The Mark of Infamy

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My father said he would kill me if I ever turned homo.  I was 14 years old.  I wonder how much this has affected my sexual development.

That evening I swallowed half a bottle of aspirin.  I knew they were painkillers.  I was not in pain.  I think I was foreseeing the pain that was to come.

I didn’t know much at age 14.  I knew practically nothing of personal identity and even less about sexual orientation.  I was simply me.  But I learned something important that day:  A homo doesn’t deserve to live.

I didn’t think I was a homo.  I hardly knew what the word meant.  In my teenage mind, the word homo meant “like a girl.”  I was a boy.  So to be “like a girl” was abominable.

I could have been a thief, a liar, or even a murderer, and my father would have forgiven me.  But if I was gay, I deserved to die — to be killed by my own father.

To be bisexual was even worse.  That was the ultimate disgrace, the most perverted thing on the face of this earth.

I was bisexual.

The mark of infamy was on me.  I didn’t deserve to live and I didn’t deserve to be happy.   And if I was to ever succumb to my sexual desires, it would be the end of me.

I don’t think I ever got over it.  Even now, decades later.  My father is dead.  I am free but I am not.  He left something in me.  The mark of infamy.  I wish I could pluck it out.

How can I be bisexual and proud?

I AM proud of myself.  But I am not proud of myself in regards to THEM — my family.  Bisexuality is not something to be proud of according to Christianity.

Derealization

Derealization

God, I feel so unsure.  It’s like I can’t take control of my life.  Maybe I don’t trust myself.  That’s it, I don’t trust myself!  I don’t trust my feelings.  I don’t trust my desires and my urges.  I feel that they were put there to mislead me.

My own feelings want to mislead me.  That’s horrible!  How about my mind?  I don’t even know what to think.  I want to drink.  Get drunk.  Pass out.  And die, yeah!

This afternoon I took a nap.  I fell asleep.  I dreamed that I was walking inside a warehouse.  Then I must have stepped on something because I was electrocuted.  I was being electrocuted and I couldn’t move and I thought:  “I’m overpowered and I’m going to die, finally!”  And I was happy.  Then I woke up.

I wasn’t dead.  I never seem to die.  Why does death always elude me?

Does my life have something to do with you, cloaked man?  I don’t think you can help me.  I doubt I can help you.  I’m not sure anymore.  I don’t trust anything.  I feel paralyzed.  I should make a move but all I want to do is make a no-move.  Just sit here and wait.  For someone to come.

But no one will come.  I even disconnected the phone.  I don’t want to hear it ring.  I’m not going to answer anyway.  I’m tired of these fake connections.  I need the real thing.  When I feel like this I don’t want to talk to anyone.  I couldn’t talk anyway.  My throat is numb.  My voice has been disactivated.  I’m not even sure I have a breath.

I am lost because the meaning of things was removed today.  Does this ever happen to you?  Nothing has meaning.  Maybe I’m dissociating again.  Or derealizating.  The environment, the thoughts and the feelings seem unreal.  Where’s my reality?

Maybe I’m just lonely.  If someone would knock on my door, it would surely bring me back to reality.  I need to be touched.  Maybe shaken.  Maybe slapped in the face or kicked in the stomach.

“What you need is a big strong hand to lift you to your higher ground.”

Now I’m channeling Madonna.

The Mystic

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Today I’m wondering if too much spirituality can cause a balance disorder.

Ok, I hear an imaginary crowd of people yelling a resounding, unanimous answer:  “YES!”

Thank you, imaginary unanimous crowd of answering people.  But what if I told you that you are all a bunch of misled materialistic slaves?

Now they are all silent and staring at me.  One of them steps forward and says politely:  “Maybe we are, but you are the one with the balance disorder.”

Bam!

When I think of a guy who clings to spirituality above everything else, I think of an idiot who is trying to fly with man-made wings.  I think of Wile E. Coyote.  Is this what I have become?  What will happen next?

Never mind.

Maybe I should concentrate on being a man instead of trying to be a bird.  But what about my aspirations?

I’m not very good at being human.  I’ve tried it.  I keep failing.

Where are you, italicized dude?  You’re not answering me today?

– I’m here.

So what do you say, am I too spiritual?

– Maybe you want to be a mystic.

A Mystic:  Someone who practices mysticism.

Mysticism:  Becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning.  It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices or experiences.

Yes, I think I want to be a mystic.  But what about my balance disorder?

– What about it?

If I would stop aspiring to become a great mystic, would I be miraculously cured of my balance disorder?

– I don’t know.  You would have to try it.

Hmm…  I did stop being one with You at one point.  Remember what happened?  I became extremely depressed and ended up in a psychiatric hospital.  So perhaps I was meant to be a mystic.

– Then you must accept the balance disorder.

Thank you.

Identity Crisis

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Yesterday I was thinking whether or not I should be gay.

– You cannot choose a sexual orientation.

Yes I can.  Assuming that I am equally interested in males and females, I can choose who I want to be intimate with.

I spent most of my life embracing the straight (heterosexual) lifestyle.  Now, after two failed marriages, I find myself at a turning point.  I’m questioning everything and trying to redefine myself.  Who will the new me be?

– Do you want to be gay?

Yesterday I wrote:  “I want a man.”  This sounds pretty gay to me.  It’s not that I don’t like women.  But I had two wives already.  I never had a husband.  I think I would like to try it.  But then, friends and lovers are not things you “try.”  They happen.

– So what are you saying?

I don’t know.  It sounds confusing doesn’t it…

– Why did you start this post in the first place?

Oh yeah!  Yesterday I was wondering if I should be gay, but today I’m asking myself:  Why should my identity be based on a sexual orientation?

– It gives you focus.

True.  But it also puts up barriers.  Besides, I’m not looking for sex, I’m just trying to define my identity.

– What do you mean by “define” my identity?

Synonyms for Define = delineate, delimit, specify, delimitate.

Hmm…  It means to put up certain limits or barriers.  But what if my identity is to have no limits!  Does it mean that I cannot define who I am?

– How did you define yourself in your About page?

I wrote:  “Daemon is a free spirit…”  You see?  This is my most basic, true, profound identity.  I am a free spirit.  I am not even human.  I could be an alien for all I know.

– But what about your incarnation as a human male, are you ignoring it?

In this blog I am, yes.

– Why?

Because I wanted to focus on the spiritual.  Do you have a problem with that?

– I don’t, but you do.

You’re right.  I do.  I’m having an identity crisis.  It’s because of my physical body.  I’m not just a spirit, I’m responsible for the life of a physical human man.  So is it wrong to define myself as a spirit?

– Maybe you need to define the experiences that the spirit wishes to have on earth.

So I could choose to “be gay” in order to delineate my upcoming experiences, is that what you’re saying?

– Yep.

Interesting…  Something to think about…  There are so many possibilities…  I’m not even sure which experiences I wish to have.  Sometimes I feel so fed up with this world, I just want to pack my bags and leave (die).

Double D

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I’m not happy.

– What is missing for you to be truly happy?

I don’t know.

– Yes you do.  Think.

I have everything.

– No you don’t.  One thing is missing.  What is it?

Yes, but…

– But what?

I don’t want to say it.

– Say it.

I’m afraid to say it.

– Daemon, what would make you happy?  What is missing?

A man.

– A man.  You want a man?

Yes.

– What kind of man?

An attractive man.  A perfect man.  Not a deceptive man.

– Do you know such a man?

No.
Maybe…
I don’t know.
There is no way to know if a man is deceptive.

– Think, man.

Yes, I know one.
Only one.
Me.
The only sure non-deceptive man I know is me.

– He’s available.  Why don’t you take him?

Because I’m him.

– There are two of you.  Both are looking for each other.

So my life is complete already!

– It always was.

My blog is about this.  I write about it but I don’t believe what I write!

– One does not believe and the other one does.

So what should I do?

– Associate with me.

My Ego

My ego has been begging me for attention.  He wants to be recognized on my blog!  (asshole)  He thinks that he’s so important and that his life matters.  He’s arrogant and emotional.  He’s also mortal.  But I’m stuck with him.

Anyway, I thought I should give him a post and let him express himself a little bit.  Let’s see what he comes up with.

I introduce you to Denny, my ego:

– – – – – – – – – –

Hi, Everyone!

I want to tell you about me.  You have to see what I look like.  So I gathered some photos from my album and here they are.  I’ll start at the beginning.

Here is my first school photo.
I was 6 years old and in grade one:

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I was intelligent, shy and very cute  🙂

Then I grew up and became an adult.
Here is my first passport photo when I was 23:

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Then I got married and had two kids.
Here is a photo that was taken after the birth of my second child, when I was 30:

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Then I got divorced and remained single for 4 years.

At age 37, I decided to get married again.
Here is a boudoir photo of me which was taken shortly after the wedding:

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Then I kept getting older and had two more kids.
Here is a photo of me at the cottage, when I was 47:

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I don’t want to tell you how long ago that last photo was taken.  What I want is for you to continue thinking that I am intelligent, shy and very cute.

Thank you for watching, and thank you Daemon for allowing me to show off on your blog.

Denny

Just a Man

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Here’s the beginning of a man.  The one I call me.

I arrived on this planet in the form of a human baby.  The body which Mother Earth lent me was male.  I was born a Caucasian male in a large country located in the northern part of North America.

Since my body was male, I was expected to grow up to become a man.  This might sound obvious and simple but it was one of the biggest challenges I had to face in this life.

How do you BECOME a man?  Was I not a young man already?  Why did my father shout at me?  Why did he keep hitting me?  Why did he try so hard to make a man out of me?  Was I not destined to become one automatically?  I did not understand what he was trying to do.  I thought there was something wrong with me.  He gave me the impression that I was failing and that I might turn into a girl if I was not careful.

Does it even make sense?  Let me try to remember…

I’m starting to shake as I think about this.  I feel a pressure inside my chest.  My hands, my arms are trembling as I try to type and concentrate on what I intend to write.

“He gave me the impression that I was failing and that I might turn into a girl if I was not careful.”  This sentence brings back a profound fear that is probably still in me.  I wonder if girls/women can relate to this.  It sounds ridiculous.  A boy cannot transform into a girl if he’s not careful.

It took me years before I began to understand what was going on.  But in the beginning, I was really confused about this male thing.  All I could perceive, with my child’s eyes, was that my father hated me.  I did not know why he hated me.

The memories are coming back now.  He hated it when I cried.  He would kick me and yell at me to stop crying.  But the more he hit me, the more I cried.  I tried to seal my lips by holding my mouth shut so that no sound would escape, but then it would come out of my nose and my eyes until everything went blurry.

Eventually I learned how to hold back my tears, how to muffle my voice and how to stay as far from him as possible.  I don’t even remember him ever hugging me.  I thought he was a man.  I knew that I didn’t want to become like him.  So who or what was I to become?  This is probably when I started to dissociate from mankind.

I knew that I was a man.  I also knew that I was not like the men I knew.  There was not one adult man with whom I could identify.  And I knew that I was not a girl.  So what was I?  An alien man?