Just a Man

Gud07

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?

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Nebulous Intimacy

Gud02

I don’t want to post, I want to talk. My mind needs stimulation. I need to interact with someone. I want an exchange of information to happen. Now. But I’m alone…

The Internet is the only connection I have so let’s see what I can do with it. I know there are people at the other end. I know that there is someone reading this at this moment.

I’m excited already. Crazy isn’t it? Two minutes ago I felt totally alone and separated from everyone, and now I feel a connection with a reader.

Hi, reader. How are you today? I’m good, probably because I’m doing what I love doing right now: writing and communicating intimately. But do not let the idea of intimacy frighten you away, please. I’m not going to have sex with you. Well not today anyway.

A one-on-one connection is an intimate connection. Something is going on right now between you and me. Admit it. When a writer writes and a reader reads, there is a transfer of information going on. Like the transfer of fluids between two lovers.

Maybe you are turned off by what I’m saying. I have no idea. I’m just typing words, you’re the one who fabricates images in your own mind. Do you like these images?

It’s interesting when I think that I have to power to provoque images in another person’s mind. It’s not mind control, it’s more like an intellectual influence.

It’s funny how the body reacts to thoughts. While I was typing the above paragraphs, there was a unexpected reaction in my body. I thought of telling you but I won’t.

I never expected our connection to be so explicit. It’s still quite early in the morning. But I enjoyed connecting with you. Now we have a relationship.

Ugly Humans

antisocial

I wish I could see how beautiful humans are, including myself.  Is it normal to find 99% of all people I meet ugly?  Never mind social media and photos.  I’m talking about real people, the ones we see on the street and meet face to face.  99% of them are ugly.

I wonder if it has anything to do with depression.  It seems that it was not like this before.  I used to find most people beautiful.  Now it seems that everyone is plain ugly.  Not pleasant to look at.  Their faces, the shape of their bodies, even their attitude.  I hardly see anything admirable in humans.

Animals are more beautiful than humans, have you noticed?  Or is it just me?  It’s very depressing and I don’t know where to find a cure for this.  Something must be wrong with my perception.  It can’t be okay to find 99% of the members of my own species ugly.

Maybe there’s something wrong with my vision.  Maybe I need new glasses.  Maybe I’m not human.  Hell, sometimes I even wish I was blind, then I wouldn’t have to look at all the ugliness around me.  Is there a drug that could help me?  How can I change my perception?

Comments are welcome.  I need help.  Thanks.

Looks Good

Yuck

“Good morning, good afternoon, good evening.  How are you?  Good!  That’s good to hear.  You look good.  Did you have a good time?  It’s a good day isn’t it?  Well it was good to see you.  Goodbye!”

Why does everything have to be good all the time?  How boring.  It makes me sick.  It’s so one-sided and unbalanced.

We hide everything that doesn’t look good and pretend it doesn’t exist:  our weaknesses, our garbage and our shit.  And then we say:  All is good.  But is it?

Nothing in this world is THAT good.  Get over it, people.

“Bad morning!  How are you?  Bad, and you?  Oh, just awful.  You look bad by the way.  Well, fuck you!  I thought the same thing when I saw you.  It’s a bad day isn’t it?  Oh, absolutely!  How are the kids?  Terrible!  That’s too bad.  Oh well, it was depressing to see you!  Badbye!”

Back to Blogging

After many months of non-blogging, I decided to start blogging again today. Is it because I have something useful to tell the world? No.

The few people who will actually take the time to read this will probably get nothing out of it. Then why make it public?

Because I don’t go out much and I have a need to get myself “out there.” I have a need for exposure. Blogging makes me feel that I am an active member of society. Ha! ha!

Why am I laughing?

The phrase “I am an active member of society” makes me laugh. Active. As if.

Does society want to witness my act? I know it wants my submission. It also wants my money. And yes, it probably wants me to act appropriately. But is this what I want to give out to society? No.

What I want to give to society is a piece of my mind. I don’t think society wants to hear it. Thus the reason why blogging exists. Whether or not anyone reads it, the act of blogging is a public act. The perfect medium for an introvert.

I’m not interested in acting. I just want to BE. And it seems that in this world, the only way to be accepted is to act well. How about being real?

If being true has become offensive, then today I declare myself an offensive person. Does that make me a terrorist? Probably.

They can come and kill me if they want. I don’t care. I care not to suffer but I don’t mind dying. I think I’ve seen pretty much all that this world has to offer anyway. So let us all gladly surrender and move on to something better.

A blank page offers the opportunity to start fresh. There are no limits to how many posts I can publish in one day (is there?). So let’s end this one right here and start again from scratch. Writing is unlimited. Today I shall blog.

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…

Let’s Party

party2

Another party?  Why?  What are we celebrating this time?

Why are you inviting so many people?  To be seen, heard and admired?  To laugh, eat, and drink?  To give and receive compliments?  To feel good?  To feel loved?  To feel secure?  To give purpose and meaning to your life?  To be happy?

Doesn’t your life have meaning and purpose already?  Don’t you feel secure, loved and good already?  Why do you need to hear compliments?  Is it because you feel worthless?  Why the need to drink so much?  Is it to feel uninhibited — because deep down you feel repressed, smothered and strangled?

Why so much food?  You can’t be that hungry — is it because you feel empty?  Why the need to joke and laugh so much?  Is it because you feel like crying?  Do all these friends around you make you feel better, acceptable perhaps?  Why do you feel unacceptable?  Did you do something unforgiveable?  Why do you need to be recognized, admired and praised?  Do you feel invisible, unimportant and ugly?

Is this party going to fix anything?  Maybe just temporarily…  Wouldn’t you like a more permanent solution to your problem?  Oh!  You don’t have a problem?  Sorry, miss Happy.  My mistake.  I must be crazy.

Okay then… let’s party.