Conditioning Myself

When I came out (again) I didn’t do it all at once. I told those closest to me at the time and moved on. I also have a lot of friends that I can go months and years without talking to. We always pick right back up, because we’re close like that, and there’s never any issue. Still, I find myself retelling the story over and over- coming out again and again. It’s lessening now that’s it’s almost become a script. I know that, due to my personality, I’ll still have to “come out” for- probably- the rest of my life. I’m okay with that. I don’t go into detail with those people- they never matter that much to me.

Most of my friends have had positive reactions, some not. Even those who didn’t, I wouldn’t call terrible. Those are ones who have made stinging remarks that are not okay and I will discuss in a later post.

I don’t make true friends easily, I never have. My family moved around a great deal as a child and as soon as I made friends I lost them. It has just become who I am. I have loads of acquaintences but few friends. I’m okay with that. That being said, I believe every one has been covered at this point.

I recovered a friend recently. I say recovered because I thought them lost due to drama from, as I suspect, a crazy ex. They thought the same of me and, ironically, neither of us ever spoke about it. Until the other day. So, we spent nearly an entire day chatting away and getting caught up. Of course, I had to come out again. Every thing went smoothly…

Until I was telling Miabear about it. I was rather excited to have my friend back as we have quite a bit in common. This time, she had questions. Of course we’ve talked about it before but, I suppose, she had only just thought to ask these questions.

So, I told her the story of the first girl I came in contact with after coming “back out”. I hate that term, by the way. I’m going to tell you the story here. At least, the part that matters….

I remember being nervous. I went over what I was going to wear with Flutterby making fun the entire time and being completely useless to me. I remember pausing in the hall as Flutterby made herself scarce just to collect myself. Then, as I entered the living room, I had to pause again. My hands were shaky, my stomach flip flopping, my brain malfunctioning. For a moment, I truly was incapable of intelligent thought- of any kind.

I thought, in that moment, that I was ill.

I did a mental “body check” to make sure I wasn’t ill.

As I told Miabear that, the weight of the entire situation came crashing down on me. I remember, very clearly, questioning anything I’d eaten that day- had I been around anyone who was sick? I had to stop talking to her for a moment and gather my thoughts. I had laughed it off then when I realized this was a normal reaction to this situation. I’d been immediately distracted by the girl in question at the time.

I suppose that- in the time that’s passed since then- that I’ve been more focused on telling the story. It’s a script to me now, the same old thing. I’ve been focused on what comes next, not what I was saying.

There’s something about Miabear that effects me differently. Something about her that is utterly amazing, in my opinion. I believe that, because it was her I was speaking to, I realized what I said.

I had- in the years back inside my closet- conditioned myself to not expect that response. I should feel nervous and happy and giddy. I should expect butterflies (if she doesn’t do it, she’s not worth it). I knew on some level- consciously or subconsciously- that no man would ever make me feel that way. It just wasn’t possible. So I stopped expecting it to the point that when it happened, I thought I was physically ill.

That breaks my heart. It shatters it in fact, into a million little pieces.

I have yet to tell you all the things that happened that caused me to go back into the closet. There were a lot of bigoted, homophobic responses toward me (the only out homosexual at the time) and my friends (who weren’t even out). These responses were violent and at one point became seriously damaging. It was a scary time and I was terrified for my life.

Still, all of these years since, when I was honest with myself about it- I always counted myself lucky. Why? Because the most violent response I witnessed, I was not a part of. I merely came in during the aftermath, I got to see the blood. No one remembers that quite like I do, other than the LGBT people involved. They don’t want to.

I hadn’t realized that they’d gotten me too. In one way or another, I became a victim as well. To the point that my brain conditioned itself not to expect normal and happy physical responses.

I still can’t wrap my mind around this.

I’m not even angry. I’m heart breakingly sad. This has been driving me mad since that realization. I’m just not sure how to cope but I’m able and I’m glad it’s over, I still feel like I’m breathing again.

But still…

A Letter To Fear Spreading Idiots. Shut Up.

WARNING: Please, be able to think for yourself before reading this. Brace yourself, ladies and gents. It’s about to get really, really, real in here. Hell, you might want to wrap aluminum foil around your head first, I’m trying to help you.
Okay, so, the other day I was just minding my own business and scrolling through my news feed on facebook. I saw a new baby’s pictures and commented, liked a few mundane statuses, that normal sort of mind numbing rot. Then, I came across this.
Charles Manson is getting released from prison.
I’m sorry? What? Come again?
It’s as though you’ve told me they’re going to stop making Peeps! The internet causes cancer! I call bullshit. Bullllllllllshiiiiiit. Bullshit. Still, I clicked the article along with the post.
Oh yes, according to this, they are freeing Charles Manson.
Wanna know *why* they’re freeing him? Guess, go on, I’ll wait.
They are freeing CHARLES FREAKING MANSON because the prisons are OVER CROWDED! Nevermind Joe Schmoe over there who’s doing time for stealing some CD players. Never mind John Doe who’s in for back owed child support. Nooooo, we’re gonna pick Charles freaking Manson. That makes a fuck ton of sense. It makes so much sense I immediately ran a virus scan to make sure I hadn’t clicked something that may or may not have had ill intent toward my Dell.
I didn’t even read the rest of the article.
Not once did I see this insane bullshit but I saw it three times. I took several deep breaths and composed myself before, very politely, informing these people that it was a hoax.
I shouldn’t have to have done that. I shouldn’t have to tell you that they are NOT FREEING CHARLES MANSON DUE TO OVER CROWDING. I should not have to provide proof that this is a hoax. There shouldn’t even need to be proof that this is a hoax. It. Is. Common. Sense.
Ignorance is bliss. While I agree that applies in some emotional situations, in logical ones like this- it does not. You’re not blissful, you’re stupid. You are not ignorant, you are stupid. I try to be a nice person, I do, but this kind of shit hacks me off. If you read the article, you deserve to be slapped. If you didn’t and still spread that kind of nonsense, you’re just…ooh. Really?!
This is not the first time this has happened.
Once upon a time, I worked at a call center. I sometimes wonder if I have PTSD from it. However, one day, I hear this rather large and abrasive hick talking rather loudly about President Obama. Now, whether I like President Obama or not is not at issue here. If you do, or don’t, that’s your business. Politics are a dangerous thing to talk about so I usually don’t.
However, he was spouting nonsense. Absolute lies and was a known racist. There are about thirty people here, some ignoring him, some pretending to, and some not only avidly listening but agreeing! I have decided I have had enough and call him out.
“Oh that’s bullshit, John. You don’t like Obama because he’s not white. Don’t lie about it, man. Don’t sit around making up lies about why you don’t like him. Come out and say how you really feel!”
“You got a problem?” he asks, making my headache begin. Clearly, I do have a problem. He’s not listening.
“I have a problem with liars.” I reply, “if you want to be a racist, be one. That’s on you, freedom of speech and belief and all that rot. Doesn’t mean we have to be friends but it’s your right, big guy. I’m just saying, if you don’t like him because he’s not white, say so. Don’t lie about it, it just makes you look like an idiot.”
Silence. He hurries inside. You’ll notice he didn’t argue the racist point either. No one did. I roll my eyes and go back to whatever it was I was doing.
“I don’t like Obama.” I look up. A girl from my side of the call floor has decided to attempt an argument with me over politics.
“That’s your right.” I nod, “I don’t care whether you do or don’t, it is not my business nor is it my problem. I just feel that you should be honest about why instead of spreading lies.”
“It’s nothing to do with race.”
“Okay,” I nod again, “never said it did. I said that was his problem.”
“Well, here’s why I don’t like him.” I cast an amused glance at my friend and we turn our attention to this girl. “See, my problem is college loans.” I know, I thought it started out well, could make sense, right? Wait for it. “I heard that Obama has camps he sends people to if they have college loans they owe a lot of money to.” Wait…what? No, it gets better. “They force you to go and you’re not allowed to contact your friends or family. You’re not allowed to have a bible either and if you talk about Jesus, they kill you. I’m sorry, but I owe college loans and I love my friends and family and Jesus Christ.”
Please, reader, take a moment to compose yourself. Too much strain here could harm your mind. Take deep breaths, go get something to drink- maybe a snack. I’ll still be here when you get back.
I was so…floored, by this statement that I became useless to the world. I just sat there, staring at her. All of the pretty little cogs in my head had stopped working all together, just halted. I don’t even think I was breathing. “Well,” she says, nodding as though I’ve actually grasped what she just said (how many times did you read that trying to make it make sense?), “that’s why I don’t like Obama.” She then stood and walked away.
I continued to stare. So did my friend, only I had control of my jaw. I have no idea how long she was gone before my brain reminded me I needed to move or breathe or live in some way.
“Where did she get that?” I ask my friend quietly. She just blinks at me and repeats,
“where did she get that?”
We still don’t know. I’ve chalked it up to a mystery as big as Big Foot since then.
Why, please, WHY is this happening? Do you realize she said “I heard…”? Let that sink in, people. How many mouths did this go through before it reached her? How many people did she tell that spread it further? Yeah, and everyone else is worried about Ebola. Not me, I’m worried about this kind of thing.
It’s not just this, it’s so many things. I’m not a lesbian because I like masculine of center women, because I’m feminine. Pot heads are ignorant fools, stupid and slow or non violent. Pit bulls are born with blood lust. IS ANYONE EVEN TRYING TO THINK ANY MORE?
This has got to stop, it just does. It’s becoming UNSAFE.
I read the other day, I swear I did, maybe you saw it too- a comment on a post about Anonymous and the KKK. This girl is bent on convincing us that African Americans are joining the KKK. She goes on to say that the KKK doesn’t have race issues, they hate criminals. Criminals who just happen to all be BLACK. Is she…are you…what the actual fuck? You know what I know jack shit about? Being an apple.
So you know what? I DON’T TALK ABOUT BEING AN APPLE!
I have no idea how to make illegitimate money, SO I DON’T HOLD CLASSES ON IT!
Why is this a thing? WHY?
Is it contagious? Do we have studies on that and can you prove it’s not? This is what I should be wearing the sterile white mask for. Would it help? Maybe I should go full gas mask. Do they make those in child sizes?
Please, if any of you people are reading this, stop. Just stop. Read up on something before you talk, use your brain cells- that’s what they’re there for. Wikipedia and Yahoo Answers do NOT- under any circumstances- count as legitimate sources of information.
Rant over, thanks for reading!