Sleep has never been this consistently elusive for me – ever. Sure, often my brain is buzzing when it hits the pillow, but I simply get back up and do something (draw, clean, beat off) and tire myself.
This is different – and it disturbs me. Every single night, I stay up until I tired, then off to bed. No fuck! as soon as my head hits, my jaw clenches, my teeth ache and my shoulders work up into origami clusters.
I know what it is too. What ALL of it is. But GI-fuckin’-Joe never mentioned the other freakin’ half of the battle…
It has taken three years to catch me, but its here, all together in a tiny lump housed just beneath my shoulder blade. It would have arrived much earlier, but chemo delayed the mail carrier.
I cannot land a job that I enjoy. I cannot seem to make the magic happen in growing with my artwork. My health is so much better than last year, but never good enough to be good. And when all of this strikes somewhere between the jaw and the back, my safety zone is a partner whom I love – with whom I cannot be happy.
That leaves me for shelter a home that does not feel like my own. He never understands that. Should I refer him to the Dreaded Refrigerator Incident of ’05? That explains it well enough for me.
My remaining support structure is more than most queers could hope, but the friends here are fairly new, having been in KCMO only just over three years. How much leaning will break the bond? Mostly here, the need is financial freedom, moving the dependency to another won’t help for long.
My parents would help as soon as I asked, but at some point in a child’s life he has to grow up enough to stopping asking. (I used to always wonder, mostly in tears during my outing days of college, if my parents had spent less time making my problems go away and more time teaching my to live I would already be the viable adult instead of merely the ineffectual genius.)
Such the paradox…
I love myself and hate my life all in the same instant. (Although hate is not the right word.) I act on every opportunity revealed to me that sets me forward down my chosen path, but time and time again, the person withdraws the offer without a sound – no questions.
I think I scare them. I have been called intense more than once. And one more little shard inside of me – which I need so much to remain living – dies. And I know how to fix it, make everything progress, just tone it down…Which translates to “By all means, be yourself, just not so much yourself.”
And it kills me. It kills me because I remember everything, everything! And the fuckers lied! Everyone one of them. Lied to my face. “Hide not your light under a bushel, but let it shine forth for others to see…” Blahbity blah blah or however the fuck it goes…
Well, here’s my answer to the so-called teachers, the sad-ass role models that cannot live their own words. FUCK YOURSELVES! My light will continue to shine forth…you can’t stand it, wear shades.
I will so the handful of others can find me.
I will live by example, lead by example.
I will promote brilliance and fire mundanity.
I will drive myself to remain true to my inner soul and screw the social pressure.
I will fight for my standards and refuse to give in,
which translated means…
I will continue to live in the home that is not mine, with the man that cannot make me happy. Or
I will be destitute and live in a box.
At which point, I am sure
I will loose continual sleep to that damned lump of muscle and
I will fall into more bad health and shortly
I will ultimately contract an infection and then
I will die.
And I choose the path still – even knowing all this because I know it is better. I am happier to die because my light burned hot and consumed me, then to slowly fade in the knowledge that I snuffed it out on my own.
See even in my sadness, I already know that I will be alright.
gryphon's hole 