I’m writing to Moby’s : “Everything Was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt” –note: I still hurt

When I see the title in the waterfall  I will reflect on my childhood. There was some portion of my childhood spent at Minnehaha Falls Park, before it modernized starting about 2000 (note: childhood would be my 1968-1976 timeframe). There has been a far greater time spent there in adulthood reflecting on my childhood than is likely healthy. However, nature dissociation could be worse, say… walking endless hours in a huge cemetery. Years of meandering, dissociated hours, walking among the headstones.

I’ve been processing my childhood trauma two years this May, 2018. My journey has been wrought with depths of pain I’ve felt most of my adult life. Terrors of the mind describe it; which I call mind storms (taken from the Blue Book of AA). These (miond storms) don’t settle without work, and that work is tiring, and often exhausting. Depression can settle in, and it did when I sobered in March of 2000. That sobriety has lit my brain on fire sometimes, because, without dissociation, without weed or beer, I have to think, I will think, I can’t escape thinking. I processed the effects of sobriety with passion, like it seems I often do. ‘Just do it’ seems to be my mantra, and the other is ‘F-it I’m doing it’!

I have a tendency to avoid doing what I want to do without my mantras, and find either excuses, or distractions that will get in my way. That’s how I can wish to do something, maybe with new people, but avoid doing it. I do get out, very rarely, and I do- do some things. But, I wish to do much more. I discuss it online, I can make calls for some cause, I will email or DM, chat, I march, and I am probably an excellent ally, unless I have to do something alone. Then, I have that voice, the one I’ve fought all my late teens through this adulthood. The loser, the failure, the nobody, the worthless. See, that chokes me, hurts me, and in me, I know I don’t deserve that, but, pushing back at the trauma of what bullies and trauma forced into my young, hopeless brain has been a struggle of desperation. I don’t win… Yet? I am told I can/will win? I wish I wouldn’t be told that, the work is daunting, circumstances sabotaging, I can’t go into all my secrets. See, I’m a thinker, I need input and research, I must have distractions until I’ve definitive, nuanced information.

I’ve fear or anxiety based difficulties. They’re not something that distraction and good just turn off. I don’t have good circumstances, I have sabotage, so I’m stuck until that changes? Will it, I hope so? I attach to distractions with a passion, with my sense of purpose that helping others foments goodness to my self worth, and builds my self worth. The balance though, the other never ending voice, my advisor, is my consultant about caution, I think ‘don’t get hurt’, ‘don’t be unaware of threats’. It’s not paranoia, I’ve been raped and I won’t trust easily, I will vet you, I will test you, I must know you, are you safe?! I’ll look you in the eye, I’ll see your soul; my sensitivity isn’t just to be an emotional man, I see very well. I’m a purposeful man in much of what I endeavor, one who derives purpose by fomenting inclusivity and herculean efforts to overcome trauma and marginalization. (I ask, do you see a white man, and have you ever thought ‘marginalization’? I know you haven’t, but, with me, you should). (I know marginalization, and I get yours, judging me, like I’m cis, white man, as if I don’t know pain, bullies, marginalization, fear of authority, is mistaken. I know, I get it). Do I have to live it every day, no, I have too much fear to be too exposed, and I isolate. Do I understand systemic racism, and the issues of marginalized groups whose circles I am not connected… ask me about it, talk to me, don’t judge me. I’ll have learned much more than most cis white men. A cis white man with some dysmorphic issues.

I’m also a man who knows he’s perceived as privileged (I disdain my label, but own it) white male. I’m not seen as an immediate threat by police, by authority, and I do have an attitude that if I ask something of my political representation, I better get somewhere at some point. It’s that innate pushiness of a white male. That’s privilege. I get that it is, and I use it for you, and far less for me. I don’t have an innate sense to stand up for myself, that’s buried by trauma. I will have to force myself to stand up to those I have perceived are creating a situation that’s not taking care of what’s good for me. I have discussed, and read perhaps over a thousand blog posts about Trans issues since late 2015. I’ve read tweets, supported, advocated online for Trans issues, and have not a personal acquaintance whom is Trans. I recently have had to ask myself why?

I started reading others blogs in 2015, a Trans woman in particular. I’ve been online since around 1997 and I’ve interacted online the entire time, I’m comfortable with my sense of whom I am presenting. I’ve learned more online than all other connections to learning, and the woman whose blog I read has helped me. I’m very good at research, and love to read, she advocates Trans news, needs, issues and other. I don’t think people want to talk to a person like me, and she’s in a quiet part of my world. I don’t have a good memory, and I forget too much. Here, online, I can refresh my memory, the internet has my crib notes. I feel better to have my internet resource, in the immediacy of discussion, I can follow her links, see some of my own, and post. What if it were in real life, and I forget what I want to convey? I don’t think it may be too bad, but, I may quickly lose the interest of someone, and be left out? What if I only have one chance to make a first impression and they don’t like me? See, I’m still stuck in a teen mind, and I’m over 50! I have found that trying to help people might attract attention, and maybe I’ll meet some people some day? What will I do? What if I say: ‘I’m afraid…’ I see eye-rolls, and wtf is his problem, just get over it. I like the online world, I can be myself, and in essence, be me in relative safety.

It’s taken a while to get to this point, since 1997… to a point where I can write about myself, and that I can actually write believe I’m writing coherently. The nagging (self worth doubter) in my thoughts will evoke such deep doubt, I may delay, or delete what I’ve worked on. These past two years, I’ve gotten to a point, where (choking…) I must push forward, and let the chips fall where they may. I have my best interest at heart, and I don’t have as much to lose for being honest as maybe someone who is a politician, lawyer, clergy or whomever would feel put out by the honesty on my pages. I won’t be stopped now, not with how much I’m already into the second half of life. I can’t expect, I must create, foment, help my desires with my passionate nature and go for it. Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead!!

There’s no telling whether I’ll be able to do what I want to do; what depends on others? There are the risks of health, money and stability looming in anyone’s life. I will have to make changes, seek to stabilize what I can, and search to figure out what helps other parts, especially income. It’s always income.

Writing this out, I think I’m giving myself a guideline about how I think and you might see my humanity? what I’m seeking, what all this healing and processing is meaning to me, is to heal at a time, when I see time is of the essence. I’ve made a few dear connections to other survivors, all online, and their connection means the world to me. I have felt like I can be myself, I have felt that the blog I’ve followed, My dear Trans mentor, whom has given to me, her style of presenting, and I in turn am thinking about who I am, and where I can go… she’s why I am now connected Trans advocacy, she’s so dear to me, and has been an integral part of how I found my voice, and I’ve told her that. She’s an older sister by another mother; I haven’t told her that, I don’t want her to think awkwardly about me. I fear I go to far too, but, what is too far? Tell me? I don’t see that anywhere, no one writes about wanting to be kind, and what too kind may be like? I don’t mean in the sense that on loses their agency, which is what happens when one is a Fawn personality.  http://pete-walker.com/codependencyFawnResponse.htm                        I mean that being a bit too effusive is more awkward, and off putting. If I ask you some day, let’s talk about it? What if my personality is to hug you (consensual), and say, ‘dear friend, you mean the world to me’, do you feel put out? Is a man’s emotion embarrassing to you? I am tired of it seeming I must keep all of me to myself (situational of course), it’s on me, right (note: I mean socially)? We say, do what you feel comfortable doing, but then, that takes so much time to discern, and I would prefer just being me…?

I’ve read and studied what I need to do, Pete Walker, Janina Fisher, and Bessel Van Der Kolk among them, and I’ve found a therapist whom I trust. She has shown me the work. There’s more to learn, so much more, and I’ve not started to process any of my sexual trauma. I have worked on the deepest sense of self worth, and the words that choke me to the core “I don’t matter”. I got an intensely visceral, physical response from those words. I note, I did not get the same, at that particular time from “I don’t feel loved”. I’m not sure why.

I’ve longed to say with conviction, ‘I’m loved’. I’ve longed in the depths of my core to say those words, to feel it, and know it without doubt. I have a long way to go, and I hope my baggage isn’t such an impediment that others will find me too much effort to be with? I hide all this when I’m with people, I won’t talk about this unless it’s apropos to the occasion, and I can manage my state. I don’t have a lot of social experience, but, given a chance, I can learn. That’s the crux behind all this writing, I am learning more about myself and where I am today, I’m seeing myself as my guide to the universe, and maybe someone else will convey a bit of help too? Hearing how others live is helpful with the context conveyed toward an intent to help.

I am being an open book, you’re seeing me, if you want to?

To be continued…

 

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