I haven't even had the chance to sleep in my own bed since getting back from nationals early Monday morning. I was pretty eager to start putting away all of my things, reorganizing my room, and getting on with the business of everyday living again. But each time I touched anything in this room--each time I picked up a piece of a costume or a trophy or even opened my suitcase more than a crack--I saw the things, feelings, and people connected to them, and I couldn't bring myself to do it just yet. I've had more fun in the last week than I have in years, but I have also felt more pain than I thought I was capable of enduring.
Most people know that I didn't win this year, and I knew exactly what I did to lose the very moment it happened. I can't pretend that it wasn't one of the most painful experiences I've had to deal with in my performance career. I had no one to blame but myself, and these were mistakes that just simply shouldn't have happened. I didn't think I could ever feel that broken again. I had let everyone down, again, and this time, I couldn't walk away feeling like I had done the best that I could, which would have made everything perfectly fine. I was convinced I never wanted to put myself in that position again, risk feeling like that yet another year later. In those hours immediately following the conclusion of the pageant, I had finally come to the point of believing I just had nothing left to give. The magic was gone. And I couldn't get myself out of it.
I don't know what brought me back to reality. Maybe it was hall twerking in my underwear with three of my best friends. Or eating four pounds of Chinese food the next morning. Or seeing one of the people I love and respect most in this industry win his dream bar title the day after stepping down as Mister Gay United States MI. Maybe it was seeing my drag kids place top five in their very first national pageants ever. Maybe seems to be kind of a useless word at this point in the conversation. Collectively, my experiences began to chip away at pain enveloping my every thought. Would I really want to give this up? Ultimately, I had to ask myself, "What kind of person do I want to be?" What will be my legacy? Perseverance.
Because nothing worth having is ever easy, and someday, I will look back on all this pain, and it will be invisible. I know this isn't over for me. I know I am my own worst enemy. This year, it was about celebrating my demons, not fighting them. Now I realize that it's not so hard to fight them, and it's not so hard to be proud of them, but it is infinitely more complicated when you need to discover the balance necessary to achieve success.
But, while I was sitting expressionless in the front seat of the van, unable to move from the parking garage back to the room, he reminded me that I had achieved so many victories that weekend, regardless of my placement on the final night. I gave my kids the experience of a lifetime, and though I may not have won the war, I won a few very important battles. Interview and Question and Answer. I beat something I have been fighting for years. I still don't know how to feel about losing the category that I'm "supposed to be" the best at. My head probably wasn't able to keep up at that point. Everyone keeps telling me how well I did, but there is that part of me that knows how many mistakes I made. I know that I didn't get to show them the best parts of me during talent. That will stick with me for a while, but for now, I can celebrate the win for my new brother and sister. I can look forward to a fantastic year of growing, strengthening, and promoting a pageantry system that has made me who I am today. I cannot wait to work with everyone. The energy has returned.
More later.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Ten Days
I've only been in Pittsburgh for ten days, but it feels like I have been back for several weeks already. Though the first few days were very difficult, it didn't take long for me to feel at home. I want to expound upon this at some point--why transitioning to a new location is such a mindfuck for me and how I have learned to cope--but I leave in a few hours to head to nationals for GUS, and though such a topic deserves more than a passing mention, my head isn't quite ready to commit to writing about it.
The day it sank in for me was the day we played softball in the rain. I have and will always connect with people through shared experiences. It's not enough to just talk about common interests. I need to do things with you. Sports and their basic mechanics, like music, have a natural rhythm to them.
Rhythm is a form of communication. It is a form of interaction all its own.
Playing on that field in the rain made me feel things I had forgotten I could feel. Playing sports, dancing, and playing music all require you to somewhat share the same consciousness as others. I finally felt grounded in my city again. I finally felt able to call Pittsburgh my home again. It became real that afternoon, and despite the abysmal weather conditions and the possibility of getting struck by lightning, I can say without a doubt that I was just plain happy.
It's so much easier for me to talk to people when I do things like this.
I too am ready for whatever comes next.
I have finally learned to say "no" to people. It's been the hardest lesson I've had to learn. I am naturally a much too giving person, and when I also care about the things with which people need assistance, I tend to feel guilty about refusing. I have something very big and very important coming up this weekend, and it has been a constant struggle to remain focused and to love myself enough to put myself first for the time being. I am excited to see old friends and begin working on these new projects, but now is happening now. I will treat my present with the same respect I treat my future.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
For B, Who Has Been Waiting
Peter came into Rainbow without really knowing me as Elise. (That seems so strange to write when it isn't on a medical form.) But he told me that he always perceived my energy to be masculine, and he said this and acted in ways that really made me believe it. There weren't many extraordinarily detailed conversations about the process: no Trans 101. Peter was the kind of person who educated himself on these details so that he could enter into a conversation with a trans person as an informed ally. He focused on me when he was with me, not my transition or my trans status. But what impressed me more was the he embraced genderqueer concepts in his own life. As a cisgender gay male, that's not an easy thing to do without facing some sort of backlash. The gay male community is full of bottom-bashing stereotypes and pressures of its own. I've grown to fear some of them myself.
He told me a few times how he knew there was a bit of woman inside him. That he didn't really care about his penis but found it quite useful. Peter had his own sense of style, both internal and external. The best part about that was that these things hardly ever had to be discussed. Two people who know themselves never have to defend their identities around each other. That's what was relieving. No walls.
I didn't have to prove my masculinity any more than he did. Or femininity. Or gayness. Or anything.
And that allowed us to approach both public and private interactions at a much lower level of tension.
He made me feel safe because of this. Not necessarily in a physical sense, but in every other way.
He told me a few times how he knew there was a bit of woman inside him. That he didn't really care about his penis but found it quite useful. Peter had his own sense of style, both internal and external. The best part about that was that these things hardly ever had to be discussed. Two people who know themselves never have to defend their identities around each other. That's what was relieving. No walls.
I didn't have to prove my masculinity any more than he did. Or femininity. Or gayness. Or anything.
And that allowed us to approach both public and private interactions at a much lower level of tension.
He made me feel safe because of this. Not necessarily in a physical sense, but in every other way.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Peter
I've been waiting for words to come all day, and I don't think my emotions have entirely sorted themselves out. I got a message this morning on Facebook. I had to check the news reports to make sure it was real. It still hasn't managed to feel real. You were 25 years old. Your car hit a retaining wall and caught fire, but we know little more than that.
Throughout the day, I've been getting hit with memories that have made me smile more than frown, and the most incredible thing about this experience to me is that just as you had this unique way of bringing together groups of friends from vastly different social circles in life, so you have been able to bring so many of us back together to celebrate the beautiful person you were, even though you have passed from this world.
I know I will never be able to capture in words all of the memories with which I am left. I'm not even sure about the exact day we met. I feel like you grew into a bigger and bigger part of my life as I began to grow into myself and open up to people who had been trying to get close to me for months or even years. You grew into such a big part of my life that I remember spending almost every single day with you and never wanting to be apart. You were the one to help me pick up the pieces when I thought my life had fallen apart, on more than one occasion, during the most difficult summer of my life. You always had this way of turning tragedy on its head. You made me feel much stronger than I thought I ever could be.
I remember how you, James, Joseph, and I were the Golden Girls, and you were Blanche, of course.
I remember finding a box of bagels and cream cheese with you on the corner across the street from the Cathedral, as well as being curled up in pain with you on the floor of the Rainbow office after deciding it was somehow a good idea to eat them.
I remember dancing with you at Kelly and Chance's wedding this summer and how we both laughed because we couldn't figure out who should lead.
I remember the random summer walks, playing board games on your floor in the blazing summer heat when you had no air conditioning.
You loved mugs. You had the best mug collection I've ever seen, and I fondly remember our trips to Goodwill where you'd buy about five or six at a time.
I remember that time where we lived together without actually living together and how we only had that apartment for about a month. It still felt like home. I think that's because we both wanted it to be so badly.
I remember that you didn't own more than one pair of shorts. You insisted on wearing long pants all year round. As Melissa said, this is because you are a hipster. But you always denied it. Proving the point.
Speaking of which, that night we decided to scale a fence and go tagging was one of the best nights of my college life. It felt like we were in Stand By Me. That was way better than studying for finals ever could have been.
I remember walking along the train tracks with you and Kelly in the summer of 2010, taking a ridiculous picture of the two of us biting the same piece of meat on a stick after already having taken so many absurd pictures before heading to Pride in the Street that same year.
I remember how you talked often about how you talked with Paul McCartney when you were in London, and I thought this was the coolest thing ever.
I remember how much you desired to find someone with whom you could start a family and have children. We both agreed you'd make an awesome dad.
You also loved hotels. And now I totally understand why.
I remember the time you carried me out of my house and into your car when I was too sick to even walk.
I remember how you always slept with a fan going because you just couldn't fall asleep otherwise.
I remember the way you used to hold me in just the right way so that the tension just melted away. You made me feel safe and loved. And you were one of the first people in my life to truly see me for the man I am. You were one of the few people whose understanding of gender made me sigh with relief. For this, you were an invaluable asset to the transgender community of Pittsburgh.
I remember how valuable an asset you were to the entire queer community of Pittsburgh. You seemed to know everyone. You've touched the lives of so many people. You always brought people together. Every time I look back at pictures of us out on the town, we are surrounded by at least a dozen loving friends. Even when you were going through your own periods of darkness, you somehow managed to spread light wherever you went. You had this way of making people happy and bringing out their love for life whenever you came near. I wonder if you knew just how important to our community you were. How many people will never be the same because you were a part of their lives.
You helped me discover and grow into the person I am today, and you will always be a part of me. I miss you so much, and as I fight through this sea of conflicting emotions and struggle to grasp the reality of this situation, I think about what you would have wanted your closest friends and family members to do. As much as we must mourn the loss of a truly great and inspirational human being, we must also do you the honor of celebrating your life and continuing to work for the equality you believed we all deserve. It was tattooed on your hand, in plain sight, because you believed something so important should not be hidden. You were unapologetic about what you believed. And that made us all a little more comfortable with ourselves. You helped us learn to carry our spirits like you carried your tattoo. You helped us understand that we were not put on this earth to hide.
I think that is the most difficult part of all for me to handle. We were put here to live. And you embodied the idea of living life to the fullest more than anyone I knew, really. It seems cruel that the world has lost someone with such a zest for life--someone who had so much life left to live and so much more left to give. I haven't gotten all of these feelings sorted out yet, but this is what your memory has helped me learn in just the last half a day or so.
I had no idea that that dance this summer would be the last time I would ever see you. But it is truly one of the most beautiful memories with which you could have left me.
Even though you might have laughed at me in life for saying this, I do believe you are here with me, helping me along the way in this process of grieving. I want to thank your spirit for staying with me, and I want to thank all the friends who have reached out to me with phone calls, messages, and comments just to let me know that they are here. We will help each other through this because we are family. I love you all, and this whole experience--being completely new territory for most of us who have never had to deal with the loss of a peer so early in life--has made a lot of us realize how precious these friendships really are and how valuable our time together can be. <3 p="">
Throughout the day, I've been getting hit with memories that have made me smile more than frown, and the most incredible thing about this experience to me is that just as you had this unique way of bringing together groups of friends from vastly different social circles in life, so you have been able to bring so many of us back together to celebrate the beautiful person you were, even though you have passed from this world.
I know I will never be able to capture in words all of the memories with which I am left. I'm not even sure about the exact day we met. I feel like you grew into a bigger and bigger part of my life as I began to grow into myself and open up to people who had been trying to get close to me for months or even years. You grew into such a big part of my life that I remember spending almost every single day with you and never wanting to be apart. You were the one to help me pick up the pieces when I thought my life had fallen apart, on more than one occasion, during the most difficult summer of my life. You always had this way of turning tragedy on its head. You made me feel much stronger than I thought I ever could be.
I remember how you, James, Joseph, and I were the Golden Girls, and you were Blanche, of course.
I remember finding a box of bagels and cream cheese with you on the corner across the street from the Cathedral, as well as being curled up in pain with you on the floor of the Rainbow office after deciding it was somehow a good idea to eat them.
I remember dancing with you at Kelly and Chance's wedding this summer and how we both laughed because we couldn't figure out who should lead.
I remember the random summer walks, playing board games on your floor in the blazing summer heat when you had no air conditioning.
You loved mugs. You had the best mug collection I've ever seen, and I fondly remember our trips to Goodwill where you'd buy about five or six at a time.
I remember that time where we lived together without actually living together and how we only had that apartment for about a month. It still felt like home. I think that's because we both wanted it to be so badly.
I remember that you didn't own more than one pair of shorts. You insisted on wearing long pants all year round. As Melissa said, this is because you are a hipster. But you always denied it. Proving the point.
Speaking of which, that night we decided to scale a fence and go tagging was one of the best nights of my college life. It felt like we were in Stand By Me. That was way better than studying for finals ever could have been.
I remember walking along the train tracks with you and Kelly in the summer of 2010, taking a ridiculous picture of the two of us biting the same piece of meat on a stick after already having taken so many absurd pictures before heading to Pride in the Street that same year.
I remember how you talked often about how you talked with Paul McCartney when you were in London, and I thought this was the coolest thing ever.
I remember how much you desired to find someone with whom you could start a family and have children. We both agreed you'd make an awesome dad.
You also loved hotels. And now I totally understand why.
I remember the time you carried me out of my house and into your car when I was too sick to even walk.
I remember how you always slept with a fan going because you just couldn't fall asleep otherwise.
I remember the way you used to hold me in just the right way so that the tension just melted away. You made me feel safe and loved. And you were one of the first people in my life to truly see me for the man I am. You were one of the few people whose understanding of gender made me sigh with relief. For this, you were an invaluable asset to the transgender community of Pittsburgh.
I remember how valuable an asset you were to the entire queer community of Pittsburgh. You seemed to know everyone. You've touched the lives of so many people. You always brought people together. Every time I look back at pictures of us out on the town, we are surrounded by at least a dozen loving friends. Even when you were going through your own periods of darkness, you somehow managed to spread light wherever you went. You had this way of making people happy and bringing out their love for life whenever you came near. I wonder if you knew just how important to our community you were. How many people will never be the same because you were a part of their lives.
You helped me discover and grow into the person I am today, and you will always be a part of me. I miss you so much, and as I fight through this sea of conflicting emotions and struggle to grasp the reality of this situation, I think about what you would have wanted your closest friends and family members to do. As much as we must mourn the loss of a truly great and inspirational human being, we must also do you the honor of celebrating your life and continuing to work for the equality you believed we all deserve. It was tattooed on your hand, in plain sight, because you believed something so important should not be hidden. You were unapologetic about what you believed. And that made us all a little more comfortable with ourselves. You helped us learn to carry our spirits like you carried your tattoo. You helped us understand that we were not put on this earth to hide.
I think that is the most difficult part of all for me to handle. We were put here to live. And you embodied the idea of living life to the fullest more than anyone I knew, really. It seems cruel that the world has lost someone with such a zest for life--someone who had so much life left to live and so much more left to give. I haven't gotten all of these feelings sorted out yet, but this is what your memory has helped me learn in just the last half a day or so.
I had no idea that that dance this summer would be the last time I would ever see you. But it is truly one of the most beautiful memories with which you could have left me.
Even though you might have laughed at me in life for saying this, I do believe you are here with me, helping me along the way in this process of grieving. I want to thank your spirit for staying with me, and I want to thank all the friends who have reached out to me with phone calls, messages, and comments just to let me know that they are here. We will help each other through this because we are family. I love you all, and this whole experience--being completely new territory for most of us who have never had to deal with the loss of a peer so early in life--has made a lot of us realize how precious these friendships really are and how valuable our time together can be. <3 p="">
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Post-Pride Thoughts
So I've been in Annapolis for slightly longer than two weeks, with Capital Pride being this past weekend. For some reason I feel like I have been here much longer than that. Maybe it's the same reason I feel like I have known so many of the new people in my life for years. I feel at home. I feel like I will be able to make this place a home for myself--establish myself in a way that I've never been able to do before.
For the first four or five days, I had a pretty difficult time adjusting. I felt sure that I would lose the ability to plan out my life and get myself to the gym and to job interviews and to potential shows, and the only thing I could think about at all was how much I missed my family and how much of their lives I would be missing. I'm not exactly sure what happened to change my outlook. I began to focus more on myself and what I had rather than others and what I would be missing. As much as I will always miss my family when I am away from them, I cannot live my life like I'm watching a movie. I've been sitting by watching others experience happiness by living their lives to the fullest. I love my family. We have become so close in this past year alone, and that is something that I never want to lose. If I can, I'd like to see them at least once a month. My outlook has changed quite a bit since college, as I am starting to more fully grasp the concept of my own mortality and theirs. It is hard to imagine life without them, impossible to envision never getting to be with them again. But that day will come, and I have no idea if that will be twenty years from now or forty or even tomorrow. I also don't know how I will be able to handle their getting old. It will only remind me that it eventually happens to everyone, even me, fucking Peter Pan.
Anyway, the obsessive thoughts about what they were doing and how I could not be a part of those experiences subsided and made room for thoughts about my own present and future. I have found a new gym and am taking full advantage of it, and I have found one job already working at a gym that hasn't even opened yet. Even though I don't have much fitness sales experience, the owner was willing to give me the opportunity because my passion is something that can't be faked. That and apparently I sound great on the phone. I may also get the opportunity to help teach kids' classes, and I'll be able to shadow the trainers there as well, hopefully allowing me to get my certification pretty soon. I've had more interviews and job offers in the last two weeks than I have in two years trying to get jobs after college. I was actually able to turn down a job today. I hate retail and never want to do it again, so I declined the interview for Vitamin Shoppe because I know how miserable that makes me. I don't have to settle. And that makes me feel amazing. Just having the ability to make that choice is uplifting and makes me feel much less stuck.
Part of the problem with Wilkes-Barre is that it made me feel like I would be exactly where I was for the rest of my life, and not just in the physical sense. Even though I love this place and feel at home, I feel like there is so much promise in my life. I feel like big things can come my way. I feel like I am in control of making them happen. I feel like I am in control. It may not be perfect, but I have waited so long to feel like that, even just a little. I am making things happen for myself, which means I CAN make things happen for myself. I'm trying to enjoy it without thinking too much, but of course, that never works out very well for me. So I am thinking.
I am thinking about all the ways in which I can live my life. And it is hard to make a decision about what I want to do for the rest of my life. I miss Neuroscience, but Public Health will probably provide more job opportunities that can actually be useful to the community. And with any luck, I will get to combine my passion for both of these fields at some point. But now comes the hard part: Where do I apply? Do I stay in this area or try to get back to Pittsburgh? Do people in Pittsburgh even care enough anymore? I'm sure some do, but I am also sure that some people expect and hope that they will never see me again. A phone call every now and then would be nice. Maybe even a text that lets me know that someone still cares. But even if they don't, I have options.
Pride is different here. It was so much bigger. The parade was much longer, and people seemed much more excited about it. The festival itself was similar, but again, it was much bigger. I absolutely loved being a part of that parade. I loved getting to meet Ken Vegas, learning that he's just a real person--albeit an extremely talented one--and hopefully sparking a new friendship with someone just as interesting in the geeky kind of shit that I am. I loved that people were cheering for us and taking pictures--loved dancing in the street to the music blaring out of a speaker propped up in the back of a little red car with a big golden crown on top of it. I loved being able to provide that energy for people. I loved seeing the look on their faces when I jumped over three feet in the air...Everything about that day and the following night at the DC Kings' show (let's not even talk about the Saturday show), where I truly felt like a member of the family, even though I am not officially part of the troupe yet. This is how we should be as entertainers. No matter where we or from or what style we bring to the stage, we are family, and we all have at least that in common, if not more. I really felt that sense of brotherhood again, and if I could cry about anything that actually mattered, I'd be bawling right now. That is what I miss most about the HMH we started in 2010. Watching it turn sour hurt me so much. It was like losing a child. Maybe more like losing myself. Because I did lose myself to that. I lost what I had left of me, which wasn't much at the time. And when I tried to save myself, it only backfired. I am glad to see that things are finally starting to get back to the way they used to be.
Slight topic shift: Being single at pride is completely different than being with someone at pride. I didn't notice this much last year since I had other things on my mind. Last night, I realized that I may not know how to approach a relationship in a healthy way. I have only ever been a part of relationships where I have felt that I needed that other person to complete me. Even without being dependent on the other person, I would always lose myself in the relationship. I'd fall in love with the other person and his or her passions. I'd be so involved in them and us that I'd forget all about me. I've been in long-term relationships for a good majority of my adult life, and it's been almost a year and a half since I have not been. I am finding myself again. I am learning what it is that I love when I am all by myself. I am learning what makes me happy. I'm really learning how to live all alone for the rest of my life and still feel fulfilled. I still cannot shake that feeling of something being missing, but it is much less pressing than it has been. The problem is that now that I don't NEED anyone (or now that I am at least very close to that point), I am not sure how to get close to someone. I can't make myself vulnerable enough. I cannot find a way to bring down the wall. I don't know what I should be looking for in someone else either. And I still fear that no one will be able to handle me at my worst. I don't want anyone to have to, but I know that being with someone means that that someone will eventually get to know my darker side. Maybe I have to become more comfortable with that before I can move into the relationship arena.
For the first four or five days, I had a pretty difficult time adjusting. I felt sure that I would lose the ability to plan out my life and get myself to the gym and to job interviews and to potential shows, and the only thing I could think about at all was how much I missed my family and how much of their lives I would be missing. I'm not exactly sure what happened to change my outlook. I began to focus more on myself and what I had rather than others and what I would be missing. As much as I will always miss my family when I am away from them, I cannot live my life like I'm watching a movie. I've been sitting by watching others experience happiness by living their lives to the fullest. I love my family. We have become so close in this past year alone, and that is something that I never want to lose. If I can, I'd like to see them at least once a month. My outlook has changed quite a bit since college, as I am starting to more fully grasp the concept of my own mortality and theirs. It is hard to imagine life without them, impossible to envision never getting to be with them again. But that day will come, and I have no idea if that will be twenty years from now or forty or even tomorrow. I also don't know how I will be able to handle their getting old. It will only remind me that it eventually happens to everyone, even me, fucking Peter Pan.
Anyway, the obsessive thoughts about what they were doing and how I could not be a part of those experiences subsided and made room for thoughts about my own present and future. I have found a new gym and am taking full advantage of it, and I have found one job already working at a gym that hasn't even opened yet. Even though I don't have much fitness sales experience, the owner was willing to give me the opportunity because my passion is something that can't be faked. That and apparently I sound great on the phone. I may also get the opportunity to help teach kids' classes, and I'll be able to shadow the trainers there as well, hopefully allowing me to get my certification pretty soon. I've had more interviews and job offers in the last two weeks than I have in two years trying to get jobs after college. I was actually able to turn down a job today. I hate retail and never want to do it again, so I declined the interview for Vitamin Shoppe because I know how miserable that makes me. I don't have to settle. And that makes me feel amazing. Just having the ability to make that choice is uplifting and makes me feel much less stuck.
Part of the problem with Wilkes-Barre is that it made me feel like I would be exactly where I was for the rest of my life, and not just in the physical sense. Even though I love this place and feel at home, I feel like there is so much promise in my life. I feel like big things can come my way. I feel like I am in control of making them happen. I feel like I am in control. It may not be perfect, but I have waited so long to feel like that, even just a little. I am making things happen for myself, which means I CAN make things happen for myself. I'm trying to enjoy it without thinking too much, but of course, that never works out very well for me. So I am thinking.
I am thinking about all the ways in which I can live my life. And it is hard to make a decision about what I want to do for the rest of my life. I miss Neuroscience, but Public Health will probably provide more job opportunities that can actually be useful to the community. And with any luck, I will get to combine my passion for both of these fields at some point. But now comes the hard part: Where do I apply? Do I stay in this area or try to get back to Pittsburgh? Do people in Pittsburgh even care enough anymore? I'm sure some do, but I am also sure that some people expect and hope that they will never see me again. A phone call every now and then would be nice. Maybe even a text that lets me know that someone still cares. But even if they don't, I have options.
Pride is different here. It was so much bigger. The parade was much longer, and people seemed much more excited about it. The festival itself was similar, but again, it was much bigger. I absolutely loved being a part of that parade. I loved getting to meet Ken Vegas, learning that he's just a real person--albeit an extremely talented one--and hopefully sparking a new friendship with someone just as interesting in the geeky kind of shit that I am. I loved that people were cheering for us and taking pictures--loved dancing in the street to the music blaring out of a speaker propped up in the back of a little red car with a big golden crown on top of it. I loved being able to provide that energy for people. I loved seeing the look on their faces when I jumped over three feet in the air...Everything about that day and the following night at the DC Kings' show (let's not even talk about the Saturday show), where I truly felt like a member of the family, even though I am not officially part of the troupe yet. This is how we should be as entertainers. No matter where we or from or what style we bring to the stage, we are family, and we all have at least that in common, if not more. I really felt that sense of brotherhood again, and if I could cry about anything that actually mattered, I'd be bawling right now. That is what I miss most about the HMH we started in 2010. Watching it turn sour hurt me so much. It was like losing a child. Maybe more like losing myself. Because I did lose myself to that. I lost what I had left of me, which wasn't much at the time. And when I tried to save myself, it only backfired. I am glad to see that things are finally starting to get back to the way they used to be.
Slight topic shift: Being single at pride is completely different than being with someone at pride. I didn't notice this much last year since I had other things on my mind. Last night, I realized that I may not know how to approach a relationship in a healthy way. I have only ever been a part of relationships where I have felt that I needed that other person to complete me. Even without being dependent on the other person, I would always lose myself in the relationship. I'd fall in love with the other person and his or her passions. I'd be so involved in them and us that I'd forget all about me. I've been in long-term relationships for a good majority of my adult life, and it's been almost a year and a half since I have not been. I am finding myself again. I am learning what it is that I love when I am all by myself. I am learning what makes me happy. I'm really learning how to live all alone for the rest of my life and still feel fulfilled. I still cannot shake that feeling of something being missing, but it is much less pressing than it has been. The problem is that now that I don't NEED anyone (or now that I am at least very close to that point), I am not sure how to get close to someone. I can't make myself vulnerable enough. I cannot find a way to bring down the wall. I don't know what I should be looking for in someone else either. And I still fear that no one will be able to handle me at my worst. I don't want anyone to have to, but I know that being with someone means that that someone will eventually get to know my darker side. Maybe I have to become more comfortable with that before I can move into the relationship arena.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Something else about nationals.
"i feel like i really made an impression on people. and i learned something myself. what i got out of this was way more important than winning. in fact, winning may have even overshadowed how important this lesson was for me to learn, so maybe there is a reason for the way things turned out."
Monday, March 25, 2013
Long shot
Just when I didn't think anything else could go wrong, it did. I've been working on this shit for six months. I've spent almost all of my free time and money on it. And now that I may not be able to go, four days before the competition, I feel at such a loss. I haven't felt disappointment like this in a long time. I can remember exactly when that last time was, and I can hear their voices in my head telling me that I would never be able to do it. My reason for persevering is to prove that I can. I want to prove it to myself more than anything, but it would be nice to silence the voices in my head that have been chirping away at me for years telling me that someone like me will never be able to succeed to any great degree, especially in the entertainment industry. I know you were wrong then, and you are just as wrong now. I don't want this to be the end of this journey for me. I don't want to have worked this hard just to not even be able to show up. This is too important for me to just let go and go home, even though that would be the easy thing to do. It would be the most comfortable thing too. I wouldn't have to worry about having a meltdown or making a fool of myself. I wouldn't have to worry about having to go it alone. I wouldn't have to worry about forgetting how to talk to important people. I wouldn't have to be afraid of proving them right. I am bigger than all of the bad things that happen to me. It doesn't look good right now, but the only thing I can do is trust that the right thing will happen in the end, and I will end up where I need to be. I am not even able to cry. I can't scream. It is all just held inside of me. But it's not the same as before. It's not that getting-ready-to-explode-out-of-your-skin feeling. It's fuel burning inside of me. But I need to learn how to control the flame. I will work until the very last hour. Why would I operate under the assumption that I am going to fail? I can do this. I need to do this. And I will do this.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Thought
I might actually have friends, and that is scary. Having friends makes it that much harder to leave. I know from experience.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Step-Down
It's over. I'm completely sober, and I don't even think I'm tired. But my reign as Mr. Cattivo is over. I cannot even believe how much has happened in these last twelve months. But I think I said that already.
Everybody surprised me tonight. I really am proud of these guys for how much they have grown.
Let me also just say that I absolutely loved being in the backstage dressing room with Lady Rose and Tamara. That was perfect planning on Renee's part, and that definitely contributed to reducing the awkwardness that could have ensued.
What was awkward was staring out and seeing the first few rows of people giving me death glares the whole time. It's surprising how easy it is to ignore people who hate you when you just have to look beyond them to see the smiling, screaming faces.
But everyone was professional. It was nice. The way it should be.
And of course I cried, but I don't think most people noticed it. I don't think many who did had any idea why. And that's fine with me. Only I need to know.
I'm proud of what I have done. I need to keep thinking of it that way. I just hope it matters.
I'll probably have something more coherent to say when I've processed everything. But this is all I've got for now.
It also feels funny to try to congratulate someone who has blocked you on facebook, so you can't tag them anyway. But still, nicely done. And congrats to everyone.
Night.
Everybody surprised me tonight. I really am proud of these guys for how much they have grown.
Let me also just say that I absolutely loved being in the backstage dressing room with Lady Rose and Tamara. That was perfect planning on Renee's part, and that definitely contributed to reducing the awkwardness that could have ensued.
What was awkward was staring out and seeing the first few rows of people giving me death glares the whole time. It's surprising how easy it is to ignore people who hate you when you just have to look beyond them to see the smiling, screaming faces.
But everyone was professional. It was nice. The way it should be.
And of course I cried, but I don't think most people noticed it. I don't think many who did had any idea why. And that's fine with me. Only I need to know.
I'm proud of what I have done. I need to keep thinking of it that way. I just hope it matters.
I'll probably have something more coherent to say when I've processed everything. But this is all I've got for now.
It also feels funny to try to congratulate someone who has blocked you on facebook, so you can't tag them anyway. But still, nicely done. And congrats to everyone.
Night.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Return to South Oakland
Quite frequently, I get the urge to do something really nice and thoughtful for someone who absolutely doesn't deserve it. This happens with people I don't even really like all that much, but I am reminded of better times and of something that would make them smile, something that would be important to them. And I always want to be able to give that to people. I feel like this says way more about my personality than it should, and I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.
I'm staying with friends in Pittsburgh, and I do not feel pressured to party or be crazy or do anything I don't actually feel like doing this weekend. I feel like a guest coming in for a visit, not a freeloader or someone who just needs a place to sleep. I'm going grocery shopping with her tomorrow and helping out a little, not in return for her letting me stay here but because that's just simply the right thing to do.
It's strange how college apartments can feel like real homes. And then how some real homes will never be anything close to that.
I want to have the kind of home where my friends will always feel welcome. I want to be that safe haven for someone who really needs it. I want to just sit and be in the company of people who can live together as a family, who can be with each other in a room and not be strangers. I want to have the ability to control that about my place--the ability to open up my home to the people that matter to me.
The little things about people's places get to me. Seeing silly things like certain dishes or a Brita picther or even just movies on the rack instead of in some garbage bag three hundred miles away or shoved in a bin somewhere. Things have their place in a home. But I almost feel like I don't have one in mine. I think a lot of that has to do with my fears about January and my fears about my father. There are times I do want to just go upstairs and hang out with my mother, but I just don't want to be in the same room with him. I keep trying but it's so hard to get myself past what he's done and will inevitably do again. I don't know how to deal with this at all. I am learning a little more about how to deal with the good and bad sides of people (and that everyone does indeed have both), but what happens when the bad seems to outweigh the good so much? Is there a logical answer to this, and why the hell am I even trying to quantify good and evil in the first place?
More people getting married. Having babies and real jobs. And here I am. A wanderer with no sense of home or purpose. I wouldn't mind if I didn't feel like I were actually lost. I'm scared of not knowing. And I know I've said that too many times already.
I'm happy that I am right here, right now. As far as this present moment is concerned, there is no other place I would rather be. And I feel like I really will be able to fall asleep like a normal person tonight. I enjoy hearing laughter upstairs rather than crying or screaming.
I want my house to feel like home. And it doesn't NOT feel like home, entirely. There is just something missing, and maybe I just feel out of place. I feel like I don't really belong there. I don't even have a door to my room. I know that it is because I am still having trouble seeing this part of my life as anything other than a stepping stone to the next part, which may mean that I am afraid to make the place feel like home again. You can't miss home if you don't have one. I'm not sure which of those feelings is worse. I want to be able to feel the emotions I need to again.
Love. And the feeling of real friendship. Just having the touch of a human being mean something more than an accident or something that I have to do because it would be rude not to.
I don't think I have a calling. I don't think I am supposed to be doing anything. I'm not one of the lucky ones who has it all figured out, and I really thought I was. So what does that mean? Do I just decide to do something and see where it takes me? It's obvious that something will have to be left behind in order for me to do anything more with my life, but what will make me the happiest? There's no way to collect data on this one. There's no way to do an accurate calculation. I hate taking chances. I don't even buy lottery tickets.
I remember when I got lottery tickets on my 18th birthday, like it meant something. Now birthdays don't mean anything. How do I make this meaningful, this getting older thing? I don't want to be okay with the idea that I'll be alone for the rest of my life, but what if that is what I need to do in order to get out of the head space I'm in now?
I just feel surrounded by so much hate most of the time, and it's nice to be in a place where that isn't the case, if only for a few days. But I will probably feel that way on Saturday too. I don't even know what to expect. I guess I'll be crying either way.
Why is it so easy to be calm in South Oakland? Very odd.
I'm staying with friends in Pittsburgh, and I do not feel pressured to party or be crazy or do anything I don't actually feel like doing this weekend. I feel like a guest coming in for a visit, not a freeloader or someone who just needs a place to sleep. I'm going grocery shopping with her tomorrow and helping out a little, not in return for her letting me stay here but because that's just simply the right thing to do.
It's strange how college apartments can feel like real homes. And then how some real homes will never be anything close to that.
I want to have the kind of home where my friends will always feel welcome. I want to be that safe haven for someone who really needs it. I want to just sit and be in the company of people who can live together as a family, who can be with each other in a room and not be strangers. I want to have the ability to control that about my place--the ability to open up my home to the people that matter to me.
The little things about people's places get to me. Seeing silly things like certain dishes or a Brita picther or even just movies on the rack instead of in some garbage bag three hundred miles away or shoved in a bin somewhere. Things have their place in a home. But I almost feel like I don't have one in mine. I think a lot of that has to do with my fears about January and my fears about my father. There are times I do want to just go upstairs and hang out with my mother, but I just don't want to be in the same room with him. I keep trying but it's so hard to get myself past what he's done and will inevitably do again. I don't know how to deal with this at all. I am learning a little more about how to deal with the good and bad sides of people (and that everyone does indeed have both), but what happens when the bad seems to outweigh the good so much? Is there a logical answer to this, and why the hell am I even trying to quantify good and evil in the first place?
More people getting married. Having babies and real jobs. And here I am. A wanderer with no sense of home or purpose. I wouldn't mind if I didn't feel like I were actually lost. I'm scared of not knowing. And I know I've said that too many times already.
I'm happy that I am right here, right now. As far as this present moment is concerned, there is no other place I would rather be. And I feel like I really will be able to fall asleep like a normal person tonight. I enjoy hearing laughter upstairs rather than crying or screaming.
I want my house to feel like home. And it doesn't NOT feel like home, entirely. There is just something missing, and maybe I just feel out of place. I feel like I don't really belong there. I don't even have a door to my room. I know that it is because I am still having trouble seeing this part of my life as anything other than a stepping stone to the next part, which may mean that I am afraid to make the place feel like home again. You can't miss home if you don't have one. I'm not sure which of those feelings is worse. I want to be able to feel the emotions I need to again.
Love. And the feeling of real friendship. Just having the touch of a human being mean something more than an accident or something that I have to do because it would be rude not to.
I don't think I have a calling. I don't think I am supposed to be doing anything. I'm not one of the lucky ones who has it all figured out, and I really thought I was. So what does that mean? Do I just decide to do something and see where it takes me? It's obvious that something will have to be left behind in order for me to do anything more with my life, but what will make me the happiest? There's no way to collect data on this one. There's no way to do an accurate calculation. I hate taking chances. I don't even buy lottery tickets.
I remember when I got lottery tickets on my 18th birthday, like it meant something. Now birthdays don't mean anything. How do I make this meaningful, this getting older thing? I don't want to be okay with the idea that I'll be alone for the rest of my life, but what if that is what I need to do in order to get out of the head space I'm in now?
I just feel surrounded by so much hate most of the time, and it's nice to be in a place where that isn't the case, if only for a few days. But I will probably feel that way on Saturday too. I don't even know what to expect. I guess I'll be crying either way.
Why is it so easy to be calm in South Oakland? Very odd.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
A Letter I Wish I Could Send
I ended up crying because of how you treated me tonight. I still really care about you as a friend, and I don't know why the fuck you are so personally affected by a decision that had nothing to do with that. The reason I did it was to save our friendship, which I've told you over and over again. You showed up at my show tonight, and I thought that meant we could start to work on things, but instead, you treated me like shit and knew how that would affect me. I can only hope that you didn't do this on purpose--come to my show just to fuck with me and make sure it would fail.
You still mean a lot to me. But I've come to a really difficult point right now. I feel used and manipulated, and I am deeply hurt by all of this.
"It's just drag. Life goes on."
You disrespected me tonight, and I'm not a scared little boy anymore, and if something like that ever happens again, I'm not afraid to have you escorted out. I don't want to be made to feel uncomfortable at my own event.
I've tried to talk to you personally about it, so I don't consider this a passive aggressive attempt. You refuse to talk to me, which I can only assume means that you have given up on our relationship. I will tell you right now that I have done no such thing. I'm incapable of being like that, even when I want to, even when it would be so much fucking easier to just not care.
I don't want to lose you, but there will come a point when I will decide that I must close that door, if nothing changes, in order to protect myself.
I hope you understand this, all of it.
You still mean a lot to me. But I've come to a really difficult point right now. I feel used and manipulated, and I am deeply hurt by all of this.
"It's just drag. Life goes on."
You disrespected me tonight, and I'm not a scared little boy anymore, and if something like that ever happens again, I'm not afraid to have you escorted out. I don't want to be made to feel uncomfortable at my own event.
I've tried to talk to you personally about it, so I don't consider this a passive aggressive attempt. You refuse to talk to me, which I can only assume means that you have given up on our relationship. I will tell you right now that I have done no such thing. I'm incapable of being like that, even when I want to, even when it would be so much fucking easier to just not care.
I don't want to lose you, but there will come a point when I will decide that I must close that door, if nothing changes, in order to protect myself.
I hope you understand this, all of it.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
In Between
It's kind of ridiculous that it's all over now, and it's even more ridiculous because I don't even WANT to be sad. I just want to get over it and get on with things. I'm not mad. Maybe a little peeved about things here or there, but let's face it, Skyler had the better package tonight and was spot on. And I really am happy for him, and I'm happy for myself too because I'm still going to nationals, I still got to try out this idea (though perhaps it wasn't the best time for a test run...), and I still wound up learning a lot about myself. It's amazing how much you can learn about how you're presenting yourself to the rest of the world just by looking at the way you walk, the way you smile, etc.
And it's also incredibly frustrating.
I want to pick a place to start talking about all the things that happened tonight and the nights leading up to the pageant. I could say so much about how I didn't have enough time with working so much and how it was so difficult to get dancers, etc. But those are just excuses. And maybe I could also talk about how I should have switched my idea when I knew we would only have three days to practice a pretty complicated routine.
And perhaps it was a little TOO outside of the box. I'm not sure. But there are two things that piss me off. One of the comments on my sheet for presentation was "not good as a boy". On a similar note, there were comments in another category suggesting that I was not walking in a masculine way. Or not doing something in a masculine way. Oh, and did I mention I got knocked points for using the word queer? I guess that makes three things. Am I the only one that has an issue with the pageantry system deciding how to define masculinity? I mean, it is their pageant and they have enough crazy rules the way it is, but this just seems like something that's detrimental in general.
The whole thing's just got my head spinning tonight. And I'm just...sad. There's no way of getting around it. And it's more annoying than anything else because my brain is fully capable of moving past this and not dwelling on shit, but it refuses to. And even when I wanted to have a good cry a little earlier, I couldn't. It's almost impossible for me to cry when I need to, yet sometimes I find that tears well up in my eyes instantly depending on the trigger (usually something random and pointless).
I know what I can do well. And I know what I like to do. And tonight has me thinking that this pageant thing really isn't for me. I do get annoyed that I have to say words in a particular order and do this and that. It's a lot of jumping through hoops, and I hate feeling that winning a title like this is the only way to spread my name. I'm sure it's not true, but that's the way it seems to have been working.
Here's the problem I'm having. I'm a performer. That's clearly what I like to do, and it's what I do best. I know how to keep people entertained and push boundaries and keep coming up with new things. I'm also pretty good at designing outfits, apparently. But they don't like the way I walk. I just thought of something...
Maybe the modeling portions are so difficult for me because I honestly don't feel like I'm in character when I am doing it. I don't feel like I'm performing, and maybe if I did, I would do better. I just don't feel like I have the same confidence. There's also that part of me that keeps wondering how my walking in the shape of a T or a triangle is relevant to anything or how it can be construed as entertainment. And I know the answers to my own questions. It's not about that, not all of it. When I do stuff like this, I realize that I feel like I'm doing it for somebody else. With Mr. Cattivo, I felt like I was doing it for me. I did things how I wanted to, and I was allowed to be a lot more creative with it.
Maybe it's just learning that this isn't what I do. I can't sleep. It's almost five in the morning, and I'm already running on barely any sleep from the night before the pageant, but I can't get the thoughts out of my head. My brain always feels like it needs to resolve everything before it can move on, which is why I am so annoyed. I don't want to think about this right now. I honestly want to go upstairs, take a hot bath, read a book, come back down here and cuddle with my sleeping boyfriend.
I asked him if he thought I should keep doing this, and I could tell it was a difficult question for him to answer. There's no getting around the fact that I want to be great at what I do. I want people to know who I am. I want to perform in more places and all that jazz. And I sometimes feel like this is the only way to do it. Again, the brain knows that really isn't true, though it certainly doesn't hurt.
Maybe I'd rather spend my time, money, and energy working on something for me, and by that I mean something for the audience to really enjoy without having to worry about the minute details that usually escape them anyway. If this is how I feel, and I know this is what I do best, why am I still sad? It makes no sense to me.
I'm an entertainer. I'm more comfortable doing that than anything else. But that doesn't mean I don't want to get better at the other things, and maybe a lot of that right now is because it's a new challenge. The other things are hard for me, and ironically enough, I sucked the most on talent because I was so bent on sticking with this original idea I had in my head. I wasn't really on tonight at all, and pretty much everything that could go wrong...did. I knew what had happened as soon as I stepped off stage. But should the fact that it's a challenge matter that much if that's one of the only things keeping me in it?
It should be as easy as saying it's not for me. Kind of like basketball.
But why isn't it? Maybe I should start asking myself why I really wanted this in the first place. Did I really need the validation that badly? And did it backfire completely? Maybe. Not sure. My confidence is shot right now, but I've learned to bounce back. Maybe it's because I put so much time and energy into this, and I don't have much to show for it at the moment.
BUUUUT I still get to go to nationals. And I can change things up. I can learn how to model better, stop saying ummmm all the time, and figure out a way to make the lights work better for me instead of hurting me because you couldn't see my face. But how much more is that going to require from me, and can I even do that now knowing the way I feel.
I'm trying to think back to what I told them in the interview. They asked me how important it was for me to win the crown tonight. I told them that, although that would be nice and everyone enters with the goal of winning, it wasn't everything for me. I come out of each one better than the last, and maybe that's why I've stuck with doing it. I like pushing myself, but sometimes I can't stand not being able to do it my way. A lot of my life is based upon rules and rigid thinking and all that good stuff, and I don't want it to apply to my performance. Maybe I enjoy it so much because I can do whatever the hell I want.
It's a lot for me to think about right now, and I just want something else to go in its place. Again, I'm an annoying kind of sad that just won't leave.
I'm not going to think about drag for...I was going to say at least a week, but I have a show in two. It never stops.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Oh, and the tuxedo that I have isn't supposed to button, fyi. lol
The whole night has me thinking. There weren't too many people there, and it really didn't seem like people were having that great of a time. Do I really want to spend all of my energy doing this when I could be putting it towards making sure people do have a good time and actually want to come back and see me?
Random good thing: I look great in white. :)
Maybe I should start saying some positive things here. And maybe I should stop saying maybe. It must be getting pretty tiring about now.
Maybe.
EsQ wants me to make a pair of pants like mine, though. I mean, that's a positive thing, right?
I want to keep writing to bleed this issue dry, but I don't think that's going to be happening any time soon, or maybe I feel like it's close enough to say that I want to start that bath water.
I'm caught exactly in between "I give up" and "bring it on".
And it's also incredibly frustrating.
I want to pick a place to start talking about all the things that happened tonight and the nights leading up to the pageant. I could say so much about how I didn't have enough time with working so much and how it was so difficult to get dancers, etc. But those are just excuses. And maybe I could also talk about how I should have switched my idea when I knew we would only have three days to practice a pretty complicated routine.
And perhaps it was a little TOO outside of the box. I'm not sure. But there are two things that piss me off. One of the comments on my sheet for presentation was "not good as a boy". On a similar note, there were comments in another category suggesting that I was not walking in a masculine way. Or not doing something in a masculine way. Oh, and did I mention I got knocked points for using the word queer? I guess that makes three things. Am I the only one that has an issue with the pageantry system deciding how to define masculinity? I mean, it is their pageant and they have enough crazy rules the way it is, but this just seems like something that's detrimental in general.
The whole thing's just got my head spinning tonight. And I'm just...sad. There's no way of getting around it. And it's more annoying than anything else because my brain is fully capable of moving past this and not dwelling on shit, but it refuses to. And even when I wanted to have a good cry a little earlier, I couldn't. It's almost impossible for me to cry when I need to, yet sometimes I find that tears well up in my eyes instantly depending on the trigger (usually something random and pointless).
I know what I can do well. And I know what I like to do. And tonight has me thinking that this pageant thing really isn't for me. I do get annoyed that I have to say words in a particular order and do this and that. It's a lot of jumping through hoops, and I hate feeling that winning a title like this is the only way to spread my name. I'm sure it's not true, but that's the way it seems to have been working.
Here's the problem I'm having. I'm a performer. That's clearly what I like to do, and it's what I do best. I know how to keep people entertained and push boundaries and keep coming up with new things. I'm also pretty good at designing outfits, apparently. But they don't like the way I walk. I just thought of something...
Maybe the modeling portions are so difficult for me because I honestly don't feel like I'm in character when I am doing it. I don't feel like I'm performing, and maybe if I did, I would do better. I just don't feel like I have the same confidence. There's also that part of me that keeps wondering how my walking in the shape of a T or a triangle is relevant to anything or how it can be construed as entertainment. And I know the answers to my own questions. It's not about that, not all of it. When I do stuff like this, I realize that I feel like I'm doing it for somebody else. With Mr. Cattivo, I felt like I was doing it for me. I did things how I wanted to, and I was allowed to be a lot more creative with it.
Maybe it's just learning that this isn't what I do. I can't sleep. It's almost five in the morning, and I'm already running on barely any sleep from the night before the pageant, but I can't get the thoughts out of my head. My brain always feels like it needs to resolve everything before it can move on, which is why I am so annoyed. I don't want to think about this right now. I honestly want to go upstairs, take a hot bath, read a book, come back down here and cuddle with my sleeping boyfriend.
I asked him if he thought I should keep doing this, and I could tell it was a difficult question for him to answer. There's no getting around the fact that I want to be great at what I do. I want people to know who I am. I want to perform in more places and all that jazz. And I sometimes feel like this is the only way to do it. Again, the brain knows that really isn't true, though it certainly doesn't hurt.
Maybe I'd rather spend my time, money, and energy working on something for me, and by that I mean something for the audience to really enjoy without having to worry about the minute details that usually escape them anyway. If this is how I feel, and I know this is what I do best, why am I still sad? It makes no sense to me.
I'm an entertainer. I'm more comfortable doing that than anything else. But that doesn't mean I don't want to get better at the other things, and maybe a lot of that right now is because it's a new challenge. The other things are hard for me, and ironically enough, I sucked the most on talent because I was so bent on sticking with this original idea I had in my head. I wasn't really on tonight at all, and pretty much everything that could go wrong...did. I knew what had happened as soon as I stepped off stage. But should the fact that it's a challenge matter that much if that's one of the only things keeping me in it?
It should be as easy as saying it's not for me. Kind of like basketball.
But why isn't it? Maybe I should start asking myself why I really wanted this in the first place. Did I really need the validation that badly? And did it backfire completely? Maybe. Not sure. My confidence is shot right now, but I've learned to bounce back. Maybe it's because I put so much time and energy into this, and I don't have much to show for it at the moment.
BUUUUT I still get to go to nationals. And I can change things up. I can learn how to model better, stop saying ummmm all the time, and figure out a way to make the lights work better for me instead of hurting me because you couldn't see my face. But how much more is that going to require from me, and can I even do that now knowing the way I feel.
I'm trying to think back to what I told them in the interview. They asked me how important it was for me to win the crown tonight. I told them that, although that would be nice and everyone enters with the goal of winning, it wasn't everything for me. I come out of each one better than the last, and maybe that's why I've stuck with doing it. I like pushing myself, but sometimes I can't stand not being able to do it my way. A lot of my life is based upon rules and rigid thinking and all that good stuff, and I don't want it to apply to my performance. Maybe I enjoy it so much because I can do whatever the hell I want.
It's a lot for me to think about right now, and I just want something else to go in its place. Again, I'm an annoying kind of sad that just won't leave.
I'm not going to think about drag for...I was going to say at least a week, but I have a show in two. It never stops.
I wouldn't have it any other way.
Oh, and the tuxedo that I have isn't supposed to button, fyi. lol
The whole night has me thinking. There weren't too many people there, and it really didn't seem like people were having that great of a time. Do I really want to spend all of my energy doing this when I could be putting it towards making sure people do have a good time and actually want to come back and see me?
Random good thing: I look great in white. :)
Maybe I should start saying some positive things here. And maybe I should stop saying maybe. It must be getting pretty tiring about now.
Maybe.
EsQ wants me to make a pair of pants like mine, though. I mean, that's a positive thing, right?
I want to keep writing to bleed this issue dry, but I don't think that's going to be happening any time soon, or maybe I feel like it's close enough to say that I want to start that bath water.
I'm caught exactly in between "I give up" and "bring it on".
Friday, October 14, 2011
Good
One phone call made all the difference today. I heard my parents' voices for the first time in over two months, and I nearly cried. Talking to them seemed to relieve me of all of the stress I've been accumulating over the last several weeks. And a short time ago, talking to my family was the most stress-inducing aspect of my life. I'll never be able to be one of those people who goes months without talking to his family. I can't be that disconnected. I'd been lonely for months, even around other people who love and care for me, and I was starting to get worried that I might be depressed again. But those feelings vanished. When I hung up, I was smiling and happy. And I felt like things were finally going right for me. I felt like I was headed in the right direction. Maybe it was good to hear all of those things from them too. My family is crazy. But I love them. And I'll never be able to stop, and I'll never be ungrateful for what they have been able to give me, even if there were some things I wish could have been different along the way.
I tried to be the kind of person who turned his back on his family when they did not show immediate acceptance, but I'm not capable of that. It tears me apart. On some level, I think this is true for me no matter what type of personal relationship I have with someone. I suppose I will always have some level of love and concern for those who are no longer in my life. At the very least, I'm not one to hold on to bitter feelings. I don't believe that this makes me a pushover, though it did before I learned more effective and more appropriate ways to manage my affairs. There is a part of me that believes that some doors never really close, but the rest of me seems to want to fight that. Two parts of my nature are in conflict with one another, and I figure that it's better to let the fight play out than to interfere by trying to rationalize my emotional behavior. Everything is going to be okay.
I tried to be the kind of person who turned his back on his family when they did not show immediate acceptance, but I'm not capable of that. It tears me apart. On some level, I think this is true for me no matter what type of personal relationship I have with someone. I suppose I will always have some level of love and concern for those who are no longer in my life. At the very least, I'm not one to hold on to bitter feelings. I don't believe that this makes me a pushover, though it did before I learned more effective and more appropriate ways to manage my affairs. There is a part of me that believes that some doors never really close, but the rest of me seems to want to fight that. Two parts of my nature are in conflict with one another, and I figure that it's better to let the fight play out than to interfere by trying to rationalize my emotional behavior. Everything is going to be okay.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Now it's August
I seemed to be doing well with writing all the time until real life started to take its toll on me. I'm once again finding that this is just something that I need to do, and even if I don't have time for it, I need to make time. I've been moving a lot lately. I haven't really had time to process everything that's been happening, and I need to do that in order to make sure I am ready for some big things that are on the way. I'm trying to piece together how I feel about things, but that's really tough when thoughts of all the things that I have to do start to invade the space that is meant just for me.
A customer came in today to buy a bag of ostrich meat chews (yes, they are gross...and mostly made of beef anyway), but I ended up talking with her for a little while about Pittsburgh in general, and then it turned into a conversation about school and what I studied. At the end of the conversation, she gave me a suggestion about going to PA school. And now I'm seriously considering it. To be fair, I've seriously considered quite a few career options over the past six months. I'm at least going to look into it and talk to some people who've been down that road already.
I work at GNC. I've been there for about a month now. It's not an absolutely terrible job, but I don't like being afraid of losing my job because I'm not a pushy salesperson. I don't like how I sometimes don't know my schedule until two days beforehand, and I don't like being faulted for not being able to make a last-minute change to a schedule I had already been given. Mostly, I don't like putting up with all of that in addition to extremely rude downtown customers for a mere $7.25 an hour. I honestly feel that I am too old for this kind of work environment, which doesn't make much sense since we are all in our twenties there. I did this sort of job in high school, and I vowed that I would never do it again because of how drained I felt from dealing with people all day. But I am much more capable of handling that stress and frustration these days. I've noticed an improvement in myself in the past month. Dealing with customers all day is really, really hard for me, but it makes me better at dealing with people in general. I keep finding out that I can handle much more than I think I can.
I can feel so much negativity just leaving my life. Following through with that decision was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It was harder than coming out to my family, both times. It was harder than opening myself up to be vulnerable all over again. It's still hard sometimes. But I know I am doing the right thing. How do I know this? I can feel the difference in my life. Things aren't perfect, but I stopped expecting them to be a long time ago.
I think I'm okay with not writing anymore today.
A customer came in today to buy a bag of ostrich meat chews (yes, they are gross...and mostly made of beef anyway), but I ended up talking with her for a little while about Pittsburgh in general, and then it turned into a conversation about school and what I studied. At the end of the conversation, she gave me a suggestion about going to PA school. And now I'm seriously considering it. To be fair, I've seriously considered quite a few career options over the past six months. I'm at least going to look into it and talk to some people who've been down that road already.
I work at GNC. I've been there for about a month now. It's not an absolutely terrible job, but I don't like being afraid of losing my job because I'm not a pushy salesperson. I don't like how I sometimes don't know my schedule until two days beforehand, and I don't like being faulted for not being able to make a last-minute change to a schedule I had already been given. Mostly, I don't like putting up with all of that in addition to extremely rude downtown customers for a mere $7.25 an hour. I honestly feel that I am too old for this kind of work environment, which doesn't make much sense since we are all in our twenties there. I did this sort of job in high school, and I vowed that I would never do it again because of how drained I felt from dealing with people all day. But I am much more capable of handling that stress and frustration these days. I've noticed an improvement in myself in the past month. Dealing with customers all day is really, really hard for me, but it makes me better at dealing with people in general. I keep finding out that I can handle much more than I think I can.
I can feel so much negativity just leaving my life. Following through with that decision was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It was harder than coming out to my family, both times. It was harder than opening myself up to be vulnerable all over again. It's still hard sometimes. But I know I am doing the right thing. How do I know this? I can feel the difference in my life. Things aren't perfect, but I stopped expecting them to be a long time ago.
I think I'm okay with not writing anymore today.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Sunset in July
I just opened my old journal, which I had found while visiting my parents but haven't had a chance to sit down with until now. It was from when I was twelve years old, and I am pretty amazed at how far I have come in the last ten years. I guess it's that whole growing up thing. My obsessions were pretty apparent, as I referenced them in almost every single entry. My handwriting was even more atrocious than it is now, and I really didn't seem to talk about anything other than facts and very basic statements of the emotions I was feeling. Learning how to turn even those basic feelings into words took me until high school, it seems.
I haven't taken my shot yet, and I was supposed to do that last night. I just completely forgot about it with starting my new job and being mentally prepared to convince people to buy shit, which means being mentally prepared to have conversations for eight hours a day. That's the part that makes me nervous. The other stuff is easy. I actually reorganized the entire stock room today, and my co-worker for the day is pretty sure that our manager is going to piss himself when he sees it. I think they were expecting me to just leave the place a mountain of cardboard boxes and crap thrown wherever it would fit while placing even more items in what little space was available. It was actually easier for me to just overhaul the entire room. Then I could know exactly where everything needed to go.
There are quite a few things building up inside of me right now. I'm at a very strange point of being in between caring and not caring about feeling attacked. I'm naturally pretty combative. When I feel that I am being attacked or that my friends are being attacked, I get intensely protective of them, meaning I will do and say things that exist ordinarily as passing thoughts. I also need to be sure that I'm not feeling attacked because of a combination of small things that have happened over the years. I want to try to separate those instances from the current situation. As I do this, I'm seeing that this in itself really isn't something I should worry about either. People are going to say what they have to say. They're going to say what they need to say in order to find happiness. The human brain is partly so fascinating because of its ability to rationalize irrational thoughts and behaviors so that it can continue functioning properly. It prevents errors from occurring by fudging the numbers. Your brain is 1984, basically. You don't even know what's real anymore, do you? And you might even be clever enough to come up with an argument about what constitutes reality in order to distract yourself from the terrifying possibility that your consciousness is built upon a rather shaky foundation of falsities.
I am angry. I am hurt. I feel a sense of betrayal unlike anything I have known previously...And I've been betrayed more times than I would like to admit. But temperance is the virtue around which I aim to center myself. I will let my anger dissipate. I will express what I need to express. Only then will I be able to forgive. But I honestly may fail this time. And I don't think that's ever happened before. I do not like what you have tried to turn me into. I will not be bitter. I will be free from this sinkhole and all its negativity. There is no blood on my hands. This is my return to purity. I will not run.
Envision my eyes, harboring depths so great that they seem almost black. But they are not cold, even to you. I am fire, while you are ice. I may melt you down, layer by microscopic layer, warming all those around with my presence. But this is always at a cost to myself. I will burn out. And you will be a puddle on the floor. We are elements that have been thrown out of balance, not meant to exist in the same circle in this age.
My sadness for what has been lost is slowly dissipating as well. The happiness of the memories that remain has begun to fill me up again. My brain will remember things as it needs to in order to progress along this journey, as will yours. But I still acknowledge the point at which happiness left this relationship, leaving behind a much more sinister core. And the fight against reality was causing the pain. I'm allowing myself the chance to be real now, and this upsets you. Your words will never bounce off of me but always flow through me, penetrate me. It is a connection I cannot sever, no matter how hard I may try. Even now, I spare your feelings by saying these things alone. You must realize--see it in my deep brown eyes--that I know exactly how to make you hurt from within. This is my last act of unselfishness--that bit of holding back. That not giving in to the anger and pain you have made me (and others) feel.
I am not immature. I am not inadequate. I define my own manhood, as always. I will not be brought down into that again. And I am guilt-free in saying what I must, as are you, obviously. There is no reason to hide these feelings now, and I'm not sure there ever was. My brain and heart have found a way to protect themselves: You're already gone to me. You've been gone. And shortly after I allowed myself to discover that, my life improved. And I began to feel happiness again. Real happiness.
I am real. I am not the source of your ultimate frustration. I am only a target, and I can only hope that that hasn't always been the case. You will need to find a new soul towards which you can project this negativity, if you cannot allow it to simply yet painfully pass through you. Choose wisely.
I don't expect I'll hear from you or see you again, and I'm working on how that makes me feel. I don't think I'm feeling anything either way right now. And I think I'm happy about that. That doesn't make me a terrible person. It just means that all of my feelings, positive and negative, about this entire situation have been exhausted. Now the healing can begin, and the truth will flow freely and unfiltered by such intense emotions.
I can only be a little sad that there are still some truths you (and all of us) are not ready to hear. Give it time.
I haven't taken my shot yet, and I was supposed to do that last night. I just completely forgot about it with starting my new job and being mentally prepared to convince people to buy shit, which means being mentally prepared to have conversations for eight hours a day. That's the part that makes me nervous. The other stuff is easy. I actually reorganized the entire stock room today, and my co-worker for the day is pretty sure that our manager is going to piss himself when he sees it. I think they were expecting me to just leave the place a mountain of cardboard boxes and crap thrown wherever it would fit while placing even more items in what little space was available. It was actually easier for me to just overhaul the entire room. Then I could know exactly where everything needed to go.
There are quite a few things building up inside of me right now. I'm at a very strange point of being in between caring and not caring about feeling attacked. I'm naturally pretty combative. When I feel that I am being attacked or that my friends are being attacked, I get intensely protective of them, meaning I will do and say things that exist ordinarily as passing thoughts. I also need to be sure that I'm not feeling attacked because of a combination of small things that have happened over the years. I want to try to separate those instances from the current situation. As I do this, I'm seeing that this in itself really isn't something I should worry about either. People are going to say what they have to say. They're going to say what they need to say in order to find happiness. The human brain is partly so fascinating because of its ability to rationalize irrational thoughts and behaviors so that it can continue functioning properly. It prevents errors from occurring by fudging the numbers. Your brain is 1984, basically. You don't even know what's real anymore, do you? And you might even be clever enough to come up with an argument about what constitutes reality in order to distract yourself from the terrifying possibility that your consciousness is built upon a rather shaky foundation of falsities.
I am angry. I am hurt. I feel a sense of betrayal unlike anything I have known previously...And I've been betrayed more times than I would like to admit. But temperance is the virtue around which I aim to center myself. I will let my anger dissipate. I will express what I need to express. Only then will I be able to forgive. But I honestly may fail this time. And I don't think that's ever happened before. I do not like what you have tried to turn me into. I will not be bitter. I will be free from this sinkhole and all its negativity. There is no blood on my hands. This is my return to purity. I will not run.
Envision my eyes, harboring depths so great that they seem almost black. But they are not cold, even to you. I am fire, while you are ice. I may melt you down, layer by microscopic layer, warming all those around with my presence. But this is always at a cost to myself. I will burn out. And you will be a puddle on the floor. We are elements that have been thrown out of balance, not meant to exist in the same circle in this age.
My sadness for what has been lost is slowly dissipating as well. The happiness of the memories that remain has begun to fill me up again. My brain will remember things as it needs to in order to progress along this journey, as will yours. But I still acknowledge the point at which happiness left this relationship, leaving behind a much more sinister core. And the fight against reality was causing the pain. I'm allowing myself the chance to be real now, and this upsets you. Your words will never bounce off of me but always flow through me, penetrate me. It is a connection I cannot sever, no matter how hard I may try. Even now, I spare your feelings by saying these things alone. You must realize--see it in my deep brown eyes--that I know exactly how to make you hurt from within. This is my last act of unselfishness--that bit of holding back. That not giving in to the anger and pain you have made me (and others) feel.
I am not immature. I am not inadequate. I define my own manhood, as always. I will not be brought down into that again. And I am guilt-free in saying what I must, as are you, obviously. There is no reason to hide these feelings now, and I'm not sure there ever was. My brain and heart have found a way to protect themselves: You're already gone to me. You've been gone. And shortly after I allowed myself to discover that, my life improved. And I began to feel happiness again. Real happiness.
I am real. I am not the source of your ultimate frustration. I am only a target, and I can only hope that that hasn't always been the case. You will need to find a new soul towards which you can project this negativity, if you cannot allow it to simply yet painfully pass through you. Choose wisely.
I don't expect I'll hear from you or see you again, and I'm working on how that makes me feel. I don't think I'm feeling anything either way right now. And I think I'm happy about that. That doesn't make me a terrible person. It just means that all of my feelings, positive and negative, about this entire situation have been exhausted. Now the healing can begin, and the truth will flow freely and unfiltered by such intense emotions.
I can only be a little sad that there are still some truths you (and all of us) are not ready to hear. Give it time.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Fire and Flames
"I know y'all know what I mean when I say that I'm waiting for the day when those who are so full of shit finally reach the explosive diarrhea stage of life. ::smiles::"
It seems like a fitting status for Facebook at this time. I'm having trouble sleeping, even though I'm exhausted beyond comprehension by the events of the last 24 hours. Briefly, I was right to worry last night because, yes, something did happen. And I don't want to talk about that right now. It's the same story again and again.
I might as well talk about another story that seems to repeat itself in my life. But I know I'm not the only one.
Let's talk about fake people. And fake compliments. Fake personalities and people who stab you in the back when they think you aren't looking. Let's talk about all of the smoke blown up some people's asses when they barely deserve a head nod and a handshake. So much of social interaction is fake, and everyone has a different kind of fake they want to show all the other fake people with whom they've surrounded themselves. It's seriously incomprehensible to me how you can live your life that way and not be screwed up. Fortunately, I've never met one of these fakesters who hasn't been fucked up by their own facade. But I don't know if that's justice enough for me.
And you know what really fucking sucks about all of this? I have to be a little bit fake too. I have to play these games, but at least I recognize that I'm playing them. At least I know it's not real. At least I know I can go to a part of myself that is real when it matters.
But I have to play along. Otherwise, it's social suicide. I can't say everything I need to say to everyone I need to say it to, and I definitely can't do it here. So I'm being a little bit subtle. I'm lying by omission. And that's really not something I'm that great at, so I'm sure that my fake subtlety is not fooling anyone. And I think I'm okay with that because I really do want people to know the truth of my existence, even when it is ugly. Even when it involves anger and hate and bitterness.
Maybe I'm bitter because it isn't fair. Because I'm too nice to ruin another person. Even though I know exactly how to do it. I'm smart and observant and I know very well how easy it would be to shatter this glass in just the right way. And I could watch you fall. And then you'd probably ask me for help.
But I'll never be able to do that. I will never go out of my way to hurt another person just because. But I'm also not going to help you. And I am speaking in generalities here, again, because I need to reference multiple people in one post, and I have the feeling that my generalities are assumed to refer to very specific individuals. The reverse is more often true. Keep that in mind. You can interpret "help" any way you want.
I keep trying to tell myself that this will all be over soon, and I'll never have to worry about it again. But fake people are going to continue to be a part of my life for as long as I choose to be a part of this society. At this point, I don't have that choice.
I just want to scream to the world, "Can't you fucking see past all of this bullshit? Look at it for what it is already!!"
I'm not the one who wants to hurt you. It's from a song.
Hallmark should really make FUCK YOU cards. I need a couple of those right now.
Writing is the best therapy I've ever known.
I will dance in the flames I go down in.
Slime. Fucking Slime. Let it hit your ears as hard as it can. Let them bleed. Can you feel the heaviness of the word? The cold stickiness that wants to trap you, right there in that "s"? The pressure of the "m" trying to crush you? The [lai] in the middle? The lie in the middle.
I will dance.
It seems like a fitting status for Facebook at this time. I'm having trouble sleeping, even though I'm exhausted beyond comprehension by the events of the last 24 hours. Briefly, I was right to worry last night because, yes, something did happen. And I don't want to talk about that right now. It's the same story again and again.
I might as well talk about another story that seems to repeat itself in my life. But I know I'm not the only one.
Let's talk about fake people. And fake compliments. Fake personalities and people who stab you in the back when they think you aren't looking. Let's talk about all of the smoke blown up some people's asses when they barely deserve a head nod and a handshake. So much of social interaction is fake, and everyone has a different kind of fake they want to show all the other fake people with whom they've surrounded themselves. It's seriously incomprehensible to me how you can live your life that way and not be screwed up. Fortunately, I've never met one of these fakesters who hasn't been fucked up by their own facade. But I don't know if that's justice enough for me.
And you know what really fucking sucks about all of this? I have to be a little bit fake too. I have to play these games, but at least I recognize that I'm playing them. At least I know it's not real. At least I know I can go to a part of myself that is real when it matters.
But I have to play along. Otherwise, it's social suicide. I can't say everything I need to say to everyone I need to say it to, and I definitely can't do it here. So I'm being a little bit subtle. I'm lying by omission. And that's really not something I'm that great at, so I'm sure that my fake subtlety is not fooling anyone. And I think I'm okay with that because I really do want people to know the truth of my existence, even when it is ugly. Even when it involves anger and hate and bitterness.
Maybe I'm bitter because it isn't fair. Because I'm too nice to ruin another person. Even though I know exactly how to do it. I'm smart and observant and I know very well how easy it would be to shatter this glass in just the right way. And I could watch you fall. And then you'd probably ask me for help.
But I'll never be able to do that. I will never go out of my way to hurt another person just because. But I'm also not going to help you. And I am speaking in generalities here, again, because I need to reference multiple people in one post, and I have the feeling that my generalities are assumed to refer to very specific individuals. The reverse is more often true. Keep that in mind. You can interpret "help" any way you want.
I keep trying to tell myself that this will all be over soon, and I'll never have to worry about it again. But fake people are going to continue to be a part of my life for as long as I choose to be a part of this society. At this point, I don't have that choice.
I just want to scream to the world, "Can't you fucking see past all of this bullshit? Look at it for what it is already!!"
I'm not the one who wants to hurt you. It's from a song.
Hallmark should really make FUCK YOU cards. I need a couple of those right now.
Writing is the best therapy I've ever known.
I will dance in the flames I go down in.
Slime. Fucking Slime. Let it hit your ears as hard as it can. Let them bleed. Can you feel the heaviness of the word? The cold stickiness that wants to trap you, right there in that "s"? The pressure of the "m" trying to crush you? The [lai] in the middle? The lie in the middle.
I will dance.
Friday, July 8, 2011
NEPA Vacation
I've been home for about six days now. It feels like it's been both longer and shorter than that, and I have a lot to say, and I think I'm in one of those moods where I'll actually be able to say the important things in important-sounding ways. We'll see about that, I suppose.
I want to start with some background information. The whole story of my existence is embarrassingly complicated, and although that sounds like a very hipster thing of me to say, I can't very well deny the complexities of this twenty-two year journey into myself. I don't remember a time when my father did not drink a large amount of alcohol every night. That's just the way life was for me, and there were nights without sleep in cars in parking lots in a nearby town. We'd wait for the sun rise to drive back home. We'd check to see if the lights were on. It might have been a school night.
Sometimes the fights would be verbal. They were loud and angry. And it could have been any one of us. I didn't know any better when I was younger. I didn't know when you weren't supposed to argue with a drunk person. The answer I've learned over the years is, of course, NEVER. Sometimes I tried to fight back, but it only made things worse. My brother would never back down. My mom would get between them or between us. Or maybe she'd be the target this time. And sometimes, people got hit. And I didn't think too much of it for the longest time. And I'd believe her when she would say that she was going to leave when we both went away. But now I know better.
I'm leading you down a different road than I thought I would be at this point. My intention is not to garner sympathy or anything of the sort. It's not to worry you at all. These are parts of my past that I acknowledge, still reluctantly, and that is perhaps because I know that no matter how much things change, there is always the potential that it will all come crashing back to this.
Another piece of the puzzle...I come out as trans. My brother has been in prison for over four years at this point. My mom is at her heaviest. My father is getting heavier, and it seems he's getting sicker. My life is an emotional mess. I'm on my way up. I'm on my way out of a lifetime of pain. I'm working through things I'd avoided for years. Meanwhile, things are getting worse for my parents in so many ways, and my coming out didn't do a lot to help. It might have been the breaking point, and the fights on the phone and in the car and almost every time we saw or spoke to one another almost killed me. And probably them too. But maybe that almost was just what needed to happen.
I'll bring you back to the present, where my mom has lost over 100 pounds. She lifts weights, does Zumba, goes to kickboxing. She buys clothes that she likes and has friends. She's happy. She's not just existing. She's living. And it is so amazing to see her like this. I hated to see her cry and torture herself about her weight. I hated watching her sink into depression from afar. I'm crying right now because I'm so proud of her. Because SHE is my inspiration, not some roid monster on the cover of a magazine. When I am feeling lazy or like I don't have to try as hard, I think of my mother and the drive she finally had to get out there and take command of her own body. And I cannot pretend that my coming out and my physical transformation had nothing to do with this. But I think the final straw was when I would no longer engage in the destructive and abusive conversations that were driving me into a state of almost constant helplessness and anxiety. I decided to let go. And we did not speak for 4 months, perhaps longer. And when I did let my family back in to my life, I did it slowly. Coming home this time around is coming full circle, allowing them back into my life fully and completely.
My mom took this time to really look at her own life and what she wanted from it. And every time I saw her, she had lost even more weight. I loved seeing how happy she was. I still do.
Where's the downside? Well, what about my father? My mom is going out more to work out, to be with friends, etc. She's not content to just stay up late with him while he drinks, to make him food at 2 or 3 in the morning just because he wants it. My dad is lonely. Craving social interaction or something that can be his substitute. (I don't think I ever remember my father having friends as long as I've been alive, and that actually doesn't seem to bother him. I suspect he is much like me in more ways than he realizes...)
So his drinking gets worse. And he's getting sick. And the situation almost explodes. I only found out after the fact that my father had atrial fibrillation. And that his heart is still not healthy. He wasn't breathing well and was swelling and couldn't move much. He finally saw the doctor in January. I don't know how, but he talked enough sense into him to get him to stop drinking. And he just did. He quit without hesitation. And he began to drop weight like crazy. He's lost about 60 pounds so far, and I suspect that he will lose a bit more because he also walks for a little over an hour every day. However...
I got some emails from him about a month ago or so. I knew they were composed when he was drunk. And then I got the apology messages the next day. I wrote to my mother. She was so upset. I know there are things about that night that she isn't telling me, but apparently it was at least verbally abusive enough to make her feel that way. He just drank almost a case out of nowhere the one night, and she had to deal with that. I wish I could have come back to get her away from it. But I could only be helpless. The talk went on for a little longer this time about separating. But in the back of my head, I knew it wasn't going to happen. She loves him, and he is a part of her life. I don't know if she would know what to do without him--without having someone need her like that. I kept worrying about this and thinking about it. But things eventually went back to normal, whatever that is.
I came home last weekend. He was drinking. That was his one night. My mother wanted me to stay in her room until he came to bed, just in case. I didn't have a problem with this. But she eventually left. He came in and thought I was her. He touched my shoulder and I jumped back in fear, and when he yelled at me, he still thought I was her. I immediately left the room, still in shock about what happened or what almost happened or whatever. I went downstairs to my room to try to sleep again or at least calm myself. But I was followed. He was still drunk, it was light outside, and I found myself in a position where I could not get away. I didn't want to talk about whatever he was saying. I didn't want to talk at all. I couldn't slow my head down enough to explain, but I do remember saying that I didn't want to talk at the time but that I would be happy to later. But he kept going. And he kept making accusations and just talking at me. Sometimes it got loud. And there were so many, and it was so random that I just couldn't handle it. I remember turning on my side and squeezing up against a wall as tightly as I could while he sat on the corner of my bed. And I know I was making some noises and banging my knees against the wall for almost two hours. It went on for almost two hours. I was in a serious meltdown, and my dad didn't understand that. And he was actually trying to make it worse it seemed. My mom knew that she needed to get me moving. She asked a direct question with a yes or no answer: "Do you want to go for a ride in the car?" I shook my head yes and fumbled around with my shoes, and twenty minutes later or so, I was mostly okay. I wasn't great, but I was okay. And I've been worrying.
It's a week later, and he chose tonight to drink. Today was a strange day for me in general. I've been pretty antisocial all day. I just couldn't get myself to talk to other people without discomfort or irritability. And I knew that that was a bad thing to combine with my father's drinking. So I came down here to my room to be by myself, which I needed anyway. I wanted to avoid a situation. I just don't feel like dealing with that stuff anymore. And it breaks my heart to know that there is now one night a week where my mother potentially has to deal with this shit again. And I won't be here to help. But it's not my life. It's not a choice that I can make for her. And I fear that she will never make that choice. It's still really early, and he may or may not "start something" tonight. That's always how it's been referred to around here. It's funny how things like this become normal.
I'm not really afraid of him. He's much more of a nuisance when drunk than anything, but there were occasions where things did get out of hand. And you never know when that is going to be. Drinking almost killed him in the first place too, and it baffles me that anyone would go back to what has essentially poisoned his body to the point of incapacitation once already.
I think I am most worried about my father messing up what my mother has going for her. I wonder what that says about me.
I want to make something clear, though. I don't hate my father. I actually really love him. He's the one who has been most accepting of the person I really am since coming out the first time. I really do believe he understands a good deal of what I've been trying to explain to him and show him in the past few years. He's seen my performance videos. He's asked questions about what spirit gum is used for and things like that. And he's happy for me when a show goes well. I've been getting closer to him over the past few years. I never really felt close to him when I was younger. I think I really did hate him. There are a lot of things I don't like about him, even now, but I understand him much better these days. He is a genuinely good person at heart, but he is not the same person when he is drunk. I'm sure that's why my mother has a hard time with all of this. I don't know if I can say much more about this right now.
I don't know how I feel about this next part yet. It's confusing to me because of the context. I do remember my father using my name during that two-hour meltdown. He called me Dylan. He talked about me as Dylan several times. And as much as I hated a lot of what he was saying, at least that came through. I'm still turning it over in his head. I keep wondering if he would have said it if he were sober. Maybe it's better not to question.
At the beginning of the week, I went to Zumba with my mom for the first time. Of course, I am the only boy in the room, and everyone is curious. The instructor knows my mother pretty well now, so she asks who I am. I introduce myself as Dylan, and my mother adds..."My son."
I wanted to cry right there. It was so simple. I mean, you could tell she was a bit uncomfortable. Well, I could. I don't think anyone else noticed in that tiny little interaction. But it made me so happy. I told her about it when we got home that night. I told her that that's all it really is. A few words are different. Our relationship is still the same. I would argue that it's even better now. Her response was mixed. But it is progress. "What else was I going to do?" followed by "I still think it's a mistake, but..."
The only people I've really talked to in person this whole time are my parents. It's been pretty weird. But on Tuesday, I will be seeing my ex-boyfriend from high school and the beginning half of college for the first time in about three or four years. We have a lot to talk about, obviously. I'm nervous. More nervous than I should be. I guess I also still wonder how he explains the whole my-ex-girlfriend-is-a-man thing. And I wonder what he thinks. And I'm also generally curious about what has been going on in his life because we were also best friends.
So much left to talk about. So much already talked about. So much left unsaid.
I talked with both of my parents separately about possibly going back to school for graphic design/advertising or something along those lines. My mother feels that my time at Pitt will have been wasted if I do that. I have two responses to that. First, the skills I have learned in college can be applied to anything that I do. I do not have to be working in the field I studied in undergrad for that to be true. And the most valuable things I have learned did not come from the classroom or a textbook. An education, though, is never wasted. Second, if I do go into a field or a job that I'm not happy doing day in and day out for the rest of my life, the REST OF MY LIFE will be wasted. My father agrees with me on this. I'm still thinking about it. I haven't made a decision yet. There are so many things that I could do, as I've said before. But I've always gotten a ridiculous amount of satisfaction out of completing projects. I love creating things. I feel very powerful after having done so, and I can work on these projects for hours upon hours without wanting to slit my throat. I don't feel drained after working for 3 or 4 hours on a design. That's definitely a plus. This is going to be hard. I'm not sure what to do.
I have a new boyfriend. And I'm so fucking excited about this. He likes to PLAY. He understands what it means to play, and he actually likes the weird things about me. We've been texting back and forth the entire time I've been away from Pittsburgh, and we made it official (on Facebook, of course, because it seems that's the only way anything is real anymore) the other day. I absolutely cannot wait to get back now. He gives me that feeling in my tummy. That lightness. The one where your entire body feels like its melting away. Like its diffusing. It's been so long since I've known that feeling.
I think that the moment I decided to let go of the elements of my past that continued to hurt me, I was able to feel again. Who knew it would take so long to say goodbye and really, really mean it? I guess you really have to know when to stop letting people and things hurt you. And that's not always easy, as I have found. There's a connection here with something I was talking about earlier, and I hope you understand it without my having to explain it.
There are no final words in that situation. The resolution is as simple as the choice not to engage. And I feel like this is where adulthood begins for me.
I want to start with some background information. The whole story of my existence is embarrassingly complicated, and although that sounds like a very hipster thing of me to say, I can't very well deny the complexities of this twenty-two year journey into myself. I don't remember a time when my father did not drink a large amount of alcohol every night. That's just the way life was for me, and there were nights without sleep in cars in parking lots in a nearby town. We'd wait for the sun rise to drive back home. We'd check to see if the lights were on. It might have been a school night.
Sometimes the fights would be verbal. They were loud and angry. And it could have been any one of us. I didn't know any better when I was younger. I didn't know when you weren't supposed to argue with a drunk person. The answer I've learned over the years is, of course, NEVER. Sometimes I tried to fight back, but it only made things worse. My brother would never back down. My mom would get between them or between us. Or maybe she'd be the target this time. And sometimes, people got hit. And I didn't think too much of it for the longest time. And I'd believe her when she would say that she was going to leave when we both went away. But now I know better.
I'm leading you down a different road than I thought I would be at this point. My intention is not to garner sympathy or anything of the sort. It's not to worry you at all. These are parts of my past that I acknowledge, still reluctantly, and that is perhaps because I know that no matter how much things change, there is always the potential that it will all come crashing back to this.
Another piece of the puzzle...I come out as trans. My brother has been in prison for over four years at this point. My mom is at her heaviest. My father is getting heavier, and it seems he's getting sicker. My life is an emotional mess. I'm on my way up. I'm on my way out of a lifetime of pain. I'm working through things I'd avoided for years. Meanwhile, things are getting worse for my parents in so many ways, and my coming out didn't do a lot to help. It might have been the breaking point, and the fights on the phone and in the car and almost every time we saw or spoke to one another almost killed me. And probably them too. But maybe that almost was just what needed to happen.
I'll bring you back to the present, where my mom has lost over 100 pounds. She lifts weights, does Zumba, goes to kickboxing. She buys clothes that she likes and has friends. She's happy. She's not just existing. She's living. And it is so amazing to see her like this. I hated to see her cry and torture herself about her weight. I hated watching her sink into depression from afar. I'm crying right now because I'm so proud of her. Because SHE is my inspiration, not some roid monster on the cover of a magazine. When I am feeling lazy or like I don't have to try as hard, I think of my mother and the drive she finally had to get out there and take command of her own body. And I cannot pretend that my coming out and my physical transformation had nothing to do with this. But I think the final straw was when I would no longer engage in the destructive and abusive conversations that were driving me into a state of almost constant helplessness and anxiety. I decided to let go. And we did not speak for 4 months, perhaps longer. And when I did let my family back in to my life, I did it slowly. Coming home this time around is coming full circle, allowing them back into my life fully and completely.
My mom took this time to really look at her own life and what she wanted from it. And every time I saw her, she had lost even more weight. I loved seeing how happy she was. I still do.
Where's the downside? Well, what about my father? My mom is going out more to work out, to be with friends, etc. She's not content to just stay up late with him while he drinks, to make him food at 2 or 3 in the morning just because he wants it. My dad is lonely. Craving social interaction or something that can be his substitute. (I don't think I ever remember my father having friends as long as I've been alive, and that actually doesn't seem to bother him. I suspect he is much like me in more ways than he realizes...)
So his drinking gets worse. And he's getting sick. And the situation almost explodes. I only found out after the fact that my father had atrial fibrillation. And that his heart is still not healthy. He wasn't breathing well and was swelling and couldn't move much. He finally saw the doctor in January. I don't know how, but he talked enough sense into him to get him to stop drinking. And he just did. He quit without hesitation. And he began to drop weight like crazy. He's lost about 60 pounds so far, and I suspect that he will lose a bit more because he also walks for a little over an hour every day. However...
I got some emails from him about a month ago or so. I knew they were composed when he was drunk. And then I got the apology messages the next day. I wrote to my mother. She was so upset. I know there are things about that night that she isn't telling me, but apparently it was at least verbally abusive enough to make her feel that way. He just drank almost a case out of nowhere the one night, and she had to deal with that. I wish I could have come back to get her away from it. But I could only be helpless. The talk went on for a little longer this time about separating. But in the back of my head, I knew it wasn't going to happen. She loves him, and he is a part of her life. I don't know if she would know what to do without him--without having someone need her like that. I kept worrying about this and thinking about it. But things eventually went back to normal, whatever that is.
I came home last weekend. He was drinking. That was his one night. My mother wanted me to stay in her room until he came to bed, just in case. I didn't have a problem with this. But she eventually left. He came in and thought I was her. He touched my shoulder and I jumped back in fear, and when he yelled at me, he still thought I was her. I immediately left the room, still in shock about what happened or what almost happened or whatever. I went downstairs to my room to try to sleep again or at least calm myself. But I was followed. He was still drunk, it was light outside, and I found myself in a position where I could not get away. I didn't want to talk about whatever he was saying. I didn't want to talk at all. I couldn't slow my head down enough to explain, but I do remember saying that I didn't want to talk at the time but that I would be happy to later. But he kept going. And he kept making accusations and just talking at me. Sometimes it got loud. And there were so many, and it was so random that I just couldn't handle it. I remember turning on my side and squeezing up against a wall as tightly as I could while he sat on the corner of my bed. And I know I was making some noises and banging my knees against the wall for almost two hours. It went on for almost two hours. I was in a serious meltdown, and my dad didn't understand that. And he was actually trying to make it worse it seemed. My mom knew that she needed to get me moving. She asked a direct question with a yes or no answer: "Do you want to go for a ride in the car?" I shook my head yes and fumbled around with my shoes, and twenty minutes later or so, I was mostly okay. I wasn't great, but I was okay. And I've been worrying.
It's a week later, and he chose tonight to drink. Today was a strange day for me in general. I've been pretty antisocial all day. I just couldn't get myself to talk to other people without discomfort or irritability. And I knew that that was a bad thing to combine with my father's drinking. So I came down here to my room to be by myself, which I needed anyway. I wanted to avoid a situation. I just don't feel like dealing with that stuff anymore. And it breaks my heart to know that there is now one night a week where my mother potentially has to deal with this shit again. And I won't be here to help. But it's not my life. It's not a choice that I can make for her. And I fear that she will never make that choice. It's still really early, and he may or may not "start something" tonight. That's always how it's been referred to around here. It's funny how things like this become normal.
I'm not really afraid of him. He's much more of a nuisance when drunk than anything, but there were occasions where things did get out of hand. And you never know when that is going to be. Drinking almost killed him in the first place too, and it baffles me that anyone would go back to what has essentially poisoned his body to the point of incapacitation once already.
I think I am most worried about my father messing up what my mother has going for her. I wonder what that says about me.
I want to make something clear, though. I don't hate my father. I actually really love him. He's the one who has been most accepting of the person I really am since coming out the first time. I really do believe he understands a good deal of what I've been trying to explain to him and show him in the past few years. He's seen my performance videos. He's asked questions about what spirit gum is used for and things like that. And he's happy for me when a show goes well. I've been getting closer to him over the past few years. I never really felt close to him when I was younger. I think I really did hate him. There are a lot of things I don't like about him, even now, but I understand him much better these days. He is a genuinely good person at heart, but he is not the same person when he is drunk. I'm sure that's why my mother has a hard time with all of this. I don't know if I can say much more about this right now.
I don't know how I feel about this next part yet. It's confusing to me because of the context. I do remember my father using my name during that two-hour meltdown. He called me Dylan. He talked about me as Dylan several times. And as much as I hated a lot of what he was saying, at least that came through. I'm still turning it over in his head. I keep wondering if he would have said it if he were sober. Maybe it's better not to question.
At the beginning of the week, I went to Zumba with my mom for the first time. Of course, I am the only boy in the room, and everyone is curious. The instructor knows my mother pretty well now, so she asks who I am. I introduce myself as Dylan, and my mother adds..."My son."
I wanted to cry right there. It was so simple. I mean, you could tell she was a bit uncomfortable. Well, I could. I don't think anyone else noticed in that tiny little interaction. But it made me so happy. I told her about it when we got home that night. I told her that that's all it really is. A few words are different. Our relationship is still the same. I would argue that it's even better now. Her response was mixed. But it is progress. "What else was I going to do?" followed by "I still think it's a mistake, but..."
The only people I've really talked to in person this whole time are my parents. It's been pretty weird. But on Tuesday, I will be seeing my ex-boyfriend from high school and the beginning half of college for the first time in about three or four years. We have a lot to talk about, obviously. I'm nervous. More nervous than I should be. I guess I also still wonder how he explains the whole my-ex-girlfriend-is-a-man thing. And I wonder what he thinks. And I'm also generally curious about what has been going on in his life because we were also best friends.
So much left to talk about. So much already talked about. So much left unsaid.
I talked with both of my parents separately about possibly going back to school for graphic design/advertising or something along those lines. My mother feels that my time at Pitt will have been wasted if I do that. I have two responses to that. First, the skills I have learned in college can be applied to anything that I do. I do not have to be working in the field I studied in undergrad for that to be true. And the most valuable things I have learned did not come from the classroom or a textbook. An education, though, is never wasted. Second, if I do go into a field or a job that I'm not happy doing day in and day out for the rest of my life, the REST OF MY LIFE will be wasted. My father agrees with me on this. I'm still thinking about it. I haven't made a decision yet. There are so many things that I could do, as I've said before. But I've always gotten a ridiculous amount of satisfaction out of completing projects. I love creating things. I feel very powerful after having done so, and I can work on these projects for hours upon hours without wanting to slit my throat. I don't feel drained after working for 3 or 4 hours on a design. That's definitely a plus. This is going to be hard. I'm not sure what to do.
I have a new boyfriend. And I'm so fucking excited about this. He likes to PLAY. He understands what it means to play, and he actually likes the weird things about me. We've been texting back and forth the entire time I've been away from Pittsburgh, and we made it official (on Facebook, of course, because it seems that's the only way anything is real anymore) the other day. I absolutely cannot wait to get back now. He gives me that feeling in my tummy. That lightness. The one where your entire body feels like its melting away. Like its diffusing. It's been so long since I've known that feeling.
I think that the moment I decided to let go of the elements of my past that continued to hurt me, I was able to feel again. Who knew it would take so long to say goodbye and really, really mean it? I guess you really have to know when to stop letting people and things hurt you. And that's not always easy, as I have found. There's a connection here with something I was talking about earlier, and I hope you understand it without my having to explain it.
There are no final words in that situation. The resolution is as simple as the choice not to engage. And I feel like this is where adulthood begins for me.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Knowing
I've been surprisingly stable throughout certain events of the past week or so that have done a great job of dragging me back into memories that I've been avoiding, whether consciously or not.
I think it started during a group number rehearsal with HMH, and I didn't like what I became during that particular rehearsal. I fell back into not saying anything, and I'm still not sure if I did the right thing or not, but I do feel that there just wasn't room for any more tension in the room at the time. Someone needed to be quiet and calm. I wasn't calm, but I was collected enough to know what needed to be done, and I think things worked out as well as they could have. But I was taken back into a submissive state that made me feel really helpless. I think the way I reacted to it was more upsetting to me. I wanted to stand up for what I thought was right in that situation, but I could only be silent and watch. And that was really frightening. I felt like I was ten years old again, watching my family fight and trying to get up the courage to say something, but maybe I was afraid of having something bad happen if I finally did. That would only make sense.
Then I performed one of the most difficult numbers I've ever attempted on Saturday. It was extremely personal for me, and it really took me back into that space of being tortured as I went through school. That experience very well could have been my reality. I remember my brother and I being beaten and humiliated and threatened every single fucking day. I remember what it felt like to be so fucking alone and depressed that I just wanted to die, and I wasn't even a teenager yet. I never brought a gun to school, but I could have been that person. And that's terrifying. My brother was beaten almost to death by five people on his first day of senior year of high school. They ripped out his insulin pump and left him there to die. And that's the point at which his life started to really change. After years and years of dealing with shit from people, he just couldn't take it anymore. He never really recovered after switching schools, and he stopped caring about himself. And I remember what it felt like to be a new kid in 4th grade, not allowed to sit with the girls because I didn't look like them. And when I wouldn't leave the boys' table, a few of them decided to pick up my chair with me still in it while another took my head and smashed it off the corner of the table. So I would sit by myself at a cubicle-like desk that had been placed off to the side of the lunch tables. And people would still find their way over to mock me and scream inches away from my face. I remember having to be dragged out of the car kicking and screaming, getting stabbed in the face with a pencil, having my shit destroyed, getting ice balls thrown at my face, having to eat in the bathroom to avoid the people who always tried to put things in my food. You can only take so much of people thinking you're retarded or inhuman or an IT before they break you. And I was broken for a really fucking long time. And I know it seems like I am ranting about this for no reason, but I want you to get the idea. I want you to know how it feels to be in that situation, even though you may never fully appreciate its intensity.
I don't think I went a single day without crying. I remember my mom coming back to the car and finding me with an open container of anti-freeze. That was the second closest I have ever been, and I still can't believe it.
I have taken a lot of shit in my life. I have the ability to deal with a lot of shit. But that doesn't make it okay.
I don't know how else to say what I need to say. Tonight bothered me so much because I saw an insanely strong person cry for the first time. I know what it feels like to be pushed to that point--to just not be able to fucking take it anymore. I almost lost it then because I literally felt the same pain, and I didn't expect it, and I almost didn't know what to do with it. Sometimes teasing isn't teasing. And a side comment with even a hint of malice in it can be the one thing that pushes someone over the edge. You have no idea what the fuck is going on in someone else's life at any given moment, which is exactly why you need to be aware of what you are saying and doing. If you want to talk about what it feels like to be in a room full of people and feeling like everyone is laughing at you or hates you or doesn't take you seriously or doesn't even think you have human feelings, then believe me, I know all too well what that is like, in more than one circumstance. And I was taken back there tonight, after just revisiting a lot of my most traumatic past experiences, and I absolutely cannot sit back without saying something, even if it is to an internet audience, even if I am dismissed in person. And I want the whole world to know that I don't think this kind of thing is okay. And it really, REALLY hurts me.
When you can't even have an iota of compassion when seeing someone react like that, I have to question what else you are capable of. I was disgusted. I cannot hide how I feel about this.
I'll give you a relevant and recent example--one of many. I put my heart and soul into the drumline, but no matter what I did, there were always a significant number of people who were never going to appreciate me and who did their best to take shots at me whenever I was out of the room and sometimes even when I was sitting right there. And I was always fighting a losing battle. And I had to go back every day for more of that. But I kept going back because of the few people I really connected with and because I absolutely loved what I was doing musically. And I desperately wanted that connection with other people and had no idea why the fuck they kept shutting me out or what their problem was. The biggest problem seemed to be the confidence I had gained in myself. I would not be quiet about things that were important to me, and I began to voice my rather strong opinions. And we obviously saw how that worked out. (I'm still working on coming to an adult resolution to that situation, and I hope for the best, but there are some ties that will never be able to be repaired, and I am still feeling the pain from that.)
Even if you don't like a person, nobody deserves to be treated like that. We all fuck this up, but when we do and are called on it, we had better feel SOMETHING unselfish in that situation.
I know I'm probably going to get shit for this. People might think it's immature to write about it on the internet, but I think the broader message is really important here, and it's really quite simple. Treat other people like people.
What else?
Never take yourself too seriously.
Move forward.
Act with purpose.
Listen to the e's. (ask if you don't understand)
This is supposed to be FUN.
I need to come back to writing later because I'm getting worked up again. But I am glad I said these things. I am also proud of myself for taking five minutes for myself when I really needed it, and nothing bad happened. I was in control. And that was amazing. In the midst of chaos...
I think it started during a group number rehearsal with HMH, and I didn't like what I became during that particular rehearsal. I fell back into not saying anything, and I'm still not sure if I did the right thing or not, but I do feel that there just wasn't room for any more tension in the room at the time. Someone needed to be quiet and calm. I wasn't calm, but I was collected enough to know what needed to be done, and I think things worked out as well as they could have. But I was taken back into a submissive state that made me feel really helpless. I think the way I reacted to it was more upsetting to me. I wanted to stand up for what I thought was right in that situation, but I could only be silent and watch. And that was really frightening. I felt like I was ten years old again, watching my family fight and trying to get up the courage to say something, but maybe I was afraid of having something bad happen if I finally did. That would only make sense.
Then I performed one of the most difficult numbers I've ever attempted on Saturday. It was extremely personal for me, and it really took me back into that space of being tortured as I went through school. That experience very well could have been my reality. I remember my brother and I being beaten and humiliated and threatened every single fucking day. I remember what it felt like to be so fucking alone and depressed that I just wanted to die, and I wasn't even a teenager yet. I never brought a gun to school, but I could have been that person. And that's terrifying. My brother was beaten almost to death by five people on his first day of senior year of high school. They ripped out his insulin pump and left him there to die. And that's the point at which his life started to really change. After years and years of dealing with shit from people, he just couldn't take it anymore. He never really recovered after switching schools, and he stopped caring about himself. And I remember what it felt like to be a new kid in 4th grade, not allowed to sit with the girls because I didn't look like them. And when I wouldn't leave the boys' table, a few of them decided to pick up my chair with me still in it while another took my head and smashed it off the corner of the table. So I would sit by myself at a cubicle-like desk that had been placed off to the side of the lunch tables. And people would still find their way over to mock me and scream inches away from my face. I remember having to be dragged out of the car kicking and screaming, getting stabbed in the face with a pencil, having my shit destroyed, getting ice balls thrown at my face, having to eat in the bathroom to avoid the people who always tried to put things in my food. You can only take so much of people thinking you're retarded or inhuman or an IT before they break you. And I was broken for a really fucking long time. And I know it seems like I am ranting about this for no reason, but I want you to get the idea. I want you to know how it feels to be in that situation, even though you may never fully appreciate its intensity.
I don't think I went a single day without crying. I remember my mom coming back to the car and finding me with an open container of anti-freeze. That was the second closest I have ever been, and I still can't believe it.
I have taken a lot of shit in my life. I have the ability to deal with a lot of shit. But that doesn't make it okay.
I don't know how else to say what I need to say. Tonight bothered me so much because I saw an insanely strong person cry for the first time. I know what it feels like to be pushed to that point--to just not be able to fucking take it anymore. I almost lost it then because I literally felt the same pain, and I didn't expect it, and I almost didn't know what to do with it. Sometimes teasing isn't teasing. And a side comment with even a hint of malice in it can be the one thing that pushes someone over the edge. You have no idea what the fuck is going on in someone else's life at any given moment, which is exactly why you need to be aware of what you are saying and doing. If you want to talk about what it feels like to be in a room full of people and feeling like everyone is laughing at you or hates you or doesn't take you seriously or doesn't even think you have human feelings, then believe me, I know all too well what that is like, in more than one circumstance. And I was taken back there tonight, after just revisiting a lot of my most traumatic past experiences, and I absolutely cannot sit back without saying something, even if it is to an internet audience, even if I am dismissed in person. And I want the whole world to know that I don't think this kind of thing is okay. And it really, REALLY hurts me.
When you can't even have an iota of compassion when seeing someone react like that, I have to question what else you are capable of. I was disgusted. I cannot hide how I feel about this.
I'll give you a relevant and recent example--one of many. I put my heart and soul into the drumline, but no matter what I did, there were always a significant number of people who were never going to appreciate me and who did their best to take shots at me whenever I was out of the room and sometimes even when I was sitting right there. And I was always fighting a losing battle. And I had to go back every day for more of that. But I kept going back because of the few people I really connected with and because I absolutely loved what I was doing musically. And I desperately wanted that connection with other people and had no idea why the fuck they kept shutting me out or what their problem was. The biggest problem seemed to be the confidence I had gained in myself. I would not be quiet about things that were important to me, and I began to voice my rather strong opinions. And we obviously saw how that worked out. (I'm still working on coming to an adult resolution to that situation, and I hope for the best, but there are some ties that will never be able to be repaired, and I am still feeling the pain from that.)
Even if you don't like a person, nobody deserves to be treated like that. We all fuck this up, but when we do and are called on it, we had better feel SOMETHING unselfish in that situation.
I know I'm probably going to get shit for this. People might think it's immature to write about it on the internet, but I think the broader message is really important here, and it's really quite simple. Treat other people like people.
What else?
Never take yourself too seriously.
Move forward.
Act with purpose.
Listen to the e's. (ask if you don't understand)
This is supposed to be FUN.
I need to come back to writing later because I'm getting worked up again. But I am glad I said these things. I am also proud of myself for taking five minutes for myself when I really needed it, and nothing bad happened. I was in control. And that was amazing. In the midst of chaos...
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Mr. Pittsburgh Pride 2011
Mr. Pittsburgh is over, and while I didn't win, I pretty much did everything the way I wanted to do it, minus a few dance moves I wasn't exactly comfortable with. I mean, if the worst things you can say about me involve my underwear showing when I kick my legs over my head and that pink paint was peeling off my ghetto-ass spraypainted shoes, then I'd say I'm doing just fine. I just wish I were better at speaking. One judge seemed to think I was particularly terrible at it, but I knew that part was really going to get me, and I know what I need to fix for next year. I'm a bit sad that I won't get to do this outside like I wanted to, but I'm still really happy for Britton and Skyler. And that's about as far as I've processed things. The old me would have been quite upset about not winning and probably would have taken it personally. But I can tell that I have grown as a person and as a performer because of my reaction to all of this. Quite a few random people came up to me last night, saying things like, "You should have won." The only thing that I could respond with at the time was "I'm still happy, and things happened the way they needed to. And that's what I really wanted from tonight." I proved to myself that I don't need a crown to feel validated as a performer--that I can be confident, even when I'm absolutely terrified.
When I saw the look on his face after the contest, I knew I had done it right. He's helped me so much through all of this, and that includes dealing with my random bullshit moments of panic and trying to convince me not to quit when something wasn't going the way I planned. And I will let you know that he wasn't lying when he said he felt like he was going to cry. And when I looked in his eyes and saw how genuinely proud he was of me, I felt the tears coming too.
I paused to look at the pouring rain, and I am somehow at a loss for words. I guess that's another thing. Even though I think I could have done much better with the question (I did write my answer in JJ's apartment just hours before, after all), I couldn't have been happier with the way I handled it. I could tell it was going to be difficult because the crowd didn't seem very interested in serious things, especially that late into the evening. But I didn't stutter or stumble. And I really didn't even use that cheat sheet. I'm proud of myself for actually going through with this. Every time I step outside of my comfort zone, it gets easier and easier. I can't wait to see where I am at this point next year.
As much fun as the whole experience has been, I'm really glad the competition is over. It was intensely stressful, and whether I was actively preparing for it or not, it was the only thing on which I could focus, and that was definitely starting to get to me. I didn't enjoy feeling like I wasn't going to be prepared enough, like my costumes were going to be too ordinary in comparison to my friends', like I was just going to look like I didn't belong up there. But I think I proved myself wrong in a lot of ways, and I was approaching the point where I absolutely needed something to make me realize what I have to offer and why people enjoy watching me perform. I'm still wondering what comes next. Should I keep trying this competition thing? Part of me wants to say yes because I know it would motivate me to step it up even more, but this shit costs a lot of money that I don't have. (I'm kicking myself for not splurging on those damned pink shoes.) And as much fun as bragging rights are, I enjoy entertaining people more than I do winning. I know I'm not the only one who appreciates that, and I am starting to think that my energy would be much more beneficial to the community if directed toward creating a scene for younger performers. There's something about helping other people discover things they didn't know they had in them that's incredibly rewarding. And I know how great it feels to be on the receiving end of that.
When I saw the look on his face after the contest, I knew I had done it right. He's helped me so much through all of this, and that includes dealing with my random bullshit moments of panic and trying to convince me not to quit when something wasn't going the way I planned. And I will let you know that he wasn't lying when he said he felt like he was going to cry. And when I looked in his eyes and saw how genuinely proud he was of me, I felt the tears coming too.
I paused to look at the pouring rain, and I am somehow at a loss for words. I guess that's another thing. Even though I think I could have done much better with the question (I did write my answer in JJ's apartment just hours before, after all), I couldn't have been happier with the way I handled it. I could tell it was going to be difficult because the crowd didn't seem very interested in serious things, especially that late into the evening. But I didn't stutter or stumble. And I really didn't even use that cheat sheet. I'm proud of myself for actually going through with this. Every time I step outside of my comfort zone, it gets easier and easier. I can't wait to see where I am at this point next year.
As much fun as the whole experience has been, I'm really glad the competition is over. It was intensely stressful, and whether I was actively preparing for it or not, it was the only thing on which I could focus, and that was definitely starting to get to me. I didn't enjoy feeling like I wasn't going to be prepared enough, like my costumes were going to be too ordinary in comparison to my friends', like I was just going to look like I didn't belong up there. But I think I proved myself wrong in a lot of ways, and I was approaching the point where I absolutely needed something to make me realize what I have to offer and why people enjoy watching me perform. I'm still wondering what comes next. Should I keep trying this competition thing? Part of me wants to say yes because I know it would motivate me to step it up even more, but this shit costs a lot of money that I don't have. (I'm kicking myself for not splurging on those damned pink shoes.) And as much fun as bragging rights are, I enjoy entertaining people more than I do winning. I know I'm not the only one who appreciates that, and I am starting to think that my energy would be much more beneficial to the community if directed toward creating a scene for younger performers. There's something about helping other people discover things they didn't know they had in them that's incredibly rewarding. And I know how great it feels to be on the receiving end of that.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Call the Zoo
At some point, I told myself that I would start writing here more frequently again.
But I might have been drunk.
I don't think I've ever actually written anything while intoxicated, though I managed to pump out a good chunk of a nine-page letter before succumbing to the effects of a massive dose of some serious cough syrup. EPIC cough syrup.
I didn't intend to get drunk last night. It just sort of happened, and I know I did some really stupid shit on facebook and private messaged several people. Then I ate some toast, and the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed with all of my clothes on, drenched in sweat and smelling like a gay bar. What a lovely start to my day, don't you think?
I don't know why I felt off today. Little things just bother me more when I get this way. For example, people getting sidetracked often upsets me when there is clearly something that needs to be done. I tend to get anxious and easily frustrated.
Mr. Pittsburgh is next weekend, and I'm extremely worried about it. I don't really enjoy competing against my friends, for one thing, and that has more to do with the fact that I'm actually ridiculously competitive, and I can be a monumental douchebag. More than anything, I am discovering how limited my resources are and what that means for me. No matter how talented I am, I'm definitely not going to look the best. Things aren't going to be extravagant and over-the-top. I'm just going to do what I know how to do. And I'm starting to doubt myself and worry that that just won't be enough. I keep trying to answer the question of why I deserve this just as much or more than anyone else, and it's getting really difficult. I'm generally a pompous asshole, but I get in these annoying little ruts where I lack any self-confidence. I remember having this same sort of crisis right before helping out a friend with her own pageant. When I was facing the prospect of competing against one of my best friends earlier this year, I started feeling the same way. I know that I do. I know that I don't need expensive shit or fancy props to win. I know that I can carry myself to a victory even if I'm butt-ass naked, which I'm sure would make some people happy, at least. But there's that weird space of difference between knowing something and feeling it in which I'm finding myself. I feel stuck. I've felt stuck--in so many aspects of my life--for several months now, and I want to believe that the nice weather will turn things around for me.
I'm going on an unintentional diet for the next few weeks. It's reminiscent of the poor-kid diet I went through in October. I'm still a little freaked out by those pictures. Anyway, I had to spend at least a little bit trying to get things for this contest, and that tanked my already meager bank account. I have $1.16 to my name right now, and I don't have much food left in the house, and I feel like a jerk eating other people's stuff, so I eat my packets of tuna and have some cheerios. And I drink water. It's not like I'm terribly unhappy with it. I'm eating healthy things, but I never feel like I'm satisfied. I am always wanting more, but I know there is none. And that's depressing. I'm getting paranoid about not finding a job. I think that will be my biggest project tomorrow, other than heading to the bank to see how they will deal with a check that's made out to Dylan and not to Elise.
I got a letter from my brother today. I didn't really know how to respond to it. It's not an angry letter. He took his time with this one and really thought about what he wanted to say. I can understand exactly why he feels the way he does and the processes he used to rationalize his beliefs. But it just made me...sad. How can he expect to ever be close to me again? As much as I do cherish my past and everything in it, clinging to it in the way that he envisions would annihilate the possibility of ever becoming close to the person that I am now and will be in the future. I do not exist apart from my past. I have in no way attempted to erase the person I had been for 21 years. I still can look at those pictures and say, "This is me."
I want to be able to explain that those memories are not invalid, though my experience of them was much different. Being a little girl wasn't fun for me. It wasn't cute. It wasn't something I cherished or wanted. It was something that I wanted to ignore at the time. It was something that was there just as a word and nothing more. The word was nothing to me until it became a prison, until I couldn't ignore it any longer. Until I had to fight to be seen for who I am. When I look at those pictures, I don't see a little girl. I see me. Looking back, it's easy for me to recognize that I really have always been a boy, not because of what I was wearing or what sports I was playing, but because of how I felt inside and how I related to other people growing up. I always wanted to be in that role and be treated like the others, and I would kick and scream about how I wasn't, and I had NO IDEA why. I just don't think I'll be able to convince him that he's always had a little brother, really.
He's having a problem because these words aren't just words to him. They represent enormous constructs around which his entire life was based growing up. Changing them, in his mind, would mean having to alter the past--alter what he sees as the absolute truth of the universe. The past cannot be changed, and attempting to change it is living a lie. I can understand this logic perfectly, and perhaps this is why it is not a problem at all when people say she/Elise when referring to the version of me that existed prior to my transition. But there is more than the past. The present is NOT the same, and the future won't be either. But that's not going to negate what has already existed. He has attached our relationship directly to the words used to describe the relationship. Can I blame him? How many people today can really even begin to separate language from thought? In order for him to understand and accept the person that I am now, he's going to have to detach all of these aspects of our relationship from those words and transfer them to new ones, and I wonder what that will take for him.
I can't separate the pain from those words. So I guess I can understand a little bit of what he's feeling. I am not okay with being disrespected by people whom I've told why it's so important to me, and I don't think that I should have to be as a compromise. This isn't a compromise about terms used. It's a compromise of myself, if I choose to make it.
So I was feeling kind of shitty and off today, and maybe that's a little bit about why. I thought I would have stopped feeling overwhelmed after graduation. The fact that I have not has contributed to my overall state of unhappiness because it makes me believe that I will never stop feeling this way. I'll never be a calm person. I'll never just be content and easy-going. And that sucks. Again and again, I say it. We can't be anything more than what we are.
Transition made it possible for me to start dealing with all of the other shit that's been buried inside of me for the past 22 years. Everything else was being masked by the fact that I absolutely needed to do this in order to move forward in my life. It was do or die for me, really. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. But now I'm starting to actually face some of the shit that I should have confronted a long time ago. I'm not in a good place with it right now. I feel like that mountain of shit is just too much for me. I can't see to the other side. I feel like I may never be able to get past some of these things now that they are in the open. And I wish I could talk to my family about it. I wish I could talk to them about so many of the things that I am going through right now, but I am so afraid that they will think that the transition has caused these problems. I know it hasn't. I know it hasn't because these problems have always been there. I can't hide from them anymore because of my transition. And while that does suck for me in some ways, it's probably a good thing. I wish I could FEEL like it is.
It's hard to even remember what it felt like to be in "another body". This is my body, and it feels like it's always been this way. I don't feel like my face has changed. I think I've always seen myself this way, regardless of what other people saw. That's why it is so easy to accept the physical changes as they come. That is why it is exciting. You'll have moments of seeing yourself as being different now and you realize that you really are physically becoming what you have always known yourself to be internally. I'm trying to think about what I used to look like. I'm thinking about my legs and how I looked at them with disgust. I thought they looked fat and gross, and I never wanted anyone to see them. I would look at my chest in the mirror and look at my hips, seeing this fat that didn't belong there, and no matter what I did, it was never going to go away. I would smile, and it would just seem awkward. I couldn't look at myself and be confident. I'd have my good days, of course. But I wouldn't be able to take my shirt off in bed. Sometimes I wouldn't take any of my clothes off, and when I did, I always had to put them right back on. I couldn't stand being in that body. I couldn't stand someone else touching that body. I wanted to hide it, even from myself. And my voice...I couldn't even stand listening to it when people played it back for me. When I spoke, I would hear a much deeper and smoother voice, but whenever I found myself listening to a recording, I wanted to cry. I couldn't believe that that squeaky-ass nasal sound came out of me.
My train of thought just crashed. I think it hit another train. And now there are dying thought children. And they are on fire...Sometimes, I worry about myself...
I don't know if I would like it to stay this quiet or for it to get really loud right about now. I'm getting uncomfortable. My stomach is starting to bother me. I wonder if someone is here.
"The further you go, the less you know."
But I might have been drunk.
I don't think I've ever actually written anything while intoxicated, though I managed to pump out a good chunk of a nine-page letter before succumbing to the effects of a massive dose of some serious cough syrup. EPIC cough syrup.
I didn't intend to get drunk last night. It just sort of happened, and I know I did some really stupid shit on facebook and private messaged several people. Then I ate some toast, and the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed with all of my clothes on, drenched in sweat and smelling like a gay bar. What a lovely start to my day, don't you think?
I don't know why I felt off today. Little things just bother me more when I get this way. For example, people getting sidetracked often upsets me when there is clearly something that needs to be done. I tend to get anxious and easily frustrated.
Mr. Pittsburgh is next weekend, and I'm extremely worried about it. I don't really enjoy competing against my friends, for one thing, and that has more to do with the fact that I'm actually ridiculously competitive, and I can be a monumental douchebag. More than anything, I am discovering how limited my resources are and what that means for me. No matter how talented I am, I'm definitely not going to look the best. Things aren't going to be extravagant and over-the-top. I'm just going to do what I know how to do. And I'm starting to doubt myself and worry that that just won't be enough. I keep trying to answer the question of why I deserve this just as much or more than anyone else, and it's getting really difficult. I'm generally a pompous asshole, but I get in these annoying little ruts where I lack any self-confidence. I remember having this same sort of crisis right before helping out a friend with her own pageant. When I was facing the prospect of competing against one of my best friends earlier this year, I started feeling the same way. I know that I do. I know that I don't need expensive shit or fancy props to win. I know that I can carry myself to a victory even if I'm butt-ass naked, which I'm sure would make some people happy, at least. But there's that weird space of difference between knowing something and feeling it in which I'm finding myself. I feel stuck. I've felt stuck--in so many aspects of my life--for several months now, and I want to believe that the nice weather will turn things around for me.
I'm going on an unintentional diet for the next few weeks. It's reminiscent of the poor-kid diet I went through in October. I'm still a little freaked out by those pictures. Anyway, I had to spend at least a little bit trying to get things for this contest, and that tanked my already meager bank account. I have $1.16 to my name right now, and I don't have much food left in the house, and I feel like a jerk eating other people's stuff, so I eat my packets of tuna and have some cheerios. And I drink water. It's not like I'm terribly unhappy with it. I'm eating healthy things, but I never feel like I'm satisfied. I am always wanting more, but I know there is none. And that's depressing. I'm getting paranoid about not finding a job. I think that will be my biggest project tomorrow, other than heading to the bank to see how they will deal with a check that's made out to Dylan and not to Elise.
I got a letter from my brother today. I didn't really know how to respond to it. It's not an angry letter. He took his time with this one and really thought about what he wanted to say. I can understand exactly why he feels the way he does and the processes he used to rationalize his beliefs. But it just made me...sad. How can he expect to ever be close to me again? As much as I do cherish my past and everything in it, clinging to it in the way that he envisions would annihilate the possibility of ever becoming close to the person that I am now and will be in the future. I do not exist apart from my past. I have in no way attempted to erase the person I had been for 21 years. I still can look at those pictures and say, "This is me."
I want to be able to explain that those memories are not invalid, though my experience of them was much different. Being a little girl wasn't fun for me. It wasn't cute. It wasn't something I cherished or wanted. It was something that I wanted to ignore at the time. It was something that was there just as a word and nothing more. The word was nothing to me until it became a prison, until I couldn't ignore it any longer. Until I had to fight to be seen for who I am. When I look at those pictures, I don't see a little girl. I see me. Looking back, it's easy for me to recognize that I really have always been a boy, not because of what I was wearing or what sports I was playing, but because of how I felt inside and how I related to other people growing up. I always wanted to be in that role and be treated like the others, and I would kick and scream about how I wasn't, and I had NO IDEA why. I just don't think I'll be able to convince him that he's always had a little brother, really.
He's having a problem because these words aren't just words to him. They represent enormous constructs around which his entire life was based growing up. Changing them, in his mind, would mean having to alter the past--alter what he sees as the absolute truth of the universe. The past cannot be changed, and attempting to change it is living a lie. I can understand this logic perfectly, and perhaps this is why it is not a problem at all when people say she/Elise when referring to the version of me that existed prior to my transition. But there is more than the past. The present is NOT the same, and the future won't be either. But that's not going to negate what has already existed. He has attached our relationship directly to the words used to describe the relationship. Can I blame him? How many people today can really even begin to separate language from thought? In order for him to understand and accept the person that I am now, he's going to have to detach all of these aspects of our relationship from those words and transfer them to new ones, and I wonder what that will take for him.
I can't separate the pain from those words. So I guess I can understand a little bit of what he's feeling. I am not okay with being disrespected by people whom I've told why it's so important to me, and I don't think that I should have to be as a compromise. This isn't a compromise about terms used. It's a compromise of myself, if I choose to make it.
So I was feeling kind of shitty and off today, and maybe that's a little bit about why. I thought I would have stopped feeling overwhelmed after graduation. The fact that I have not has contributed to my overall state of unhappiness because it makes me believe that I will never stop feeling this way. I'll never be a calm person. I'll never just be content and easy-going. And that sucks. Again and again, I say it. We can't be anything more than what we are.
Transition made it possible for me to start dealing with all of the other shit that's been buried inside of me for the past 22 years. Everything else was being masked by the fact that I absolutely needed to do this in order to move forward in my life. It was do or die for me, really. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. But now I'm starting to actually face some of the shit that I should have confronted a long time ago. I'm not in a good place with it right now. I feel like that mountain of shit is just too much for me. I can't see to the other side. I feel like I may never be able to get past some of these things now that they are in the open. And I wish I could talk to my family about it. I wish I could talk to them about so many of the things that I am going through right now, but I am so afraid that they will think that the transition has caused these problems. I know it hasn't. I know it hasn't because these problems have always been there. I can't hide from them anymore because of my transition. And while that does suck for me in some ways, it's probably a good thing. I wish I could FEEL like it is.
It's hard to even remember what it felt like to be in "another body". This is my body, and it feels like it's always been this way. I don't feel like my face has changed. I think I've always seen myself this way, regardless of what other people saw. That's why it is so easy to accept the physical changes as they come. That is why it is exciting. You'll have moments of seeing yourself as being different now and you realize that you really are physically becoming what you have always known yourself to be internally. I'm trying to think about what I used to look like. I'm thinking about my legs and how I looked at them with disgust. I thought they looked fat and gross, and I never wanted anyone to see them. I would look at my chest in the mirror and look at my hips, seeing this fat that didn't belong there, and no matter what I did, it was never going to go away. I would smile, and it would just seem awkward. I couldn't look at myself and be confident. I'd have my good days, of course. But I wouldn't be able to take my shirt off in bed. Sometimes I wouldn't take any of my clothes off, and when I did, I always had to put them right back on. I couldn't stand being in that body. I couldn't stand someone else touching that body. I wanted to hide it, even from myself. And my voice...I couldn't even stand listening to it when people played it back for me. When I spoke, I would hear a much deeper and smoother voice, but whenever I found myself listening to a recording, I wanted to cry. I couldn't believe that that squeaky-ass nasal sound came out of me.
My train of thought just crashed. I think it hit another train. And now there are dying thought children. And they are on fire...Sometimes, I worry about myself...
I don't know if I would like it to stay this quiet or for it to get really loud right about now. I'm getting uncomfortable. My stomach is starting to bother me. I wonder if someone is here.
"The further you go, the less you know."
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