Complications

There are always complications in life with just about everything, so I shouldn’t be shocked or generally irritated that I’m facing a few today. I guess what I feel I must get off my chest is today’s feeling of stress and anxiety.

Yesterday, my mother sent me a devotional saying something about “I thought of you when I read this…I hope it helps you see God’s plans for you!” and when it read it, there were several scriptures detailing:

• “put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires”
• “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world”
• “Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires”

Then the devotional goes into how our spiritual walk is like the erosion of the Grand Canyon: beautiful, slow and purposeful. THAT statement I don’t mind, but the whole devotional basically said, “You must choose daily to live by the Spirit. Study His Word and choose His plan. Each day a part of the old nature will wear away.”

The scriptures and the words in this devotional projected fear that me being Bi and being apart of the GLBT community was wrong and sinful (something I was taught to believe). My heart dropped and I sought council from a close to friend to make sure I wasn’t reading this wrong. Unfortunately, with the most open mind she had, she read as I did: My mom was telling me to put off my “sinful” desires and get right with God.

I feel like I fight on a daily basis to not conform to the Christian majority. Not because I don’t mind the group, I don’t like the close-minded Bible-thumping mentality where we don’t love our neighbors but rather take the position to serve as their judge. I dislike going to church for this reason and I often shrink away from “Christian” things because I’m afraid the old way I was taught will bring back to a place I don’t like. I was one of those people (judger, legalistic, holier-than-thou) and I don’t want to ever be that person again.

I can’t help but fight God at this place. I want to go back to the feeling I had been living in prior to this email: peace, trust in His timing and plans. What happened? I can’t figure out if this is Him or satan trying to pull me down. I know this can be hard for non-faith believers to take in because it’s leaving peace and thought to things not seen or “technically” proven, but this is all I am. As much as I want to run away and pretend it doesn’t matter to me, it does. It is rooted deep in my person and I will never be able to part with it. It’s not about a point system or earning my way in to eternity, but rather a relationship I subconsciously crave but currently feel distant to.

Sometimes that happens, sometimes you feel like He’s not there when really is US who walk away. Since Christ, He doesn’t turn His back on us, so what’s my deal? I’m afraid…I’m afraid to step forward and be forced to come to terms with His views on being gay. I can’t understand a God who loves us regardless would create us to suffer forever alone. Sure we have Him, but sometimes that doesn’t seem like enough. I love life and being apart of it too much to feel like all I need to do is store up in a closet reading the Bible and praying. My belief is found in me working for others, in movement with God, not quiet solitude.

This has completely gone a different way than I originally intended. I thought about getting rid of this blog the other day, but realized it’s a perfect place for me to vent, talk openly and be honest without being knocked down. I’m tired of fighting with God, but sometimes I don’t know if it’s Him I’m fighting with or myself, satan or others.

I can’t, just can’t believe He created us to be alone, ashamed of our genes and genetic disposition to things not “normal”. We’re created in HIS image, right? So why is it “desires of my flesh” to be me? This isn’t murder, evil thoughts or things to harm others. It’s what my brain thinks. I feel like I”m a hard case, though. I wouldn’t say I’m genetically dispositioned to be gay. I would say I’ve had thoughts, attractions and things I can now explain as that when I was little, but in so many ways I choose to allow myself this identity. Sometimes I wish I was one or the other, though, but that’s for another story another time.

I guess what I’m hoping to gather is peace. Not misguided, fooled peace but a constantly moving/growing peace right with God that furthers my relationship with Him and advances His plans for me. I do know I’m here for a reason. I don’t believe my life has be one lucky train of gayville at all. I’ve met the people I hold most dear in my life for a reason. I’m where I am at my job, in my social world and such for a reason. I do NOT believe in coincident or happenstance.

The other thing that seems to plague me is my job. I guess with our economy it’s not surprising that I would, er, worry about loosing it. Though our company seems to be making steps towards improving our financial growth, I can’t help but feel a heavy blow is around the corner. I’m trying to hard to trust that if I loose my job I’ll find another. Whether it’s good old Starbucks and Dillard’s is okay with me. I know things happen for a reason, so maybe it would be my opportunity to try something new, go to another place, further my volunteering? I don’t know. But, I just can’t help but fear that I’m at the bottom at the totem pole here. Of course, I’m blogging at work so that would make one not be surprised about that above comment. I know that was a contradiction.

In general, to sum up this whole post, I am trying to grow. I’m afraid of what will come because I don’t understand it. I don’t understand God and His plan, but I know it’s greater than me and I have to try to let Him talk to me instead of running. He loves me more than I can fathom and loves those around me. I just am afraid…afraid to hear the voices of old and right-sided Christianity. I know it’s not Him, but it’s so hard to get rid of those voices when they were all you heard growing up.

Dad, WTF?

I hate that when I get emails with hurtful words about me, my mom, my sister or my brother I break down. 

I had sent him an email asking what he wanted to do for mom’s big birthday this summer. I mentioned mom wanted a surprise and I would like to do whatever I can to make it great. 

I get an email back this morning basically calling my mom a bitch for being in a bad mood since her foot surgery. My dad is an ass. I have such a hard tome respecting him let a lone liking him. 

I love my dad when he’s great and caring, but 8 times out of 10 he’s jut an ass-whole these days. Seriously, he blows up in anger for no reason and blames everyone but himself. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had an heart attack. Not that I want him to have one, but he blows up so quickly, it wouldn’t surprise me. 

Sometimes I wish my mom and dad would move away. I don’t want to leave and I would like them to move so I wasn’t forced to communicate with them all the time. I love my mom and I wish she had more of a stand up guy as her husband, but she loves him and won’t leave him. I kind of wish she would, but I know she wouldn’t be happy. She would feel better about herself, but not happy. 

Her life are her children and her marriage. I would hate to be so far away from her, but if they moved I would at least feel free from having to consistently do what pleases them. I’m tired of feeling like I have to be 100% prepared to be myself when I’m with them. I feel like the way I think, the things I like, who I am, what I want to do with my life is always on the chopping block of “we don’t approve”. 

Days like today, I’m angry my dad even emailed me. I’m angry that I can’t just yell “shut the fuck up and be a man versus an ass whole.” When I was a kid I couldn’t wait to be older so I could cuss him out. It’s funny the things you suppress as a child. I had all but forgotten about that until almost six months ago. 

Why is he so mad all the time? Why does he never blame himself but forces mean, hurtful words on everone else just to bully them? That’s what he is, he’s a bully. 

I work in the same industry as him and sometimes it kills me when I hear people say “he’s a great guy”, because I know to his family and for the people that work under him, we know better.

I mean, he is a nice dad. He didn’t beat us when we were kids. He didn’t say “no, I would rather not take care of you”. He didn’t stop short to pay for our educations and keep us debt free. He didn’t (to my knowledge, though my brother speculates differently) cheat on my mom. He doesn’t beat my mom. He doesn’t get drunk. He isn’t that dad who reads your emails (though I might not put it past him now). 

I know I could have had it so much worse, but I could have had it so much better, too. My dad could be so much nicer and not call me bad names. He could have told us “we could do anything if we worked hard”. He could have supported our individual efforts to be ourselves and succeed. He could have been kinder to my mom besides just buying her love. He could have taught us lessons with encouraging words rather than yelling at us and pushing us into a place of fear so we chose what he wanted for us. He could have trusted our individual natures to find what we enjoyed doing rather than wonder how much it was going to cost him. 

I know my dad loves us and would be heart broken if something happened to us, but why does it have to come to that? Why would it take me coming out to them for my dad to show any signs of care he has for me? Even then he didn’t have it. He cried, but yelled at me mostly. 

I’m just tired. This is a huge reason why I wish I had round shoulders. I don’t care if I couldn’t feel anything else good or light spirited, as long as I didn’t have to feel this.

Lunch Date

Today, I had my second lunch date with my mother since she’s been seeing a doctor near my neck of the woods. The first time we had lunch it was in December so we were light and happy. Today, started out similar, but took a different course all together. 

How it happened, I don’t know. I know it was God arranged because it was too easy and I didn’t loose my cool to drop it. We talked for short minutes on how being bi, her not liking it (“hoping it’s a phase”), being democrat versus republican, with a little pro-life until we both admitted that at this time neither of us would be able to have the relationship we’re wanting for a while. She said, “this is where you’re learning to be your own person and I’m learning to let go that you don’t think like me.” 

Sometimes, when my mom and I have lunches, it’s my goal to finish the afternoon on a note that sums up a lesson we learned. Why there has to be a lesson? Because my mom and I don’t share the same ideas and ever since I came out, there’s always a lesson. But, today it was not the case. I kept trying to pull her back into what the point of everything I was say meant, but it never got there. 

I’m not even quite sure how to accurately judge today’s meeting. I feel down just because it was a conversation I hate having to have and she said some things about my dad that made me mad (not at her, but at him). 

I feel like in my own person, as wrong as I sometimes am, I am okay with my relationship with God, because in fact it IS my relationship with Him. I love that my mom is passionate about her’s, but I expressed how I wasn’t agreeing with her. I don’t know…

I don’t really have any other words, so I’m just going to leave it at that. My Friday is still going great, though. So, that’s good.

Oatmeal Tuesdays

I’m finally back at work where there is Internet, wireless radio and my new G1. Yes, all is right when I’m at the office in terms of today. Well, minus that cup of oatmeal that over flowed in the microwave, me being late to work and everything else that went wrong. 

To give a quick recap on Thanksgiving and my move they were all good but with minor problems. The move was successful and I’m well underway at finding my home with my new roommate. The dogs love the apartment just as much as we do and we have fabulous neighbors. 

Thanksgiving was a lesson learned in that I will NEVER stay the night for Thanksgiving again unless my brother or other family are staying, too. Upon arrival to my parents house my oldest dog (Molly) attached my parents 14-year old, no claws cat. No blood except for mine as I attempted to pick the cat up and step on my dog. Zoe (the cat) decides I’m not worth trying to help by BITING the hell out of my hand. Seriously, she made me drip blood she bit me so hard. Those damn little sharp teeth only did damage to me. As I’m trying to get the cat’s thigh out of Molly’s mouth I’m getting blood on Molly, my pants, the ground and my shoes. Good times. Then, because my dad has absolutely no social skills I hear him yelling and cusing at my mom around 10 about it. Instead of telling me, “Hey, I would rather you not bring the dogs in the house if you’re going to bring them out here,” he decides it would be better to yell at my mom. Yeah, not ever doing that again. 

So as I heal both emotionally and hand-physically I find myself here on a Tuesday morning eating boiled over organic oatmeal not wanting to work. I haven’t had Internet in forever and feel like I haven’t been on this site equally as long. I haven’t used Twitter in ages too, but now I finally got my G1 so now it’s back on, bitches. Okay, you’re not a bitch, but I just like saying that. 

I can’t wait until I can get this site figured out. I had it and then I quit. So not sure what happened. I think I’ll call it laziness. Yes, that’s its name.

The 3 Day: Grandma

This weekend I participated in the Susan G. Komen 3 Day. I walked 60+ miles over three days and raised money to fight a cure and support those who are going through it or survivors. It was a hard, painful and strong experience. My feet, my legs, my whole body has not known such physical pain in years if not ever. I was blessed enough to meet several people along the way. I went alone to experience something towards a good cause in memory of my Grandma. She died of breast cancer in 1997 and it was my goal to remember her on this trip.

We slept in tents, woke up in freezing temperatures, walked in high-direct sun and up hill more than half the time. I can’t say I’ve ever used a porter potty more than I did on this adventure. We took showers in transport bathrooms and had specific medic tents set up for blisters. I was blessed enough to only develop three blisters total and one hot spot. In the middle of the night, the wind would blow so hard that it felt like I was in the “Blair Witch Project” and would soon hear children laughing as my tent blew about. It was so cold that I slept with several layers of sweats and my sleeping bag over my head the entire night.

It wasn’t until the last mile that I found my strength. The first two days hurt me more emotionally and personally than I ever expected to get on this. I found myself drowning in ME that I had forgotten my point of doing this. I didn’t raise $2,220 and train for months to just check this off my list. It was in that last mile I realized this wasn’t about me and my problems, but the loss of one amazing woman. I was able to keep going not because I wanted to tell people I walked the whole thing or I accomplished something great, but that I was not going to let the cancer that killed her be forgotten. It wasn’t about the steps I did or didn’t take or how my body hated me at the end, but how she wasn’t there for my prom, my graduations or any of those first I know she would have been there for. When every one else was busy she would have been there. She would have been the person I talked to about coming out and personal stuff that I don’t feel safe sharing with anyone else. She was amazing, generous, kind, out going, strong, loving and everything wonderful.

When she died I didn’t do anything. I was in the sixth grade and it was all about me. Each time she got sick I just thought she would get better and never let myself think about it. I expected her to live through the second time as she did the first time. When she died I wasn’t there. I choose not to go. In that same year, just months before she died a kid in my class committed suicide and I went to his funeral. I barely knew him and I was there. I pretended to cry as they had an open casket. I don’t even remember who drove me there or what I was thinking, I just know that I was there. I was there for a kid I really didn’t know, but I wouldn’t go to my grandma’s funeral. I was afraid. I was afraid to see her without hair, to see her sick, to know my grandma was sick and not going to get better.

To this day I’ve never been to her grave site. I want to go, but I’m still afraid. I’m afraid to face my mistake for not going and saying “goodbye”. I didn’t even get to tell her I love her.

I walked for her. She was how I got through the last day. She was the reason I choose to stay till the ending ceremony. I know death is death and that she’s “not looking down” and thinking anything. Why would she? She’s too distracted praising God and I wouldn’t blame her. When she died it comforted my mom to think she was in heaven holding the two babies my mom had lost before my grandma died. For me, death is different. It burns, it stings and everything about it sucks, but I can’t challenge it. I can’t fight it and expect to win when my time comes. I’ve just always accepted it and moved on. For me I wanted to do this in honor of her life and what I missed from her.

I don’t know if I will ever successfully deal with her death until another family memeber passes, but this was helpful. In away, this helped me forgive myself for not being there and tell people about her while I walked.

These are probably the first, real tears I’ve poured about her. I broke down at 13 when I was visiting family. I cried in my bed and blamed it on missing my cat or something. I’ve never been good at showing emotion. When I was little, showing emotion was weakness for me. No one taught me that, it was just what I thought. I never cried until I was in high school. Now, it’s like I cry at everything. I thought I might cry when I got there, but the tears never came. I’m sure it had to do something with how many people were around me and how thin our tents were that I couldn’t have a good cry. I felt as though I wanted to cry and cry hard, but never let myself. I guess now, as I type this, is the best time if ever.

“I Still Love You…”

Some times, I am jealous of those people, girls in particular, who have great relationships with their dads. Mine, I would call some what middle, but slightly destructive. 

In an effort to say what I felt, rather than keep it in, I wrote my dad an email on Saturday night at 4 am. I started out saying “I don’t like you” then I changed it to just say “I’m angry with you”. I went on about how his words hurt me, his inability to tell me I’m capable hurts me and I’m ready for a change. I tried to keep words like “hate”, “your fault” and “worst” out of the email. Instead, I said things like “you hurt me”, “I want things to be different” and “just tell me I’m a good kid”. 

When I was in college, my dad and I started our worst. There was one time I left a message on his voicemail in tears about why he doesn’t love me enough to just talk to me. I left him that message and we never spoke about it. 

I spoke with my mom about it this morning because I had sent it to their personal/home email. He hadn’t yet read it and she decided to do something other than leave it in email form. She printed it, put it in an envelope, wrote a note on the front asking him to pray before he reads it and to read between the lines and will be giving this to him to read on his trip out of town this Thursday. 

I don’t know what to think about it, actually. I’m tired of having to deal with this stuff, though. I’m over the tears, the pain and the frustration. In talking with my mom this morning we were able to say so much of what I had been thinking about him. We both know how he might, more possibly react to this letter. I told my mom he has one choice after this letter and that choice will determined our relationship. IF, he decides to become defensive and throw my sexuality in my face as a way to silence my reaction, I will keep a distance from him until he grows up. If he says “I’m angry, too with you” I will listen and we will start over. If he says  ”I understand” I will exclaim “we have here a new man” and praise him for it. The latter I fear will be not possible unless God softens his heart and makes him see. 

Here’s what I fear: he becomes angry by it, throws my sexuality in my face so he doesn’t have to admit he’s in the wrong. For that he will dangle my inheritance for buying a new home over my head and basically back me into a corner to telling my 75 year old, conservative grandfather of my bisexuality. I think he thinks I wouldn’t do it, but what he doesn’t seem to realize is I don’t back down from being pushed. I’m a big believer in open honesty and if he wants to start this with my grandfather (who I believe already has his thoughts on this matter about me) then I will. It will then spread to my family members and will spurn this whole conversation that I think he would have rather I never said anything. It will become a game of “will she, won’t she” for him and I plan to call his bluff every time. Perhaps that’s not the healthy way to go, but I don’t care. I don’t like feeling bullied into what naturally and legally mine. 

With that, I fear a great deal of conversations I really don’t want to have to have coming my way, but what else am I do? I’m not good at this whole “pretend it’s no big deal and just never tell them” sort of thing. I’m no good a living two different lives. My mom said to me this morning, “there are certain things you just don’t share with people.” She was saying that in reflection of her lift by the way she was raised to not share private details. I started thinking about it and have come to the conclusion I don’t have this. There is something in my brain that doesn’t think to do that. I naturally share who I am without fear because I would rather you know my dirty deeds than pretend I’m a saint or something. I don’t know personal discretion in this way. 

One gem of information is that my mom, a soldier in her own father/daughter war, said “You must learn to be strong even if he doesn’t respond as we hope he will. You must realize that it will be him missing out and not about you failing.” Love her.

With that said, I shall develop my speech and gather my strong, positive attitude and carry on until Thursday. If, and only “if” I hear from him will I know. My mom may call me Friday and tell me what he had to say on the phone while out of town or I may not know until his birthday when I force myself to drive out to see them. 

I don’t want him to feel like he’s a bad dad, but realize that I’m sitting here asking for a “do over”. I don’t want to mull over the details of wrong vs. right, but point out that calling me a “bitch” is hurtful and supporting me in terms of “you can do it” is crucial.

So It Is, I’m You

About a year ago, I sat in a high school auditorium, really early for church. I had mis-remembered the time and showed up at the end of what I thought was the beginning of the first service. After the closing of the first service and people started to leave I realized I had it wrong. I was new and searching for a place to worship. So, because I was there and not about to admit defeat, I stayed and waited. As I sat there for twenty minutes I read the handout. I never read those things because I’m in either too much of a hurry or just don’t want to. Seeing how it had my full attention for twenty minutes before I started scoping out the church hotties not with girlfriends, I read.

On the front cover was a story about this woman and her past. It started out in such a way that grabbed my heart. She was angry, constantly angry. She fought with her husband and her children. Yelling, throwing things and causing huge scenes. It wasn’t until one morning when, during one of her rages at nothing in particular, she saw her past threw her daughter’s eyes. On the floor, cornered away by the fridge was a crumpled piece of her daughter trying to be as far back as she could be. Crying and trying to remain unseen from her mother’s rage, she saw herself as a little girl in the same way. It took her back to her childhood and the pain she had from her father. Her story was much different than mine, but all the same her father played a big part in her break down. In years of counseling, she came to a place with God and herself where she felt safe, safe enough to confront her dad with the pain he had caused her. When she came to him in love, and truth he denied having ever hurt her and that she was making it up. He, after many years, never caved, but she moved on, let go and became less angry.

This story stumped me that I kept it around. I kept pushing it around my dresser, throwing it in the back of my Bible because I knew there was something about it I couldn’t throw away. I felt like I knew her. I knew, even then, that I was destined for this sort of break down/realization of what kept drowning me.

Have you ever watched “James Bond” and saw him go through a metal door? You know the kind, the ones that open in one quick steel-knife motion and close just the same? That’s what I think about when I hit college. Spring of my freshmen year, I walked away from the love of my life, my major and future plans. I don’t remember exactly when, but shortly after all those changes I felt the blade of the steel-knife like door close me from the rest of the world. My happiness, joy and hope walked out and anger, loneliness and broken spirit entered in.

Just ten minutes ago I had that moment. The moment that I saw myself and could have cried.

A little under a month ago I got a second dog (Pippa). She came to me not as I expected her to. She was dirty, sick and smelly. She was scared, very scared and completely un-teachable. I had rescued her from the same people I had gotten my first dog (Molly). Molly was a walk in the park, but Pippa was another story. I was patient with her and quick to start teaching her the rules. She soon got better and learned that inside is not the same as outside. Since I’ve added a second dog, Molly and Pippa have not stopped playing. They love each other and Pippa does what Molly does. I’ve noticed, though, that since the addition of the not so perfect dog I started training wrong. Snaps on the nose replaced time out and loud “no” replaced better correction. I kept thinking my quick to anger was related to everything else and that once I got over the many hills I had been on, I would be better. Well, I also thought that once Pippa learned to go outside we would not be doing accidents inside. I was wrong on both accounts.

Tonight was the pentacle of pottying inside. Twice I found pee spots (one old and one in action of). The second one I found myself very angry. I disciplined her quickly and put her in her crate. I was so angry because I knew she understood outside was good and inside was bad. What made me more mad was that she didn’t even let me know. She has thing to let me know she needs to go and I got nothing. What sparked this similar experience as with the woman I mentioned before was after I had put her in her crate, cleaned up the mess and what not, I went to her crate and just stared her down. My brain couldn’t wrap around anything but anger. I just sat there, said nothing and stared. She knew she was in trouble because she wouldn’t meet my eyes. It hit me when I realized I wanted her to feel bad. Yes, she’s just a dog and ten seconds after she did it, she had no idea why I was staring her down. I get that, but I can’t help but think the behavior I have towards my dogs is the kind I will have towards my children, so this discipline is very important to me.

I sat there and watched her eyes, her throat and her body. She didn’t move. She swallowed slowly and her eyes constantly looked to the left. Once I saw all those things I saw myself.

(That has to be the worst way to describe oneself as when they looked at their dog they saw themselves, but work with me; I’m going some where I promise.)

I saw myself after every fight I had had with father. I saw myself motionless, fighting tears – never looking directly in the eye. I can remember the “I’m sorry” after every hurtful word, after the time he grabbed me and threw me out of a room. I can remember him asking for forgiveness because of what that made him feel like inside, but knowing he would do it again in the future. I remember hurting and never letting it show. I remember thinking “one day…I won’t ever let him do that to me again.”

Today…tonight, in my anger, I became him. I wanted her to feel pain through my eyes. I wanted to deep within my person react in a higher, angry way, but (because I don’t abuse animals) I separated myself from her. I took a step back and realized I couldn’t use “house, family, job, etc.” as excuses to pretend my anger was just misplaced. I have no place for it. I need no place for it. Luckily, she is a dog and won’t remember that in ten minutes, but what if that had been my child? What if I had stared, yelled or displayed over the top anger to my child? I would have been repeating the cycle I never wanted to repeat. Sorry is great, but doesn’t cover the words you said or the hurt that they felt.

I am glad this is something my therapist and I are working through, but I never realized this until just these past couple of months. I never thought of my dad as a bad dad, but rather me as a bad child. I never wanted to see my dad wrong because he was my dad. I will say my dad is human as we all are and I can’t be angry at him forever. There are a lot of great things he did amidst the bad ones. It’s the just bad ones that burned more; caused more tears and the need for better healing techniques.

In terms of Pippa, well, she’ll have accidents (hopefully less than more). She will be out of time out soon and hopefully all the wiser of her potty behavior or cause me to steam clean my carpet, yet again. Ugh…dogs and carpet. The worst pairs in the world!

Let Go

You know that beating in your chest that seems to suck all the air out of your lungs and tie your stomach in knots? I get that every single time I talk to my parents. Ever since that conversation I can’t breath when they call , send emails or whatever. I don’t want food, drink or comfort. I freeze. 

Last night, I dreamt about my Dad. The dream first started out as he and I buying ice cream. We were in Hawaii and he had to spend some ridiculous amount of money on ice cream that I wanted. We were heading back to this place where my family was staying. Once we got there, we walked into a room full of people with my mom in the center. All of sudden my dad was in a meeting with these people and they were mad at him. Because my dad never takes the blame, he looks over at my mom and starts yelling at her it was her fault. In front of all these people he’s yelling at her and saying very hurtful things about her to the point where she’s crying and having to leave the room. I couldn’t take it anymore. I started yelling hurtful things back. Things that stung and made him more mad. He starts putting blame on me and yelling that I cost him so much money, that I was so spoiled. I keep yelling and saying things that get him to react physically. He pulls out a gun and tries to shoot me, but instead shoots himself. There were no bullets, so no one died, but he just wanted to get a reaction out of me that was full of fear. I woke up and was so angry. 

Dreams are weird, but that one hit a little too close to home. 

When I was a kid my dad and mom would always fight. Like I said, he couldn’t take the blame nor have a conversation so he would get angry at her. Right in front of us, he would say hurtful things. I hated it and would yell back at him to make him stop talking to my mom that way. Of course I got in trouble, but I didn’t care. 

When I returned from college my dad generously gave me my mom’s car. It was a four year old Lincoln and I loved it, but it was falling apart. It cost more money to fill up and maintain than it was worth it, but he wouldn’t give me the title so I could sell it for something more affordable. So, one night I went into the den and started talking to him about apartments. I wanted out so bad and just didn’t want to get in over my head. He starts yelling at me, telling me I have no idea what the real world is like and I have my head up my butt, so I was in for a world of hurt on my own. This made me mad. I have been the most responsible person (minus credit debt) and knew I wasn’t going to fail. I started back at him and said something about if I didn’t have that stupid car, I would be able to move out sooner, etc. That made him so mad, that he picked me up by the arm, threw me out of the room and yelled (for the whole house to hear) “I was an ungrateful bitch”.  He also took this time to shame me for my relationship with Anna and slammed the door in my face. That wasn’t the first time I’ve been called a bitch by him, but it still evoked tears and hate. I moved out within three weeks. I took the first thing that would take me. 

This morning I got an email from him about a devotional by Max Lucado. Nothing against Max Lucado, but the message angered me. When my dad was telling me how much he didn’t approve of my life he kept saying “God is black and white. You’re either right or your wrong.” Go figure that this devotional is about the same thing. I believe that God is black and white and you’re either right or your wrong, but you can’t just call a spade a spade when your whole body aches in hurt over what to do. 

Maybe it’s Satan telling me to focus on my anger for my father and use it to keep him at bay, but I have deep rooted hurt from this man. No person is perfect, but I made him out to be. He could do no wrong and I was always wrong next to him. I don’t like this mindset anymore. 

I hate it. Every time I talk to him (through email, phone or in person) I always walk away doubting myself. Regardless of how wrong or right my life is, isn’t it mine? Shouldn’t be allowed to figure it out for myself?

Last night, before I went to bed, I was praying and discussing things over with God. Well, I was discussing and He was listening. I was talking about everything that’s going on right now and I started to feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t sit still within my own skin. I wanted to run away and leave everything behind me. I started thinking I needed to leave the city, I needed to change my phone number, I needed to turn everything off. I wanted out of my own skin!? Does that not seem crazy to anyone else? 

I’m glad I’m meeting with my therapist today, but seriously…there’s not much more of this I can take. I feel powerless and completely unable to do anything right. I don’t have hope or even joy admits all of this. I’m exhausted once I come home that I just watch hours of stupid TV (on my computer) and then go to bed. I toss and turn, without real sleep and can’t seem to get up in the mornings. 

I want to say I can get through this, but it just doesn’t feel like I can. Now I know why people do drugs. It would be nice to just sit back and not have to deal with anything. That’s why my brother started smoking pott and while he depends on it today. It’s why my mom drinks more than she should and struggles with it today. 

I want to run away and blame everyone, but then that would make me just like my dad. 

God, please give me the strength just to have hope. All I’m asking for is hope, okay? Keep the joy and just let me have hope that it’s going to get better and I’m not going to screw myself up anymore? Sometimes I feel I’m my own worst enemy.

“This or That”

In the last couple of weeks I’ve been shaking myself loose from the mental break down I had in the presence of my parents two Sundays ago. I’ve mentioned that my parents wanted to talk to me about my decision to come out to them as “bi”. I, thinking I’m ever so strong, agree to meet them on Sunday for a little discussion. “Little” is hardly the word and “discussion” is not what happened in the slightest. I was, rather, told “wrong” ,”saved”, “don’t approve”, “struggle”, “sin no more” and “we love you”.  Hmm…

After that little two-hour me sit there and they yell situation, I left, picked me up some McDonald’s and went home to plunder away at a large fry and McNugget combo. There were tons of tears. There was tons of anger and sadness. 

Since then I’ve not been the same, good and bad. I’ve pulled away from my relationship with Amy, my parents and generally anyone I was close to. I’ve become more like a air-tight liter of Coke that’s been dropped on the floor one to many times. My lid is about to explode and my reaction is about to be every where. 

In an effort to build some meaning out of my existence I’ve been seeing a therapist. At first, when I found him through Psychology Today I thought he seems to be too mellow for me. As I was desperate for a councilor that was not with the Christian crusade of America (I have no idea if such a crusade really exists) I settled for at least one appointment with him. I had to get all that anger, emotion and confusion out of me before I pushed it into the deep parts of my mind to just poison my thoughts with “what ifs” and “I hate you’s”. Turns out this guy is amazing.

I titled this blog “This or That” because of another blog I read shared to me by Amy. It’s written by an amazing personal bloger named Kristy. This blog she wrote was about her figuring out the path of her life and where she wanted to go. She mentions being married before to a man that she could see her future clearly with. Children, career, life, all of it was visible in the distance. It wasn’t until her mother became ill that she realized she didn’t want any of it. It wasn’t what she wanted for herself at 25. Marriage, mortgage and children were not on her agenda, so she started over on her own. She now, at 32, is coming back to this place of marriage, mortgage and children with a renewed self and more focused mind. She says she couldn’t have been a good mother then as she would be now. Unfortunately, her ovaries are no longer functioning. It’s becoming more obvious that she will not be able to have children. Towards the end of her blog she says words that describe me right now. She says, “I don’t think I’ve made a mistake, living this life. I know I’d make a much better mother now than I ever could have been ten years ago. But by waiting, did I lose my opportunity? By having “this” did I miss my chance at “that”?” 

Mistake. That word is one I hate to know personally. I always want to win, choose the right side and do the right thing. I hate being in the wrong, the bad or the guilty. Funny how when you sit in your own life, overwhelmed by everything else, the wrong is blurred and the right further away. I don’t know what the right or the wrong is for me and I would care for you not to tell me either. I boil at the very chance to mess up, to some how throw myself down the stairs of life and break every possible future bone in my path, but I hate taking it one step at a time, too. I hate that life can’t just be something I LIVE rather than something I talk about. I’m over people telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t. I think, sometimes, I would much rather live on a island all on my own. Absent from people and communication, but then I think I would be far crazier than I am now. 

Every night I sit in my bed, pondering my mistakes, my failures and my direction for the morrow. I would call myself an optimist minus my brain. How, in all the years of good times and up beat emotions, have I come to this place of empty? I keep thinking if I do “this” or “that” I will better be able to answer those hard question pressing in on me. Funny how “this” or “that” don’t really help me, but further complicate my life and add to the need for something else to distract me. 

Did I mention I wanted to run? Yes, last week I sought a councilor to help me answer just one question, “do I leave?” I wanted out of my parents hand. I wanted to get away from people that knew me and knew my family. I wanted to do my own thing and exist in my own person absent of those knowing anything about me/family. But, in all things complicated there was also this need to stay. This need to teach my mind that running wasn’t the answer and establishing strength next to the things that break me down was far more important than lovely weather and new faces. So I’m staying. Staying to the point that I’m looking for a home. I’m tired of the renting game and hate owing the rental man. I’m hoping within the next two months I’ll be living in my own place with new possibilities. 

That’s my focus right now. That’s my time line. What seems to not care is my heart. What do I do with feelings? What do I do with Amy? 

Before my lovely chat with my parents I was head over heals smitten for her. Feelings haven’t changed but the safety of expressing them has. I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to feel those safely or exist in a relationship with her safely. My mind, my parents, my co-workers, the world is heavy upon my heart and I don’t know how to win under them. Remember…I have to win. 

I can’t just close my eyes and jump in, taking every sharp wave with stride because I’m scared. Fear surrenders me motionless, I will drown. “This or that” is something I seem to bounce back and forth on. I hate bouncing. I hate being beaten about like a basketball missing the rim. One side grabs me, fails at the free throw line and the other team tires equally as unsuccessful. I’m the ball the teams don’t realize I’m the reason they’re playing. Without me there would be no game. Without me there would be no reason to compete. Without me there would be no need to play without concern. 

I’m tired of being played with. I’m tired of being something for a reason versus a person with a heart. My soul is none of anyone’s business, but my heart is capable of being crushed by anyone. 

I also don’t want to be that person for Amy. I want to be careful, highly careful with her heart. I don’t like playing this role. I don’t like being the person saying “hey, there’s a small chance I’ll ever have the strength to actually take the big step, but if you’ll wait it might be worth your while.” She doesn’t run and I don’t want her to, but I wish she didn’t love me. Only because I love her and the whole thing isn’t fair to her. I just don’t have answer. I don’t have an answer today and who knows if I’ll have an answer tomorrow. 

I’m tired of not having the balls to just make a decision and stick in it. I’m so afraid of missing “this” for “that” it becomes harder and harder to do anything. I’m a risk taker and love making that jump, so why am I so afraid? I have never had this type of fear with anything. I’ve just done it. 

You know what I’m also tired of? Being 24 and having to have it all figured out. Since when does a 24-year old have to know what’s going to happen for the rest of her life? I blame my dad. He’s always been like “where’s your plan” and “what are you going to do”. It’s great in considering a house, a job or something NOT related to your heart. 

Dad, I don’t have an freaking plan! I don’t and won’t. I don’t care to find one and I don’t care to make one. I want to be smart and not hurt people, but I don’t have a plan. Sure, sure, it may end up biting me in the ass but I’m tired, very tired of walking that tight rope for you. I’m tired that I have pretend to have it all figured out in order to talk to you. Did you ever know you’re scary? Yeah! You’re not the same guy you were when I was a little kid. Perhaps you’re more concerned now with our well being and just want to make sure we’re okay, but you’re scary. You either think you can scare things out of us or be mean and we’ll just do whatever you want. That’s how you’ve beaten me down before and, I’m sorry, I don’t want to do it anymore. There has to be a break in our relationship. You have to now be an adult because I am now an adult. No, I’m not as learned as you nor have I gathered the many years of wisdom you’ve obtained, but you did it on your own, why can’t I? You moved a million miles away from your family for job and sanity. I’m not moving because I’m facing you, but I will not allow you control me. I’m an adult and it’s high time you treat me like one. 

I’m going to make many, many mistakes. I’m going to fall down and have a hell of a time getting back up, but as long as God gives breath in this body I will get back up. I will do things as you wouldn’t. I will do things as you would. Either way, I’ll be doing them, not you. 

I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore. I would love, love to send these words to you, but you’re so damn defensive that you wouldn’t even read the truth behind them. I’m tired of having to have a plan for you. I don’t live on your dime and I’m not under your roof. My plan is my own and if I do decided to live it absent of your hand, then you must sit back and be thankful I’m able to do it on my own. 

…

I can’t wait for my therapy.

Oh My Parents…

Today, like the majority of my days this year, are about me coming out. Coming out in by sexual preference, in my career, my person, my life. In the last couple of months it’s been more about me coming out to my parents that I’m “bi”. First to my mom over the phone after a heart to heart with my career councilor and now this coming weekend to my dad with my mom. 

The funny part is it’s all been going down while I’ve been at work and my co-workers have no idea. Well, maybe they do, but I sit at my non-office desk talking to my mom with tears in my eyes about coming out to my dad. It’s weird, but I just don’t care. 

It’s unusual for me to not care and try to not put a good image out there. I’ve always been the one that puts on a show and displays only the good things I want you to see. I know the majority of people do that, but I think I was rather good at it. In the recent years, I’ve just not cared. I’ve stopped wearing make-up to work and dress very casual. Two things you would have never seen me do several years ago. 

I have always been an open person and for that I’m thankful. People know just who I am in the first visit with me and I think that honest truth can either scare them away or excite them to know me. I’ve found the people who really want me around are the ones who value my honest opinion and open book story of a life. I often have friends that keep me around because I’m good for “tell me the truth” situations. They don’t want me as their best/close friends but love that I can be called on to help, support and tell it like I see it. The people that don’t like me are the ones who, in my opinion, do not know how to sit in their own truth. They don’t know how to be honest and would never dream about wearing who they are on their sleeve. 

Because I’m a firm believer this is how God created me, I take on this gift full heartily. I do think I’ve shifted far from my relationship with God, but I believe that He gave this rare, individual gift for a reason and I hate when I start to not use it. I don’t really know how to be two different people. I don’t know how to lie about who I am or pretend to be something I’m not because it eventually destroys me and I end up blurting it all out in a public place and run away. Well, maybe not to that extreme, but keeping it in just destroys me. So, I came out to my mom. 

We all know how that one went. It turns out, like I knew it, she would tell my father. If there’s one thing I learned from my parents is that marriage is between you and your best friend. Never, ever keep anything from your best friend if you’re wanting your marriage to succeed. So, I wasn’t upset that she told my dad. Rather I was relieved because she helped soften the blow and get his mind thinking before I had to talk to him. The reader must remember that my dad knew about me and Anna (first secret girlfriend), so he wasn’t 100% shocked to learn his little girl is still doing her research. 

Why must I tell my dad I’m “Bi” if he already knows from my mother? Because he wants to hear it from my mouth and talk about it. He and I are the same for which I can respect his desire to address it. 

I’m nervous as all get out. I’m trying to get a counseling appointment lined up for next week because I know I’ll need to talk to someone. No such luck on getting one of them to call me back.

I think what I’m most scared about happening is circling in conversation and a lot of angry words. It would be one thing to have a conversation that was healthy in expressing emotions, attitudes and feelings, but one that just doesn’t become realistic or reasonable is hard. 

My mom is trying to warn me and get me prepared. My parents basically feel that if I were wanting to “fix it” they would let me be, but because I’m not they want to know the game plan. My parents can’t seem to wrap their minds around this and it’s what we have to do to get there. 

I told my mom that I was scared to have this conversation with my dad and she followed with “well, if this is what you’re going to choose in life then you better get use to it.” They don’t support it and probably never will. I’m sure I have a long way to go. 

I think what I want to get out of this most is to be free to choose. I have no idea what I want five years down the road, let alone one year down the road. I know that I am interested in men as well as woman and happen to be dating a woman I really like. I’m not talking marriage or big steps, but I don’t want to close the door just because I have to. You can’t make someone do something like this unless they choose it for themselves. 

Sure, it’s scary to choose something that goes against every person in your family. Sure, it’s weird to live a lifestyle that I really have no clue about. Sure, sure it’s not easy. This is where the gays and lesbians have it easy. For them, they don’t have to choose it’s already decided. For me, it’s a matter of who I like. So much harder. 

Eh…this was not the conversation I’ve wanted to have for a while. I’ve been wanting to sweep it under the rug and deal with it in time. Time meaning I either stay in this relationship or I don’t. 

You know when you have a question you most desperately want an answer to, there is often an answer? Okay, that may have not made any sense, but work with me. I have many questions about several things not relating to GLBT, but one question that seems to just play over and over again is “what the hell am I doing”. Not “what the hell am I doing with her” or “what the hell am I doing with him” but “what the hell am I doing with this part of my life?” Am I just to exist in this question mark place? Why do I have to know? 

How is it I’m so easily swayed? My parents sway me, my friends sway, hell, even certain movies sway me. Should I just never date? Should I just be alone? I hate this part. I’m hoping that I will have more clarity come this next week. I’m hoping when I walk away from the conversation with my parents I feel peace. 

What I want most severely is to know myself regardless of those around me. I want to know my reflection, my soul, my person regardless of where I am or who I’m with. THEN I think I will feel less down, less confused.