I have reached a point where I
am exhausted with trying. It’s not depression per se, but just out of fucks
with no source of renewal in sight.
I am noticing my age. I feel it
everywhere – in my knees, my metabolism, my “bounce”. There isn’t much. I have
this vague feeling that by “this age” some of this shit should be permanently
resolved.
Here are some things that I have
been thinking about.
I am tired of feeling scrappy. I
feel like I have to be constantly vigilant at proving my worth. Not because I
don’t feel worthy – it’s much different than self-esteem. I feel like I have to
demonstrate it because my confidence in other peoples’ ability to recognize it
is so low. I also have this belief that while people are generally good, they
are mostly fickle and self-serving. If it does them good to acknowledge my
value, then they do it. If it becomes hard or there is a change in the
direction of the air, I am on my own.
I am on my own. About 95% of the
time, I am on my own to make things happen, to take care of myself, to be
concerned about my wellbeing, to connect. The remaining 5% is pieced together
from such minute contributions that it is a scattered quilt of such tiny
patches that they are individually of little consequence.
I am completely missing any softness.
Or at least it feels as if there is none. I don’t have genuine feelings of
gentleness very often or the sweetness of gentleness from others. All of those
high-frequency resonances, the colors if you will, have been worn off. I am so
carefully edited now; I don’t even have much room for compartmentalization. I
am post-war Cordelia.
I am wondering if this higher
resonance was femininity. Or gayness. Or boys who also like dick. Or something
else entirely. I cannot imagine the coexistence of that in this place. Even if
it were accessible to me, I don’t know where I would find it. My gut says that
if I did find it, that it would not be safe, it would not be welcome, it would
not be tolerated.
Is part of it R? His complete
intolerance for the frivolous or feminine or sweet? I think yes. How strange it
is then that he is the call out on this loss.
For the longest time, I have
known that my biggest fear is hassle. I hate the hassle of things. Not hard
things or unknown things but when things are a hassle. That has caused me to
modulate and edit and moderate and ignore and generally sublimate. Not because
I am political, not because I am wise, not because I “get it”, but because I
simply do not want to be hassled. People disliking me is not a hit to my
self-worth. It’s a hassle. And I hate hassle above all else.
It is pretty clear to me that
the thing I hate about being gay is the hassle. The constant explaining, the
trying not to look too gay, the trying to look gayer, the hassle about this
being the thing that keeps me from being fully assimilated. Non-assimilation is
the ultimate hassle.
I want to stand out, but only as
the best example of it. Only for people to admire it and envy it. It’s really
standing above instead of standing out or apart.
So, what of this construct of
gender? How would I describe myself? What would my pronouns be?
Honestly, probably ME, MY, MINE.
That is usually quite enough – the clique of one. But now the clique does not
click.
However, one of the things I
know is that it will not always be like this. I also know that I do my best
almost 100% of the time.
What I also know is that there
is a growing sense of comfort – and of difference – because I know that there
are a finite number of times that I have to do this. There are only so many
times that I have to cycle back to these issues, resurrect the demons, or just
feel this. An because I am doing it now that means one fewer times before I don’t
have to do it anymore. The finiteness of the count seems closer now – not because
the end is near, but because I scrapped through the middle and made it to the
beginning of the end. I kind of like that – it is also resonantly sad.
