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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I need better friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Super Blood Moon of 2015. 

Anxiety Rooted in Self-consciousness

Hello, blog.  It's been a while.  Many things have happened, many changes, and many things still the same.

I've found a huge level of happiness over the years since coming out of the closet, leaving the LDS church, and essentially taking control over my own life.  I feel like I've grown up a lot, especially in the past year.  I started and ended one of the worst relationships I've ever experienced (I don't think I'll ever write about it so don't ask or wait for it), I moved to another state, bought a house, and started asserting myself at work more (I'm still working at the same place I've been for the past 10 years), which is something that I should have been more diligent at before, but there were reasons I never asserted myself and it was hard to confront it, and I'm still trying to confront it.

What I'm getting at is Social Anxiety.

It has been the biggest thing I've struggled with, and at times has turned what would otherwise be fun and rewarding experiences into complete terror.  And to the extent that I've been able to gain a level of self-awareness of it, it still eludes me in many ways. Although, I've come to realize that it has been rooted in and played a huge role in all the areas of my life where I seem to constantly fail.  (Even in this blog.)

For so many years I've been extremely self-conscious about my appearance, hobbies, interests, they way I talk, what I say, you name it.  No matter what it was, I would find a way to feel like I was being harshly judged for it, and that fear of judgement, and subsequent rejection was devastating to me. I could only find value in myself only if others valued me.  And, of course, that value from others was always fleeting.  I would end up just turning it all back on people and reject them before they had the chance to reject me.  I found solace in being alone.  Unfortunately, that solace became a prison over time, especially once I started to find myself.  I realized that even though I was an introvert, I was still very much in need of socialization, even with people I don't even know.  In other words, I'm not a strong introvert.  In the Meyers-Briggs evaluation of personality, I'm just a hair to the right of the midpoint between Extroversion and Introversion. And just for the sake of completion, my Meyers-Briggs personality type is INFP, which explains a whole lot of why I have trouble in other areas, but I digress.

For me, social anxiety is highly dependent on context and for the most part it's pretty much what I bring to the table in regards to my own personal beliefs about myself.  In talking with a boyfriend the other day, we discussed what it was that kept us both hiding in our little hobbit holes most of the time.  We talked about what it was like to be in crowds, why some crowds felt safe and energizing and why other felt draining and threatening.

I related my experiences going to Dragon Con in Atlanta, GA.  Four days of shoulder to shoulder crowds reaching as many people as 100,000 during the Saturday parade.  I feel fine for the most part, except in the elevators.  But going to Ocean City, MD in the summer time to walk the boardwalk, it's all I can muster to just get the walk over with and get the fuck out of there.  And then there are places like MAL where I have this cognitive-dissonance of feeling fine but also out of place.   What was the underling thinking in each situation?

Well, with Dragon Con I feel like we are all equals. We are all there to have fun and share in our appreciation of science fiction, fantasy and its associated pop culture.  It's a very liberal and progressive crowd for the most part, which invites creativity, acceptance and even celebrates our weirdness. And for the most part, even the ones who are rowdy and drunk the entire weekend are tolerable.

Ocean City, on the other hand is a place of very limited social diversity.  Mostly east coast working class vacationers, hetero-normative families, and often there are loud, obnoxious, young adults who binge on alcohol while cat calling from the balconies at the bikini clad girls on the boardwalk below.  Daily sexual harassment is the norm there. And the air is thick with tobacco smoke.  And as such, I judge these people harshly.  I feel as if I'm much better than they are and it disgusts me that they pollute places making them unsafe for women and gay people.

But then, events like MAL, and even in small ways, Folsom Street Fair and Gay Pride, the crowds can be a bit rowdy but they are friendly, and I feel safe.  They, after all are my people or at least friendly to my people and I know I'm one of them.  But, at the same time, and this is especially true at MAL, I feel like they are all much better than me and that I'm really not good enough to be there.  I'm not gay enough, or I'm not good looking enough or whatever I believe I don't measure up to.

The troubling thing about all this is that it's not rational to believe these things even when at times my beliefs have been validated by certain events.  The thing is, those times were because of outliers, they did not represent the group, and I know this.  But it's just so easy to cast aside the reality to reinforce the fears.  And those fears run deep, and they are strong and overwhelming.  And even though I can play logic games with those beliefs to talk myself out of them, it doesn't' always work.   And I feel like I'm not making any progress at all.   But really, I have made a bit of progress.  I've realized how I've been unknowingly contributing to the social anxiety which I wasn't aware of before.  I've learned a bit of nuance about my judgement of others and myself.  Also, medication helps, so there is that.

So, now, what's next?

I've started a new chapter in my life this year.  I'm putting myself out there a bit more than I ever have before.  I started vlogging on Youtube.  It's a way to confront my self-consciousnesses and social anxiety in a rather detached way.   I'm forced to confront myself when I do this.  I have to watch myself back while I edit the videos, I have to look at myself in a third person and know that the person I'm looking at is me, even though it doesn't feel like me.

This has been an interesting exercise to see where I have been self judging and self-censoring and where I continue to do so and what I've been doing to divert it and try to get people to focus on something else.  It's also interesting to see what ends up being the "something else" I try to use.  It's a strange thing to view myself in a detached semi-objective way.

I've been heavily editing and trying to polish my videos for the same reason I edit and try to polish my writing.  But, no matter what I do, the video shows a much rawer individual.  One prone to stammering, not talking in complete sentences and otherwise eviscerating all that is proper and eloquent grammar.  All of which are things I'm very self-conscious about.  Sometimes I'm sliding in and out of Utah/Maryland/New Zealand/North Carolinian accents.  Something that I had no idea I did until I started this vlogging project.  I'm finding it more interesting than disturbing now and I'm becoming more aware of how I'm perceived and in small ways, I'm starting to like the person I see in the video.

In all, it's been fun and frustrating at the same time.  Frustrating in that I have a very boring life with nothing to really vlog about and I'm constantly battling with technical problems such as sound problems and crappy white balance.  But its fun in that the editing process is creative yet very challenging like piecing together a puzzle.  I've always had an interest in filmmaking and this has re-sparked that interest, which I had long thought had died. 

A Moment to Think

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.

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.

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.

Winter of 2012 Assateague Island, VA

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. 

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.

I Am Still, No One

I haven't posted in a long time.  I've been stuck in a sort of a midway point between, "It's too esoteric to post, besides who am I that anyone would care about the strange things in my mind?"  to  "I wish there were people out there who could understand me in all the forms that I inhabit."

It's self defeating in that I'll never find those people because I just can't bring myself to tell all there is to tell about myself.  What is it?  Fear?  Lack of trust?  Am I still in the closet about certain things?   That goes without saying. 

Obviously, what you don't know is what's in that closet.  Now, considering how I hint at things, some may think they know and can even guess, but most likely they'll be wrong.  Well, some people might get lucky and guess correctly but I know that most will not.  However, I want them to guess because if they guess correctly, then I know that I don't have to explain it if they don't get it.  And explaining it is something I just don't want to have to do.  Because, in the past, it has not lead to more understanding, it has just lead to more, "WTF?  You're a fucking freak!"

Still a lot of PTSD, still a lot of fear.   Yeah, I still hate rejection in some things.  Especially the things that get closer to my core. 

I'm finding once again, that I still have yet to find a community that I feel will accept me, care about me, support me, allow me to embrace and express myself in its hypersexual from, and even communally share that experience with me.   Are there communities out there like that?  It seems like there are but they don't seem all that accepting to me.   Am I fooling myself into thinking that such things exist?  It's really hard to know.  I spent one day at Folsom Street Fair last September and one weekend at Mid-Atlantic-Leather Weekend (MAL) back in January, and it sure as hell give me the impression that they do exist.  Despite the attention I got from some tourists at Folsom, I still walked away from those experiences not knowing anyone any better than I did before.  I felt like I have essentially wandered through a convention of cliquishness and exclusivity that I couldn't conform to.

At MAL, I met a few amazing people, and made some acquaintances, but they drifted off, others, after meeting, severed their online connection to me.  Confusing, frustrating, and sad.  There is something wrong with me, I get it.  I'm sorry.  I really don't have a clue how to talk about it, what to talk about, who to talk to and where to go with it.  And really, with no face-to-face, I'm at a loss.

I have so little connection, so little opportunity to travel and engage with others who share that life, being so isolated geographically from all of it, I've never been given a chance to really immerse myself fully, to really find myself, understand how it connects to me and what a lot of it really means.  I'm still trying to strip off the old masks, tear down the old walls from the Mormon cult I grew up in.  I've been isolated from everyone really; even in the cult I isolated myself from it as much as I could.  Few friends in life, difficult to form new ones, social awkwardness seemed to be the defining factor in all things.   And in isolation, social and physical, I ended up developing my own ideas and eccentricities about the way I view life and sexuality.  And even the closest community that I found that aligns with mine, the gay/leather/kink/BDSM communities, which seem to be steeped in its own dogma of identity, that it shuts me out for not conforming.  Confusing, frustrating and sad.

It’s Not Over Until It’s Over

So, the Internet is all a buzz over the 9th Circuit Court ruling overturning Prop 8 in California.   So much is being written about its details and specifics that I don’t think I need to add anything to it. 

This is such a bittersweet moment.  I'm happy and I'm sad at the same time.

The talks, discussions, arguments and yes, even the insane, bigoted, demonizing rants from some active LDS members and other religious fundamentalists that I've witnessed, and had to endure, over the last few days on Facebook, all pretty much fit in with the predictable pattern of human behavior that is based on extreme religious fundamentalism such as Mormonism as they go through culture changes.  Even drawing from my own experience as an angry and raging ex-Mormon homosexual who has been continually wronged by the hateful domination of my religious peers, and speaking hateful like language on my own blog towards the religions they've committed their loyalty to, I'm not completely innocent in my own rants.   But what is setting me apart in this is that I’m now aware of my own reality. 

 I can understand where they are and I know what drives their fears,  and I’m not trying to prevent them from living their religion, even if I find it misguided and hateful.  I’m also aware that I used to be one of them.  But now I’ve seen and experienced both sides, and I know that their fear is unfounded.  But they only know the shadows on the cave wall, which now look even more threatening to them than ever before.

We may have won this little fight, but the backlash, bullying, and violence are going to swell because of this.  The twisted, fear-crazed, religious fundamentalists, which includes much of the active LDS membership, right along with other fundamentalist around the nation, most of them in the south and mid-west, are going to be expressing their fear, hate, and rage in ways we've never seen before.   I fully expect to see an acceleration of the continual upsurge of violence toward LGBT people as this so-called "culture war" escalates. 

I know I'm considered a pessimist in this but sadly, this is just the way it is; this is reality. 

It will be several decades before it's even close to being over.  Even if the Supreme Court granted full national marriage rights in 2014, there will always be several generations of hateful and dangerous bigots to contend with.

It's going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

Reclaiming Complex and Nuance

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disillusion

It hurts.

When one set of friends talk total shit about another set of friends, 

it compels me to question the value that I am to people.

Especially If someone's value can be so easily tossed aside.

So, as I sit in stunned silence for a moment,

I am deeply afraid to say anything, and not sure what to say.  

What I fear, if I do say anything at all, is what my rage will say.

Which, if left unchecked, will make me the new object of scorn.

It all makes me feel isolated. 

More so than I already am.  

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.

Reset Please

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

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

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

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

God, I fucking hate this.

To My Younger Self

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

National NOT Coming Out Day

Apparently, I'm not as out as I thought I was.  In fact, I'm probably not out at all if being out means I'm going to happily announce on Facebook on "National Coming Out Day" that I'm out, which I'm not going to do.  Besides, if anyone on Facebook actually looks at my profile, he or she will see that my interest is in men and that I have a large mass of LGBT and other sexuality groups that I have "liked".   That's as "out" as I feel like I can do for now. 

I have "friended" many people from work, high school, my mission as well as from other times of my past who I know have not looked at my Facebook profile, and in a way, I'm glad.   I just don't want it to be a big deal.   But, I'm also screaming inside to talk about it.  It's the pains of living alone and isolated.  I just want to talk about it with people I know I can trust, because the rest of them just want to tell me how I need save myself by following Christ, and it's not just the Mormons that do that either.

I had lunch with a co-worker last week, who I also take dressage lessons with, and I mentioned to her my troubles with the "big elephant in the room" and the problems I had living and working out here.  I wanted to talk to her about the incidences I've had with some co-workers and their incredibly insensitive and homophobic rants during some corporate social functions, which HR effectively ignored, and the bullshit, insulting, gay and trans jokes that get tossed around as if LGBT people are just another group of freaks to made fun of.  

I know that simply mentioning that elephant issue made her uncomfortable so I didn't elaborate.  She's one of the many people I know out here that doesn't have a problem with me being gay but at the same time, does.  Still, I give her credit for trying.   But because I didn't say anything, she said that my elephant problem was mostly in my head.  Granted, I admitted that a large part of it is because of my fears, but I needed to explain to her that I've had it all turn bad enough times that I haven't been able to get past how it puts me on edge all of the time.  And then I gave her an example of a mutual co-worker whose entire family has shut me out of their life because of it.  I've written very briefly in passing about him on other blog posts.

She did admit that this place wasn't the best place for understanding.  That is coming from someone who has lived here for over 20+ years.  You would think that such a place, given its heavily touristy economy, would have a bit more diversity.  But I guess there really isn't any evidence to support that.

So, that feeling where I don't know where I stand with people continues.  Every day I have to find out if some new person that comes along is going to either let me live my life and wish to be part of that or they are going to instead turn around and make it needlessly difficult.  Already I've got a new office mate that is proving to be problematic.  And most of the time my solution is just to stay in the closet and not say anything that would clue anyone in.  And in order to do that I have to keep everyone at a distance, even the people who I have gotten to know and appreciate their friendship such as my dressage instructor and the other people I ride with.  Because, like I mentioned before, when that elephant came up, the friendship ended.  So, I keep it all bottled up in side until I'm ready to explode. 

To end a friendship over something as inane as person's innate sexuality is ridiculous.  But it's understandable that it's going to happen when there are people in the world who teach homophobia like Packer, Oaks, Faust, Kimball, Bednar, Ballard, Hafen, Holland, Cook, Monson, Wickman, Clayton, McMullin, Hinckley and many others.  And that's just a sampling of the Mormon leadership.

I've just got to find a way through this.  I don't know what that is going to be right now but there has got to be a way.   This has got to get better, right?  With all of those videos going around the Internets about it getting better, there is got to be a way it's going to get better for me.  So that I will be able to safely make that announcement on Facebook and not give a shit what the outcome is, even if it affects my job.   I want to be able to feel safe when proudly placing that picture on my desk at work of my future Partner/Husband/Boyfriend/Sir/Master/pup/boy or whatever the hell the title(s) will be if that time ever comes, just like every other God Damned privileged heterosexual does.

Demagogic Seeds

This post over at USU SHAFT spawned a random memory from my past.

Back in 1985, I attended a Mormon fireside in one of the North Logan, Utah stakes where some music "expert" talked about how the evil music industry used reel-to-reel recorders for evil and other such nonsense, reasoning that because they had the ability to play the tape backwards, it allowed them to create or manipulate this so called "back-masking".  He used several examples including the infamous Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" to prove his point.  (See videos posted at USU SHAFT)

The Akai GX-4000D,
one of my many tools
I used for Evil.

When he ran the tape backward the first time, I personally
couldn't hear anything in it.  However, before he played it again, he made sure to read to us what it was suppose to say. Then, while he was playing it, he would lip-sink to it to make sure the suggestion registered.  I thought it was a stretch but many in the audience gasped in horror during the demonstration.

I lost a friend that night because I just happened to own a reel-to-reel recorder.  Never mind that the model I had was incapable of reverse playback, it didn't matter, he berated me in front of everyone, then got in his car and left.  He was my next door neighbor.  He had driven me there; he was my only ride home.  I was left to ponder his and the speaker's words with frustrations and shame on that long, cold, dark and lonely walk home.  For a few months after that, he continued his efforts to embarrass and shame me in front of other peers at school and church.  The bridge was burned.  No matter how nice he was to me later in life, I never gave him any more of my time.

Looking back, that whole thing reminds me of something...  ah yes,  Alma 32:28-43, where Alma compares the word to a seed.  Go ahead and read it, I'll wait.  I'm not going to get into a detailed word for word analysis, instead I'm going to simply state my own cynical and biased summary of it which is:  Plant that seed whatever it is, and nourish it with your own misguided beliefs, fears and prejudices, and it will grow into whatever irrational zealotry you want it to be.  And no, I don't care if you believe that that is a gross misinterpretation.  It doesn't really matter.  As scripture, it makes as about as much sense to me as JRR Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings".

But, I digress.

That night at the fireside, the words of a religious demagogue with his fears and prejudices were planted in the mind of my former friend.   The words appealed to his ego so he nourished them until they bore fruit to which he based his faith upon.  The result, conflict where there never was before and would never have been at all.  So, is that a good seed or a bad seed?   It's hard to say because for him it was a sweet fruit, for the rest of us, it was rotten. 

I think too many Mormons are oblivious to the fears and prejudices they use to nourish the word because of how easy it is to get caught up in the fears and prejudices of the people they trust.  It's not hard to see such fruits in the Mormon church when it comes to pretty much anything involving homosexuality.  Fear, fear and more fear.

When I got to college, I was able to escape much of that stupidity, but my fear of rejection had been amplified that night.  Sadly, I still don't have it all out of my system.  I still get paranoid that I'm going to be rejected for something stupid like, for instance, being gay.  I really don't need to go on anymore about what those demagogic lunatics, Mormon or otherwise, have to say about homosexuality. And since I never know what new shit they are going to stir up, I'm constantly playing it safe, especially around the ultra-religious people I have to work with everyday.

Nonetheless, I get the urge to want to poke them a bit to get the rejection over with quicker rather than tip toe around all of the time.  I really get tired of holding back my life to make sure someone else's life remains comfortable.  I'm tired of nourishing myself with my own fears and prejudices just to protect someone else from facing theirs.  I want to move on and put all these people behind me for good.  But, I don't do it.  I don't poke them.  I'm too afraid to be alone.