Being okay with us possibly never speaking and feeling a sense of loss are not mutually exclusive. The hard disconnect between how I lived from 17-34 and who I am today is something I still struggle with, no matter how much healthier I am today.
Sometimes it feels like a fat, hairy, sweaty cage. Not always, but … often.
Escape can be necessary.
What happened in Dallas last week was a tragedy. It broke my heart.
But what I also immediately knew was that my heart was about to be broken by friends and relatives who would use this as an excuse to belittle and ignore the Black Lives Matter movement. To push out the suffering of all the people who are bullied, threatened, and killed by police officers every day in this country.
Since then I’ve watched video of police in riot gear smashing women half their size into pavement, called out racist posts by people I thought knew better, and found myself having to take a step back because engaging with all of this is just too much for me sometimes. I can’t keep up the pace of constant outrage while trying to live my daily life.
I don’t know how some of the more politically active friends I know do it. I don’t know how they face that ignorance and hatred every day. I wish they didn’t have to.
I’m trying to keep my brain sharp and reenergize so that I can come back, full of knowledge and compassion. I want to be in this fight. For my loved ones, for the kids I want to have someday, and because it’s just the right thing to do.
My heart goes out to all of the people impacted by what happened in Dallas on this date.
And
Black Lives Matter.
The cycles never seem to stop.
Orlando is still heavy on my soul. Thoughts of all those lives lost, of my own participation in our homophobic, transphobic culture. Obsessions around what I could have done differently in my life. Anxieties saying that I’m complicit.
It’s a great art form written for an audience who has terrible taste.
It’s no wonder two of my favorite things are musicals and comic books.
In June of 2014, I had what was not my first and certainly not my last suicidal period. Things were incredibly difficult, but with some help, I made it through. If you need help, it’s out there. Please, go find it. And if you can’t (and you know how to reach me), you can ask me and I’ll find it for you.
Don’t give up. Please.
The problem with wanting to the kind of theater I want to do is that I would not end up with any of the good parts.
I mean, a body positive version of Rocky Horror with all types represented sounds great, but I’m a cis, straight, white dude. Good parts for me are not exactly hard to find.
Don’t be with people who make you feel bad about yourself. Ever.