I Hate Feeling Weak

I just had to leave 'Rise of the Planet of the Apes' because the scenes of community and family were giving me such severe panic attacks- I couldn't stay in the theatre.

I feel like a different man.  Like the first 17 years of my life I was controlled and told who to be and what to do by my mother.  I spent the next 13 trying to get her to love me, or kill myself in the process.  Now that I have begun owning to these things- I'm free to be who I choose, and while that's empowering- it's also quite unnerving at times.

My mother decided that she was tremendously threatened by men. She decided that all heterosexual sex was a man attacking a woman.  Her life became about defending that attack, and fighting her own heterosexuality- to the point where she is just beating up herself and everyone around her.

I grew up in this late 90's unbridled man-hate of my mothers.  I grew up being taught to hate and shun my masculinity and heterosexuality.
I remember being very young, and being praised by my mother for acting like a girl.  I remember consciously knowing that acting like a girl was better in our house.  I put on a cover, wearing my hair long, acting, camouflaging myself in femininity to spare myself from my mother's wrath.

Later, I got my first video camera.  I enjoyed getting my mother's full attention and praise for whatever video creation I had come up with- and so I set about making movies for fun... a lot of the time.  While there were many successes, I recall one particular disaster quite vividly:

I took a Barbi and a Ken doll, and made a video of them having sex.  I showed the tape to my mother- rolling in laughter... attempting to grasp sexuality.  My mother exploded with fury.  She sat me and my brother down, and told us how sick and awful of people we were for doing such a thing.  She waved the tape in front of us, and threatened to show the therapist what awful children she had.  I was taught to feel shame for my gender and preference.

I wore my camouflage well... I wore it everywhere.  The other boys called me "faggot" a lot.  It hurt to be called faggot, but not as much as it hurt to be denied my mothers acceptance.  I hid my sexual preference for women, and buried myself deeper.

I remember the first time I was caught looking at porn.  Back in those days there were no free video sites.  Instead- you had to browse images REALLY slowly over a 48.8k modem... each image was highly compressed, and pages took forever to load.... I remember eagerly awaiting to see the next beautiful woman body.  I couldn't believe that I'd found a way to get this stuff in my house for FREE! (12yr old early adopter... you're welcome world)  My mom found the image cache on the computer, and I was in DEEP SHIT.  Not only was this days and weeks of being shamed, and told how wrong and bad we were for this; but my brother and I were also forced to write 10 page research papers on the adult sex industry, and how it abuses women... curiosity meant looking- looking meant objectifying- and Mommy dearest refuses to see it any other way.  That is the ONLY reality she is willing to accept... Stubborn. Hateful. Vicious.  Violent.

I desperately don't want to become her.  I cannot stay alive swimming in this sea of insecurity and loneliness she has been treading water in so many years... It's a choice to stay in that trauma.  It's a choice to not force yourself to learn and grow- better yourself for your own sake.

I feel weak today.
I couldn't sit through a silly movie without panic attacks... I WORK WITH MOVIES! I STUDIED MOVIES! Yet today- I have to surrender to this weakness.  I have to let myself feel what I can, and learn what I can today.  Strong comes with each tomorrow, and each better decision.

Trauma

We all have trauma.  It's what we do with it that matters.

My mother has been reliving her trauma, and feeding her fears for YEARS.  She has created the disorder that is her traumatic stress.  She chooses the ER.  She chooses to shut people out, instead of face her worst self- to become her best self.  I will not stay in her trauma.  I choose not to live that life or be that person.

I like stories. Let's try a little war story, and see how much truth there is in it:
Clyde Gray was a submarine mechanic in WW2.  He was depth charged.  Clyde comes home to have Janet with Glatha.  Glatha does not know how to relate, and Clyde only pays attention to punish.  Janet feels traumatized, and begins reacting to her trauma... running away, and attacking the world.

Borrowing from Tony Robbins- Janet makes a few decisions- "men are attacking women" and "I will not let myself be attacked."  because of this- she constantly perceives attacks from men that are not there. She will not speak to my masculinity, and she will not address her traumatized behavior.  Instead- she just relives the trauma every day.

My trauma was not the war.  I wanted to die long before I joined the Marines.  My trauma is my mother.  I had a panic attack before we left for Afghanistan... My mother choose the restaurant off an LGBT website, and when she told me- I felt so out of control I panicked.  "who the fuck is gay here, and why can't you let me be a man?!?!"

I stood on top of an IED, and I felt gratified.  It was a win.  I had participated.  Who cared if I died- I was alive.  This wasn't upsetting.  This felt like a glorious victory over my enemy.

The taliban isn't my enemy.  I understand how a true warrior must love their enemy as themselves.  My enemy is my mother.  My enemy is the insecurity that I feel when I know that she can't hear me, and she can't see me, and she can't accept me for who I am: a strong heterosexual white male.  It's too threatening to her, and so she's decided to go relive her trauma...

She's decided that this post war white male is currently attacking her.  She's decided that my cries for her love, and to STOP GETTING MISTREATED are anything but cries of a son's pain for his mother's love.

I hate her for not being able to get over her shit.  I hate her even more for not even making the effort.  But, I can't stay upset like this, and I see that I'm working myself up-- I'm obliging her story of "crazy man attacking her".  I just want to be heard, and I just want to be loved for who I am.  It's not fair that my mother can't participate.  That's why I'm mad, that's why I'm flipping out, that's why people shutting me out and sending me away because "you need help from the war" is SO FUCKING UPSETTING TO ME.

I don't need help with the war... I need help getting my crazy mom to STOP FIGHTING THE WORLD, and stop fighting me, and PLEASE before we leave this world- see me- hear me- acknowledge that I exist, and I have an opinion, and it does not require you to take the time and effort to HEAR ME and SEE ME.

ok... so the war fucked me up a little...

I can see that I am using communication as a weapon to get what I want. I can see that my fears of losing my mother, are likely linked to the death I saw in the service. I see where I chose to engage with other veterans, who were likely to tell me the things I knew would upset me... I spun myself up.

I went to the people that would tell me "you are sick" "you are ill" "you are broken" because in some kind of backwards way- it's what I needed to hear. The death I saw is upsetting me in ways I was not connecting- and so I was upsetting myself to get my own attention.

I work very hard on my happiness and health. I needed to get stoned to connect these dots... I needed to do some ranting and raving on the internet to work through things... because I needed to hear real people that I knew tell me things I needed to hear.

I need help, but I mostly need help hearing how I can be happy and healthy.  I need help feeling safe and making good choices. Even if I'm a little crazy- getting stoned helps me see my crazy... please stop being scared of that.  I need it to get here. It's helpful for my introspection.

I accept that given my high IQ I may be somewhere on the mental ill scale: http://www.theatlantic.com/features/archive/2014/06/secrets-of-the-creative-brain/372299/

If I'm crazy, or ill- ok- I accept that... what now?

Pharmesudicals, and mute my brain (which I happen to be quite in love with) so that the normies don't have to hear me? fuck that...

medication, marijuana slows me down enough to clear though the spun up- hyperactive crazy parts of my brain.  I believe that I will be a user for life in order to manage my swings in a homeopathic way. (I don't think smoking is a long term solution)

illegal drugs... no thanks. I found a sizeable bag of cocaine on the street, and I know myself well enough to know that's about a terrible fucking idea. I chose instead to give it to a drug dealer and buy myself a little street cred. I felt strong, and healthy to make the right choice for my body and my mind.

Therapy- going to a therapist. need some support here, and I have my father.

community- I need help surrounding myself with people who help me stay healthy and making good choices.  I need to find healthy ways to "get my crazy out" that aren't so aggressively frightening... and I need help feeling safe in taking those steps.

I must accept that my mother has chosen pharmesudicals, and has her own issues - as well as solutions. I see how my reactions look like insanity to others.  I am upset, and I don't feel heard or safe, or understood.  I don't want to be muted. I don't want to go quietly through my life not being the best me I can be... if that means managing some very serious health and mental health issues- I'm ready to take that on too.

I'm not scared of who I am, and I find it greatly upsetting when others recoil in fear from me.  I just want to be me and live the best fullest strongest life I can

My Mother is a Crazy Cunt

My name is Tyler Owen Morris. You know me as Owen. That choice was made by my mother- when she lost the coin toss to my father.  My mother makes a lot of choices for other people.

When I was 3 she decided I was gay.  She desperately wanted a daughter, to shower with the love she never got from her mother.... and I think this was her crazy solution.  Cute little blonde boy in San Francisco, diagnosed gay.  She decided I should grow my hair long. She decided I should do ballet. She decided all things masculine were to be discouraged. I am not gay. I am a heterosexual man, and that's my decision.

She has been an ER nurse for the majority of my life.  All of life's problems can be diagnosed, and treated.  If it's not sick or ill or broken- then it's not worth her attention - everything is triage.  I spent much of my childhood feigning symptoms for attention. She decided I was depressed. She decided I was suicidal. She decided I was out of control. I learned to reach out for love in unhealthy ways, but I am not sick. I am not ill- I am happy and healthy, and that is my decision.

Neglect can hurt as deep as any beating.  She decided to work 12 hour shifts. She decided to bury herself in so much work that she doesn't ever have to stop the triage. She decided I was not worth her time. She decided that I was worth her time unless I was hurt- so I learned to hurt.  I learned to crash around.  I learned to be desperate, and panicked. I learned I was not worthy of her love without being in pain. I am worthy of love and attention all the time. I can decide that today.

She's not a cunt for what she's done.  I can forgive everything that's happened. I love her deeply, and want so desperately for a loving relationship with her.  She's a cunt because she decided that's too hard for her.  She's a cunt because she's not trying to be better today. She's a cunt because she refuses to speak to me. She's a cunt because she chooses to fight and fight and fight, and I'm so ready to surrender to love.

The internet- and all the little avatars that might love me back- all the chat windows, and virtual spaces where someone might love me back... I have reached out unhealthily because someone decided I was unhealthy, and I inhabited her reality.  I choose to be healthy and happy today, and I choose to do the work needed to maintain that.

I surrender to god, to the world, and to my life.  My name is Falling Water Flicker. My name is Tyler Owen Morris. I am in control of my reality.