Drowning

Sometimes, I feel like enlightenment is a curse.

It's crossed my mind whether there's really a quantifiable difference between believing a lie, and simply not knowing the truth.

Maybe I was wrong; perhaps ignorance is bliss.

I'm sitting here in a library; a place of knowledge, filled with so much factual text, information and intelligence, and people studying these volumes and presumably bringing themselves to some of elevated awareness, higher and intelligent.

And it's dawned on me that I've never felt so out of place.

I live my life in a sort of limbo.

Some people find that purpose they have in life, no matter how mundane, and they do it.

They work, they play, they have fun; they don't tend to venture beyond the boundaries or their normal existence, but that's okay with them.

They're content with their lot in life. They're all set.

Then there are people who, similarly, feel they have some goal in life, yet conversely have to spend years of their life immersing themselves in some chosen aspect, vastly broadening their horizons so they can achieve their ultimate passion.

I know for a fact that I'm neither.

I stepped into the outer world, into the waters of intellect and skill.

I just don't know how to swim.

I don't have a purpose. I don't have a passion. I don't have a goal.

I'm struggling to stay afloat, and the shore's nowhere in sight.

What if this was all a big mistake?

There's so much in my life that I don't understand, but I feel like I would have been happier if I'd never known it was there.

Like not being able to not see the trick to an optical illusion, things will never look the same to me. I don't know how it will ever be like it was before, yet I still struggle to make sense of what it is now.

Worst of all is I feel as though I'm wasting my time. I'm stuck in this strange place where I obviously don't belong.

And there's no way out.

"I've watched you fly on paper wings, halfway around the world

until they burned up in the atmosphere, sent you spiralling down

landing somewhere far from here with no one else around" - Rise Against

Confessions

I've always been an advocate for the truth.

There's nothing I hate than master class deception, and sometimes I even let little white lies get the better of my temperament.

Sometimes a lie is told out of malice and spite; the worst kind.

Sometimes it's told out of fear of the consequences of the truth.

A little more understandable, but in the long run the impact is probably much the same.

Yet concealment, no matter how big or small, leads to confession; an act which in itself can be very liberating and empowering.

I know form experience that certain confessions are extremely difficult.

My breathing gets all out of whack, and I feel my chest get so heavy because I've apparently forgotten to exhale.

But when you finally spit it out, there is a consequence, a react, and the ball starts rolling.

But what of self-confession?

Something you know, deep-down in your heart, but something that you can't bear to acknowledge.

Something you'd rather bury than accept.

No matter how difficult it might be to verbalise my most clandestine feelings, it's confronting myself with my deepest, darkest fears that is the hardest part of any confession.

Because they're usually the things you don't want to hear.

They're usually about the things you pretended weren't real.

And they usually come with the terrifying aspect that everything as you know it could change.

However, as terrifying as they are, these kinds of confessions tend to be the most fulfilling.

They bring with them the degree of acceptance that lets you "move on".

I've written many a blog on change, and how ultimately it can be a positive force. You shouldn't try to stand in it's way.

But sometimes, it's gentle, and waits for your permission.

All you have to do is say the word.

A simple confession is all it takes.

"guess I'm wish my life away

with these things I'll never say" - Avril Lavigne

Worry

Last night, I fell asleep clutching a Worry Doll.

Tradition dictates the after you finish telling it all your troubles, you put it under your pillow and the doll takes care of them for you, so you can sleep well.

Instead, I woke up in the middle of the night, quite unsure of the reason.

But there, now only loosely clutched in my fingers, was my Worry Doll, staring back at me.

Maybe I didn't realise how many subconscious fears I actually have.

Maybe I didn't have enough time to get them all out before the veil of night washed over me and I fell asleep.

I couldn't let the doll out of my grasp, and I somehow woke up with an unparalleled sense of dread.

I have a friend who used to ask me if they worried too much.

I replied: "I don't think you can worry too much. It just means that you care, and that makes you a good person."

The reasoning seems to satisfy us both at the time, but a few years on, I'm suddenly not so sure.

In the event of someone worrying too much, is there the possibility one could care too much?

Similar to someone worrying or stressing about things which they cannot change, which they have no control over, is it possible for someone to care too much about any particular thing, to have too many hopes or dreams riding on something that could potentially prove quite temporary?

I'm no advocate for apathy: I believe passion is the driving force behind everyone's true nature.

It's important to care about a lot of things, but is there a limit?

Putting too much faith in one thing, or being so passionate that it comes to the verge of fanaticism, unable to accept anything else.

Caring too much because of everything you've invested, with far too much at stake.

Or maybe the two terms aren't as synonymous as I've come to view them as.

Caring is about maintaining the positive, aiming for an optimistic end point.

Worry, on the other hand, seems like a constant stream of pessimism, with a deep focus on all the possible negatives.

It's okay to be nervous, and it's okay to care.

All you need is a little bit of hope.

And leave the worrying to the doll under your pillow.

"I'm just as nervous as you

but last night I took one look at you

and I got the feeling you're the right one" - Plain White T's

Thought

It's common knowledge that I think too much.

What's worse is that I typically don't think about anything too productive.

If I put as much energy into thinking up a cure for world poverty as I do into deliberating pointless topics and scenarios that don't even affect me... well, we would be living in a land of plenty, to say the least.

The worst of all is that most of the time, I'm completely lacking of an original thought.

Sometimes it's as though my entire stream of consciousness is just a plagiaristic re-hash of my daily intake of mass media.

Even when I try to buck the trend and deviate from mainstream opinion, I find I'm just extending further someone else's left-wing argument.

Conforming to non-conformity, if you will.

This discovering is disappointing - to say the least.

It would appear to me that when making an argument, rationality tends to escape me.

I am a very passionate person. Whether I choose vivid or subtle means of expressing it, I find I'm always plagued with some excess of emotion.

And the thing I love about emotion is that no one can tell you that it's wrong.

Despite all concepts of rational thought, I don't believe anyone can ever tell you the correct way to 'feel'.

Hence, having such passionate and personal justification to an argument would render it unfalsifiable.

Which leaves you at an epistemological dead end; a stalemate.

I'm not afraid of being wrong; in fact, I've come to expect that most of the time.

I guess my passion has given me a sort of blind faith in my own ideas.

I don't see the point in pressing my arguments incessantly, if I believe them, and they make sense to me, then I am - for the most part - satisfied.

However, it's when my own thoughts are undermined, and I feel forced to back up my passion with logic...

Well, that's when I come to a typical conclusion of "thinking is over-rated".

Self-condemned, my heart is going to rule my head.

Every time.

"now it feels like I'm losing my mind, I used to think all the time

now thinking hurts, and feeling is worse

I liked reality better when it was a dream" - Bayside

Normativity

Disclaimer: gay rant ahead.

Lately I've been seeing, both in the media and in examples in my own life, of the ways in which homosexuals, and homosexuality, seem to be characterised as overtly sexual beings. As in, because we identify with a certain sexual minority, our lives must surely revolve around sex; having as much as possible, with as many different people as possible, simply because we can.

As though being gay is almost synonymous with promiscuity.

And sure, there are a lot of examples as to why this reasoning might be justified. Anyone who knows about the iPhone phenomenon of Grindr will know that this modern age has made finding 'fun' so much easier. In my opinion, it's almost too easy, taking - for want of a better word - the 'fun' out of it.

People seem to follow this train of thought:

- Men always want sex --> Gay men want sex with other men --> Gay men are constantly having sex with each other because they both want it, all the time.

Again, I can't deny this is sometimes the case. Keyword: sometimes.

I will admit (and I wouldn't be the first) that sex is fun. But promiscuity is certainly not something that defines homosexuality.

In much the same way, promiscuity is not something that escapes heterosexuality.

The point that I am slowly coming to is that, in the endless debate of 'gay marriage' (which I am actually not discussing in this blog), some queer parties have been accused of "subscribing to hetero-normative ways of life" in an attempt to gain approval.

Um, what?

Since when has monogamy been the exclusive domain of the straight couple?

I don't want to be straight; I just want to have the ability to have a loving, exclusive relationship with a man and, should I choose to do so, not be accused of being a sell out to hetero-normativity.

We joke about a female being 'a gay man trapped in a woman's body'; why can't we just accept the fact she's a highly promiscuous woman and be done with it?

I'm not saying gay people don't have lots of sex. I'm not saying they do either... well maybe I am, but it's not only gay people.

I know there are fundamental differences between the culture of sexualities.

What annoys me is that so many people fail to see some of the fundamental similarities.

To me, wanting a loving, monogamous relationship doesn't make me 'straight'.

It makes me human.

"Sure, in a lot of ways, I am just like you. I wanna be happy, I want some security, a little extra money in my pocket, but in many ways, my life is nothing like yours. Why should it be? Do we all have to have the same lives to have the same rights? I thought that diversity was what this country was all about. In the gay community, we have drag queens, leather daddies, trannies, and couples with children - every colour of the rainbow. My mother's standing way in the back with some friends. My friends. She once told me that people are like snowflakes; every one special and unique... and in the morning you have to shovel 'em off the driveway. But being different is what makes us all the same. It's what makes us family." - Michael Novotny, Queer As Folk

Temporary

I've often thought of change as a vicious, merciless entity that walks among us, forever subjecting us to its undeniable effects.

Usually I see it as a beast, something that charges in and, for the most part, wreaks havoc and destruction in my life.

I used to make peace with this and justify that logic by saying that when one door closes, another one opens, and that karma will come around and reward you for being patient.

I also get through it by knowing that no change is permanent; those changes will change, and the cycle will continue.

But what of those times when Change throws you a bone, and throws a random, positive twist in your life?

Of course, you don't sit around thinking 'why me?' in such cases, and philosophies over the possible meanings of what is happening.

You just go out and enjoy what you've been given.

Well, most people would, at least...

But my theory on change being a temporary thing, always shifting every which way, has turned upon me in the event of something good actually happening.

Suddenly I find myself nervous that my volatile and temperamental existence is just going to keep shifting, keep changing, and that newly found happiness will change and morph into something else, like water rolling off a ducks back.

Potentially, it could get better; however, optimism and I aren't really on the best of terms right now (hence this chronic anxiety-blogging)

But I've always been hopeful.

Sure, it's optimisms desperate cousin, but it's better than nothing.

So here's hoping change slows down a little, and let's me enjoy the hand it's dealt me.

"and please don't tell me that I'm dreaming,

when all I ever wanted was to dream another sunset with you" - Mayday Parade

Truth

As a collective, I think we're afraid of the truth.

There's something about total honesty that just seems so brutal that to most people it's unbearable.

How many times have you ever caught yourself saying: "I'd rather not know" ?

So many of us choose to live in ignorance, due to the presupposition that it equals bliss.

But how can you happily live in a world knowing that what you know isn't really knowledge; that it's just a lie, a big fucking fake?

Worse than the people who wilfully accept falsity over truth, are the people who consciously project these lies from their very person.

We all have a self-conception that we unsuccessfully fill, but most of us try to, to an extent, 'be ourselves'.

But I've had the misfortune of knowing quite a few people who actively lie and cheat as though it were normal.

I've come to the conclusion that my subconscious is punishing me by making me attracted to men who are complete and utter, for want of a better word, douche bags.

They are scum. They seem to be genuine people, and they're only doing whatever they're doing for their own enjoyment. You're just a plaything in their mind games.

I used to think I was a good judge of character.

I've since been advised by someone wiser that, in reality, you cannot judge someone's character at all. Or at least, not when you first meet.

First impression are probably the most unreliable thing to dissect in order to make judgements. That's because there are the scum that make up a majority of my dating history who can easily project onto the world what they want you to think they are, what they want the world to see.

In reality, they're just so much worse. And it all comes from the plain and simple truth that so many of us are afraid of... well, the truth.

"I'm a gentleman and you're a liar

I'll expect the best of you, but it's so hard" - A Day To Remember