Thursday, 13 September 2012

Life

Well, it seems as though I have reached a plateau when it comes to my coming out process.

I went to therapy yesterday and had nothing to struggle over.

I don't know why or how, but about four weeks ago (maybe more) things started to he back to normal. I stopped bursting out into tears. I stopped being hurt or irrationally angry with anyone in particular (specifically with my dad).

I seemed to get my regular self back.

The trippy thing? I don't know why things leveled out. There wasn't one thing that happened. And to be honest that kind of freaks me out. Because of I can't figure out why I'm doing well. And to be honest the reason why that deals me out so much because if I don't know why I'm happy, couldn't it be feasible that I could slip back into sadness and emotional ridiculousness. Yeah, my therapist thought I was being silly too.

So, I'll ride it out. For now.

Sunday, 26 August 2012

Dirty Little Hetero Secret

During my late teens and up until about a year and a half ago I had a slight obsession that I never told any about. My mom knew, but she ignored it, mostly because I think she had the same affliction.

If anyone had thought I did what I did I would have denied it to my deathbed. Well, maybe not my deathbed. But I certainly did a number of things to ensure that not a soul knew about my addiction.

My obsession?

Romance novels. And not historical romance novels, either. The crazy, stupid, over the top, pathetic and horribly patronizing Harlequin (yes, I said Harlequin) paperback novels you can buy at the grocery store. Eventually I learned that I couldn't keep buying the books at $6 a pop and turned to the public library.

And even then I would only check them out at libraries that had self check out. The embarrassment and humiliation that was a potential to experience by having someone find me out was the only thing that stopped me from buying more.

As of right now I have four garbage bags full of books. A rough estimate I think puts it at about 50 books a bag. Seriously. That's almost 200 books. And that's not counting the library books I took out. I would never leave the library without taking at least four books with me.

I'm horrified be this collection. I'm even waiting until my family is out of the house to smuggle them to the Goodwill. Part of me thinks I shouldn't donate them, I should burn them.

They are bad books. Let's not even think about the writing. It's not good. I'm talking about the other stuff. Favourite titles? Anything that has "virgin" in the title will be an emotional roller coaster. Bah.

I'm sure that it's a formula. Introduce mousy, average girl (who never has a last name) doing some sort of menial labour to pay off debts (never her own, a sick mother or deadbeat brother or father). Enter a jaded billionaire who sees her and feels something strange. Obsessed with her, she Is offered a job she thinks "great, I can pay off my debts". They sleep together, she falls in love and then...the misunderstanding happens. He gets angry, turns her into his mistress. He feels hurt, betrayed, upset. And then acts like an asshole. Then there's the big flourish. She defends him, proclaims her love sand he overhears the selfless declaration. Or he learns that those debts were not her own, and that she in fact was a virgin. Cue sappy epilogue with children and happiness.

What can I say? I was hooked. I was guaranteed a happy ending, with some sauciness included. And then I found the "Blaze"series of Harlequin. Ummm. Much saucier.

But now that I've come out, having these books is troublesome. If I've been gay for quite some time, what was it with my crazy Hetero book collection? It's bizarre. I don't quite know what to do with this worry.

I'm not straight, and I am sure that the romance, being taken care of (barf, did I just think that) was the novelty. I don't know. I have to think this one through.

So moving forward I am opening myself up to better smut. Smut that doesn't require heroines to be virginal or drop dead gorgeous. Smut that allows women to explore love and loss in a way that doesn't not require that they give up their autonomy and power.

Not gonna lie, a part of me will miss those books. They was a certain comfort in reading the predictable storylines. I knew I was going to get a traditionally happy ending. But, this is a year of new beginnings. And quite frankly having this much heteronormativity so close to my bed is freaking me out.

Not to mention the free space. Those puppies were taking up two dresser drawers and my whole night stand.

Sigh. Don't judge me too harshly.

Thursday, 23 August 2012

Family Disconnection

Everyone has those family members who you just don't connect with.  In my family I seem to have more than one.  I don't have issues with any of them particularly.  You know, they're just folks that I'm related to, and see on a semi regular basis.  When I see them we talk about the same shit.  They do the same stuff, share the same stuff.  More boring than anything else.

The majority of my family members who I have less than close relationships do not know about my coming out.  They are pretty much in the dark about this new development.  And no, I don't think that they know.  In fact, I would bet a significant amount of money that they are clueless about much of my life.  For most of these family members, they continue to treat me like a 12 year old.  I'm not so vain to think that it's because they think I'm immature, I think it more has to do with their vanity and lack of awareness in general.  It seems to be a pattern in their lives.

What I find interesting about this whole process is that during my big reveal, they weren't on the list of people to tell about my identity marker.  It never crossed my mind to tell them.  The reasons were many:

1. They wouldn't know how to react. 
2. No connection with them anyway, why start now?
3. The awkwardness.  Oh, the awkwardness.
4. They don't care.

Number four sounds harsh, but to be honest these few family members that I haven't told are navel gazers.  Not too interested in others, and definitely not interested in me. 

We have some relatives from out of town visiting (from very far away, visits happen usually every 1.5 years...with no talk in between).  And it has not even crossed my mind to tell them.  It doesn't hurt not to, it's not hurting to keep it secret.  And that surprises me.

I don't know how long I can keep it from all these relatives (which is probably a lot when I actually start to count it up).  But there is a part of me that doesn't really mind.  They'll find out and again, I would bet, they won't say anything.  They'll act like they always knew.  No big deal.  But since they rarely ask about myself I don't think I'm in danger of having my cover blown.

Part of me is sad that I don't have closer relationships with them, but on the other hand, I rarely get anything from them (in the form of support, etc.) so it really isn't a loss.

It's just interesting to think about.

One thing I am grateful for: not one of them would be vindictive about it.  And that's what I'm going to focus on.

I love my weird, narcissistically-minded family.  And I am not going to try and change it.

 
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Wednesday, 22 August 2012

6 Week Check In

What a difference six weeks can make.  It's been over a month since I started this journey in earnest.  Talking to people, coming out, sharing my story and trying to redefine what I'm doing and who I am.  It feels like forever ago sometimes when I first started to share.  It seems, sometimes that it was just yesterday.

I was reflecting (one of my new past times) about the whole process this past week, after I started to take a break from the whole idea of coming out.

Firstly, I was impressed that I was able to actually take a break.  When my therapist suggested that I think about scaling back, I thought it was an impossible task.  No way could I actually do it.  Never.  It was far too present and big for me to ignore.  I got irritated with the very thought that I could put this process on hold.

But, it seems that somehow I have.  The last couple of weeks have been all about work, getting stuff done, getting ready for fall and also a big push to relax.  Work has been insane, but it has been possible to kick back occasionally.

I'm currently dreaming about many other things- not just the gay thing.  It's an odd feeling, like I'm back to myself.

Four weeks ago I was terrified about thinking about anything else until I had solidified my new identity.  I should be looking into communities, lesbian groups, reading about gay-ness. 

Now, I feel like I'm getting back to who I really am, realizing that I don't need a brand new identity.  That the one I have is ok.  However, this feeling is usually fleeting.  Something to work on, I suppose.

Not quite sure when this hiatus from the whole thing will be over.  The thought scares me.  But it scares me even more to think I could get used to not thinking about it.

 
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Friday, 17 August 2012

Gossip Girl

I'm starting to have my first taste of the drama that can explode with coming out.  Not having people be offended or shun me. The exact opposite actually.

I have a friend, Carrie, who I've known since high school, we are in regular contact and we generally see one another (in a group setting) once a month.  She was very happy and accepting when I came out to her. 

You ever meet those people who take great pleasure in telling you that they have a friend who is part of a disinfranchised group?  My friend, so-and-so, who is black/Asian/disabled told me...blah, blah, blah.

I generally can't stand those people.  They drive me bonkers.  Really, really crazy.  Those are the kinds of people that take pleasure in telling people scandalous tidbits and revelling in the reactions of their audience.  It's sooooo exciting!

Don't get me wrong, gossip is fun.  I am not one of those people who is above gossiping, or pretends like they don't love a good dramatic story between real people.  I get it, it adds variety and spice to life.  And I don't even mind if I'm the topic of your gossip.  Truly.  I've had a few (very few) experiences of being people's "big news".  I'm not opposed or offended when this happens. 

What irritates the shit out of me is when you use my big moment to ruin shit for me. Enter Carrie.

Last week I was hanging out with a dear friend, Tara.  She lives in a city a couple of hours away, and I hadn't seen her in a while.  I got to tell her my news via email (which was not so bad), and then last week we got together to talk more (while drinking red wine).  Eventually it came out that Carrie called Tara three days after my big reveal to her.  An odd thing, because Carrie and Tara don't really talk.  They are friendly, they might comment on the same FB post, but no communication outside of that.  Tara mentioned that Carrie had started by talking about her troubled relationship with her longtime love.  Then quickly transitioned to sharing my news with Tara.

When Tara shared this with me, I laughed.  I'm rarely the centre of attention in my life (my preference), but once and a while, it's kind of thrilling.  I was flattered, and since Tara had already heard the news from me before Carrie told her, I wasn't upset.  We moved on, shaking our heads at Carrie's move (which was a bit ballsy), but nothing more.

Fast forward to me driving down the highway the next day, when a thought crossed my mind.  If Carrie had decided it was her job to out me to Tara (who she knows I'm close with), what would stop her from outing me to other friends and acquaintances?

Thus started the quick descent into madness.  I became convinced that everyone I went to high school with was informed.  I don't hang out with most of them, but it felt odd to be exposed like that to them.  I wondered what the conversations were like when Carrie shared my big reveal with others.  I'm a bit of a control freak when it comes to how/when/who finds out.  The thought that I am out of control for even distant acquaitances is unsettling.  The other big piece that I realized is that I care how I'm depicted, as a member of the GLTB community (even though I'm barely connected to that community yet).  I don't want anyone misconstruing my coming out or my identity.  I don't want people thinking I'm a mess.  I don't want to have a reputation as a puddle of low self-esteem, directionless, irresponsible lesbian.  Even for people who hardly know me, I don't want them to think poorly of me.  And I don't want them to think this is a big deal.  It's a big (giant, huge, enormous) deal for me.  Not for them.

And then I start to think about why I care.  Because I do, and I won't pretend that I don't.  I'm not sure why, although I'm sure my youthful low self-esteem and horrible high school days have something to do with it (and my current state of my personal confidence).

Later this week I went to have drinks with a couple of awesome friends, Sam and Isla.  They wanted to get together, and I wanted to see them.

I shared with them about Carrie's hasty call to Tara and her disclosure of my disclosure.  They were horrified.  They couldn't believe that she had done this.  What is wrong with her?

Then it hit me.  Has Carrie outed me to my longest and oldest friend, Sara (whom she knows and talks to)?  Sara, the evangelical, mom to four who I'm sure would flip out at the thought that one of her closest friends (and maid of honour at her wedding) is a lesbian.

I had recently started to plot how I would tell Sara this news one to one, as it had become clear to me that I really wanted/needed to tell her face to face (a change from my original plan of never telling her...quelle surprise).  And now to be faced with this was like a smack in the face.

Before any of this it was daunting enough to have to work up the courage to tell Sara and deal with the fall out.  I knew already she wouldn't be pleased, and might even say something hurtful.  I knew that we probably wouldn't have a friendship after the disclosure, but I didn't know how to continue on with her not knowing.  Our friendship has such deep roots (and happy memories) I felt deceitful in letting others fill her in.  I was clear when I told Carrie that I didn't want to tell Sara.  That I didn't want her to know.

Now, I was faced with the reality that I would have to connect with Carrie and have an awkward conversation.

"So, I heard you outed me to Tara.  Have you told Sara?  Because if you did, I'll fucking flip."

I was so angry.  Not only did I have to figure out how to have this nasty conversation with Sara, now it had to be preceded by an uncomfortable conversation with Carrie.  Great.

Combine this with her attitude of propriety over my new identity and attempt at telling Tara first, I was downright mad.

After drinks with Sam and Isla I decided to connect with those who know Carrie.  I was assured that Carrie wouldn't tell Sara.  She just wouldn't, not her style.

I wish I could say I was confident in that assumption.

So now, not only do I have to rethink my friendships with those three friends from college, but now I have to re-evaluate another relationship.  Fuck.  I'm tired.

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Monday, 13 August 2012

I Was Right

Remember the friends who had a less than wonderful reaction to the big reveal?

I told my therapist (I told her!) that they wouldn't bring it up again.  They wouldn't ask me how I was, or talk to me about my process (despite asking for their help/support).

And the result?  An email was received.  And didn't say a fucking thing about me baring my soul.

How did it go?

Something like..."Hey!  Let's go out for dinner...and do a HP marathon...when are people available?".

I have yet to respond.  Catty?  Maybe.  But I feel totally uninterested in expelling the energy that would be necessary to engage.  I tired.  Literally.  Exhausted by doing this, tired from talking to the people in my life about the process.  I'm also resentful that they don't seem to be doing the same kind of work that I am about the issue.  What the hell?

I'm the one responsible for getting these friendships in order while sit in blissful ignorance.  Why?  Because I refuse to pander to them.  I refuse to be the one to fix this, like I'm the one who broke these friendships.

Besides, I'm still on a fucking break.

Instead I will try and channel my energy to appreciate my good friends. 


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Wednesday, 8 August 2012

Break

Yesterday I had my second session with my therapist.  It is a bit of an odd experience.  I went to her for about five years in my early twenties, only to drift away for the past five years.

I came back, and part of it is like coming home.  It took no time at all to find my groove.

I'm different, older, somewhat wiser and much more emotionally together than I was at 23 years old.

Yesterday, after sharing and talking and processing, my therapist suggested that I take a break from the process for a couple of weeks.  Take some time, relax, calm down and get done what needs to get done (deadlines are a summer thing for me, it seems).

So.  I'm going to try and take a break.

But you know me and my plans.