Here’s to You (Blog #1095)

Tonight’s blog is #1095 in a row and is my next to last. I’m smiling in tonight’s photo, but I’m not happy. Or at least if I am I’m a lot of other things too–sad, overwhelmed, confused, cranky. And tired. I’m tired. Of putting so much time and attention into this project. Of staying up way too late to work on it. Even when I’ve been sick. Of trying to find the right words. Of reading everything I’ve written at least four times a night in order to make sure it’s good enough, the whole time imagining it’s not. Most of all, I’m tired of doing it all alone. Of always being the strong one.

Granted, there’s a part of me that knows I’m not alone in all this. For the last six years I’ve been supported professionally by a kickass therapist, a woman who’s not only been my solid rock but has also taken my calls at all hours of the day and night. Likewise, a number of other professionals have been there for me throughout my healing process these last three years, giving me good information and even holding me while I’ve cried. Plus, I’ve had the support of my family and friends. The especially lovely part about this being that although most of them haven’t (I imagine) fully understood my journey or chosen to walk a similar path, they have nonetheless cheered me on.

My original thought for tonight’s blog was to address my readers, anyone who’s read this blog on a regular basis or has happened to peruse it even once. However, writing the entire blog “to you,” someone I can’t see right now, seems odd. Forced, I guess, because I’m so used to writing “to me.” Indeed, although over the last three years I’ve often said things like–dear reader, you, we, and us–I’ve primarily considered these ways to address myself. Not because I have multiple personalities, but because from the beginning this blog has been a form of self-therapy. Meaning that it’s been my way to work myself into a better place, so any advice I’ve given has been first and foremost for me. If it’s helped others, good. But what I know for certain is that it’s helped me.

More and more, this is enough.

No one else can save you.

Along these lines, anyone who sits down at a keyboard by themselves every day for three years could easily drive himself crazy–if he thinks he’s doing it for someone else, if he’s looking for a certain response or reception, or if he doesn’t find the work satisfying in and of itself. Thankfully, although in the beginning I imagined a different reception than the one I got, I’m satisfied now. Not because of what someone else has said or not said about this work, but because it’s been my salvation. Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. Or with a keyboard and a box of Kleenex. Whatever it takes. But this is what I’ve discovered. Others can support you, but no one else can save you. That’s your job. Your hard work has your name on it for a reason.

This sucks, I know.

Getting back to addressing my readers, I’d be remiss if I weren’t absolutely clear. I deeply appreciate anyone and everyone who’s spent even five minutes of their time reading my work, my inner world. Because no one owes me their time or attention. No one. If I’ve received it, whether I knew about it or not, it’s been a gift. A gift that humbles me and, no matter how much I try, one I really can’t wrap my head around. Perhaps because I’m so often hard on myself and think nothing is ever good enough, I especially don’t understand, and therefore can’t fully appreciate, the gift I’ve been given by those of you who’ve read–oh my gosh–every single post. Truly, I’m dumbfounded and speechless. As someone who often thinks that others don’t notice him or that his work isn’t impactful, you strongly encourage me to think and believe otherwise.

Thank you.

As a words-of-affirmation person, I’m particularly grateful to those of you who’ve liked, shared, or commented on my posts, as well as those of you who’ve sent private messages or emails over the last few years to tell me specifically how you’ve been encouraged by my journey and/or my words. A few names and faces come to mind, and I can’t tell you what a heartening thing it’s been to receive your kindness at the most random times and places. Truly, you’ve lifted me up, and I’ve felt your love across the miles. So please know how powerful you are. Your voice–yes, your voice–can offer someone hope, give them strength to keep going, and turn their life around for the better.

My therapist says that when she was growing up she was constantly told by her family, “Everything you touch turns to shit.” Well, 1) I strongly disagree, and my life is proof to the contrary, and 2) clearly even the people who know us the best are often wrong about us. Growing up, I heard, “Marcus, if you had a brain you’d be dangerous.” And whereas that used to bother me, now as an adult, I know it was just someone else’s shit. Still, messages like these get engrained, and I’ve spent a lot of time over the years thinking I was a fuck up, not good enough. All this to say that just as positive messages can have an impact on someone’s life, so can negative ones. So, again, you’re powerful.

Use your power wisely.

And don’t let anyone else tell you you’re anything less than a walking miracle.

You’re more supported than you know.

Coming full circle, at the beginning of tonight’s blog I said I was feeling all the feelings, especially tired. In today’s world, I imagine you’re tired too. In addition to the global pandemic (as if that weren’t enough), I know many of my dear friends and family are fighting their own health battles, watching their loved ones fight theirs, or both. Or just going through hell on a unicycle, slowly. (Please keep going.) And whereas one person can never know exactly what another is dealing with, as much as I can, I understand. I understand being exhausted, I understand wanting to give up, and I understand believing that you’ve tried everything but nothing works, damn it. Alas, as far as I can tell, The Path will always wear you out, kick your ass, and, at some point, make you cry uncle. Put your foot upon it anyway. Not only will you be better for it, but we need you on the other side of it. What’s more, you’re stronger than you think, are more supported than you know, and are deeply loved even when you don’t feel it.

So take heart. Many people, myself included, are cheering you on.

Here’s to you.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

"

To Breathe Deep, to Laugh, to Cry (Blog #1036)

Last night I went to bed at two in the morning. And whereas I’d intended to get five and a half hours of sleep, I only got three and a half. Alas, shit happens. This being said, un-shit happens to. What I mean is that although life is full of trauma and drama, it’s also full of healing and comedy. Yesterday I re-started working on a 1000-piece puzzle, and I imagine I’ll be working on it for a while. But then one day, the final piece will slip into place, and it will be done. Over. Likewise, with this blog. Two months from today I’ll type my final word, make my final edits, and hit publish. Just like that, with the touch of a button, I’ll be on to something else.

Along these lines of healing and being done, this morning I had one of the most profound healing experiences I’ve ever had, thanks to a therapist who practices a method my therapist doesn’t (and whom my therapist encouraged me to see). But here’s the catch. I’m not allowed to talk about the experience until tomorrow. “Talk about anything else you want,” the guy said, “but don’t talk about what happened here until you’ve had a chance to sleep and let your body process.”

“Okay,” I said. “I can talk about what I had to drink for breakfast.”

Now, I realize that this may seem like a tease. Not the breakfast part, but the profound experience part. I’m sorry. I’ll get around to it later. Or at least I think I will, since I never know what I’m going to write about until I do. Honestly, I only mention it at all because I don’t have anything else to talk about and I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t bullshit myself or anyone else on this blog. That is, if I were to pull some self-help lesson out of my ass right now and try to apply it to my day, I’m sure it would come across as disingenuous. And wants that? Certainly not me.

So what’s left to say, Marcus?

Well, currently I just finished breakfast and plan to wrap up this blog while chugging coffee. (Remember, I didn’t sleep much last night.) Then I’m going to spend the day shopping and running around with a friend, and tonight we’re going to see a show. Really, I can’t tell you how excited I am. Not simply to run around, but to be awake and alive not just to think about and overanalyze life, but to actually live it. So that’s the deal. I’m taking the rest of the day for me. To breathe deep, to laugh, to cry if I feel like it. To not miss one thing. To remember that there’s a time for planting seeds, and there’s a time for harvesting and celebration. To remember that deep healing is possible.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

"

On Possibility (Blog #890)

Last week I started painting the living room at a friend’s house. Today I finished it. Compared to the other rooms I’ve painted there, it took–I don’t know–twice as long. It was bigger. There were more doors, more windows, more nooks and crannies. The whole room (and the adjacent hallway) took nearly twenty-four hours to complete. Phew. I can’t tell you how good it feels to finally be done.

I didn’t take a before picture, but here’s a picture of the room with one partial coat of white. It used to be brown from floor to ceiling.

Here’s a picture of the finished product. What a difference!

Here’s another finished-product picture, taken from the other side.

Today when I got home my dad said, “It looks like you got more paint on you than on the walls.”

“Accurate,” I said, only half-joking.

Y’all, painting is messy business. If you’d stepped into the room even two hours before I finished, you might have thought, Yuck. What I mean is that was dried paint on the windows, tape on the floors, and no plate covers on the switches and outlets. Plus I had supplies everywhere. But after getting two full coats laid down (and in some places three), then I was able to go to work cleaning up–scraping paint off the windows with a razor blade, pulling the tape up off the floor, screwing the plate covers back on, and moving my supplies. The whole day I kept thinking, I’ll never finish. But eventually I did.

Transformations like this one continue to amaze me. Five weeks ago I started working on this house, and whereas I still have more to do, so far I’ve finished five rooms. Five rooms that used to be all brown (or green or turquoise) are now all white. I guess the whole project feels a bit like what this blog often feels like–overwhelming if you think about it as a whole. A whole house to paint. Over a thousand blogs to write. But if you just do a little bit at a time, sooner or later you start to think, This is possible. I can do this.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

One day a change will come.

"

Have You Seen a Gay Man Pack? (Blog #375)

I have been adulting all day–paying bills, dealing with credit cards, sending official letters regarding medical bills and car accidents. I hate this stuff. However, I’ve also been teaching dance, which I love. But then I’ve also been doing laundry and packing to go out-of-town tomorrow, and I hate doing laundry and packing. Well, I guess I’m indifferent about it. But in the process of packing I realized I left my only pair of tennis shoes in Dallas a few days ago, and I hate that. Also, I have to get up early to go to the airport, so that’s another hate.

I’m ready to scream.

As a species, gay men don’t travel light.

Really, I’m just stressed. I thought I was going out-of-town for five days, returning for one, then leaving again for four more. But I found out today that the two trips I’m taking (to Memphis and Hot Springs) are literally back-to-back. I’m going from one place to the other, which means I have to fit ten days worth of clothes into a small carry-on bag. Y’all, I realize I’ve been living as a minimalist this last year, but–HELLO–I’m still GAY. Have you SEEN a gay man pack? As a species, we don’t travel light. Seriously, I could fill my carry-on with hair products alone. Currently my bag is filled to capacity, and I STILL have clothes in the dryer.

I’m going to have to pray about this.

About forty-five minutes ago I went to Walmart to look for a replacement pair of tennis shoes. This was a waste of time. Not that they didn’t have plenty of shoes to choose from, but none of them were the right brand. Again–I’m a stuck-up homosexual. I thought, I’m desperate, but I’m not THAT desperate. I’ll make do with my Polo boat shoes. Even if they hurt my feet, at least they’ll look nice. I realize this line of thinking is in direct opposition to yesterday’s post about the inside mattering more than outside. I make no apologies for this. As Walt Whitman said, “I contain multitudes.”

Surely I’ll find a way to make it work.

Now I’m trying to talk myself down from a ledge. I still have some packing to do and also need to take a shower. Oh, and sleep–I need to sleep. I’m telling myself that the upcoming trips are going to be great. Regardless of how much rest I get tonight or what clothes I end up taking, I’m sure I’ll have a fabulous time. Plus, if I need a new pair of shoes or anything else, I’ll find a Target or a shopping mall. I’m also worrying about how to do my job (travel writing) on the trip AND continue this blog, but I’ve obviously found a way to make this blog work so far, so surely I’ll find a way to make it work again. Like tonight’s blog, some of my posts may be shorter. (And that’s okay, Marcus.)

Also, some posts may conclude abruptly.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

More often than not, the truth is a monster. It gets in your face and makes you get honest. Sometimes the truth separates you from people you care about, if for no other reason than to bring you closer to yourself.

"

This Hazy, Gray Fog (#272)

Last night I took two Benadryl to calm down my allergies and slept like a dream. Now it’s one-thirty in the afternoon, and I think the pills are still in my system. It’s like I’m in a fog, the world is kind of hazy. I actually like it. First, my sinuses are dryer, and my skin is less itchy. Second, although I’m sure there are a number of physical and emotional problems I could currently worry about, I can’t focus enough to remember what they are. I keep thinking, Eff allergies. Life is good. Que sera, sera. Y’all, those little pink pills are great–they’re like alcohol without the calories.

Of course, the fact that I can’t focus isn’t doing much for today’s blog, but you can’t win them all.

Yesterday I taught a dance lesson at a friend’s house. One of their sons is getting married. (Thus the dance lesson.) Anyway, when the dancing ended, we all sat around, visited, and were generally entertained by their two younger boys. I guess for Christmas the kids got a bunch of stilts, the bucket kind where you basically stand on upside-down plastic cups that stay pressed against your feet by virtue of long strings you hold in your hands. Well, there may have been whiskey involved, and before long I and some of the other adults were running around the living room with the kids, except we were hunched over because the strings were sized for toddlers and young children and not for those of us old enough to have our chiropractor on speed dial.

“This isn’t good for my lower back,” I said.

Later the boys put all the cups together and hid candy under them. Then the adults had to guess where the candy was. Y’all, I’m terrible at this sort of thing. After ten rounds, I think I walked away with two peppermints, one of which was a sympathy win. No wonder I always end up in the slow line at the grocery store and pick the wrong people to date. Whatever you do, don’t let me go to Las Vegas. Stick to blogging, Marcus. Stick to blogging.

This morning my older nephew led me in a game of treasure hunt in which he left notes or clues that led me from one location in the house to another. First I was at the refrigerator, then under one of the beds, then on the couch, and so on. This is really creative, I thought. Well, the final destination was my mom’s bathroom, where my nephew was waiting. And get this–the “treasure” I received was getting squirted in the face with a water bottle. I was dripping. My nephew couldn’t stop laughing. “He’s been reading a lot about practical jokes,” my sister said.

“Lucky me,” I replied.

Last night I started to get wrapped up in my current histamine reaction, falling down the rabbit hole of worrying and thinking, What am I going to do? But then I took a deep breath and spent a few minutes remembering all the longstanding problems my body has solved over the years, most of which it did without my help. Well, in short order, I had an entire list–warts that lasted a year, body odor that lasted at least six months, skin rashes, infections, flu viruses that dragged on and on–all things that are currently over. This is something I plan to do for at least the next week or two, make an effort to recognize the times my body has come through and won the day. Since God knows I’ve spent plenty of time pointing out my body’s failures lately, I think it’s only fair to balance the scales.

My therapist says that life isn’t black and white, but rather “a lot of gray.” My this-or-that, all-or-nothing brain doesn’t love this idea, but it seems to be correct. The truth is that just as I don’t win games all the time, I don’t lose games ALL the time either. Sure, sometimes I end up with water on my face, but, more often than not, I’m perfectly dry, nothing to complain about. Likewise, I’ve had my share of health problems, but probably no more than average. What’s more, my body has proved itself capable of restoring order on more than one occasion. I guess this is another way of talking about balance, being able to see that you win some and you lose some and that life isn’t one thing or the other. Instead, like my world on antihistamines, life itself seems to be a fog, this hazy, gray thing that creeps along, touches everything, and leaves nothing out.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

As the ocean of life changes, we must too.

"

Time Well Spent (Blog #200)

9:33 AM

I’ve been awake for an hour or so, and I just finished a continental breakfast here at the glorious Comfort Inn and Suites in Carbondale, Colorado. Check out is in an hour and a half, so I’m about to take a shower, pack up, and hit the road. (It’s been real.) My destination is Albuquerque, where my sister lives, and it should take about eight hours, stops included. Because I’m still feeling yuck, blah, and gross, I imagine it’s going to be a long day. Jesus, take the wheel. Still, at the end of the road will be the ones I love. All things considered, life is good.

If it’s not obvious, I’ll be writing the blog in “installments” today to make my life easier. If you can think of some little something to make your life easier today, do it–you have my full support.

4:12 PM

I think I just set a new personal record. I drove for five and a half hours without a pit stop. I didn’t realize that was possible, so I’m considering nicknaming my bladder Champ. Who knows why the sudden change in behavior? Usually I pee constantly. Maybe my kidneys got enlightened this weekend, or maybe I’m just dehydrated.

The drive so far has been surreal. For whatever reason, my mind is at ease, and my usual sense of nervousness is nowhere to be found. Even when driving along narrow roadways with steep drop-offs, I was like, Whatever. I’ve only taken one picture (at a stoplight in Aspen), but the scenery has been gorgeous–Colorado and New Mexico in the fall are basically God’s backyard. Anyway, I’m in road-warrior mode and ready to see my nephews, so I’ll write more later.

8:08 PM

I got to my sister’s a couple of hours ago. When I arrived, the nephews started bouncing off the walls, and even Ander (the younger one), who usually hides from me, went nuts. They were skipping, jumping, leading me outside then back in. Eventually I sat down for dinner (thanks, Dee-Anne) and visited with my sister and her husband while Ander scooted across the kitchen floor on his back and repeatedly said, “Ow, ow, ow.” My brother-in-law said, “Imagine this non-stop for seven years.” I said, “I can’t.”

Seriously, how do parents do it? Well, how do parents who don’t drink do it?

Before Christopher (the older nephew) went to bed, he put a craft book on the table and asked me to help him make a paper airplane.  Seriously, this kid is great with building and making things, so he probably could have done it himself, but I guess this was an “advanced” model. Y’all, uncle-ing is hard. The instructions had like ten steps–the plane had a tail fin and everything. It was super detailed, complicated actually, and a couple times I thought, I can’t figure this out. But then I did–it finally came together. What’s more, it flew!

That’s right, I’m thirty-seven and can make a paper airplane.

But get this shit. Christopher–that little turd–ran straight to my sister and said, “Mom–I made an airplane!”

(Awkward pause)

“Well, I helped make one.”

9:40 PM

We always have more support than we realize.

For the last hour I’ve been chatting with my sister, but she just went to bed because she’s a mom. Anyway, I really like her. We talked about our family, school, and our individual responses to some of the bullshit we went through as children–specifically the fact that she expressed her emotions back then and I stuffed mine way, way down. (It’s okay, they’ve been working their way back up–like they do.) Since Dee-Anne lives so far away and most of my healing progress has happened the last few years, sometimes I forget that she went through a lot of the same stuff I did. Of course, it’s always good to remember that you’re not alone. We always have more support than we realize.

10:08 PM

A couple hours ago I realized that today’s blog is number 200. That’s 200 days in a row of sitting down, more than once propping my eyelids open with toothpicks, and opening my mind and heart for both me and the world to see. The goal is every day for a year, and I recently hit the halfway mark (183 days), but I note it on the blog every fifty days if I remember. So that’s why we’re talking about it now.

When I started this blog over six months ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Since I’ve been living back at home, I was originally going to call the blog Me and My Parents, then Me, My Parents, and My Therapist. But I thought, Surely I’ll move out again one day, so I dropped my parents altogether (but just from the blog). Anyway, as I’m writing about the blog now, it makes me want to cry. Maybe that’s because I’ve come to think of it as a friend. We have all these memories together. Each night we cuddle up together, I talk about my day, and the blog listens, wraps me up in its arms, and tells me I’m okay.

I’ve said it before, but I can’t overemphasize what a positive journey this has been. I’m out of work, living with my parents, and really have no idea what the rest of my life will hold. On the surface, I don’t have a lot to show. But beneath the surface, where it counts, I’m better than I ever have been. I’m less afraid and more sure than ever before. I’m more self-confident, comfortable in my own skin. I’m not perfect, of course, but I own my shit and am either working on it or okay with saying, “I’m fine the way I am.” The reason I want to cry, of course, is because I realize it’s not the blog that’s been my friend these last 200 days–it’s me–I’m the one who’s been there for me.

10:31 PM

At the spiritual retreat this last weekend, the teacher was joking about how people approach their spiritual lives, like, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a few free hours between errands today, I’ll check out that meditation thing.” This attitude, of course, is ridiculous. After all, he said, what’s more important than your freedom?

Learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing.

I’ve thought about this question off and on today. I know I’ve worried a lot this last year about how I’m going to make a living or what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but when I consider how much freer, happier, and peaceful I am now as compared to six months ago, all that “worldly stuff” pales in comparison. I’m not saying this process has been easy. On the contrary, there have been plenty of days that it’s felt like making a complicated paper airplane and letting someone else take the credit for it. Often the road has been long, and I haven’t felt so great. Still, I’d recommend the journey to anyone. For surely learning to be there for yourself is the essence of healing, and making time to be your own friend is time well spent. And here’s what I can promise–at the end of the road will be the ones you love (and that includes you), and things will finally come together.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

We think of hope as something pristine, but hope is haggard like we are.

"