Non-Back-to-School Blues

I realized today just how quickly a place can lose that feeling of home. I had to go to Oakland today for a job interview, which actually went so poorly that I don't even want to mention it right now, and I spent a fair amount of time sitting in the Rainbow office with the new president and vice president and running various errands. I kept looking at the guys playing football on the lawn, the girls walking around in flip flops and carrying purses full of books, the confused freshmen, and everyone else who had that feeling of security because they knew they were in a place that was entirely theirs. I don't have that anymore, and I already miss it. The place still belongs to me in a way, since I did spend so much time there and have known the feeling. But it's not the same. For a split second, I wanted to run back to the bus. I wanted to get away because I didn't want to confront those feelings. In a way, I don't belong there anymore. My time is over. Forever. And that's just one of those words that you never really understand the meaning of until you have to live it.

I'm becoming a shadow. I keep thinking of Dead Poets' Society and how I'm going to be just like the boys in those old photographs in the beginning of the movie. And I'm in between the point of recognition and the point of deciding not to be terribly depressed about the transience of my existence.

I'm on the road to seizing the day, but I'm not prepared for it just yet. But maybe that doesn't matter so much. Maybe I'll never figure out where I'm supposed to be going, but I should probably keep trying because maybe that's all there is.

I'm worried about the same things that everyone else is. I'm worried I'll never really be happy, but am I happy knowing that I'm doing everything I can to try to make myself happy? Does that even make sense? If it does, then I don't think I am because I don't know if I am doing everything I can. What am I missing? This is the question I've been trying to figure out for the last five months.

I'm worried that I'm not good enough or capable enough to do anything. I'm worried that I'm not stable enough to do many of the things that I am interested in doing. I'm worried that this will last forever. I'm worried about everyone else continuing to move forward while I stay exactly where I am. I'm worried that I made the wrong choice. I worry a lot. In fact, I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't worry. I've been anxious, neurotic, twitchy, nervous, etc. my whole life. It's helped me get a lot done over the years, but lately, it's been more of a burden than anything. I find myself worrying so much that I can't even begin to focus on completing a task. I become non-functional. And then because of my anxiety, I am less able to tolerate frustration, and because of my frustration and inability to deal with my own emotions like a normal person, I shut down or freak out. While things haven't been making me go absolutely off the wall lately, I worry that I am hiding myself away. I worry that I'm just avoiding the situations that even might make me a little anxious. And that's starting to catch up to me. I feel like I've put myself up against a wall and everything I've got going on in my life is charging right toward me.

It's roughly three in the morning. I'm still hungry. I'm almost tired. I read an interesting quote on DeJuan Blair's twitter this afternoon: "Just because you miss somebody doesn't mean that they should be in your life." And there's just way too much to say about that, for better or worse.

I'm starting to just feel sad a lot of the time. Summer is almost over. Those things are connected in more ways than one.

I wish I had enough money to just pick a direction and go with it. I have an idea. I think I know what I want to do, at least for now, and that's good enough for me. There's only one problem: I need a little bit of money to do it. I want to take my ACSM CPT exam, but I would need to get the books to prepare for it. And the test itself costs almost 300 dollars to take. This would cost me more than I make in an entire month.

I can't sleep because I think too much. And because I'm hungry. I'm starting to feel disconnected again. But it's strange that there are so many things that do make me happy in my life. I'm just having a hard time really digging my feet into that happiness. I think of happiness like grains of sand, and right now, something is making it feel like solid stone. I'm just not able to penetrate the surface, even though I know it's there.

I was in an office for the second portion of my interview today. I did much better on that than the first, and the one thing that I noticed was that it was quiet. I haven't been in a room that quiet for a very, very long time. And I hadn't realized it until just then. It made me want to stay, which is probably why I did better on that part of the interview. I know I'm not going to get the job because I'm sure I seemed completely incompetent. Maybe it's a sign. Or maybe it means absolutely nothing.

I might be ready to try to sleep again. I need to find time to make a fuckload of lists tomorrow.

The first Pitt game is this Saturday, and I probably won't be able to afford the tickets. I'm hoping some band friends can score me some tickets for the next game, but I really wanted to go to the first one. I've been struggling with a lot of feelings in this area lately. I thought everything had come to a nice point of resolution until I heard some news about band camp this year. I'm going back and forth on what I need to do and what my role should be. It's something I think about a lot. I wish I could be there on Monday as well, but I know better. It's just not the right time.

Maybe I feel guilty about so many things that I am thinking about because I don't like when things are left unresolved.

Maybe I should just go back upstairs and watch Ducktales.

Happy September

Tears

My college friends are back in school, and I suppose my own reality is finally starting to catch up to me. It really makes me want to cry, along with a few other things at the moment, but that's the main focus of my frustration these days. I am becoming further and further removed from the only thing I've ever known how to do well. I hate my job, and I suck at it, and I'm constantly worried about getting fired. This isn't where I thought I would be. And I know this isn't where I want to be. But the scariest part of it is now I'm not sure how to get back to a place where I DO want to be, especially since I have no idea where that place is. I'm worried that I will be lost forever. I'm worried that this is what my whole life will be. I'm worried about never making it. I don't know if I have long term goals anymore, and I feel like I have very little motivation because of it. I don't know what I'm doing. And I wish someone could help me. But now there's no one. It's all up to me and has been since the day I graduated, and we can all see what a wonderful mess I've made of my life. I seriously feel like a failure, and I'm not entirely sure why. I don't think it's because of any outside pressure to be or do anything, not anymore. Maybe it's because I'm just not happy. I want something more. I want stability that I may never have. I'm struggling to see the point in anything I'm doing, and it shows in everything that I'm doing.

I want to feel caught up. I want to feel like I'm in control of everything, even for just a little. I think I know why today might have been particularly terrible for me. I was washing the outside of the windows today, soap dripping in my eyes, when I realized how fucking pathetic I turned out to be. Later on, I found out that I actually fucked up washing the windows and left grotesque streak marks on almost every one, and my manager had to wash all of the windows again. The most menial, mindless task you can do...and I still manage to get it wrong.

I have a job interview on Thursday, and I already feel like I am going to fail. And that means I probably will. And I'll be stuck at GNC until they have no choice but to fire me because I'm a terrible salesperson. If you want me to explain something to you, I'm pretty good at that. But I'm not good at selling things because I'm not good at lying. I'm not good at all of the pointless formalities that go along with being a salesperson, and I really do have a lot of respect for people that understand all of that. I knew this job was going to be difficult because of that. I'm never sure how or when to approach a person, how long I have to wait before saying something else, where I should stand in relation to them, what tone of voice or posture I should use. I face similar problems when meeting and talking to new people outside of work, but I feel like that's alright. Maybe it's more acceptable for me to be awkward than it is for me to suck at what I do for a living. I suppose I worry that I'll suck at whatever I try to do next. And I am so drained from constantly thinking about interacting with people while at work that there really isn't time for me anymore. I can't do the things I want to do or have committed myself to doing, and that's really stressing me out too.

I don't know how to make things change anymore. I wasn't prepared for this. I keep thinking that college really was a waste of my time because I can't even get a job doing what I spent five years preparing to do. And in two months, I'll have to start paying off my loans. Add that to my credit card bill, and that's already going to be more than I make in one month. I thought I would be able to start paying rent again. Not being able to pay that or get my own place is one of the worst things for me. It makes me feel so helpless. It makes me feel like I'm just mooching off of people. I wonder what I would do if I weren't here. Where would I be? I'm starting to think that all of those people who told me I couldn't take care of myself are right. I suppose when it rains, it pours.

I haven't talked to my parents in so long, and I feel so disconnected. I feel terrible about it. I need help. I wish I could just take out a loan and get a place to live already. But no one would give me one, and I wouldn't be able to make the payments anyway. What the hell can I do? I really need money. I really need my life to not suck so much.

I started thinking about my number for Mr. Cattivo last night and got really depressed afterwards. I'm freaking out about not having what I need. I need to sit down one of these days and write everything out again. I seemed to do much better when I did that. But I can't stay focused. I'm having the same problems I did last fall. Is this shit ever going to stop? What can I do to make it stop?

I'm going to be stuck for a long time, and I don't know if I can survive it. I need to mail and write letters that I should have mailed and written a long time ago. I feel like I'm losing touch with a lot of people, even people I see all the time. And I know it's me. I'm retreating again. I'm running away without going anywhere. And sometimes I don't even realize it. I'm not freaking out as much. But it's not like anything good has been put in its place. Sometimes I feel like there's nothing. And I don't want to strain what seems like it is the one good thing I have going for me.

I don't know what else to write about but I'm having another one of those days where I feel like I should just keep going. I need to clean my room. That's a simple task with a clearly defined goal, and it's going to make me feel better after I do it. Maybe that's a start.

I don't know if I need to be by myself right now. I wish I were better at figuring that out and communicating it to others. And I wish it wouldn't happen so inconveniently.

I don't want to be a loser for the rest of my life. But I feel like I am just going to be another one of those statistics about trans people.

I need direction. I need to be in purposeful motion. I've been in this rut for almost a year now. I felt so close to getting out, but now I might be worse off than I was before. If nothing else, I'm realizing that it's just going to get more and more difficult to get out of it the longer I wait. And that just makes me feel like I'm being forced into making a decision about what I want to do for the rest of my life because I just don't have the luxury of taking the time I need to figure it out. That whole last part makes me want to cry. I know how people get into this shit now. I'm beginning to understand what it means to never be able to have what you always dreamed of having--never be able to do what you dreamed of doing. I'm beginning to understand why people give in and give up. I've never been one to just give up. But it's like any other bad habit: The more you do it, the easier it gets. I gave up on myself last October. I just couldn't take it anymore. And I've never just given up like that before. But it was easier than letting myself get hurt every single day. And maybe it was the right thing to do. I've met people I never would have otherwise. But maybe it hurt me as well. And maybe there's no point in saying if it was the right thing or not because good and bad things would have happened either way. And that's the way everything goes, I guess.

I don't feel like I'm ever going to be able to wrap my head around my own existence. That sounds fun in some ways, but I'd at least like to know I've got a handle on myself. For some reason, my brain started singing "I'm a Little Teapot."

It's so hard to work in a place where I really don't know if I can talk about my life without feeling like a freak show. It's not that I'm certain that I'm being perceived that way, but I fear that's all that people in the straight world are going to see. That's a pretty common fear, yes. I almost said that I wish it didn't bother me, but fuck that. It does bother me. It should bother me. It bothers me as much as the principal who told me it was my fault that other kids treated me the way they did because of the way I looked and acted. It's not my fault that other people are closed-minded. It's not my fault that they can't see what I have seen. And that's not a bad thing. Nobody else has the experience that I have. Sometimes, people just don't know. But it just gets so tiring after a while. I understand what you meant about feeling burnt out with activism. But I can still feel that in me. I get fired up when I hear about certain injustices. And I don't know what that means for what I'll be doing for the rest of my life, but I suspect that it will play a very large role whether I plan on it or not.

If I'm an asshole, it's not because I'm trans. It's because I'm an asshole. Don't make it about anything that it's not. My failures are not related to my trans identity. And many of my successes aren't. I guess that depends on what successes we're talking about, but I think you get the point. This fact of my life is not relevant when talking about sucking at my job or being late, etc, etc.

Maybe I'll start feeling connected now that all of my younger friends are back in town. Maybe that will help. I'm going to start repeating myself soon. Or maybe I can at least find something else to talk about. I just started thinking about how my contacts are in the case with the solution that requires you to wait six hours before putting your lenses back in your eyes. It hasn't been six hours. This really frustrates me right now.

I just remembered that I'm going to have to start paying for a bus pass. That's another 90 dollars a month. I'm going to be working at this fucking job that I can't even stand, and I won't have a fucking penny to show for it. I really can't take this. Not at all.

Boring Shit

I finally gained access to my grades from this past semester, and they weren't that great. Actually, they pretty much sucked, and by that I mean I got a few B+'s, an A+, and a D+. I've never done that poorly in school, and I don't give a shit. I graduated with over a 3.8 even with that hideous blemish on my transcript, and now I have two degrees that aren't really doing much for me right now, are they? I also managed to sort out the problem with the reimbursements from the Pitt show, which means I should have a sizable check coming my way next week, which will probably go to pay bills that should have been paid a long time ago, meaning I will still have absolutely no money.
I haven't really had a break from drag in weeks, and I really don't mind. I don't do much otherwise, aside from going to the gym and playing with my band once a week. When I go to practice, I am with my friends, and I feel like I'm doing something productive and being social at the same time. It just sucks when I have to come home and be alone again. Everyone else that was there tonight went to be with someone else afterwards. I'm getting stuck on that sentence--on that thought. I just want to cry. I'm a huge sap. What can I say?
Being by myself hasn't been all bad. It's obvious that I just need that sometimes. But I want to be able to choose it. I don't work well when that's my default. And there is a great bit of difference between being alone and being lonely. And I feel like I am lonely all the time or close to it. And it's not even overwhelming a majority of the time. It's just something that's always there. Just something that makes me sigh a little bit. Knowing that things aren't going to change any time soon isn't helping. Knowing that I don't stand a chance is definitely not helping.
Maybe it's living with other people when I'm alone that I am not good at. I mean, even when I lived with housemates before, I was with someone, and I had that connection. I wasn't really alone. We were together almost every night anyway. It's so weird, but I feel so much less trapped when I'm with another person. I don't know why I choose to keep writing about this because it means that I'm choosing to subject you to it again. I suppose this is just my way of processing, and I feel like the people who actually care enough to read this are the people to whom I need to communicate these thoughts anyway. If other people happen to read it, I'm fine with that. I do have my secrets, but I'm not afraid of the repercussions of revealing myself in this way. And I have been doing a lot better since I've been writing more. But no one wants to talk about it anymore. At the end of the day, I'm in my bed alone. And I wake up alone. And sometimes there's just no motivation to leave. I was supposed to get up early today again, and I didn't. I keep wondering how much of this being alone thing is my fault. I feel like I will know when I can be with someone pretty quickly, and I finally got to that point a few weeks ago (or maybe it actually has been much longer, as one of my friends believes), but now I am kicking myself every time I start letting my mind wander down that path. But I also feel that I'm terrible at hiding my emotions for an extending period of time, and I probably slip up a lot, and everyone notices, and then I look really dumb. But I look dumb a lot of the time, so maybe not.

I cleaned the bathroom today, and I actually felt really good while doing it. Part of it is having some clearly defined task and seeing it through to completion. But I think that reminded me of what it felt like to clean my own bathroom back at Dawson. I felt like I was home again for a little while, and it was extraordinarily calming. I get weird when cleaning because I like knowing that it's okay if I move or touch something that isn't mine. I think I have a really hard time accomplishing a cleaning task when that isn't the case. There is the possibility that I can move to a place that doesn't have any rent, which would mean I would feel much less guilty about my situation, but I fear that I would have the same issues, and this would be living with a person I just met and several people that I don't really know. That's going to take a lot, but I will be meeting them soon and hanging out with them. And it would be in an area that's much closer to everywhere that I need to be at any point in my current life. It's something I have to think about. And I guess I should probably see the place first. Maybe I just need to have control over something in my life. Maybe I just need to make that choice because having that ability would feel great. I don't know. I really don't know what I need right now in terms of a living situation, at least not entirely.

It makes sense. I don't entirely know what I am doing with my life right now. The problem is that I think I need to sort out the other matters before I'll really know that. And I don't know how long that is going to take. I really hope someplace just fucking calls me back about a job already. This is getting to be kind of absurd. I need to find something before the summer is over.

I just started thinking about how fast I was typing. I used to marvel at the way my mom could type. It seemed so fast, and I didn't understand how anyone could do it without looking at the keys. It took me a lot longer to be able to do that confidently, and I still occasionally look down to check myself, even though I probably don't have to. But it was just something that very slowly developed into what it is now--my typing ability. I probably type much faster than my mom at this point. I can generally move pretty quickly, no matter what it is that I'm doing, so that only makes sense.

I need to make some decisions. I hate that.

I don't know how it got to be this late. I'm freaking out about tomorrow because I need to run through a number with someone. I actually need to be awake early tomorrow. I should sleep then, it seems. Sorry this wasn't much of an interesting post. I'll think of something fun for next time.

"So...What the Fuck Do You Do?"

In the course of my undergraduate career, I have been asked my major literally hundreds of times, and each time, my response generates surprise mingled with a little bit of confusion. The average person is unlikely to recognize the connection between Neuroscience and Linguistics, but from the very beginning, I’ve been fascinated with how language works, and an integral part of understanding how language works is deciphering how language works in the human brain.
Throughout the course of my undergraduate research career in cognitive neuroscience, I have been attempting to synthesize information in the connectionist model of reading with a more general theory of cognitive semantics. Current models of reading suggest that written text is comparable to other objects in the external world, and perhaps the human brain learns to deal with them in similar ways. For example, Frith proposes several stages through which learners must progress on their way to reading proficiency. In what he terms the logographic stage, word processing has not yet become specialized, and individual words are represented as objects associated with their particular global features, meaning that there will be a high degree of inaccuracy if the font or pattern is altered. This means that a child may not recognize the word bat if it is written as BAT. In my eyes, this is quite similar to the concept of underextension: Children learning how to use their language in relation to objects in the real world often fail to recognize certain objects as belonging to the same class. In the beginning, learning how to read is very much like learning how to name objects appropriately: You need to know that a capital b is just as much a b as a lowercase b, just as you need to know that a poodle is just as much a dog as a cocker spaniel. Knowing the former is crucial to your understanding of the word form presented, and knowing the latter is crucial to your understanding of the concept of dog.
Briefly, the connectionist model of processing written (or spoken) language argues that there is a unified neural network that synthesizes information from phonology, syntax, semantics, etc. using statistical relationships. If we encounter a word, concept, or pattern of letters more frequently, some connections associated with this entity will become stronger for the next set of computations. Though this may seem like a unique way of dealing with language processing, many other mental processes are theorized to work in a similar way, such as object recognition as in the example above. I propose going further with this idea in the future because I believe object recognition is also intimately related to one’s internal language processing. The processes of language and object recognition may be tied together so well that we cannot wholly separate them at this point, however. I also believe that one can interpret the evolution of metaphor in a similar way. In the beginning, a metaphor must be explained and continually explained because the similar concepts that connect the usages are not as well defined, in reality as well as in the human mind. Once the human brain begins to associate the concepts, a connection is strengthened. It is further strengthened by repeated use of the metaphor, perhaps so much so that the original connections needed to sustain the metaphor are no longer needed. In this case, we may have a dead metaphor whose connection to the original usage is no longer apparent. (It is not to say that these processes are conscious. Our brains manipulate this information constantly and quite subtly.)
Inhibition and priming can also be related to the realm of language, though these are most often considered physiological processes that apply to other types of experience. When I understand the concept of go, I am connecting it to motion of some sort, and my brain starts to file through the different types of motion the word can indicate. Trying to define the meaning of the word without its context is rather difficult. However, when we place the word go in a sentence, the other words in the sentence will cause a particular set of neurons to fire, and these activated neurons will activate others that are connected to particular meanings of the word go and silence neurons that are connected to conflicting meanings. In this way, I can come to the conclusion that the meanings of go in I am going crazy and I am going to the store are not the same. However, when I am only presented with the word go and am asked to define it, what will I say? I will most likely give a response that is consistent with the most statistically encountered interpretation of the concept because those would be the strongest connections in my brain. This concept of strengthening connections is actually a very generally applied phenomenon known as long-term potentiation (LTP), and it is an observed phenomenon that is applied to all types of learning scenarios. But I believe that the concept of priming can override the statistically more encountered concept. If I have just finished talking about going crazy, and someone asks me what that word go means, the most recent example will most likely be the one I use to tailor my definition. Those will be the strongest connections in my mind AT THAT MOMENT because they have just been activated, and competing interpretations may still be recovering from some type of inhibition.
From the examples I have given above, it’s probably pretty apparent that I firmly believe in a more cognitive theory of linguistics (and pretty much any type of discipline that can be connected to mental processes). However, I do believe that formal disciplines offer great ways of modeling some of the more complex concepts. Drawing a syntax tree may be able to give us an idea of just one little piece of what information our brains may be using to process linguistic information, for example. But it is not an entirely accurate description of all the nuances of that processing. Chemical formulae are used as shorthand to represent much more complicated (and much less neat) chemical processes that occur in the real world, and perhaps one can think of formal semantics as adopting a kind of shorthand to represent an infinitely complex arrangement of neural processes that the realm of cognitive semantics is beginning to tease apart.

Love and Graduation

I actually couldn't wait until I could sit at a computer with a proper space bar, but I'm getting quite used to pressing this little circle when I need to separate my words. It's funny what we can get used to, what we let ourselves get used to. For the past several months, I let myself fall into trap after trap in both the beginnings and endings of relationships. I've said it before, and it's not going to surprise anyone that I've had difficulty being single because I haven't been alone for this long since I was fourteen. And things were very different then.

I don't miss going out on dates. I have plenty of people that want to go places and do things with me, and I mean, I've also got plenty of people who want to fuck me. But that's not what I want or need from someone at this point. Maybe this is what the older folks refer to as wanting to "settle down", but what I miss most is having someone with whom I can be absolutely...ordinary.

I miss the warmth of the body that hits the snooze button just to spend five more minutes wrapped in my arms, the piles of clothes here and there that remind me that this space is not yours or mine but ours, the other toothbrush, going to the grocery store, sitting on the couch in my shorts and being content to never move again because everything I need is just right there with this other person.

I miss being loved more than everyone else. I miss being able to give that to someone else too. I miss the secrets. I miss the games. I miss being able to come home to something. I miss having that someone waiting.

And I worry now that I am too broken for anything to ever work again. Time after time, I've had thoughts that I'm just not cut out to be in a relationship. It seems silly when you look at all of the asshats that end up falling in love, getting married, and spawning more little asshats. But maybe my understanding of love is different from theirs. Perhaps it's a really strange understanding. Statistically, I should be able to find another person who shares that understanding. But what if I don't even LIKE them?

What I'm doing now isn't working. I need to know where I stand with him. I don't think we feel the same way. And that's fine. I just need to know what this even IS. I don't do well with my feelings if I can't categorize them in some way. In order to respond appropriately, I need to know exactly what my relationship to this person is. It's formulaic, yes. But this is pretty much the only way I can function.

Maybe I'm stupid for even getting myself into this. For someone who has struggled with his body his entire life (you can't be surprised by this, really) to enter into a sexual relationship with someone who has a physical aversion to even touching certain parts of him, he must be a fucking desperate idiot, right? But I like him. And I thought that would be enough. But seeing that look on his face makes me want to cry. It makes me want to stop everything and forget I even wanted something for myself. It makes me so aware of what I am and what I am not. Of what I can and will never be.

I feel shame and need to cover myself. I need to hide.

Things are different now. Before, we learned how to handle this together. It was new for both of us. Now I'll be forever teaching my partners what it means to make love to this body and this person. But how many of them will really be able to do that? I keep having horrible thoughts about it. Maybe I've created something that no one can ever love. Maybe I've always been unlovable anyway.

And that's the loneliness I'm feeling. I said the other day that I was never sure I was really okay for any considerable length of time. I'm still trying to get over the most recent bought of being brought out of being okay. I was more than okay. And being able to start this transition made me truly happy. But that didn't change how I would react to having my heart broken over and over again in the months to follow. And I haven't fully recovered. You can't weather this kind of storm. I should have learned my lesson from the first time I had pneumonia.

School is over. I'm done. I am officially a college graduate. Now what the hell do I do? I'm most likely going to be getting a full-time job in the next few weeks. That's the start of "real life" for me, I guess. I'm excited. But there's another part of me that thinks things aren't going to change enough for me to be happy. But I know I can't run away or anything like that because that's too much change. I'm sure I'll have more to say about this graduation thing in the weeks to come since I can't appreciate it at this point. Everything still feels the same. It still feels like a summer vacation about to start. But there are things that will never be ever again. And that terrifies me too. I hate losing things. Maybe that's why I hate things to change when I don't want them to. If I want them to, it's like giving something away, not losing it. You still have to prepare for it, but it is much less painful.

I can only be what I am. I've said this a lot recently. It is both liberating and depressing. And that's how I feel these days. Liberated. And depressed.

Words are still coming. But they will have to come out differently soon.

Out with the Old

I'm feeling really funny tonight, and I wish I could more succinctly describe it than I'm about to. Most of my friends aren't going to have anything to do with me tonight. I'm not even that surprised about it because I feel like this has been building up for a while. In addition, I keep thinking about things that happened about 3 months ago and all of the people that are no longer in my life--people I really cared about and assumed felt the same way about me. I just can't believe that not a single person cared enough to say something or to even attempt to make me feel like they thought I was a real person. Maybe I actually fear that there were people who understood what happened and why I made my decision but they just weren't strong enough to speak out against the mob mentality that had begun to reign over the entire group. I hate when I have to question more than four years worth of memories. Was any of it real? Where are my friends now? Where were they when I really needed them--when I had all but lost my own family, was afraid of being murdered, was afraid to go home at night, was having meltdowns and panic attacks almost every day, and was afraid to even mention it to them because I didn't want to have them make me feel like the problem child? I hated being treated like a nuisance and I hated causing problems for people that were supposedly doing so much for me. But I started to question things. I'm a pretty perceptive person, despite some deficiencies. In fact, I make up for those by being very, very good in other areas. I won't say which ones because those of you that care will know what I mean anyway. It also helped to have eyes and ears "on the inside". I guess I knew it had been going on with certain people for a long time. I'd heard it from multiple people, but I never expected to catch the person I did, and on a night like that, that was the last thing I needed. That was one of the most crushing things I have ever felt. I felt every little fiber of my heart being ripped apart over and over again. And I was seriously depressed for a long time, and I don't think I'm completely over all of that yet, but it sent me on a pretty awful spiral. I lost a little over 10 pounds in a few weeks, partly because I didn't feel like eating and partly because sometimes I just couldn't afford to anyway. I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me. I guess I'm just feeling really frustrated, and I wanted to get this all out tonight. The year is almost over, and I'm going to have to leave things behind again. But I hate feeling like I have to leave behind all the good things and happy memories because I can't be sure if they were real. I can't be sure if a certain person was being genuine in helping me out all the times he did. I really don't know anymore. He was the person that made me want to stick around the most this year. He was my connection to the rest of them--the one who had known me longer than the rest. I got through some of the shit other people were saying about me because of him, and he made me feel like it didn't even matter because there were far more people who didn't see me that way. But now I'm not sure that that was true, and I'm not sure that he even gave a fuck about me. Maybe he was just doing his job, keeping the peace. How do I tell? I know I'm going to lose them all forever. I don't want that. But I don't see any other way at this point. I need to proceed this way because it's going to happen again, and some other kid's going to get their heart ripped out. I'm seeing the signs already, and I don't like where things are going for some of the others. What do I tell this trans bass drummer from up north when he asks me about joining the line? Think about that one.
I'm queer. And I'm out. This is something I've been struggling with for a while now, and the whole thing gets me absolutely livid. People don't have a problem with gay people. A lot of people say there is no problem at all as long as they don't "act gay". Well, what does that mean? It really means that they are exhibiting atypical gender behaviors. People don't have an issue with sexual orientation. The real problem is deviance from expectations of gender. If a man displays typically feminine characteristics or interests, people take issue and violence can ensue. If a woman does not, she is invisible, ridiculed, not real. It disgusts me to know that had I just been a "normal" guy and kept quiet about my queer life and interests, I wouldn't have been mocked, harassed, and humiliated like that.
I need to start getting ready for tonight. Hopefully, I will be in a better mood later on, but many of the people who could have cheered me up this time last year aren't going to be anywhere near me tonight or any time soon, it seems. Maybe some of them--perhaps most of them--are gone forever too. But I have found new friends in places I would never have expected. In fact, I was sure that I would not like one of them at all, never having had a real conversation. But that just goes to show you that you really can't rely on first impressions. That's a problem that I've faced before too. I'm not always the easiest person to get. I may not say a lot or may seem disinterested, but I'm probably just overwhelmed and thinking way too hard about the whole interaction. I'm not shy, in reality. If you get to the real me--if you can get past all of that other shit--I'm very friendly and love talking to people. And more than anything, I love to make people laugh. I am the ice breaker, and that's often at my own expense. If I can make it easier for the whole group to interact, I will gladly strip myself of my dignity. But you should be aware that this does not give anyone else that right.
Alrighty. Pushups, then clothes, then to the party.

Neuro Class

I have that funny feeling behind my eyes that tells me I haven't slept through the night, but what feels even worse is the way I can feel my heart beating double-time as I lie there twenty minutes before my alarm is supposed to go off. I knew my day was going to be shitty from the very beginning, and things haven't been getting any easier. I have something to say to professors who think that poster presentations for ten people in a tiny ass room with everyone else in the class wandering around while all of these people are talking is a good idea: It's not. I felt like I was going to scream the entire time, and I couldn't really listen to anyone anyway. And now I have to GIVE one of these presentations on Wednesday. Guess who's going to fail.
You know what that means for the class I'm in now? There's no point in being here for me because I'm not able to pay attention. I'm glad I have this here to keep my a little focused on something, even if it's not what I'm supposed to be concentrating on. You have no idea how happy I will be when this semester is over. It's strange, but I know that the reason that this whole semester has been out of whack for me is because of the way it started, and even if I have most of my shit together now, the fact that I didn't start out that way really screwed me up. I need this current phase to conclude. My filter's going to work a lot better when I can clean out all this gunk from the fall semester.
I'm going to graduate after all. I need to fill out a bunch of forms this week, but other than that, it's going to happen. There were a lot of times when I didn't think it would, for various reasons. Maybe I thought I was going to be arrested. Maybe I thought I was just going to quit because I couldn't take it. And then maybe I thought that I wouldn't be able to afford that next payment.
I don't know why I was so uncomfortable last night. I have some theories, though.
I need to leave this class early anyway. Why did I even show up? Oh, because I didn't go on Wednesday. I've had to miss way more class this semester than I ever have in college, and this might even rival my absenteeism in high school.
I still feel kind of sick.
I'm starting to get that twitchy feeling.
Another thing that pisses me off...When a student sends you multiple messages about missing grades and random zeros you've entered in CourseWeb, it'd be nice to have a fucking response instead of telling me when I confronted you about it two weeks later that you had gotten my messages and that you'll get to them. Some people don't like to miss the start of their next class. However, I just don't like talking to you, and that's my excuse. And you know...I really just don't like you.
I know that I'm probably feeling funny because it's almost time for my shot. I know the dose isn't high enough. I started feeling really shitty on Friday night. I think I'm starting to recognize a pattern here. Dr. Gold never got back to me about the blood tests. My insurance isn't going to cover them. I'm going to have to go somewhere else where maybe someone can help me out. I just want all of the random suck to stop for just a little bit. That'd be great.
I'm really not taking any of this in.
Why do I have to be so messed up? The worst part of this is that I get away with all of this and have for years. I don't know whether that's good or bad anymore.
I promise to write something where I'm not just bitching about random shit soon.
I'm seeing a nutritionist soon, so I have to leave this class early. I'm getting extra credit for it. I'm kind of interested, but I am worried that it's going to be a huge waste of my time.
I am terrified of the insane debt that I've gotten myself into. I don't think I'll ever get out of it. I couldn't make the payment this month, so it pretty much doubled when the late fee was added. And, um, I still can't pay it, so I don't know what's going to happen except that things are going to get much, much worse.
What the hell am I going to do after graduation? It's not freaking me out, but it's still worrisome. I have all these options now, and decisions are scary. It was easy when I knew exactly what I wanted to do and exactly what I needed to do to get there. Uncertainty is a huge part of my life now. I can't tell if that's messing with me or not.
I had another dream about getting into a fight with someone. This was way more epic and involved more people on both sides of it, and it's an event that might have happened a few weeks ago had I chosen something different.
I just want to stop doing things. I need like 3 or 4 days of nothingness. That's not even going to happen over break because I'm working almost every day. I really need to make that money. I just wanted my fucking name changed before graduation, but now I need to worry about this credit card shit before it really gets bad. I mean, it's already bad. And things aren't looking up.
I alternate between believing that I'm actually depressed and thinking that there are certain things going on in my life that would reasonably make someone feel this way. Sometimes you're supposed to feel like shit. There's nothing wrong with feeling depressed when someone close to you dies, for example. So if I am reminded from time to time of something that really makes me feel terrible, it's not pathological to me. I think what's making me question this is the fact that I get reminded of this almost constantly. I feel pretty stupid about not being able to control this--not being able to force myself into forgetting. I think I've said too much already.
Byez.

Over Days

People fight. This is something that we all know. But we still have trouble accepting that this is a perfectly normal facet of our lives--that sometimes we'll just have to scream at the people we love and empty ourselves of all the feelings that we've been lugging around for days, weeks, years, or maybe for our whole lives. While it's not okay for this to occur on a regular basis for an extended period of time, we may come to points in our lives when it seems like we are constantly fighting with those closest to us. This is a period of change in the relationship. It's a violent chemical reaction with atoms and molecules colliding all over the place. Our individual responses are modulators that can take the reaction down different roads. They can act as catalysts, inhibitors, or reacting elements themselves. But change of some sort WILL happen. And I don't think change is always negative, despite the way I seem to react to it initially. And just because a relationship is changing doesn't mean you need to break it off to try to preserve the integrity of the relationship that you used to have.

Little arguments aren't the end of the world for me. Even big ones can be okay sometimes. We'll get over it, and we'll try to do better the next time. That's the only thing that really matters to me. It's simple. It's nothing profound that I have said here, but most of my ways of dealing with people are very simple in nature. And I've found that to be pretty effective.

I need to get to the DMV at some point tomorrow. I need some sort of temporary thing so that I can really enjoy going to the reunion on Sunday/get my fifty bucks worth of alcohol. In reality, I probably won't drink that much since there is a rehearsal that night, but having the option would be nice.

I really don't want to go back to listen to this lecture.

So I'm going to run for Homecoming King. This should be a lot of fun. :)

Food. Now. Go.

Snowcation

These snow days have given me time to read again--given me time to think for myself for the first time in what seems like an eternity. So I suppose that means you have to deal with my mental vomit now, as I am drunk with too much thought for my body to contain.

I could say so many things about banquets and suits and events of several weeks ago, but this isn't the time, and this certainly isn't the place. But I can talk about snow and football.

In 1993, a lot of us experienced a snow storm of similar magnitude to that which occurred over the weekend. But this isn't the same. Elementary school snow days, while we all adored them and appreciated them as much as we could, can't quite compare to what we are experiencing now. I am not discounting the stresses of a life from which I have not even truly separated myself (that life being my childhood, of course). But you can see all around you the remarkably effective ways children deal with their day-to-day stresses. Children don't need to be taught to relieve their stress with meditation and yoga and psychotherapy. Their relief springs from a much simpler source: the innate desire to PLAY.

On the morning after the storm, people were ambling, clambering, and trudging through the middle of the streets, now laden with solid sheets of whiteness. The roads became giant footpaths, inaccessible to traffic, and therefore inaccessible to many of the things that distract us from what really matters. Even cars parked on these roads began to disappear under nature's fine white carpet. It's another clue to what's important, and it's a not-so-subtle reminder, like the storm itself, that we are not the ultimate masters of this universe.

But amidst the chaos of collapsing social order and diminishing institutional control (however minute), we noticed something else. I'd like to think it had something to do with the absence of the "essential personnel." In the absence of these adults--these people who have long since forgotten--we were able to remember.

Those students carrying bags of bread and milk (and cases of Budweiser) were significantly outnumbered by students carrying sleds, skis, and snowboards right down the middle of Forbes Avenue. We saw relay races in the snow on the Cathedral Lawn. Snowball fights. Snow angels. People being together. And playing. It was as much a snow day as any other we've had, yet it was way more than any snow day I've ever seen. In an environment where we are conditioned to believe that the only way anyone can have any fun in college is to do Jell-o shots off half-naked sorority girls and tear down bus stations; where we are forced to become enemies with one another because we are taught that being cutthroat will get us further in life, when all that further means is that we'll want to be even further and that we'll have way more to worry about when we get there; where we are constantly being told that we have to be mature, that we have to shove aside these childish pursuits and studystudystudy all the time and make sure we do this constructive activity and that and put this on our resume over here and add this thing too...In this world, I think the most important thing that we can remember is that sometimes, no matter how much shit is going on in your life and how much you should be doing this or that, what you really need is to go outside, pack down a handful of snow into a perfect sphere, and play.

I think football will have to wait. It's a completely different subject, and right now, my time is better spent not spending my time better at all.

Blackout

I was walking home from class around dusk. The streets were darker than I had ever seen them. Absolutely no light except the slivers from the sky, barely breaking through the clouds, frozen magma overhead. And the wind didn't just howl. It moaned. And it squealed. Then it whispered, fading into apocalyptic silence. I didn't pass another human being the entire way down Atwood street, and as I descended with the landscape, my only company being the sneakers swaying overhead on electric tightropes, I felt my insides rise up in exhilaration. I might have begun to sweat, but fear played no part in my autonomic response. This was the body's way of responding to something it has never experienced before, and will likely never experience again. It was my body's way of tuning in to the physical world--of realizing just how beautiful that world can be when stripped of its material "necessities".
I made the tedious journey through the impenetrable darkness of the winding staircase leading to my third floor apartment, finding the proper key by the feel of the cool metal ridges against my skin, perfectly attuned proprioception allowing me to unlock the deadbolt almost effortlessly. A few steps in, I grabbed the large white candle atop the bookshelf in my living room, hopped delicately over the various articles of clothing strewn about the floor, and made my way to the stove. I turned the dial on the left-hand side of the range and waited for the subtle hiss of gas escaping the valve to evolve into flame before thrusting the cylinder of wax head-first into the inferno. No blaze of glory, just a flicker in the darkness. Just enough to let you know that everything is going to be alright.

Random Stuff

I'm in a class right now, and I can't really think of a good reason for updating. I have plenty of things that I need to say, but I also have no idea how to say them now. I might need some quiet time on my own for that. My dad did come to visit this weekend, rather unexpectedly. I was even more surprised by what happened through our conversations. My mom didn't come with him, however. I can't blame her. I know how upset she is. I know how this must be killing her inside. I don't understand it, and I wish I did, but I'm not going to deny how traumatic this must be for her. My dad seems unbelievably calm, and what is most astounding to me is that he actually seems to understand. And he's mostly okay with things, but I'm not sure if I would call that agreement. I think he knows what not accepting this and dealing with it could do. But my mom just wants to avoid things right now. She's going to have to deal with it sooner or later, though. Aren't we all guilty of avoiding our problems, though? I know that I am. But I'm also guilty of going to the opposite extreme a lot of the time. I just want to fix things and get shit done, and sometimes it just takes time. Sometimes you just need to wait. But sometimes I don't get that.
It's getting pretty hot in this room.
Random: I took a quiz today. I did not enjoy that.
I really just want to sleep, but I know that I need to read and study tonight.
I wonder how many people think I'm taking notes in this class. I seem like that good student to some people. Other people think I'm a complete jackoff. I can't say to which of those I am closer, but I am a little bit of both.
My face is breaking out a lot. I know it's only going to get worse. That's one thing that's definitely going to suck. I need to get to a dermatologist ASAP. Speaking of all of this shit, I need to call Persad tomorrow. I'm also expecting a call from my dad tomorrow. Roar. At least I don't have to work for the rest of the semester. That does give me some time, but I need the money. I don't know how I am going to get money for the rest of this time here. This sucks. Maybe I can do some research studies.
So Zoo Crew. I'd love to do it, but doing Elements means I wouldn't be able to make all of the performances for basketball games that they have scheduled. I know I'm not the only one. Maybe if there were weekday games and practices, more of us would be able to do it.
Done for now. Sorry this wasn't that interesting or cohesive.

jajnlks

I said I would do work when I got to the library, but all I can do is write. I just need to get this crap out of my mind. But there's no way that can happen. This isn't just something I can ignore, like I said. I especially can't ignore the fact that I'll probably be away from my family on Thanksgiving. They're probably going to see my brother without me. I wouldn't be surprised if they turned this around and told him that I didn't want to be there. Or maybe they'd be nice about it and say that I was playing at the WVU game or make up some other bullshit excuse. I don't know. I really do want to see him. And I really don't know what I would do if I were there. It seems like something that he really needs to know since both of my parents know and something terrible is likely to happen if I do end up going and something comes up in conversation. Maybe I should just suck it up and go and sit there in silence the whole time. That's usually what happens when we're all together because when I do say things, nobody agrees with me. Everyone always tries to negate what I say. I'm in college, so I have to be stupid, right? I am really just annoyed with that argument. I go to one of the best universities in the country and my circle of friends includes the best students at that university. We are seriously going to be the leaders of this country, and we're trying to fix all the fuckups of my parents' generation. We're trying to save their asses and our own. We aren't the ones who caused these problems, and we're not the ones who just let them get this bad. When shit doesn't work, you don't just complain about it, you do something about it. I'm doing something about my life. I take charge of things that are important to me. And I always work toward understanding why I'm doing the things that I am. I don't take things like that for granted. You should know why you believe what you believe, why you want what you do. If you know these things for yourself, there is no way that anyone can devalue what you believe. Why do I feel that people hate me so much for knowing what I want and having the balls to do it? I hate knowing that people think that I am crazy because I am doing something that is different AND IT IS MAKING ME HAPPY. Ever since I started this whole thing, I've been way more confident. I've been growing into myself. I'm learning what it means to be a man, in more ways than one. I like where I am going. I know this is right for me. How can people argue with that? How can people just assume that they know what is best for me? They haven't lived in my shoes. This is just one of those things that is very difficult for people to understand if they've never been exposed to it. I wouldn't assume to know what it is like to be a gay black kid. I have no idea what those experiences are like. But I do know what my own experiences are. And I have taken the time to examine them closely.
Somehow I hope this is helpful, for me and for others. I hope that in writing all of this shit, something makes sense to someone, even if that someone is myself a few weeks, months, or years removed from all of this. I know I'll have something to look at a long time from now, and I know I might be able to send someone in the right direction, perhaps my mother, if she ever comes around. I feel like my father never will. There might be a glimmer of hope for my mother, but that's even more unlikely than winning the lottery every day for a year. Actually, I'd love to find out what those chances are, just for shits and giggles.
Again, I should be in class now. But you know, I'd be doing the same thing I am right now. Except right now I have a friend by my side in the library.
I went to work today for two hours, got nothing done, but sat in the office with one of my best friends and ate shitty Chinese food and had a bitchfest. I really needed that. And I know that I'm doing what I need to do now.
My head is full of so much ridiculous shit. And the best thing is knowing that my friends will never abandon me.
Why do New Found Glory songs describe my life so perfectly?
"It's hard to get rejected by the one you most expected to be by your side, your first thought being you should run and hide."
Oh America. We've become the Land of Pretending to be Free. Does anyone even know what that means anymore? Freedom. Does anyone even know why we exist as an independent nation in the first place? Don't get me wrong, I love my country. I love what we are supposed to stand for, and I stand behind those ideals. But the meaning seems to be lost to so many people. I hate being political, so I'll stop. I'm not just talking about party affiliation and all that shit. I rarely ever do because I just don't believe in political parties. Maybe if it worked like it did in other countries, but hey we're so fucking obsessed with binaries here that we might as well weave them in to every aspect of our lives. Argh. My life is ridiculous. I hate it, and I love it.
I would never want to be anyone else.
I've tried to make that as clear as possible, but I guess some people will never understand. I'm fine with that. Just make the effort.
The only thing I ask of anyone is effort.

Grown-ups Should Not Have Access to Facebook

Nothing ever happens the way you plan it. It seems that the more you want something to happen a certain way, the less likely the event is actually going to occur that way. I'd been working up the courage to tell my family this whole time. I've been laboring over all the things I wanted to let them know and preparing for any questions they could throw at me. At the same time, I was preparing for the worst. It always seems to happen for whatever reason, so it's become a habit of mine to at least be ready for it. I was in bed with her, just lying there being lazy on a Saturday afternoon, so happy to be where I was. We had just come home from a two-hour long interview with a girl doing a project on the life of a drag king. I was feeling so contented and affirmed as a human being. Then out of nowhere, I get a text from my mom saying that we haven't talked in a while. I sent her a message back in agreement, along with a little sad face icon, trying to lighten the mood. I knew I would be in trouble when I got her next text: "I don't even know you anymore." This is one of those phrases that sets off all the alarms in my head. It's one with which I'm very familiar, and I just knew it'd be used against me in this particular circumstance. I had to play it safe, though, just in case she had no idea. So I asked what she was talking about and if everything was alright. I don't know how it happened, and I have no idea why my mom was snooping around, but she saw my facebook page. She noticed that my name was different. But I really don't know how much else she was able to see. The only thing I could do was call her. That conversation lasted for somewhere between two and three hours, I think. I barely remember any of it. I was panicking the whole time. It took me a lot to get my brain and mouth to function together, and I don't think I would have had enough left in me to pay attention to myself anyway. She hung up on me once. I waited for her to call back. She hung up on me a second time. But she didn't call back that time. She wasn't screaming. I know that I just broke her heart. But everything she said to me was so accusatory. She started blaming my friends. "Which one of your idiot friends talked you into this?" It just seems that she can't fathom that I can make decisions by myself or that I actually take the time to think about the things I am doing before I do them. She really is the one who never changes her mind, who never grows as a person. I guess she just doesn't get that other people do. I swear that Fox News is the worst thing that has ever happened to my family. She kept saying that she's lost her daughter--that all she has left are memories and that I just obliterated her daughter. She started talking about things that she'll never get to do with me, like shop for a wedding dress. I almost wanted to scream at her that it's not like I'll be able to get married anyway, but I used my better judgment. She talked about not being able to do girl things together anymore, like shopping. That was the only example that she gave, and I just flat out had to tell her that I would still love doing that, and there is nothing about me that's going to change. She kept accusing me of trying to be a different person and pretending. She started saying that she must be a really horrible person for all of this shit to happen to her. Like I haven't heard that before. Like I haven't said that myself before. I screamed at her at that point, saying that she couldn't use that excuse to guilt me into anything anymore. "How can you think that this is a good thing?" My mother is a woman who adamantly refuses to understand the distinction between sex and gender, even though I have explained it before. She also said something about having her heart broken finding out that I'm a lesbian. I flipped out then too because I am not a lesbian. I have never once used that word to refer to myself, and I just kept wondering if she was even paying attention when I came out to them for the first time. She talked about my trampling all over her thoughts and beliefs, and she wouldn't even explain that further, so I have no idea what that was about. She said so many things that hurt me. She said so many things that do not bode well for the future. Well, the first thing she did was accuse me of ruining her holiday, with something like "Happy Fucking Holidays, right?" She talked about how the whole fucking situation blew up last time, and I pointed out that maybe it wouldn't have if she would have just let ME come to her about it when I was ready to. Silence again. There was so much silence. The awful kind. She was just refusing to say anything. Or maybe she had nothing to say. When I asked her if she would consider talking to someone who knew more about it, she said no. When I asked her if she would like to look something up on the internet to learn more, she said no. When I asked her if she wanted me to send her something or give her something, she said no. She has no interest in understanding what is happening. "Do whatever you want, alright. I just don't care." That's perhaps the worst thing you could say. She kept asking me why it was so important for her to understand it or talk to me about it or accept it. I gave the same response that I had given numerous other times in the conversation: "You're my mother! ...And you're my friend." I just can't help but think that it's all about her. She admitted that she's worried about what other people will say. She admitted that she doesn't want to change her mind and that she wants to pretend that it's not happening. The first thing she mentioned about it when I asked her was how uncomfortable it made her. She talked about losing her daughter and her memories. HER. It just doesn't matter to her if this is what's going to make me happy. She asked me what I wanted from her--what I expected from her in letting her know this. I freaked out. But I told her what I wanted: The love and support of my mother. And you know, even if you didn't agree with it, you could have been like I'm hurt, but I'LL TRY. That's all I really want from my family. I want them to try. I want them to be a part of my life. I love them. They mean everything to me, and how can they expect me to keep this from them or expect me not to want them involved in something that means this much to me and for me? How can I go through this without them by my side? I just don't understand her unwillingness. Is her love for me really conditional? She just kept yelling at me, "You're not a guy! You're not! You're just not!" I just don't know how to handle this. I'm not freaking out right now, though. I wasn't for very long. Part of me was prepared for this. A large part of me knew that this was going to happen. I don't feel like things are going to get any better. My family doesn't do that sort of thing. Except for my brother. Before my brother got arrested, all prisoners were evil, horrible people that couldn't be trusted ever again. They have a completely different view on it now and proclaim their message to the world. When it first happened, my mom was all over the internet looking for resources and talking on message boards and all that crap. Before I came out to them, the gays were always the other people, and though they never explicitly stated it, the way they spoke about them indicated that they were inferior and immoral. Well, after I came out to them, their feelings are still the same. At least, my mom's are. My dad seems perfectly okay with things because I just don't think he gives a shit. My mom didn't go on any message boards about that. She didn't try to learn any more about it from me or anyone else. She pretends that it's not there. But you know, that's really not going to work this time. There are things that she just can't ignore. At the same time, she thinks that those things are going to completely change who I am. I asked her what she meant when she said that. She mentioned my voice, the way I look, the hair on my body, etc. Not once did she mention a core quality of mine. Nothing about my personality or character or the person she raised me to be. She only mentioned external things that are visible to her and to the rest of the world. That's how she defines me. It seems that I'm nothing more to her than what she can show to everyone else. And that really fucking hurts. I know she's more worried about what this will do for her reputation or whatever. I just don't understand how she could have raised someone like me. I don't get how she could tell me to be so tolerant and tell me that I could be and do whatever I wanted. Maybe she didn't mean any of those things after all. I hate growing up. It's all about realizing that the people you admired as a kid aren't so great after all. My mother used to seem like the nicest person in the world who would do anything for anyone that asked. But now she just seems so hateful and cynical. I really don't know what to do about this. I love my mother and the relationship we have, or used to have, I guess. I used to be able to talk to her about everything. I never kept anything from her. Now I feel like she wants me to. I feel like she is forcing me out of her life because she can't deal with the person that I've grown into. I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm growing more comfortable with myself all the time, and I finally know what I want for myself. And she hates it because it isn't normal. She hates it because she can't brag about what a beautiful little girl I am anymore. I wonder how long it's been since she's even shown anyone a picture of me. I wish I could have supportive parents. I wish I could have people who really do love me for who I am instead of what I look like or what kind of trophy I can be for them. "Look what an awesome, smart, talented kid I was able to raise. Look what I did." As much as I understand this, I also need to point out that my musical talents didn't come from them, my grades were my own doing, and my athleticism wasn't just purely genetic--I had to work at it. What I wish they could see is the kind of person I am inside and be proud of that. I wish they could be proud of the way I treat my friends and the way I feel about humanity. I wish they could be proud of my desire to save lives and to heal. I wish they could be proud of the character they have developed in me. But you don't get diplomas or medals for those things. You can't hang them in the living room for all your annoying relatives and acquaintances to see. I have so much shit to rant about tonight. I'm sorry for that.
I had so many things planned for today. I was going to study. I was going to practice a lot and memorize all of the music, which I'm still going to do, but now I won't get any sleep. I was just about to go to the gym when I got that phone call from her, and when I got off the phone I was way too dizzy to get myself to the Pete and underneath a barbell. My whole day was thrown off course, and we all know what that does to people like me.
I want to know what this means for Thanksgiving. Are they still coming out here? But I worry that if they do, my mom is just going to be miserable the whole time and blame me for it. I don't need that. I really can't handle that right now. If that's what is going to happen, they shouldn't come at all, and I need to find a way to get to my brother. I need to send him the letter I've been working on. Maybe if I explain it to him in writing, he'll be able to talk to my parents. On the other hand, he could respond in exactly the same way. I'm really afraid of that. My brother is even closer to me than my mom. We seem like two parts of the same soul. I don't know what I would do if he never talked to me again.
The saddest part of this is that even if they never talk to me again--even if all they ever do is send cards and occasionally say hello to me, even if our relationship is completely fucking destroyed because of this--I know that I'll be okay. I know that I have the strength to go on. I know that I have a group of friends who love me and will never let me go. I know that I am wanted somewhere in this world. It just sucks that it may not be in my own home. I might lose my family. I'm terrified of it and would do anything I could to prevent it, but that's a very good possibility. But I can get through anything. That's what I've learned through all of this shit in my life. That's what THEY taught me, for Christ's sake. It's so terribly depressing that this might be the way I have to prove it. I don't know why this has to happen to me. I don't know why they have to react like this. I don't know what purpose it serves me. But I know that I will be okay in the end. I always am. As much as it sucks to know that and not be able to get to that point right away, I can see it in the distance, no matter how things turn out. It's 11:11. There's only one wish I can make tonight.
I was honest with her tonight. Completely. I couldn't dance around anything. She just has no idea what this feels like, and to have her totally dismiss and negate all of my feelings is painful. I tried to explain. She didn't understand. She's not willing to, and that's obvious. I don't know what I should do. I don't know if the next move is supposed to be mine or hers. And I don't even know if there is one. I might be spending the holiday by myself. It's not that I'd have nowhere else to go. It's that I wouldn't feel right intruding upon another family. I'd feel out of place. I'd feel like I'm spoiling quality time with the family. And I'd probably just have a break down in the middle of dinner anyway after realizing that the last time I had a Thanksgiving meal at home with my family was 5 years ago and that I may never have another one again. I don't think I'd be able to deal with that. It might be better just to spend the day catching up on some work or going for a run through the park. I really need to know what's happening with this.
Sometimes I feel like God doesn't want me to do well in my Functional class. First the flu, now this. I need to study. I need to do work. I need to look at my music some more. My head is in a million places. Why now?
Another example of my mom's selfishness: "Why can't you wait until after graduation so I can at least have that in my life?" I had no idea what she was talking about at first. She wanted to see her daughter graduate. And all this time I'm thinking: So it doesn't matter that I am going to graduate after completely raping the shit out of this academic system? It doesn't matter at all what I've done. It only matters that I did it while being a girl? It doesn't make sense to me. Am I just insane for not understanding this? Am I expecting too much of her in asking for her to TRY? Why can she only think about herself? And I really want to know why this had to happen tonight? Tonight was supposed to be easy.
I'm so annoyed with this. I don't have time to have a fucking crisis right now. I'd rather have my crisis during the break. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. Is someone trying to teach me a lesson in life skills or something? Am I supposed to ignore everything that's going on in my life just to get this shit done? How the fuck am I going to do that?
I don't even know what I need right now. I'm sitting here quite calmly, though that pissed off feeling is lingering, mostly because of the inappropriate timing of this all. My head is kind of spinning. I got very tired a little while ago, but now I'm wide awake and full of energy I have nowhere to place. Sometimes I really hate being a soap opera. But I guess this life is better than anything else for me. I really just don't want to be the cause of my mom's mental breakdown. What do I do?
Not much is making sense right now. I'm not even sure I am. I have so much random shit going on inside me that I don't know where to turn. I don't know if I should head across Oakland to see my friends. I don't know if I should make a stop at the Crew House to talk to people that I should have talked to at the very beginning of all this. I don't know if they would receive me well. They'd probably not have time for me. But I can't just assume that. Assumptions always get me into trouble. I'm right a majority of the time, but when I'm wrong, the consequences are usually disastrous, and I can't deal with any more of that either. Maybe I should clarify something. When I say I can't deal with things, I usually mean that I am fed up with them and need something to happen to change them immediately. I don't mean that I'm going to fucking collapse or do something to harm myself or others. That's just not how I roll.
I don't know what else I can say. But I'm afraid of what happens when I stop writing.
Why does that song seem so much more appropriate now? "Don't Let Her Pull You Down"
I need to lose myself in music. I may end up in a lot more places tonight.
If only the rest of the world knew how fucked up any other random individual's life was...
Alright.

Fall Routine

compartment with an internal view
on the 3rd floor
black five on a green door

mix-match batch of laundry
book stack, back pack
stolen times, signs, and memories

damp air damp hair
leaning stares, shuttle stop
drop and (buzz) roll

class on class off tune out
come out in an elevator
every time I hit number 6

Pitt. Band. Pitt. Band Pitt Band Pitt. Band.
cold metal hard wood loud good
late night taped white. show time.

trek home sleep alone. phone rings.
come over come closer please come
together lights out. snooze button sunrise.

compartment with an internal view
1st floor
her numbers on a red door.

Pre-Voyage Ranting

Nothing horrendous happened today, but it ended up being one of those absolutely shitty days because so many little things occurred today that either pissed me off or depressed me deeply. And sometimes they did both. I'd never been happier to get out of practice early than today, and I suppose that feeling has been building for months now. I'm just proud of myself for not snapping right there. But an hour later, I ended up alone in the bathroom of Posvar writing a "secret" that no one will read--that will most likely be rubbed away by the night maintenance staff. It doesn't make sense that feelings like that should wash away so easily. I copied it down because I thought it was important, but I don't want to put it all here. It's not like it was terribly long, but there's a point in it that sticks with me now more than the others, and I'll bring it up because it's not necessarily part of my current psychological crisis, though it is related.
I'm never going to understand why it is just absolutely unacceptable for me to do certain things, while other people can do the same things and to a greater degree without others thinking anything of it, though I get bitched out for it. I'm really getting annoyed with it. And I don't say anything because I'm already the odd one out. I'm the intrinsic outcast. In existing, I am already breaking rules and pushing things just a bit too far. And sometimes I just want that to stop. There are so many times when I want to be considered normal--for people to think that things I do are part of my personality and unique to me and to stop comparing me to other people with whom I feel I have nothing in common, except maybe that one thing down there.

Maybe I've been thinking about this so much because people wouldn't have to look past the outside to see the real me. I feel like my body is a brick wall between me and the rest of the world. If I didn't have to worry about it, how much of an easier time would I have relating to people? No matter what I put on, people make assumptions that are never going to be quite right, and while that is probably true for everyone else in the world as well, like I said before, I'm already in the red. Nothing about me would be weird if I hadn't been born this way. Not having a side to go to can be pretty fucking lonely. And maybe that's something that's never going to change anyway. Why do I feel so far away from everyone? Do I have to fight to get past the same wall? This is absurd.
I'm doing everything I can not to cry because there's no point in shedding tears for these fucking bastards. There's no point in crying because maybe people don't even realize what they are doing. Maybe nothing is even happening and I'm just insane. This is just one of those times when I feel that I don't belong anywhere, and it's hitting me pretty hard right now. I'm so fucking worried about this trip. I'm worried about spending that much time on a bus with people and trying to relate to them, not all of them because I know that I've got good friends in some of them, but many of them. I just hate when I say something and everyone just fucking stares at me like it's the weirdest thing they've ever heard. And this happens almost everywhere I go, and it's been happening my entire life. I know I'm not stupid, but I feel incompetent when I try to initiate a conversation and it just dies right in front of me. And this always has to happen in front of a shitload of people, of course.
And maybe the world and I will never quite understand each other no matter what I do. I wish I could figure it all out. I wish everything that other people did made sense to me. I wish I knew how to act all the time. I wish I knew more of the rules. But maybe I wouldn't follow them anyway because some of them are just so fucking stupid, and I don't see how they could fool anyone. Do people think this world would fall apart if we just cut the fucking bullshit already? Or do people just want to spare their own feelings by attempting to spare the feelings of others every once in a while? Drop your egos and grow some fucking balls. I have no problem when people call me out on shit. I just can't stand hypocrisy, and I can't stand wasting time. I really don't know what I'm supposed to do. About anything. This is absurd.

Distracted

I'm supposed to be studying now, but I can't concentrate. I've been thinking about something for a few days, and it's been something I've thought about in the past. I really never thought I would have to think about a decision like this. It's hard for me to even mention it. If I did make the decision, I'd be absolutely annihilating any chance of joining the military. And I can't even begin to think about the reaction I'd get from my family. I've just had this ridiculous knot in my stomach for about three days. I have no idea what I should do. Part of me wants to do what I have always done and just forget about it for a while and to tell myself that I come pretty damn close anyway. I'm sure everyone knows what the hell I'm talking about by now, and maybe that's a little scary too. And maybe it's not something that I should do. How am I supposed to know? There's a part of me that wants to do, and there are parts of me that are terrified of what could happen to me (on many levels). But I guess if I weren't scared out of my mind, I'd really have something to worry about. And I don't even know because some days, I look in the mirror and I'm perfectly happy. But sometimes I'm not. Sometimes things just don't match up, but there are times when things feel perfectly aligned. And I worry about the same things that everyone does, I suppose. I wonder what my friends would do. I'm sitting in my office now, and it's taking a lot of energy to keep myself from breaking down and crying. I have a meeting with someone at 1, and I don't know if I'll be able to concentrate on what I have to do. I really wish I could take some time, but I doubt it'd be helpful. I'd probably just browse the internet and worry more. If I could start studying, that would take my mind off of things, but I really don't know if I should ignore this anymore. And maybe nothing will come of this, but it's still nice to know that you have everything in order--to be sure of it all. I keep wondering if this is what is supposed to happen to me. Has my life pointed to something like this all along? I guess if you look at any pictures of me, well, ever, you might think so, but until a few years ago, it was never something that crossed my mind either way. I've always just been myself, and it's never mattered one way or the other. Part of me thinks that there would be no reason to do it because I would still be me. But part of me thinks I might be a happier or more confident me. I'm really not sure, and I wish I had a clue of what to do. I can't even believe this is happening. And I have no idea what to do about the part of me that just enjoys being a little different and enjoys messing with perceptions. My head just feels so heavy. Maybe it just comes in cycles and I will forget about it. But the thought has more than crossed my mind more than once. I guess this is why they make you try it out first. Even that seems like it would be exceedingly complicated. God, I hate pronouns. When you think about it, that's really the only thing that would change if I were to try it. And maybe no matter what I am, I'm always going to be a queer. I'm going to wear the same clothes that I have. I'm going to do the same things I've always done. Too much is happening in my head right now. Web effect. I would love to talk to someone about this, but I would hate for that person to assume that I'm like everyone else who has thought about this before. I would hate to be labeled before I got a chance to say anything. Objectivity is the enemy here, which is rather unsettling for me. And ultimately, it's a decision that I have to make, but I don't believe that means I should make it alone. And part of me wants to say that if people could just stop paying attention to stuff like this, there would be no need for such changes. Fuck. Everything only ever happens all at once, it seems. It's 12:34. I'm making a wish.

Fuck.

Calming down doesn't mean getting over it. In fact, I think I'm actually worse off than I was yesterday, even if I'm not showing any outward signs of distress. My brain is functioning properly this morning, but that only means it can more accurately and efficiently process this situation. My stomach is boiling, I'm still dizzy, and I really don't even want to be alive right now. I don't want to talk to people or see anyone because I don't want to explain why I'm acting this way. I made a phone call last night in an attempt to make this right, but there is absolutely nothing I can do. It's over. It's over for the biggest bullshit reason I have ever heard. It's a reason that absolutely doesn't make sense, and it was even agreed that, were I anyone else, the decision would have been different. I should have been allowed to come into this year with a clean slate, but instead I had the entirety of last year working against me, and I hardly count that year as a fair evaluation. There are so many inconsistencies in this logic that it's absurd. I brought these up and received no answer, and I can only assume that that is because there is none. A piece of me has really died. So many things have been absolutely ruined for me. I'm never going to be able to go to another Pitt football game and enjoy it. I'm never going to be able to watch my friends play without wanting to break down and cry. Even being around the House, where I used to feel so safe and at home, is going to make me feel awkward, inferior, and out of place. I feel like my memories of this experience will be tainted forever. How can it be that I'm going out like this? How could I possibly consider my self an alum. That's not what happened. I didn't graduate. I've been cut. I've been cut for reasons that have nothing to do with my abilities as a drummer, and that's beyond comprehension right now, and I don't think it'll ever get to that point. I hope it doesn't because that means I'll have stopped making sense as well. Maybe my first hunch was right. Maybe people have just gotten tired of dealing with me. Why am I not given the same chance as everyone else? Why do people think it is better to completely strip me of my identity rather than give me that chance? If my performance aspect and memorization abilities are the subjects of concern, why would it be acceptable and encouraged to join another section in the band on an instrument that I can't even play, where the same things will be required of me? If Jack thinks I am capable of this, then there is no reason I should not be capable of doing it on the instrument that I already know. I keep wondering if Jack knows the whole story. No one's ever going to know what really happened, and I don't know how many times I'd be able to tell this story without crying or wanting to hurt someone. I'm glad I'm not the only person who thinks this is absolutely ridiculous. I'm glad that while I was on the phone last night, a friend of mine had to leave the room because she couldn't stand listening to what was coming from the other side. I'm really not okay. I'm not going to pretend to be okay for anyone. And I'm never going to forget this, and I'm never going to feel okay about how things turned out. I love this drumline. I will never stop loving it and what it stands for, but a lot of people are beginning to forget. I want to be involved in any way that I can, but no one has given me any option to stay involved other than Jack. From that I can only conclude that the staff just don't give a shit anymore. I'm not going to leave. I am going to stay involved in any way that I can, even if it only serves as a constant reminder to everyone of what happened. I hope they look me straight in the face on game day this fall and see the empty space they've left behind it. I hope they never forget this decision, but the worst part of this may be that not a single one of them is going to lose sleep over it. I hate being lied to. I hate not knowing what really happened in those meetings. I don't know how much more I can say. I'm honestly dying inside right now. I can't think about anything else. I can't concentrate on anything that I have to do. Drumline is what has always kept my life in balance. It was the center of my universe. Do you know what happens when the sun burns out? And I just can't help feeling that this shit always happens to me. I'm not saying I'm the only one. I'm saying that I'm the only one I know who constantly has to deal with the most random ass disasters and soul-crushing experiences. I'm getting a little tired of this. I have to wonder how this is good for me. How does this make sense? Why would God let this happen to me? I see no reason for this--no purpose. I wasn't exaggerating when I said that I have never felt worse in my entire life. I still want to march. If I can't march here at Pitt, I will try to march somewhere else, but do you know how amazing it felt to be part of that at this school? I love Pitt, and now I can't show it or express it in any way. I can't do the thing that I do best. I think I'm beginning to ramble again, and I'm sorry about that, but I'm attempting to get lost in the characters and keystrokes, and I'm almost there. But something in my head isn't letting me get away. I've got an anchor weighing down my conscious mind, and I'm sinking fast. This time I really am drowning, and the only people who have the ability to save me just told me that there's no more room in the boat and that they have to save their resources for more useful people on board. I'm floundering here in this ice cold water--ice cold like the turf at the practice field against my bare legs last season. The water is filling my lungs. There's no room for anything else.
I feel like the outside is mocking me. It looks so beautiful. This was supposed to be the best summer of my life. Now it doesn't feel like summer at all, and I don't feel like I belong anywhere. I've been thrown away. I see people smiling and going about their lives this morning, and I can't even attempt to smile back. I have nothing to smile about now. Everything I have looked forward to all winter has been annihilated. There is no hope in this situation for anything good to happen. And how do I explain this to my family? How do I explain it to all my friends who were planning on coming to games to see me this year? How can I ever chat about the good old days of Pitt Crew with the alumni without feeling out of place? How can I ever belong again? I don't want to go out like this. This is not the same as marching off the field on Senior Day and never being able to march because your time has already passed. This is just cruel. This is wrong on so many levels. I could understand cutting me if I completely sucked ass, but that's not what happened here, and I really don't want people to believe that. It's not so much what people think about me as what they think about the people in charge of this decision. People deserve the truth and not some bullshit excuse that makes it easier to explain. I can't ever be okay with something like this. It's like asking someone if he'd ever be okay with cold-blooded murder. All of this shit is making me not want to do anything ever again. Can you blame me? The only advice I've been given has been to give up. I'm basically being told that I'm not worth it. I entrusted my heart and soul to these people for 3 years--put them into every note that I played for them. This was my life. And it has ended in the worst way possible. If you think I am exaggerating, then you have no idea how much this has meant to me and has influenced my life and my every decision here at Pitt. I literally built my world around this identity. It's how I always define myself, and I don't have anything now. I can't just create a new identity for myself out of necessity. I'm not falling apart. I'm decaying from the inside out. I feel like I've lost all purpose here. I don't really see the point in trying for anything now. I'd feel so much better if I had been hit by a bus. Maybe then I'd be remembered differently. I'd be a martyr instead of that loser who got cut as a senior. I've given so much to this drumline. I feel like I have been forsaken and disowned. I just don;t know. Fuck.

Fuck. My Life!

When I first started doing research in the fall term of my sophomore year, I had these grand expectations that I would spend my entire undergraduate research career in that same lab. However, several weeks into this experience, I began to loathe the people with whom I worked, and going to the lab was a terrifying and psychologically draining experience for me. I did not feel that I was truly involved in the project, as I was merely running gels and PCR's for other researchers in the lab, though I did have to kill a bunch of mice and slice their brains apart. Although I enjoyed the technical parts of the lab, I wasn't extremely passionate about what I was doing. Adding that to my social experience in the lab, I made the decision that research wasn't really for me, but I decided to pursue a different aspect of neuroscientific research--one that combined my fascination with the human brain with my love of linguistics. As I become more involved in the lab and accept new responsibilities, I'm realizing that I enjoy what I'm doing a great deal. I still want to be a doctor, but now I have the option of becoming and MD/PHD to consider. Aside from the financial and logistic problems I'd have to work out regarding my other plans in life, I'm a little worried that I would be spending my entire life in the lab instead of treating patients. If the time were divided evenly, there would be no dilemma here. Of course the information session for students interested in this option is being held at a time when I have class. Things can never be easy, can they? I'm sort of rambling, but when something upsets the balance in my head--a balance created this time by my own certainty in what I plan to accomplish after graduating from Pitt--it takes a while for me to be alright again. Actually, I'm not really okay until I have it figured out again. Even if the final decision is rendered oxymoronic by adjoining the modifier "temporary", my mind will be able to focus on other things while processing the decision in the background. I'd really like some help with this one.

Long-Time Coming

I'm currently in the midst of another pointless Physics lecture on topics most likely unrelated to material covered on the final exam, and I'm thinking that there's no better time for a frustrated premed student to write about putting on fake facial hair and prancing around on a stage in schoolboy shorts and barely anything else. Yes, I know it's been a few weeks, but I'm finally going to write about the Drag Show.

As I recall (to use a phrase that has become so trite that it has lost almost all meaning), that Thursday began with hellfire and fury, rape-saucing me to the brink of exhaustion with two major midterm exams and an annoying homework assignment for a Neuroscience class taught by a senile old man who has a plaid fetish. Anyway, I somehow made it through that day alive, though drowsy and in deep desire of some solid slumber. I let my mind wander throughout my last class of the day, which would not have been the last class had it been any ordinary Thursday, allowing it to pursue its grandest confabulations of how the evening would unfold, and I'm sure there were moments during that span in which one would have caught me smiling and spurting sighs of satisfaction for seemingly no reason. I remember that I dressed like a girl that day, wearing a waist-fitted shirt whose message contained a minute irony understood only in the context of the events that were to come, and a pair of my best girl pants, hoping to shock, stun, slam, flatten, and floor friends and strangers with the transformation that had taken place.

Kelly and I were the only people in the Kurtzman room for the first hour or so, and while she was pining about the pangs of womanhood, I was gathering up all the masculine energy I could muster, and I was getting antsier, angstier--getting into the role, if you will. It was a snowball of a process, really, kicked off by the kicking-off of the monopoly shoes and the shedding of those girl pants. Red high-top chucks and little black schoolboy shorts, reminiscent of the attire of a 1950s adolescent boy who thinks he's way cooler than he actually is, became a part of me, and from these objects I drew more energy. I wasn't sleepy anymore. I was wide awake and with these shoes I just had to jump right out of them, it seems, so I ran around the room a few times and starting kicking at the air. Isn't it weird how things can change when you change what you wear?

Half-dressed at the time, I shifted my mind. Attend to the faces, we both agreed, and we knew the place we needed to be. It wasn't the door to the left but to the right, at least for tonight. So I stood there as she becoming he pasted hair on me becoming me, and when it was through, nobody knew that I wouldn't have belonged there in a week or two.
I needed to run, just a little bit more, and time was winding down, and people started coming in, getting ready to come out in a whole new gender. I ran through a crowd of well-dressed young people back into the sanctuary that was the Kurtzman room. Boys becoming girls and girls becoming boys and maybe a few people like me all gathered together for their transformations. There was tape, tape, and more tape. Goodbye penis! Get an ace bandage and goodbye titties. Is it really as much an illusion as we try to tell ourselves? And what about me? No. No ace bandage here, but I had a sock in pants, and that night, maybe I didn't even need that.

The line wrapped around the building, and as more human energy filled the William Pitt Union, we the performers, sponges for life that we are, absorbed what we could. The anxiety began to hit. The doors opened. People filed in. Sanity filed out, and Joseph, dressed in his best butler attire, introduced the first performer of the evening, the King of Wishful Thinking, Christopher Crash. I was watching him and watching the door, waiting for my skanks to arrive. We had practiced the night before for several hours, and that's when I knew without a doubt that it'd work out. I absolutely knew what we could do. The numbers flew by, and shortly they arrived, practiced for a bit then wanted to sit. Dominique absolutely ruled. Let's go see what Dylan can do.

The two of them on that stage, in the time between the double D's, collecting money and making jokes, seemed to take an amount of time exponentially longer than any other span of time between numbers that evening. Part of that was true, as they ran around the audience collecting tips from those too small and shy to approach the stage. "I swear this kid's been a drag king all his life. It's just that nobody thought to put a stage under him before. Dylan Dickhersoon."

Then the music started and I ran, and the light was bright--brighter than I remembered--and there was screaming and laughing at my attire and ma' prance. The rest was a blur pieced together much later, only by stringing together a series of pictures taken from various angles and by various audience members. I rubbed my body with dollar bills and threw my tie to the hills. I did a white boy strut and duck-walked without fucking it up. Then the breakdown, build-up, and off comes the shirt--into the darkness a strip of white and my chest is exposed. "WTF" they say, and I don't know if they're reading or not. Screaming so loud the music was drowned out, but I knew the music in time, so I kept with it, confident. I took a walk back, with my arms outstretched as the cue for my girls rang through the hall, and they joined me to dance and to flaunt. A few seconds left, I made my way back, and I struck my bad-boy pose that showed off my back.

And that was it, and I could barely breathe. It all seemed like a dream. It was as if I had just emerged from a panic attack minus the panic and full of way more attack. The rush was ridic, and it took me a bit to come all the way down. I walked back into our sanctuary and changed into street clothes, grabbed a can of root beer and a fake cigarette, and I emerged with that little plastic guitar slung over my shoulder and with that cocky smile on my face, knowing in my head that I, yes I, totally owned that place.

Then I don't know when it was, but he walked onto the stage, guitar slung over his back. He approached the microphone and began to speak, and tears welled up in my eyes. The song began, and I fought my way to the aisle and took a seat beneath the light that had to be killing his eyes, and when he was done, I rose and placed a dollar in his hand. A high five sealed the deal because, you know, that's what guys do. And then I walked back to the corner for the rest of the show.

We ended up at Fuel and Fuddle. But we were definitely in way more places that night, even if we never had a chance to leave Oakland.

So, that's what happened. How do I feel? That may be more or less complicated, depending on who you are. I felt like me. I wasn't really acting in the role of a stereotypical male. You're right when you say that drag is not pretending to be someone else. For me, drag is getting to show the rest of the world another part of myself. For me, this other part of myself is the part that isn't nervous around people. This is the part of myself that knows he's funny and smart and good at so many things. He exudes confidence, and you can see that. What else is in me? There's a lot left mixing around. There's a lot of anxiety and awkwardness and uncertainty, and for one night, in front of a crowd that would have made the other part of my huddle in a corner and cry and beg to be spared, the Dylan part of me emerged triumphant. Cory came up to me immediately after the show. He didn't say anything at first. Then he spoke: So you can do THAT...but you can't play drums in front of people?!? Is this the same girl who couldn't play legatos without freaking out? No. But Yes. What have I learned from this experience? Everyone has always told me that I need to be more confident--that I know what I'm doing, even if it's tough, and that I should trust myself and just do what I know how. But no one has ever told me that I already had this confidence somewhere inside of me. No one has ever been able to show me where it is or how to find it and channel it. But I think I've got it now.
And you know that Dylan part of me? Well, there's the Elise part of me too, right? And do you remember how in high school chemistry, they taught you about emergent properties? I am not just Dylan, and I am not just Elise, just as water is not just hydrogen and oxygen sitting down next to one another. I am these things, yes. But I am so much more than that.