Being Human in Inhuman Places...

:smilewave

I am writing this from a small town in red state where there are more churches than coffee houses. I live with my family, my older brother and much older baby boomer parents. To describe my relationship with them, all you need to know is that I'm compelled to look over my shoulder every minute or so as I write this. I love them dearly, but I do not have an open, candid relationship with any one of them. There aren't outright lies and deception, so much as things about me they wouldn't love and will never know.

I can't become more of a human being by hurting them. They do, however, have a remarkable will not to believe. As such, I've allowed myself to be slightly more bold in my internal/online life.

And my immediate family is fairly liberal about this stuff--they're not even religious--and it breaks my heart to imagine what it must be like for those whose families aren't.

I am nearly 28 years old (I rounded down to January on my profile). My life seems indescribable in the sense that I'm expected to describe it here, and I'm certain that I seem like a surrealistically stilted and awkward person. For this aspect of my life, I'm much more comfortable implying rather than dealing with terms that are--for me at least--loaded with a lot of personal pain and shame.

I was born a man, and sort of always identified as one. A significant exception is how I react to other people on a very basic level of what I suppose you'd call 'animal magnetism'. As such, I couldn't understand the very basic emotions I felt towards boys, and what I didn't feel towards girls. It took me some time to figure out what it meant, and for awhile when I was about 12-15 I scared the crap out of my parents. Once, during a long, uncomfortable drive they thought to ask me, "Are you interested in girls?" To which, I replied, quite quickly, "Girls aren't interested in me."

I got the speech about 'those people' and how disappointing and devastating it would be for my parents if one of their kids turned out like that. At that age, and at that time in history, I was convinced that it would be even more painful for them than the outright death of a child. With only a few words, and a few sentences, my parents convinced me to torment myself for the rest of my life, having no idea the extent of they've done. Despite this, I still love them dearly, and all that I've done to myself over these years is out of love for them.

I got by my teenage years, and even most of my 20's, by believing that 'those people' were such by their deeds, not their feelings, and that someone who had the same emotions, but suppressed them, wasn't really 'one of them'. Of course, this meant having very little to do with other people. I didn't have male friends because I hated what I might feel towards them, and I didn't have female friends because I hated what I didn't feel towards them. It almost goes without saying that I have a fairly rich fantasy life.

The only way to make sure no-one ever knew, was to make sure no-one could ever know me. It was a complete scorched earth policy--having control no matter the cost because the alternative was unthinkable. I managed to avoid bullying because of this distance I put between myself and other people. For most of my life, I've been a quiet, aloof and distant 'people watcher'. Life was just something that happened to other people.

I forgot all about 'those people' and existed in a miserable, inhuman world. Then I got older, and I realized that I had lost almost all ability to relate to other people. I got into this weird romantic phase, and all I wanted to know was what love felt like. I know that what I've done to myself over these years means that I can't feel love coming from other people. However, I found out that I can be on giving side of love, and that I don't hate other people because of the things I hate in myself. Either I could whine and cry about how I'd never feel affection from others, or I could accept my own limitations and give and at least feel something somewhat human.

That said, I'm not sure if I even belong here. I don't have much hope of repairing myself as a person. All I can hope for is to make the guilt and the pain stop, and to carve out some tiny niche for myself in this world. The thought of there being young people out there like myself gives me a sense of mission in life. Because when I was there, at that age, there was no-one to tell me that life could get better, and that there was nothing wrong with me, and that I didn't even need to be forgiven because I didn't do anything wrong. Maybe if there was just ONE person who could have said those things to me, even if it were a complete stranger, then perhaps I wouldn't have become the emotional cripple I am today.

If a little bit of unkindness could cause that much damage, why couldn't a little bit of kindness undo it? I suppose I can't ever know.

Sorry if that seemed a little ranting and depression. I promise that I'm a much more normal-seeming person when I'm not talking about my own life and my own problems. I just had some stuff I needed to get off my chest, have a nice cry about it. Now I'm ready to try to be a part of this community to some extent, even though it's a little scary for me. (*hug*)

 

When I refer to "Red State" America I refer to the part of America that isn't part of the first world in terms of social and political attitudes. I am, unfortunately, stuck in this part of America for financial and personal reasons. As far as they're concerned here, 'those people' don't exist in this part of America. My people don't exist here.

It'd get a little crowded to quote everyone, so I'll just reply here:

Writing is just about the only thing that keeps me from going completely insane. Truth be told, though, I've sort of slipped behind in my extended project for sanity because of my paranoia. If I hadn't a few 'spooky' spells this summer where I just mentally broke, felt myself to be closer to death than I normally do, I would probably have kept to myself a lot more than I have. Even though I now have nightmares about people in my life finding me out for what I have written on this subject, I think the trade off is worth it, at least for now.

When you think you're about to die, even if it's just an irrational feeling, I think you start thinking about your 'story' and what you leave behind for others. I think, that if I died tomorrow there would be so much missing from my story. No-one would know why I was not part of the human race, why I was such a miserable, lonely person my entire life.

I find that contemplating death is much, much harder for me to do now, because now I know that there are things that I've got to feel, and places I've got to see, even if getting there kills me. I fantasize about just one moment when I am, completely, the person that I could have been always, if only things were different. Then I realize that so many people feel those things, and go to those places all the damn time, and I just about go completely mad with envy. Some people have these little fires in them, and it gets them through life. There's this passion for experience that I don't have.

My life is a good example of all the wrong things to do. My parents didn't do the right things, I didn't do the right things, non of the people in my life did the right things. I know that I'm a coward about all this, and that so many others have faced these trials with a far greater measure of courage than I could. I've paid the price for my cowardice, and at least my life could serve as a warning to others of the consequences of life lived without courage.

I feel robbed. Like someone just took the life I was supposed to live and stole it from me. That's true, I suppose. All I can really, honestly hope for is just one moment of what they've got, and if I can remember that clearly enough I could hold it in my mind and live out my days in that state.

 

The only people I trust, and nominally at that, are those I've found online. It's kind of discouraging that I have to search the whole globe to find someone I'm comfortable with. There's also the whole paranoia aspect of confiding to people in person to people who could then spill the beans on you or blackmail you or something. I'm such a paranoid, secretive person that people like to make CIA/NSA etc. jokes about me. I suspect that people imagine all kinds of nefarious explanations.

These days I feel like I'm simultaneously more depressed and less likely to seriously harm myself. If the pain from this is enough to push me over the edge, then I absolutely can't give in to because then it means that *they* have won. It's about more than just my personal pain now. I want to find a way to make those awful people lose, somehow, when it comes to my life, and many others as well.

I've been a lurker in places like this for a few months now. All-in-all, generally speaking, I believe that I have a lot in common with you guys. I've been sort of obsessed, actually, with 'slice of life' stories. I suppose I've been trying to figure out how you survive. From what I've read, it isn't just about 'coming out', although that helps sometimes. It's more about just not being alone with it anymore. (&&&)