Bad Moon Rising
I am so so so tired.
I don't know how else to explain it. I just want to cry tonight. This whole entry is self-indulgent mama dada.... I am employing liberal use of CCR's "Chronicle" as cheap therapy.
I have spent the last few days in deep assessment of my life, and I am scared.
I have arrived at a troubling time. I feel that all is in jeopardy, and that if a few false moves occur, complete collapse is imminent.
"You won't be hearing from me again."
Recently, I have all but cut a friend out of my life. It is not as if we live nearby. He lives in the mid-west, and we haven't seen each other for several years. However, I believe that we represent the investment of hope for each other. Such a misplaced, foundling thing, perhaps, but all the more real and genuine because of our sincere honesty and vulnerability. We confided secrets to each other, spoke some of our great fears aloud in each others' presence. But I have told him that he will not hear from me again, after a week long string of homophobic emails, each more stinging than the last. He is deeply opposed to my upcoming wedding to a man, and has been brandishing remarks that he had no right to say, in the way that friends must never betray each other. He knew right where to punch, and I doubled over. I felt deeply betrayed and attacked, and finished my last email with "....you won't be hearing from me again."
It is probably true. I feel like I just lost a brother.
I stuck with him for so long, even when everyone was ready to pull the plug. In each other, we invested a sort of hope for mutual sanity, both seeing the steel blue moon glint in each others' eye. A reflection. I got better. He got so much worse. I have never so deliberately shut someone out like this; quite against my nature, but I feel that this time it is really done.
I have recently caught up on some internet bullshit regarding zines, some of it is directly related to my volunteer work, some of it not, all of it raising deep issues as to how we take care of business as a weird ass little "scene". I have started feeling physically ill regarding some of the shit, a flutter of anxiety whipping through me every time I see some new post. My pulse quickens, and I have to read it several times to make sure I haven't committed some kind of logical fallacy or overemotional reaction. I respond, in type if necessary. I read my response over and over and over. Too late to edit it, of course, because I already clicked send. I just hope it was the right thing. I have a feeling that things are coming to a head in a new way. It is becoming time to put up or shut the fuck up, and it is getting harder and harder to say the right things. Perhaps one of these days, it is simply going to be. "If you don't like it, tough! I've put up with all of you people's bullshit quite enough! 'Reconcile THIS, motherfuckers!'"
This compares directly to the separation of my unnamed friend mentioned above. Zines and I sort of like each other. A lot. The zine community is near and dear to my heart, though I've never been what you might call a big player in zines, or whatever. My tenure is most remarkable for being a shit worker, and that is something I am quite proud of. It impresses me, and I don't need any other recognition than that.
But I hate hate hate hate that so many people that I trust and respect have had the weakest, most apologetic stance regarding the misdeeds of individuals that are also big up in zines. It makes me question everything about it all. Why am I wasting my time in a scene with people that are all but handing out "Get Out of Accountability Free" cards? Have I been blind to it this long? Or is it that being popular means you cannot do any wrong? How are we different from high school jocks, corporate business persons, and the worst of humanity again? I feel like the only thing I can be consistently proud of in Zines right now is my veteran team on the Portland Zine Symposium, although every year we see some people come and go. I'll be a part of the Portland Zine Symposium as long as I live in Portland (and that's going to be a very long time, my friends).
Fuck, I cannot even write that word without feeling deep pangs of heartache. Many of my immediate family are in Utah, more than have been present in one time in years. I wish I was there, but I heard about it all much too late to make plans. I am always the last to know. I may not have been able to make plans, but I don't feel particularly missed? I often go six months without hearing anything from brothers or sisters. I call home to my parents, and I am rushed off the phone. I feel that I deserve my strained position within my nuclear family. I will spend the rest of my years making it up. But my position with my extended family is slim to non-existent. I have been cordially UNinvited to family reunions for wanting to bring my boyfriend with me. My grandparents, whom I have lived with for about four years of my life, want next to nothing to do with me since I came out. They can't handle it, and I can't handle them suggesting I go to Evergreen, some kind of Mormon mindfuck that aims to turn gays into straights via aversion therapy. Also, after engaging in heated debates on politics, some cousins have taken the step to delete me from Facebook, refusing to talk to me, removing any casual point of reference between me and them. Family simply prefer me as an Unknown. I feel like what I want just doesn't matter. Have you ever been Forsaken?
This is usually my refuge. I often depart here, away from the disappointments mentioned above. This is the one place that I have felt I have total control. I have been dominating all of my classes, and everything looks great. I have been noticed by instructors, I have been offered very wonderful positions within school that help temper my abilities and employ me as a useful servant. I could ask for nothing better. However, I have recently had to complete a total plan for the rest of my duration at PCC. I am seeking two Associate degrees, and will require some sort of special permission. However, I am also facing a very real deadline of completing 15 months of school in order to transfer to a four year college. That's going to be six quarter terms, at an average requirement of 15 credits a term, clocking in at 125% full-time capacity. Anything less than this means I may not make it in time to transfer to Reed College, my current dream and obsession. Reed requires that you transfer only in the fall, and you have a shit ton of weird requirements to meet. I will be working 50-60 hour weeks just to find out if I quality. I hate to think that it is a long shot, but I have to cover my bets. I have to plan on transferring, even if it ISN'T to Reed. That doesn't sound like a "real problem" to me, not even as I type it out. Nevertheless, I have spent several years of my life preparing myself to be a choice for some admissions official somewhere to make a decision in a day or two about my labors. This is life that I will never get back, a tiny suicide, death by self-sacrifice. I don't even want money, fame, or respect. All I ask is to do something of reckoning. To be a real ass human being. Make me strong, help me heal, starting with myself, ending only with my last breath. My solemn vow, short of breath, taken aback, over the grave of my perrenial hero Emma Goldman, May Day 2009: "I promise I will never give up". Please, let it not be in vain.
Oh, how I need strength.
"Well I'm here to tell you now each and every mother's son
That you better learn it fast you better learn it young
'Cause someday never comes."