...or maybe you would.
The past couple of days, I've been surprisingly mellow, for some reason. No breakdowns, or long periods of loneliness or isolation or whatever. Just kind of going about my daily business, as if nothing ever happened.
Which shouldn't be a problem, but I was kind of wondering about WHY exactly that is the case. After all, given the fact that Matt pretty much said that there's no way he's sticking around as my friend given my emotional state, and then pushing Kevin away to do the same thing, you'd think I'd be a little bit more... broken down.
One of the odd things, however, is the fact that both of them, in saying that they can't be my friend right now, stated that they would, at some point in the vague future, like to re-engage in a friendship whenever I'm doing a bit better.
The odd thing is, what I've been thinking over the past few days, is that if they don't have the fortitude to be there when I'm at my worst, why do I want to have them be there when I'm at my best?
In that sense, I've come to the Dar quote from "Spring Street."
"I was thinking about the easy courage of my distant friends.
Saying 'you could let this bridge wash out, and never make amends.'"
At the same time, I'm starting to relate a bit back to the book "She's Come Undone." I admit that the most disturbing thing about the book to me was the concept that Delores might never make amends with her father, and the fact that a certain one of her therapists states that it's actually ok for her to decide never to make those amends. I can't say how much that concept bothered me, at the time.
Right now, however, I think that I understand it a bit. Like the fact that part of what all of my insecurities have been over the course of years is the fact that I've needed to be able to find some sort of closure on any of the situations that I've been in with different people. So the long period of not speaking to Ray or Steve bothered me, because that closure hadn't happened, and so long as it hadn't happened, I had a sense of overwhelming anxiety. The same, to some extent, with Matt.
I don't know what just snapped inside of me, but I've actually come to look at Matt's decision to not stick by me as a recognition of the type of person that Matt is. It doesn't matter that he is extremely intelligent, or how charming he is, or how much he tends to enjoy introspective music, the reality is that the way he has built his life is shallow and selfish. And seeing that, I actually don't have any need or desire to compel myself to get better so that I can try to be friends with him again. I can find other intelligent people in my life, and not all of them will be as selfish and shallow as Matt was, and I simply don't ever need to re-engage or reconcile with him.
The same is true of my friendship with Kevin. It's seemed way too often that Kevin's thought processes and moral convictions came after his decisions. Every time I heard him spout a "I'm the type of person who..." it seemed to be more of a justification for what he'd already decided to do, instead of a thought process that occurred in the preludes to making the decision. And honestly, I've been friends with too many females who have literally been "the other woman" to see a gay man go through the same thing, making the same mistakes, and pretending that he is completely unique and separate in what he's going through, when it's the oldest story in the book.
Do I wish them well? Of course. I certainly don't wish anything negative to happen to them, at all. But I wonder if this is where I let this bridge wash out, and never make amends.
There is still a part of me that wonders if this thought process is too soon. And the other theory I have for my own current emotional state is the fact that, to some extent, I'm simply working from a place of anger. After all, Matt abandoned me in my time of need, and Kevin stuck up for him and placed the blame on me. Certainly things that would provoke an anger response, and I have to recognize that all of the times that I've accomplished the best and most amazing things in my life, were times that I was working out of anger. I've used anger as the fuel for most of my best pieces of writing, as the fuel that shaped my early activism, and to stoke my motivation within a multitude of the jobs, classes, and positions that I've been in.
Granted, overwhelming "I can't see but for the red haze in front of my face" anger is overdone, but I can't help but wonder how I might be able to channel my anger positively, stoke it a little bit and keep it fueled, so I might be able to utilize it and maintain some sort of running motivator for years to come. I think anger suits me. It keeps me going, and my blood pumping. And it keeps me from going into that wallowing little mire of indignation and resentment where I become worthless.
So maybe that's the ticket. Give me a few days, let my anger run down, and I'll be back to wallowing in my own misery. But knowing that even just a little bit of anger can pull me out is a nice little trick up my sleeve for when I need to be productive later. In the meantime, here's to a healthy dose of anger!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Unconditional
For a very long time, I've struggled with the concept of unconditional love, and whether it actually exists. I've gotta say, I'm really thinking "no," at this point. At the same time, isn't it a basic human need? Isn't one of the bases for human beings having the ability to interact with one another having the ability to recognize that they have a worth that is separate from their own moods or behaviors?
For all that anybody may say that I have going for me in terms of looks, intelligence, or genuine sense of care for others, I can't help but believe that it's all a farce in some way. And I can't help but fall back on that sense, if I am so valuable and so worthy of love, why is it that nobody has been able to find a means to love me?
I have to admit that I've really put a lot of my friendships to the test recently. And I feel more than a little bit guilty for the way that I pushed Kevin away. He seemed to be moving in that direction already, and I gave one big shove. At the same time, I gave Matt the excuse that I pushed him away, and he took the excuse, but all of everything I did was practically begging him to stick by me. Perhaps the better parts of me will still be able to find a way to forgive him for it, and maybe one day I will. But right now, I can't help but just feel angry.
As I've said before, I'm having trouble letting go and ceasing my curating of the museum of my own personal injuries and slights, and maybe that's the one place I still need to manage before I can get any better. But in the meantime, I can't help but see the pattern of most of my friendships and relationships as a series of people who may think I'm fun or interesting at first, before they know me, and then, once they get close enough, they see whatever it is of me that is this horrible thing, and they find some way to opt out.
In that sense, I do have to be thankful for the friendships I have, where people have stuck by me, despite the fact that I feel like I'm taking so much more than I've been giving back. The people who have seen me at my weakest and my shittiest moments, and who are still willing to be my friend. Not only that, but not venture into viewing or framing my friendship as a burden to be endured, either.
I suppose in times like this, when I'm sitting alone, and the worst of the nasty little nagging thoughts erupt from my psyche, that's what I need to focus on first. It's so easy to remind myself of Matt, and Kevin, and Ray and Steve, and all of the people who have failed me in some way, instead of focusing on Andy and Ben, and Faisal, and Dan, and Julie, who stick by me every time, see me at my most vulnerable, and somehow manage to find something within that mess that they take away as something more to love.
In that sense, I suppose I have the tools at my disposal, after all. It's just a matter of figuring out when to pull them out when I need them the most, and how to use them properly. I suppose that I never was very much good at using tools...
For all that anybody may say that I have going for me in terms of looks, intelligence, or genuine sense of care for others, I can't help but believe that it's all a farce in some way. And I can't help but fall back on that sense, if I am so valuable and so worthy of love, why is it that nobody has been able to find a means to love me?
I have to admit that I've really put a lot of my friendships to the test recently. And I feel more than a little bit guilty for the way that I pushed Kevin away. He seemed to be moving in that direction already, and I gave one big shove. At the same time, I gave Matt the excuse that I pushed him away, and he took the excuse, but all of everything I did was practically begging him to stick by me. Perhaps the better parts of me will still be able to find a way to forgive him for it, and maybe one day I will. But right now, I can't help but just feel angry.
As I've said before, I'm having trouble letting go and ceasing my curating of the museum of my own personal injuries and slights, and maybe that's the one place I still need to manage before I can get any better. But in the meantime, I can't help but see the pattern of most of my friendships and relationships as a series of people who may think I'm fun or interesting at first, before they know me, and then, once they get close enough, they see whatever it is of me that is this horrible thing, and they find some way to opt out.
In that sense, I do have to be thankful for the friendships I have, where people have stuck by me, despite the fact that I feel like I'm taking so much more than I've been giving back. The people who have seen me at my weakest and my shittiest moments, and who are still willing to be my friend. Not only that, but not venture into viewing or framing my friendship as a burden to be endured, either.
I suppose in times like this, when I'm sitting alone, and the worst of the nasty little nagging thoughts erupt from my psyche, that's what I need to focus on first. It's so easy to remind myself of Matt, and Kevin, and Ray and Steve, and all of the people who have failed me in some way, instead of focusing on Andy and Ben, and Faisal, and Dan, and Julie, who stick by me every time, see me at my most vulnerable, and somehow manage to find something within that mess that they take away as something more to love.
In that sense, I suppose I have the tools at my disposal, after all. It's just a matter of figuring out when to pull them out when I need them the most, and how to use them properly. I suppose that I never was very much good at using tools...
Monday, October 20, 2008
Looking Overboard
Ok, so at the prompting of my friend Kevin, I've been listening to a whole lot of Savage Love podcasts. Which I enjoy because they're funny, despite the fact that the particular podcasts that Kevin directs me to are, for the most part, not really very informative on the particular situations that I find myself in. But he means well, and we love him for it.
There is one thing about the podcasts that has seemed to make a lot of sense to me, though, and it's centered around the concept of fluidity with regard to the openness of relationships. For a very long time, I've considered that most relationships that start out monogamous are better off staying that way, because at that point the first person to mention the possibility of opening up a relationship immediately becomes Public Enemy #1 and the relationship is doomed to end soon thereafter. Whereas, on the other hand, relationships that begin open stay open and succeed or fail of their own accord.
Apparently, according to the experience of Dan Savage, whose credibility, wherever it lies, is certainly better than my own... it seems that the most successful relationships are those that begin exclusively in order to create a security with both partners that shows them each that they are a priority for the other, and THEN they open up the relationship to others after they've successfully prioritized each other and feel more secure in one another's primacy.
Now, I've considered myself to be a long-standing believer that human emotions and affection should not be limited artificially, and therefore have remained pretty firmly on the side against monogamy in general. After all, if you care about somebody, why does that mean you should necessarily cut yourself off from being sexual, or even possibly caring, about somebody else, so long as you promise not to stop caring for your original partner?
I admit that one of the most attractive things for me regarding nonmonogamy is exactly the opposite of what most people accuse me of. Everybody who is monogamy-centric always says "you're just always looking for something better." This is really not the case, even at the times that I've been seeing multiple people at the same time. In fact, part of my PROBLEM has been that, once I fall in love with somebody, I become SO engulfed in my own emotional attachment to them, that I tend to lose myself in the process. Instead, a large portion of what I recognize to be an attractive feature of openness, is that if I assume that my partner is always going to be looking for something better, and because my self-esteem is low enough that I feel like they're pretty much guaranteed to find it within the week, then when they DO find something better, at least I can have some leverage for them not to immediately LEAVE me for that something better... I know, it's kind of self-defeating, but one of the few things I CAN say for myself is that I'm QUITE aware of what my issues are. Not that it seems to be helping me get OVER them very well, but whatever. That's why I blog. Because my therapist had no availability this week, and if I don't get shit like this out somehow, I do crazy things. Like lock myself in a bathroom at a queer wedding and text everyone I've ever been with telling them how much I miss them... I know, don't ask. And don't ask why I didn't make somebody take my damned phone away from me, either.
ANYWAY... part of the thing I'm really trying to work through right now is how in the world to resolve the situation with Barry. Barry, like so many of my other "relationships," is not REALLY a relationship. Yeah, I know, if I could have a dollar for every guy I ever cared about and was "with" without actually being "WITH" them, I'd be rich. There are really two obstacles that have made us pretty much say that a real relationship wouldn't work between us and therefore why we've never really tried anything. The first is that I live in Maryland, and he lives in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania very close to Maryland, but still... it's out of state and far enough away that we don't see one another very often. Even if we do share several text messages a day.
The other major obstacle comes from the fact that I've been very open and public about my stance regarding monogamy. He has been the same regarding his desire to have it. So here's the rub. Lately, after listening to these podcasts, and considering for a bit, I've realized that my own insecurities in the relationships... or non-relationships as most of them have been... have centered around the fact that, in private, those people I've been with have been very close, and very sweet, and we've had very intense personal connections. But in public, or even when anybody else was around at all, there'd been an almost nothing happening.
This has made me consider... maybe it WOULD be a good idea, at least for some indeterminate amount of time, to consider monogamy for the sake of proving a certain prioritization for one another. I admit that, given a monogamous relationship, I'd be able to be secure that I *do* matter and have primacy to the other person, because they are, in fact, sharing something with me that they are not sharing with anyone else, and also that they are making some sort of sacrifice for the sake of being with me.
Then, of course, my over-intellectual self steps in, and starts wondering about everything else, specifically with regard to Barry. Am I only thinking this because this is the largest obstacle between myself and Barry? Am I, instead of breaking out of one unhealthy dynamic of pushing people away through my insistence on complete openness right from the start, instead repeating another unhealthy dynamic pattern of simply paving over certain parts of myself in order to be accepted and loved by another person? Am I being so intensely focused on wanting to find a way to make things work with Barry only because of the fact that I have been feeling so lonely, and if so, is that really fair to him? Or am I over-processing this because I'm trying to find a way to justify my internal sense that I am doomed to forever be alone? And finally, even if we ARE able to work out this one obstacle, are we still doomed because of the distance?
The most trying thing, however, is the fact that I still have my insecurities. What if I mention the fact that I might be willing to try out monogamy, at least for a while, with Barry, and remove the largest obstacle between us, just to find out that the obstacle was more of an excuse for the fact that he pure and simple isn't really interested in a relationship with me? And would knowing that help me in some way, or would it set me back even further than I already am? After all, living with the illusion of hope sometimes seems as if it is a mixed blessing and curse in a lot of ways. Particularly given my current job prospects, having some sense that a ray of light can be coming seems to be pretty important to me right now. But at the same time, maintaining a delusion for the sake of moving on is never healthy, either.
Of course, the other problem is the fact that I've only very vaguely been talking to Barry about these concerns. On one hand, I feel as if it's important to have a discussion about a lot of this in person. But with both of our work schedules, combined with said distance, face-to-face time is rare. And we've already determined that I'm crazy enough that I can't keep on just bottling all of this in. At the same time, I also don't want him to feel as if he is somehow less because of the fact that things with Matt had just gone over so recently, too. Especially considering, had things not fallen through with Matt, it would have been particularly difficult to consider monogamy with Barry. At least not successfully. And it's hard to be able to give somebody the recognition that they are important and valuable of their own accord. I know as well as anyone, because I've been one NEEDY son of a bitch sometimes.
The fact is, I feel like I'm on a boat looking overboard at the ocean. On one hand, the water looks nice and cool, and pleasant enough to want to jump in and swim. On the other hand, this is a big fucking ocean, and I really don't want to drown in it...
There is one thing about the podcasts that has seemed to make a lot of sense to me, though, and it's centered around the concept of fluidity with regard to the openness of relationships. For a very long time, I've considered that most relationships that start out monogamous are better off staying that way, because at that point the first person to mention the possibility of opening up a relationship immediately becomes Public Enemy #1 and the relationship is doomed to end soon thereafter. Whereas, on the other hand, relationships that begin open stay open and succeed or fail of their own accord.
Apparently, according to the experience of Dan Savage, whose credibility, wherever it lies, is certainly better than my own... it seems that the most successful relationships are those that begin exclusively in order to create a security with both partners that shows them each that they are a priority for the other, and THEN they open up the relationship to others after they've successfully prioritized each other and feel more secure in one another's primacy.
Now, I've considered myself to be a long-standing believer that human emotions and affection should not be limited artificially, and therefore have remained pretty firmly on the side against monogamy in general. After all, if you care about somebody, why does that mean you should necessarily cut yourself off from being sexual, or even possibly caring, about somebody else, so long as you promise not to stop caring for your original partner?
I admit that one of the most attractive things for me regarding nonmonogamy is exactly the opposite of what most people accuse me of. Everybody who is monogamy-centric always says "you're just always looking for something better." This is really not the case, even at the times that I've been seeing multiple people at the same time. In fact, part of my PROBLEM has been that, once I fall in love with somebody, I become SO engulfed in my own emotional attachment to them, that I tend to lose myself in the process. Instead, a large portion of what I recognize to be an attractive feature of openness, is that if I assume that my partner is always going to be looking for something better, and because my self-esteem is low enough that I feel like they're pretty much guaranteed to find it within the week, then when they DO find something better, at least I can have some leverage for them not to immediately LEAVE me for that something better... I know, it's kind of self-defeating, but one of the few things I CAN say for myself is that I'm QUITE aware of what my issues are. Not that it seems to be helping me get OVER them very well, but whatever. That's why I blog. Because my therapist had no availability this week, and if I don't get shit like this out somehow, I do crazy things. Like lock myself in a bathroom at a queer wedding and text everyone I've ever been with telling them how much I miss them... I know, don't ask. And don't ask why I didn't make somebody take my damned phone away from me, either.
ANYWAY... part of the thing I'm really trying to work through right now is how in the world to resolve the situation with Barry. Barry, like so many of my other "relationships," is not REALLY a relationship. Yeah, I know, if I could have a dollar for every guy I ever cared about and was "with" without actually being "WITH" them, I'd be rich. There are really two obstacles that have made us pretty much say that a real relationship wouldn't work between us and therefore why we've never really tried anything. The first is that I live in Maryland, and he lives in Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania very close to Maryland, but still... it's out of state and far enough away that we don't see one another very often. Even if we do share several text messages a day.
The other major obstacle comes from the fact that I've been very open and public about my stance regarding monogamy. He has been the same regarding his desire to have it. So here's the rub. Lately, after listening to these podcasts, and considering for a bit, I've realized that my own insecurities in the relationships... or non-relationships as most of them have been... have centered around the fact that, in private, those people I've been with have been very close, and very sweet, and we've had very intense personal connections. But in public, or even when anybody else was around at all, there'd been an almost nothing happening.
This has made me consider... maybe it WOULD be a good idea, at least for some indeterminate amount of time, to consider monogamy for the sake of proving a certain prioritization for one another. I admit that, given a monogamous relationship, I'd be able to be secure that I *do* matter and have primacy to the other person, because they are, in fact, sharing something with me that they are not sharing with anyone else, and also that they are making some sort of sacrifice for the sake of being with me.
Then, of course, my over-intellectual self steps in, and starts wondering about everything else, specifically with regard to Barry. Am I only thinking this because this is the largest obstacle between myself and Barry? Am I, instead of breaking out of one unhealthy dynamic of pushing people away through my insistence on complete openness right from the start, instead repeating another unhealthy dynamic pattern of simply paving over certain parts of myself in order to be accepted and loved by another person? Am I being so intensely focused on wanting to find a way to make things work with Barry only because of the fact that I have been feeling so lonely, and if so, is that really fair to him? Or am I over-processing this because I'm trying to find a way to justify my internal sense that I am doomed to forever be alone? And finally, even if we ARE able to work out this one obstacle, are we still doomed because of the distance?
The most trying thing, however, is the fact that I still have my insecurities. What if I mention the fact that I might be willing to try out monogamy, at least for a while, with Barry, and remove the largest obstacle between us, just to find out that the obstacle was more of an excuse for the fact that he pure and simple isn't really interested in a relationship with me? And would knowing that help me in some way, or would it set me back even further than I already am? After all, living with the illusion of hope sometimes seems as if it is a mixed blessing and curse in a lot of ways. Particularly given my current job prospects, having some sense that a ray of light can be coming seems to be pretty important to me right now. But at the same time, maintaining a delusion for the sake of moving on is never healthy, either.
Of course, the other problem is the fact that I've only very vaguely been talking to Barry about these concerns. On one hand, I feel as if it's important to have a discussion about a lot of this in person. But with both of our work schedules, combined with said distance, face-to-face time is rare. And we've already determined that I'm crazy enough that I can't keep on just bottling all of this in. At the same time, I also don't want him to feel as if he is somehow less because of the fact that things with Matt had just gone over so recently, too. Especially considering, had things not fallen through with Matt, it would have been particularly difficult to consider monogamy with Barry. At least not successfully. And it's hard to be able to give somebody the recognition that they are important and valuable of their own accord. I know as well as anyone, because I've been one NEEDY son of a bitch sometimes.
The fact is, I feel like I'm on a boat looking overboard at the ocean. On one hand, the water looks nice and cool, and pleasant enough to want to jump in and swim. On the other hand, this is a big fucking ocean, and I really don't want to drown in it...
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Wedding Tribute
Instead of a regular blog, I'm just going to post here the words that I spoke for Julie and Sara's wedding. It was a little bit long, but it was very encompassing of most of what I feel regarding them and their marriage to one another...
"They say that relationships take on a life of their own in some ways. That a relationship becomes its own being, which requires attention, nurturing and respect for its own ability to grow and thrive. If this is true, then I feel especially honoured to be able to stand here today in front of all of you and give a testimonial for this relationship that we are honouring today. The reason is because of the fact that I have had the opportunity to be there from the birth of this relationship throughout the growing maturation of it over the years.
In that sense, I believe that today is the day that we are celebrating the adulthood of Julie and Sara’s togetherness. Today, I take the analogy of the quincenera or the bah mitzvah, the day that a child becomes an adult. Because truly, the love between Julie and Sara has grown, developed and matured over the course of years. And it has developed into something that I am proud to say that I have known.
It’s been eight years, and it is difficult to wrap your head around what exactly eight years signifies in a relationship like this. I think that we so very often cheapen the value and the lessons that are inherent in any experience by placing tags of years on things like this. But just to give some examples of how much the union between these two people has changed over the years, I’ll explain some of the major events that contributed to the shaping of this unit.
I look back and see so many things from that first, tenuous meeting at a Task Force table in the back of an Ani Difranco concert all those years ago. I remember Sara’s struggles with school, the years of manipulation and harassment she experienced from her church, including her excommunication, and the fact that she grew to overcome it all and be able to stand on her own. I’ve seen Julie through the Task Force’s largest financial and structural struggles, as well as through its period of struggling the most with its values. Where she’s been torn and uncertain about where she stood with the organization and whether she should continue along with it. I’ve been able to witness this couple through the development of friendships and professional undertakings, some of which have since been dissolved and others which have thrived, with many of you being here to bear witness for these two today. I have had the honor of being present at the birth of two children, seen them endure through some of the most terrifying medical crises and decision-making processes that any parent would ever have to go through. I’ve seen them through the growth and development of their children into school age, to see them move into their own rooms and beds, and begin a longer process of growth and development. I’ve been there to witness these two people through some of the best times, and I’ve also been there through some of the worst. I’ve seen them through the involvement of a live-in coparent who honestly has probably acted as just as much of a strain on the relationship as he is a support.
And to see this event as a culmination of what has come before, as the evidence that the relationship between them has come to maturity to be recognized... to see that it has thrived through all that has taken place before, I can only use that itself as evidence and testimony that I look forward to living through and bearing witness to all that they are able to do together in the years to come. Mazel tov."
"They say that relationships take on a life of their own in some ways. That a relationship becomes its own being, which requires attention, nurturing and respect for its own ability to grow and thrive. If this is true, then I feel especially honoured to be able to stand here today in front of all of you and give a testimonial for this relationship that we are honouring today. The reason is because of the fact that I have had the opportunity to be there from the birth of this relationship throughout the growing maturation of it over the years.
In that sense, I believe that today is the day that we are celebrating the adulthood of Julie and Sara’s togetherness. Today, I take the analogy of the quincenera or the bah mitzvah, the day that a child becomes an adult. Because truly, the love between Julie and Sara has grown, developed and matured over the course of years. And it has developed into something that I am proud to say that I have known.
It’s been eight years, and it is difficult to wrap your head around what exactly eight years signifies in a relationship like this. I think that we so very often cheapen the value and the lessons that are inherent in any experience by placing tags of years on things like this. But just to give some examples of how much the union between these two people has changed over the years, I’ll explain some of the major events that contributed to the shaping of this unit.
I look back and see so many things from that first, tenuous meeting at a Task Force table in the back of an Ani Difranco concert all those years ago. I remember Sara’s struggles with school, the years of manipulation and harassment she experienced from her church, including her excommunication, and the fact that she grew to overcome it all and be able to stand on her own. I’ve seen Julie through the Task Force’s largest financial and structural struggles, as well as through its period of struggling the most with its values. Where she’s been torn and uncertain about where she stood with the organization and whether she should continue along with it. I’ve been able to witness this couple through the development of friendships and professional undertakings, some of which have since been dissolved and others which have thrived, with many of you being here to bear witness for these two today. I have had the honor of being present at the birth of two children, seen them endure through some of the most terrifying medical crises and decision-making processes that any parent would ever have to go through. I’ve seen them through the growth and development of their children into school age, to see them move into their own rooms and beds, and begin a longer process of growth and development. I’ve been there to witness these two people through some of the best times, and I’ve also been there through some of the worst. I’ve seen them through the involvement of a live-in coparent who honestly has probably acted as just as much of a strain on the relationship as he is a support.
And to see this event as a culmination of what has come before, as the evidence that the relationship between them has come to maturity to be recognized... to see that it has thrived through all that has taken place before, I can only use that itself as evidence and testimony that I look forward to living through and bearing witness to all that they are able to do together in the years to come. Mazel tov."
Friday, October 17, 2008
Pushback
Ok, so I have to admit that, in my life, I've pretty much allowed myself to be a doormat. Coming with the whole thing of saying that I'll generally make sure that I'll do the right thing regardless of the fact that it might hurt me, I've started realizing that there's a great deal of harm to myself that I've been doing. To some extent, I've been telling myself, and everybody else as well, that I'm pure and simple not as valuable as others. That their feelings are worth more than my feelings.
So I've taken a step and determined that maybe being "old reliable" is putting myself in a position that I really don't want to be in. I take, for example, the Task Force. I've been applying to work at the Task Force since 1999. I've been an intern there, I've volunteered, I've been a consultant... I've done pretty much anything that they could possibly have me do, except get hired by them. A few months ago, my dream job opened up. Not only was it my dream job in terms of the fact that it was exactly the work I want to do right now, but it had potential to build into the position that I want to retire into. And Sue, if you're reading this, you're correct in knowing that your job is the one I'm talking about.
Now this job was great, and on top of everything, it seemed to be made for me in terms of the fact that I was completely qualified for it in every way. In those terms, I was actually far and above OVERqualified for the position. Not to get into the gritty details of it, but in a group interview process, where an entire department gave feedback, it *seemed* to me that the director of the department played a maverick move and hired somebody else for the position against the better wishes of the rest of the department.
It turns out that this other hire wasn't quite qualified enough for the position, and seven weeks later, they are no longer with the organization. And there is a big part of me that feels a flutter of hope that maybe they'll finally consider me for the position again.
Here's the problem, though. What kind of message does that send to the organization, to the director of that department, and ultimately, to myself? Gee, I'll just hold out here at a job that doesn't further my career, which doesn't pay very well, and which treats me like crap all the time, until you go through some of your other options, because they have timelines to follow, and after all, I'm not going anywhere, right? Don't worry about pushing me off to the side, it's ok! I'll just be here waiting for whenever you decide that you really can't do it with anybody other than me...
So now I'm thinking about the fact that their major annual conference is coming up in February, and not only did they put off the hire for two extra months to save money, but they also hired somebody else who didn't do the job satisfactorily for another seven weeks beyond that. So in effect, nothing has been done to prepare for this conference during the most critical portions of conference development overall. So again, that part of me thinks how great it might be to finally have an opportunity to take the position. Ok, and I admit it, I had a sadistic little fantasy about them opening up interviews for it again, and having me come in with a ripped pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing my feet up on the table, and saying "you know what? I dare you to not hire me again." But even doing something like that, wouldn't I still be allowing them to set me up for failure, since they already missed most of their deadlines? Would I then be putting myself in a position to be nothing more than a scapegoat for their own already-made blunders? And what, then, are the consequences to them for having made those mistakes?
I think that the road toward becoming a non-doormat is paved with me breaking a few dishes and making there be consequences for poor decision-making. I think that the greater road says "sorry, I had my availability to you, and you decided that you'd prefer to go with somebody else. You are now at a point where I can't even step in and fix the mess you've made with Creating Change this year, and I don't want to be your scapegoat." I think that my road has to allow them to go through a bad Creating Change and suffer through it knowing that they had the option for a better conference that they allowed to pass through the assumption that I would simply do whatever it was they needed, regardless of how poorly they treated me along the way. After that, sure, I'd be more than happy, even possibly thrilled, to take up the slack again and move into the position. But until then, I can't be as readily available as I've been in the past.
The same is true with my personal life. I recently came to the realization that I have never once in my life been with a guy who could publicly acknowledge who I am or what I mean to them in public. Even Ben, who was my boyfriend for a year, would have me hide when chatting with exes on ICU, and would just introduce me as "this is Brant" to people in public, not as his boyfriend or partner or whatever, and his fear of PDAs was outstanding, as well. And after I'd come to that recognition, I had to think about it.
Why in the world WOULD somebody take the risks associated with public acknowledgement of a relationship with me, if I never have any consequences for it? If I'll stick by them regardless of how poorly they treat me, or how often they place me in a box on the side, if I just pop up when they take me out of the box in private and say how grateful I am that they're paying attention to me *now*. There is no reason. Devoid of any consequences for failing to recognize my value, there is no reason for anybody to do anything other than failing me in that way.
Now, what I find relatively ironic, is seeing how much pushback you can get for finally standing up for yourself. And not even standing up for yourself in a hostile or nasty way, but just making simple statements acknowledging that the other person has done you wrong.
So I have a friend with a history of blowing off plans with me. About 50% of the time that we've had a plan in place for something, he's had something come up. And every time, I was understanding, and I told him it was ok, and that I understood, and all that jazz. Well, about a week or two ago, he mentioned going to a concert together. Great! A Dar Williams concert, so just for some background, he IS the only other gay man I know who is a fan of Dar. And given my family situation, me going with either Julie or Sara means the other one gets to stay home with the kids by themselves. So it's not like there's much of an option for me to go with anybody else other than this guy.
So a few days ago, I ask this friend what the deal is with plans, and are we still planning on going to the concert? If so, what should we do about tickets? He says "yeah, I definitely still want to go. Hey, why don't you buy the tickets and I'll just pay you back?" At this point, I get a little bit nervous because, quite frankly, we've put our entire household on a cash budget to save our credit cards for emergencies or gas, and I've got $40 in the bank and $30 in my pocket. The total of which, combined, doesn't come out to the $91 it costs for 2 tickets.
I go to lunch with him and a friend, and he asks if I've gotten the tickets yet. I admit that, no, I haven't, since I need to get a bit more money in my account since we're on a cash budget now. To which he responds with a snide remark about how I'm waiting for the tickets to sell out. Another day and anxiety attack later, I mention to him that the tickets are all standing room only anyway, and would he mind if we each buy our own separate tickets? He finally offers to buy them both and have me pay him back, which is ok, except that literally one minute later he says "oh, crap, I need to travel for work that weekend."
The old Brant would have said "wow, I'm so sorry that it's not going to work out. I know that you were really looking forward to seeing the show, since you haven't seen Dar in concert yet, and I know how much you like her." I would like to think that a far more prickish Brant would have said "so it would have been ok for me to shell out money that I don't have to buy tickets for a show that you never even checked you were able to actually attend, but now that you're laying your money down, NOW it's ok to take a look at your calendar?!"
I took neither route, since I'm neither the old Brant nor a far more prickish Brant. Instead, what I said was, "Not to sound like a jerk, but I kind of figured." He admitted that he thought that sounded kind of jerky, to which I explained that he was being really vague about it, and that I had the impression that he was leaving a back door open. He again stated that I was really being a jerk about it, and the conversation ended soon after. Just slightly upset that he would have accused me of being such a major asshole for saying that I assumed that he was going to cancel (which, just to remind everyone, that he DID actually cancel), I talked to a friend during my lunch break, who apparently had lunch with this other friend already, and agreed that what I did was act like a total jerk.
The fact is that this guy is, legitimately, going on a business trip, and he did really want to go to the concert. Ok, point taken. However, points should also be taken that he has a habit of bailing on me, some legitimate, and some like deciding to take a recreational trip to Rehoboth instead of showing up to my 30th birthday party. Point should also be taken that I specifically asked if he was still able/willing to go before we started nailing down plans, and he said yes. Finally, points should be noted that he actually made me feel bad about not buying the tickets sooner because I was allowing for an opportunity for the show to have sold out.
But why is it that all of these other points are somehow so easily able to be ignored, just because of the fact that THIS time, the REASON that he bailed out on me, is a legitimate one? So then it's not ok to point out that I assumed that he was going to bail on me? It's not like I called him names, or said that he was the worst friend ever, or anything like that. I just said that I figured he was going to bail. Which, again, he did.
Here's why both of these friends think that what I said was being an asshole. In a nutshell, I'm not being Old Brant anymore. And let's be honest, as much as Old Brant is not the guy that you choose to go out drinking with, or having fun with, or dating, or doing anything that you really WANT to do with, because Old Brant is the guy you come to when you're down, when all of your other plans have fallen through and you've exhausted all of your other possibilities, because you start thinking about Old Brant in terms of bad times, because Old Brant is the guy who's constantly picking you up OUT of those bad times. And we all want to have the security and reliability that is Old Brant there, ready for us, to pick up the pieces and not ask why, and not to judge the poor decisions that got us there, but just to tell us "it's ok. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sure that things will turn out better the next time."
But to not be Old Brant anymore, and to say, in effect "you know, you've made it a pattern of canceling plans with me, so I pretty much assumed that this time would be no different," suddenly creates a consequence for people's poor decision-making. Just like the Task Force, I can't simply allow my friends to exhaust every other possibility before maybe finally settling on me... until something better comes along again, that is. People don't want consequences, and they don't want to be told that they've made bad decisions. They just want to have Old Brant there, patting them on the back and telling them that everything is all ok.
But if I'm to stop making everybody else's feelings more valuable than my own, and if I'm going to stop settling to be sitting on the sidelines of life, waiting for somebody to get hurt so that I can go rushing in and make them feel better, then I need to start demanding that respect, and let people know the consequences of their actions. And I need to make myself matter more. The largest component of which is to say "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to brush me aside without consequences. I understand that you're in a bind right now, but I can't fix it for you this time. I would like to be there for you, but not as a last resort. I can prioritize you, but only if you commit to making me as high of a priority as you want me to make you."
People don't like that, and people are going to push back. But this time around, I'm the one who wants to put Old Brant on the side. This is a new and different form of Brant. One who will not accept other people defining how important or valuable he is. The Brant who is going to make himself a priority, offer consequences to people who fail to give him the respect and consideration that he deserves, and who is going to take a place amongst the rest of the world, instead of off to the side of them, watching out for all of their stumbles and scraped knees...
With all of that pushback on just one little statement, it would have been easy and tempting to say "well, I have felt kind of hurt that he'd canceled on all of that other stuff, but I understand that this time wasn't really his fault, and I guess what I said was a little bit insensitive." But that would have been giving in to Old Brant. So instead, I stood my ground. Even to my friend yelling at me over the phone and telling me how much I was pissing him off.
And for all of that pushback, I do have to say, I'm thinking that I like this New Brant, after all.
So I've taken a step and determined that maybe being "old reliable" is putting myself in a position that I really don't want to be in. I take, for example, the Task Force. I've been applying to work at the Task Force since 1999. I've been an intern there, I've volunteered, I've been a consultant... I've done pretty much anything that they could possibly have me do, except get hired by them. A few months ago, my dream job opened up. Not only was it my dream job in terms of the fact that it was exactly the work I want to do right now, but it had potential to build into the position that I want to retire into. And Sue, if you're reading this, you're correct in knowing that your job is the one I'm talking about.
Now this job was great, and on top of everything, it seemed to be made for me in terms of the fact that I was completely qualified for it in every way. In those terms, I was actually far and above OVERqualified for the position. Not to get into the gritty details of it, but in a group interview process, where an entire department gave feedback, it *seemed* to me that the director of the department played a maverick move and hired somebody else for the position against the better wishes of the rest of the department.
It turns out that this other hire wasn't quite qualified enough for the position, and seven weeks later, they are no longer with the organization. And there is a big part of me that feels a flutter of hope that maybe they'll finally consider me for the position again.
Here's the problem, though. What kind of message does that send to the organization, to the director of that department, and ultimately, to myself? Gee, I'll just hold out here at a job that doesn't further my career, which doesn't pay very well, and which treats me like crap all the time, until you go through some of your other options, because they have timelines to follow, and after all, I'm not going anywhere, right? Don't worry about pushing me off to the side, it's ok! I'll just be here waiting for whenever you decide that you really can't do it with anybody other than me...
So now I'm thinking about the fact that their major annual conference is coming up in February, and not only did they put off the hire for two extra months to save money, but they also hired somebody else who didn't do the job satisfactorily for another seven weeks beyond that. So in effect, nothing has been done to prepare for this conference during the most critical portions of conference development overall. So again, that part of me thinks how great it might be to finally have an opportunity to take the position. Ok, and I admit it, I had a sadistic little fantasy about them opening up interviews for it again, and having me come in with a ripped pair of jeans and a t-shirt, throwing my feet up on the table, and saying "you know what? I dare you to not hire me again." But even doing something like that, wouldn't I still be allowing them to set me up for failure, since they already missed most of their deadlines? Would I then be putting myself in a position to be nothing more than a scapegoat for their own already-made blunders? And what, then, are the consequences to them for having made those mistakes?
I think that the road toward becoming a non-doormat is paved with me breaking a few dishes and making there be consequences for poor decision-making. I think that the greater road says "sorry, I had my availability to you, and you decided that you'd prefer to go with somebody else. You are now at a point where I can't even step in and fix the mess you've made with Creating Change this year, and I don't want to be your scapegoat." I think that my road has to allow them to go through a bad Creating Change and suffer through it knowing that they had the option for a better conference that they allowed to pass through the assumption that I would simply do whatever it was they needed, regardless of how poorly they treated me along the way. After that, sure, I'd be more than happy, even possibly thrilled, to take up the slack again and move into the position. But until then, I can't be as readily available as I've been in the past.
The same is true with my personal life. I recently came to the realization that I have never once in my life been with a guy who could publicly acknowledge who I am or what I mean to them in public. Even Ben, who was my boyfriend for a year, would have me hide when chatting with exes on ICU, and would just introduce me as "this is Brant" to people in public, not as his boyfriend or partner or whatever, and his fear of PDAs was outstanding, as well. And after I'd come to that recognition, I had to think about it.
Why in the world WOULD somebody take the risks associated with public acknowledgement of a relationship with me, if I never have any consequences for it? If I'll stick by them regardless of how poorly they treat me, or how often they place me in a box on the side, if I just pop up when they take me out of the box in private and say how grateful I am that they're paying attention to me *now*. There is no reason. Devoid of any consequences for failing to recognize my value, there is no reason for anybody to do anything other than failing me in that way.
Now, what I find relatively ironic, is seeing how much pushback you can get for finally standing up for yourself. And not even standing up for yourself in a hostile or nasty way, but just making simple statements acknowledging that the other person has done you wrong.
So I have a friend with a history of blowing off plans with me. About 50% of the time that we've had a plan in place for something, he's had something come up. And every time, I was understanding, and I told him it was ok, and that I understood, and all that jazz. Well, about a week or two ago, he mentioned going to a concert together. Great! A Dar Williams concert, so just for some background, he IS the only other gay man I know who is a fan of Dar. And given my family situation, me going with either Julie or Sara means the other one gets to stay home with the kids by themselves. So it's not like there's much of an option for me to go with anybody else other than this guy.
So a few days ago, I ask this friend what the deal is with plans, and are we still planning on going to the concert? If so, what should we do about tickets? He says "yeah, I definitely still want to go. Hey, why don't you buy the tickets and I'll just pay you back?" At this point, I get a little bit nervous because, quite frankly, we've put our entire household on a cash budget to save our credit cards for emergencies or gas, and I've got $40 in the bank and $30 in my pocket. The total of which, combined, doesn't come out to the $91 it costs for 2 tickets.
I go to lunch with him and a friend, and he asks if I've gotten the tickets yet. I admit that, no, I haven't, since I need to get a bit more money in my account since we're on a cash budget now. To which he responds with a snide remark about how I'm waiting for the tickets to sell out. Another day and anxiety attack later, I mention to him that the tickets are all standing room only anyway, and would he mind if we each buy our own separate tickets? He finally offers to buy them both and have me pay him back, which is ok, except that literally one minute later he says "oh, crap, I need to travel for work that weekend."
The old Brant would have said "wow, I'm so sorry that it's not going to work out. I know that you were really looking forward to seeing the show, since you haven't seen Dar in concert yet, and I know how much you like her." I would like to think that a far more prickish Brant would have said "so it would have been ok for me to shell out money that I don't have to buy tickets for a show that you never even checked you were able to actually attend, but now that you're laying your money down, NOW it's ok to take a look at your calendar?!"
I took neither route, since I'm neither the old Brant nor a far more prickish Brant. Instead, what I said was, "Not to sound like a jerk, but I kind of figured." He admitted that he thought that sounded kind of jerky, to which I explained that he was being really vague about it, and that I had the impression that he was leaving a back door open. He again stated that I was really being a jerk about it, and the conversation ended soon after. Just slightly upset that he would have accused me of being such a major asshole for saying that I assumed that he was going to cancel (which, just to remind everyone, that he DID actually cancel), I talked to a friend during my lunch break, who apparently had lunch with this other friend already, and agreed that what I did was act like a total jerk.
The fact is that this guy is, legitimately, going on a business trip, and he did really want to go to the concert. Ok, point taken. However, points should also be taken that he has a habit of bailing on me, some legitimate, and some like deciding to take a recreational trip to Rehoboth instead of showing up to my 30th birthday party. Point should also be taken that I specifically asked if he was still able/willing to go before we started nailing down plans, and he said yes. Finally, points should be noted that he actually made me feel bad about not buying the tickets sooner because I was allowing for an opportunity for the show to have sold out.
But why is it that all of these other points are somehow so easily able to be ignored, just because of the fact that THIS time, the REASON that he bailed out on me, is a legitimate one? So then it's not ok to point out that I assumed that he was going to bail on me? It's not like I called him names, or said that he was the worst friend ever, or anything like that. I just said that I figured he was going to bail. Which, again, he did.
Here's why both of these friends think that what I said was being an asshole. In a nutshell, I'm not being Old Brant anymore. And let's be honest, as much as Old Brant is not the guy that you choose to go out drinking with, or having fun with, or dating, or doing anything that you really WANT to do with, because Old Brant is the guy you come to when you're down, when all of your other plans have fallen through and you've exhausted all of your other possibilities, because you start thinking about Old Brant in terms of bad times, because Old Brant is the guy who's constantly picking you up OUT of those bad times. And we all want to have the security and reliability that is Old Brant there, ready for us, to pick up the pieces and not ask why, and not to judge the poor decisions that got us there, but just to tell us "it's ok. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sure that things will turn out better the next time."
But to not be Old Brant anymore, and to say, in effect "you know, you've made it a pattern of canceling plans with me, so I pretty much assumed that this time would be no different," suddenly creates a consequence for people's poor decision-making. Just like the Task Force, I can't simply allow my friends to exhaust every other possibility before maybe finally settling on me... until something better comes along again, that is. People don't want consequences, and they don't want to be told that they've made bad decisions. They just want to have Old Brant there, patting them on the back and telling them that everything is all ok.
But if I'm to stop making everybody else's feelings more valuable than my own, and if I'm going to stop settling to be sitting on the sidelines of life, waiting for somebody to get hurt so that I can go rushing in and make them feel better, then I need to start demanding that respect, and let people know the consequences of their actions. And I need to make myself matter more. The largest component of which is to say "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to brush me aside without consequences. I understand that you're in a bind right now, but I can't fix it for you this time. I would like to be there for you, but not as a last resort. I can prioritize you, but only if you commit to making me as high of a priority as you want me to make you."
People don't like that, and people are going to push back. But this time around, I'm the one who wants to put Old Brant on the side. This is a new and different form of Brant. One who will not accept other people defining how important or valuable he is. The Brant who is going to make himself a priority, offer consequences to people who fail to give him the respect and consideration that he deserves, and who is going to take a place amongst the rest of the world, instead of off to the side of them, watching out for all of their stumbles and scraped knees...
With all of that pushback on just one little statement, it would have been easy and tempting to say "well, I have felt kind of hurt that he'd canceled on all of that other stuff, but I understand that this time wasn't really his fault, and I guess what I said was a little bit insensitive." But that would have been giving in to Old Brant. So instead, I stood my ground. Even to my friend yelling at me over the phone and telling me how much I was pissing him off.
And for all of that pushback, I do have to say, I'm thinking that I like this New Brant, after all.
Monday, October 6, 2008
J'Accuse!
I was originally intending this post to be entitled "The Butterfly Effect" because of the fact that it really does seem as if there is some sort of malevolent force in the universe that just continues to take every good intention you ever have and corrupt it. To force every action that intends to make the world a better place, to instead leave hurt and anguish behind.
Unfortunately, in the midst of lying in bed, wallowing in my sense of my own wrethedness, I started staring upward at the ceiling. And without my glasses, everything looks blurry enough, but given the shadow that played on the ceiling at the time of day, I've decided that I hate those orb-like ceiling spot-lights. I hate them because I started staring at the one spotlight right at the foot of my bed, and realized how much it looks like a single, gigantic, eyeball. And like most giant eyeballs above our heads, it was staring directly at me.
The thing about giant eyeballs is that there's something in us that makes us believe that they see everything about us. Our entire lives, our souls, in one perfect snapshot. And, this eye being a light bulb and not really an eye at all, it was unblinking. Which is always that unnerving thing, too. There is no break in it, no room for a slip or a failure, just always, constantly, "on."
The truth is that I so often feel as if I'm such a fraud. Looking back on my early childhood, most of my memories revolve around being a spoiled, selfish brat of a kid. The kind who tormented and pestered his older brothers, but worked up enough manipulativeness even at such a young age to realize that just turning on the doe-eyes and saying "I love you mommy" would mean that I wouldn't get in trouble for anything I did. That was, at least, until my mother walked down the hall one day and caught me dancing in front of both of my brothers singing "I got away with it, I got away with it." After that day, I never really got away with anything anymore.
But since then, I can't help but wonder if that bratty little kid was my core persona. If perhaps, at my base, I'm just this selfish little rotten person that deserves to get his ass kicked because all he does is stir up trouble and manipulate people. And that this baseline persona is exactly the reason why all of my good intentions turn out wrong.
The fact is, Matt was still trying to let me down easy when he said that I was a healer. When he talked about all of the good that I do, and try to do, for everyone I meet in the world. And I admit that I've really made that desire to make the world a better place than I found it a part of my identity, that I want to leave each person I encounter a little bit better, happier. I want to find suffering and mitigate it to the best of my ability. I find somebody struggling, and I want to help them along their journey.
I did that to him, and he saw exactly what I was trying to do. And he praised me for it, perhaps in the best way it possibly could have been presented to me, too. So maybe this whole self-accusation problem, the eye and the accusation within it, is just my own inability to see the good in myself. That entire self-scouring, trying to find the answer to what there is of value within myself, when all I see is some twisted, malformed monster.
I gave Matt my journal on Saturday, but I honestly did it in anger. At the height of the issue, he was pushing me away just for the sake of pushing me away, and I admit that he was really cruel by telling me that I didn't know him and didn't understand anything about him. So I threw the most secretive pieces of my psyche, some of them from the time in my life that I truly hate who I was, as well. High school was a dark time for me. College was much better, of course, and I had a lot of writing from back then, too, but my writing had always had that sense of being some audience that I could write to, but still be my own private thing. That nobody would ever see it, and so it was a way to get things out without having to actually tell anybody.
But I gave it to him. Perhaps that, too, is part of the sense of the eye. For the first time, there is somebody out there who knows how terrible of a poet I am. Who knows some of the things that I thought about myself and about other people throughout both my worst years, and my best, as the dichotomy between high school and college both were.
Part of me thinks of it as odd that he doesn't see me as a monster, as well. Then again, everybody has their own nightmares to fight through, Matt not the least of them, and I remind myself that he was still trying to let me down easy. Because the fact is that we have inverse curses. He can't for the life of him come to fall in love with somebody else. And I am incapable of actually being loved. I suppose he still feels guilty about everything, and he knows, at least, who I've been trying to be. It really was a great gift. But the eye keeps on staring at me, even now while I have my back turned to it while I sit at my computer typing this. The accusation of true sight.
I keep on coming back to a song that has had all too much meaning for me over the years. Melissa Ferrick's "To Let You See Me," the refrain which states:
"But oh, to let you see me
because I am not that pretty
oh but you will find out, and then,
you will leave me."
That's it right there, the height of my own insecurities, in one well-worded and beautifully vocalized phrase. My fear of abandonment, my sense that I am completely incapable of being loved, my fear that I really have nothing to offer other than a host of good intentions that I constantly fail miserably at coming to the completion of. Because in all of his own good intentions, and his compliments, and his desire to build me up, the fact is that he truly did spend several months trying to love me. And whether it was his incapability or mine, the one thing I still walk away from is that it was one more of a series of people who saw me, and just couldn't bring themselves to love me.
Ok, I'm just realizing now that there are people out there that are actually going to READ this crap. To all of you, I really apologize. This is not the type of shit you read this blog for. Or maybe it is, in which case you are one masochistic son of a bitch. No, really, though, I'm sorry. This is my process, and unfortunately, paper and pen stopped working for me after college. For the most part, at least. Typing is what I do, and I don't have some elastic-bound, private, never-to-be-actually-read volume that is somehow going to make me excise all of this cancer from my being so that I can move on to something a little bit less paralyzed.
Which, I suppose, brings me back to the topic that this blog was supposed to be about. And yeah, I admit that I was reminded of it by watching Heroes. Not that I didn't already have some sense of it, but the last episode had actually rung it home a bit in that way... It's the sense of not knowing what to DO. So what if there actually IS some sort of rule that if you are doomed to cause more pain and suffering every time you try to do something good, or that every time you attempt to mend a wound, that you're destined somehow to cause it to grow, then what do you do? I can't for the life of me imagine even being able to try to stop myself from doing the best I can by the world. I can't help but attempt to step in and take action when I see suffering, or a need that must be fulfilled. And even knowing that my own intervention has the potential to make things that much worse, how can I help myself but still at least try to intervene?
This is why I choose not to believe in God. Because in a universe that is inherently meaningless, finding yourself in a situation where you do the best you can with what you have actually makes itself into a positive lesson. A sort of putting an order to the chaos. Whereas the world being as it is, and knowing that there is a being the likes of which we are nothing in comparison to, who actually made the world this way... I may know that my mission is bigger than myself, but at least in the universe that I conceive, every little bit counts. In a world that was ordered specifically in this way by a divine power, however, I simply refer back to the words of Elphaba in the musical Wicked: "No good deed goes unpunished."
And perhaps it's not just in myself that the rule goes. For all of what it was worth, Matt telling me that I'm a healer would have been the best thing that he possibly could have done. But the eye still mocks me, looking through my floundering to witness my failure, and as it stares at me, all I can think of it saying is "J'accuse!" And in that sense, I'll never know the alternative, but... I wonder if perhaps it may not have been better for him not to have tried to point out the good in me, after all...
Unfortunately, in the midst of lying in bed, wallowing in my sense of my own wrethedness, I started staring upward at the ceiling. And without my glasses, everything looks blurry enough, but given the shadow that played on the ceiling at the time of day, I've decided that I hate those orb-like ceiling spot-lights. I hate them because I started staring at the one spotlight right at the foot of my bed, and realized how much it looks like a single, gigantic, eyeball. And like most giant eyeballs above our heads, it was staring directly at me.
The thing about giant eyeballs is that there's something in us that makes us believe that they see everything about us. Our entire lives, our souls, in one perfect snapshot. And, this eye being a light bulb and not really an eye at all, it was unblinking. Which is always that unnerving thing, too. There is no break in it, no room for a slip or a failure, just always, constantly, "on."
The truth is that I so often feel as if I'm such a fraud. Looking back on my early childhood, most of my memories revolve around being a spoiled, selfish brat of a kid. The kind who tormented and pestered his older brothers, but worked up enough manipulativeness even at such a young age to realize that just turning on the doe-eyes and saying "I love you mommy" would mean that I wouldn't get in trouble for anything I did. That was, at least, until my mother walked down the hall one day and caught me dancing in front of both of my brothers singing "I got away with it, I got away with it." After that day, I never really got away with anything anymore.
But since then, I can't help but wonder if that bratty little kid was my core persona. If perhaps, at my base, I'm just this selfish little rotten person that deserves to get his ass kicked because all he does is stir up trouble and manipulate people. And that this baseline persona is exactly the reason why all of my good intentions turn out wrong.
The fact is, Matt was still trying to let me down easy when he said that I was a healer. When he talked about all of the good that I do, and try to do, for everyone I meet in the world. And I admit that I've really made that desire to make the world a better place than I found it a part of my identity, that I want to leave each person I encounter a little bit better, happier. I want to find suffering and mitigate it to the best of my ability. I find somebody struggling, and I want to help them along their journey.
I did that to him, and he saw exactly what I was trying to do. And he praised me for it, perhaps in the best way it possibly could have been presented to me, too. So maybe this whole self-accusation problem, the eye and the accusation within it, is just my own inability to see the good in myself. That entire self-scouring, trying to find the answer to what there is of value within myself, when all I see is some twisted, malformed monster.
I gave Matt my journal on Saturday, but I honestly did it in anger. At the height of the issue, he was pushing me away just for the sake of pushing me away, and I admit that he was really cruel by telling me that I didn't know him and didn't understand anything about him. So I threw the most secretive pieces of my psyche, some of them from the time in my life that I truly hate who I was, as well. High school was a dark time for me. College was much better, of course, and I had a lot of writing from back then, too, but my writing had always had that sense of being some audience that I could write to, but still be my own private thing. That nobody would ever see it, and so it was a way to get things out without having to actually tell anybody.
But I gave it to him. Perhaps that, too, is part of the sense of the eye. For the first time, there is somebody out there who knows how terrible of a poet I am. Who knows some of the things that I thought about myself and about other people throughout both my worst years, and my best, as the dichotomy between high school and college both were.
Part of me thinks of it as odd that he doesn't see me as a monster, as well. Then again, everybody has their own nightmares to fight through, Matt not the least of them, and I remind myself that he was still trying to let me down easy. Because the fact is that we have inverse curses. He can't for the life of him come to fall in love with somebody else. And I am incapable of actually being loved. I suppose he still feels guilty about everything, and he knows, at least, who I've been trying to be. It really was a great gift. But the eye keeps on staring at me, even now while I have my back turned to it while I sit at my computer typing this. The accusation of true sight.
I keep on coming back to a song that has had all too much meaning for me over the years. Melissa Ferrick's "To Let You See Me," the refrain which states:
"But oh, to let you see me
because I am not that pretty
oh but you will find out, and then,
you will leave me."
That's it right there, the height of my own insecurities, in one well-worded and beautifully vocalized phrase. My fear of abandonment, my sense that I am completely incapable of being loved, my fear that I really have nothing to offer other than a host of good intentions that I constantly fail miserably at coming to the completion of. Because in all of his own good intentions, and his compliments, and his desire to build me up, the fact is that he truly did spend several months trying to love me. And whether it was his incapability or mine, the one thing I still walk away from is that it was one more of a series of people who saw me, and just couldn't bring themselves to love me.
Ok, I'm just realizing now that there are people out there that are actually going to READ this crap. To all of you, I really apologize. This is not the type of shit you read this blog for. Or maybe it is, in which case you are one masochistic son of a bitch. No, really, though, I'm sorry. This is my process, and unfortunately, paper and pen stopped working for me after college. For the most part, at least. Typing is what I do, and I don't have some elastic-bound, private, never-to-be-actually-read volume that is somehow going to make me excise all of this cancer from my being so that I can move on to something a little bit less paralyzed.
Which, I suppose, brings me back to the topic that this blog was supposed to be about. And yeah, I admit that I was reminded of it by watching Heroes. Not that I didn't already have some sense of it, but the last episode had actually rung it home a bit in that way... It's the sense of not knowing what to DO. So what if there actually IS some sort of rule that if you are doomed to cause more pain and suffering every time you try to do something good, or that every time you attempt to mend a wound, that you're destined somehow to cause it to grow, then what do you do? I can't for the life of me imagine even being able to try to stop myself from doing the best I can by the world. I can't help but attempt to step in and take action when I see suffering, or a need that must be fulfilled. And even knowing that my own intervention has the potential to make things that much worse, how can I help myself but still at least try to intervene?
This is why I choose not to believe in God. Because in a universe that is inherently meaningless, finding yourself in a situation where you do the best you can with what you have actually makes itself into a positive lesson. A sort of putting an order to the chaos. Whereas the world being as it is, and knowing that there is a being the likes of which we are nothing in comparison to, who actually made the world this way... I may know that my mission is bigger than myself, but at least in the universe that I conceive, every little bit counts. In a world that was ordered specifically in this way by a divine power, however, I simply refer back to the words of Elphaba in the musical Wicked: "No good deed goes unpunished."
And perhaps it's not just in myself that the rule goes. For all of what it was worth, Matt telling me that I'm a healer would have been the best thing that he possibly could have done. But the eye still mocks me, looking through my floundering to witness my failure, and as it stares at me, all I can think of it saying is "J'accuse!" And in that sense, I'll never know the alternative, but... I wonder if perhaps it may not have been better for him not to have tried to point out the good in me, after all...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
