The Fear-of-Living Asylum

Photo Credit: Pam Hawkins

September 1, 2013. Sunday afternoon.

It's been a very long time since my spirit has been this low. I have no drive, no motivation. My home hasn't quite become a prison, but it's no longer a sanctuary used for recharging life’s batteries. It's become more of a hideout--the only place I feel completely safe and free. Freedom while hiding out? What kind of freedom is that? Freedom is living without confinement. I’m living in self-imposed confinement as if I’ve checked myself into the Fear-of-Living Asylum. There is no human contact. There's loneliness. That kind of “freedom” is more paralyzing than freeing.  

Do you ever find yourself excited at the prospect of hanging out with friends? Then as the rendezvous time approaches you wish only to be at home--alone? So you make an excuse and go home. Then an hour later (if you even make it an hour) you're filled with regret for not hanging out? You wanted to, but something inside of you just couldn’t? Desire and Reluctance battle it out inside of me, the Big Money prize almost always given to Reluctance. I hide. I need to be around people; I need human contact; I need to nourish my soul, but I feel that my mood and energy is so negative that subjecting another person to it would be worse than sitting home alone. Okay, I can hear the thoughts going through your head right now. You're thinking that my mood might actually lift if I was hanging out with my friends and to that I respond, “You're probably right.” I just can't seem to see that through the murk because I'm living too deeply in my head. Is slight depression at play here?

I'm reminded of a time in my adolescence. I used to love to play in the closet (insert gay joke here). My bedroom was the first door on the right as you walked down the hallway in the house where I grew up. It had wall-to-wall rust-colored carpet that extended into the closet. Not that you could see it for all the bags of clothes and junk. I can picture it clearly in my mind even now. That shallow closet was a good hiding place--for things and for me. It was a place to be alone. I used to part the hanging clothes down the center and push them to either end of the rod so that the string from the overhead light was exposed, hanging down, easily accessible should I want to pull it and plunge myself into darkness. I would sit inside that confined space on a black garbage bag filled with outgrown clothes. It was like it was a beanbag. I was separate and alone, while the goings on inside the rest of the house continued without me. Concealed, hidden, shut away from view behind that door I felt safe. I paid no attention to the idea that someone might be just outside the door listening--a trait that didn't carry into my adulthood. Now I’m constantly concerned about who can hear what.

My apartment is like a larger version of that closet. I’m surrounded; enclosed. I feel safe from the world behind its closed doors. I feel untouchable. I feel like anything is possible for me. I’m on my turf. I reign supreme. It's a place where I dream of what I want, but I never fully set those dreams into motion. Once I cross the threshold into the outside world, the concrete walls that house my home are replaced by imaginary walls that I allow to quench the flames of my desires. Inside my false-sense-of-happy self-confinement, I use my keyboard to write about my life, but I’m not breathing in the life that I want to be living, should be living.

Later that evening I was watching the film Les Misérables. I hadn’t seen it since opening day at the Ziegfeld Theatre here in New York. Sitting in the back of that movie theatre alone my tears were hidden by the darkness as I began to cry like I knew I would. The score, at times, sweeps me away. There are moments when I do get bored with the story, but its themes of redemption, love, and forgiveness always suck me back in. I admit that sometimes all I need to hear is a chord or musical motif and I start to cry. 

On this night, alone in my living room, my spirit particularly low, there was more behind the tears that flowed from my eyes than the storyline or musical themes evoked. I needed to cry. We’ve all been in that place where a good cry is all we need in order to feel better. We open those flood gates and let the tears pour out and then the weight in our chest begins to lift and life doesn’t seem so bad. With this particular cry, I was heaving. I was crying aloud; moaning. I remember pulling the dishtowel that was in my lap to my mouth to muffle the sounds. The tears were dripping from my cheeks and chin. My body shook. I turned to look at a recently purchased photograph hanging on my wall and its words “Help me” connected with my eyes, filtered through my brain, and came out of my mouth. I sat in my chair, heaving and moaning, crying out “Help me” to no one in particular and to the Universe as a whole. 

I did feel better after releasing that deluge of tears, but I was still heavyhearted. Part of my self-confinement stems from the dredging up of feelings and stories that I’ve been experiencing for almost a year in therapy. Most recently said dredging seems to have me constantly aware of how I’m feeling and trying to figure out what’s causing the feelings. I am living in an awareness that for most of my life I’ve tried to ignore. Well, I can’t ignore it anymore. 

I’m living in fear of being me. I admit it. I’m afraid to make mistakes. I’m afraid to not be perfect. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m always looking for the punishment. I’m a pessimist. It’s never “I’ve got four days of vacation left,” it’s, “I’ve only got four days of vacation left.” I desire to change this. I am getting help to achieve this desire. I don’t want my life to be hidden behind walls. I want my life to be lived in the open.

I realize that I’m isolating myself. I’m searching for answers. I’m trying to find courage instead of just having courage. When people used to say to me, “I’ll try.” I used to always respond with, “Don’t try. Do it or don’t.” I need to start practicing what I used to preach. I need to face my fears. I need to face myself. I need to accept that I’m not perfect, and that I make mistakes. I need to admit those mistakes and learn from them. That scares the shit out of me. I never dreamed I would become a person so scared of success, failure, living. I need to sign myself out of the Fear-of-Living Asylum and step into the world where the word “hide” is merely a word followed by the words “and seek” and nothing more. 

“Seek and you will find.” Hide and you will wither away. 

Gratitude From 'Self-Worth'

To share ones life, even a part of it, takes a vulnerability that I don’t often possess. My story is one of many in this world, yet there is a universality in it that allows people to connect to it. Opening up and sharing the struggles and joys of my life with others, then hearing from them how they recognize themselves is something that I hadn’t anticipated. It's more than I could have asked for.  

None of us are alone. There is common ground. Honest sharing starts a dialogue where people can discuss how they feel, what they’ve been through, what they’re currently experiencing. I feel blessed to have found a voice and a platform for sharing mine.

To say that I was overwhelmed by the response to my latest HuffPo Gay Voices blog post, "How Do You Find Self-Worth When You Don't Like Yourself" is an understatement. The piece resonated with so many people from all walks of life proving that we're all human beings and that feelings of unworthiness are not unique to one's gender, sexual orientation, or position in life. I was unprepared for the number of people from all over the country, and other parts of the world, that reached out to thank me, tell me I'd written their story, tell me what they did to find self-worth. 

Many told me I was brave and courageous for sharing this story. I’m thankful for those comments. I appreciate them along with all those who chose to share their similar stories with me. Those who reached out on twitter and Facebook. Those who gave generous positive feedback. Words are powerful. I have found bravery in bearing my soul so honestly. Sometimes facing the scariest thing can be the most rewarding. 

Positive comments are like beautiful flowers in the garden of life, but as everyone knows, any beautiful garden can be infested by weeds. The trick is to not let them strangle the beauty and mar the landscape. The positive comments I received from the above mentioned blog created a diverse flower bed full of engaging thoughts, interesting advice, and pearls of wisdom, but there were weeds mixed in. Sometimes they weren’t easy to see at first -- hiding; buried between beautiful gems of flourishing positivity. In an open forum where people hide behind keyboards and animated avatars with all the courage in the world to say something negative, these “weeds” are to be expected. My favorites from the current blog include: “Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” “Sounds like someone needs more sunshine and fresh air in their life,” “Self-absorption is a turn off,” “Very often low self esteem is well earned.” My personal favorite had the word "vapid" in it, but because I refuse to give credence to such out and out meanness I won’t quote the entire remark.  

It took me a few days to read the comments. I wanted to read them, but was afraid of the negativity. I thought any negative reaction to my soul-bearing blog post might feed into my feelings of unworthiness or undesirability, but I wanted to see the flowers. I found the courage to read them and, with the help of a coworker, not take the negative ones too seriously. The piece I wrote was important to me. I wanted to interact with those who were so positive in their responses. I wanted to acknowledge those who gave good advice. Doing so was a step in the right direction for me. I was able to draw strength from all of you. The above mentioned “weedy” statements became humorous to me instead of depressing. I allowed myself to think about what was said, then question it’s truth and validity. In spite of the weeds I was still able to see the flowers. I was able to allow the good and the bad to coexist and not get bogged down by the bad. 

Listen, I'm thankful every morning that I wake up to another day. There will always be challenges to face, but there will also be victories to celebrate. I'm working on being kinder to myself and my therapist can attest to that. Look. That’s me planting a few flowers in the garden. I’m still going to find weeds in there. Even weeds that I plant myself, but I’m figuring out how to not let those weeds dictate how I view the garden as a whole.

To those of you who said my story is your story I say, "Thank you for helping me see that none of us are alone." Plant the seed of positivity and watch what happens. The effect is beautiful and can change what you see and how you see it. Weeds will always be there. We just have to keep them from choking the vibrant garden that is life.

The journey continues.

I Swish

I swish. I’m tired of apologizing for it or being scared of it. I’m ready to be comfortable in my own skin. I’m not completely there, but I’m ready to be. Isn’t that the first step? Acknowledging?

I’m a gay man. I was born gay. The question, “What if it was a choice? Would it matter?” has been posed to me a few times lately. I don’t know how to answer that because for me it wasn’t a choice. I’m thinking I wouldn’t choose to live my life attracted to men in a world full of venom-spewing right wingers and so-called Christians who desire a “vomit” button to show their distaste at same-sex love.

I want to be brave and live my life. I want to be comfortable in my skin. I want to be happy. I want to know that Heaven awaits me. I want the fear of Hell to go away. I want to understand why the verses in the Bible about homosexuality still carry so much weight in the 21st Century. I want to know if the translation of those verses are a colossal joke left by the man who translated them so many years ago. 

I want to be proud of myself. I want to know that God is not sitting on his throne in Heaven shaking his head at me in disappointment. I want to bring joy and pride to my parents, not the disappointment that I fear they feel when they think about me.

I want to live my life without shame. I want my attraction to men to be nothing more than that -- an attraction to the same sex. Love is love. 

I want to practice what I preach and fearlessly believe it.

I swish. When I walk down the street with a good jam playing through the earbuds of my iPod I strut it out. I want to live in that happy place without fear. I want to mouth the words carefree of who might be watching me as if I was rehearsing for my next drag performance.

I want to learn to laugh at myself. To not take myself so seriously. "It's only life after all." I want to let go and take a deep breath, feel my shoulders release all their tension and know that life will continue even if I leave my armor lying on the side of the road somewhere.

Life is for living. I’ve read that, heard it in television sitcoms & dramas, in movies. I’ve heard it in songs. Life is for living. I want to live. I want to thrive. I want to know what life is like when my heart is filled to bursting because I’ve opened it up to embrace the help and love of another person.

Imagine what I could accomplish if I would just unlock the lock, embrace vulnerability, step out into the world and swish my way to the fearless life of happiness that I know is out there. The life that I’ve been too afraid to live.

Another Gay Man's Reaction to Chris Broussard

This blog also appears on HuffPost Gay Voices

Words affect us. They can hurt us. They can give us strength. They can positively reinforce or negatively tear us down. They can inspire us to action or cause a reaction.

Positive Reinforcement. “I'm a 34-year-old NBA center. I'm black. And I'm gay.” In a country where many place professional athletes on the highest of pedestals, NBA Basketball player Jason Collins did a brave thing when he said those words. We have yet to see the impact they will have on his NBA career, but regardless, it took courage, especially when he has so far to fall. In a society that is fickle enough to love you one minute and turn on you the next, Mr. Collins faced his fear and embraced his life. Hopefully, his coming out will be an example that living in truth is better than living in fear of truth.

Negative Tear Down. In our slowly evolving society we still have too many people willing to publicly denounce homosexuals with verbal criticisms. On the program “Outside The Lines,” ESPN reporter Chris Broussard became another to voice his opinion on the matter. He said, “Personally, I don’t believe that you can live an openly homosexual lifestyle...if you’re openly living that type of lifestyle, then the Bible says ‘you know them by their fruits’ It says that, you know, that’s a sin.” He went on to say, “And if you’re openly living in unrepentant sin, whatever it may be, not just homosexuality--adultery, fornication, premarital sex between heterosexuals--whatever it may be, I believe that’s walking in open rebellion to God.” 

The day after making the above statements, Mr. Broussard spoke via phone with the hosts of the radio program “Breakfast Club” on New York’s Power 105.1. As a basis for his beliefs he cited Biblical passages from First Corinthians and Romans in the New Testament, as well as, from the Book of Leviticus in the Old Testament. He did make a point of saying that not all Old Testament laws (e.g. not wearing blended fabrics, not eating shrimp) carried forward in the new covenant made in the New Testament. To which I had to question, Why cite Leviticus at all in this matter? Then I remembered we’re dealing with people who have their go-to passages for proving homosexuality is wrong.

Mr. Broussard must not have a problem with those NBA players who have tattoos. I mean the Bible does state in Leviticus 19:28 “Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am the Lord.” That looks like a direct quote from God himself. Then there’s Leviticus 20:10 “If a man commits adultery with another man’s wife, both the adulterer and the adulteress must be put to death.” We wouldn’t even consider doing that today. As for First Corinthians, in Chapter 7:32-35 Paul suggests we stay single so we can focus on God without the distraction marriage brings. Paul’s words, not God’s. I’m not using these verses to make fun of Mr. Broussard, I’m using them to point out that we can’t pick and choose what we’re going to follow then ignore the rest.

With the right afforded every person who lives in this country to speak his mind, I acknowledge that Mr. Broussard has every right to speak his. He can do so privately or publicly if he desires, but come on. To quote “Aibileen” from the film The Help “Ain’t you tired, Miss Hilly? Ain’t you tired?”

Reaction. To all those out there who sometimes act like superior human beings I ask, “Ain’t you tired?” I’m tired. I’m tired of conservative, heterosexual Christians like Mr. Broussard saying they’re okay with gay people, but think we should constantly fight against our same-sex attraction. 

When I began to experience attraction, I was drawn to men. It’s wired in my DNA. Fighting those feelings would be like fighting the urge to drink water when I’m dehydrated. I can’t accept that the God I believe in wants that. Homosexuals are born. We’re not recruited, or converted, and we don’t make a choice. We exist as homosexuals from birth; trying to understand our feelings as we hit puberty in a society that often tells us we are not normal. If it’s not normal for homosexuals to be born homosexual, then why does God allow us to keep being born?

I refuse to believe I was born with a disadvantage; expected every day to fight against my same-sex attraction in order to please God. This expectation that I should fight my attraction to men comes from members of society who fear what they don’t understand. I’ve never once thought I should be disappointed in God for making me gay. I've questioned it, yes, but I haven't been disappointed, and I don’t think God is disappointed in me. I also don’t think I’m living in open rebellion to him. God is the higher power with understanding beyond that of the human mind. 

Heterosexuals are not the chosen few who get to participate in and enjoy a sex life. We gay men are not supposed to be sitting alone in a corner somewhere crying, wishing we could be dancing with the hot guy sitting across from us. We’re supposed to be dancing with him. 

Every gay person who continues to come out and live their lives, regardless of the threat of discrimination, hate speech, family rejection, and condemnation based on religious laws, is braver than anyone who will quote the Bible as their reason for stating another person’s life is wrong. We’re supposed to love our neighbor as we love ourselves and loving ourselves starts with accepting ourselves. If that includes being gay, then we have to strive to be true to ourselves, love ourselves, live our lives, and love who we love.

Thank you, Jason Collins for being another man to show us that living our lives in our truth is important; you’re an inspiration. And thank you, Mr. Broussard for showing us, once again, the hypocritical side of many of today’s Christians. 

Unexpected

I’ll start here: “I’m wondering how long I’ve been living my life expecting rejection instead of seeing possibilities.” That was a Facebook status that I updated as I walked away from my gym after a decent if not pushed to fatigue workout. 

I followed that statement with “Hmmm...” both written and vocal.

Let me now take you back to what prompted it. I was standing in the gym watching people. The gym is a great place to watch people. You have built in breaks between reps with mirrors everywhere. It’s hard not to watch people. There was one man in particular who I had seen enter the locker room while I was still getting ready for my workout. He entered wearing a cap and aviator shades. I remembered him because all I could see of him was the bottom half of his face and that bottom half had two perfect lips. When he was decapped and deshaded I got the full picture. He didn’t have the lush head of dark hair that his dark cap allowed my mind to create for him, but a shaved head instead. His face was slightly more narrow than the aviator’s revealed, but he was very cute. I watched him as he walked out of the locker room singing to himself, looking twice at the friend I was talking to and never at me. 

Later, down on the training floor, I saw him again. I saw him see other guys, but never me. It was in that moment between reps, watching people, that I realized I don’t often look for the possibilities but am always prepared for the rejection. I say rejection because that’s how it feels to me when someone I find attractive doesn’t notice me. I create the scenario where they don’t think I’m attractive therefore they reject me. My crazy leaks out at some of the most inopportune moments. Anyway. 

I never give myself enough credit for being someone that others might actually want to get to know or like hanging out with.

I’m going to make a leap now in an effort to determine if there’s a connection.

Here’s what I’m wondering: I have a guilt complex regarding my birth. I’ll explain. I was conceived out of wedlock, but born post wedding. My parents got pregnant in high school, got married in high school, then became parents within weeks of graduation.

None of this is my fault. None of it. But I possess the guilt of a child wondering what his parents’ lives might have been like had they not been tied down with him just as their lives should have been experiencing the post high school lift off. I’ve often considered myself a mistake; an accident. My parents have never made me feel that way. Those are my words and my feelings. 

I began a dialogue with my therapist about this at the end of my last session. He compared these feelings to those children sometimes adopt when their parents get divorced. They blame themselves for the separation even when it has nothing to do with them. My being born is not my fault. When I think about my family, my being born was the only option. Abortion would not have been an option and I can’t imagine adoption was a thought that tipped the scale on the possibility side. No, I was to be born and that’s that.

I think the guilt stems from the idea that I wonder what my mom might have accomplished had she been free to go to college. I don’t even know if she wanted to go to college. I know that I wanted to go to college so I’m projecting my thoughts onto her teenage self. My dad said to me one time that he and mom were going to get married but I hurried it along. That’s probably the truth. Maybe my parents were going to get married, but maybe they wouldn’t have gotten married so quickly. To put this in cause and effect terms: I’m making myself the cause in a scenario where the effect is a life without choice. I’ve created that scenario complete with self bashing guilt without one example of truth that my “cause” produced a negative “effect”. 

I saw my mother’s grades once when I was in high school. She was a good student. Smart. Popular. She didn’t get to walk at graduation. There was no cap and gown for her. My dad got to walk in cap and gown no problem, but not my mom. That double standard hurts me for her. My parents were married and had been for 4 months by the time their graduation rolled around, but in 1971 the pregnant girl couldn’t walk. 

I cannot explain why any of this should cause me guilt. I did nothing wrong. The pregnancy is not my fault. Really I should take fault off the table. I could ask why protected sex wasn’t practiced, but if it had been I wouldn’t be here.

Have you ever wondered where the red brick road leads in the film The Wizard of Oz? I have and quite often. I think a perfect example of what could have been lies down that road. For my mother, she didn’t take that road. She took the yellow brick road and on her journey toward Oz she was given me. Her path includes me and probably always did.

She didn’t reject me--not at birth, not when I came out. My father didn’t reject me either. Why then do I find it so easy to think the boy with the great lips (a stand in for any boy) is never going to notice me? The minute I saw him I felt I had nothing that would draw his focus. Why have I cast myself in the long running saga of my life as “the boy who gets rejected”?

Where does this idea of it being easy to think I’ll be rejected and therefore it’s not even worth the effort to try come from? Is it because I think I’m unworthy? I can tell myself everyday that I’m worthy of love, happiness, health, wealth, friendship (the list goes on), but I’m not sure I believe it. That is a sad realization. Yet I do get out of bed every morning and say, “Thank You” to the Universe for a new day to live and love and learn. That means I have to know there are possibilities for good (and bad) things to come into my life every day.

My therapist says that instead of seeing myself as a mistake I should see that the Universe made room for me. Space and time opened up and welcomed me with open arms just like my parents. I should except that my mother’s path includes me and that without her unexpected pregnancy I wouldn’t even exist. Unexpected is the way my therapist wants me to view my existence. He’s right. Mistake and accident are negatives that I’ve put on like a heavy coat in the middle of summer. They’re dark, heavy, suffocating words.

I was unexpected and instead of preparing for expected rejections I really need to open my mind and eyes to the possibilities. They can be unexpected too. Unexpected things can be good things. Just ask my mom. 

Validation

Who am I kidding. I have a validation problem. I look for it everywhere. From strangers, from old friends, from acquaintances, from people I haven’t seen in 20 years. It doesn't’ matter who they are as long as they pat me on the cyberspace back.

My quest for validation: a desire to prove my worth from the responses I get from other people. Responses from people who tell me how much they like something I’ve written, or tell me how much they enjoyed the song I sang. I’m never in a better mood than when I am complimented for something I’ve created, performed, or dressed myself in that day. It makes me feel good about myself. That means I’m not finding that joy within me but relying on other people to create it for me. I’m at the mercy of someone else’s opinions and feelings. That sucks! Plain and simple. 

Lets go back a few years. I wasn’t popular in high school. I know, waaa! Poor me! But seriously, I wanted so to be. I wanted to be one of the desired crowd. I wanted to be one of those people who lifted other people’s spirits if I deigned to talk to them. I realize how horrible that sounds even as I type it. It was a long time ago in the age when high school meant everything. Instead, I was one of the people whose spirits got lifted when the “in” crowd spoke to him. Now, I’m not going to paint myself as a complete social outcast. I wasn’t. But I was fumbling along in the middle. I thought the one thing that set me apart was my voice--I was one of a handful of people in my tiny high school who sang everywhere and anywhere. That didn’t set me apart in a good way. It made me a target. It gave people (mostly my male classmates) a reason (or another reason) to call me names. And that, many of them did. 

I can’t believe that I’ve been out of high school for nearly 24 years and I am still striving for popularity. One of my coworkers says that I am adored at work. Says that people light up around me. They want to be my friend. They laugh at my actions, words, or reactions because the intention is to make them laugh. Or to shock them. These people are not laughing at me. There’s no finger pointing and snickering behind my back. The feeling that comes over me during these moments must be how the Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes. I have a sense of joy and acceptance that makes my skin glow like that of a pregnant woman. I feel like Sally Field and I want to say, “...you like me, right now, you like me!” I am validated. Oops. There’s that word.

I have somehow connected validation and popularity. I notice it when my blog hasn’t gotten enough page views. I notice it when my tweets don’t get enough retweets or favorites. I notice it when my Facebook status doesn’t get enough “likes” or comments. I feel that no one cares, and that makes me want to slink away into the corner of some room, make myself really small, and wait and wonder if anyone will know that I’m missing. It’s a pattern. It’s a ridiculous pattern, but the good thing is I recognize it. That means I can address this action, ask myself why I do it, and then start stopping it in its tracks.

Mixed in with the popularity and validation issues is my subscription to low self-confidence. It surprises me that I have a lack of confidence. That person who used to sing all the time sometimes did so in front of crowds that numbered in the thousands. That person used to sing and dance in musicals. That person danced in dance concerts. I used the adrenaline kicked in by the nerves as power. I knew I could do it. I knew I could remember the words, the notes, the dance steps. I knew I could deliver the goods. Now, that kid from high school, who hated walking into a populated room of classmates is back, and fearful of the mockery that he thinks exists on everyone's lips where he's concerned.

Validation, popularity, and confidence.

• I know that I have to be proud of myself and step away from the need for validation by others.
• I know that popularity is a status I’ve concocted in my brain.
• I know that I have to find confidence within myself.

I know all of the above listed things. The problem is: knowing and believing are two different matters. I can say I know and understand the bulleted lines above over and over, but there are times when I’m drowning in my lack of self-confidence, grasping for validation from someone if only to prove that I’m doing the right thing, that I’m good at what I do. I can’t seem to keep a firm grip on my desires to be self-confident and to live my life for me, not for others. I can’t seem to hold on to the desire to live a life where other people’s opinions--good or bad--don’t matter.

My lack of self-confidence makes so many of my choices become questions instead of statements. I look to someone else to validate those choices. I haven’t been able to pinpoint what happens mentally, physically, on those days when I exude self-confidence, but I can usually tell you what happened that caused me to cower in the corner questioning every decision.

These are all things I’ve been talking about in therapy. They keep coming up because I realize they exist and I’m trying to understand how I got this way so that I can move forward with my life--trusting myself, having confidence in myself, needing no validation, being proud of who I am and the work I do.

I know it’s a process. I struggle with that. I like the quick result. This is not going to have a quick result. This is going to take time. I’m going to have to dig deep and come to terms with what I desired in my past and what I have in my present so that I can create the future I want.

This entry is not intended for gaining sympathy or pity from the reader. This entry is an attempt to put into words my feelings so that I may better understand how to move past them and move forward in my life. It is merely an admission--an effort to expose once again, my secrets, hangups, and flaws.

The journey continues...

Hateful Ch(r)i(stia)cke(n)s

Something is stirring, shifting ground...it’s just begun. Edges are blurring all around, and yesterday is done. Feel the flow, hear what’s happening: we’re what’s happening. Don’t you know? It’s our time, breathe it in: worlds to change and worlds to win. Our turn coming through, me and you, man, me and you! [1]

I have so far staid my opinion from social media on this subject, choosing instead to ask questions and express thoughts in dialogue with friends and coworkers, but when my brother-in-law “liked” the I Support Chick-fil-A page on Facebook last week, my heart fell. It felt like a slap in my face; a blatant disregard for me as a person. He knows I’m gay and he doesn’t approve. I don’t deny him his feelings, they’re his feelings. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I’ve known about Chick-fil-A’s anti gayness for years. I express my distaste at their practices by choosing to exercise my freedom of choice and not eat there. I haven’t patronized a Chick-fil-A in so long I can’t remember the last time I tasted one of their waffles fries. 

Here’s what I don’t understand: would we (the gay community) be completely disgusted if Boston’s mayor, Thomas Menino, suggested that Boston wasn’t necessarily the right place for a gay owned restaurant? By saying in a letter to Chick-fil-A founder, S. Truett Cathy, “I urge you to back out of your plans to locate in Boston” and “There is no place for discrimination on Boston’s Freedom Trail and no place for your company alongside it,” he sounds as if he’s discriminating. Isn’t it discrimination? Shouldn’t the owner be able to believe what he chooses whether we agree or not? I’m honestly asking. What happened to “Judge not lest ye be judged?” What happened to “Live and let live?” What happened to “Live together, Die alone?” Discrimination is discrimination, right? 

We will not all agree...ever!

JUDGE NOT, LEST YE BE JUDGED

My parents do not believe in gay marriage. Does that mean, should I ever meet a man and fall in love with him and choose to commit my life to him, with the exchange of rings and vows, they wouldn’t be there? I don’t know. Maybe if that ever happens they will have a softening of the heart and show up anyway. Maybe they will change their minds and just be happy for me. I can’t worry about that (even though you know I do). It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that they love me as a person, but disapprove of my life. I can admit that. But the person I am and the life I live are connected. I know they love me, but knowing they disapprove gnaws at the back of my head more than I wish.

It doesn’t change my longing for them to choose me, their gay son and his feelings, over dining at a restaurant whose owner views me as less than the person he is. 

I often question how my (relations removed upon request) will feel when they finally learn the truth about me. Will the guidance of Christian parents who disapprove overpower their willingness to accept and love me for who I am? Because they are so young and I’ve always been in their lives, will I be the difference, the example, to them that I never had growing up?

Should I shun all the friends I have who don’t agree with equality as it translates to basic rights or marriage? Should I cut them out of my life? No!! What I’m prone to do is cut them from my Facebook news feed. We don’t have to agree on politics or religious views. That’s my freedom of choice. 

I saw these words in my news feed on Facebook recently, “...Family values is not hate speech.” Every person in the world is allowed their own belief in what constitutes family values. To some it may be a married man and woman having children and going to church three times a week. To others it may be an unmarried couple buying a home and sharing a life together. And yet others may see their homeownership and parentage of a child with a same sex partner, married or not, as the most joyous of family values. What constitutes a family is a gray area. It's not always black and white. I understand the gray area is difficult, believe me, but there isn't always a set rule.

“I wish we could all get along like we did in middle school...” Remember that line from Mean Girls? Okay, maybe we didn’t all get along in middle school, but jeez this constant bickering between the pro gays and the anti gays is exhausting. Pretty soon we’ll all just have to cook at home because the anti’s will boycott anything that supports gay people and the pro’s will boycott anything that doesn’t. It’ll be segregation all over. We’ll be planting gardens (good for the environment) and raising chickens (bad for the chickens) and making our own clothes (bad for everyone).

What if Verizon started supporting hate groups, but Sprint didn’t? Would I have to switch to Sprint? Would I be expected to cancel both of my American Express cards if I suddenly found out they were anti gay? How can I find out to whom the farm that grows my organic blueberries donates their money? What about Johnson & Johnson and their slogan, "A Family Company?" What if I'm not part of their "family" idea. Would "No more tears" be nothing more than a Donna Summer/Barbra Streisand duet? When does it stop? The point is, there’s probably something within each business that each of us can find to disagree with.

LIVE AND LET LIVE

Someone is on your side, someone else is not. While we're seeing our side, maybe we forgot. They are not alone. No one is alone. Hard to see the light now, just don't let it go. Things will come out right, now. We can make it so. Someone is on your side. No one is alone. [2]

All we truly want is to be treated as people. Human beings. Everyone equal. Everyone with the same rights as the next person. How is anyone affected by the union of two people? I don’t understand that. It seems so simple to me. If two people want to get married what does it matter? When my sister got married I didn’t lose her. I gained a brother-in-law. When my cousin Leah got married I gained a cousin-in-law. When my cousin Casey gets married, I’m gaining another cousin-in-law. Their lives are their lives. Deciding to join their life with another person should do nothing more than bring me joy. 

Why does it have to be so difficult? Why are we fighting so hard to get our way? Both sides are doing this. Butting heads and hating. Everything is out of the closet. The haters stand on the corner with their nasty signs spitting their hate speech and the ones fighting for nothing more than equality in humanity are spitting back. We’re all covered in spit and we need to take a shower. We need to get back to remembering that this country was created by people who wanted freedom. This country was founded with the desire that all men be equal. ALL! That is all of us. No one can speak for how our founding fathers would react to our nation today. They’re all dead.

The Bible cannot be used to decide policy in America. It just can’t. Believe the Bible or don’t, but it can’t be used to determine my rights or your rights. I can’t be governed by the Bible. The Bible tells me I’m going to Hell. I can’t believe that. I made no choice to be gay. I made a choice to believe in God and Jesus and live the best life I can live. I made a choice to try every day to do unto others as I would have them do unto me. I don’t always succeed. But I have goals. Tomorrow I try again. What makes my life worth living if I am to believe Hell is the only thing that awaits me?

LIVE TOGETHER, DIE ALONE

No more giants waging war! Can't we just pursue our lives, with our children and our wives {or husbands}. 'Til that happy day arrives, how do you ignore...all the witches, all the curses, all the wolves, all the lies, the false hopes, the good-bye's, the reverses? All the wondering what even worse is still in store? All the children? All the giants? No more. [3]

We’re fighting with each other except this time instead of Yankees and Confederates we’re Pro-Equality and Family Values. It’s a Civil War fought with words and picket signs and images. Christians are not superior. Heterosexuals are not superior. Homosexuals are not superior.  

I am frustrated that with all that goes on in our world on a daily basis we’re provoking each other over a restaurant that serves chicken and waffle fries and is closed on Sunday. Of course, this is not about chicken. It’s about where the money goes and the hate it is used to fund. I don’t have time to worry about this restaurant or its founder. I just don’t eat there. My money is not spent there, but I can put my money toward anything promoting equality. That’s my choice. So he gives his money to hate groups. Let’s give ours to love groups. 

Should the gay rights activists stoop to the level of the haters? No! It’s my opinion that we are a kinder, more loving population, striving to push this country forward. Yes, we have to push back against them. We can’t be wall flowers bullied by the majority, but we don’t have to instigate the argument. We don’t have to provoke the Palin’s and Bachmann’s of the world back into the spotlight. 

“Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not solved one yet.” Words by Maya Angelou. She’s right. There’s a lot a hate going on right now. I think fear causes most of it. Being uneducated about people of different creeds, races, religious beliefs and sexual orientations freaks people out. Those who choose to stay uneducated let that fear, that creeps in from lack of knowledge, boil until they seethe with hate. Take a second. Learn something. Try to understand someone else. Knowledge truly is power.

So, Mr. Cathy is a family values-oriented Christian man. That’s great. Good for him. I will not patronize his restaurant. Not because he’s a Christian, but because he thinks I’m not. What I can do is patronize his competitor. What I can do is give money to organizations that I believe in, organizations that believe in me, organizations that support equal rights for all.

Through every generation there has been disappointment and progress. Hate groups are a disappointment. The right to marry the man I love in New York City is progress. For all the progress Pro-equality is making the Family Values team is fighting back. What would happen is this country if we didn’t fear each other? Didn’t worry about the bedroom antics of each other? What if we didn’t judge? What if we lived and let live? What if the Bible was treated as a guideline instead of the rule book? What if everyone believed there was a higher power who loved each of us for who we are and wasn’t sitting on a throne way up in the sky hidden behind the clouds shaking his head, waiting for the moment he could take revenge? What if love one another meant love one another not just the ones you deem worthy? 

I’m worthy. I’m trying to live the best life I can live on a daily basis. I’m trying to show anyone who will see me, read my words, or listen to me that I’m just a normal man, who laughs and cries, walking through this life like everyone else. So what if I’m gay? Being born white, being born black, being born gay, being born straight, being born female, being born male, being born with blue eyes, being born with crossed eyes, being born with brown or blond hair was not in my control. I was born at 12:28pm on June 8, 1971, a gay, white baby with blue eyes (the left one crossed). My hair was blond initially and by about 3 years old it was well on its way to brunette. I had no control over any of it. I’m worthy. I’m striving to love myself and be proud of myself every day. The vile haters in the world do not make it easy, but with time comes strength and with strength comes courage. 

I have the strength and courage to say that Chick-fil-A will not receive my money. I will not protest with a gay kiss-in in front of one of their locations. I will love who I love and say that I do. I will not be ashamed of the way God made me. I will continue to believe there is a higher power that supports me. I will believe that my beautiful niece and nephew will have a better understanding of me and that I’m not a threat to them or anyone else just because we’re different. I have to believe that as slow as it’s coming, change is afoot in our country and in this world. Change for the better.  

People make mistakes. Hate is a mistake born out of ignorance. Hate is learned. My hope is that one day those who learn tolerance and those who learn to accept other people's differences overtake those who learn to hate on the bar graph of life.

[1] lyrics from “Our Time” from Merrily We Roll Along by Stephen Sondheim

[2] lyrics from “No One Is Alone” from Into The Woods by Stephen Sondheim 

[3] lyrics from “No More” from Into The Woods by Stephen Sondheim

Changing Patterns

It’s never that easy is it? I always thought it should be easy. But there’s so much second-guessing and wondering and excitement and laughter and anxiety. It’s not easy. It can be down right painful. It’s like growing pains for the heart. The journey is hard. Climbing up hill takes stamina, walking on level ground takes patience. Continuing, when all you want to do is give up, takes perseverance. The journey may take a while. I’m scared, but I’m in it right now. I’m finding it hard to find the joy. I have a Post-it on my refrigerator that says “It’s important to experience joy every single day.” Every. Single. Day. Do you know how hard that is? If you don’t, let me tell you. It is one of the most difficult things to find when you’re scared or sad or anxiety-ridden.

It’s easy to find joy when everything is going your way and the Universe is giving you what you want. Try finding it when you keep asking and nothing is happening. It’s hard to find the joy then. Even harder: realizing that the Universe is not ignoring the request just not answering it at this time because we aren’t clear, aren’t ready or don’t need it.

Patterns as I say the things I always say. The older I get the more I understand myself. The more I understand myself the more patterns emerge in my life. I’m in a rut. It’s a deep trench where I’m trying to keep myself hidden from Fear as he lurks just over the ridge. I’ve let him keep me at bay for a very long time. Sometimes he gets down in the trench with me and I run from him, keeping a slight lead. I can always hear him behind me, running, taunting. If I can make it to my door without him overtaking me, I lock myself inside and breathe. That’s not living though. That’s hiding.

Just look…here I am on cue again
Upset, feeling torn in two again
Afraid, saying I’m okay
Making little jokes
Until I run away…again

Patterns in the ways I try but never change. There has to be a change. I made a decision recently that was a departure from the “me” of my past. I chose friendship. It hurts everyday when you want something that you can’t have. When feelings are not returned the pain can be devastating. I know that sounds dramatic, but I am dramatic so it seems appropriate. As recent ago as last year, I would have walked away from a situation such as this, but today I’m struggling to find the balance. When someone if worth it you find a way. If I walked away right now I would be walking away from someone that I want in my life. Someone who wants me in his life. Good friends are hard to come by in this world. Why have I turned my back on so many who could have been good friends? That’s my pattern. I walk away. I made a decision to change this pattern. My God, it’s hard. I feel like I need a Xanax most days. I don’t want to need an anxiety medication, but the anxiety I feel is real. I’m coping, but just barely. I sure could use a double shot of joy.

And yet I know I am not the same
Inside my heart is something I can’t tame
I feel my mind bursting into flame
And I must change or else I’ll break apart
Or break away
And end up having to start…again

I don’t know where this journey is heading. None of us do. If we did we might never start walking. Being open and honest about my feelings is the only way I know how to be. What I chose to not walk away from is the most honest and vulnerable that I’ve been with a person in 13 years. No one has really, truly seen this part of me except for the friends I’ve had in my life for almost 20 years; the friends who knew me before I became the scared, closed-off person struggling to remove the bricks that he walled himself up behind.

Just look as I’m thrown a curve again.
I leap, then I lose my nerve again
In tears, running home I go
Secretly relieved, safe with what I know…again

It’s time to change the patterns, get out of the rut, climb up to the top of the trench and face Fear. It’s time to create the life I want instead of hoping and waiting for it to appear around me. I want my heart to burst with joy, not constrict with anxiety.

One of my best friends said to me recently “In the mean time you have to keep living.” He’s right. I have to live my life. I have to live the life I want. I have to have the courage to be me. I have to have the strength to believe in myself. I have to walk through life with confidence. I feel like I’m just starting my journey, but in reality I guess I’m starting a new leg. I’ve been staring at the fork in the road and finally chose a direction.

Patterns through the day I seem to use to give my life a shape
Patterns through the house that give me comfort when I need escape
Patterns that lead me nowhere…at all.

My ipod is charged and my playlists are loaded with enough songs to keep me occupied and entertained for a while. I don’t know why I’m scared. It’s just a journey. What’s a journey? It’s getting somewhere else; going somewhere familiar or new. Change is scary, but I have to do it. Here’s to changing my fear pattern into and excitement pattern.

(Lyrics in bold and italics from the song "Patterns" cut from the musical BABY)