I want to feel your palm against mine.
I want to feel your hair against my face.
I want to look into your eyes and know you're thinking the same thing I am.
I want to taste your lips, and drink in your breath.
I want to hear you say my name with nothing but a moan or a whimper.
I want to explore your body with a curious hand.
I want to lock my arm in yours and walk proudly down the street.
I want to yell at you and tell you what a fool you are.
I want to be the center of your universe.
I want to make you the center of mine.
I want to write shitty love songs about you.
I want to see your breath catch when you see me, the way mine does when I see you.
I want to dive into firsts and unknowns with you.
I want to be the thing you dream of.
I want to scream your name like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
I want to be that guy that you want.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Break My Stupid Little Heart, the Pisces Adventure
Nothing is ever simple, is it? There's always so much pressure. Pressure I'm putting on myself, and pressures others put on me. I'm so tired and heavy all the time, it's a familiar feeling though not a pleasant one. It reminds me of my teenage years, a constant depression hanging over my head. I used to sleep for hours, simply because it was easier than being awake. Or I would lay in bed and simply wish to be asleep, or gone from this world. This feeling isn't as strong as the feelings I got in high school, likely due to my hormones having evened out quite a bit over the years, but that doesn't make it a less crappy feeling.
I met a guy. His name is Skye. No, I didn't intend for that to rhyme. Anyway, we met about two weeks ago, and we've been pretty inseparable ever since. Since we first met we have literally not had a day when we haven't seen one another. Sounds ideal, right? Wrong. Skye doesn't date. Skye only wants a friend. Skye has said that I am "friend-zoned." In his defense, he's been pretty up-front about that since we met. Not that it stopped me from developing feelings for him, anyway... Really, though, how could I not? I finally meet another gay man who's actually interested in the things I'm interested in, and who's first order of business ISN'T to get in my pants.
We click on a level that even he acknowledges, just not a romantic one, apparently. Not that I've really approached him about my feelings. One morning, after staying over at his place (I just crashed there, no hanky-panky), I quietly told him, "I think I'm getting a crush on you." His response was to squeal in disapproval and say, "DON'T MAKE THINGS SOCIALLY AWKWARD!" I haven't broached the subject since, just tried to let it go. Not that is stemmed my feelings for him. I even sacrificed my Thanksgiving so I could spend it with him, because he doesn't have any family here and would have spent it alone otherwise.
He spent most of the day complaining about what a crappy Thanksgiving he was having. Guess it wasn't enough that I gave up my Thanksgiving with my family to spend it with him. Finally, we decided to go out to the Pumphouse, a bar that a friend of his bartends at. I assumed Skye knew it would be open, since his friend works there... well, it wasn't. Not knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing he "didn't want to go home," I decided we'd stop by my friend's house since he was having a big Thanksgiving dinner for a bunch of friends. The whole time we were there Skye just looked and acted miserable. His only solace seemed to come from his phone, which would buzz every so often with texts from his friend who worked at the Pumphouse.
I told him we could do whatever he wanted, and he decided he wanted to go to the Big I to meet the friend he'd been texting. We sat at the Big I, him loading up on a couple beers, vodka tonics, and rum and coke, while I nursed a couple beers since I was driving. He was constantly distracted, looking behind him towards the door to see if his friend had made an appearance yet. When he wasn't looking back at the door, he was talking about his friend and telling me how they had a connection he'd never felt with anybody before. This friend of his, Patrick, was apparently the first guy Skye had romantic, not just sexual, feelings for. I played the avid listener as usual, hiding the hurt I felt at the guy I had feelings for.
Finally, Patrick arrives with a couple of his friends. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though not what I was expecting. Skye is ecstatic at his arrival, since they'd had a falling out before I met Skye and this was the first time they'd seen each other since. Skye did his best to hang on to Patrick while we were there, but Patrick ran into someone he hadn't seen in a while and spent a large chunk of time talking with her. While he did that I sat at the table with the friends Patrick brought with them, especially socializing with an interesting woman named Buffy. I refused to let my hurt ruin my night, but my mind kept flashing to what would happen later on.
I honestly kind of expected Skye to ask if I could take Patrick back to his place when we left the bar. Being the passive little person I am, I would have readily agreed. I already knew how it would play out, too. We'd get to Skye's apartment, Skye and Patrick both being drunk messes. Maybe they'd even both sit in the back, perhaps even make out a bit. When we arrived at his apartment, Skye wouldn't say I couldn't stay but might imply that he wanted some "time with Patrick, since we haven't seen each other in a while." I would smile and say, "No problem." I would drop them off and let my mind torture my heart with images of them together.
None of that happened, though. I sat with Buffy and talked with her, even seeing a couple people I recognized. One of them, Sam, was a guy who I had spoken to before but found I was completely uninterested in when it was evident sex was his primary concern. I didn't talk to him, just noticed him floating around the place. He seemed to know a couple of the same people as Skye and Patrick's crew. Eventually, though, Patrick disappeared from the main bar area, prompting Skye to go look for him. Skye found Patrick in the bathroom, and I thought they were in there forever. I assumed they just didn't want to wait to get back to Skye's apartment, and my stomach turned as I waited for Skye to emerge from the bathroom with Patrick, both of them smiling happily with disheveled hair and clothes.
Instead, Skye exited the bathroom and walked straight up to me and asked if we could leave. He said it in a way that was both nonchalant and urgent, and I maybe too readily agreed, happy to avoid the fate I had thought the night would take. I found out later, on the drive back to Skye's apartment, that Skye had found Patrick in the bathroom stall with Sam. Skye was a mess in the car, telling me I "didn't know what it was like to see someone you like act like that." I gritted my teeth and said nothing, though my mind screamed, "I know exactly what that's like, you idiot! That's how I felt all night with you and Patrick!" But he was drunk, and I knew I didn't really have any right to be mad at him. After all, he'd made himself very clear on what our relationship was.
I spent the rest of the night consoling the guy I like about the guy he likes. For about three hours I laid with him as he cried and told me how miserable he was, how he sometimes thought of suicide and how he wanted a better life than the one he had. How he had finally felt romantic feelings for someone, only to have them turn around and hurt him. I cleaned the snot from his nose as his emotional out-pour created a nasal out-pour. I did my best to play the diligent friend and not let my own pain become too apparent. I didn't speak much, because I felt like I could never find the right words. I just laid there, cleaning his snot when it seemed necessary and holding him close when I thought was appropriate. I listened to him complain about how his Thanksgiving had finally taken a good turn before plummeting back down into crap. I did all of this until he stopped crying and seemed to fall asleep.
In the morning he seemed more like the Skye I knew. He was obviously still hurt by what Patrick did, but he tried to cover it up with feigned disinterest. "I don't give a fuck what Patrick does anymore" he told me, and all I could think was, "Then why are we still talking about him?" Later, his friends Jordan and Joclyn came over to his apartment. I stayed for a short while, but feeling like he didn't need me anymore, and having my own emotional drainage to work through, I decided I needed to go home. I made plans with my friend Lavina to go to Family Restaurant later than night, though. I needed someone to talk to, any Lavina has always been that friend who not only knows how to listen, but relate.
I met with Lavina, and we complained about the current problems in our life and about how guys sucked and that we needed to quit being attracted to "Takers." Skye starts texting me, and he's not making any sense. He just starts talking about some conversation that he thinks I should have knowledge of, then reveals that he's at Family Restaurant, also. He comes over to the booth on the smoking section Lavina and I are sitting in, and tells me that his friend/co-worker who had been giving him rides to work has decided he doesn't want to do that anymore, and that if he doesn't find a cheap car soon he's moving back to Wisconsin. He also told me that Patrick texted him and apologized, though I'm not sure if Skye's forgiven him just yet.
I had been feeling so much better until then. Seeing Skye didn't bring me back down, the possibility of him leaving did. If you have a negative image of Skye because of this story, then I feel it's only fair to point out that he's not always like this. He's a generous, fun person to be around. This was just the bad day that I suppose we shared, and it wouldn't be fair to judge him entirely off of this story. I like Skye, and even if he doesn't feel the same way, he's still my friend. I'm a glutton for punishment like that. Part of the Pisces persona, I guess.
There was a metaphor that Lavina and I discussed while we were at Family. It stemmed from both of us being water-signs in the zodiac- she's a Cancer, I'm a Pisces. We're both these water creatures, and we're stuck in this fishbowl. The fishbowl could be a number of things. It could be the city of Fairbanks, a place we both feel trapped yet at home in. It could be our own emotions, our own brains, this space that we can't ever seem to escape and just have to cope with. As a Cancer, Lavina hides in the corner of the bowl, claws at the ready to punish someone who threatens her. As a Pisces, I am the two fish swimming at the top of the bowl in infinite circles. So close to the freedom that exists outside, but unable to leave it.
We both dream of the ocean. It represents freedom from all things. It's the place we'll get to when we don't have to worry about boys or Fairbanks or all the shit that seems to accumulate in a tank. It's the freedom to be who we want, without fear. It's the rest of the world, all the places we have yet to be but want to see so bad. It's the end goal, the paradise we seek. If we could only find the right stream, maybe we could find our way to the ocean. But first we have to get out of this tank. Maybe it's terribly selfish of me, but I'm glad I'm not alone in this.
I met a guy. His name is Skye. No, I didn't intend for that to rhyme. Anyway, we met about two weeks ago, and we've been pretty inseparable ever since. Since we first met we have literally not had a day when we haven't seen one another. Sounds ideal, right? Wrong. Skye doesn't date. Skye only wants a friend. Skye has said that I am "friend-zoned." In his defense, he's been pretty up-front about that since we met. Not that it stopped me from developing feelings for him, anyway... Really, though, how could I not? I finally meet another gay man who's actually interested in the things I'm interested in, and who's first order of business ISN'T to get in my pants.
We click on a level that even he acknowledges, just not a romantic one, apparently. Not that I've really approached him about my feelings. One morning, after staying over at his place (I just crashed there, no hanky-panky), I quietly told him, "I think I'm getting a crush on you." His response was to squeal in disapproval and say, "DON'T MAKE THINGS SOCIALLY AWKWARD!" I haven't broached the subject since, just tried to let it go. Not that is stemmed my feelings for him. I even sacrificed my Thanksgiving so I could spend it with him, because he doesn't have any family here and would have spent it alone otherwise.
He spent most of the day complaining about what a crappy Thanksgiving he was having. Guess it wasn't enough that I gave up my Thanksgiving with my family to spend it with him. Finally, we decided to go out to the Pumphouse, a bar that a friend of his bartends at. I assumed Skye knew it would be open, since his friend works there... well, it wasn't. Not knowing what he wanted to do, but knowing he "didn't want to go home," I decided we'd stop by my friend's house since he was having a big Thanksgiving dinner for a bunch of friends. The whole time we were there Skye just looked and acted miserable. His only solace seemed to come from his phone, which would buzz every so often with texts from his friend who worked at the Pumphouse.
I told him we could do whatever he wanted, and he decided he wanted to go to the Big I to meet the friend he'd been texting. We sat at the Big I, him loading up on a couple beers, vodka tonics, and rum and coke, while I nursed a couple beers since I was driving. He was constantly distracted, looking behind him towards the door to see if his friend had made an appearance yet. When he wasn't looking back at the door, he was talking about his friend and telling me how they had a connection he'd never felt with anybody before. This friend of his, Patrick, was apparently the first guy Skye had romantic, not just sexual, feelings for. I played the avid listener as usual, hiding the hurt I felt at the guy I had feelings for.
Finally, Patrick arrives with a couple of his friends. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though not what I was expecting. Skye is ecstatic at his arrival, since they'd had a falling out before I met Skye and this was the first time they'd seen each other since. Skye did his best to hang on to Patrick while we were there, but Patrick ran into someone he hadn't seen in a while and spent a large chunk of time talking with her. While he did that I sat at the table with the friends Patrick brought with them, especially socializing with an interesting woman named Buffy. I refused to let my hurt ruin my night, but my mind kept flashing to what would happen later on.
I honestly kind of expected Skye to ask if I could take Patrick back to his place when we left the bar. Being the passive little person I am, I would have readily agreed. I already knew how it would play out, too. We'd get to Skye's apartment, Skye and Patrick both being drunk messes. Maybe they'd even both sit in the back, perhaps even make out a bit. When we arrived at his apartment, Skye wouldn't say I couldn't stay but might imply that he wanted some "time with Patrick, since we haven't seen each other in a while." I would smile and say, "No problem." I would drop them off and let my mind torture my heart with images of them together.
None of that happened, though. I sat with Buffy and talked with her, even seeing a couple people I recognized. One of them, Sam, was a guy who I had spoken to before but found I was completely uninterested in when it was evident sex was his primary concern. I didn't talk to him, just noticed him floating around the place. He seemed to know a couple of the same people as Skye and Patrick's crew. Eventually, though, Patrick disappeared from the main bar area, prompting Skye to go look for him. Skye found Patrick in the bathroom, and I thought they were in there forever. I assumed they just didn't want to wait to get back to Skye's apartment, and my stomach turned as I waited for Skye to emerge from the bathroom with Patrick, both of them smiling happily with disheveled hair and clothes.
Instead, Skye exited the bathroom and walked straight up to me and asked if we could leave. He said it in a way that was both nonchalant and urgent, and I maybe too readily agreed, happy to avoid the fate I had thought the night would take. I found out later, on the drive back to Skye's apartment, that Skye had found Patrick in the bathroom stall with Sam. Skye was a mess in the car, telling me I "didn't know what it was like to see someone you like act like that." I gritted my teeth and said nothing, though my mind screamed, "I know exactly what that's like, you idiot! That's how I felt all night with you and Patrick!" But he was drunk, and I knew I didn't really have any right to be mad at him. After all, he'd made himself very clear on what our relationship was.
I spent the rest of the night consoling the guy I like about the guy he likes. For about three hours I laid with him as he cried and told me how miserable he was, how he sometimes thought of suicide and how he wanted a better life than the one he had. How he had finally felt romantic feelings for someone, only to have them turn around and hurt him. I cleaned the snot from his nose as his emotional out-pour created a nasal out-pour. I did my best to play the diligent friend and not let my own pain become too apparent. I didn't speak much, because I felt like I could never find the right words. I just laid there, cleaning his snot when it seemed necessary and holding him close when I thought was appropriate. I listened to him complain about how his Thanksgiving had finally taken a good turn before plummeting back down into crap. I did all of this until he stopped crying and seemed to fall asleep.
In the morning he seemed more like the Skye I knew. He was obviously still hurt by what Patrick did, but he tried to cover it up with feigned disinterest. "I don't give a fuck what Patrick does anymore" he told me, and all I could think was, "Then why are we still talking about him?" Later, his friends Jordan and Joclyn came over to his apartment. I stayed for a short while, but feeling like he didn't need me anymore, and having my own emotional drainage to work through, I decided I needed to go home. I made plans with my friend Lavina to go to Family Restaurant later than night, though. I needed someone to talk to, any Lavina has always been that friend who not only knows how to listen, but relate.
I met with Lavina, and we complained about the current problems in our life and about how guys sucked and that we needed to quit being attracted to "Takers." Skye starts texting me, and he's not making any sense. He just starts talking about some conversation that he thinks I should have knowledge of, then reveals that he's at Family Restaurant, also. He comes over to the booth on the smoking section Lavina and I are sitting in, and tells me that his friend/co-worker who had been giving him rides to work has decided he doesn't want to do that anymore, and that if he doesn't find a cheap car soon he's moving back to Wisconsin. He also told me that Patrick texted him and apologized, though I'm not sure if Skye's forgiven him just yet.
I had been feeling so much better until then. Seeing Skye didn't bring me back down, the possibility of him leaving did. If you have a negative image of Skye because of this story, then I feel it's only fair to point out that he's not always like this. He's a generous, fun person to be around. This was just the bad day that I suppose we shared, and it wouldn't be fair to judge him entirely off of this story. I like Skye, and even if he doesn't feel the same way, he's still my friend. I'm a glutton for punishment like that. Part of the Pisces persona, I guess.
There was a metaphor that Lavina and I discussed while we were at Family. It stemmed from both of us being water-signs in the zodiac- she's a Cancer, I'm a Pisces. We're both these water creatures, and we're stuck in this fishbowl. The fishbowl could be a number of things. It could be the city of Fairbanks, a place we both feel trapped yet at home in. It could be our own emotions, our own brains, this space that we can't ever seem to escape and just have to cope with. As a Cancer, Lavina hides in the corner of the bowl, claws at the ready to punish someone who threatens her. As a Pisces, I am the two fish swimming at the top of the bowl in infinite circles. So close to the freedom that exists outside, but unable to leave it.
We both dream of the ocean. It represents freedom from all things. It's the place we'll get to when we don't have to worry about boys or Fairbanks or all the shit that seems to accumulate in a tank. It's the freedom to be who we want, without fear. It's the rest of the world, all the places we have yet to be but want to see so bad. It's the end goal, the paradise we seek. If we could only find the right stream, maybe we could find our way to the ocean. But first we have to get out of this tank. Maybe it's terribly selfish of me, but I'm glad I'm not alone in this.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Firework
For so long I've been told that I'm a smart and creative person. That I am too smart or creative to not do something awesome with my life. It's not something I see in myself, so I've honestly never taken it to heart too much. But parents, teachers, even friends have said it to me at different points in my life. It's not like I think I'm stupid or unimaginative, I'm just not sure how to exercise this potential they see in me. But if it is there, it's something I'd like to get in touch with, which is why I've been stepping outside my usual safety net lately. Taking public speaking class to get over my fears and voice class to finally learn a skill I've always wanted were two ways of doing that. Yet, it still doesn't seem like enough.
Like the Katy Perry song, I do feel like a "plastic bag drifting through the wind." It's such a silly metaphor when taken at face value, but when you feel as out of touch with yourself and the rest of the world as I usually do you get a much more meaningful grasp on it. The whole song has, since the first time I heard it, resonated with me on a very personal level. It's about how everyone has this beauty and capability inside of them, this fuse that needs to be lit so you can show the world what your capable of. For me, it's all about this potential I've been trying to tap into for years now. I just don't know how to let all my colors show. I feel like I'm still a work-in-progress, a fuse that's been lit but hasn't reached its detonator yet.
But I want so bad to reach this potential within myself, or in the very least to find my limits so I can say, "See everyone? All that stuff you thought you saw in me never existed in the first place." Mostly, right at this moment, I want to show my parents my capabilities. My dad has always been hard on me: when I was working and had an apartment of my own, he was disappointed that I had no plans to go to school. When I lost my job and apartment and decided to go to school, he was disappointed that I didn't have a job. Since I became a teenager it feels like he's always been incredibly critical of me, never proud of what I did achieve. Part of me just wants him to be proud of me, another part just wants to shove it in his face so I can say, "Look at me now, Dad. I'm more than you ever thought I could be."
My mom has always been a lot more accepting of me, to the point where I would even define it as coddling. Lately, though, it seems like she's getting disenchanted with me. I enrolled in school and she was happy for a time, then it wasn't enough. I got a job and she was happy for a time, and now it doesn't seem to be enough. She's told me that if I don't act more responsible, then I'm not allowed to live here anymore. I'm not sure what kind of responsibility she's looking for, though, as if balancing school and work wasn't enough. Maybe she's just pushing my limits, looking for the same thing I am, to reach this potential that she's always told me she's seen in me. Somehow I doubt it, though. I feel more like she's tired of having her 22 year old son live with her, while her other adult children live away from home.
Just to clarify, though, it's not as if I want to live at home with my mom and step-dad. Besides the obvious social implications, we live 20 minutes out of town and that's a tiring distance. The fact of the matter is, I don't have any options if I want to keep going to school. When my older sister moved out, she went to beauty school in Anchorage. But during that time, she lived with her biological mom until she graduated from her year-long program. One of my younger brothers dropped out of college and now works two jobs to afford his apartment. The other younger brother works at his grandfather's bar in the village we grew up in, living in a small shack on his grandpa's property. My younger sister never went to school, instead she works housekeeping on the North Slope, making enough money to live comfortably enough but also having to spend two weeks out at the camps they work from.
I want independence more than anything, I'm just not sure how to get it without giving up the future I want for myself. I want to keep going to school, I want to become a teacher, and I want to make a future for myself. I want to travel the world, meet exciting people, do memorable things. I don't want to live in Alaska all my life, and I certainly don't want to live with my parents the whole time. I know there's a lot of stress on their side, too, but what options do I have? How do I get everything I want in this equation? Maybe if I really had all this potential everyone sees in me I would already know...
Like the Katy Perry song, I do feel like a "plastic bag drifting through the wind." It's such a silly metaphor when taken at face value, but when you feel as out of touch with yourself and the rest of the world as I usually do you get a much more meaningful grasp on it. The whole song has, since the first time I heard it, resonated with me on a very personal level. It's about how everyone has this beauty and capability inside of them, this fuse that needs to be lit so you can show the world what your capable of. For me, it's all about this potential I've been trying to tap into for years now. I just don't know how to let all my colors show. I feel like I'm still a work-in-progress, a fuse that's been lit but hasn't reached its detonator yet.
But I want so bad to reach this potential within myself, or in the very least to find my limits so I can say, "See everyone? All that stuff you thought you saw in me never existed in the first place." Mostly, right at this moment, I want to show my parents my capabilities. My dad has always been hard on me: when I was working and had an apartment of my own, he was disappointed that I had no plans to go to school. When I lost my job and apartment and decided to go to school, he was disappointed that I didn't have a job. Since I became a teenager it feels like he's always been incredibly critical of me, never proud of what I did achieve. Part of me just wants him to be proud of me, another part just wants to shove it in his face so I can say, "Look at me now, Dad. I'm more than you ever thought I could be."
My mom has always been a lot more accepting of me, to the point where I would even define it as coddling. Lately, though, it seems like she's getting disenchanted with me. I enrolled in school and she was happy for a time, then it wasn't enough. I got a job and she was happy for a time, and now it doesn't seem to be enough. She's told me that if I don't act more responsible, then I'm not allowed to live here anymore. I'm not sure what kind of responsibility she's looking for, though, as if balancing school and work wasn't enough. Maybe she's just pushing my limits, looking for the same thing I am, to reach this potential that she's always told me she's seen in me. Somehow I doubt it, though. I feel more like she's tired of having her 22 year old son live with her, while her other adult children live away from home.
Just to clarify, though, it's not as if I want to live at home with my mom and step-dad. Besides the obvious social implications, we live 20 minutes out of town and that's a tiring distance. The fact of the matter is, I don't have any options if I want to keep going to school. When my older sister moved out, she went to beauty school in Anchorage. But during that time, she lived with her biological mom until she graduated from her year-long program. One of my younger brothers dropped out of college and now works two jobs to afford his apartment. The other younger brother works at his grandfather's bar in the village we grew up in, living in a small shack on his grandpa's property. My younger sister never went to school, instead she works housekeeping on the North Slope, making enough money to live comfortably enough but also having to spend two weeks out at the camps they work from.
I want independence more than anything, I'm just not sure how to get it without giving up the future I want for myself. I want to keep going to school, I want to become a teacher, and I want to make a future for myself. I want to travel the world, meet exciting people, do memorable things. I don't want to live in Alaska all my life, and I certainly don't want to live with my parents the whole time. I know there's a lot of stress on their side, too, but what options do I have? How do I get everything I want in this equation? Maybe if I really had all this potential everyone sees in me I would already know...
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
I don't want this.
I don't want my heart to skip a beat whenever I see or think of you.
I don't want to go to social functions and hope I'll see you there.
I don't want to think of you almost every second of the day.
I don't want mental images of you to flash through my mind when I finally do manage to think of something else.
I don't want to wonder what kind of kisser you are.
I don't want to hold on to every brush of skin or quick glance.
I don't want to fall in love with you.
I just don't think I can deal with it right now.
I don't want to go to social functions and hope I'll see you there.
I don't want to think of you almost every second of the day.
I don't want mental images of you to flash through my mind when I finally do manage to think of something else.
I don't want to wonder what kind of kisser you are.
I don't want to hold on to every brush of skin or quick glance.
I don't want to fall in love with you.
I just don't think I can deal with it right now.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Crush Crush Crush
One of the hardest things I've had to deal with as a gay man is getting crushes on straight friends. Which, I suppose, does make me pretty lucky; my coming out was super easy, I've never had any problems making friends who've accepted me for who I am, and I've never been the target of an anti-gay crime. So, I suppose I've lived a pretty charmed life as an out gay man. Still, matters of the heart are always complicated and usually pretty shitty, sometimes for parties who aren't even involved.
When you develop a crush on a straight guy, though (or a straight female if your a lesbian, or a gay member of the opposite sex if you're straight), you're completely helpless. You know that no matter what you do, how you change yourself, how well you treat them, they will never feel the same way about you as you do about them. And because you've already accepted these truths, it becomes even harder to distinguish a crush from love. Or maybe you don't allow yourself to realize it; you pretend you don't know you're in love or not because of the futility of it all.
As you can probably tell, I'm no stranger to these affections. Almost all of my crushes have been straight men, and I've even fallen into desperately unrequited love with some of them. And it may be happening again. "Luckily," because I've been through this all before, I've become much more adept at handling these emotions. I used to fall into deep depressions because of them, wanting someone I knew would never love me back. Eventually you find ways to put "positive spin" on your feelings though, expressing them in subtle ways so you don't reveal them, but you also don't bottle them up.
I feel like love, real love, is best expressed through the object of your affections happiness. I know this person will never love me, so I just want to see him happy. I know he won't be happy with me, so I gladly accept whatever person in his life he has that makes him happy. I'll be the best friend that I can be to him, because friendship is the best love I can get back from him. It's not perfect, and sometimes you do have moments where you just think of the utter hopelessness of it all.
It's difficult to not see him without your heart skipping a beat or getting caught in your throat; you have trouble thinking about things that aren't him; you wonder what kind of couple you could have been, but you know will never happen. You don't want to, but your mind won't let you think about something that doesn't involve him. It's almost like a sickness you can't get rid of. But, speaking from personal experience, you will move on.
You won't stop loving him. But you can deal with seeing him on a daily basis without longing for something more. You'll think about someone else in those quiet moments when you daydream about falling in love. Maybe you'll even find someone else who catches your eye, someone you can find a way to be with. And a small part of you will continue longing for that person, and the rest of you may not be happy, but you will be content, which is a blessing in itself.
When you develop a crush on a straight guy, though (or a straight female if your a lesbian, or a gay member of the opposite sex if you're straight), you're completely helpless. You know that no matter what you do, how you change yourself, how well you treat them, they will never feel the same way about you as you do about them. And because you've already accepted these truths, it becomes even harder to distinguish a crush from love. Or maybe you don't allow yourself to realize it; you pretend you don't know you're in love or not because of the futility of it all.
As you can probably tell, I'm no stranger to these affections. Almost all of my crushes have been straight men, and I've even fallen into desperately unrequited love with some of them. And it may be happening again. "Luckily," because I've been through this all before, I've become much more adept at handling these emotions. I used to fall into deep depressions because of them, wanting someone I knew would never love me back. Eventually you find ways to put "positive spin" on your feelings though, expressing them in subtle ways so you don't reveal them, but you also don't bottle them up.
I feel like love, real love, is best expressed through the object of your affections happiness. I know this person will never love me, so I just want to see him happy. I know he won't be happy with me, so I gladly accept whatever person in his life he has that makes him happy. I'll be the best friend that I can be to him, because friendship is the best love I can get back from him. It's not perfect, and sometimes you do have moments where you just think of the utter hopelessness of it all.
It's difficult to not see him without your heart skipping a beat or getting caught in your throat; you have trouble thinking about things that aren't him; you wonder what kind of couple you could have been, but you know will never happen. You don't want to, but your mind won't let you think about something that doesn't involve him. It's almost like a sickness you can't get rid of. But, speaking from personal experience, you will move on.
You won't stop loving him. But you can deal with seeing him on a daily basis without longing for something more. You'll think about someone else in those quiet moments when you daydream about falling in love. Maybe you'll even find someone else who catches your eye, someone you can find a way to be with. And a small part of you will continue longing for that person, and the rest of you may not be happy, but you will be content, which is a blessing in itself.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Worst Enemy
I miss my friends. I miss all of them, at the same time. I miss the ease with which we used to hang out. But, I suppose things always fall apart in the end, don't they? Maybe this is why I used to place myself on the outskirts of so many different social groups- because somehow I knew the group I found myself with most would fall apart, and I would need another one to pick myself back up. Maybe that's one of those wicked personality traits you get being the child of divorced parents. I had always thought I'd avoided any sort of psychological damage from my parents divorce, but a lack of trust that relationships won't fall apart? The ease in which I simply phase people out of my life, with an unconscious effort? Could these be the far reaching effects of being the witness to my parents volatile relationship? Could I have developed this strange self-defense mechanism that caused me to distance myself from relationships I knew would fall apart?
Years after we'd known each other, after we'd identified one another as best friends, Emily told me she didn't actually know much about me. I'd like to think she knows a bit more about me now, but thinking about all my friends, who really knows that much about me? Inside and out? Sam has known me for years, we've shared our childhood, but been apart most of our adult life. She knows the person I used to be, but I doubt she knows the person I am today; at least, not well. Meghan knows me fairly well, due to my mom and having seen my family life first-hand. And then Emily probably has the best idea of my character, due both to our friendship and her strangely perceptive mind. But, in all of these scenarios, its not the fact that I let my guard down that gave my friends this insight, its a shared past or experience, learning through trial rather than communication.
It's been my biggest difficulty in pursuing an education in the performing arts. Even for someone interested in acting, which may seem silly to some; though it seems like an outlet to escape being yourself (and it can be) you're also leaving yourself bare. You're giving up the walls you create when you perform, boring holes in it to allow people to see something real in the facade you're creating. I remember in Fundamentals of Acting we were tasked with performing a monologue, one we were to write ourselves. I could have done the easy thing and just wrote a funny one- as a matter of fact, it's probably what I should have done- but instead, I wrote a monologue about being abandoned by one of my best friends, Jake. I thought it would be a simple thing to give the monologue in front of everyone. I had the lines memorized, but I hadn't realized how hard it would be to convey this feeling of abandonment in front of my classmates. I stared at the floor and avoided their gazes, as if that would spare me from their judgement.
I'm not sure if anybody actually judged, though. At least, not maliciously. Perhaps it was because we all had to do the same thing, we all had to bare our souls before our classmates. We could empathize with the feeling of discomfort we all felt. Maybe all it takes is a bit of empathy to nullify your own, personal judgement. Artists play at CCH all the time, some of them great, others... less so. But, regardless of their performance, I'm always impressed with and envy their ability to be on stage, to be brave enough to face the crowd. I imagine even those that don't look nervous are far more fearful than they let on. I would be.
Returning to the point at hand, these walls I've built have kept me confined from my friends. I speak my mind when it doesn't pertain to me, when it's not revealing anything about myself. Luke needs some advice on something personal? I'll give him the answer I think is the best course of action. Somebody asks, "How are you feeling, Timmy?" I say, "Oh, I feel fine," regardless of what I'm feeling. Is it wrong to do that to your friends? To block them out of your personal life, when they continue to let you in? The longer I get to know someone, the thicker the walls get. The closer I get to someone, the more indifferent I act around them, when in truth I love them very much. All my friends- the ones I long abandoned, and the ones who long abandoned me, and the ones who stick around today. But I love them at arms length, too uncomfortable with myself to let someone else in my head. I don't let people know how I'm feeling, when all I need is someone to talk to.
My insecurity is my enemy. I am my own worst enemy.
Years after we'd known each other, after we'd identified one another as best friends, Emily told me she didn't actually know much about me. I'd like to think she knows a bit more about me now, but thinking about all my friends, who really knows that much about me? Inside and out? Sam has known me for years, we've shared our childhood, but been apart most of our adult life. She knows the person I used to be, but I doubt she knows the person I am today; at least, not well. Meghan knows me fairly well, due to my mom and having seen my family life first-hand. And then Emily probably has the best idea of my character, due both to our friendship and her strangely perceptive mind. But, in all of these scenarios, its not the fact that I let my guard down that gave my friends this insight, its a shared past or experience, learning through trial rather than communication.
It's been my biggest difficulty in pursuing an education in the performing arts. Even for someone interested in acting, which may seem silly to some; though it seems like an outlet to escape being yourself (and it can be) you're also leaving yourself bare. You're giving up the walls you create when you perform, boring holes in it to allow people to see something real in the facade you're creating. I remember in Fundamentals of Acting we were tasked with performing a monologue, one we were to write ourselves. I could have done the easy thing and just wrote a funny one- as a matter of fact, it's probably what I should have done- but instead, I wrote a monologue about being abandoned by one of my best friends, Jake. I thought it would be a simple thing to give the monologue in front of everyone. I had the lines memorized, but I hadn't realized how hard it would be to convey this feeling of abandonment in front of my classmates. I stared at the floor and avoided their gazes, as if that would spare me from their judgement.
I'm not sure if anybody actually judged, though. At least, not maliciously. Perhaps it was because we all had to do the same thing, we all had to bare our souls before our classmates. We could empathize with the feeling of discomfort we all felt. Maybe all it takes is a bit of empathy to nullify your own, personal judgement. Artists play at CCH all the time, some of them great, others... less so. But, regardless of their performance, I'm always impressed with and envy their ability to be on stage, to be brave enough to face the crowd. I imagine even those that don't look nervous are far more fearful than they let on. I would be.
Returning to the point at hand, these walls I've built have kept me confined from my friends. I speak my mind when it doesn't pertain to me, when it's not revealing anything about myself. Luke needs some advice on something personal? I'll give him the answer I think is the best course of action. Somebody asks, "How are you feeling, Timmy?" I say, "Oh, I feel fine," regardless of what I'm feeling. Is it wrong to do that to your friends? To block them out of your personal life, when they continue to let you in? The longer I get to know someone, the thicker the walls get. The closer I get to someone, the more indifferent I act around them, when in truth I love them very much. All my friends- the ones I long abandoned, and the ones who long abandoned me, and the ones who stick around today. But I love them at arms length, too uncomfortable with myself to let someone else in my head. I don't let people know how I'm feeling, when all I need is someone to talk to.
My insecurity is my enemy. I am my own worst enemy.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
The best laid plans
I'm scared. I'm scared that everything I've ever tried to avoid in my life, all that normality and mediocrity I talked about in my last post, is catching up to me now. I work at a gas station, not quite 9-5 but still incredibly menial. I suppose some people think I should be happy about that. I should be content with my completely unimpressive and depressing job and just be glad I'm a tax paying American citizen. But fuck those people. Fuck the life they think I should have, or the way they think I should live my life. Fuck me, for being incapable of getting out of this life. For being too much of a coward to have followed my dreams before, for not trying out for plays when I had the chance, or moving out of Alaska, or in the very least Fairbanks, when I thought I could.
As much as I disagree with the lifestyle choices Kylie's making, as well as the fashion choices she makes, I'm completely envious of her courage. How she was able to pack up and leave her life in Fairbanks behind and just start new and fresh in San Francisco. I'd love to be able to do that. Maybe I can. Work off the student loans I've accumulated so far and see what they'd make of me in San Fran? Maybe even apply for school down there? Kylie's one of the few success stories I know of, though. Most people who've moved to the lower 48, that I know of, have ended up moving back due to homesickness or financial reasons. People I would consider much stronger people than I. What's more, I've made this case to myself before, also. I told myself I was gonna move out of Alaska in a year... two years ago.
I barely even know how to be an adult. Credit? It's probably crap, in all honesty. I'm pretty sure I'm in debt, and I haven't even started paying off my student loans yet. Still, there's always those stories that give you hope, that make you wonder if maybe you could also be special, meant for great things. Madonna moved to New York with $30-something in her pocket. Chris Colfer was an unknown kid from the midwest, and now he's a huge gay icon who's best known character was literally written into the show he stars in because they liked his audition so much. I don't think I can hold a candle to Madonna or Chris Colfer, or any number of talented celebrities with humble backgrounds, but I don't know if I could live with myself if I didn't even try.
Which has always been my downfall. I fear failure, and so I never try anything. I never audition or try to pick up a new skill, especially a performing skill, because then not only is there the possibility of failure, but there's the possibility of failing in front of an audience. Fear has always been the primary motivator of my inaction, so it only makes sense that the only way I could get out of this sickening rut would be an equally terrifying presence in my life- mediocrity. If it's gonna work this time, though, I need to stick to my guns. I don't have the luxury of giving up this time, I can feel it. So, here's my plan:
The next audition I hear of, I'm trying out for. I've already asked Hannah to keep me in the loop, and I've got a couple of the theaters in Fairbanks set to send me an e-mail alerting me of upcoming auditions. I need to go to school here for at least another semester, in order to get my GPA up. Then I'll start applying for schools in the lower 48, and scholarships. Maybe I'll even focus on theater magnet schools. I just know that if I don't motivate myself enough this time, I'm gonna fall back into that same rut I've been in and I'm don't think I'll ever be able to climb back out. Not the way I want to, anyway.
As much as I disagree with the lifestyle choices Kylie's making, as well as the fashion choices she makes, I'm completely envious of her courage. How she was able to pack up and leave her life in Fairbanks behind and just start new and fresh in San Francisco. I'd love to be able to do that. Maybe I can. Work off the student loans I've accumulated so far and see what they'd make of me in San Fran? Maybe even apply for school down there? Kylie's one of the few success stories I know of, though. Most people who've moved to the lower 48, that I know of, have ended up moving back due to homesickness or financial reasons. People I would consider much stronger people than I. What's more, I've made this case to myself before, also. I told myself I was gonna move out of Alaska in a year... two years ago.
I barely even know how to be an adult. Credit? It's probably crap, in all honesty. I'm pretty sure I'm in debt, and I haven't even started paying off my student loans yet. Still, there's always those stories that give you hope, that make you wonder if maybe you could also be special, meant for great things. Madonna moved to New York with $30-something in her pocket. Chris Colfer was an unknown kid from the midwest, and now he's a huge gay icon who's best known character was literally written into the show he stars in because they liked his audition so much. I don't think I can hold a candle to Madonna or Chris Colfer, or any number of talented celebrities with humble backgrounds, but I don't know if I could live with myself if I didn't even try.
Which has always been my downfall. I fear failure, and so I never try anything. I never audition or try to pick up a new skill, especially a performing skill, because then not only is there the possibility of failure, but there's the possibility of failing in front of an audience. Fear has always been the primary motivator of my inaction, so it only makes sense that the only way I could get out of this sickening rut would be an equally terrifying presence in my life- mediocrity. If it's gonna work this time, though, I need to stick to my guns. I don't have the luxury of giving up this time, I can feel it. So, here's my plan:
The next audition I hear of, I'm trying out for. I've already asked Hannah to keep me in the loop, and I've got a couple of the theaters in Fairbanks set to send me an e-mail alerting me of upcoming auditions. I need to go to school here for at least another semester, in order to get my GPA up. Then I'll start applying for schools in the lower 48, and scholarships. Maybe I'll even focus on theater magnet schools. I just know that if I don't motivate myself enough this time, I'm gonna fall back into that same rut I've been in and I'm don't think I'll ever be able to climb back out. Not the way I want to, anyway.
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