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.

Cherophobia

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No, it’s not the fear of cherries, but the fear of happiness.

I think I might be suffering from this a little bit.

After coming out, feeling ready, willing and able and tumbling, I realized that there is a deep-rooted uneasiness within me when it comes to potential pleasure or happiness.

I think I know exactly where it comes from.

Whenever I experienced great happiness in the past, it always seemed to be followed by great despair.  So I have developed this strange belief that in order to avoid heartbreak, I must avoid being happy.

The result is depression.  A self-inflicted condition due to a state of mind.

I am just becoming aware of this now.  It’s quite disturbing.  I’m not sure what to do.

Whenever I realize something, I write it down.  This is how I give it a form and shape.  I find it easier to tackle after it becomes visible, observable and describable.

Cherophobia:  aversion to happiness.  There is some of it within me.

I’m sure the universe will take care of it.  If this is something that should be kicked out of my belief system, then let the butt-kicker step forward.  I welcome him.  Or her…

End or Beginning

Happening1

Don’t know what’s happening
What will tomorrow bring
The birds keep on singing
As if loss was nothing

Let’s never forget
That birds have bird brains
Playing like a cassette
After a hurricane

My world falls apart
All my hopes are gone
There is no restart
Nothing to hang on

Why go to bed
Why even wake up
Just to eat bread
And later clean up

Sitting here waiting
What will happen next
Tired of thinking
Of me and my ex

Another beginning
Let’s start over
Don’t feel like dreaming
Why should I bother

Something will happen
I can’t imagine
That this is the end
I just need a friend

But please let it be
Not a love story
My heart is broken
And dead already

Life is a mystery
Death is my destiny
Whatever happens
Might make me happy

I Panicked

Bad Romance

When was the last time I panicked?

I think it’s when I imagined myself reconciling with my wife and then the two of us making love.

After I had this thought, there was a pain in my stomach.  I felt my guts twisting.  My intestines turned to mush and I had to run to the bathroom.  This is what happens when I panic.

I don’t quite understand because it was not a bad thought.  Maybe this shows how much our relationship has deteriorated.  Or maybe it shows how afraid I am of getting close to a person I don’t trust.

Is this what survivors of abuse call a trigger?

Who’s Your Pusher?

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Who is pushing you?

Who is pushing me?

I have been so used to being pushed, that the day it stopped, I felt something was wrong.  So I turned around to have a look at the person who had been pushing me all this time.

Who are you, pusher?

This reminds me of a post I published recently, entitled The Inciter.  Plus another one entitled Brave Submissive in which I wrote that I was going to report him/her.  I don’t think I reported this person yet.  I’m still afraid.  Why am I afraid to report him?

Let’s investigate my fear.

*sigh*

First of all I must ask myself:  Am I afraid of the pusher?  No.  The answer is no.  The pusher gives me what I need.  I like him.  Without him I’d be lost.  But then who am I afraid of?

See, he’s pushing me again!  He’s the one who asks me these unpleasant questions.  Always asking why I do the things I do, why I think the way I think, why I feel the way I feel.  He’s pushing me toward self-discovery.  But why does it trouble me?  Don’t I want to discover who I really am?

Yes, but today’s subject is the pusher himself.  It’s not about me this time, it’s about HIM!  Or her.  I don’t even know if he’s masculine or feminine!  Actually I do.  He/she is both.

Let’s start by giving him/her a more appropriate title, other than “pusher.”  This is where I become uncomfortable.  I don’t want to pronounce this title.  I hate the word.  But I have to say it.  It’s going to be the last word I type on this page.

Why do I hate the word?  Because it means everything and it means nothing.  That’s right, it’s such a meaningful and meaningless word.  Yet this word is his title.  It can be replaced by similar words which mean the same thing, but this one word is the shortest, simplest and truest of all.

God

Brave Submissive

I intend to report you.  Yes, this is what I’m going to do.  Since this is the only freedom I have left, I am going to take advantage of it fully.  Which reminds me, by the way, that you once said I was a reporter.  So this is what reporters do.  They report.  Then here is my first report.

I’m not angry.  Do I sound angry?  Maybe I am a little.  I don’t even know how I feel.  I’m shaky, I know that.  I feel like something is going to be released, finally.  My insides are trembling.  Nervous, that’s the word.  I feel nervous and I don’t even know why.

There is so much I want to say, I don’t even know where to start and I don’t even know who to address.  Who am I addressing?  You, the one I intend to report or the reader?  Both, because I’m making it public and I know you are reading it too.  You read everything I write.

Two reasons to be anxious:  you and the reader.  But first you.  The fact that you are letting me report you.  How bizarre.  Why does it feel so unsettling?  Because I’ve never spoken of you so overtly before.  You have been my secret for such a long time and I’ve only spoken of you enigmatically.

Now I’m about to speak of you very bluntly for the first time.  No more mystery.  No more poems.  No more parables.  Just the plain truth, as raw as it gets, even if I’m afraid of how it might come out.  I want to do it.

I need to do this.  The time has come.  No matter how hard it is and how much I shake and fear.  I’m tired of keeping it bottled up inside, it’s driving me insane.  Although I know I’m going to sound crazy to some.  I don’t care.  I’m not doing it for anyone else.  I’m doing it for my sake and probably yours too…  beloved goddess.

Nailed

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I must admit that I have been in denial most of my life.

What is it that you deny, Daemon?

It’s not an it, it’s a person.  I’m denying someone.  I’m denying my lover.

Why?

Because I’m afraid.

Afraid of what?

Of the consequences.

Which consequences?

Rejection.

Who would reject you?

My family.

Why would they reject you?

Because the love I have for you is forbidden.

Why is it forbidden?

Because we live in two different worlds.

So it’s a forbidden love.

Yes, there is a song by that name.

Sing it for me.

Just one kiss from your lips was all it took to seal the future.
Just one look from your eyes was like a certain kind of torture.
Just one touch from your hands was all it took to make me falter.
Just one smile on your face was all it took to change my fortune.
Just one word from your mouth was all I needed to be certain.
Forbidden lover, are we supposed to be together?
Have we sealed are destiny forever?

Daemon, how long will you remain in denial.

Am I in denial right now?

[smiles]

No mister… you are nailed!

My Secret

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I have a secret.  I’m not going to tell you what it is because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably have figured it out already.

I’m in love.  But I’m not going to tell you who the person is because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably know already.

I’m ashamed.  But I’m not going to tell you why because…  it’s a secret.  But if you have been reading my blog, you probably have an idea.

I’m not suggesting that you should read my blog.  I don’t want anyone to read my blog because…  it’s private.  But if you have been reading it, no damage was done.

No reader really knows who I am.  I have not given anyone I know access to my blog.  I could be your neighbor.  I could be a family member.  I could be your spouse.

I have a few secrets.  This blog is one of them.  It’s my private world, where I come to play with my thoughts, my emotions and my desires.  I play with people and I play with gods.  I play with mortals and I play with immortals.  I play with you.

I’m in love.  But I’m not going to tell you who he is because…  you don’t know her.  Unless you know yourself.  Then you know already.

I’m ashamed, because of my…  exposure.

I don’t know if I shall ever be willing to give up this fear within.  This fear of what would happen if they’d ever find out my secret.

Are secrets meant to remain hidden?  Apparently not.  Is this fear a friend, or is it an enemy?  Does fear come to haunt me or is it there to protect me?  I can’t tell you because I don’t know.

Meanwhile I will probably keep on writing, to relieve myself of this burden I carry.  A secret burden which is, paradoxically, light.  A load that opens up freedom within me.

They Come at Night

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I’m not afraid when they come during the day but when they come at night, it’s another story.

The scenario is the same — always the same, ever since I was a child.

I fall asleep peacefully and then suddenly, in the middle of the night, I sense them, all around me.  The fear builds up as I take a deep breath and then when they are just about to touch me, I force a scream out of my mouth, as loud as I can, and I wake up suddenly at the sound of my own voice.  Sometimes it wakes up my wife and I have to explain that there were some ghosts who tried to grab me.

I don’t know how many times this has happened, probably more than a hundred.  One time I woke up and I was standing in the middle of the room, about five feet away from my bed!  Now THAT was creepy.

More recently, for about four years now, they started coming but during the day.  I can handle that.  It’s quite awesome actually.  We have long discussions and they explain a lot of things to me.

When night comes, I feel secure, so I invite them to return and show me their faces in my dreams, because during the day I don’t see anything.  So I fall asleep with a huge smile on my face, but then suddenly, just after falling asleep, I feel them all around me and I scream to wake myself up.  Then I tell them to go away and leave me alone.

At first I thought that there were some good ones and some bad ones.  The good ones come during the day to communicate with me and the bad ones during the night to scare me.  I never invite the bad ones but then why do they come?

Today I read an interesting article on the subject which forces me to change my line of questioning.  I’m asking myself a new question:  “Why do I perceive the night visitors as bad?  They have never hurt me.  They come every time I invite them to do so.  Why do I freak out when they approach my body?”

I think it has to do with my upbringing and all the ghost movies I watched when I was a child.  Plus the fact that it’s dark at night.  Who’s not afraid of that, at least a little bit?

Now I scratch my head and wonder:  perhaps the ones who come at night are the same as the ones who come during the day.  The only difference is… my reaction.

Last night I tested my bravery.  I went to bed alone, took off my clothes, turned off the lights and lied on my back, on top of my bed, completely exposed and vulnerable.  I even kept my eyes open.  I relaxed, tuned off my thoughts and dropped my expectations.  Then I invited them to come… and I waited.

After a few minutes, while I kept staring at the dark, things started to move, literally.  The darkness was moving and changing colors and shapes started to form!  I watched for awhile, repeating to myself:  “Nothing bad is going to happen, nothing bad is going to happen…”  But things were moving faster and then shapes started to become more obvious and then… oh my fucking god, chills started going up and down all over my body and the fear just overwhelmed me.  I grabbed the blankets and covered myself, but I didn’t turn on the light.  I stopped staring at the darkness, turned around, closed my eyes and explained to them that perhaps I wasn’t quite ready yet for a face to face encounter.  I fell asleep and they didn’t bother me while I slept peacefully all through the night.

Tonight I should try to push a little farther and see what would happen if I kept staring at the darkness and actually let them touch me, if they can.

*gulp*