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welcome to the hole
Once upon a time, I kept a LiveJournal account, gryphons_hole, a deep, dark, comfy little hole in my brain where I kept notes on my life and queerness.
This is the archive to that account, mostly password protected, adult, queer content, stripped of photo content after the site restructured its photo hosting feature. I hope to restore that content as well.
If I know you, ask for the password. If I don’t, hope for a generous mood.
08.18.24 I have realized a need to continue in this space. A kink reawaking if you will, with content that may range into inappropriate for my other blog spaces.
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this is what I see
Everybody struggles.
Everybody looks in the mirror at some point in his life and hates what he sees.
And, well, screw you for saying that I have less right to struggle with my image or size or weight or diet than you do.
Screw you.
My perfectly normal, perfectly non-traumatizing childhood left me fully traumatized. I have clear memories of being a fat child, a shape-less and mousy teen, even though photos are those years deny those things outright.
Yet here I am staring in the mirror every day, angry that I gained those last five pounds; angry that I skipped the gym last week; angry that I let my diet shift one more time to included more junk that I am even interested in having.
Screw you for declaring with impunity how little right I have to be down about my body, or how little justification I have to speak on weight loss/control/gain.
Screw you.
And one more time, I excuse myself from a larger conversation promoting being large. Have at it. I am staying home. I am still wounded that so many large men started ignoring me when I lost forty pounds…
There we go. Yay!
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nine years cancer free
Nine years ago today, the doctors said “It’s gone, you’re done.”
*exhales*
*checks for lumps*
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fashion on the fringe
Kansas City Fringe Fest… Such great odd things happen there. I made my runway debut for a jewelry designer friend. I was the only male in the show, and so much bigger than most of the other models… Friday night, I heard gasps as I came on stage. *giggle*
with designer: Andrea Minnette Bledsoe -
anniversary approaching quickly
This weekend will be nine years cancer free. Nine.
…
Maybe I will believe it’s truly gone after ten. I still hold my breath every Christmas Eve (when I found it) every early February (when they cut it out and I started treatment) and every end of July (when I finished treatment).
I just posted an update on FB:
I am fast approaching the nine year mark being cancer free…
maybe next year, I’ll stop holding my breath this time of year…
And now, I am sobbing at my favorite lunchtime stop. I get how much I have benefitted from the overall experience in terms of knowing my body and emotional state and such, but I am so subtly damaged by it. I am left in a state of being terrified of not having insurance, so I trap myself in a horrible job in an emotionally and mentally toxic environment. I just so fully stuck in my mind i am lucky that I function in the world at all. I love myself and enjoy each day, but somewhere quietly beneath that, I hate it all.
And I need to find a resolution to this conflict. Quicker would be better.
I am so very tired of being sad and lonely. And I am certainly tired of being so out-of-the-ordinary for having this experience that leaves my priorities atypical and my responses seemingly too intense for the general populace.
Somewhere this week, I will need to schedule a good cry. I hate this.
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gettting back to things
About a month ago, I joined a gym. Except for tossing around paint cans prior to attending CLAW (seriously), I haven’t worked out since I left Phoenix. Yes, that would be just over eleven years.
Ugh, how do such things fall away…?
Anyway, I have full, hard muscles again, and I am happy. My arms are still tiny, but that gives me a goal.
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frogs
Last night I had a rather ordinary dream, mostly about family distractions provided by actual real world family members. The rather extraordinary part is really what sticks to me though…
Early into it, someone handed me two tiny bird eggs. Only they weren’t. I tended to them, and shortly they hatched. One had a tiny frog and the other a tiny toad. Yes, from eggs, no tadpoles… I dropped them each into tall, narrow glass containers and found them food. Immediately after eating, they both matured to adulthood before my eyes.
Unfortunately, they outgrew the containers and hopped out. This is where the family distractions entered for the remainder of the dream. I woke up before the frog and toad were found and followed.
I am curious about these fast growing things born of eggs… They sit with me today.
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not here right now
Recreated/migrated from dapperkink, added 03.11.23.
It was a rough week.
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stompin’ boots
Recreated/migrated from dapperkink, added 03.11.23
New laces for my oxblood lace-ups:
Wish you were here! *eg*
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bad actors
I carry a sense of rightness – or right-doing – with me walking through the world. It is an important thing to me, sadly, sometimes to the point of being debilitating. I currently find myself so mired by the stipulation of acting as the man I choose to be that I cannot function.
I don’t consider my perceptions to be wholly true, but the world is filled with people acting badly and being rewarded for the choice. It exhausts me.
I can only live so far on my warm fuzzy feeling…
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the problem with adaptability
Here I sit in my life, looking to release the crap and see the good, and I get stuck on an idea difficult to expression and maybe more so to explain in detail.
I find it a horrible thing in my life to so adaptable.
I live in a crap hole, owned by a friend who is not providing the money or supplies as agreed for me to do the work to make it not a crap hole. As such, in the past year, I have adapted to living out of two rooms of a nine room house; using a bathroom on the lower floor that has a four foot hole in the wall; showering in a bathtub that is covered with drop clothes to keep the ripped up walls from rotting; living without a kitchen sink; living with most all of my dishes dirty because I am irritated by having to take them to the bath tub to wash them; dealing with bad insulation, poor windows, and crapping floors; and being so embarrassed to the house as to not invite anyone into my life… Add to this living surrounding by boxes I have never had to unpack for the five years I lived in the studio…
And I am fine.
To be clear, I am not, but yet I am.
Because, wait for it, I’ve adapted to it all. I just get use to things. I got used to chemotherapy; it rolled off of me everyday. I got used to a crappy job that treats me poorly, underpays me and leaves me with less self-worth at the end of the day. I work every day to adapt to living with HIV.
A curious thing: I have never, in over nine years, adapted to taking my HIV meds. I have to remember and think and work and make myself take them every fucking single day…
There are good things, but everything is shadowed by this stuff. I have met and know many many many good men in the world that hold a fair amount of common interests. That said, no one (read: nobody but less than ten people) come to KCMO to visit homosexuals. I live with all the insults of being a fly-over state, even as the people casting them cry against bullying everywhere, right…? Well, I fucking live in KCMO and I have a crappy job that doesn’t afford me to travel to see you, even though I have been pretending to be able to afford such things for years now… I have to stop and take care of myself and take care of my home, or find another one I can afford to take care of… A new job would be nice too…
But I have adapted to every little fucking piece of crap that clings to my life.
So, there. I feel better, but yet I don’t…
I am not always sure that I know how to hate and love myself and my life all in the same moment.*sigh*
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gryphon's hole 