152. More than a girlfriend

So, it's late, and I'm breaking my long LONG blog silence to post this thing I just wrote out.  I'm not sure if it's appropriate for this blog or not, but... I wrote it and I have nowhere else to put it, so it is going here... It's kind of raw and definitely unedited...I apologize in advance...

I've said it before… or blogged it before,  I guess… but you know what I want?  I want someone to care…to really want to know about me.  To be curious about my life, for me to be a priority in their minds. 

I’m not entirely sure what it would feel like, honestly, but I imagine it would be awesome.  It would be amazing to have a conversation with someone where I wasn't the only one asking questions… where I would say something and there would be follow up questions because the person I am talking to actually wants to know more about me.  I seriously feel desperate for it.  I find myself saying things in conversations on purpose to invite questions (which I know is passive aggressive, so I try not to do it, but sometimes I can’t help it. I just really want to feel someone’s interest), and no one asks,.  Or they ask, and I get one or two sentences in describing whatever it is I want to talk about and then they start talking about themselves.  And I revert to my usual status of listening, and asking questions and follow up questions and giving my opinion on their lives. 

It’s been a lifelong thing, really… my mother doesn't know me.  Not really.  It’s evident in her gifts to me which in no way reflect any knowledge of who I am.  Seriously, she buys herself something and then just buys another one and gives the second one to me.  So I have hats and pots and books that are just doubles of what are in her house.  And I have so many memories of trying to actually tell her about something in my life, a story from work or something, and I will be saying something and all of a sudden she will say “Sorry, I wasn't listening… what were you saying?”… which will deflate me, and now I don’t want to tell her, but I will… and I can see her using all of her energy to try and pay attention to something she clearly doesn't care about.  It hurts.  Oh, and then there’s the times I've actually argued with her about who I was.  I remember when I was in middle school and the whole introvert/extrovert, Myers-Briggs test was sort of becoming popular.  I remember asking her and her friends who were talking about it one night what it all meant, and I listened to their descriptions and said “oh, okay… I think I’m an introvert…” and having all of these people, including my mother argue with me and insist that I was an extrovert.  None of them would take my word for it, it drove me crazy.  My mother to this day doesn't think I’m an introvert, but that’s partially because she thinks there’s something wrong with introverts.  She would never say that specifically, but she has said stuff like “wanting to be alone, there’s something wrong with that…” so you know, that’s exactly what she’s saying, she just doesn't know she’s saying it. 

I’ve been kind of exploding with this recently.  Stupid things like… I've been reading a lot of books about history lately, and the other day I went out for dinner with a friend of mine and wanted to talk about this book I read with her.  So I did.  And the next week we were making plans again to hang out, and she actually said to me “I want to go for dinner, but not if you’re going to talk about that history stuff again…” and I was… hurt.  Of course.  I mean, I get that not everything that’s interesting to me is going to be interesting to everyone around me, but well…a)that was rude, and b)I can’t tell you how many conversations I've had with friends talking about things that are not interesting to me, but are important to them, and because my friends are important to me I listen and care about it.    Case in point, I went for dinner with this friend again, and we spent the entire meal talking about her work.  Not exactly something that would be of interest to me,  but I listened and engaged because she is my friend.  I've listened to my friends talk about their boyfriend/girlfriend issues till I was blue in the face.   When one of my best friends had her kids, I listened to and engaged in endless conversations about sleep training and potty training… not exactly riveting stuff, but stuff that was obviously important to her, and consuming her thoughts at the time.  I try to have one conversation about history and apparently I've crossed a line? 

Okay, so that was extreme, I know… most of my friends aren't that rude.  They just… are obviously not interested.  I say something and they don’t engage and I either continue and feel really awkward or I  eventually just fade out and start asking them questions about their life that they want to talk about.  Am I just so fucking boring? Or is it just a lack of confidence on my part?  I remember once asking someone how they talked in group settings.  Cause I find it really hard.  I start to talk and people just talk over me.  I've been told by people the trick is to just keep talking, but when I do that a)I feel horrible and b)it doesn't work.  People just keep talking over me and no one pays attention. 

I can’t change who I am entirely, I’m not going to figure out the answer and become a master of self confidence, and learn how to command attention.  I don’t really want that anyway… I don’t really like being the center of attention.  But I would just like to feel that there is one person who cares about what is going on in my head.  Who I could sit there and talk about sleep training or potty training, or what would be the equivalent in my life – a curriculum change at my school, the latest book I've read on the Taiping Revolution,  my thoughts about my coworkers… and this person would care enough about me to actually engage in a conversation (a two way conversation…not one where I just talk and they don’t participate…) with me about it. 

So… I would love to have a girlfriend… I would… but more than that, I just want someone… someone who wants to know me.  Is this selfish? Probably… maybe… And it’s definitely late at night, and I’m definitely feeling super emotional.  And I know that writing this post is prompted by the fact that I have tried to have a conversation today with three different friends about something weird that happened to me yesterday and I just can find anyone who has the time to listen.  And maybe they are legitimately busy or whatever… but still… it shouldn't be impossible for me to have this one bloody conversation… I should be able to find someone to talk to.  It’s not a desperate situation, I’m not needing to talk about something life or death, I just want to talk about this weird thing that happened… and there is no one… I have no one that I can turn to who I feel I can trust will reliably be there to listen to me, and to actually care to hear what I have to say.  That’s what I want.  More than a girlfriend right now, that’s what I want…

151. I needed that...

I went to church tonight after having not been for a few weeks.  I was holding back tears almost from the minute I walked in.  Hadn't realized how much I needed it. 

It was an interesting service, the 'sermon' (if I can call it that... it was more of a talk) was about coming out as a sacrament. 

Oh, in case you are wondering, I have found a gay friendly church in Seoul... so yeah, coming out as a sacrament.

The guy who was speaking talked about how he had judged himself, and who God had made him to be as wrong, and as not good enough, and coming out for him meant more than just telling people that he was gay, it meant coming out of condemnation, out of self hatred and self judgement and coming into love, and knowing he was loved and valued. 

I've had a rough couple of weeks, I don't want to get into it really, cause most of the time I'm fine, but when I'm alone it's hard to keep my thoughts from going dark.  Not suicidal or anything, just... well, not happy thoughts. So, this sermon got me thinking about coming out in a new way... coming out of anything I feel shame about... I don't know if I can do it, honestly, but it's an interesting thought.



On a completely different note, I heard someone say something interesting this week that has been bouncing around my brain ever since, it's just so very true and so very relevant to my life.  Here it is:  You can think your comfort zone is a horrible place, and still be comfortable there.

150. Is it just me?

I’m just curious…

When I was around 10, through a weird series of circumstances involving a very unusual fall, doctors discovered that there was something amiss with my muscles.  In order to narrow down what it was they did a test that involved sticking needles deep into my muscle tissue, moving them around, and listening to the sounds the tissue made as it tore.

Sounds painful, right?  …it was.

Now, the test didn’t really yield any results, I was borderline abnormal, so they basically told me I have a minor muscle disorder that somewhat limits the amount of physical activity I can engage in… but that’s it really. 

When I was 20, my mother talked me into having the test done again, just to see what was happening.  (My mother tends to always see the worst case scenario, and had somehow convinced herself that the doctors had told her I had a degenerative disorder, which frightened me a little because up until then, no one had said anything like that to me at all.)  So, I went in for the test again.  This time, though, I knew what I was in for… I knew that they would be jabbing needles deep into my calf muscles and purposely tearing my muscle tissue.  I spent the days leading up to it trying very hard not to think about it, but… well, that’s like trying not to think about ... oh, I don't know... ice cream.  See... you’re thinking about ice cream now, aren’t you?  It doesn’t work.

So when the day of the test came, I went in and the doctors could tell I was nervous and they asked me why, so I told them… They assured me that it wouldn’t be that bad, I had been a little kid when I got the test the first time, so my memory of the pain was probably worse than it actually was, and besides, this was 10 years later, the needles would be smaller, the test would be shorter… it would be better.  They promised.

So I tried to relax as they dug the needles into my muscles, took some deep breaths, thought calm thoughts… and then the needles began to move and it was… horrible.  Worse than I remembered it being the first time.  I lay there, on the bed, trying not to cry, and somehow feeling both the pain I was actually feeling, and the pain I had felt as a little girl getting this test.

You’d think that would be it, right?  I got the results, they were the same as before so why on earth would I ever go through that again?

Well, once again it was my mother, and once again it was her weird tendency to always see the worst possible outcome.  She had been with me for both of these tests and had listened as the doctors explained the results, and yet once again, about 10 years later, she was absolutely convinced that the doctors believed I had something that would land me in a wheelchair at some point.  In fact, this time she had the names of various disorders that she believed the doctors had been hinting at.  The fact that the second round of testing had occurred when I was legally an adult meant that no doctor should have said anything to my mother without me being there to hear it… but if you have read anything about my mother here (or have any personal knowledge of her) you can probably already guess what I’m about to say… it has happened to me on numerous occasions that my mother has somehow gotten access to information she shouldn’t have.  Doctors have given my mom my medical records (this has happened more than once since I have been an adult), banks have given my mom my financial information, and lawyers have discussed the details of our meetings with her… I don’t know how she does it, she just somehow convinces people to tell her things that they aren’t supposed to about me.  So… her absolute certainty about my medical situation after a while began to get to me.  Had the doctors told her something that they hadn’t told me?  After a few years of badgering I agreed to get the test again.

The problem was, of course, that I now had been through it twice and so I knew exactly how painful it was going to be, so once again I tried very hard not to think about it and once again I was completely unsuccessful.  The doctors once again tried to calm me down, but this time… I couldn’t stop myself from crying out in pain every time the needles moved.  It was so bad that the doctor actually refused to complete the test, saying he couldn’t continue torturing me for something that was basically a diagnostic test for a condition that wasn’t really all that bad and that there was no cure for so, yeah… that was the end of that.

Now, the medical part of this is not at all the point of why I am writing this down, but in case you are curious, my mother was wrong.  The third doctor took the time to go over all my medical records with me and yeah, it’s exactly what the first doctors said, a minor muscle disorder that limits me somewhat.  That’s all.  It won’t put me in a wheelchair, it’s not degenerative, it might be hereditary so if I ever have kids, I should probably have a biopsy… that’s it.

So, why did I write all that out?  Well, I’ve just been thinking about the nature of pain, both physical and emotional pain. Something happened recently that hurt me.  Badly.   Something I had entirely anticipated, it was in no way a shock, and it was not a new experience, but the intensity of the pain I felt did shock me.   I had known it was coming, but I had not expected to be completely knocked on my ass by it.  I’m somewhat recovered from, but I have started wondering if maybe the level of pain I felt was worsened by the fact that I knew it was coming, and that I knew what it was going to feel like. 

And well, that has also gotten me thinking about pleasure, and how that seems to work in the exact opposite way.  The most wonderful experiences are almost always surprises.  The first time I tasted Earl Grey Crème Brulee, my first glimpse of a canal in Venice, the first time my little sister said my name… the explosion of joy in those new experiences, can it be felt again?  Pleasure often seems to actually diminish the more an experience is repeated. 

Or… well, this is what I’m curious about… is it just me?  Is there something in me that magnifies pain and diminishes pleasure? 

149. Redacted

I'm trying to think if I've ever done this before... completely deleted a post I'd written... I don't think so. 

But I'm doing it now.  Writing things out often helps me process my thoughts, which was kind of why I started this blog in the first place, so I think I just needed to get my thoughts out of my head, but well, I'm not so sure they needed to be out on the internet so... sorry.

148. Unlearning

It’s so hard to unlearn bad habits.  Even when you think you’ve long since gotten over something, it’s so easy to slip right back into it. 

Growing up with my mom was a difficult thing… for many reasons.  Her and I are just incredibly different people.  One of the most surreal seasons of my life was the summer I spent living with my dad and realized how alike we were.  Totally flipped my perspective on the whole nature versus nurture thing.  One of the biggest differences between me and my mom is our basic personality types.  I lean quite heavily towards the introvert side of things, whereas my mother is all extrovert.  Enjoying being alone is just not something she understands at all.  Living with her as a teenager there were some rules that were just… well, very difficult for me to live with as a young, closeted (even to myself), introverted lesbian.  The biggest one was that I wasn’t allowed to close my door.  Ever.  I knew that there was no where in our home where I could be assured of some alone time.  At any given moment my mother was likely to walk in, without knocking (“family doesn’t knock” she snapped at me once when I asked her if she could do me that courtesy) and just sit on my bed and start talking.  It was maddening.  And totally frustrating because, as I said, I’m pretty introverted.  I need my alone time to feel sane.  And with my mother, to this day, I feel like I need to be “on” the entire time.  It’s exhausting.  So, I developed a bad habit. 

Well, it probably wasn’t a bad habit originally, it was just a survival technique.  I learned that once I was in bed, she would usually leave me alone.  And I mean, I had be lying down with the lights out… if I was reading a book and she could see my beside lamp on, she was likely to come in and want to talk.  So, I would say goodnight to her, turn off my light, leave my door open (yes, it had to be open at night too) and lay there… awake.  For hours.  Just… thinking. Being alone with my thoughts.  It, quite frankly, was often the best part of my day.  I honestly looked forward to it. 

Once I was out on my own it took me ages to realize I no longer needed to do that, I could take my alone time whenever I wanted and when it came time to go to bed, I could just… go to sleep.  I have tried for years to retrain my body to do that, and I’d say over the last decade or so I’ve done pretty well.  I can usually get to sleep within about 30 minutes of going to bed (I know for most people that’s a long time, but honestly, for me that’s nothing compared to the hours and hours I used to lay there).  The problem is, whenever anything of any significance happens to me, I slip right back into the bad habit I have worked so hard to break out of.  And it doesn’t have to be anything major.  A stimulating conversation, a crush, an idea for a story and suddenly I’m back to that old habit again.  I don’t need that time anymore, but I do it anyway, and it actually hurts me now because… well, I need my sleep.  When you look at the clock and it’s 3 AM and you realize you’ve been just thinking for the past 3 hours and you’ve only got 3 more before you have to get up… well, it’s a stupid habit, and I wish I could just stop.

So obviously, I’m writing this because I’ve been having a difficult week, sleep wise.  I’m exhausted, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing this night after night. 

That’s really all I have to say.  I know it’s not ‘blog theme relevant’, but it’s what’s going on right now.  So… yeah.

147. Korea again

So... yeah, it's been a while. And, as the title of this post indicates... I am in Korea. Again. I have decided to go back to school, and well, they generally want you to pay for that, so I've come here to save up some money. I always did plan to come back here, but life (ie: needing surgery and finding a job while waiting for said surgery) got in the way. So, here I am. And I have to say I'm loving it this time. Oh, I enjoyed myself last time, but so far this time is blowing it out of the water. I am in Seoul, instead of a suburb, so that has made a difference. I've already made friends outside of work, which is fantastic, and I've found a gay friendly church! If I get back in the swing of blogging I'll probably post more about that at some point. But for now I thought I'd post about something that happened to me the other day that one of my new friends thought would make a good blog post.
 
On Sunday night, I left church and was walking down the street in Itaewan (the foreigner ghetto of Seoul.) I decided to walk to one of the venders I had seen selling cell phone cases, I needed a new one, the one I got with my phone was pretty crappy. I started walking down the street and had the distinct feeling I was being followed. I was not exactly sure what to do, so I checked behind me a few times, but couldn't pick out who it was and just keep going, figuring I was in public and if anything happened I'd scream and people would hear me.

 Eventually the person following me caught up. I slowed down so he would have to keep walking, but well, he slowed down to and so I sped up. So did he. I gave up and returned to my regular pace. I could feel him looking at me, but I try to ignore him.

After about a minute of this he says "I like your look"

I say "thanks" without looking, I didn't want to be mean, but I was really not in the mood to even be flattered by this.

"Are you new to Korea?" He asks.

"Relatively" I reply, again, not looking.

 "Do you want to go somewhere?"

 "No thank you," this time I looked at him and stopped, gesturing for him to move on. He stopped too. I started walking again, he followed. I stopped again, he stops.

"Are you going somewhere?" He asks.

"I just want to buy a cell phone case, then go home."

"Where are you from?"

 I decided to just end this now. "I'm from Canada. And I'm a lesbian"

"Wow..." He says. I waited for him to walk away.

He didn't.

"Wow" he says again.

There's a moments silence then he says "Have you ever tried a man?"

I sigh. "Nope. Absolutely no desire to"

"It's only women you care about?"

"That's kind of what it means to be a lesbian."

"Wow, I can't believe I'm hearing this... "

"Yup," I say, "it happens."

"You're the second lady I hear this from"

 I nodded, "sorry"

"So, do you like that?"

I was confused, not sure what he was asking, "what?"

 "Do you like..." he made a weird gesture "...that?"

 Oh. "We'll, yeah..."

 "You don't want to try a man?"

 "Sorry. There's nothing you've going on down there I'm interested in"

"But a man can do everything a woman can do, and more."

"Really?"

"Yes!" emphatically.

"We'll then, maybe you should try that."

"What?"

"A man. I hear they can do everything a woman can do. And more."

"What?!? No... A man with a man? No!"

 "Well, if you don't want to try it, I guess I won't either."

At this point I was resigned to his presence and tried to change the subject, asking where he was from (Nigeria), how long he'd been here (1 1/2 years) and what he was doing (has his own business). He did not want to let this go though.

 "I would love the chance to change a lesbian..."

"Not gonna happen."
"No?"

 "Nope."

"But... The chance to make a lesbian see... "

"Seriously, you go try a man and come back and tell me how you feel about how that went and we'll talk then."

"Never! But to be with a lesbian..."

At this point we reached the cell phone vender and so I stopped. "Never gonna happen." I turned to the vender and told him what I was looking for and waved goodbye to the man over my shoulder. I checked a few seconds later and he was gone, about half a block down the street. And that's what just happened to me on Sunday evening.

146. After a Long Absence

So, it’s entirely possible that I’m PMSing, -- the fact that I found myself in tears while watching a clip from To Kill a Mockingbird yesterday makes that even more likely, but I’m still feeling…. well, I’m feeling feelings and so I want to express them. It’s late, so I can’t call anyone – I tried making a call to a different time zone but no one’s home out West, so here I am. Blogging. I haven’t done this in ages.

I recently discovered the show Once and Again. I will admit, my ‘discovery’ of the show was entirely motivated by the fact that I heard that there was a sweet lesbian storyline in it. So I found copies of it and began watching right from the beginning. It is a remarkably good show, actually. Well written, good pacing, well acted (for the most part). Everyone who talks about that show talks about Sela Ward – she’s the person I always pictured when I thought about this show before I started watching it, not that I thought about it much – but the person I’ve been most impressed with acting wise is Susanna Thompson. She’s pretty impressive. It took me a while to figure out where I knew her from, and actually I didn’t figure it out on my own. Thank goodness for IMDB – she played the Borg Queen on Voyager. It’s no wonder I couldn’t figure it out, she looked human!

Anyway… none of that is what has caused these… feelings. I just watched the ‘big gay episode’ and found myself in tears. It really was a very sweet episode, a sweet, well played out storyline. Not overly dramatic or preachy, just… sweet. That really is the best word for it. A sweet, teenage coming out story. And I’m sitting here on my couch, in tears because… damn, I wish I’d experienced some of that. Innocent first love that doesn’t carry with it all of the baggage that comes with being 36 (seriously, I’m 36 years old now. Fuck.) I mean, I can’t just ‘date’ now because at this age people expect any sort of dating to be serious.

I’m going to tell you (write to you?) something I’ve actually never told anyone. Ever. I think I could have had a girlfriend in high school. There was a girl I was friends with my last semester, and we became really close. She had a boyfriend at the time, and he hated me. Which was fine, I hated him too, he treated her really badly. But his hatred of me was so odd. I remember being quite certain he was jealous of me. I also remember him telling me more that once that he was pretty sure that she was a lesbian. That alone would mean nothing, but well… our friendship was really intense, and I have really vivid memories of these moments that, well, make no sense otherwise. I remember one night, she was over at my house visiting, and for some reason, we went outside and it started to rain slightly. We didn’t go in, for some reason we were standing in the middle of the road (it was late, there were no cars), and she began to walk in circles around me, and the circles would get smaller and smaller, and she wouldn’t break eye contact. By the end, the circles she walked were so tight; she would brush past my arms as she walked. In retrospect I can totally identify what I was feeling, but at the time… I remember this rising sense of panic, but it wasn’t a bad panic. It felt good. And I couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe, and my arms felt like they belonged to someone else, and my heart was beating so loud.

I honestly don’t remember what happened after that. We didn’t kiss, I know that. We didn’t even talk it. We didn’t talk about that, or any of the other oddly intense and intimate moments we shared.

That was, what… 17 years ago now? Wow. A long time ago. She and I are still friends. Really good friends. In fact, she was the friend I tried to call out West. She’s married now. To a woman. So her boyfriend wasn’t too off after all. Knowing what I know now, I’m glad we didn’t kiss… because she’s married to an awesome woman, I quite frankly couldn’t be happier for her. For both of them. She’s one of the most important people in my life, and if something had happened back then it is highly likely we wouldn’t be friends now (knowing her for as long as I have, and loving her dearly, I know that we would be disastrous as a couple, and would have crashed and burned pretty quickly, even without all the guilt and shame baggage I would have carried back then).

But… I can’t help wishing that things had been different. How different would my life have been if I had allowed myself to be me in high school, would I have dated? Would I have experienced that rite of passage most kids go through? Young love…

Or how about when I was in university? I was a member of our university’s Christian Fellowship… I was on the ‘poster committee’, which basically meant I hung up posters. I would always hang them up next to the posters for the “Womyn’s Group” meetings, so I could read them. That’s where I learned the word ‘questioning’, a word that I would use in my deepest, most private thoughts when I would try and figure out what was going on with me. They met on Friday nights, which was when our group met. Every week I would hang a poster next to theirs and hope that maybe they would have a meeting on a different night, but they never did. And I could never bring myself to skip our Fellowship nights. Besides, they were fun. But what if I had? Would I have met someone then? How different would my life be?

And because I’m being so honest here, part of what I’m thinking is that back then I looked so much better. Not only was I younger, I was a lot thinner (although if you would have asked me then I would have told you I was fat). Now… well, getting down to a weight that is even remotely acceptable is so overwhelming – one of the things no one really talks about when it comes to losing weight is that while you are doing it, you’re still fat. You can be working out 3 mornings a week, getting up at 5 AM to go to the gym, eating all the right foods, and your scale and your personal trainer (who costs a fortune, so much so that 2 years after you’ve stopped seeing him, you’re still recovering from all the money you spent on him) can all be super happy with your progress, you are losing weight in a healthy way at a healthy rate… but during that time, you are still fat. People still look at you and think ‘fat’. I know, I did all of that. Felt all good about myself, went on a few dates, and they went no where. I could see it in their eyes when they looked at me. They didn’t want to go out with a fat girl. It was so discouraging. I gave up.

Oh… I suppose I should tell you that since I’ve last written… oh so long ago, yes… I’ve been on a few dates. I’ve tried this online dating thing and well… I’ve given up. I’ve tried other… less than ideal sites to try and meet people and met someone on one of those sites that I went out with a few times. We even kissed. That, I must say, was lovely. Turns out I thoroughly enjoy kissing women. But, well… that fizzled out rather quickly. It was all sort of a blur.

Anyway… I’m no longer feeling that tight feeling in my throat, so this has done its job, I guess. I’m just stuck in a ‘what if’ loop. How would my life be different if I had been able to be authentically me back then? Would I be happier? Would I be healthier? I know I pretty much gave up on my body a long time ago because I just didn’t see the point, and now that I actually see the point I’m mad at myself for letting it all get this bad. Mad at life for being so unfair.

145. Oh, for a time machine!

AAARRRGGGHHH!

Okay, so I now want to go back in time and stop myself from ever having come out to my dad. And I’m sorry to anyone reading this because this blog has (for now) turned into the place I go to to vent about the aftermath. I’m writing this in the few minutes I have before work, and it is mostly venting so beware… rambling, incoherent post ahead…

First things first, I spoke to my dad the other night to once again ask him to stop discussing things with my mom because it is causing me problems, and he basically said no. He told me he’s trying to help me by forcing my mom to face the issue and ‘accept the possibility that this will not change’. Which is something I could actually understand and appreciate if the fallout for that in any way fell on him. Which, to be fair, it sort of is, but of course, most of it is landing directly on my head. I still think he has more of a problem with my being gay than he’s willing to admit to me, but I do think he thinks he’s helping. And maybe in the long run he is but for right now it’s hell.

Last week, on Thursday night my mom called me to tell me about a Christian retreat weekend that was happening in Northern Ontario that… well, basically ‘featured’ the ‘breaker annointing’. I have to say that the way she talks about spiritual things just sounds kind of insane to me sometimes. Like they’d booked a specific manifestation of the Holy Spirit which will be coming on Saturday morning between 10 and 12 or something. It’s all so… limiting. Anyway, I didn’t go, honestly not because of wanting to avoid going because we all know I’ll go to one of these things eventually, just to shut her up but because it was such short notice all it did was make me feel stressed about losing my weekend. Well, this morning she called me to give me notice about how last weekend was so good that they are doing it again this weekend. The thing is, this weekend is completely full for me… actually, this whole week. I’m tutoring tonight (Tuesday) and Thursday night, going to someone’s house for dinner on Wednesday night, Friday night is an Ani Difranco concert in Montreal, Saturday night I’ve got plans with a friend and then I’m babysitting, Sunday afternoon I’m getting together with an old pastor of mine and Sunday night I’ve got my book club. I’m full. So I can’t go. Well, first of all she doesn’t believe me that I’m going to Montreal by myself… I’m not even sure she believes I’m going. She thinks I’m avoiding her because I’m ‘hanging out with all my gay friends’… which is kind if sadly hilarious because I don’t really have any gay friends in Ottawa… I know 2 gay guys here, but I haven’t seen them for ages! I should really give them a call, actually, they are really nice guys! She tells me that she has been talking to my dad (a lot) and he is “really concerned” that I’m “running headlong into something” that I don’t understand… which again, is kind of hilarious to anyone who has been regularly reading this blog or knows me… I have been insanely slow and plodding with how I have been thinking about living out my life as a gay Christian. She wants me to go to this weekend because “there were women there who were delivered of things similar to what you suffer with” (“suffer with????” I don’t have a disease!). Which is revealing because last week she told me that it she wasn’t asking me to go to deal with the gay thing, but to deal with issues of shame and rejection that she thinks I have (and I probably do have to some degree, if I’m honest), but of course, that’s not what she really wanted.

I called dad right after I hung up with her to ask him point blank if he has a problem with my being gay because my mom keeps using him in her conversations with me to bolster her arguments and he told me that he doesn’t, that he never tells my mom that he ‘doesn’t like this about me’, but he’s not an expert and is still trying to process this, which I do have to give him leeway to do, of course, but I wish he wouldn’t do it with my mom because she uses everything he says against me. He did tell her that it would be a good idea for me to go to this weekend if only to somehow reinforce my beliefs on this issue, which is again, something I can understand him saying, but is irritating because I have been dealing with this for most of my life and at this point don’t feel the need to go and have some people attempt to ‘deliver’ me of my homosexuality in order to prove to myself that I’m really gay. And of course, my mom didn’t mention his reasoning, just that he wanted me to go.

She still doesn’t believe that I’m going to the concert by myself – now she’s latching onto the fact that I said “I’ve already bought tickets” – plural instead of singular… but isn’t that just how that is said? I don’t know, that’s how I say it… ‘I’ve got tickets to Ani Difranco’… whatever, I don’t care what she believes at this point, which I told her and made her angry once again.

I tried to convey to my dad that if he is trying to help then he needs to be careful what he says to my mom, but I don’t know that that is going to be possible, because, as he said “she’s bothering me more about this than you, I can guarantee you that…”, which is probably true. She hasn’t been able to talk to her friends about this since she first found out because she’s so ashamed, and dad already knows, plus she believes he shares some of the ‘blame’ so she doesn’t feel so ashamed talking to him about it. Plus she probably wants to prove to him that she is doing all she can, which is why this renewed level of conversation on this issue. So I don’t know how well he will be able to monitor what he says to her in light of how it will help/harm me. And as I know from experience, she will keep talking and talking and talking until you say something that sounds like what she wants to hear and then use that. I so so wish I could undo this. It’s driving me nuts.

144. And again...

Okay, it’s just getting bloody ridiculous now. Apparently, my dad has now told my mother about the ‘gay conference’ I went to (when I corrected my mother on that one – “It was a gay CHRISTIAN conference…” her response was “What’s a gay Christian conference? How does that work?”). He just can’t seem to help himself when it comes to telling her stuff. And the thing is, I hadn’t even told him about the conference, I told my sisters and apparently he read it in an email I’d sent them. One of two things is happening here –

1: He simply does not realize what he’s doing and how difficult he is making my life when he tells my mother things like this or

2: He is not okay with my being gay, but doesn’t want to admit it so he’s telling my mom so she can be the ‘bad guy’ in this.

So this conversation was… was… ugh. Well first, I admittedly did not really go into detail in explaining the conference to her – I said it was just a conference, with speakers and workshops and stuff. I don’t’ really know why I didn’t want to tell her about it, I just didn’t. The conversation went on from there to her fear that I’m being ‘given over to a reprobate mind’ and how ‘Scripture is so clear on this’… This part went on for a while, and I did try to bring up some of the Side A (pro-gay relationships) arguments, but once again, I didn’t put a lot of effort behind them because I knew she really wasn’t hearing me… I knew everything I was saying was being filtered through her “fear-my-daughter-is-being-deceived” glasses, so there really was no point.

But then the conversation just got unpleasant. It began with “Do you believe the body was designed with purpose?” I thought I knew what was coming, I thought it was going to be an argument based on procreation, but no… she started talking about 40 year old gay men who have to wear diapers and bowel cancer and ‘other diseases that it’s just not politically correct to talk about now’. I know she worked with a whole bunch of gay men when we lived in Winnipeg and apparently they were all in diapers (I only have her word to go on, which is not the most reliable, she’s constantly insisting that I have said or done things that I have absolutely no recollection of doing, but I don’t think she’s deliberately lying about this… maybe one of them was in diapers, or maybe they joked about it or something, I don’t know). Her exact words after this whole disgusting diatribe were “if this were within God’s design, why would our body rebel?” And the thing is, even if this is true (which I don’t believe, I know gay men in their 40s, their 50s… etc…, they aren’t in diapers, nor do they have unpleasant ass-cancers or whatever) I have an argument for it… Deaf people use their hands to talk… this is not what hands were designed for, we were designed to communicate using vocal speech, so deaf people communicate in a way that is contrary to God’s design… and occasionally their bodies 'rebel' (to use my mother's word). Some deaf people suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome as a result of using sign language. It’s a horrible thing, and yet, I don’t think anyone in their right mind would see that as God’s judgment on deaf people for using their hands to speak instead of their voices. Oh, and then there’s bladder infections. I have only recently learned about these insidious things… many straight women get bladder infections from sex… not sex with multiple partners, extra-marital sex or any other specifically sinful sex… but just sex in general. A married woman who waited until marriage and has only had sex with her husband can be susceptible to bladder infections as a result of her entirely moral sex. Is this the body rebelling against something that is universally accepted to be within God’s design? (My mother’s response to that one was “gay men get diseases, not infections… it’s a whole different scale…”, I didn’t bring up the deaf thing, which I should have, my mother spent a huge part of her working life as a sign language interpreter and knew several people who suffered from carpal tunnel syndrome, both deaf people and interpreters).

Anyway, the conversation ended with her reiterating her fear of my being deceived and how this battle is in my mind and the mind is a sacred thing and… I dunno, it turned into word salad by the end, she was making very little sense.

So, I’ve somehow got to crack down on my dad talking to my mom about this. I’ve just gotten off the phone with one of my sisters asking her to not tell dad everything I tell them and please get him to stop talking to her about this. It isn’t helping.

143. Another Followup...

Well, I just had the follow up conversation with my mother – hung up the phone about 2 minutes ago. So this isn’t going to be a well thought out post, I’m just going to sort of summarize the conversation.

First of all, apparently my dad doesn’t think I’m “really” gay, he thinks I’ve somehow talked myself into it… which is an odd thing to say, honestly. I’m not entirely sure where that comes from, unless my dad thinks, like my mom, that I’ve somehow become gay due to never having been with a man. He also feels that his absence has something to do with it, which of course lines up with the freudian ‘psychology’ that many of the ex-gay therapists cling to. And actually, one of the reasons I didn’t want to tell dad was that I was afraid he would blame himself for it, and I’m oddly protective of him.

She went on to say that God is ‘shining His light on me for good, no matter what I choose’. Which was hopeful at first, but then at the end of the conversation she repeated the first part of that sentence as “God is shining his light on this and enough is enough.” So… yeah.

She thinks the underlying cause is a ‘wound’ or ‘rejection and shame’ which as to do partly with the abuse I suffered as a child (again, lining up with the ex-gay therapists on that one) and some wounding I encountered in the womb. I’m not making that up. Apparently she had a dream about me when she was pregnant with me in which she was running around town in Bermuda doing things and I began to cry because I was hungry and she said she was busy and so I said “that’s okay mommy, I will wait”. And that’s what I was like as a child… seriously, on all my report cards, the one comment that is always there is that I was incredibly patient. And she used to think that that was a good thing, but now she thinks it is a character flaw, that I internalized some sort of shame and feeling of unworthiness which is why I’ve always been willing to wait or put the needs of others first, and that this feeling of unworthiness stems from being conceived out of wedlock and her having to hide her pregnancy in order to keep her job… so she feels I need to deal with that core issue and that healing will progress from there. Apparantly she has spoken to people about me and they have offered to counsel me for free.

She is also definitely of the camp that believes that homosexuality revolves around sex… several times in the conversation she said “I know it isn’t all about sex, but so much of it is” and so she’s afraid of me pursuing a relationship with a woman because she doesn’t know what I’ll run into. She feels that much of homosexuality is ‘soul wounding’, but some of it is just ‘really nasty’. She then went on to talk about some people I knew growing up and their ‘struggles with this’ and well, that part was just weird for me because these were grownups I knew when I was a kid, so hearing about them in this was just… well, weird is the only word I can think of.

Oh, and she brought up that lovely counsellor we had who’s last words to her were about how concerned she was for me if I went into a ‘gay lifestyle’ because ‘those people’ will ‘chew you up and spit you out’… I knew that was going to come back. So frustrating.

She told me ‘people do get over this’, which was… not surprising to hear from her… I did not want to get into a conversation with her about the validity of ex-gay counselling and the claims they make. I knew that would only lead to an argument.

Out of the blue (to me at least) she brought up the prayer of Jabez (which was incredibly popular in Christian circles a few years ago) and told me she wants me to pray that over myself in the context of protecting me from harm in this area.

I didn’t say much in this conversation because I really didn’t know what to say, and did not want it to turn into an argument. She once again told me I was her ‘precious daughter’ and that she is proud of me because I’ve ‘worked so hard’…. I honestly don’t know what she was referring to there, but I didn’t ask because by that point I just wanted to be off of the phone.

It was pretty clear as the conversation went on that dad had told her I was dating… he did overstate it I think, because my mom seemed to think that I was sort of out there dating right now, which is so very not the case.

Anyway, the conversation is now over and I am hoping we don’t end up having those conversations all the time. But, it wasn’t horrible so, I guess I’m okay…

142. Shoulda seen that coming...

Well… crap.

So, I wanted to believe that my sisters were right and that if I asked Dad not to talk to mom about me being gay that he wouldn’t… but if I’m honest, I really didn’t believe it. They may have grown up with Dad and know him better than I do in many ways, but when it comes to my mother, I can pretty much predict what he’s going to do. I’m not exactly sure how much he told her – like if he just told her I had come out to him, or if he told her I had started to date – the former being bad enough as my mom has explicitly told me not to tell people, but the latter… ugh, I don’t want to think about the conversations that that will induce. My dad, of course, just doesn’t get it, having not been here to witness my mom and I’s relationship… I know he’s managed to keep some secrets about my sisters from my stepmother at my sisters’ behest, but that is likely because he knows exactly how crazy she can get, whereas my mother is this distant entity.

Anyway… mom and I spoke last night, mostly about our respective Christmas holidays (she spent hers in Mexico), and at the end she mentioned having spoken to my dad and that he had ‘shared’ with her what I had ‘shared’ with him (the use of the word ‘shared’ both upsets and amuses me… I can’t exactly pinpoint why). She then told me she was up in Northern Ontario on a ‘personal retreat’ in order to pray for her family (which – and I think I’m not being to egocentric here – I think means mostly me), and asked me if I had talked to anyone at my church about this. I told her I had (which she knows from before but had forgotten). She asked me what they think and I told her that they mostly focused on my relationship with God… she then went into this long story about this man that she believes God told her she’s going to marry and how when she first heard this message from God 10 years ago she didn’t like the guy at all, but recently she has found she really likes him so “God is well able to change my feelings”… which I believe, honestly… I believe God could make me sprout wings if He wanted to -- I just don't believe anymore that He wants to. Then there was mention of a story from my childhood that I think I’ve mentioned before (I’d search and hyperlink to it, but I really don’t feel like it) about how I ‘willingly gave up a smurf toy because it was ungodly (my mom believed the smurfs were demonic and so I wasn’t allowed to watch the show, still haven’t seen a full episode – I find it annoying now) and that shows that I’ve always been willing to give things up that weren’t of God (I didn’t feel the need to mention that giving up that smurf toy wasn’t much of a sacrifice because I’d never seen the show and therefore had no attachment to the show)(um… not that I’m not willing to give up things that are not of God, it’s just that that particular story doesn’t have the resonance that my mother thinks it does).

Well, she ended that conversation asking me if I had anything I wanted to say to her, to which I responded “no” and resisted the urge to add “I didn’t want to talk to you about this in the first place.” She told me that I will always be her ‘precious daughter’ and that was that. Relatively painless (I’ve mentioned before, it always goes better when she comes across my gayness by accident than if I initiate a conversation about it. It’s a pretty consistent pattern.) But tonight I had a message on my phone from her saying that she doesn’t want me to think she’s taking this lightly, she knows I’ve been through a lot but we ‘need to talk about this.’ I did call her back, but got no answer, and was very glad of that. Not looking forward to that conversation, I have to say. Really wishing my dad had kept his mouth shut. I know it’s kind of cowardly to not want to face this, but I just don’t want to be dealing with this right now. I had sort of decided I wouldn’t have another conversation about being gay (not that I would lie, if she asked, I planned to be honest, but I just wasn’t going to bring it up) with my mom unless/until I was in a serious relationship. I figured the relationship would give me the courage to stand my ground in any conversation with my mom… or at least, it would help to give me courage. I don’t exactly know how those things work.

In other completely unrelated news, I went to the GCN conference in Nashville… had a fantabulous time… managed to ‘win’ a game of Transamerica (I put that in quotes because I’m pretty sure the game could have officially gone on for a few more rounds, but someone suggested ending it, and I was winning so I heartily agreed.) I hung out with people I love who I don’t get to see nearly enough. I heard inspiring and challenging speakers. I worshiped in a community of Believers…. All in all it was a wonderful time. To all my new and old GCN friends who happen to be reading this, I miss you all!

141. Follow up...

Well, I’m in the airport in Philly, waiting for my flight to Ottawa. I had a wonderful time in Bermuda… spending time with my sisters, my dad, and my Bermuda family. I’m a little sad right now, but it is an expected sort of sadness, I miss them, that’s all.

So, I thought I’d use my 4 hour layover to update on my recent blog posts… man, I’ve posted a lot recently. What’s up with that? Sadly, there’s no free wifi in this airport, so I probably won’t post this until tomorrow, but hey, you’ll just have to get over that.

First, I did not manage to get together with my gay relatives. I called them on Boxing day, and it turned out the brother was leaving the next day… I never did get to speak with the sister, but I heard via an Aunt that she had tried to call be back but had lost my number. Oh well. It was a nice idea. Maybe next time.

In more significant news, I did come out to my dad. We were alone in the car and he brought up the subject of ‘this boy/girl thing’ (his actual words), trying to encourage me that it would happen one day, not to get anxious about it. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, I somehow ended up talking about my friend in Scotland, who is gay, and my dad made the very true, but odd observation that ‘gay people are people too’… I’m really not sure why he felt the need to say that, it was a bit bizarre. I decided to come out at that point, and started to brace myself… took a deep breath, opened my mouth and… loud reggae music interrupted us (preparations for the New Years Eve celebration in town)… that has happened to me many times. I’m about to tell someone I’m gay, literally, my mouth is open, the words are about to come out and something loud interrupts. It’s odd. Anyway, I had to steel myself again, and waited until we were out of earshot of the reggae music and opened my mouth and said it – “Dad, I should tell you something… I’m gay.” There was silence from him, and then… laughter. I think he really didn’t know what to do, and so that was his response. He did that a lot. He didn’t react badly at all, he did ask the question I find so annoying because really, it’s just a ridiculous question… the ‘how do you know?’ (which he worded ‘and what makes you feel that way?’)… but I understand I guess. He asked me if I had a ‘friend’, to which I said no, but told him about the few dates I’ve been on (which made him laugh again). He seemed mostly concerned with how my mother has reacted, wondering if we have fought about it a lot and how she feels about it. He seemed to be preparing himself for a conversation with her (which I have tried to discourage, and have enlisted my sisters as my allies in… I think having my dad talk to my mom about this will only enrage her and bring a whole mess of stuff down on my head that I may have to deal with if I ever end up in a relationship, but is completely unnecessary right now). He also told me to be careful with letting my employers know (which is just old-school-Bermudian… I let it go, because I don’t think he’ll fully believe that honestly, it’s not really a problem in Canada… at for the most part.) and to be careful ‘going into those places where people like you meet’. That one I tried to explain to him… first of all, I’m not really a ‘hang out in bars’ person, wouldn’t be if I were straight either, and besides ‘those places’ aren’t the dingy, back-alley bars that they have to be in countries where people are forced to hide. All in all, it was a good conversation, I think. I hope he’s okay. I’ll be checking in with my sisters to see what he says to them about it.

Well, that’s it… I’ve killed maybe half an hour writing this out so… now to wait for my plane to start boarding. Happy New Year all!

140. To tell, or not to tell...

So, I had a ‘sister-bonding’ day today… it was awesome. At least I think so. I think my youngest sister might have been bored after a while, which I suppose is understandable. I mean, I was delighted with the ‘let’s just sit around and talk for 6 or 7 hours’ plans we had, but she is 17 and so I can understand how she might have gotten a bit bored with the fact that we didn’t ‘do’ anything. And I admit to being rather annoyed by the fact that our one planned activity (we were going to go and see Avatar – which is playing in Bermuda! In 3D!!?!) didn’t end up happening because Dad just didn’t believe me that we’d have to be there early in order to get tickets. By the time we got there, not only was it sold out, people were lined up to buy tickets for tomorrow and later on this week. Oh well. It was a great day for me otherwise.

One thing, of course, did come up… they very much want me to come out to my (our) dad. The older of my younger sisters says it gets hard keeping this secret, which I can understand I guess. She says dad talks about me and blames himself for the fact that I don’t have a boyfriend. He says things like that he wasn’t there to tell me I was beautiful and so I don’t believe a man could love me and that’s why I haven’t had a boyfriend all these years. If I’m completely honest – and why bother with blogging if I’m not going to be honest – there’s a certain level of satisfaction in hearing that. Oh, don’t worry, it’s not like I ‘blame’ him for my being gay, but I am kind of upset about some of the stuff he’s said to me over the years. For the most part, I am very protective of my dad and what people think about him, so I don’t even like to say these sorts of things, because I don’t like the idea of people thinking bad things about him (I don’t know exactly why I’m like that… it doesn’t really make sense given our history), he has been somewhat hurtful over the years. Oh, not intentionally, but he has said things that have stuck with me and hurt a lot… in reference to my appearance mostly. The worst of which was that he was glad I was intelligent because ‘it compensated’. That was a long time ago… 20 years ago or so, and thinking about it still makes my throat get tight… and apparently makes me well up with tears because that’s what just happened as I typed that out.

So, yeah… as much as I don’t like to think that I’m a vindictive person, part of me is glad that he feels some remorse over the way he dealt with my appearance. I wish I didn’t feel like that, but I do.

Oh, and then there’s the sex stuff. Ugh… my dad is obsessed with sex. Oh, I don’t mean that in a creepy way, but he sees sex as this huge benchmark or something…. for example, at one of those shameful/awkward family gatherings I mentioned in my last post he was talking with my cousin (his niece) about her son and how mature he’s getting, and my dad’s comment, to underscore how grown up this boy was, was “…and I bet he’s even had sex”… as if that is the way to prove that this kid is now a man. I’m honestly not a prude… at all. Sex talk doesn’t make me uncomfortable, really, it doesn’t (usually... ) but so many of dad’s conversations with people end up being about sex. He does seem to think that if sex isn’t a part of your life then you don’t really belong. I remember trying to explain to him years ago about the whole ‘waiting until marriage’ thing, but he actually doesn’t believe that it happens. I told him about friends of mine who waited and he actually said to me “oh, they were just saying that to you, one day they’ll tell you the truth…” If I remember correctly, that was the same conversation where he tried to explain to me how men don’t know if they are in love until they’ve slept with a woman… ugh. Okay, I’ll stop going on about this now, it’s upsetting.

Anyway, like I said, my sisters want me to tell him, the older one thinks he’ll be relieved and stop blaming himself… I don’t know if I’ll do it. The idea makes me nervous… physically. My stomach gets all tight. And the thing is, I’m not even sure that it would help… he might just start blaming himself for my being gay. I know my mother blames him for a large portion of it – I know, I know… it’s ridiculous and insane pop-freudian-psychology, but I can see him thinking that very easily… especially if he decides to talk to my mother about it, which is something I can also see happening very easily. That’s actually one of the reasons I don’t want to tell him… I don’t want him and my mom discussing me being gay… my mom would be incredibly upset, she doesn’t want me telling anyone, and my telling my dad would be a huge blow to her, because it would make it so real… plus I’ve never really done that with her, sit her down and tell her. She keeps finding out. Oh, I’ve told her, but never as an intentional thing, just as a response to her suddenly ‘not remembering’ that I’m gay. I don’t know if that makes any sense, I’m writing this post at 5 in the morning…

So I don’t know if I’ll do it. I don’t know if I’ll get a chance, honestly, but even if I do, I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll be okay with it… I think he might pretend to be, but it would bother him. Even if he doesn’t ‘reject me’, which I don’t think will happen, I don’t think it will stop him blaming himself. And I’m afraid of him talking to my mother (even if I ask him not to…) or to my stepmother (which would mean ending up with the entire island knowing… that woman does not really think before she speaks). And I certainly don’t want to suddenly be talking about having sex with women with my dad, or being pressured to now have a relationship with a woman by him…it all gives me anxiety. But… well, my sisters want me to, and I love them. Who knows. It’s 5:20 in the morning, I’ve been up for about 2hours trying to sort this out (well, an hour or so was spent trying not to think about this, but I gave up and started writing this post). I have no idea what I’ll do.

139. An Almost Completely Non-Christmassy Christmas Eve Post

So, I’m in Bermuda for Christmas, and of course, it is beyond wonderful to see my sisters again. It always amazes me how we can just sort of pick up where we left off. There is no loss of love… but there is loss of time. As much as we are immediately comfortable with each other, there is some sadness in me in the moments I realize how little I know them, or when they are so excited to know that I remember something they said last time. I do wish I could have been more a part of their lives. One of them is thinking about coming to Canada for university though, and I’m very excited about the possibility. We started the application process today. Fingers crossed! She has amazing marks so I’m sure she’ll get in, it’s just a matter of her ultimately choosing to go there over some of the American schools she’s also planning to apply to.

Anyway, that is enough about my sisters… well, it isn’t… I could go on and on about them, but I’m sure it would bore all of you (the few of you who are still reading, that is). But I will tell you about an interesting encounter I had my first night in Bermuda. There was a family gathering at one of my many Aunts’ house. I always dread those not only because I hardly know anyone there, but because I know my Dad is so embarrassed by how little I know his side of my family. So I feel awkward, and then ashamed of my awkwardness. It’s never fun. This time, however, there was this guy there who I have never met before (at least, I think we’ve never met, it’s possible we met many years ago) who immediately pinged my gaydar. I spent the evening trying to get to talk to him, and managed a few times to have some brief conversations, which only made him ping even harder. So towards the end of the night made my way over to him with the express purpose of coming out to him somehow, in this sea of family, which he caught on to and before I could even flash him my pride necklace he said, in his Bermudian accent “Oh, I been clocked you from when you came in…” which pleased me, but before I could say anything, his sister – who had in no way registered (except in the “oh, it’s too bad she’s probably my cousin cause she’s cute” kind of way) – who I hadn’t even noticed was standing there piped up “yeah, we clocked you right away… I’m unclockable though…” I was shocked. We then managed to have a very brief, and very encoded conversation about how many members of our family are gay (because it was so encoded I’m still not sure exactly what they were saying)… it was exciting. We made very nebulous plans to get together while I’m here in Bermuda, so I’m hoping that will happen, but it will definitely have to wait until after Christmas. I’m looking forward to it though. Sadly (but not unexpectedly) neither of them lives in Bermuda now, the sister lives in Canada and the brother lives in England. Gay people do tend to leave this island… it’s not very hospitable.

Case in point… I was just at another family gathering… another awkward, shameful family gathering, and in addition to all the awkward shame, I had to listen while my father made a series of homophobic remarks. I have to give him some grace… he has no idea about me, and he did grow up in a very sheltered, isolated place (he once asked me in all seriousness what the word “Jew” meant… he honestly didn’t know), but it still hurt to hear him refer to some supposed lesbians he saw the other night as “some butches” in the most disgusted tone he could manage. (it was that remark that made me decide to write this blog… I was feeling so hurt, holding back tears actually, and felt the need to process it… hence this weirdly non-Christmassy blog post on Christmas Eve)

Tomorrow is Christmas though, and I am really excited about giving my sisters their gifts. I was super excited about giving my dad his gift, but right now I’m feeling hurt so I’m not as excited about that right now, I hope that goes away by tomorrow morning for the gift exchange. I imagine it will… sleep can work wonders. And hey, maybe in the next few days I will meet up with some other gay Bermudians! That would be exciting.

Anyway, I’ll end this now… I think my processing is done. Merry Christmas everyone!

138. One for the road...

I occasionally think about this blog… languishing in cybernetic oblivion. Thoughts wander through my head that make me think “That would make a good blog post”, but then, of course, I never sit down to write them out. Every once and a while I’m surprised by a comment that arrives in my inbox – people are still reading! And I just took a gander at my Statcounter page, and well… the ticker goes steadily up. It’s strange to think about.

I’m sitting here on my couch, having spent the last few days in silence due to a surprising bout of laryngitis – does it even help to conserve your voice when you get laryngitis? I’m on antibiotics and they have helped the other symptoms but I still sound like a much less sexy version of Geri Hall (yes, to any Canadians reading this, I find Geri Hall sexy… what are you going to do about it?) so I’m not speaking. Perhaps it’s because of having to remain silent for well, more than 2 full days now (except for the occasional experimental vocalization to see how my voice is progressing) that I suddenly feel the urge to blog. Maybe I just need to ‘talk’.

So… let me fill you in on what has transpired since I last blogged. I think it’s been almost a year now, which is madness! I’m continuing to work at the preschool, which I am continuing to love, although some cracks have begun to develop… I am attempting to overcome my instinctive passiveness and am trying to address the problems. (I am being purposely vague here… not that anyone I work with even knows about this blog, but well, it feels prudent. Some people who know some people I work with could stumble upon this.) It turns out I can be quite assertive when it comes to my workplace. The times I have stood up for myself the most have always been at work… although there was the recent epic battle with my mother… I’ll get to that later.

Or, perhaps I’ll get to it now. Why wait?

What happened was this, I innocently mentioned to my mother in an otherwise pleasant conversation that I was thinking about going away again, this time for only a short time – a few months or so (if I can ever find a teaching job overseas that has a 2 or 3 month contract I will likely take it). A few days after this, I came home from work to find a message on my machine from my mother, telling me she was coming to stay with me for 2 weeks. (This, only a few weeks after she had been to stay with me for a week during the summer) Well, I knew I couldn’t take that… 2 weeks is way too long for her to stay, I would be practically insane by the time she left, and the fact of the matter is, she almost always stays longer than she originally tells me she will, so I decided that this was as good a time as any to put my foot down. I called some friends for moral support, knowing I was in for a fight, and called my mom. When I got her on the phone, she almost immediately let me know that she, in fact, was planning to stay with me for a month… which as the conversation progressed became ‘indefinitely’. I was pretty sure I knew what this was about, but it took her ages to finally admit it. What it was was that she was wanting to come and stay with me until I lost all the weight I ‘need to lose’… she is panicked about me leaving the country while still being overweight. Well, long (LONG) story short (seriously, this fight went on for 5 hours… on the phone… she hung up on me and then immediately called me back at least 10 times, the only thing that finally ended the conversation was me telling her my phone battery was dying) I put my foot down and told her that she wasn’t allowed to talk to me about my weight any more. I have told her this before, told her how her obsession with my weight has had a huge effect on me – the fact that my weight is all my mother thinks about when it comes to me has messed me up since… well, since my teens when I was seriously just a little bit ‘plump’ as they say. And the time in my life when I lost the most weight… well, it was when I was in Ireland… far away from her, and before she was comfortable on the computer so we weren’t in a lot of contact back then. I felt the most free back then, and I didn’t do anything on purpose, it just sort of fell off of me. I’ve tried explaining this to her many times over the years, but has had no effect. My weight has been the main topic of conversation between me and my mom since I was in my teens. I’ve tried putting my foot down before, but I think she knew I would give in… This time, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t. I want to say I knew I wouldn’t, but I can’t… I was just fairly sure. But I think she could feel the difference… there was a lot of panic from her, but 5 hours later I went to bed pretty certain that I’d gotten my point across. And the thing is, it seems to have worked. She doesn’t bring it up anymore, and I think she’s actually noticing the difference in our conversations. We talk now, and have actual conversations where I want to participate, as opposed to her talking and me saying ‘mmhmm’ at the appropriate intervals, even when we aren’t talking about weight stuff (even her own weight stuff, because that always ends up being about my weight stuff) because I’m dreading when it’s going to come up. I think she’s learning that we can have more of a relationship if she actually respects my boundaries. I’m hopeful about our relationship for the first time in… well, ever. Oh, I still don’t think we’ll ever be as tight as she wants us to be (I don’t think anyone is that close with their mother, at least not in a healthy way…), but I think there is potential for an actual relationship, which is nice.

What else has happened… well, this past summer I was in a lesbian, Jewish wedding, which was Awesome! My oldest friend finally married her girlfriend of 10 years. I decided during the Hora (the traditional Jewish dance where they lift the couple up on chairs) that I want to marry a Jew because the entire ceremony was just beautiful, and the Hora is just danceable joy. My stance on gay marriage is obvious, as evidenced by my participation in a gay wedding, but I have to say, being a part of one… I really don’t understand the opposition to it. I mean… I understand thinking that it’s wrong, but I don’t understand wanting it to be illegal. Being there, among both the brides’ families, celebrating their love and happiness, their hope and plans for their life together… it was so beautiful, but more than that, it was so… normal. There was nothing insidious, nothing malicious, nothing profane or vulgar. It was wedding. That’s all. If you think it’s wrong, then don’t get gay married, or go to a gay marriage. That’s your right, and I think people should be allowed to believe what they want, but I seriously can’t see anything harmful in it.

Anyway, the wedding was beautiful, I cried… a lot. I gave a speech that I’m told was quite good, despite my nervousness. And of course, I danced… a lot.

There is one other bit of news I have been saving until last. Oh, it’s nothing too scandalous, but it was a big step for me, and I should probably follow it up with more big steps, but well… I’m sort of a coward. I can’t believe I did it in the first place. Did what? Ah well, you see, I placed a personal ad on a website and got more than a few responses, which resulted in a couple of dates. With ladies. Yep, I went on some gay dates.

The first one was relatively unsuccessful. The girl was very nice, but managed to pretty much disqualify herself as a potential girlfriend for me within minutes of us meeting – she wants to be a farmer. Which is lovely, but I’m a city girl all the way. I decided to just enjoy the date (which happened to fall on Pride, so we went out dancing, which I love), but it became quite clear as the night went on that she was anticipating sex, which was in no way on the menu and that made it a bit awkward at the end of the night. I tried to take a cab home, but she insisted on driving me and there was an awkward moment in the car when I went to get out that I think was the result of wanting to kiss me (she had tried earlier that evening)… I felt bad, but I just wasn’t interested.

The second date… well, that one was a different story. She is a professor at one of the universities here in Ottawa, and she sings, and writes her own songs…. I was extremely excited about that date. And it went so well. We got along, the conversation flowed nicely… it was wonderful. And I brought up my faith, and while she didn’t respond with “I’m a Christian too” she did mention wanting to find a church in Ottawa so I was even hopeful on that front. All in all it was a wonderful experience and so I screwed up my nerve and asked her out for a second date the following day. Unfortunately, so did her ex. She sent me a very nice email telling me she had a wonderful time with me but she had decided to give her relationship with her ex a try… which sucked. I would be inclined to believe it was a story she made up to let me down easy except we have actually gotten together a few time since because well, we did get along so well. I’m not anticipating an intimate friendship or anything, because I admit I still have a slight interest in her… I mean, come on! She’s a singing, song writing professor! It doesn’t really get any hotter than that!

Anyway, after that I got a little gun shy and so I haven’t been on any more dates, much to the disappointment of many of my friends… and, admittedly, myself. The thing is, I find the stress and anxiety that goes along with dating a little overwhelming. I suppose it is for everyone, I’m just not all used to it.

Anyway, I’ve blathered on for long enough, so I think I’ll stop now. I won’t make any promises about when I’ll post again because chances are I won’t keep them. But hey, to anyone reading this… thanks for listening!

137. More Mom Stuff, etc...

So, I got quite an email from my mother this morning… in it she explained that Satan has ‘attacked my sexuality’ and that often he attacks us in the ‘areas of our anointing’ (so, my sexuality is anointed, I guess…). She went on to illustrate this point by pointing out my love of children, sensitivity, poetry, and ‘love of Laura Ashley clothing as a child’ (which… not true. I have never like flower prints or anything like that in clothing. It is true that I wanted the Laura Ashley quilt and wallpaper trim for my bedroom back in the 80s, when I was a teenager… but regardless… this harkening back to my tastes as a child is ridiculous.) She says these are all very feminine traits that God wants to use if I am obedient. And now ‘the enemy has been found out’ and he owes me double what he has stolen. And so that is what she is praying for me.

So many things in there to comment on, but well… lets first just say that this is a typical example of how conversations and dialogues go with my mother… everything couched in these uber spiritual overtones that cannot be argued against without sounding like a ‘non-believer’, which is the worst thing in the world in her mind. After that… well, lets point out the obvious… she is confusing sexuality with gender (or femininity). A very common mistake, to be sure, but still, very irritating. I have never had or expressed a desire to be a guy, I am very happy being a woman. Oh, there are times when I can’t help but think how much easier things would be if I were a guy, but then I think “but then I’d have to actually be a guy”… and I don’t want that. I know I don’t do a lot of overtly feminine things… I don’t wear skirts or dresses and I rarely wear makeup (although I’m doing that more often now… mostly due to there being certain females in my life that inspire me to care about how I look)… but I am very feminine internally. I have always known that and said that about myself. The way I view the world, the way I process things, the way I interact with the world… it’s all very feminine. And it has absolutely nothing to do with my sexuality.

I’m not going to bother attempting to explain this to my mother because… well, deaf ears and all that. It’s just an exercise in futility.

In other news… well, you know that post I wrote a little while back, the one I said I was nervous that someone I know might stumble upon… but didn’t think anyone would because no one I know really reads my blog anymore… well, someone I know (and who the post in part about) did stumble upon it. She hadn’t read my blog in years, and when she did… that one. Argh. We talked about it a bit… well, she mostly talked, I felt way too embarrassed and exposed to say anything. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not that she read it, but, it happened and so now we move on.

And in completely different news, I thought I would share a little snippet of my life at preschool with you… a conversation I had with a young girl the other day while we were playing at a local park.

Me: Are you okay? You look like you are having a bad day.

Girl: I am having a bad day. I can’t find my Jesus.

Me: (slightly stunned) Your Jesus?

Girl: Yes. Everyone has their own Jesus that only they can see, and I can’t find mine.

Me: (still slightly stunned) Oh. Where did you see Him last?

Girl: (pointing behind her) He was over there, but then I looked away, and when I looked back, he was gone.

Me: Oh. Okay. Why don’t you ask Him to come back?

Girl: Okay. (turns towards the trees behind the park and starts calling) Jesus! Jesus! Come here Jesus! Come… oh, there You are. Are You having a good day? … no?

Me: Jesus is having a bad day too?

Girl: (still looking where she sees her Jesus). Yes. He’s having a bad day.

Me: Why?

Girl: Well… God went shopping and forgot all about Jesus.

Me: ….oh…

I was too stunned (I know I keep using that word, but there isn’t another one to describe my reaction) to continue this conversation… so that’s where it trailed off. Thought you might enjoy that. Kids really are amazing.

136. Processing my Weekend(s)

So… I am writing this during the last day of my mom’s visit (Easter Monday), during practically my only time alone I’ve had this long weekend. Seriously – aside from the shower, and sleep – it has been literally every waking moment with my mother this past 4 days and it is exhausting. Well, there was the 5 minutes after a minor fight yesterday when she said she was going for a walk – which couldn’t have been what she did because well, it was only 5 minutes. Right now she is actually on a walk, so I might get half an hour. I am very much looking forward to tomorrow night after work when I can finally relax in my own home.

I am still after all these years, trying to find a successful strategy to make her visits as painless as possible. This time, for the first time in years, my place was cleaned to her satisfaction – which is remarkable because I once hired a maid to come in before she came to give the place a thorough cleaning and she still found stuff to criticize that time. It turns out, though, that the problem with her being satisfied with the cleanliness is that instead of furiously cleaning the place, she furiously goes through my stuff. She was up much earlier than me on Saturday morning and I awoke to find all this stuff I had quite consciously hidden away for her arrival all laid out on my dining room table – poems I had written, bank statements, books she doesn’t approve of, etc… it was maddening.

The poetry part was the most frustrating not only because she is a mother and thinks it’s the most brilliant stuff in the world (which, while fine in it’s own way, just gets silly after a while), but because she really does want to understand me and so proceeded to try and dissect them line by line and word by word and demand that I explain to her the exact circumstances under which these poems were written and the step by step process of writing them. It was irritating. And while I appreciate the fact that she does want to know me better, it’s frustrating because she refuses to accept the me that she sees, thinking that there is some hidden me or some me that I am supposed to be but am not allowing myself to be right now. She constantly refers back to things that I said or liked when I was a child (ie: Laura Ashley wallpaper for my bedroom) and trying to insist that they are proof that I am only pretending now, instead of allowing for the possibility that a person can change over time, or even that styles can change over time (the Laura Ashley Wallpaper being a case in point.) She also refuses to accept anything I tell her about myself – ie: I’m an introvert… she allows that I might have ‘more introverted tendencies’ than her, but insists that I am, in actuality, an extrovert just like her.

We have discussed my sexuality over and over again this visit and I have been as honest with her as I think is humanly possible. She asked me if I had seen the video she sent and I told her I had, and then wanted to discuss the whole ‘intimate friendships with people of the same sex as a cure for homosexuality’ thing… once again insisting that I can’t possibly have any intimate friendships, which drives me crazy. As proof for this, she cited the fact that I don’t have anyone who could drop everything and go on a trip with me… which… well, do most people have friends like that? And to be frank, I’m actually fairly positive that if I wanted to, I could get someone to go on a trip with me, I have just never tried it. She also thinks I need more single friends (it is true that most of my friends are married, it’s a symptom of being in my 30s, I think) and found me a bunch of groups online for ‘straight single women’ or Christian singles. And then, of course, there have been her not so subtle hints that I need to change churches. She hasn’t liked my church for years, partially because it is not charismatic (at least, not enough for her liking) but mostly because she decided a while back that everyone there hates her. This is based on things like the time she went there when I wasn’t there and my pastor didn’t recognize her and greet her like an old friend. Concrete evidence like that.

What else was there… oh, once again, she digs way back into my past, talking about how when I was little I always said ‘when I grow up I’m going to get married and have 3 babies’, so obviously that is what I am destined to do. Oh, and at one point she asked me if I ever had any significant dreams, and I couldn’t really remember any except one I had from when I was very little about being attacked by dinosaurs and throwing them away but they would just keep coming. It took her a few days, but she has now decided that that dream is about my ‘struggle’.

Oh, and today she told me “I just want to affirm your femininity’, going on to say that I am very sensitive and I love children and have many feminine traits so there is no way I can be… you know (she didn’t say the word). Apparently lesbians are made of stone and hate children… at least, that is the inference.

(Just to fill you all in the when and where of the writing of this, my mom has returned from her walk and is now lying down so I have a few more minutes alone… of course, she returned from her walk and ‘asked’ if she could stay another night… one of those loaded questions to which there is only one appropriate answer. She could tell I wanted to say no, even asked me if I was sure, but… well, maybe I’m a coward, but I don’t know that there is any way to say no to her that won’t result in a fight that could last for ages.)

There was also the gem of a conversation that basically boils down to her theory that I am gay because I’m overweight. She explained that when I lose weight I’ll suddenly start to get attention from men and that will make me straight. She followed this with the ‘affirmation’ that I’m not bad looking… with the word ‘bad’ stretched out like a rubber band. She really needs to stop commenting on my appearance at all because her attempts at compliments always come out as insults.

(Again, in keeping with the theme of letting you know when I’m writing this, this next part is a full week after that last paragraph, my mother is back in Toronto – finally – and I have been to Toronto and back – without her knowing – for my friend’s bridal shower)

She asked me where I stand, and I said, quite truthfully, that I am still on the fence. She quickly grabbed onto that, thinking that I meant that I was on the fence about being gay, and I corrected her on that, explaining that I meant on the fence between celibacy for life or a gay relationship (to which she responded “I don’t want you to have a gay relationship…”, which was not a surprise). Maddeningly she cannot accept that celibacy is at all an okay choice, seeing it as giving up or a sign of depression or something. There was a lot of talk about my having given up hope, and how that was unhealthy… but of course, the hope she means is hope of becoming straight, meeting and marrying a man. And I suppose, she’s right. I still believe in an omnipotent God who could do that if He so desired, but I have long since stopped believing that He was going to make me straight, or even that that is what He wants for me. Believing that left me feeling unloved and abandoned by God, which I tried to explain to her, and she says she understands, but I don’t think she does. Our theology differs in a very fundamental way… I don’t know how to say this in a way that doesn’t seem condescending or demeaning, but her belief in God seems almost limiting to me. She believes she knows and can predict what God will do, and if God does not do what she thought He would then it is because we have not behaved according to the formula she believes He has given. There is no room for mystery or perhaps even misunderstanding or misinterpretation of what God may or may not want… or of God being so much bigger than we can possibly understand.

As I mentioned, I did go to Toronto this weekend for this bridal shower… and didn’t tell my mom because the bridal shower is for my friend who is marrying her female fiancée – ie: a gay marriage. My mom tried to call me on Saturday and couldn’t get a hold of me (because I wasn’t there) and by Sunday afternoon (seriously, one day!) she was very worried. (She actually called my Dad in Bermuda… which makes no sense. Why would he have any more information than she does?) When I got home from Toronto, late Sunday night, there was a series of increasingly panicked messages on my machine and so I called her back, thinking she must have been worried for my safety, but when I did manage to get a hold of her (on Monday) she informed me that she was worried that I was away with my girlfriend or something. So… she doesn’t believe me that I’m not with anyone right now, which… well, I don’t know what to make of that.

But in brighter news, the shower was a blast… I got to see my friend in her wedding dress and I came very near to crying. It’s beautiful. She looks like a fairy princess. And I’m slightly smitten now with an actual lesbian… who speaks English… this is big for me. A little frightening, but she’s taken so that dulls the fear. The girl in question is the bride’s cousin, who I had met before when she was 13 or 14, but now she’s 25 and gay and doing her PhD in Montreal (ie: an hour and a half away from me). Crushing on an actual gay girl is new for me and like I said, a little unnerving. But well… nothing will likely come of it. She’s all wrong for me (I think… I have no idea what’s right for me, to be honest… my expertise in this area is extremely limited), but we are supposed to get together to buy shoes for the wedding at some point, and I’m alarmingly excited (and terrified) by that upcoming event.

Anyway… this post has gone on forever and probably needs to be posted before I add something more to it.

135. Just because I felt like it...

So, I don’t really have much to say right now. Honestly, my life is so very dull… very full, but not full of things that I think would be interesting for you to hear about. My job continues to go well, which is nice. Having a job you actually look forward to is a real rarity, I think, so I try not to take that for granted. The kids are a constant source of joy (and occasional frustration… and disgust… the stomach flu that is making its way through our numbers has resulted in some very extreme unpleasantness that I won’t go into here except to say that God knew what He was about when He made kids cute, because otherwise there is no way we would be able to handle some of what goes on with their little bodies.)

In other news… there isn’t much other news. Oh, except my mom sent me a video to ‘watch and consider’ of an ex-gay preacher named Sy Rogers. So I did… it was frustrating, but nothing I hadn’t heard before. Oh, except for his claim to be an ex-transsexual… which I don’t think is a correct identification. His explanation for how he started on the road to transition sounded nothing like what I’ve heard/read from other trans people – how they always knew they were the wrong gender, how their bodies felt wrong, etc… he spoke of making a decision at some point in his twenties that he had failed at being a man so he would try being a woman. Which doesn’t sound at all like what I imagine a real trans person would say. Plus, his explanation of how God ‘saved’ him from this also didn’t ring true. He went to go for the operation and was told he had to live as a woman for 2 years, so he did, and at some point in that two years he had a revelation that this was wrong, that he should not transition… which to me only proves that he was not, in fact, really trans – that is, in fact, the reason that the doctors make you live as a woman for two years… to make sure you are certain about this life altering operation. This is not evidence of a miracle to me, this is evidence of the wisdom of the system.

The video did give me an explanation for a recent conversation my mom and I had had in which she was quite insistent that I did not have any intimate friendships. No matter what I said, she would not accept the fact that my friendships were in any way sufficient. And she went on to say that I need to have ‘an intimate conversation with a friend every single day’. It was bizarre, and kind of insulting. At the time I chalked it up to a regular theme with my mother… that my life is inadequate. She has never been a fan of any of my friends that I have at the moment. It is not as big a deal now, but it was a huge deal when I lived with her. She always wanted me to be friends with people she chose for me. Or oddly enough, if I moved on from a friend (mainly due to simply growing apart) she would suddenly start trying to get me to be friends with them again instead of whoever I was friends with then. It was very frustrating. Still is, but mostly now because it is simply part of her criticism of my life. Oh, but here’s where the video came in. Sy Rogers explains in this video that his ‘cure’ for his homosexuality came mainly as a result of intimate friendships with men. Hence the weird and sort of prescriptive nature of my mom’s most recent criticism of my relationships.

Anyway, this is a very hastily thrown together blog post. I just felt like writing one and so… I did.