"Liberty is a food easy to eat but hard to digest"
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah,
I haven’t updating for a while because my internet decided to scamper away with the bandwidth on a sizzling honeymoon. I don’t have the internet at home (Yes - tragic, I know) so I will be updating from Carleton.
The good news about my internet eloping is that my Dad has decided to upgrade the modem from insanely fast to warp five. That’s the way un-huh un-huh I like it.
What I dislike though is the old notion that was religion has stumbled back into my life. Go back to the world of inebriated conviction you whore and leave me alone.
I finished the essay I was writing on being gay and I want to destroy it. It seems like the last step I take before entering the “never coming back” zone. My whole life I’ve lived on the fence. I never want to be in a place that has a “no turning back” policy.
My real problem is that I don’t want to give up who I used to be, or what I used to represent. How do you go on when in your heart you understand that there is no going on and there is no going back? Sometimes time cannot mend your pain.
In my Psych 2504 class I learned that the way we see ourselves is the way we see our world. That the way we judge ourselves is the way we judge others.
Is this a loophole with God? If I’m commanded to “love thy neighbour as thyself” and I hate myself, do I have the right to hate my neighbour?
I hate waking up in the morning and thinking that I will be going to hell. I hate to think that others think this, my parents perhaps, my family, my friends. I just want to go back and not be gay anymore.
This is another reason I want to destroy the essay. It makes me seem so smart, so strong, so there for other people, when in all reality I’m none of these things.
“Society is no readier to accept homosexuality than to accept death, war, sex, sweat, or dandruff.” - Me
Today I don’t like being gay. I hate it. My stupid life holds realities that I feel no right-minded human being ought to accept without grumbling.
And because sometimes I hate being gay. I hate myself for being gay. Over the last few years I’ve come to expect - or even accept - attacks of violent self loathing. What has gotten me past these times is the realization that sometimes what I hate is not me but sexuality.
I am not my sexuality.
But today I’ll settle with hating myself. (Again, tragic, I know.)
Ryan
I haven’t updating for a while because my internet decided to scamper away with the bandwidth on a sizzling honeymoon. I don’t have the internet at home (Yes - tragic, I know) so I will be updating from Carleton.
The good news about my internet eloping is that my Dad has decided to upgrade the modem from insanely fast to warp five. That’s the way un-huh un-huh I like it.
What I dislike though is the old notion that was religion has stumbled back into my life. Go back to the world of inebriated conviction you whore and leave me alone.
I finished the essay I was writing on being gay and I want to destroy it. It seems like the last step I take before entering the “never coming back” zone. My whole life I’ve lived on the fence. I never want to be in a place that has a “no turning back” policy.
My real problem is that I don’t want to give up who I used to be, or what I used to represent. How do you go on when in your heart you understand that there is no going on and there is no going back? Sometimes time cannot mend your pain.
In my Psych 2504 class I learned that the way we see ourselves is the way we see our world. That the way we judge ourselves is the way we judge others.
Is this a loophole with God? If I’m commanded to “love thy neighbour as thyself” and I hate myself, do I have the right to hate my neighbour?
I hate waking up in the morning and thinking that I will be going to hell. I hate to think that others think this, my parents perhaps, my family, my friends. I just want to go back and not be gay anymore.
This is another reason I want to destroy the essay. It makes me seem so smart, so strong, so there for other people, when in all reality I’m none of these things.
“Society is no readier to accept homosexuality than to accept death, war, sex, sweat, or dandruff.” - Me
Today I don’t like being gay. I hate it. My stupid life holds realities that I feel no right-minded human being ought to accept without grumbling.
And because sometimes I hate being gay. I hate myself for being gay. Over the last few years I’ve come to expect - or even accept - attacks of violent self loathing. What has gotten me past these times is the realization that sometimes what I hate is not me but sexuality.
I am not my sexuality.
But today I’ll settle with hating myself. (Again, tragic, I know.)
Ryan