternative, which is sitting at home contemplating ways to kill myself.  I resist going home because to do that is to face my loneliness head on and I just don't want to lose myself in the suicidal thinking.  It's best to stay distracted for now, at least until it passes.

Anyway, because of his incessant boredom and his need to be doing something, we end up missing the processional anyway.   The only reason he wanted to go.  Typical.

Now, I'm sitting at home writing this while debating if this should be deleted or posted.  The day will be over in a few hours.  And I'm starting to feel like I might make it.  I don't know.  I was in the hospital again a few weeks ago because of my heart.  Is this the life I'm to have from here on out?  When is my heart going to kill me so I don't have kill myself?

* The OC I'm referring to here is Ocean City, Maryland. 

Part of the Problem

So, I see this little link pop on Facebook: Another Victim Bites the Dust

Well, I just have one thing to say to Mr. Fales about that.  FUCK. YOU. ASSHOLE!

Mr. Fales has probably never in his life felt the deep depression that precedes suicide.  And if he has I think he has quickly forgotten that when someone is in that state there is no rational thought at all.  I have been there many times in my life.  I do not seek help during those times because I'm oblivious to it.  EVEN if the god damn suicide hot-line is staring me in the face!  And I can, as well as the next person, put on a cheery happy face and laugh and have fun while I'm secretly planning my suicide attempt.  It's real, it's irrational and there is no other way of thinking while in that state.   So, people who get on their high horse such as Mr. Fales just adds the problem and drives people who get that way into further despair. 

And one more thing that I think Mr. Fales doesn't understand is that there is, even in this day and age, a massive stigma associated with depression and other mental illnesses.  That is one of the reasons I never sought professional help during my moments of rationality and why I still don't seek it.

I don't know what the hell Mr. Fales thinks he is doing claiming that the vigil has anything to do with politics and creating an enemy, and then that stupid statement he made about it being  "...narcissistic “Look at me, I’m gay!” when he uses the Mormon church and his sexuality as the basis for his bloody career.  Holy shit, that kid really needs a kick in the ass!

UPDATE (26 July 2010):  Words from the organizer of the vigil, Eric Ethington.

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.

Where am I going?

It's happening again.  I'm finding that I'm withdrawing into myself.  I'm not out seeking people to talk to, despite my increased activity commenting on other's blogs; I'm not interested in a dialog.  I'm just talking.  Talking for the sake of wanting, needing, having something to say.  And I've been saying a lot.

It seems silly to write huge comments on other's blogs when I not looking for interaction. Better to just write a big long post here that says the same thing and have it all in a concise easy to find location.  I have a hard time remembering where I've posted my comments many times.  Subscribing only works for a while and only if other people make comments.  But, eventually, the activity dies down and it's all forgotten.

Looking in my Google reader, I am currently following 226 (and counting) blogs.  Granted a few are Info/News sites and about a dozen or so of them are BDSM related, but the rest are very much the MoHo (Mormon Homosexual) blogosphere.  I spend a lot of time poking into other people's lives.  Mostly lurking, looking on from the outside.  But I'm also moving further to the outside.  Further away from the blogging community that I've currently found myself in.

I never set out to get blog listed into the infamous MoHo blogosphere, but it's there.  I don't really know when it happened.   I just noticed it one day.  I was both honored and irritated by it at the same time.  It honored me to get exposure, irritated me because it drove me to write things that would appeal to that particular audience. I felt a bit cornered.  And I think it kept me from phasing out of the MoHo blogosphere arena as my ideas evolved.  I don't consider myself a Mormon. I had resigned from the Mormon church the previous year before officially starting this blog.

So, as I've been commenting on other bogs I'm realizing more so now than ever before that I think very differently than most MoHo's.  I don't connect with those who are still seeking acceptance with the religion and their religious family.  I was never fully part of the Mormon culture growing up and I had given up even trying to be accepted by the culture long before I ever dealt with my sexuality, which then cemented the dichotomy into permanence.  Ironic in that it took me years to discover and undo the habitual faking behaviors that I had developed as a coping mechanism to at least get by.  Even though I wore tall black boots and long hair, I still had to conform in some things to keep the peace.

My family has been supportive for the most part but, by the time I got to dealing with my sexuality, I had essentially stopped caring about their acceptance anyway.  Well, except for my mom, but she's the one who help me accept my homosexuality so her acceptance quickly became a moot point.

So, I don't really feel like I'm understood or accepted in the MoHo community because my experiences have been unlike what most are dealing with.  And my spiritual journey, which does not involve Christianity, seems to be too esoteric (if not outright disturbing) for many.  I've always felt like I've been on a different road and my adventure into the MoHo community was essentially a brief intersection.  It's just I've sort of lingered here for a bit watching the action when I really should have just kept on driving.

It's not just the blogs; I'm also on various MoHo Yahoo groups too.  I've become too liberal for them too.  I've become even too liberal for Affirmation: Gay and Lesbian Mormons.  I used to think they were too liberal.

Perhaps, I'm over generalizing people.  I'm still connected to the MoHo world because I'm still very much a product of the Mormon culture from which this all has its roots.  I'm just on a completely different road "out of here" than what it seems most people are traveling.

But I do keep reading them.  I keep following them.  Why?

I'm looking for people who are on the same road as me.  I'm hoping that I will find someone I can make the same journey with on the same road "out of here".   Each person out there who writes something that provokes a thought, an emotion, even a hidden resentment in me; I hope that they could be someone whom I can share the lonely road of self discovery.  But when I open up and share my perspective, blank stares ensue.  Granted, whenever someone expresses their hope that the church will someday grant them a gay temple wedding, I have a blank stare of my own.  I'm a hypocrite.  But I'm not going to try and convince them it's a lost cause.  I do remember how hopeful I felt once.  It's not my place to crush other people's dreams.  I'm too busy letting my self-doubt crush mine anyway.

Ugh!

But that's not all, there is also this:

I'm also spending time watching my email inbox and Facebook page, and waiting for people to talk to me.  But when they do, I ignore them.

My Facebook inbox has messages waiting for me.  People poking, inquiring, wanting to know what has been going on in my life.  My email inbox has a few people waiting on me too.  Last Sunday I finally replied to someone after ignoring him for two months.  I'm sure he gave up on me.  Still, I have another one that I dropped the ball on 18 months ago.  18 MONTHS!   And I have it highlighted in my inbox reminding me to reply.  But none of these people are the people whom I want to talk to.

If I could just get honest with myself right now and admit that I'm really waiting for a particular person to call or write to me.   And at the same time, I'm dreading it.

This person whom, over the past year I've developed feelings for. We used to have long and interesting email and phone conversations.  He has been the closest and most intimate contact I've ever had with a potential partner since the mid 90's.  And yet, we live on opposite sides of the country across three time zones.  We are 17 years apart in age and we have never met face to face.  We both set a goal together to meet up and attend Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco this year, a goal that I still have no idea if I can turn in to a reality.

The last few emails I've sent where short, sort of a "hello I'm still here" type of thing.  They were weeks ago.  We are 'friends' on Facebook.  He spends a good deal of time on there posting comments about food, cats and politics.  I sometimes write flirty comments on his posts.  They seem to be ignored most of the time.  I fear that he will delete them.   (God, I hope he doesn’t read this.)

I worry that I've developed feelings for someone that will not or cannot reciprocate.   My fear is that I've let myself fall in to another desperate, one sided, needy, pathetic relationship.  He's busy yes, so am I.  But the amount of time he spends on Facebook has given me doubts as to his honest interest in me.  Especially if he will not reciprocate even a simple flirt on Facebook, even though he has told me in past emails he thinks of me often.  But, those emails were weeks and months ago.

I can't even begin to touch on the things that irritate me about him, which causes me to hate my predicament even more.  Seems unfair to be going through this seeing as we've been only acquaintances for about a year.

I'm desperate, one sided, needy and pathetic, indeed! 

Is this what relationship angst feels like?  I don't recall ever going through this stuff in high school or college.  Is that what teens and young adults experience?   It this how it works?

God I've rambled on.

Community for the Dead

What in the hell has been bothering lately?  There is something seething below the surface and I'm not sure what it is.  Actually it's been building gradually for weeks. 

The triggers?  People, places, things...Everything.  And then...someone that I don't even know, but have felt the yearnings for years to want to know him, died recently.

Why does that bother me so much?  Another lost opportunity?  Or was it because he was only 43 years old?  Or was it because he was part of a community of people that rallied around when he passed?  When that happened, I suddenly felt like I was on the outside looking in.  A reminder that I was still not part of that community, a community that I have always felt was my place to be but could never allow it in the past.  Now I have given myself that allowance but I've been limited physically by things I cannot control.

I'm not part of any community.  And when I mean community, I mean a community of real live people.  Not virtual, abstract, text on a screen type of community such as only the Internet can give.  Yeah, there are real people behind that text, but they can never manifest any nuanced social or physical reality.  I need to be part of a community where we are in each other's presence.  Feeling, seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, tasting, and otherwise experiencing each other.  But that's not all!  I must be more than a mere acquaintance. I must be a friend. Perhaps even a lover. Perhaps even more than that!  Perhaps what I'm looking for doesn't exist!

All of the activities, working late, dressage, walking, yoga, trips to the city, museums, blogging, etc. I do them to keep busy and to keep my mind off of what I don't have.  My hope is that it gets me out there meeting new people and making new friends, but all that it ends up doing is reminding me that no matter what I do, where I go, or who I'm with, I'm never going to be accepted as a friend by any of these people.  I want and need a deeper authentic connection with people but it seems that desire pushes people away.  That authentic part of me that no one is willing to accept, it becomes the big elephant in the room and forever creates a wall.  Could I be expecting too much from the term friend?  Perhaps I don't even know what it means.  On occasion, I discover what is being said behind my back about that big elephant.  They say one thing to my face and another to everyone else.  That burns my trust. So, perhaps I'm the one now creating that wall.  Walls are lonely.

All I can feel right now is that I'm growing weary of the loneliness.

So, here I am, wondering what is to become of it all.  What is to become of me?  I'm only 40.  My life could end in a heartbeat.  Literally, it could.  I have a broken heart.  It has landed me in the hospital three times in ten years.  And as of October of last year, I can now lie still in my bed at night and feel it stop beating every few moments.  This is followed by a rush of adrenalin and a hard thump as if it had just landed from tripping.  The sudden drop in blood pressure makes me light headed and tenses me up. I no longer have the physical energy I used to enjoy before. 

One of these days, it's not going keep beating and there isn't a god damn thing I can do about it.  It will be days before anyone notices that I'm gone.  Perhaps a few weeks before anyone comes looking.  Will there be a rally for me?  Why should I care?  I'll be dead.

My Yearend Evaluation 2009

I had a moment of clarity the other day.  When looking back at the year, I had completely forgotten about all of the awesome things that happened in 2009.  I didn't blog about most of them.  I probably should have or at least made some mention of them somewhere.  Hell, I don't even have any journal entries of most of them.  I seem to just want to stew in the drama and I failed to really dive into a lot of the fun and positive moments, and there were many.

So what are some of the cool things that are worth mentioning?  Well, for one, I had my first real gay date this year!  I lost my gay virginity during that date too.  Just a few months before my 40th birthday!  That 40-year-old-virgin thing was a stigma in my family that I DID NOT want to try and live down.  Seriously!  How funny is that? 

Well, I guess you would just have to understand my family.  

OK, so what else happened?   I don't remember a lot of stuff.  I should have written it down.  I think the "losing my virginity" thing has completely overshadowed anything I care to think about at the moment. 

Anyway...

I think this goes without saying but I'll say it anyway, this blog is a small part of my life and it's an even smaller part of my daily mental process.  I have used it to open up an even smaller window into my head.  Sometimes the view was an honest and sincere searching of my soul, other times it was wrought with whiny, self-centered, self-pitying and otherwise pathetic pandering of my ego.   But, either way, it was the shit in my head at the time it was written, so at least that accounts for something.   Right?   I think it does. 

I'm a normal, happy, person most of the time.  I have an OK job where I write software (sometimes) and I do it really well.  I have hobbies in music, filmmaking, writing, photography, renaissance festivals, dressage, walking/hiking, biking, BDSM, yoga, blogging etc.  The list goes on.  I stay busy. 

But like all normal people, I have my bad days.  And it just so happens my bad days get dark, really dark.  Dark, in that I will have those moments where I swing to the irrational suicidal thinking.  Rest assured those moments have been happening with less frequency and shorter in duration.  Two years ago, I would be in a stupor of suicidal planning for months at a time, long gut wrenching months of anxiety and despair.  Now, the anxiety bit is missing and the rest only lasts for about an hour, then it's gone.

However, no matter what, I always feel a deep heavy sting moving into and during the holiday period.  That sting I noticed became more and more prevalent around 2004 after the last of my siblings got married.  It reached its worst in 2007 right after my mental breakdown and has tapering a little bit since, although, this year felt like a step back somewhat.  That's something to explore some other time.  I may even write about the event in 2007 too.  I still have some work to do to sort it out though.

Most of my posts happen after I've been pondering a concept or situation in my head for a while, in some cases months.  Some of them have been rants, some of them haven't. But all of them have been a process for me to clarify as to who, what, when and where I am, and what I'm trying to accomplish.  And in the end they have succeeded in getting me to see, albeit sometimes grudgingly, what my hang-ups really are. 

No matter what the realities of my mental state, conscious or unconscious, I needed to sort some things out in a public way.  So this blog, in addition to the comments I got back, really ended up giving me some profound self-realizations.  Not the ones I was setting out to realize, but nothing ever happens the way we intend. 

Because I worried too much about making my blog some sort of self-important, quixotic, beacon to the world, I got too self absorbed which weighted it down on the dark side.  Not that would be a worry to me but, -- and here is me pandering to my readership again -- it did leave the impression that I am unhappy.  Ironically, unhappiness was precisely what I was worried people would think.  Well to be honest, the last three months I was very unhappy.   And, as much as my ego hates to admit this, I was very much using my blog to bask in my own self-induced victimhood.  Not that there is anything inherently wrong with that per se, it is what it is.  However, it ultimately accomplished something good in the end.  In order for me to understand what was happening, what was going wrong for me, I had to travel that path of wrongness until I hit a brick wall.  It seems unfortunate but how else do we learn?  I have a hell of a lot of book knowledge on these subjects, but awareness and perspicacity only comes from experience.

I'm proud of myself. I really came though this year.  After all of that coded nagging in my writing and day to day life, I finally cracked the code.  I finally faced my fear of what people think of me.  Not only did I crack the code, I processed it so that I would no longer get stuck on it again.  I had a sudden and dramatic shift in my thinking when I hit that point.  So, from this point forward, I know things are going to be very different.  I don't know how or in what way, but I do know it's not going to be the same old shit that I have been doing.  Granted, it will probably be the same old shit I write though.  The ups and downs are still going to be there.  But, will I care what you think?  Yeah, in some ways I will, but not in the same way that I've cared in the past.  It's different.  How different?  It's wait-and-see.  I don't expect any reader to notice but I will and that's all the really matters.

It amuses me when the media looks back on a year well before the year was even over.  I can't really look back on something until it's in my past and I've had a chance to let hindsight and my shady memory shape it into some sort of perspective.   It's still too soon to get any real sense of the profound impact this holiday season has had on me.  All I can say is that it was profound enough to cause a shift in my thinking, a shift in my consciousness.

So, looking back on the year, I have been able to come to two absolute conclusions.  1) I realized I had set out on this blogging adventure for completely the wrong reasons.  2) No matter what the original reason was, it didn't matter; I still learned a shit-load about myself in the end.  

So, here is to a new year that just happens to be called twenty-ten. 

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.