The Living Dead

Well, that last post was cathartic.  I lifted weights for the first time in months after writing it.  I feel really good, like maybe it's not too late to put my life in order.  I want to participate in life again.  I want to love and allow myself to be loved in return.  I want to break down my personal distance barrier and get rid of all the reasons I keep it up.  I want to not hate the way I look.  I want to get and stay healthy.  I want to be able to say the words "I love you" and not feel weird about it.  I want to read and write and draw and color and create and touch and participate.  I want to swim.  In the ocean.  I want to feel the sun on my face.  I want to sing.

I want, I want, I want...  haha.  

I want to be okay with wanting things for myself.  I want to be okay with getting them.  I want to be happy.

This post might even be more cathartic than the last.  I'm not sure if this is worth posting.  

Well, I know a way to make this post meaningful.

I'm gay.  I'm homosexual.  I like boys.  I'm a friend of Dorothy.


I don't know how many of you will be shocked to find this out.  I feel like I'm constantly giving out hints but I'm too cowardly to just come out and say it.  So, I'm saying it.  In a blog.  That I haven't even made public or shared yet.

Decisions, decisions...

A resurrection.

So, here I am.  It's not the new year.  But today is a day of new beginnings.  You could say I've had something of an epiphany.  And maybe I'm being facetious or it's just my own overblown sense of self-importance in using the word, but I had an epiphany that hit me so hard it made me nauseous.

I think everyone would rather not be around me.

Well, that's not really the epiphany itself.  That's sort of... the opening statement.  It's not an epiphany but it is something that many people may not know about me.  I have a daily war with the voice in my mind that tells me that everyone would prefer it if I was gone.  Now, I realize that's not a unique trait.  I'm no snowflake.  But it's there and it's a constant that's wrecked relationships -- friendly, familial, and romantic.  I think you hate me, so I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of hurting me.

That said, here's the epiphanic part.  I never made the connection, and I don't understand why.  I was raised being made to believe that having a father was a privilege that could be revoked at any time.  That if I wasn't nice enough or good enough or easy enough to be around that I would be cast off with the ease of a shrug.  That I was an accessory.  A plaything.  A companion that would only be around as long as I remained useful.

You know who made me feel that way?

My father and my stepmother.




You know, that made me nauseous all over again, just typing it out.

But I feel better.  Because I made the connection that maybe I'm not as horrible to be around as I think.  Or rather, that voice in my head telling me that isn't me at all.  This was done to me.  And maybe that means I have a fighting chance.


Is this blog gonna be a big downer-fest?  Let's hope not.  But, I mean, I am starting it because of a gut wrenching realization.  Maybe by the time I feel like I can share it, I'll have some good to put here.