Closed-Minded Family

closed-minded5

So I decided to test my coming out with one member of my family, the one I am closest to.

I told this person that I was bisexual and that I had found someone online that I was interested in.  I said that I had made plans to meet that person face to face within the next week.

The reaction was worse than I expected.  She had a panic attack, didn’t sleep that night and called in sick the next day.  Finally I was able to reassure her a bit and this is what she said to me:

“You can do what you want with your life, but I don’t want to hear about it.  Anything that has to do with your bisexuality, I don’t want to hear about it because I will never understand it.  You can talk to me about anything you want, but not about that.  It makes me panic and it makes me sick.  I love you and I cannot stand it when you say you want to meet new people, possibly for sex.  Nothing could hurt me more.  I am here for you, and you can do what you want with your friends but don’t tell me about it.  I don’t want to know because it hurts too much.”

I was surprised to hear that this person does not want to know anything about my sexuality and my private life.  I actually thought she was interested in me, but it is clear that she is not interested in this part of me.  And maybe it’s a good thing.  I feel free now.  Free not to come out to my closed-minded family.

It also makes me question the maturity of Christian heterosexuals.  The fluidity of their own sexuality scares the hell out of them.  Just like it used to scare the hell out of me.

If they wish to act as if sexuality does not exist, fine.  I can do that.  So if they ask me what I’m up to, I shall say this:  “I’m meeting new people.  Nothing sexual can happen because sexuality does not exist.  It only exists between a man and woman who are married.  Anything outside of this is sickening, perverted pornography.  Keep your blindfolds, I don’t care, but I’m walking out because I had enough of this shit.”

They won’t know what the hell I’m talking about.  But I will smile.

Alienated

Unsociability3

This is not going to be a feel-good post.  I warn you.  I feel disgusted this morning and this is my attempt at getting rid of it: by dumping it on my readers.

Yeah, I can be cruel sometimes but I gave you advanced notice (see previous paragraph), so if you’re still reading it’s because you don’t mind or you’re curious or just bored.

I went to bed disgusted and woke up feeling the same way.  No, this time it’s not because of my balance disorder, it’s something else.  My relationships disgust me.  The people I am closest to, three of them especially, members of my family.

I’m attempting to distance myself from my family but I’m not there yet.  Family members are not things you can return for a refund.  You’re born with them and they stick to you for life, if not physically then emotionally or psychologically.

The first one is the woman I am currently legally married to.  Although I have declared our marriage null years ago, we are still bound because of the children.  My disgust stems from something I realized yesterday which I will summarized in one sentence:  She uses the children to impose her dominance over me.  That is all I’m going to about that.

The second person is my sister who is almost my best friend.  She keeps breaking up and getting back together with her boyfriend.  She breaks up with him practically every week!  And then she comes crying to me, so I listen.  This causes us to become really close, and then first thing you know, she’s back with the guy and then I don’t hear from her for weeks.  In other words, she only speaks to me when she breaks up with her boyfriend.  What kind of friend is that?

The third person is my other sister who told me yesterday to “stop complaining.”  Whenever I attempt at getting closer with my family, I open up and tell them how I feel, not to gain their pity, but to establish some sort of intimacy so we can offer each other mutual support.  But yesterday all I got was a “stop complaining,” which translates into “Shut the fuck up — if you can’t say anything positive then don’t say anything.”  So much for authenticity.

Anyway, thanks for listening, I just needed to vent a bit.  I’m not feeling any better yet but maybe I will later.

 

Spontaneity

jackhaas18a

Writing without an agenda.
This is an experiment
With spontaneity.

I chose a picture that I like
Because it’s beautiful
Created by Jack Haas

Is this a poem?
I don’t know.
There are no rhymes.
Or maybe some will pop up.
Spontaneously.

Writing is how my soul breathes.
When I stop, I suffocate.
Sorry if it annoys you.
I’m simply keeping myself alive here.

I can’t go for a walk, it’s raining.
Well I could still go but
I usually do it after lunch.
In the morning I write.

There is too much I could write about.
Sometimes it’s just frustrating to have to choose.
So I said to myself:  “Why choose?”
Why not be spontaneous.

Spontaneity is scary.
What is the next line going to be?
What if something ugly jumps out suddenly?

Heh! heh! heh!  It is a mystery.
Flirting with the unknown.
It’s involuntary.

I might lose control.
Should I look behind?
What if I lose my mind?

Who will take over
If I let go of my own senses?
Chaos, Cosmos or Cyclops?

Is it even possible to go astray
There must be beauty
Even in spontaneity

Should I stop here?
Or should I continue…

Too much of it might get boring.
Yeah, breathing does get boring.
But I have to keep going.

If I hold my breath
My face will turn blue.
I would not want that.
My blue hand is causing me enough trouble.
Do I want a blue face to match it?

I know what I’ll do.
There is a word count
At the bottom right.
It’s at two sixty eight.
When it gets to 1000
I will stop
No matter what.
Even if I’m not finished.
Now THAT is scary.

It’s like approaching death.
The death of this blogpost.
The end of it.

I still have six hundred something words to go.
What will these words be?
Maybe I should write something important.
Which reminds me…

My father used to say:
“Shut up if you have nothing important to say.”
Daddy must be very disappointed in me right now.
Sorry dad, but you are dead now, so I am free.

Can the zombie hear me?
Is it disrespectful to refer to my dead father as a zombie?
Will God punish me?
I just broke commandment number three.
No sorry it’s number five.
I just checked.

I don’t think I’ll make it to 1000 words.
At the word “word” it was only 400.
It’s never too late to say something important.
To make my father proud of his illegitimate son.

Now why did I write the word “illegitimate?”
This was really spontaneous.
What does it actually mean?

Illegal?  Against the law?
Born of unmarried parents?
But my parents were married when they had me.

Illegitimate also means illogical or incorrectly deduced.
Maybe I am not my biological father’s son.
When I was young I sometimes felt like I was adopted.
Because he didn’t like me much.

But I look so much like him.
I’m sure he’s my real father.
Even my personality matches his almost perfectly.

So that’s not it, I am his biological son.
Why did I write illegitimate then?

The word also means “not genuine.”
So does that mean that my father is not my genuine father?
What does genuine mean?
Thank God I have a dictionary.

What did I just say, again, spontaneously?
Thank “GOD” I have a dictionary?
God?  Who’s God?

My genuine father perhaps?
Of course, God the Father.
But who would that god be?

Yahweh?  Don’t tell me!
Not that blood thirsty
Son of a b****
The ultimate source of love.
He!  He!  He!

Allah?  I think he’s the same as Yahweh.
Bhagavan Krishna?  Yeah, perhaps…
Since his son Krishna is sometimes painted blue
I foresee a definite possibility.

I already wrote a blogpost entitled “A Real Father”
So why am I still writing about this.
Do I miss my daddy?

How can I miss an unknown person?
Well…  I think that if one wants to know the father
All one has to do is look at the son.

The son would be me.
So the father would be just like me.
This means I have a pretty cool daddy.
LOL!

In a sense I am my own father.
I am my own creator.
I am my own guide.
I am my own authority.
And I am my own god.

This is spitting in the face of Christianity.
My mother would not be proud of me.
Some of my sisters would spit back at me.
In fact they already have.

One told me that I had been seduced by an evil spirit.
Another said that my ideas were satanic.
The third one agreed with the first one.
The fourth one is not sure.
The fifth one is not bothered by the rest and accepts me.
Yes, I have five sisters.

So where am I going with this?
Nowhere.  I’m being spontaneous.
I have just revisited my family.
I visit them virtually and rarely physically.

I am a lonely bastard.
And I think that this is the way I like it.
I enjoy my own company.
I think I am funny.
I don’t need my brother to make me laugh.
Yes, I also have a brother.
He’s a clown.

Why did I use the word “clown” to describe my brother?
Let’s look it up.  A clown can be:
1-  a performance artist often associated with a circus
2- a person who acts in a silly fashion
3- a stupid person
4- a man of coarse nature and manners; an awkward fellow
5- one who works upon the soil; a rustic; a churl.

Yup, that pretty much describes my biological brother.
Not to be confused with my cosmic brother Jahele.
Two very different individuals.

So I had to conclude at one point that I had two separate families.
One down here and another up there, in the clouds or above them.
I’m related to one by blood and to the other one by spirit.

One thousand words.

The Introvert

unsociability5

Today is party day.  My wife invited a lot of people — family and friends.  I know what to expect, I went through this circus many times.  We will greet each other, sit, talk, drink, laugh, eat and then climax:  happy whatever!

The talk usually starts with a “how are you,” then revolves around whichever topic is mentioned.  The fun things we did are brought up, the interesting things we saw are emphasized.  Then anything goes:  hearsay, rumors, news from TV or from other members of the family or of famous people.  Who’s good, who’s bad.  Anything that pops up can become the subject of discussion.  Opinions are expressed.  Jokes are inserted.

Laughing is important to keep the mood happy.  When speaking, a touch of exaggeration is necessary to keep the listeners entertained.  Sometimes there is originality but most of the time opinions are second-hand ideas, the repeating of things heard elsewhere.  Finally a clever “expert” will make a concluding remark and the subject will change.

Fortunately, there is respect in our group.  No fighting.  There is a small chance of an argument between the mother-in-law and her daughter, but nothing serious.  Three languages are in use:  French, Portuguese and English.  It can get confusing because some of us understand and speak only one or two of those languages.  No one bothers translating.  You pick up what you can.  The discussions rarely amount to anything anyway, except maybe laughter.

I think most of the participants just enjoy the feeling of togetherness.  It doesn’t really matter what is said.  Compliments are always welcome.  Funny things are remembered.  Polite smiles are expected, fake ones for photos.

The bulk of the herd should arrive around 5 p.m. and leave at 9.  We will be crammed on the main floor of our medium-sized house.  I will have to endure a minimum of four hours of movement, noise and interaction requests.  I don’t know how to prepare for it except to write and express my apprehension of this upcoming inescapable situation.  I usually fare pretty well, though.  I take the role of the bartender, mixing drinks and serving the thirsty.

I’m more of a listener, and once in a while I will throw a sarcastic comment that will get a few of them rolling and the others frowning.  Two or three such interruptions is usually the most I can afford in one sitting.  I usually drink in order to help my mind relax, but I want to try not drinking at all this time.

I feel alienated in a crowd and never know where I fit in.  I try not to stay too long in the same spot.  I walk around, pretending I’m going somewhere, trying to stay cool.  It’s hard to engage in any sort of intelligent conversation because of the chaos and noise.  Everyone knows that I’m disabled, that I don’t go out much and that I’m a bit depressed, so they don’t bother asking me what I’ve been doing lately because it’s kind of useless.

My mother-in-law usually asks me “how are you,” I reply “fine” and that’s the end of our conversation.  What else can I say?  The truth is:  “I’m sad because your daughter ruined me financially,” but that would be a bad thing to say.  And the purpose of life is to be fucking good, right?  Or at least appear to be…

The clock is ticking.  I want this day to be over quickly.  I don’t get what others enjoy in these gatherings.  I understand though, because I once experienced the warmth of being with a group of friends in the past.  I’m not sure why I changed, though.  Maybe it’s just part of growing up.  Or maybe I lost my friends and I don’t know how to make new ones.  It’s a mystery.

I’m an introvert, I know this much, and that’s a good enough explanation, I guess…

Daily Torment

Torment6

Kids yelling and crying
Cats meowing and puking
Wife spending and worrying
Every day the same thing

Television regurgitating
Crap-filled news and cartoons
Trying to sell me something
Disgusting mind-numbing tunes

Oh Lord deliver me
Please come and take me
I need something better
I’m more than a buyer

“You should be thankful
I gave you a wife
I gave you a house
I gave you children
I gave you three pets
I give you information
I give you entertainment
You are so ungrateful”

And who are you
Who tells me this
Who I should thank
For so much bliss?

“I am your God
Who holds a rod
Who you should fear
Every day of the year”

You’re not my god
You are a fraud
My god’s a spirit
He’s not materialistic

I don’t possess a wife
I don’t possess children
You call this a life
I’m not a reptilian

I need to be raptured
I crave intimacy
I feel I was captured
Reduced to impotency

If this is your blessing
Please take it back
It’s much too depressing
Give me a heart attack

Man Crying

Man Crying

Fuck, I’m crying.  What’s wrong with me.  I feel like such a baby.  Like as if everything I’ve done so far means nothing.  Like I’m 5 years old again.  Lost.

I tried so hard to integrate.  All my life.  Was it in vain?  What was I supposed to do?  The pressure was strong.  It wouldn’t go away.  I was so alone.  People are so stupid.

Now I’m old and depressed.  I feel it’s too late.  I don’t know how to be a father.  I don’t know how to be an adult.  I don’t even know how to be human.  I’m just a child myself.  I’m a kid with children and a wife.  I don’t know what to do about the wife…

This is the only life I have, man.  How can I teach my kids to integrate, I don’t even know how to do it myself.

I’m always here, at the same place.  Years later, still here, still feeling the same.  I’m so sick of it.  So tired.  I don’t know what to do.

How long do I have to keep running this show.  Is anyone watching?  Is anyone entertained or interested?  Are the actors happy?  Am I derailing here?  Am I off the track?  What track?  Is there a track?

Time is ticking.  What have I learned?  Should I consult the I Ching?  …  I know, I have You.  But You only tell me things I already know.  All You do is rearrange my thoughts.  Same old words…

God?

     “You’re being purified.”

Oh great.  Then I’m fucking happy.  Thank you.

*Crying my eyes out*

(Excerpt from my personal journal, October 2012)

 

Wedding Alert!

Wedding

Where to run, where to hide?
I’ve been invited to a wedding!
A violent assault on the antisocial guy.

My wife knows I don’t like social gatherings, especially weddings, but her best friend is getting married this afternoon.  She said to me with the sad puppy eyes:  “I can’t go there alone, will you come with me?”  I said yes.  That was two months ago.

Now the day I have been dreading has arrived.  There is no turning back.  I have to go.

At least it’s not family.  I know the bride but that’s it.  Never met her fiancé.  None of the guests know me.  I feel better among strangers than I do among family.  No one will talk to me.  Smiles and friendly handshakes, I can do that.  My acting skills are rusted, but when the situation calls for it, I can summon them back to life.  I think… we’ll see.  Hope it doesn’t suck the life out of me.

Sit in church.  *yawn*
Watch the show.  (Hope she trips)
Stand, sit, stand, sit, kneel.  (WTF?)
Clap when they kiss.  (She’s not a virgin)
Congratulate them.  (In two years you’ll be separated)

Then eat, drink and dance.  That’s how people celebrate.  What are they celebrating exactly?  Who cares.   We have food, alcohol and music.  Let’s do what they do.  Stuff your face, get drunk and move your body.  Pretend to be happy.  Woopy!

How Are You, Dear?

Hell4

I found a photo that captures how I felt when I was severely depressed.  You could add a blindfold.  Also add voices of loved ones in the background:

“Just go for a walk, you’ll feel better.”

“Life is beautiful, thank the Lord.”

“Find your passion, something you really enjoy doing.”

“Did you take your medication?”

“You need a vacation.”

“Think positive.”

“Surround yourself with people who love you.”

“Did you try psychotherapy?”

“Read this book.”

“Listen to music.”

Can’t you see I’m tied up?  I don’t even know which side is up!  I can’t move, I can’t see, it’s dark!  What happened?  Who did this?  Why?  Please, shut the fuck up and help me!  I’m dying!  HELLLLLLLLP!  (But you can’t even articulate because there is also a gag cloth in your mouth.)

It’s a horrible picture but I want to add it to my blog.

The Bad Antisocial Guy

antisocial

I am planning on doing something terrible, unforgiveable, downright evil.

There is a huge family reunion taking place.  It starts in a few minutes.  It will last five days.  Only two hours drive from where I live.  My dear sisters have been planning this for over a year.  They reserved a 20-bedroom cottage mansion in the mountains.  They are all happy and excited to attend this great get-together.  Everyone is going, except me.

I will be the only one absent.  The black sheep of the family.  The depressed one.  The antisocial evil monster.  The selfish arrogant delusional smartass.  The one who claims to be connected to a higher consciousness but who can’t even interact properly with his own brothers and sisters.

I’ll probably be agonizing over this for the next 5 days.  I’m fighting a dragon that has seven heads.

dragon

I’m going to win this fight.  I know this dragon.  It has seven voices that attack my seven weaknesses:

  • You don’t love your family
  • You are selfish
  • You think you are better than the others
  • You have nothing better to do, you’re lazy
  • You have no friends
  • You’re a loser
  • You’ll regret it

I can’t wait for it to be over.  The planning of this family reunion has been dragging on for 12 months.  That’s all they have been talking about.  I had to delete the reminder from my calendar.  Just seeing it would give me stomach cramps.  The thought of it would made me squirm in pain.  Imagine being stuck in a cottage with 50 of your closest loved ones, for 5 days.

I’ll try not to get too drunk this evening.  Writing it down helps.  Thanks for listening.

Daemon
the sick Demon

 

Ok, I’m Evil. Are You Happy?

evil-face

Seems like you are either good or evil, according to them.

Who is them?  My frigging loved ones.  They’ve all been brainwashed to think that a person is either good or evil and cannot be both at the same time.  This is how they view the world and everything in it including people.

So when I try to explain to them my condition, they don’t get it.  They pull out bible verses or popular catch phrases to prove to me that I am not on the right path.  In other words, I’m evil.  After years of this shit I got so tired that I finally just said:  “You’re exactly right.  I’m evil.”

Since then I have found peace (ha! ha! peace…).

So now whenever they ask me:  “Why are you like this?  Why are you doing that?  Why aren’t you doing this instead?  Why do you talk like that?  Why?  Why?  Why?”  My answer to them is very simple and easy to understand:  “I’m evil, I told you.”  They get it right away.  It settles the matter.  As for moi, I save time and energy, and I’m not any worse for having said that.

Sometimes I add a few words to the phrase:  “I’m evil and proud of it.”

Why are they all so obsessed with being good?  Or I should say appearing to be good.  Because it’s all about appearances.  They are all ten times more evil than I am, but spend all of their time and energy trying to hide it.  Such a pathetic sight to watch.  Why can’t they just admit that they are evil too?  Everything would be much simpler and the world would be a better place.  🙂