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I made the mistake of mixing half a cappuccino into my hot chocolate, so I’ve been awake all night and am currently not feeling the dreamy siren call of slumber any time soon. It was brought to my attention that some people may be searching my name, and I sort of felt if they were to find my website it should look as if it’s been updated with something. So, this is that something. I’m planning to post a succession of blog entries in the coming months, as my novel writing has ground to a halt and, as I always find, if I promote productivity in one area of my life, creativity usually follows and flows into others. Don’t really know what I’m trying to say, but yeah, cheerio!
Call me Final Destination 3, because I’ve officially gone off the rails. I only reacted the way I did because I had such an amazing week where, for the first time in a long while, I felt normal.
I struggle to feel normal, because I am not normal. I am very abnormal. But it takes very little to give me a sense of stability and control over my otherwise uncontrollable life. A life that is controlled by my body, and by the weather. I know I come across as stubborn and overly-dramatic, but you can’t imagine what it’s like to go through life so alone. Where the mere mention of sunshine as “beautiful” makes me recoil in horror. You enjoy that big ball of cancer-inducing gas, do you? That giant star that will one day consume Earth and leave us as nothing but a charred rock? Does it feel good? Of course it does, and I’m sure I’d feel the same too. As a big fat homo, I’d actually have a predisposition to enjoy the sun more, to worship at its alter whenever it graced us with its presence.
It’s probably the reason I feel more alone than I did growing up, because any chance I have of connecting with likeminded people is hampered. I have to associate with the dark, and with the dark comes a life that is naturally shadowed and secretive. It’s not that I have shame, it’s just that I know few can relate to the paths from which I draw solace and enjoyment from as an adult.
And then there’s the barrier that is not controlled by my body, or weather, but by my mind. My inability to surrender control and go with the flow. I cannot merely walk into any bar and associate with others – others who I probably would get along with. I have anxieties that I have to take into consideration, anxieties that I can’t rationally communicate with others, anxieties that I have to overcome alone.
When the universe tricks me into believing I might no longer have to go through these hurdles alone, I still manage to let down my guard and allow myself to jump, even though thirty years of experience tells me there will be no-one there to catch me. I have to look out for myself. I have to maintain control through whatever means I can.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the uncertainty of the future. I no longer feel safe in this world. I no longer feel free to share my thoughts. I feel silenced. I feel less than a human being. All because of other human beings who are abusing their power. Using what should be tools of good, for tools of hatred and alienation.
I refuse to be silenced. I refuse to be kept from living out the last of my days as a shell of my former self. I will grow. I will learn. I will be who I want to be, love who I want to love, and say what I want to say.
Now that’s out of the way, I can tell you I’ve survived the first month of my thirties! We’re one week into what is questionably the worst time of year for me – July. Summer. Sun worshippers unite. Those who live in the shadows feel the victimisation hardest (hey, gurl, hey). Yet, touch wood, I’ve yet to reach my limits, and I’m maintaining good health, and high spirits. When September comes, I can look forward to MY New Year. Another 12 months of pushing boundaries and expanding my horizons. Hope to see you on my journey.
Except, I didn’t drink rum – I drank vodka. For the first time in my life. I didn’t melt! This didn’t turn into a scene from Indiana Jones, it was all fine. I hadn’t intended to. I was just walking with two of my “friends” from writer’s group, straggling along until the very last possible moment when I would have to go for my bus. I didn’t have to. I told them that, due to my stay in hospital the other week, my regular appointment had now been moved to next week – meaning I was free to stay out and not worry about the next day. Once that was announced, the girl of the group was adamant she would, in her words, corrupt me. I dropped my bag, and hugged her, and thanked her – this was before I’d consumed any alcohol, by the way. What can I say, I’m an affectionate guy! I sat with her and the other guy, and asked for the most naturally flavoured drink on the menu. It had honey in it, and lots of citrus juices. It wasn’t disgusting in the slightest. I drank it, and I chatted a bit to the guy about my woes with recent attempts at dating. He’s straight, but advice is advice. He imparted so much wisdom, that when I found out he was only 35, I couldn’t believe it. These two adults inviting little ol’ me to drink with them were fully functioning members of society. I’m only one year younger than the girl, and I do not feel like a functioning member of society. I feel like a burden; an alien; an anomaly; a unique species; an enigma, wrapped inside a conundrum, surrounded by a layer of mystique, encased within a fortress of allusiveness, shrouded in a cloak of …huhwhatsthat!? It took me last night to open up for the first time since coming out of hospital, and really for the first time, feeling like I’d got back that sense of normality I’d had beforehand. I’m doing good. I’m normal. I’m going to continue to do good. I’m allowed to take as long as I want. Just because I started the year really productive, it doesn’t mean I should feel guilty when that productivity stops. But, hey, if youre reading this, then I guess my productivity hasn’t stopped, it’s just shifted focus.