November 17 2008

Seven years.

I've been a self-admitted out homo for seven years today. And right now, I don't see anything to celebrate in that.

Being honest with myself and others - that was what it was all about. I believed so strongly that truth was the most important thing in life, that honesty was a force to be reckoned with. I thought I would change what 'gay' meant in New Zealand, I would reconcile homosexuality with faith and spirituality. I would prove that it was possible to be both Christian and gay. I guess I was hoping to change Christianity too.

But I couldn't do it, could I? Trying to make sense of the Bible's stance on homosexuality, I could come to no other conclusion but that the Biblical writers didn't know what they were talking about, and that actually, the truth wasn't really so hard to see. The Biblical writers were just bigots, pure and simple.

It didn't stop there though. I found I could not be selective about what I took from the Bible, it was either all inspired or none of it was. I discarded Christianity, and it was one of the most painful things I've ever had to do. I felt robbed of the world I had invested so much of my life in, my whole purpose and meaning. I guess I've been grieving ever since.

Certainly no 'family,' bological or otherwise, has lived up to the love and community I experienced with the Church of Christ. With my spirituality in tatters, I threw myself into the gay community, hoping to find the same sense of belonging. I didn't find it - I was largely ignored because I was neither rich enough or pretty enough.

But I didn't give up on the gay community, again, I sought to reform, to guide, to support and encourage. I became deeply involved in caring for and protecting queer people - I joined the Wellington Gay Helpline, helped with the Newcomers' support group for gay men, campaigned for gay rights with the Civil Union Bill and wrote to newspapers, even contributing regular articles for Deviant, the weekly gay page in the Massey Student newspaper.

Maybe I got so involved in supporting the queer community because I myself was in need of that support. I always seem to be outside the norm, even within the queer community. My committment to honesty has seen me try to find responsible alternatives to the world of nominal monogamy, first looking at open relationships, then polyamory. I've renamed my sexual and gender identity to have more integrity with who I am, from gay to bisexual to queer, and now genderqueer or possibly even transgender. And it seems that my committment to honesty and integrity actually hurts me more than it helps.

I'm lonely. I am so overwhelmingly, desperately lonley that I spent last night, before this anniversary, contemplating suicide, and actually seeking advice on how to go about it. This isn't a new thing either, most of this year I've felt completely alone, utterly hopeless. What good is polyamory if nobody will love you in return? Why be open about your capacity to love multiple people if not even one person will hold your hand?

And this is the great irony of my life. I've constructed my whole abult life around promoting love and letting people be sexual in whatever way is most true for them, and yet I personally hate my romantic and sexual impulses. I want to mutilate my genitals more than what my parents already have by circumcising me, I want to tear at and scar my body to hide the physical scars left by my ambivalence toward food ands exercise, to hide my ugliness. I want to take apill to forever erase my passions, but more tah that I just want to leave the world I can never be part of - I want to just die.

Because this is me, I'm an all or nothing sort of person. If I can't love you, and that person, and that one, then I want to love no one. If nobody wants to have sex with me, I want to be completely invisible and blind, so that I see no one and no one sees me. I either can't stop eating or I don't eat at all.

Why am I talking about this? Why haven't I just swallowed a bottle of bleach or slit my wrists?

Because that's also who I am - I'm scared. I'm not scared of what's on the Other Side, because I no longer believe there is one. Death is just a blessed release, the end, the light going out. But I'm scared of getting it wrong, of failing and ending up crippled or incarcerated. I'm scared of the pain. I wish someone would do this with me, or for me.

I await oblivion.

Remembrances and Recriminations: A Year in the Life -- CHAFF 26 2008

So, the last Chaff for the year already!! Wow… the year has just flown by like so many flying monkeys off to terrorise dopey little girls in shiny red shoes and their irritating yappy dogs.

I don’t know about you lot, but for me 08’s been a bit of a rollercoaster… there’ve been plenty of highs, a few lows, some terrifying plungey bits in between and perhaps a bit of puking along the way. It’s got me looking back on the ride, and thinking that a fair bit of what we learn at university isn’t actually in our textbooks and tutorials, it’s what we learn outside of lectures and assignments, in our everyday lives.

So what have I learned this year? Anything??

Well I learned what a Quick Fuck is. The drink, I mean, and how to pour it.

I found out there are dictionaries of sign-language in the library. Seriously – it had never occurred to me that deaf people might occasionally need a dictionary. We live and learn.

I learned the surest way to tell if a guy likes you or not is also the simplest. Girls and homos, listen up. If he likes you, he’ll be physically near you for some reason… he’ll find excuses. If he’s not, he’ll stay away. You can pine and moon over him as much as you like, daydreaming about how perfect he is blah blah, but if he’s not actually around you, it’s a sure bet that he’s not thinking of you the way you’re thinking of him. Guys mostly suck at verbal communication, they avoid it. So if he isn’t sweet on you, or worse, actually doesn’t like you (i.e.: he thinks your breath smells, he draws pictures of you in the back of his books that involve various sharp implements and quantities of blood etc), it won’t come out in his words, he’ll just avoid you. On the other hand, if you see him often, like nearly everyday, if he shows up where he knows you’ll be and grunts, mumbles or stares at you, and if his reason for being there seems really random or silly, that’s almost a guarantee. If he blushes and stammers and stutters around you, that’s another good indication.

I learned that Sarah Silverman is f*cking Matt Damon, that Sarah Palin can see Russia from her house and that that constitutes ‘foreign policy’ for Republicans, that you should never trust a unicorn who wants you to visit Candy Mountain and that penguins can’t really fly, despite what David Attenborough would have you believe. Ah, YouTube, solace for the weary and fount of wisdom for the ages…

I’ve learned that people treat you the way you tell them to treat you. You tell them by your body language, facial expression and tone… what you think about yourself comes out in your non-verbal expression, and people pick up on that. If you don’t like you, you can’t expect anyone else to. And if you go around whining, saying “I can’t do this and that,” or “I’m not clever/brave/popular enough,” in a bid to get sympathy, then you shouldn’t be surprised when people accept that at face value. If you don’t look like you believe in your, nobody else will.

What else?? Making sure you get outside for even ten to fifteen minutes, for a walk or whatever at least once a day, does wonders for your stress levels. Even in winter, just taking the time to forget your schedule, your workload and that essay that was due last Thursday, and getting outdoors for some fresh air, can really help alleviate the anxiety. I’ve started walking through the Esplanade on my way to Massey, even though it’s five minutes out of my way, just so I can hear the breeze in the trees, see the flowers (or in winter, the mud) and just forget all the hassles for a few minutes, and it really lifts my mood. I recommend it to anyone – and if you can’t do it on the way to Massey, there are some nice gardens on campus to have a wander through.

I learned that Bebo is soul-destroying and encourages Obsessive Compulsive tendencies.

I discovered that lecturers are people too, not scary ogres hiding away in their offices who will rip your head off and shit down your throat if you dare to ask a question or ask for an extension (well, MOST of them aren’t). A lot of them actually like students coming to see them. Weird, I know.

I’ve learned that if you don't learn to say 'no' then you end up being expected to do everything, in your flat, your club, even with your family and friends. They just assume that you haven’t got anything else to do, or that you’ve got everything else under control. Rather than take on extras which you can’t handle, overwhelming yourself and inevitably letting other people down when it all turns to custard, it’s better to just say ‘No’ from the outset, explaining why, and if they don’t like it then tough. Your mental and emotional well-being is more important.

What’s more, there are people here at Massey to advise and support you when it all goes pear-shaped or gets out of control… the Student Counselling service is great, even if you just need someone to have a good ol’ bitch to, about flatmates, assignments, work, family, whatever. You don’t have to feel that you gotta do it all by yourself. Then there’s the Student Learning Centre too, they can be really useful at the start of a long or difficult assignment, they’ve got tons of helpful tips and they’re pretty friendly. I got some awesome handy tips from them for studying towards my exams last semester.

I learned that The IT Crowd is the most fuck-awesome British sitcom EVER.

I learned that getting past years’ exam-papers off the library catalogue to see what you’re in for is a REALLY good idea. Best to do it near the start of the semester, though, it puts you in the right frame of mind for your assignments and classes, and it gives you a fair idea of what is and isn’t relevant.

Getting people in your classes together to study really helps too… you can go over stuff you’re not clear on if you’re too shy to ask the lecturer, it’s a good way to make friends, and if you’re like me and don’t live with other students, it’s a great way to stay in study mode after classes are done for the day. AND you can use it as an excuse to talk to that girl/guy/ambiguously gendered person that you’re sweet on.

I’ve learned that writing for CHAFF is a great way to spout off poorly-thought-out opinions and be publicly obnoxious, and get away with it (mostly). Good times…

I think I’ll leave it on that note, actually. If you don’t hear from me next year, it’ll be because William has murdered me and buried my body in a field somewhere. In that event, I leave my Furby collection and Britney Spears albums to Cassie.

Peace y’all,

DannyR.