(The following is serious and personal; just warning you.)
Most people who'd read my stuff here couldn't possibly understand that on the whole I'm not an outspoken person. It's not that I don't express an opinion when I need to, but that I rarely see it necessary to rock the boat. If someone wants to believe something harmless, like the world is flat, then so be it. It's their prerogative. I only expect reciprocity. If I'm an atheist, which I am, I don't want people trying to tell me how I'm wrong anymore than anyone else would like me telling them that they're wrong. There are of course forums, specific places and times, where such debate is invaluable, but the line for the change machine at the Laundromat is probably not it.
I don't like to rock the boat. Unfortunately, sometimes even in my most well intentioned heart of hearts, and yes it is buried deep down there next to the guts and across from the black stuff, I let things go that probably shouldn't be let go. We all do it from time to time. Someone says something, for instance, racially biased and no one calls them on it, because they don't want to rock the boat. Other times, its something personal, like for instance that the person witnessing the racial remark happens to be in part or whole a member of that race or knows someone close who is, and in short should have stood up and called the offender on his or her epithet.
Generally speaking, I don't like to talk about myself much. It's just not my thing. I'm a very introspective person. That's not to say that I'm selfish or self-centered, which I hope that I don't accidentally come across as sometimes. I don't think that I do with regularity at any rate. I just don't talk about myself. There are a variety of reasons I suppose, explained on a case by case basis, for why this is. I'll start with the most recent example I can think of: I had surgery on the Friday before Spring Break. I didn't tell anyone. Well, that's not entirely true; I did post it on Facebook the night before, but that's not really saying much. I didn't really tell anyone. Why?
Most people who'd read my stuff here couldn't possibly understand that on the whole I'm not an outspoken person. It's not that I don't express an opinion when I need to, but that I rarely see it necessary to rock the boat. If someone wants to believe something harmless, like the world is flat, then so be it. It's their prerogative. I only expect reciprocity. If I'm an atheist, which I am, I don't want people trying to tell me how I'm wrong anymore than anyone else would like me telling them that they're wrong. There are of course forums, specific places and times, where such debate is invaluable, but the line for the change machine at the Laundromat is probably not it.
I don't like to rock the boat. Unfortunately, sometimes even in my most well intentioned heart of hearts, and yes it is buried deep down there next to the guts and across from the black stuff, I let things go that probably shouldn't be let go. We all do it from time to time. Someone says something, for instance, racially biased and no one calls them on it, because they don't want to rock the boat. Other times, its something personal, like for instance that the person witnessing the racial remark happens to be in part or whole a member of that race or knows someone close who is, and in short should have stood up and called the offender on his or her epithet.
Generally speaking, I don't like to talk about myself much. It's just not my thing. I'm a very introspective person. That's not to say that I'm selfish or self-centered, which I hope that I don't accidentally come across as sometimes. I don't think that I do with regularity at any rate. I just don't talk about myself. There are a variety of reasons I suppose, explained on a case by case basis, for why this is. I'll start with the most recent example I can think of: I had surgery on the Friday before Spring Break. I didn't tell anyone. Well, that's not entirely true; I did post it on Facebook the night before, but that's not really saying much. I didn't really tell anyone. Why?
I had a good long while to think about it during recovery and I've come up with a reason that I think is as close as I can get to accurate. I am a competitive person, with others and with myself. Everything is a competition to me. It drives my life; it makes me try my best -- to be the best. I want to be the best at everything that I do. And, to be honest, I've had some success with that mentality. Hey, I'm here after all. Surgery, or the necessity for it, implies weakness in some foolish corner of my mind. It implies that something can be out of my control. And, I don't like things ever getting out of my control. If things get out of control then I can't stop bad or wrong things from happening. I suppose in my competitive heart of hearts I've gotten used to winning.
Above all, I don't like feeling weak or useless. For as long as I can remember there's always been someone or something that I was responsible for or that depended on me. It irritates me when something like my surgery comes along and rocks the boat. I don't even really know what happened. Not really. The doctors don't even really know. One believed that it occurred at birth, that my large intestine never properly attached in place, but rather free-floated around in my abdomen until in January when it seemingly twisted, causing me pain so violent that honestly for its short sporadic duration I hoped for death. Scary thought. I'm not the type of person that would hope for death. You couldn't believe the pain. It felt like twisting a hot knife in my stomach south. I know pain, but until that night I hadn't really understood it. Anyways, the second opinion was that at some point my large intestine tore away from my abdomen, perhaps as a result of a sharp twist or a coughing or sneezing fit. I seem to believe that it is that more than a birth defect. I really can't prove anything; it's just a feeling.
I feel fine now though; in fact when I woke up from surgery, aside from being slightly stiff and not wanting to pull stitches, I was in great condition. I didn't need pain meds or anything. I eventually took some for a few days after I went home, but more so as a sleep aid than for pain.
I didn't tell anyone because I don't like talking about weakness. I know that it isn't weakness, but somewhere in my head it still doesn't matter. I know that weakness doesn't matter, yet somewhere in my head it matters. It wasn't major surgery. I think that if it were so, I would've had the tact to tell people. I'd like to think so, but I'm rationalizing. Hind sight is 20-20.
I don't like hiding things from friends. Family can be negligible sometimes, especially on a few things, but friends shouldn't be, just by definition of the word. There are other things too, one more of which I will talk about here and now. The rest I'll leave for another time. Hopefully soon. It's time that I stop ignoring things that I either don't like, like surgery, or in this next case, that complicates things. Ignoring problems and issues don't make them go away, and they don't make you happy either.
I am gay.
It's true. And while that's not a problem, it's certainly an issue. Make no mistake and mince no words about it, the issue isn't with me it's with others. I have no problem whatsoever being me. I've been me for as long as I can remember and I will continue to be such for as long as I will remember. I am not in any way embarrassed, angry, fearful, frightened, or any other negative emotion about it. It is what it is and I'm happy that I can understand the difference between my flaws and my sexuality. They are not one and the same. Likewise, I don't care what most other people think either.
Therein lies the issue. Most people. I don't care what most people think. I'm sure that perfect strangers knew that I was gay before friends and certainly before family. As of now, most of the people I call friends know the truth. Those who don't either never Facebook stalk me or are around me with my guard down. It was kind of obvious if you think about it. So long as I've been here I haven't dated or slept around with strange girls. Why would I, honestly. Try dating a cousin or a brother or sister and tell me what it feels like. Or better yet, try dating a member of the same sex. Give it a shot. Then you'll know why I did my best to discourage the female sex.
Family as I said was after friends. And, by and large, that holds true. I know it's screwed up. But, that is a whole other bucket of worms, perhaps for an entirely different time. I haven't told anyone in my family. Why? Not because I'm afraid to or anything. Honestly. But, rather because I don't like to rock the boat. My family life is screwed up enough. When I move out and collect whatever inheritance is due me, then they'll find out. Cold? Probably. But it's also the safest route. My dad wouldn't understand and my mom would have to deal with him. That wouldn't be nice. Regardless, I don't have to prove myself to anyone. Maybe I'm just making excuses, but hell they're working for me right now; everything's under control and that's what counts.
My sexuality isn't an issue for eight months of the year, while I'm here. Besides, the eye candy is pretty sweet too. (What? There I said it.) There's always a risk that just because I'm gay that a friend (obviously a guy) might think that I'm attracted to them. But, let them think that. If they can't handle the fact that I "might be" then they wouldn't be my friends in the first place. Let me give a logical explanation as to while I can appreciate that others may find people I consider friends to be attractive (mostly by the opposite sex I suppose) but that I don't: Can you think of a more irksome and even painful situation to be in than to stare every day at someone you know can never love you back in the same way as you love them? It's just not a factor. I can't find people attractive who don't also find me attractive in that way. I can appreciate attractive qualities as others see them, but find no sexual attraction myself to any of those people. I just wanted to make myself quite clear, if only to get it out in the open for myself. I hope that wasn't too awkward for anyone reading still.
Originally I wasn't sure what the response would be when I let the cat out of the bag. In many respects I didn't care and in many others I was pretty sure they didn't care. But you never know, you know. It takes a leap of faith and there comes a point where you're willing to take it. I took it for my 21st birthday. It was my present to myself, probably the best I've ever given or received. I don't care, as I said, what most people think. And those I do care about don't seem to have a problem.
So, for rocking the boat, it wasn't too bad a ride. If I've learned one thing regarding this or other secrets it's that they are the most unnatural thing you can make. Man is not meant to keep secrets. They do nothing but bad for all concerned. I think I've learned my lesson. Then again, probably not. No more secrets? Yeah, even I can't delude myself into believing that. I suppose that's why I'm writing this here now. I need to let go of some things. No emo jokes please.
Cheers,
FlyFreeForever
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