Where’s the Sausage?

I grew up getting into the bad habit of sitting back and just kind of–waiting for everything.  The severe depression didn’t help matters.  But now, for the first time in my life, I am learning how it feels to get up and do things.  They say it’s critical to accept the self.  But how do you accept yourself when you started out so dysfunctional?

I am currently using subliminal hypnosis videos to make some changes.  Everything was going pretty well at my job, but then I realized that I wasn’t making the executive decisions I needed to make, such as what needed to be uploaded to our big database.  It’s not easy being in my forties and learning what many guys in their twenties, or even in their teens, usually learn.  It’s a big hit on my ego.  But, thankfully, at least I can do it.  Before, I would not have been able to handle it, and would have stopped working.

I have a problem.  I’m surrounded by women at this job.  In hindsight, for someone who prefers men, it sure seems odd that I would have picked this opportunity.  But it seemed like a good idea at the time–a paid way to learn database work.  I need to learn database skills and querying in order to run the corporation I plan to start in the near future.  But it’s rough.  My supervisor AND her boss are both pregnant.  I can hardly believe it.

This is it.  I mean, ENOUGH!  See, I have many issues with lunatic, out of control, women, because of my mom.  They say that you subconsciously keep putting yourself into situations to resolve deep-seated issues, and the “universe” complies.  Well, I think this predicament is an excellent example of this phenomenon, to say the least!  And the only other men there remind me of my worthless dad.

The bitch and the coward.  The bitch and the coward.  Just like mom and dad.

Looking back, I knew that my supervisor was nuts, but I wanted the job so bad.  Also, they were willing to let me work the small number of hours per week, that I required, as a contractor.  So, I mustn’t be too hard on myself; no one else in my town was willing to let me work so few hours in a white collar office setting.  So, I ignored the rampant red flags:  the constant profanity including the f-word, the insane demands such as interrupting to inform me that I’m not talking fast enough (WTF?!), the frantic inability to have a normal conversation without needless emotional drama, the bizarre demand of telling me to perform two job descriptions (everyone else just has one) and, of course, the constant mood swings and controlling behavior for absolutely no good reason.

Technically, there are two other men who work in the office, but they are hardly ever there.  And I don’t have meetings or projects with them.  So, more often than not, I’m the only cock in the room.  This is it.  This is my chance to triumph over my fears; my mom fucked me over good, so I still feel unsure about my manhood.  It sucks.  But maybe this time I can truly heal it.  It’s amazing–men hardly bother me at all.  If I worked in the sausage fest of my dreams, I would have no problem.  So why am I surrounded by pregnant twat again?  Apparently, I won’t be able to be with men until I solve this problem.

I don’t feel like a man all the way yet.  I never have.  I don’t feel like a woman–anymore, but I don’t feel satisfied as a man, that’s for sure.  So the solution is simple:

I won’t be able to start my corporation until I stop being afraid.  When that happens, it will be a natural progression in that I will stop working at this place at the right time, and for the right reasons, due to the demands of my own business.  And I won’t quit working there out of fear, or something I can’t handle.  It’s very hard for me to learn all these new skills, but the only way out is through.

Half the time, I have no idea what anybody in this office is talking about.  But that’s not too surprising.  Most of the time my supervisor “communicates” for no reason other than to cause confusion and discord.  She’s one of these people who says no to everything by default, and then proceeds to restate the exact same thing you just said so as to appear to be correcting you.  She also explained to me that her email inbox is “fucking crazy” so I’m not allowed to send her email, but then when I stop by her office to ask a simple question, more often than not, she’s too busy and important to speak to me.  Every other human being on the planet takes responsibility for their inbox, yet she’s the one exception I suppose.  So I doubt I’m the only one who feels this way.

It’s isolating.  Because of fear, I haven’t ever really lived in the world yet.  I still can’t exactly see my way out, but I know it’s coming.  In a world where hardly anyone takes a shred of responsibility for their own lives or behavior, I must be my own father, leader, and example of masterful manhood unto myself.  And become the only cock in the room, regardless of who else is present.

Healing is weird.  It’s obviously not taught in school.  Healing is a skill you have to learn as an adult, just like database skills, in my case.  Healing is both simple and hard at the same time.  I just remembered a very crazy lady at Starbucks I talk to.  And there is another lady whose gift shop I like to visit after work.  I feel strangely “attracted” to them both.  Why?  Pheromones?  Am I secretly straight?  At the gift shop, the lady has a truly worthless gay male employee.  I have visited countless times after initially being introduced to him, and I don’t think he has even once looked in my direction, much less made eye contact or said hello.  According to this proprietress, he likes one of their regular customers, but has never approached him.  The guy does, however, secretly photograph the customer’s dark hairy butt crack with his phone when he bends over to look at a bottom shelf.  I’m so repelled by this guy that I have ceased saying hello, or acknowledging him in any way.  Why bother, right?

I refused to talk to my mom for an entire year.  Yet she kept sending me her inane letters every week as if everything were completely normal.  It was the year I had my first semi-functional part-time job as a janitor after becoming disabled.  I started to feel like a man for the first time.  I quickly realized that my pain had nothing to do with whether or not she was in my life but, rather, it was a matter of the needy, lunatic mom within my own psyche.  Late at night, all alone in the library I cleaned, I was spraying the glass doors and wiping them down.  I hadn’t been in contact with anyone for several hours and worked in almost complete silence.  Yet I wasn’t alone.  She was there.  Contaminating my experience of myself.

The easy part of healing is just saying no, and giving yourself the gift of freedom.  It’s not about worrying about or fearing my mom, or the hormonal crazies at work.  It’s about finally choosing to turn away from them, once and for all, and then maybe some real men will show up–men like me.

I know full-well that these other random people in my life are not my parents.  So why does interacting with them inspire such primordial white-hot fear and rage?  I guess it’s because I don’t have very “good guys” in my life yet, and I feel so very, very alone.  {>^<V}

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It/He/You Don’t Have to Be Perfect

God and Mother Nature got together to create evolution, and it is the veritable definition of imperfection.  This never-ending process of tinkering has “successfully” resulted in a planet on which the vast majority of species died out ages ago.  Yet for some reason, we have the capacity to imagine perfection.  Why?  Concepts such as success and failure, perfect and flawed, are entirely human inventions.  They have no basis in biological fact.  But love, I believe, does have a biological basis.  Yet most people do whatever they possibly can to circumvent it, even deny its existence.

Despite having to slither through a hot mess of astounding proportions to get there, the miracle of gay male love still manages to find its way to the surface.  Despite having to bear a veritable mountain of neglect, heartache, abuse, and suffering for almost forty years, somehow I am still alive and capable of starting over, psychologically, mentally, physically and, especially, emotionally and interrelationally.  The love of my biology still manages to find a way.

Love is a problematic word though.  I started using it to describe how I felt with my new friend Todd and, understandably, he got a bit worried because the terms of our relationship are that of a sexual friendship, not something more serious.  But I thought we cleared it up.  I tried to explain that I felt feelings of love because I believe in loving one’s friends.  There are so many kinds of love, yet only one word to describe them all.  So we English speakers are screwed–unless we choose to persevere through the messy work of explaining our feelings and motivations to someone who has the capacity to listen.

But what if you’ve never been listened to before?  What if you grew up in a family where everything you ever did or said or expressed or needed was either mocked or summarily ignored?  A family in which it did not matter what you did or said, or even how you did or said it, the message was always the same:  you and your need to be listened to, cherished, valued, acknowledged, and loved MEAN NOTHING.  YOU ARE NOTHING.  YOU DON’T EVEN EXIST.  And if you have the audacity to show signs of self-esteem on your own, YOU WILL BE DESTROYED.

So, as I tried to explain to Todd, not only have I never had a functional, dignified sexual relationship before now, I haven’t ever really had a normal, functional platonic relationship before either.  My previous relationships were always at my expense.  I recently had a bad weekend, but I had long since adopted the habit of hiding my suffering from everyone, my broken heart assuming that it would never be acknowledged or listened to anyway.  I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until I started having this conversation with Todd.  I think he understood why I started getting a little suspicious that perhaps he was blowing me off; on Monday I wrote him some rather terse text messages.  But, very ironically, Todd deals with a similar issue in that he told me how he is used to being used and discarded by sex partners himself.  So he has some pretty major insecurities too.  It was a difficult conversation, and very messy.

I became someone who doesn’t notice things, important things, that are right in front of my nose.  Now I know why.  It’s because I disacknowledged most of the things about myself as my family had done.  A week ago, I met Todd at a coffee shop.  He was nervous and pretty uncomfortable and it showed.  I remember seeing the fear in his eyes and the expressions on his face, but I didn’t act on that knowledge.  Fortunately he was patient enough to explain to me (a couple of times) the specific reasons why he felt that way with me in a public place.

We had a good talk over dinner today.  And our communicating still isn’t perfect.  It doesn’t have to be.  It never will be.  Not in this life anyway.  On Monday afternoon, I asked Todd an important question, and I didn’t get a straight answer, so those terse texts I sent him are actually much more reasonable now that I think about it.  Also we met like two and a half weeks ago!  It’s just that we hit it off so quickly and had the most obscure things in common, more of which we discovered today.  Time sure does dilate when it’s packed full of completely new socio-homoerotic experiences.  And you are each highly attracted to the other.  But now that this initial fiery force has settled a bit, we can move forward having learned important things about the other.  This process is called building trust.  At least I think it is.  I don’t know anymore what’s what.

Another flaky piece of crap just canceled on me.  And Spencer hasn’t written me in a few days.  It’s easy to get paranoid if you let yourself.  I’m just so incredibly afraid to get close to anyone because my heart and body can FEEL the rejection coming.  “It’s only a matter of time,” it says, “until you get destroyed once again.”  Until that friend stops writing you, until that cousin “explains” to you that your feelings are “wrong”.  How do you know it won’t happen this time?  You don’t.

A few weeks ago, I kind of snapped a little bit.  I realized that I had been alone almost full-time for twenty-plus years.  And I knew I could not take it anymore.  So I got up and did something about it.  I continued to go to a coffee shop every day to be around people as I had been doing for years.  But I also started to place really interesting, innovative personals ads to try to attract guys like me.  It has begotten mixed results.  And I had this bad weekend.  But my cousin helped me on Monday night.  She showed me love and acceptance via text message and even affirmed the validity of my feelings!  I could hardly believe my eyes.  I think she has finally started to understand some things about our family.  We have even planned a trip together next month, just the two of us.

I am so very tired of being so sick and poor and screwed up socially.  And I am even more tired of running into people who are the same.  Just when I think things are changing for me and I am undergoing a bona fide healing, something even worse comes to the forefront, bubbling up through the humongous tragedy of my life.  Then I have to deal with that and heal that, and come to a place of peace.  And then start the whole horrible process all over again.  I am scared for my future.

But then I remember my dreams of becoming a bodybuilder and fitness model.  And of finding true friendship and love.  And I feel hope all over again, even though it is far from perfect.  {>^<V}

With all the focus on gay men’s bodily appearance, I think that the health factor gets lost in the shuffle.  I’m trying to get “hot” in the gym and kitchen because of all the diseases I’m trying to combat, for example.  If becoming super hot, ripped, and energized with self-esteem and love for the world and other people happens to coincide with that, well so be it.  Men are designed to be lean, muscly to some extent, active, and energized with legitimate confidence (i.e. not being a pompous ass).  If you haven’t found your version of this lifestyle yet, then that simply means you can start right now, today.  It is never too late to put your temple in order.

Chances are you’ve been distracted by a job or some kind of career.  But it’s still no excuse.  It has been incontrovertibly proven that a sedentary lifestyle kills subtly yet efficiently behind the scenes, slowly destroying your body’s abilities until one day you wake up overweight and miserable.  But it is never too late to intervene upon this destructive path.

I used to be fifty pounds overweight, and now I’m not, because I took the necessary time to find exercise modalities I truly enjoy.  There is something for everyone.  And I was wise enough to ask for help from professional trainers when I knew I needed it.  Fitness is complicated; it takes time, effort, and money just like anything else, especially good relationships.  Don’t give up on yourself and your birthright:  to be healthy, lean, strong, and happy.

Nobody said it would be easy.  Guys who look amazing work out a LOT.  They have chosen on some level to make it a permanent part of their lifestyle.  And it’s not going to be perfect.  Since I started a new medication a couple month ago, I have become a little lethargic.  But once I start the workout, my energy usually snaps back into place.  And, fortunately, I am making some new friends who are already in the same mode of life, so the possibility of getting a workout buddy is very motivating as well.  I also find motivation in my hot guy art.

Have a nice day.  {>^<V}

So let me get this straight:  you’re “masc” and you’re not attracted to “fem”.  But you’re a “bottom”.  Tell me again, exactly how macho do you think you look with your ankles behind your ears?

–D. S.