I can't ever seem to shake the feeling that I'm always late to the party. Whenever I show up, it seems everyone has had their fun and on their way home. This isn't fully literal in the sense that I'm going to a physical party, it's just a way for me to express how I feel about coming out so late in life. Not just coming out to the world, but coming out to myself. And not just with sexuality, but myself as a whole person and who I am and wish to be. I've spent nearly four decades keeping myself locked away, isolated. Most of my childhood was in a deeply religious rural environment where my only safety was in my room with the door locked, especially when my dad was home. I grew up with very few friends whom I couldn't often see because we lived outside of town, but I would end up losing them every few years anyway as we kept moving to new towns.
I'm quite often left with bewilderment, anxiety, and an extreme sense of invisibility to the gay community at large. I'm not accustomed to being flirted with, hit on, touched by others or to touch others, and I'm unsure of my place and boundaries in relationships with others. All too often, my instincts have been maligned by my upbringing so I've been conditioned not to trust them. And in my attempt to reconnect with my instincts, I often misinterpret and I end up being impulsive in ways that bring discomfort to others. I sincerely hope that I've not offended anyone or made them uncomfortable with how I've behaved in their presence. If so I'm very sorry.
I know for many out there, events like MAL, are a fun party like atmosphere to enjoy what we love, but for me it's still a nerve racking experience, filled with fear, anxiety, self doubt, and an overwhelming sense of feeling like an interloper. But I would like to publicly thank Sir, Gunny for his more than generous efforts and more than generous time he took away from his own family and friends this weekend to help me keep those feelings subdued and show me what is possible.
Going forward, I feel some slight hope that I might see a future in this, but too much is nagging at me to know for sure if I'm ever going to have much more than what I've already been given. I don't mean to end on a low note, but I must be realistic with myself and honest with how I feel right now. I'm sure things will change; they have to, for better or worse, but it's difficult for me to understand what lies ahead. I have no context for this.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Monday, January 28, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
My New New Year
I originally posted this on Facebook on December 21, 2012.
Happy Winter Solstice everyone.
Today marks the dawning of a new year. For me, it's a time to re-evaluate what is important to me and work toward better awareness and alignment of what I believe vs. what I truly value.
Each day is a step in a direction. Not necessarily forward, but a step nonetheless. And when each step is taken, it is unknown the direction I have taken until well after the footprint has settled.
Looking back, it has been an excruciatingly difficult year. I've had many profound experiences which have permanently and profoundly changed me. For the good or bad? That's not a judgement that can be made with much clarity any more, nor could it be. When such things happen, they challenge and change beliefs and perspectives. What once had been called good is now called bad, and what had been called bad is now called good. Each item settling into a place where it best belongs. And in the end, the labels of good and bad fade into meaninglessness until it all just exists as experience. What I take from it is a new or expanded awareness. And not to be too ironic in my dismissal of the labels of good and bad, awareness is a good thing.
I may be remiss in not sharing the deeper parts of my life with people but, somewhere along the way, I had found that such openness wasn't always welcome. So, out of a sense of self protection, I keep things to myself for the most part. However, this is changing. To what extent, I can't say. Future awareness might further level my caution. Wait and see. I'm just going to take it one day at a time.
This year I look forward with anticipation, wonder, and unfortunately, a great deal of anxiety, to what is coming. But with that, I'm working to not look forward so much that I miss what I'm doing right now. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one second at a time.
At the risk of sounding saccharine, I want to thank the many people in my life who have, over the past year, made a difference to me in profound and long lasting ways. Some of you may not even realize it as we have never met in person, but your presence here and the things you've shared with me publicly and in private messages have meant a great deal to me. Don't take my silence as lack of gratitude. It's there; I just don't always express it.
Happy Winter Solstice everyone.
Today marks the dawning of a new year. For me, it's a time to re-evaluate what is important to me and work toward better awareness and alignment of what I believe vs. what I truly value.
Each day is a step in a direction. Not necessarily forward, but a step nonetheless. And when each step is taken, it is unknown the direction I have taken until well after the footprint has settled.
Looking back, it has been an excruciatingly difficult year. I've had many profound experiences which have permanently and profoundly changed me. For the good or bad? That's not a judgement that can be made with much clarity any more, nor could it be. When such things happen, they challenge and change beliefs and perspectives. What once had been called good is now called bad, and what had been called bad is now called good. Each item settling into a place where it best belongs. And in the end, the labels of good and bad fade into meaninglessness until it all just exists as experience. What I take from it is a new or expanded awareness. And not to be too ironic in my dismissal of the labels of good and bad, awareness is a good thing.
I may be remiss in not sharing the deeper parts of my life with people but, somewhere along the way, I had found that such openness wasn't always welcome. So, out of a sense of self protection, I keep things to myself for the most part. However, this is changing. To what extent, I can't say. Future awareness might further level my caution. Wait and see. I'm just going to take it one day at a time.
This year I look forward with anticipation, wonder, and unfortunately, a great deal of anxiety, to what is coming. But with that, I'm working to not look forward so much that I miss what I'm doing right now. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one second at a time.
At the risk of sounding saccharine, I want to thank the many people in my life who have, over the past year, made a difference to me in profound and long lasting ways. Some of you may not even realize it as we have never met in person, but your presence here and the things you've shared with me publicly and in private messages have meant a great deal to me. Don't take my silence as lack of gratitude. It's there; I just don't always express it.
 |
| Winter of 2012 Assateague Island, VA |
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
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!
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!
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Horseback Riding With My Dad
My older brother affectionately called them Dumbass and Shithead. Euphemistic terms of endearment I'm sure. And in many ways, a direct reflection of how our dad thought of us as kids. But the horses' real names were Stormy and Lancer. Stormy was whitish in color. Lancer, a much younger sibling to Stormy, was black. I wasn't a fan of most horse names. I usually just referred to them as "The Black One" and "The White One" because I couldn't think of anything better.
They were, if I recall correctly, part Arabian and were rather feisty. They weren't the first horses my dad brought home though; the first one was a whitish mare named Lady Mary. She died of something when she was around 8 years old. She had only been with us for about a year when she developed some health problems, I thought, at the time it was probably from eating moldy hay, I didn't really know and wouldn't know until just a few months ago when talking to my mom about this story that I found out what really happened. Lady Mary was pregnant and her uterus had detached. I can imagine that she had suffering pretty badly. She was not very old. Shortly after she died, my dad got Stormy and Lancer. But they were both sold about a year later so we could relocate to Northern Utah.
Growing up, I never knew much about horses despite the fact we spent a good number of years living in the southern Utah ranching country, where pretty much everyone was some sort of cowboy or ranch hand. Not us though, we were somewhat city types even though we had never lived in a big city. A few years before we had horses, when I was about age 9, my dad, on a few occasions, would disappear to help a friend from work setting up things for the local rodeo. Occasionally my brother and I would go with him but we were too young to help. I vaguely remember a scary incident with a raging bull that got loose, but I never saw my dad on any horses.
Most of the time, while dad was off doing whatever it was he did while helping with the rodeo, my brother and I would just play under the arena stands, searching for money that had fallen there during the last rodeo event. Bonus when we actually found paper money. But most of the time it was a few dollars in coins, which we would then go spend on candy. In those days, a few dollars bought a few bags worth. Dad really didn't pay much attention to where we would run off to.
Also, during those early years, I once got to sit on the back of a pony at a birthday party. I was by myself and the pony was there for riding so I got on jerked the reins and kicked just like what I saw on TV, but he didn't move. I felt stupid sitting there so I got off. I felt even more stupid when another kid grabbed the reins from me, got right on and took off, riding around the side of the house as if there was nothing special about it.
A few years later, we moved to another small town in south-central Utah. Even though it was a small town, it was in a much larger ranching community. In the previous town, the primary industry was the saw-mill, here it was farming and ranching. Many of my school classmates were avid horsemen or horsewomen who would ride in drill or rodeo events.
I was always made to feel like I should know about many things that I had never seen before growing up. But no one really offered to teach me anything and oddly, I never feel it was my place to know. Although, I was rather envious that I wasn't given the opportunity to learn about horses or riding other than a token effort to get a Boy Scout merit badge, which I was never able to get because I didn't have a horse or, by the time we got some, I didn't get the support from my parents to get acquainted with them. But at the same time, I was ok with it, because, again, I didn't think it was my place to know about horses, and also, I was somewhat scared of them anyway.
My older brother once attempted to ride with a friend but was bucked off and bruised up pretty badly. My dad was always telling us about how they were easy to spook and that you should never stand behind them or they'll kick you and that they could be very dangerous and we should stay away from them! And yet, I also had been led to believe from somewhere that horses would never purposely step on you. I have since realized that even though they may not do it on purpose, they will still step on you!
We, as city types, didn't seem to fit in here even more than in the past town we lived in. But, it was here that my dad decided that he wanted a horse.
We all thought at the time that his reason for getting a horse was mainly for show. But perhaps he wanted something more out of it. He was much more motivated to do things to keep up with the Jones's, as he was to satisfy some unknown want for something. But perhaps it was practical. After all, we had 2.5 acres of alfalfa that had to be cut and baled at least once during the summer. More if we had actually watered it. But with a horse, that field was turned into complete dirt in a matter of weeks. We didn't have to cut and bale that damned hay anymore. The bad news was we had to buy hay. Lots and lots of it. I was very allergic to hay as a kid. VERY! Eyes swollen shut for days sort of allergic.
We were not equipped to handle horses. We didn't have shelter for them; we didn't have any way to keep the stored hay from getting moldy. We had no means to ride them, no halters or lead ropes, no saddles or bridles or even any grooming equipment. We didn't even know how to ride them even though the first two had been "broken in". But ultimately, they were just out there as pretty things to watch. Not that there's anything wrong with that, they were wonderful to watch, but they were also a burden to take care of especially when we had no idea what we were doing.
We didn't even have a proper fence to keep them from getting out. The fence we made only had two wires and it was not electrified. The lowest wire was high enough for a horse to slide under. All it took was just one little roll in the dirt, in the right place next to the fence, and upon standing again, one of them would find himself on the other side. It was fine when only one horse got out because they hated being separated. They would stay by the fence looking confused by their predicament until someone could help them back over. It was this little fence trick that prompted my brother to start calling them Dumbass and Shithead.
My dad brought these animals home with no intention of doing anything to take care of them, that all fell on us. Just like us kids -- brought into the world to be someone else's responsibility.
We were never instructed on what to do about anything. Mowing the lawn, installing a sprinkling system, driving a car, or taking care of a horse, it didn't matter, we had no idea. If we asked in any way what we were supposed to do, my dad would invariably say, "The fuck if I know. Figure it out, I don't care." Or on rare occasions he would try and be helpful by saying something like, "Just give them a little hay and make sure the thing is full of water." The "thing" was a large plastic garbage can.
But sometimes, if we did not execute the chores in the exact manner that he was expecting, never mind that we had no idea what he was expecting, we would get a Final Dismissal with him yelling, "What the hell are you doing? I can tell you've never been around a horse before!" as if we should fee shamed for the truth. At which point he would do it himself, swearing and screaming at us the entire time about how useless and stupid we were.
It was like that with everything; just replace 'horse' with any other noun that is applicable to the situation. And sprinkle in some choice profanities as adjective such as, "I can tell you've never driven a goddamn truck before." or "I can tell you've never installed a fucking sprinkling system before!" It hurt because it was all true. I had never done any of those things before. I was only 13 years old. You can't expect me to know all this stuff, can you?
It was a late fall evening when dad decided that it was a good idea to try and saddle up Stormy and take him for a ride. He had found someone who loaned him a saddle and bridle. I was curious but scared that he would ask me to put them on thus making me go through the usual routine of disappointing him for being stupid. I hadn't seen him do any of this before so I wasn't even sure if he knew how to ride the horse.
But apparently, as far as I could tell, he did know how. He slid the bridle bit in Stormy's mouth and mounted that confusing array of leather straps on to his head as if he had always known how it was done. Once he had him saddled, he got on as if he had always been a rider and rode the horse around in a slow walk for a few hundred feet. Even my younger sister had gotten to ride the horse as my dad led it around. I was no longer envious, I was jealous. This man was holding out on us. Why wouldn't he teach us anything?
I wanted to ride, so I went out there and asked.
"Sure, just hop on." He said.
Ok, How? I said to myself. My nose was even with Stormy's shoulder. I mustered up the courage, realizing the verbal abuse that would erupt if I were to ask, but in this case, I needed to know so I went ahead and asked. Sure enough, the response used at least one 'fuck' word. But he did explain which foot to put in the stirrup and where I could grasp to pull myself up.
Sadly, I had very weak upper arm strength, which caused me to struggle while climbing on. The whole time I was scared I might accidentally kick his hind quarters and spook him. But the worst thing about it, as I was getting on, was that I was feeling extremely embarrassed, exposed and vulnerable. Not because someone took a picture of me, which I didn't appreciate, but because here I was on a live animal and I didn't know what I was doing. And even then, it wasn't so much that I was afraid of the animal, but that I was afraid of doing something wrong that would elicit a verbal and abusive tirade from my dad.
Once I got situated, I sat there, looked around at my surroundings, everything looked different at this height. I looked down at the horse, his ears were focused on me and it felt like he was standing rigid, calm but not relaxed. I wasn't sure really how to read the horse. It all could have been more of how I was feeling. I was definitely tense and unsettled and quickly growing impatient.
The sun had just set a few minutes earlier; it was getting dark. I finally asked him, "So, what do I do?"
"The fuck if I know. Just ride him, you should know." He said.
"How do I go? Or turn?" I said.
"That's what the reins are for." He said.
"I know, but how do you use them?"
"Jesus Christ, I can tell you've never ridden a horse before."
And there it was, the Final Dismissal.
I was done. Despite how often I would hear him say that, it would still sting every time. I sat for a few more seconds until I could no longer stand the shame of the moment. Then I decided that this would never be for me; carefully and clumsily I slid off the horse, walked in the house and never got back on another horse for 27 years.
They were, if I recall correctly, part Arabian and were rather feisty. They weren't the first horses my dad brought home though; the first one was a whitish mare named Lady Mary. She died of something when she was around 8 years old. She had only been with us for about a year when she developed some health problems, I thought, at the time it was probably from eating moldy hay, I didn't really know and wouldn't know until just a few months ago when talking to my mom about this story that I found out what really happened. Lady Mary was pregnant and her uterus had detached. I can imagine that she had suffering pretty badly. She was not very old. Shortly after she died, my dad got Stormy and Lancer. But they were both sold about a year later so we could relocate to Northern Utah.
Growing up, I never knew much about horses despite the fact we spent a good number of years living in the southern Utah ranching country, where pretty much everyone was some sort of cowboy or ranch hand. Not us though, we were somewhat city types even though we had never lived in a big city. A few years before we had horses, when I was about age 9, my dad, on a few occasions, would disappear to help a friend from work setting up things for the local rodeo. Occasionally my brother and I would go with him but we were too young to help. I vaguely remember a scary incident with a raging bull that got loose, but I never saw my dad on any horses.
Most of the time, while dad was off doing whatever it was he did while helping with the rodeo, my brother and I would just play under the arena stands, searching for money that had fallen there during the last rodeo event. Bonus when we actually found paper money. But most of the time it was a few dollars in coins, which we would then go spend on candy. In those days, a few dollars bought a few bags worth. Dad really didn't pay much attention to where we would run off to.
Also, during those early years, I once got to sit on the back of a pony at a birthday party. I was by myself and the pony was there for riding so I got on jerked the reins and kicked just like what I saw on TV, but he didn't move. I felt stupid sitting there so I got off. I felt even more stupid when another kid grabbed the reins from me, got right on and took off, riding around the side of the house as if there was nothing special about it.
A few years later, we moved to another small town in south-central Utah. Even though it was a small town, it was in a much larger ranching community. In the previous town, the primary industry was the saw-mill, here it was farming and ranching. Many of my school classmates were avid horsemen or horsewomen who would ride in drill or rodeo events.
I was always made to feel like I should know about many things that I had never seen before growing up. But no one really offered to teach me anything and oddly, I never feel it was my place to know. Although, I was rather envious that I wasn't given the opportunity to learn about horses or riding other than a token effort to get a Boy Scout merit badge, which I was never able to get because I didn't have a horse or, by the time we got some, I didn't get the support from my parents to get acquainted with them. But at the same time, I was ok with it, because, again, I didn't think it was my place to know about horses, and also, I was somewhat scared of them anyway.
My older brother once attempted to ride with a friend but was bucked off and bruised up pretty badly. My dad was always telling us about how they were easy to spook and that you should never stand behind them or they'll kick you and that they could be very dangerous and we should stay away from them! And yet, I also had been led to believe from somewhere that horses would never purposely step on you. I have since realized that even though they may not do it on purpose, they will still step on you!
We, as city types, didn't seem to fit in here even more than in the past town we lived in. But, it was here that my dad decided that he wanted a horse.
We all thought at the time that his reason for getting a horse was mainly for show. But perhaps he wanted something more out of it. He was much more motivated to do things to keep up with the Jones's, as he was to satisfy some unknown want for something. But perhaps it was practical. After all, we had 2.5 acres of alfalfa that had to be cut and baled at least once during the summer. More if we had actually watered it. But with a horse, that field was turned into complete dirt in a matter of weeks. We didn't have to cut and bale that damned hay anymore. The bad news was we had to buy hay. Lots and lots of it. I was very allergic to hay as a kid. VERY! Eyes swollen shut for days sort of allergic.
We were not equipped to handle horses. We didn't have shelter for them; we didn't have any way to keep the stored hay from getting moldy. We had no means to ride them, no halters or lead ropes, no saddles or bridles or even any grooming equipment. We didn't even know how to ride them even though the first two had been "broken in". But ultimately, they were just out there as pretty things to watch. Not that there's anything wrong with that, they were wonderful to watch, but they were also a burden to take care of especially when we had no idea what we were doing.
We didn't even have a proper fence to keep them from getting out. The fence we made only had two wires and it was not electrified. The lowest wire was high enough for a horse to slide under. All it took was just one little roll in the dirt, in the right place next to the fence, and upon standing again, one of them would find himself on the other side. It was fine when only one horse got out because they hated being separated. They would stay by the fence looking confused by their predicament until someone could help them back over. It was this little fence trick that prompted my brother to start calling them Dumbass and Shithead.
My dad brought these animals home with no intention of doing anything to take care of them, that all fell on us. Just like us kids -- brought into the world to be someone else's responsibility.
We were never instructed on what to do about anything. Mowing the lawn, installing a sprinkling system, driving a car, or taking care of a horse, it didn't matter, we had no idea. If we asked in any way what we were supposed to do, my dad would invariably say, "The fuck if I know. Figure it out, I don't care." Or on rare occasions he would try and be helpful by saying something like, "Just give them a little hay and make sure the thing is full of water." The "thing" was a large plastic garbage can.
But sometimes, if we did not execute the chores in the exact manner that he was expecting, never mind that we had no idea what he was expecting, we would get a Final Dismissal with him yelling, "What the hell are you doing? I can tell you've never been around a horse before!" as if we should fee shamed for the truth. At which point he would do it himself, swearing and screaming at us the entire time about how useless and stupid we were.
It was like that with everything; just replace 'horse' with any other noun that is applicable to the situation. And sprinkle in some choice profanities as adjective such as, "I can tell you've never driven a goddamn truck before." or "I can tell you've never installed a fucking sprinkling system before!" It hurt because it was all true. I had never done any of those things before. I was only 13 years old. You can't expect me to know all this stuff, can you?
It was a late fall evening when dad decided that it was a good idea to try and saddle up Stormy and take him for a ride. He had found someone who loaned him a saddle and bridle. I was curious but scared that he would ask me to put them on thus making me go through the usual routine of disappointing him for being stupid. I hadn't seen him do any of this before so I wasn't even sure if he knew how to ride the horse.
But apparently, as far as I could tell, he did know how. He slid the bridle bit in Stormy's mouth and mounted that confusing array of leather straps on to his head as if he had always known how it was done. Once he had him saddled, he got on as if he had always been a rider and rode the horse around in a slow walk for a few hundred feet. Even my younger sister had gotten to ride the horse as my dad led it around. I was no longer envious, I was jealous. This man was holding out on us. Why wouldn't he teach us anything?
I wanted to ride, so I went out there and asked.
"Sure, just hop on." He said.
Ok, How? I said to myself. My nose was even with Stormy's shoulder. I mustered up the courage, realizing the verbal abuse that would erupt if I were to ask, but in this case, I needed to know so I went ahead and asked. Sure enough, the response used at least one 'fuck' word. But he did explain which foot to put in the stirrup and where I could grasp to pull myself up.
Sadly, I had very weak upper arm strength, which caused me to struggle while climbing on. The whole time I was scared I might accidentally kick his hind quarters and spook him. But the worst thing about it, as I was getting on, was that I was feeling extremely embarrassed, exposed and vulnerable. Not because someone took a picture of me, which I didn't appreciate, but because here I was on a live animal and I didn't know what I was doing. And even then, it wasn't so much that I was afraid of the animal, but that I was afraid of doing something wrong that would elicit a verbal and abusive tirade from my dad.
Once I got situated, I sat there, looked around at my surroundings, everything looked different at this height. I looked down at the horse, his ears were focused on me and it felt like he was standing rigid, calm but not relaxed. I wasn't sure really how to read the horse. It all could have been more of how I was feeling. I was definitely tense and unsettled and quickly growing impatient.
The sun had just set a few minutes earlier; it was getting dark. I finally asked him, "So, what do I do?"
"The fuck if I know. Just ride him, you should know." He said.
"How do I go? Or turn?" I said.
"That's what the reins are for." He said.
"I know, but how do you use them?"
"Jesus Christ, I can tell you've never ridden a horse before."
And there it was, the Final Dismissal.
I was done. Despite how often I would hear him say that, it would still sting every time. I sat for a few more seconds until I could no longer stand the shame of the moment. Then I decided that this would never be for me; carefully and clumsily I slid off the horse, walked in the house and never got back on another horse for 27 years.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
My Patriarchal Blessing
I had originally set out to do a post about my Patriarchal Blessing late last year but decided to hold on to it until now. I thought it might be an interesting exercise -- if not slightly narcissistic -- to post it on the 20th anniversary of receiving it, just because it's been, well, 20 years.
Going in to this blessing was sort of a test for me. I was testing the church, the patriarch and everything. I wanted to know if this really was a sort of "fortune telling" exercise that I had been lead to believe my whole life. So when the patriarch asked me specific questions about my hopes, desires and interests I gave non answers. I gave him nothing to go on. The only thing he really knew was that I was leaving for the MTC in a few days.
I don't have much to say about a lot of it. I did sort of appreciate that it was full of well-wishing and positive encouragement, although, much of it bothered me, especially the stuff about the Lord revealing to me who my wife would be. I just couldn't wrap my head around that. It bugged me and I didn't understand why. Not only did it feel unlikely, it felt creepy. It's as if I had no choice in the matter of my coupling with another human being. For the most part, I would just skip over that section when I read it.
But despite all that, there was one thing in it that got me to think a bit about some things, in particular the lines:
Going in to this blessing was sort of a test for me. I was testing the church, the patriarch and everything. I wanted to know if this really was a sort of "fortune telling" exercise that I had been lead to believe my whole life. So when the patriarch asked me specific questions about my hopes, desires and interests I gave non answers. I gave him nothing to go on. The only thing he really knew was that I was leaving for the MTC in a few days.
I don't have much to say about a lot of it. I did sort of appreciate that it was full of well-wishing and positive encouragement, although, much of it bothered me, especially the stuff about the Lord revealing to me who my wife would be. I just couldn't wrap my head around that. It bugged me and I didn't understand why. Not only did it feel unlikely, it felt creepy. It's as if I had no choice in the matter of my coupling with another human being. For the most part, I would just skip over that section when I read it.
But despite all that, there was one thing in it that got me to think a bit about some things, in particular the lines:
"Be thankful for the heritage which your parents have given you. You are privileged to bear the name of your Father which should be a role model for you throughout your life. One of your missions in life to bring honor to the name they have given you."
Coming from a highly dysfunctional family, one in which fatherly emotional abuse was a daily occurrence, it was a highly frustrating and yet hopeful thing to say. As if my purpose was to fix all the shit my dad had done. It was a pretty lofty goal considering all the generations of dysfunction going back centuries that have given the family name "dishonor".
However, the more I thought about it the more I realized that I didn't know what was meant by honor. Was this honor the church, in society, my peers or my career? For a time I thought I should just change my name and walk away. I hated my name. But, what would that do? What name would I have? And it too could end up being a name with a history of "dishonor". What's in a name? That which only we call ourselves, whatever word we choose, we are still the same.
Over time, I realized that honor meant whatever I wanted. The honor I gave my name was simply to honor it in my own mind. To accept it, embrace it and appreciate its uniqueness and heritage. So, of all the things stated in the blessing, this one was the only thing that really ended up meaning anything to me in the end. And it still does. It turned out to be one of my greatest challenges and rewards.
I don't believe the patriarch was inspired to say that about honor though. It's a highly cultural Mormon thing to have such things said. But also, the Mormons do not have a monopoly on familial honor either.
However, the more I thought about it the more I realized that I didn't know what was meant by honor. Was this honor the church, in society, my peers or my career? For a time I thought I should just change my name and walk away. I hated my name. But, what would that do? What name would I have? And it too could end up being a name with a history of "dishonor". What's in a name? That which only we call ourselves, whatever word we choose, we are still the same.
Over time, I realized that honor meant whatever I wanted. The honor I gave my name was simply to honor it in my own mind. To accept it, embrace it and appreciate its uniqueness and heritage. So, of all the things stated in the blessing, this one was the only thing that really ended up meaning anything to me in the end. And it still does. It turned out to be one of my greatest challenges and rewards.
I don't believe the patriarch was inspired to say that about honor though. It's a highly cultural Mormon thing to have such things said. But also, the Mormons do not have a monopoly on familial honor either.
NOTE: For the sake of completeness, I reproduced my blessing below in its entirety, grammar and punctuation mistakes and all. But the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Although, I thought about removing the patriarchs name but decided to leave it in. After all, he was somewhat of a public figure.
Patriarchal Blessing Stats:
Date of blessing: 3 March 1991 [Sunday]
Patriarchal blessing number: #367
Recipient: [The Gay Dot]
Birthdate: 11 Sept 1969
Birthplace: Logan Cache Utah
Father's name: [The Dad Dot]
Mother's name: [The Mum Dot]
Patriarch: David Marriner Merrill, ordained by President Gordon B. Hinckley 16 Nov 1980
Stake: Farmington Utah Stake
The Blessing:
[The] [Gay] [Dot], in keeping with the desire of your heart to know the mind and will of your Heavenly Father and by virtue of my calling in the Holy Priesthood to bless our Father's children, I humbly lay my hands upon your head and give you such blessings and promises and instructions as the Spirit of the Lord may direct. This blessing is a sacred blessing [Gay Dot], for you and your loved ones to be used as a source of strength and inspiration, to give you guidelines as you face the future. Your Heavenly Father is pleased that you have come to a Patriarch this day to receive a blessing from the Lord especially as you stand on the threshold of greater responsibility and larger experiences incident to your maturity. May this blessing help you to know the mind and will of your Heavenly Father regarding your sojourn here in mortality.
I promise you that the Lord will not turn you away for he loves you and will be your constant friend. He loves you for the righteousness of your life and your desire to serve Him and to keep his commandments. It is only natural in your youth that you do not yet understand all of the details of the great plan and scheme of life but I promise you with the passing of years and the enlarging of your experience you will gain a testimony of the Gospel and have a burning in your heart and you will see clearly the role that you are to play in the great drama of life. [Gay Dot] you are a choice young man richly endowed with many talents and abilities. You are one of Heavenly Fathers' noble spirits. He held you in reserve to come to to earth at this time when the Gospel has been restored in its fullness.
You are the seed of Abraham, the lings of Ephraim, the blood of Israel flows through your veins. This is a noble birthright and this birthright entitles you to all of the blessings the Lord promised to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Be thankful for your ancestors, be thankful for your parents. They love you. They have taught you with love and understanding the way of life that brings happiness, joy and success. Be thankful for the heritage which your parents have given you. You are privileged to bear the name of your Father which should be a role model for you throughout your life. One of your missions in life to bring honor to the name they have given you.
One of the main reasons for mortal existence is to test how you would exercise your free agency which is a divine gift from your Heavenly Father. The Lord has given you a free choice to be what you be what you want to be, to do what you want to do, however you are not without help for as you pray the Lord will provide communication with him and invite the promotions of the Spirit for your personal revelation. I bless you that you will continue to cultivate your faith which will entitle you to the companionship of the Holy Ghost. He will help you make important and wise decisions. Life will not always be easy. Every trial, every challenge and hardship that you endure will help you to grow and gain valuable experience and further develop your faith and your testimony.
I bless you that you will embrace ever opportunity to learn of the things of heaven and the things of earth for you are endowed with the power of leadership and already the Lord has called to serve him as a missionary to the people of New Zealand where you will perform a great work which will be to your eternal satisfaction. This calling is but a beginning of the many calls that will come to you to render service in the Church. You have been blessed to receive the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood. You will have many opportunities to see the manifestation of miracles take place as a result of the power which you have.
The Lord has blessed you with a strong, healthy body, God's greatest creation. This body has marvelous power and marvelous function. The Lord expects you to continue to keep it pure, and clean and virtuous. Living a pure life will bring joy that surpasses your power of expression of understanding. I bless you with the power of discernment that you may know good from evil, right from wrong, that Satan will have no power over you beyond that which you can endure. I give unto you a promise of you will heed the still, small voice within you when you are tempted Satan will leave you untouched.
I bless you that you will excel and succeed in your chosen profession that those who will one day be dependent upon you will be able to enjoy the good things of life. In due time of the Lord he will reveal to you the one he has prepared to be your wife, the mother of your children, to walk this life and the eternities with you. Temple marriage will prepare you for exaltation in the celestial kingdom. Your children will be born under the new and everlasting covenant and you will become an eternal family.
Now [Gay Dot] I bid you go forward in the power and majesty of your wonderful young manhood, living an exemplary life, asking the Lord for help and guidance that you may reach your divine potential with honor and glory. To this end I bless you and give you every other blessing it is my right to bestow upon you as a Patriarch. The blessings you received from the Lord this day must be earned through your faithfulness in keeping the commandments of God, following the council of the loving prophets here on the earth during your lifetime. When your life is finished and your work is done you will be privileged to share in the fruits of the glorious resurrection. You will live with Christ upon the earth as a king and a priest unto the Most High over your own dominion forever and ever. These blessings I bestow upon you by the power and authority of the Holy Melchizedek Priesthood and as a Patriarch in the Lord's Church in the name of the Lord our Savoir Jesus Christ, even so Amen.
[signed] David M. Merrill
---------------------------------
Patriarch
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Family
Hypatia has posted another thoughtful little piece on what it means to be in "The Family". In this case, a typical Mormon family. This is real stuff people. This is how I remember it to be when I was
growing up. And we ex-Mo's have every right to feel the way we do for
good reason.
TBM's will no doubt find her post offensive and disagree. There will even be some who would try to sympathize or they may even attempt to empathize, but with reckless abandon they will load it all with conditions and apologetics. Yawn!
Well, TBMs, you can say all you want but it won't change the fact that you're all batshit crazy.
Anywhoo, thanks Hypatia, for another great post on Mormon co-dependency!
TBM's will no doubt find her post offensive and disagree. There will even be some who would try to sympathize or they may even attempt to empathize, but with reckless abandon they will load it all with conditions and apologetics. Yawn!
Well, TBMs, you can say all you want but it won't change the fact that you're all batshit crazy.
Anywhoo, thanks Hypatia, for another great post on Mormon co-dependency!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Differences Are Normal
Back in September of 2009, I made a smugly moralistic little post called, "My Two Dates".
The point of that post was to talk about a little event where I got asked if I would be interested in joining a couple for a little threesome action. I talked about how I learned a valuable lesson about misjudging people. And then at the end of it, in an attempt to whitewash the fact that I was still a judgmental prick, I said that I was not interested in hooking up with them. But I never really said why. And to be honest, at the time, I wasn't really all that sure myself. I did give some lame-ass excuse about how it would bring up some emotional baggage; as if I had any clue what I was talking about.
Well, truth be told, 6 months later, I found myself chained to the wall of their play room having a good time. This happened twice, on consecutive weekends.
Now, here are the reasons why I'm bringing all this up: 1) my conscience is getting the better of me. Since I had originally said I wasn't interested in doing something only to turn around and do it, I felt like I had some explaining to do. Not that anyone would have known either way, or that I needed to justify myself, I just needed to be honest. 2) I've finally come to terms with the core reason I was uninterested in hooking up in the first place and I've finally been able to put it all into words. That is to say, I sort of knew what it was I had been working out back then, but I hadn't fully understood until now what it was all about. 3) I feel rather smugly moralistic about it all, which, oddly enough, is what's motivating me to write this in the first place.
In the 6 months that followed our initial meeting back in August of 2009, I had managed to get over my fears and initial reservations for avoiding them. Many of my fears had mostly to do with just plain old self-esteem and insecurity. But my reservations or rather, my stated noninterest was rooted in the mindset of looking for my "One True Love". A belief that had been culled from the many, downright useless, beliefs regarding the purposes of sex, intimacy and relationships, which were all framed within the context of traditional religious ideals, namely, the Mormon kind. So, naturally, play time with a couple who have been together for 15 years wasn't going to get me into a relationship of that kind. Although, it could develop into some other kind of relationship, not that this one was, but whether it happened or not, it was not the goal anyway, I was simply not interested in doing anything unless it fit within the set of "values" that I been accustom to. So, I was willing to pass up an opportunity for some serious adult oriented fun.
I had grown up around the idea of the traditional Mormon polygamist family and I knew about Polyandry from studying all the many forms of BDSM relationship dynamics that embraced it. So, back in 2007 when I was first coming out, I was prepared to admit to my mom at the time, that I could not say that such arrangements would never happen and that I could see myself living in a nontraditional dynamic in the future. It was an attempt to plant a seed in her mind that the rules have changed; the expectations of normality must be adjusted. There is no "one right way" of defining a family. To my surprise, she added to that by telling me her understanding of family, which included even more combinations that I had never imagined. She was already ahead of the game.
However, I still held back. I still had my doubts if such things really were for me or not. I realized in the end that I was still in love with the idea of the perfect, white-picketed, fenced-in, nuclear family, that I had grown up to believe was the only way that was truly acceptable in society or at least in Mormon cultural society. To make matters worse, the gay marriage debate was raging in the media and I found myself caught up in the whirlwind, trying to prove to the world that gay people were normal, that they were just like everyone else. But, it was like going back into the closet all over again. I had a hard time figuring out how I was going to get the queer world that made sense to me, fit in with what everyone else expected the gay world should be. I wanted the freedom to live an honest life but not make others uncomfortable. I don't know how I was going to do that. I was trying to have it both ways. And in the end, the big question that I was not asking was, "why do I still try to garner their acceptance anyway?"
In all of this, the core issue to embrace was, if I'm going to live honestly and with any modicum of dignity and self-respect, I will stop trying so hard to live by their "rules". I am gay, but more than that, I am queer. There is no way I'm going to fit within the "rules" of the prevailing religious society's notion of the traditional, patriarchal family, no matter what I do. So, essentially, I get to decide what constitutes the "purpose" of sex within the context of my relationships and I get to decide what constitutes my own family. Whether it's comprised of a same-sex couple who fosters or adopts children, or whether it's comprised of several same-sex adults who all share partnership roles, or a partner and those that make up the "extended" family. There could even be a hierarchy just like in the traditional or historical sense but with different names, titles, and meanings. It doesn't matter. I get to define what family, friends and sex are within the context of my own values that work for me. And today there are millions out there, gay and non-gay, who happily and joyfully do just that.
So, as it stands, the gay marriage debate will continue, obviously, as many people will be seeking to be part of that normalcy and continue to fight for it. And that's OK. But I'm no longer interested in fighting. Because, truth be told, it's all a bunch of crap! It's not to say that I don't support it or I won't be part of it someday, I may get married, but in the end, I don't believe, considering the way I view and choose to live my life, that my family, whatever form it takes, will ever be treated with any sort of respect whether I'm married or not. Because the basic fact is, we, as queer folk, are not normal. We are different.
There is nothing wrong with being different. But, spending any more time trying to convince a religious society that can't abide difference is a complete waste of my life. And that is what most of the gay marriage political debating has been about, gay couples having to put up their best possible face to show the world just how normal they really are. This for me means compromising my self-expression, my integrity, my sanity, to appease those that can't or won't embrace what they don't understand. I'm not going to waste my time hiding and I'm done trying to change their minds.
We, queers, must make our own rules and live by them. And it's not by the norms of an authoritarian religious society that we are to be comparing ourselves. If we allow that, we are falling into the expectations of those who have never questioned why their normal familial traditions make them so bloody miserable. And we might as well be miserable right along with them. Sure, they will judge us by their standards, there is no way of getting around it, but they are in the wrong when they do. They are the ultimate hypocrites if they think their normality is applicable to us. And we are wrong if we try to get them to think our difference is not different.
The great automatons that comprise most of the religiously bound human race are lost in a sea of sameness. A lack of perspective and creativity in thought and reason, they have failed to embrace diversity, thus they have failed to embrace what's important. And sadly, they are trapped there, consumed by fear of things they are also afraid to understand.
I know I keep reiterating this but I want it made clear! It's not my place to fit within their reality, to erase my differences so that they can think I'm normal. The responsibility actually lies on them to broaden, allow and embrace the differences into their definition of normal. They mistakenly believe that to do that, they would have to compromise their core values, which they say they shouldn't have to do. Just like how I'm saying I shouldn't have to compromise mine for them. But what they must understand is that I'm not compelling them to live my life the way they are compelling me to live theirs. My core values are values I impose upon myself whereas their core values are values they want imposed on others.
I've been foolish in thinking I could measure up to their expectations because they seek and impose an unattainable perfection. And as they continue to do so, their definition of normal narrows, which makes their definition of perfection narrow. Thus, any possible embracement of difference becomes impossible. I've also been foolish in expecting them to look beyond their fears. I know how hard it is for them. I also know that they must make the effort on their own if they ever want to look beyond those fears. No one can do it for them! But I can't wait forever.
In essence, what I'm saying is, my search for acceptance from the Mormons has been put to rest. My ship has sailed. If they want to leave that "Great and Spacious Building" to get across the river now, they'll have to build one themselves. They have been given the tools, materials and the plans; all they need is the desire. Once they do, I'll be here ready to receive them.
The point of that post was to talk about a little event where I got asked if I would be interested in joining a couple for a little threesome action. I talked about how I learned a valuable lesson about misjudging people. And then at the end of it, in an attempt to whitewash the fact that I was still a judgmental prick, I said that I was not interested in hooking up with them. But I never really said why. And to be honest, at the time, I wasn't really all that sure myself. I did give some lame-ass excuse about how it would bring up some emotional baggage; as if I had any clue what I was talking about.
Well, truth be told, 6 months later, I found myself chained to the wall of their play room having a good time. This happened twice, on consecutive weekends.
Now, here are the reasons why I'm bringing all this up: 1) my conscience is getting the better of me. Since I had originally said I wasn't interested in doing something only to turn around and do it, I felt like I had some explaining to do. Not that anyone would have known either way, or that I needed to justify myself, I just needed to be honest. 2) I've finally come to terms with the core reason I was uninterested in hooking up in the first place and I've finally been able to put it all into words. That is to say, I sort of knew what it was I had been working out back then, but I hadn't fully understood until now what it was all about. 3) I feel rather smugly moralistic about it all, which, oddly enough, is what's motivating me to write this in the first place.
In the 6 months that followed our initial meeting back in August of 2009, I had managed to get over my fears and initial reservations for avoiding them. Many of my fears had mostly to do with just plain old self-esteem and insecurity. But my reservations or rather, my stated noninterest was rooted in the mindset of looking for my "One True Love". A belief that had been culled from the many, downright useless, beliefs regarding the purposes of sex, intimacy and relationships, which were all framed within the context of traditional religious ideals, namely, the Mormon kind. So, naturally, play time with a couple who have been together for 15 years wasn't going to get me into a relationship of that kind. Although, it could develop into some other kind of relationship, not that this one was, but whether it happened or not, it was not the goal anyway, I was simply not interested in doing anything unless it fit within the set of "values" that I been accustom to. So, I was willing to pass up an opportunity for some serious adult oriented fun.
I had grown up around the idea of the traditional Mormon polygamist family and I knew about Polyandry from studying all the many forms of BDSM relationship dynamics that embraced it. So, back in 2007 when I was first coming out, I was prepared to admit to my mom at the time, that I could not say that such arrangements would never happen and that I could see myself living in a nontraditional dynamic in the future. It was an attempt to plant a seed in her mind that the rules have changed; the expectations of normality must be adjusted. There is no "one right way" of defining a family. To my surprise, she added to that by telling me her understanding of family, which included even more combinations that I had never imagined. She was already ahead of the game.
However, I still held back. I still had my doubts if such things really were for me or not. I realized in the end that I was still in love with the idea of the perfect, white-picketed, fenced-in, nuclear family, that I had grown up to believe was the only way that was truly acceptable in society or at least in Mormon cultural society. To make matters worse, the gay marriage debate was raging in the media and I found myself caught up in the whirlwind, trying to prove to the world that gay people were normal, that they were just like everyone else. But, it was like going back into the closet all over again. I had a hard time figuring out how I was going to get the queer world that made sense to me, fit in with what everyone else expected the gay world should be. I wanted the freedom to live an honest life but not make others uncomfortable. I don't know how I was going to do that. I was trying to have it both ways. And in the end, the big question that I was not asking was, "why do I still try to garner their acceptance anyway?"
In all of this, the core issue to embrace was, if I'm going to live honestly and with any modicum of dignity and self-respect, I will stop trying so hard to live by their "rules". I am gay, but more than that, I am queer. There is no way I'm going to fit within the "rules" of the prevailing religious society's notion of the traditional, patriarchal family, no matter what I do. So, essentially, I get to decide what constitutes the "purpose" of sex within the context of my relationships and I get to decide what constitutes my own family. Whether it's comprised of a same-sex couple who fosters or adopts children, or whether it's comprised of several same-sex adults who all share partnership roles, or a partner and those that make up the "extended" family. There could even be a hierarchy just like in the traditional or historical sense but with different names, titles, and meanings. It doesn't matter. I get to define what family, friends and sex are within the context of my own values that work for me. And today there are millions out there, gay and non-gay, who happily and joyfully do just that.
So, as it stands, the gay marriage debate will continue, obviously, as many people will be seeking to be part of that normalcy and continue to fight for it. And that's OK. But I'm no longer interested in fighting. Because, truth be told, it's all a bunch of crap! It's not to say that I don't support it or I won't be part of it someday, I may get married, but in the end, I don't believe, considering the way I view and choose to live my life, that my family, whatever form it takes, will ever be treated with any sort of respect whether I'm married or not. Because the basic fact is, we, as queer folk, are not normal. We are different.
There is nothing wrong with being different. But, spending any more time trying to convince a religious society that can't abide difference is a complete waste of my life. And that is what most of the gay marriage political debating has been about, gay couples having to put up their best possible face to show the world just how normal they really are. This for me means compromising my self-expression, my integrity, my sanity, to appease those that can't or won't embrace what they don't understand. I'm not going to waste my time hiding and I'm done trying to change their minds.
We, queers, must make our own rules and live by them. And it's not by the norms of an authoritarian religious society that we are to be comparing ourselves. If we allow that, we are falling into the expectations of those who have never questioned why their normal familial traditions make them so bloody miserable. And we might as well be miserable right along with them. Sure, they will judge us by their standards, there is no way of getting around it, but they are in the wrong when they do. They are the ultimate hypocrites if they think their normality is applicable to us. And we are wrong if we try to get them to think our difference is not different.
The great automatons that comprise most of the religiously bound human race are lost in a sea of sameness. A lack of perspective and creativity in thought and reason, they have failed to embrace diversity, thus they have failed to embrace what's important. And sadly, they are trapped there, consumed by fear of things they are also afraid to understand.
I know I keep reiterating this but I want it made clear! It's not my place to fit within their reality, to erase my differences so that they can think I'm normal. The responsibility actually lies on them to broaden, allow and embrace the differences into their definition of normal. They mistakenly believe that to do that, they would have to compromise their core values, which they say they shouldn't have to do. Just like how I'm saying I shouldn't have to compromise mine for them. But what they must understand is that I'm not compelling them to live my life the way they are compelling me to live theirs. My core values are values I impose upon myself whereas their core values are values they want imposed on others.
I've been foolish in thinking I could measure up to their expectations because they seek and impose an unattainable perfection. And as they continue to do so, their definition of normal narrows, which makes their definition of perfection narrow. Thus, any possible embracement of difference becomes impossible. I've also been foolish in expecting them to look beyond their fears. I know how hard it is for them. I also know that they must make the effort on their own if they ever want to look beyond those fears. No one can do it for them! But I can't wait forever.
In essence, what I'm saying is, my search for acceptance from the Mormons has been put to rest. My ship has sailed. If they want to leave that "Great and Spacious Building" to get across the river now, they'll have to build one themselves. They have been given the tools, materials and the plans; all they need is the desire. Once they do, I'll be here ready to receive them.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Lying for the Lord
A few years ago when I first came out to a 'friend' about being gay, he said to me that as long as I can answer the temple recommend questions I have nothing to worry about. This 'friend' was a real letter of the law TBM type of Mormon. In the long story of that coming out moment, it ended the conversation and we sat for a while in profound and awkward silence for the rest of the car trip.
Since I was just starting to push the boundaries of personal honesty with myself and my dealings with the church and church members, his statement about answering the temple recommend questions really bothered me. Aside from the severe resentment I felt by my friend's ignorant and arrogant statement which implied that my value as a human being was based solely on how I answered a set of questions regarding my loyalty to a particular religious practice, I also realized I had never in my life answered those questions 100% truthfully. But at that time in my life, I was still very deeply afraid of being ostracized by all my friends and family so I was feeling rather shamed and self-conscious about how I would still need to lie in the temple recommend interview which bothered me quite a lot.
In the end, I stopped going to church well before my temple recommend expired in order to avoid the renewal interviews. I let them all assume that I had moved away. That is until nearly a year later when they got my resignation letter. Good times.
Anyway, the last time I had a temple recommend interview was 2006. And since then, I've thought long and hard about those temple recommend questions and the agonizing interviews where I would fight with my own conscience, struggling to stare that interviewer in the eye and hope that he couldn't discerned my deceit. So, in looking back, I'm going to right the wrong and finally tell the truth as my Inner Dialog "Hi!" was trying to get me to do all of these years. "HA! It's about time." Yeah, yeah, I know.
Warning: It's long. There are 15 questions to get through here so just deal with it. Also, I'm not really going to write anything all that intellectual here. "Dude, no one cares; get on it with it already." Ok, ok. It's really a bit of a rant layered with sarcasm and offensive language and it rambles a bit. And yeah, it's going to offend. "Dude, offend away! It's not your problem."
Ok, let's get this over with, shall we? "Finally!"
Question #1: Do you have faith in and a testimony of God the Eternal Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost?
Answer: Yes. "Liar!"
Ok, ok. So I lied. Believing, or in my case, pretending to believe in the most fundamental doctrines of the church is also fundamental in fitting in to the prevailing culture. If you don't believe, you don't belong; you are treated like an outsider. To be treated as such in a community made up of 95% Mormons, ranges from simply being ignored to back stabbing to being overtly snubbed. But that's only after they realize you didn't want to be a Mormon. Besides, the remaining 5% were all beer drinking, adulterous, coffee drinking, intellectual, drug pushers who molested children and turned them into evil fornicating, feminist, homosexuals. And they all smoked to boot! You don't want to be lumped in with them now, do you? Yeah, I didn't think so. I think I'm justified in lying on this question.
Question #2: Do you have a testimony of the Atonement of Christ and of His role as Savior and Redeemer?
Answer: Yes. "Liar!"
I never did understand the whole concept of Christ's Atonement and all that. It just didn't make sense to me. If God was an all loving, all powerful being, why in the hell did he need to have someone take the fall? Really. The entire Christian Gospel plan, Mormon or otherwise, still makes my head spin when I try to make sense of it. But, as I said before, I'm going to pretend that I have a testimony of this ridiculous shit so that I won't be treated like an outsider.
Question #3: Do you have a testimony of the restoration of the gospel in these the latter days?
Answer: Yes. "Liar!"
Sigh! Forget about me going to hell for not believing in this stuff, I'm going to hell for being a big fat liar. "You're darn tootin', mister." Isn't that a Laurel and Hardy movie? "What?" Never mind.
You know, there was a time when I believed this one. But I realized I only believed it because I was in love with the idea of it. When the facts hit the fan, so did my love of the idea.
Question #4: Do you sustain the President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as the Prophet, Seer, and Revelator and as the only person on the earth who possesses and is authorized to exercise all priesthood keys? Do you sustain members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as prophets, seers, and revelators? Do you sustain the other General Authorities and local authorities of the Church?
Answer: Yes. "Lie! Dude! You're creeping me out!"
Oh my fucking god! What am I doing here? Why am I doing this? What the fuck? I'm actually a bit creeped out by this question. I've known too many people who have suffered severe spiritual abuse at the hands of these men. Sadly, I didn't recognize that I was suffering the same abuse even though that creepiness feeling should have been an indicator that something was seriously wrong. Still, I lie. And I lie to myself. It's no wonder I'm a bitter old man and I want to attack the Mormon church! After all, they started it! "Dude, you're not old."
I just made the mistake of being born into it. Yeah, mistake. They told me that I got to choose my family in the preexistence because I was more valiant than the other souls. Really! So, it's my fault. But these men also told me that because I was born under the convent (my parents were sealed in the temple before I was born), that I was double special. But what they didn't know, HAHAHA, was that I was sealed to my parents later when I was around 4 years old. I was never born under the convent. So now what? I guess that downgrades my specialness. Why would an all loving, all powerful God, pick favorites for something so arbitrarily as that? Honestly, what a complete asshole God is to his children.
Question #5: Do you live the law of chastity?
Answer: Yes. "Hey dude! You told the truth, HA! Well, sort of."
Ok, I didn't lie within the context of the intent of the question. But I wouldn't say it was by choice that I was celibate. I didn't find having sex with women to be a temptation anyway. Hmmm, I wonder why. Is it because I'm righteous? "No, it's because you're gay, dude!" Ok, if I was gay then why didn't I have sex with men? "Because you're righteous?" Oh shut up, Internal Dialog! The real reason was because I honestly didn't know it was possible. That is really true! "Ha! So THAT'S why they don't want people associating with The Gays! They might get ideas! They might get educated or worse, recruited!" Scary thought, isn't it? Keep them in isolation; it will save their souls. It's a testament to the level of repression and denial I was suffering. And I do mean suffering.
Still, I found a way to be "unchaste". I used lots of mirrors! "Dude, you really don't need to talk about this." As a result, I have since expanded my definition of masturbation to be "solo sex" or sexual relations with myself, so I guess I did lie, just a little bit. A tiny "white" lie. "Dude! TMI." Fine.
In any case, I'm bothered by the idea of sexuality as a basis for moral righteousness when it's really the lying, the deceit, and the manipulation, where sex is merely a tool, which really destroys lives. But NO, it's all about sex, isn't it? Sex IS the sin. Sex is put up high on a pedestal and treated like something much greater than is really is or ever could be. It's practically worshiped! It's so sacred you are never to talk about it or utter the word!
SEX! Say it! SEK-SHOO-AL intercourse. HO-MO-SEK-SHOO-AL. SSSSSSSSSEEXXXX!
Seriously, stop using chastity as a euphemism for SEX! It really makes it sound like we're trying to appear better than everyone else. Oh, wait, we're Mormons, we are! "I like sex." I know you do, sweetie.
Question #6: Is there anything in your conduct relating to members of your family that is not in harmony with the teachings of the Church?
Answer: Yes. "Truth! Oh, shit, wrong answer."
Wait, what? Can you repeat the question? Seriously. And please explain what you mean by "...not in harmony with the teachings of the Church" because there are some teachings of the Church that are not in harmony with the teachings of Christ. I'm actually a bit offended by this question and because of that, I answer truthfully to point out the stupidity of it. "Dude, you're not going to get anywhere with this. Sometimes the truth is not very useful." You're right. I'm joking, ha ha! Everything is fine with regards to the family. We're cool. Sigh.
I knew a fine lady who had her temple recommend revoked because her husband was abusing her. The logic here was that as long as there was strife in the home, there was no way that she deserved the blessings of the temple. And that she needed to go back and honor her husband so he had no reason to treat her the way he did. Yeah, take a way an individual's only grounding spiritual avenue from an abusive situation because, after all, it's really the victims fault. That's the sort of spiritual abuse I'm talking about from Question #4.
I think our family did much better when we, for the most part, avoided the church as a source of any guidance in that regard. I'm happy to report that things are cool now. My response to this question was in looking back to the early 90's when things were really, really, really, really, really, really, bad. Yes, that's 6 'really's. In the 80's I would have used something like 47 'really's. In 2006 it was still bad but I wouldn't use any 'really's. "Really?" Yeah, really.
Question #7: Do you support, affiliate with, or agree with any group or individual whose teachings or practices are contrary to or oppose those accepted by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?
Answer: No. "Dude, you might be lying here. Perhaps you should ask for clarification."
No, I will not ask for clarification. Remember what happened in question #6? "Oh yeah, forget it." Why is this even a question? You need to explain to me EXACTLY what this has to do with my worthiness. This question really fucking bugs me to no end. I supported, affiliated and agreed with the most Christ like person I know, who just happens to be an atheist. He was my grandfather. You people seriously need to teach people HOW NOT to judge rather than make this entire gospel discourse about HOW to judge. Question #7 to me really runs at the heart of why most Mormons are not capable of being Christians.
Question #8: Do you strive to keep the covenants you have made, to attend your sacrament and other meetings, and to keep your life in harmony with the laws and commandments of the gospel?
Answer: Yes. "Dude, you almost had me fooled there but your still lying."
I'm getting good at this lying thing in that I really believed I was telling the truth when I said yes to that. But honestly, I would rather sit in the foyer talking to friends than in the chapel pretending to care. And no, I don't have time to do that calling you asked me to do. In fact, I think next Sunday I'm going to be out of town or something. Yeah, my job, you know how it is? At least I showed up to church and got counted and then did all that financial clerk crap that I was called to do.
Looking back, I was always looking for excuses, and quite often, I would make up shit to get out of going to church and avoid church callings and all that other crap. I'm a bad person. "Awww." As in Awesome.
Question #9: Are you honest in your dealings with your fellowmen?
Answer: Yes. "Truth! Except for that one thing..."
It should be blatantly obvious by now that when it comes to dealing with the church and people in the church, I'm a lying sack of shit! Honesty only exists outside the context of my religious circle.
As a side note to this, there was once a Mormon city official my brother had to deal with who believed that the above question only applied to dealings with people in the church. Outside of that, it didn't matter. People who weren't Mormons were dishonest and the only way to deal with dishonest people was to be dishonest right back. My brother finally got that particular Stake President fired from his job and then released early from his highly esteem church calling. Those Utah Mormons can really be a handful sometimes. Oh my goodness!
Question #10: Are you a full-tithe payer?
Answer: Yes. "Truth! HA HA! Suck it, sinners!"
Ha ha! See, I'm a good Mormon! I didn't lie. And because I pay my tithing based on my gross income and then round UP, that right there makes me better than the low-life's who don't! And it makes up for all the lying to boot! Also, here is a little extra to help the poor. Wait, what? You can't help them unless they are active, full-tithe, paying members? What the fuck!?
Sigh. I deeply, deeply regret that I was a full tithe payer. "And a snooty one at that." Yep.
Question #11: Do you keep the Word of Wisdom?
Answer: Yes. "Uhmm, this is a half-truth. I think."
Word of Wisdom or WoW. Wow! Seriously, WoW! Get it? "Dude, that's stupid, no one cares."
Anywho, the entire WoW has been reduced down to the big four: Coffee, Tea, Alcohol and Tobacco. Forget about all the other things stated in there, the big four are all this question is really asking.
Since I can't abide smoking or tobacco anyway, that's a nonissue. Also, I don't like the taste of tea so I can at least feel smug about that. However, I love my coffee. Yeah, I'm going to tell people I like it but I'm not going to tell anyone I actually drink the stuff. I mean, really, what good would come of it? Remember that 5% I want to avoid being associated with? I'm going to drink my coffee in secret!
As for alcohol, the last time I drank that stuff I was around 10 or 12 years old I think. It was a cheap but tasty red wine that my dad let me have. I never got around to drinking much alcohol after that nor did I have much opportunity because I could never risk getting caught buying the stuff. That made it easy to avoid. I also didn't have many friends who drank. The ones who did kept it to themselves because we would shun them when they did. You know about all that "avoid the appearance of evil" crap? Yeah, we are real assholes, but we were righteous assholes. So, except for an occasional coffee I was good to go. Right?
Apparently, coffee wasn't supposed to bar me entrance to the temple. But I could never know when I would get interviewed by some Mormon Nazi who would decide that coffee drinking was a greater sin than me lying about not having sex with myself. "Dude! You never had it that bad." Yeah, I know, but lesser things happened to other people and it really bugged the ever living shit out of me and put me on edge.
Now, I have a beer occasionally. And I'm not afraid to drink it right in front you! Ha! Would you like one? There is still some in the fridge. Or I could open that new bottle of wine I just bought that's sitting next to the coffee maker. Hey, where are you going? Oh yeah, you're avoiding the appearance of evil. Touché.
Now, what about the rest of the WoW? It also says to eat lots of veggies and grains and eat very little meat. And I do follow that. Well, not because of the WoW but because I feel like eating that way. Some days I may actually go an entire day without eating meat. I'm just not in the mood for it. However, I'm a glutton for peanut-butter-chocolate-chip-oatmeal-cookie-dough-ice-cream so, no, I don't keep the WoW in its full context. Wait, the WoW doesn't say anything about gluttony? Well it should!
"We really need to move on here." No, wait, I'm not done.
You know what else? I don't think anyone really knows what the fuck the WoW is really all about anyway. You know? For a short time there in the early 1900's, beer was acceptable under the WoW and refined flour was not! And then there is this indecisive issue with caffeine and soda drinks. And back to my previous point about all of the other stuff not being considered anymore. What the...why the hell has it been twiddled down to the big four anyway? Come on people! Make up your mind! Either get a revelation from God that sticks to something or forget about it! Is God really that wishy washy? "Actually, he is."
Moving on...
Question #12: Do you have financial or other obligations to a former spouse or children? If yes, are you current in meeting those obligations?
Answer: ---
I was never asked this. They all knew I had never been married so they just skipped it. I wished they would ask, that way there would be more questions where I didn't have to lie.
Question #13: If you have previously received your temple endowment: Do you keep the covenants that you made in the temple? Do you wear the garment both night and day as instructed in the endowment and in accordance with the covenant you made in the temple?
Answer: Yes. "Lie? Well... yeah, you lied."
Ok, this is where it gets all weird. I don't really remember what covenants I made in the temple; I was very young and naive back then. I went through twice before leaving on my mission and have never gone back. The experience was creepy and I never felt comfortable with it. Besides, I only needed the temple recommend, not the temple experience, to look like a good Mormon.
As for the magic G's, quite often I would go around wearing only the top when I did wear them. Does that count? I thought of it more as a t-shirt to keep my sweaty armpits from leaking to my outer shirt but most importantly, it was to fool people into thinking I was a Mormon In Good Standing™. As for the bottoms, I preferred that sexy animal print, string-bikini underwear for the sexiness and the support. Besides, those darned magic G's would chafe my thighs like a motherfucker and the seams were always falling apart! "Dude, I think you're going too far with this one." No, shut up, Internal Dialog, I've got more to say about this.
I always thought it was ironic that people would tell me to buy those "mesh fabric" Gs because it feels like you have nothing on! What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck? I honestly can't figure out how to process that information. Underwear that feels like you are not wearing underwear? Here's a clue, why don't you simply NOT put any underwear on! Yeah, I know, protection from harm and evil and all that hocus pocus. So then, how come when I was on my mission and wrecked my bike and landed on my shoulder, there was a huge hole in my G's and my collar bone dislocated? "Oh, please don't go there." Was it because I was an unrighteous, lying, masturbator who didn't have any self control? Just like all the other missionaries? "No, Dude, that's not it. Let it go." No, it's because it was all a bunch of crap! It was just another idea that I was in love with only so that I could convince myself that it might possibly be true. What was I thinking? Logic and reason, out the window because I was in love with the idea of personal body armor. "You weren't that bad about it." True, because I preferred my armor to look more like those sexy Star Wars Storm Troopers anyway. "Ok, we need to move on." That magic G armor was not sexy at all. In fact, it was anti-sexy. But Storm Troopers, now that is what I call sexy body armor. Yeah, it's useless for blaster fire but who cares, so are magic G's. I would totally do a guy while we were wearing outfits like that. The base layer is Spandex for crying out loud! Those magic G's were anti-sex. Hey, I suppose that makes sense in the context of protecting a person's chastity. Err, I mean sexual virginity. Stick ugly underwear on them and they're fine. Hmm, doesn't explain those gay guys with magic G fetishes. What's the deal with that? I don't get it.
"Moving on?"
Sigh. Moving on...
Question #14: Have there been any sins or misdeeds in your life that should have been resolved with priesthood authorities but have not been?
Answer: No. "Yeah, Dude! I think you might be telling the truth with this one. I think."
Yeah I'm telling the truth because I'm starting to see where this is all left to my interpretation. What is the context of "sins", "misdeeds" and "resolved"? Other than my habitual Lying for the Lord™, I don't know what else I would mention. I did tell my mission president that I masturbated. But have I resolved it? Does simply talking about it mean it's been resolved? I still masturbate in ways that would make your skin crawl and your sensitive little heart go running off screaming to ask God for mercy if you were to see the things I like to do to myself. So, you really want to know? Seriously? I have pictures. "Dude! Don't even..." And for something that gives me a profound spiritual experience, how do I know it's even a problem? And that begs the next question, what is meant by "problem"? No, I'm doing just fine.
Question #15: Do you consider yourself worthy to enter the Lord's house and participate in temple ordinances?
Answer: Yes. "You speak truth! I'm proud of you dude!"
Yep, I believe I'm worthy to enter the Lord's house. Besides, if my adulterous uncle is worthy, even while standing in the Celestial room of the temple, telling dirty jokes, than I believe I'm worthy too, even more so than he. But the better question to ask is if I WANT to participate in temple ordinances? And if that is asked, I'll probably lie. Again, I want to fit in, despite the fact it is 2006 and the last time I was creeped out in a temple was 1991. "Are you sure?" No, wait. The last time I set foot in a temple was 1995 in Bountiful, Utah. But it was only the temple dedication and not an endowment session so it doesn't count. "Oh, yeah. That doesn't count. Not as creepy."
Ok, well there you have it. I've gone through the temple recommend questions, holding myself accountable for the lies I told. And not only do I feel better about myself, I'm better person for doing it. "Dude, you're so cool, I love you." I love you to; want to have sex? "Dude! This is not the place to for that." TMI? "TMI."
Apologies to my uncle for bringing up his past transgressions. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have had that cognitive dissonance welling up in the back of my mind all these years. Those jokes he told in the temple were very distasteful, even for me.
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