It is difficult to be strong in life. Growing up it was my Mother that was the rolemodel for strength. Autocratic and dictatorial, she referred to herself as "the queen" and "mommie dearest" often (an odd acknowledgement of her abuses). I knew the word 'mandatory' from a very young age, it meant "you have no power/control here." I learned how to bend without submitting.
Since growing up other friends have recounted with me the fear of not knowing when she was going to burst into the room screaming with rage; a torrent of accusations and punishments- and certainly there was no predicting why or when she would become upset. I learned to watch and interpret human body language with a precision only matched by other abused people.
Traditional images of strong men were mocked in our household. Football players were dumb jocks, and the artistic and feminine was encouraged to a detriment. I was made fun of for liking and being good at football, and my decision to join the Marines was never really accepted or understood. I learned to make my decisions for myself.
I have a good job that I love, where I make more than enough money. When my mother found out I was hired, her reaction was not "congratulations," it was a scorn and the words "I've never made that much money." I am still learning to validate myself, and let my own praise be enough.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I look around and I see so many strong people indulging their weakness. America has learned to exalt its victims above others, and so the race to feebleness is in full effect. Acting with strength seems to be considered a threat. Threatening people make other people feel uncomfortable, and we place most of the blame on the perceived threat- instead of expecting strength to rise from a victim.
I don't know how it is anywhere else, but here in San Francisco- he with the best sob story wins the argument. It feels good to show compassion to an injured party. It feels good to side with the underdog, and know that the bully doesn't get to win today. It feels good to believe you are creating a safe place where even the weak can thrive... But is that really what's happening?
Which one holds you back more, the actions of others, or your own belief that you are a victim? Believing that you are weak gives you the space to develop your weakness, stops you from learning to fight back. So am I doing a disservice to my peers if I expect them to be strong, or am I giving them the friction they need to grow?
I am strong because of the strong dictatorial bully in my life pushing me around until I said, "no more." The pain and the damage that we are all seeking to avoid for eachother are precisely the things that grew some of my strongest traits. We need our pain. We need our bullies. We need to push and be pushed, in order to grow into what we are to become. Otherwise we just grow into weak, meaningless, safe, undamaged, uninteresting one dimensional people.
I am grateful for the abuses my Mother imposed on me. I'm grateful for having the strength to stop her from continuing. I am grateful for the strong man I am learning to become.
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Monday, November 3, 2014
Sunday Funnies
I have been performing standup comedy once a week. I go down to Mutiny Radio every Sunday for their 2-4pm Sunday Funnies open mic. We drag the microphone and chairs out onto the street, and we perform right there on the sidewalk.
Comedy is therapy. There's a little more power in the therapeutic aspects with the added publicity of skipping the audience and yelling about your issues at whoever is passing by. Last week was particularly fun, and so I went back to revisit it. Here's the audio from my set. Come to the show, it's fun.
Comedy is therapy. There's a little more power in the therapeutic aspects with the added publicity of skipping the audience and yelling about your issues at whoever is passing by. Last week was particularly fun, and so I went back to revisit it. Here's the audio from my set. Come to the show, it's fun.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Open Season on White Men
Am I the only person getting sick of articles and movies directed at white people (usually in the title)? and a whole other subset of articles directed at attacking men?
The point of these articles is usually "white men are insensitive assholes, and they are racist, sexist, and oppressive" with a nice subtext of "hey white guy- none of your merits or positivity will outweigh our ability to be angry at you for something some other white guy did" ... in short- it seems pretty OK by society to sling shit blindly at white men.
I get it- white men are to blame for much of the horrible things in the world. I walk into a room, and I FEEL women and minorities recoil from me- intimidation? fear? or valid retreat from another oppressive white man?
I AM strong. I AM scary. I am capable of all those awful things... just as any man is capable of evil. However, isolating me and attacking me- recoiling from me, and treating me with fear- is unlikely to help change these white male behavior patterns being complained about.
A few months back, I put myself in the hospital overworking, and being unable to sleep. Before I was hospitalized, I reached out to friends and family, but was repeatedly denied sympathy or empathy. Friends told me to shut up- I had nothing to complain about. My mother ignored me, and continues to do so. 5-7 days without sleep my behavior was erratic, and my 'friend' drove me off and left me in the car on the side of the road- rather than give me sympathy. I hated myself, and I wanted to die, and the only thing I was asking was for a moment to be weak... to rely on the support of my community... to lay on the ground, and give up until I was ready to try again... but my community let me down. Healthy white men are not permitted to be victims in this society.
I was raised by a self proclaimed feminist. My mother was abused by men in her childhood, and her scars have become my scars. I was raised being taught that my masculinity and sexuality were bad things. My mother told people I was gay before age 6, and I was punished for acting masculine while encouraged to grow long hair, dance ballet, and act. I am still struggling with what it means to be a man, and the shots being taken at me- are not helping.
If we want everyone to be even, then we need to stop drawing lines, and passing judgement in all directions. Women and minorities- while your voices have been quieted through history- you still need to listen to be heard. I don't want another generation of angry insecure white men going around abusing people... but I don't think shaming the gender or race is an effective way to get that done. Quit blaming white men for the tragedies in your life. Every day is NOT white man day. We struggle too, and if you leave us out in the cold- with no community- there's no telling what kind of drastic things someone might do to feel safe and loved again... maybe like- band together with other white men, forging the exact clic of angry racist sexist white men we were all trying to avoid in the first place!
The point of these articles is usually "white men are insensitive assholes, and they are racist, sexist, and oppressive" with a nice subtext of "hey white guy- none of your merits or positivity will outweigh our ability to be angry at you for something some other white guy did" ... in short- it seems pretty OK by society to sling shit blindly at white men.
I get it- white men are to blame for much of the horrible things in the world. I walk into a room, and I FEEL women and minorities recoil from me- intimidation? fear? or valid retreat from another oppressive white man?
I AM strong. I AM scary. I am capable of all those awful things... just as any man is capable of evil. However, isolating me and attacking me- recoiling from me, and treating me with fear- is unlikely to help change these white male behavior patterns being complained about.
A few months back, I put myself in the hospital overworking, and being unable to sleep. Before I was hospitalized, I reached out to friends and family, but was repeatedly denied sympathy or empathy. Friends told me to shut up- I had nothing to complain about. My mother ignored me, and continues to do so. 5-7 days without sleep my behavior was erratic, and my 'friend' drove me off and left me in the car on the side of the road- rather than give me sympathy. I hated myself, and I wanted to die, and the only thing I was asking was for a moment to be weak... to rely on the support of my community... to lay on the ground, and give up until I was ready to try again... but my community let me down. Healthy white men are not permitted to be victims in this society.
I was raised by a self proclaimed feminist. My mother was abused by men in her childhood, and her scars have become my scars. I was raised being taught that my masculinity and sexuality were bad things. My mother told people I was gay before age 6, and I was punished for acting masculine while encouraged to grow long hair, dance ballet, and act. I am still struggling with what it means to be a man, and the shots being taken at me- are not helping.
If we want everyone to be even, then we need to stop drawing lines, and passing judgement in all directions. Women and minorities- while your voices have been quieted through history- you still need to listen to be heard. I don't want another generation of angry insecure white men going around abusing people... but I don't think shaming the gender or race is an effective way to get that done. Quit blaming white men for the tragedies in your life. Every day is NOT white man day. We struggle too, and if you leave us out in the cold- with no community- there's no telling what kind of drastic things someone might do to feel safe and loved again... maybe like- band together with other white men, forging the exact clic of angry racist sexist white men we were all trying to avoid in the first place!
Sunday, July 13, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, July 4, 2014
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
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.
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.
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