Tag Archives: identity

Searching for a way to find a way

It’s been a couple months since I wrote here, and as usual, I came into this feeling like I had a pretty good idea what I wanted to write about. I don’t think it’s going to work out that way though. My life feels pretty ambiguous lately, and I think my scatterbrained thoughts here won’t deny that.

It’s literally been over 3 years now since I was last in a relationship. And if you think that’s absurd, perhaps even more depressing is that I haven’t even been on a date in over 2 years. “You need to put yourself out there more”, people say. Well, duh. Working 8 hours a day, sleeping 7 hours a day, tending to my cats like 1-2 hours a day and grooming my own personal need to recharge and be alone for all other hours unaccounted for doesn’t necessarily leave a lot of time for love, sex, and friendship.

I am alone. And I think I’m okay with that. But I’m not always so certain. I feel like I put so much pressure on myself to feel like I should be giving myself to the universe and… well, in effect I’m trying to induce feelings that I’ve been coming to recognize as unnatural for me.

“What?” You say?

I love being alone. I really fucking do. Sometimes the world tricks me into thinking otherwise, but in the end I always seem to understand my version of happiness as exploring life and exploring myself all by myself. Maybe I used to dream of getting married someday and having children, maybe I used to think you can’t make it in this life without having someone to depend on 100%, and maybe I understand that these things are totally subject to interest me again someday in the future, but right now I just feel like it’s all a hindrance. It’s all keeping me from really knowing myself.

To be honest, I mourn this as well. I regret that I’m wasting my youth and beauty on being isolative. And this regret contributes to how much I isolate myself in other regards. I’m not pursuing hobbies or interests. In truth, I’m literally doing nothing to explore myself. WHAT A WASTE.

This is why I just feel so damned sad all the time. My lack of confidence in myself holds me back from understanding myself better, and my lack of understanding for myself holds me back from pursuing interpersonal relationships. I feel like I missed a pivotal chapter in my life where I should have been embracing things just for the sake of fulfilling myself and my own expectations. I missed a chapter of mistakes and learning and growing as a result. Holding myself back and feeling undeserving has always come natural to me.

So where do I go from here? How do I discover what I am and become who I am supposed to be?  It sounds silly, but for so long I’ve been searching for a way to find a way to be happy.  And if you think that sounds like I spend a lot of time thinking instead of doing, you’d be right.  I need to do away with the rhetoric.  I need to do.


Derogatory drive-by

Today I was walking down the street, and somebody hollered “faggot” from their car as they sped by.  I wasn’t really offended.  And this post doesn’t have as much to do with the bone-headed nuances of a simple coward as you might think based on the title.  It was actually just something I brought up to my mother, only to have it used as leverage for shaming.

Shame on me.

To make a long intro short, I have a dying grandmother who does not know my situation.  Sound vague?  Mostly because it is.  You see, apart from myself, my mother has known about my sexuality longer than any other person.  She has been mostly void of negative sentiment, which by her word means she is accepting.  And that’s not to say that she isn’t, or that she’s a bad mother or a bad person.  She has always provided for me the same, and we are never short of communication, it is just obvious to me that who I am is someone she would rather I not be.  She would rather not deal with my situation.

This is why my grandmother does not know.  Because she is dying and it could put her in the grave.  Because I will ruffle feathers and have people talking.  Because it will all fall back on my mother, or my father, or my brother or my sister, and I will be the one to blame.

Shame on me.

I am empathetic to the fact that they should not have to deal with my situation by any force other than their own.  And I am sad that my mother will take the brunt of family gossip, and my father will be harassed with unnecessary comments and suggestions from people at his church.  I am sorry that my siblings will be burdened by questions from their friends.  This is no one’s crisis but my own.  This isn’t even a crisis.  I am sad that people I love are forced to have reservations and concerns.

Shame on me.

Where most of my shame comes from though are these people themselves.  These people I call my mother, my father, my brother and my sister.  These people who over the years have scorned me and belittled me and made me feel lesser through their words.  And I know they don’t mean it.  I know they are unaware.  But the things I say, the clothes that I wear, the places I go and the people I surround myself by are something of an identity.  An identity I have struggled with for a very long time at the hands of these very same people.

Shame on me.

Somebody driving by and calling me a faggot is no skin off my back.  Because you know what?  I am a faggot.  But hearing from someone I call my family to be wary of pictures I share, scowling at my eyebrows, using effeminate hand motions to describe distaste for my outfits, and baiting my closet of shame with my dying grandmother… these are things that hurt me.  More than I can teach them to understand.  Because they tell me that who I am is someone that is not approved of.  They are telling me that I should be ashamed of myself, and to keep my “situation” as ambiguous as the word used to describe it.

I am ashamed."No son of ours..."

Wednesday, September 5th


I love you.  I can’t seem to say that enough…

I am a very different person than those you have encountered in your life; an ancient soul.  I am hard of trust, I am nostalgic, I am a time vault of emotions.  I hold everything I love in my life at a historic value—something so completely determinant in my being and my understanding of the life I lead, something so truly meaningful that it stays with me forever as a mark on my character.

You have marked me.  You have become so incredibly important in my life that I don’t know how to cope with losing you.  I don’t know how to continue my life when, to someone like me, I’ve now lost such a huge part of it.

I let you in.  I let you touch me, in my heart and my body, in places I’ve never been touched.  I felt love for you, I committed you to my memories.  You are a history within me.  I don’t know how to erase that as you have, and I don’t know how to move forward with such a damaged canvas of self-identity.

Unlike most things in my life that I connect with, I can’t save you.  I can’t put you on a YouTube playlist, I can’t replay you as if you were a video game, I can’t re-watch our love like a movie, I can’t save you to my desktop, I can’t listen to you on my phone, I can’t feel you the way I’ve felt you in our moments together ever again.  You are lost to me.   I see you everywhere I look, but you are missing.

All the promises I made with you… all the places we promised we would go, the games we promised we’d play, the movies we promised we’d watch, the experiences we promised we’d share.  I don’t know what to do with those now.  They’re my dearest promises… they are so important to me.  How do I ever do these things on my own now?  They will always be promises I’ll have broken.  I can’t do that…

I can’t do this.  I can’t find a way to accept that you’re just gone now.  How does someone like me deal with that?  I know you’ve hurt me, I know I feel betrayed and used by you, and I know I still resent the way you’ve handled my feelings so carelessly, but it doesn’t seem to matter to me.  You being in my life is all that matters to me.

When you told me you loved me, it was really I who loved you.  When you said I was what you needed, you were really what I need.  When you said you could be real with me, it was me who could be real with you.

Maybe I’m a romantic, maybe I’m lonely, maybe I’m crazy.  Whatever I am, it is you that is a part of that now.  How do I breathe without you acknowledging that?

I will love you every day of my life.  But I guess I just need to channel that into accepting your doing what makes you happy.  Please find happiness.  Please live the life you want to live and be the you that you are.

Despite everything, I am so happy to have met you.  I will treasure your feelings and your memories forever.  As a part of me.