Hurting
Many many people in the world are hurting. I'd like to say that I feel their pain, and in some cases I do. I know I'm not supposed to be selfish, but at some point I have to stop accepting their pain as my own. At some point I have to take care of myself.
Right now I'm feeling a lot of personal pain. It's not just the cancer, although that's got plenty of pain attached to it. That pain is, for the most part, physical pain. I can deal with that. I have a real high threshold for physical pain. I can, and do, work through that. I have a bottle of pills for that pain, and thus far I've managed to not even open it. I'd prefer not to medicate for that. But, I have the bottle in case it becomes too much. That's reassuring to me.
However, right now I have a lot of other pain too. I suppose you could call it emotional pain, but I don't think that's a very good term, or at least not very accurate. Let's call it mental pain...and I'm not talking about a headache.
Some people that I trusted as friends...several of them...told me that I was just like all other men. We were lumped together in a bowl like a bunch of M&M's. Those are THEIR WORDS, not mine. They observed that 10% of the bowl was poisoned, and they put me in that bowl. The gist of the statement was that you cannot possibly trust any man to not be a rapist. They told me they don't. Don't trust any man. That includes me, at least by inference if not by direct accusation. In short, I cannot be trusted to not rape them.
When I protested my innocence, as many other men did who found themselves in the bowl with me, I was told...point blank...that it's not about me. The issue is about them, about women, and whatever might be happening with me...with any man...didn't matter. I was told I didn't matter, in just those terms. I was being insensitive, or worse. I wasn't listening. I was being a jerk. Their words.
I have always prided myself on my listening skills. In fact, other have commented about the fact that I listen, that I hear things said and remember them. One of these friends even once accused me of being "too perceptive" about something she said.
So...when I'm told I don't listen it hurts. When I'm told I'm just like other men, it hurts. When I'm told I'm just another suspected rapist it hurts. It's like back when...when I was told, publicly and to my face, that I was a baby killer.
Now, from time to time one of my friends will now offer the statement "we know not all men are rapists." Unfortunately, that phrase is always followed by the word "but." "We know all men are not rapists, but...." If there's a "but" following a statement, it means the statement isn't true, or that the speaker is simply mouthing the words. They don't really mean it. They aren't about to say they're sorry. See, they're not sorry.
When I responded initially, I was told that I was an "enabler" and that I was being "emotional." I disagree with the former and accept the latter. I have never seen a rape actually occur. I have never been in a bar and watched someone abusing or harassing a woman. In fact, funny as it may seem, I've never even been in a bar. Whenever I've been out where there is a bar it's been at a convention or meeting or whatever. Yup, I have a drink now and then, but it's pretty rare and it's almost always with a meal. I seldom drink at home.
In any case, if I saw something, I would act, but that doesn't much matter.
The charge of being emotional is different. I am emotional. I know a male isn't supposed to be, and worse, I know I'm not supposed to admit that, but it's true nonetheless. I cry. I cry somewhat often. I cry when a read a sad story. I cry when I read emotional stuff on the internet. I cry when I'm writing emotional scenes, and I even cry when I re-read and edit them. I have emotions, and I'm not afraid to admit that. I'm not afraid to show them. That's just the way I am. If people don't like me because of that...I'm okay with their dislike. I broke while I was giving my father's eulogy. I choked up. I had to stop for a moment. Afterwards I got called out for that. I got criticized to my face by people who hardly knew me. I even got some crap from my mother about it. I don't care. If she was really ashamed of me, then so be it. That's who and what I am.
Sadly, this most recent conversation has triggered some things. I really don't like the idea of triggers. I'd like to think I can managed myself better than that, that I can control my emotional responses better than that. I guess I can't. Like crying, I guess that makes me a wuss. I cried when Bomber died last year, and I'm not ashamed of that. We each saved each other's lives multiple times and though I hadn't seen him in person for a while we were still close. His passing triggered some things too. I understood that. It wasn't fun, but I knew why it happened. That made perfect sense to me.
In any case, like it or not, being called a rapist and then being criticized for defending myself and pleading innocence triggered memories. Those then triggered the nightmares. I know what happened, but unlike Bomber's passing, I can't just put these away...because the comments keep coming. While those accusing me sort of acknowledge that I'm not really a rapist, they're not about to say they're sorry for calling me one. I'm not sure that makes much difference, but it might. It might help me put the demons to rest again. I'm not blaming them for the demons...those are mine. This isn't an attack upon them, nor do I seek to invalidate the issues they have to confront.
It's just that at some point I have to worry about me. I am no help to anyone else when I become completely non-functional. Last night I looked at that bottle and wondered if it would take away the demons. I didn't think it would, so it remains unopened. All 30 are still in there. Last night I lived through the helicopter crash multiple times, the death of that kid on the PBR at least a dozen times, and at least one episode of spitting. I woke up yelling and scared the cat. She's still in the house somewhere, but I haven't seen her today. She's probably still hiding, and I don't blame her.
If I'm guilty of anything I think there are two charges that you can make stick. I am guilty of being emotional. I'll plead to that one. I won't even ask for the mercy of the court, because I'm guilty as hell. I am also guilty of making a choice that my own health, cancer and all, is, at this moment, more important than the great social issue of the day. It doesn't mean I'm not concerned about how women are treated in our society, and it doesn't mean I turn a blind eye to abuse and rape, it just means that I'm no good to anyone if I'm dead, and I'll be dead soon enough anyway. Simply put, I have to take care of myself.
If that is a crime, then I'm guilty. If that is the wrong decision, then I'm wrong, and I'll admit it. If that is a poor choice, then it is, and I simply ask for the same right I grant all others...namely to make choices and maybe make bad choices.
In short, I don't think I belong in that bowl of M&M's...and it hurts me deeply that those who put me there cannot bring themselves to they're sorry. If I'm not a rapist do I truly belong there? If that's your opinion of me then that's fine. You're entitled to you opinion, and I like to believe that I'm entitled to mine.
Right now I'm feeling a lot of personal pain. It's not just the cancer, although that's got plenty of pain attached to it. That pain is, for the most part, physical pain. I can deal with that. I have a real high threshold for physical pain. I can, and do, work through that. I have a bottle of pills for that pain, and thus far I've managed to not even open it. I'd prefer not to medicate for that. But, I have the bottle in case it becomes too much. That's reassuring to me.
However, right now I have a lot of other pain too. I suppose you could call it emotional pain, but I don't think that's a very good term, or at least not very accurate. Let's call it mental pain...and I'm not talking about a headache.
Some people that I trusted as friends...several of them...told me that I was just like all other men. We were lumped together in a bowl like a bunch of M&M's. Those are THEIR WORDS, not mine. They observed that 10% of the bowl was poisoned, and they put me in that bowl. The gist of the statement was that you cannot possibly trust any man to not be a rapist. They told me they don't. Don't trust any man. That includes me, at least by inference if not by direct accusation. In short, I cannot be trusted to not rape them.
When I protested my innocence, as many other men did who found themselves in the bowl with me, I was told...point blank...that it's not about me. The issue is about them, about women, and whatever might be happening with me...with any man...didn't matter. I was told I didn't matter, in just those terms. I was being insensitive, or worse. I wasn't listening. I was being a jerk. Their words.
I have always prided myself on my listening skills. In fact, other have commented about the fact that I listen, that I hear things said and remember them. One of these friends even once accused me of being "too perceptive" about something she said.
So...when I'm told I don't listen it hurts. When I'm told I'm just like other men, it hurts. When I'm told I'm just another suspected rapist it hurts. It's like back when...when I was told, publicly and to my face, that I was a baby killer.
Now, from time to time one of my friends will now offer the statement "we know not all men are rapists." Unfortunately, that phrase is always followed by the word "but." "We know all men are not rapists, but...." If there's a "but" following a statement, it means the statement isn't true, or that the speaker is simply mouthing the words. They don't really mean it. They aren't about to say they're sorry. See, they're not sorry.
When I responded initially, I was told that I was an "enabler" and that I was being "emotional." I disagree with the former and accept the latter. I have never seen a rape actually occur. I have never been in a bar and watched someone abusing or harassing a woman. In fact, funny as it may seem, I've never even been in a bar. Whenever I've been out where there is a bar it's been at a convention or meeting or whatever. Yup, I have a drink now and then, but it's pretty rare and it's almost always with a meal. I seldom drink at home.
In any case, if I saw something, I would act, but that doesn't much matter.
The charge of being emotional is different. I am emotional. I know a male isn't supposed to be, and worse, I know I'm not supposed to admit that, but it's true nonetheless. I cry. I cry somewhat often. I cry when a read a sad story. I cry when I read emotional stuff on the internet. I cry when I'm writing emotional scenes, and I even cry when I re-read and edit them. I have emotions, and I'm not afraid to admit that. I'm not afraid to show them. That's just the way I am. If people don't like me because of that...I'm okay with their dislike. I broke while I was giving my father's eulogy. I choked up. I had to stop for a moment. Afterwards I got called out for that. I got criticized to my face by people who hardly knew me. I even got some crap from my mother about it. I don't care. If she was really ashamed of me, then so be it. That's who and what I am.
Sadly, this most recent conversation has triggered some things. I really don't like the idea of triggers. I'd like to think I can managed myself better than that, that I can control my emotional responses better than that. I guess I can't. Like crying, I guess that makes me a wuss. I cried when Bomber died last year, and I'm not ashamed of that. We each saved each other's lives multiple times and though I hadn't seen him in person for a while we were still close. His passing triggered some things too. I understood that. It wasn't fun, but I knew why it happened. That made perfect sense to me.
In any case, like it or not, being called a rapist and then being criticized for defending myself and pleading innocence triggered memories. Those then triggered the nightmares. I know what happened, but unlike Bomber's passing, I can't just put these away...because the comments keep coming. While those accusing me sort of acknowledge that I'm not really a rapist, they're not about to say they're sorry for calling me one. I'm not sure that makes much difference, but it might. It might help me put the demons to rest again. I'm not blaming them for the demons...those are mine. This isn't an attack upon them, nor do I seek to invalidate the issues they have to confront.
It's just that at some point I have to worry about me. I am no help to anyone else when I become completely non-functional. Last night I looked at that bottle and wondered if it would take away the demons. I didn't think it would, so it remains unopened. All 30 are still in there. Last night I lived through the helicopter crash multiple times, the death of that kid on the PBR at least a dozen times, and at least one episode of spitting. I woke up yelling and scared the cat. She's still in the house somewhere, but I haven't seen her today. She's probably still hiding, and I don't blame her.
If I'm guilty of anything I think there are two charges that you can make stick. I am guilty of being emotional. I'll plead to that one. I won't even ask for the mercy of the court, because I'm guilty as hell. I am also guilty of making a choice that my own health, cancer and all, is, at this moment, more important than the great social issue of the day. It doesn't mean I'm not concerned about how women are treated in our society, and it doesn't mean I turn a blind eye to abuse and rape, it just means that I'm no good to anyone if I'm dead, and I'll be dead soon enough anyway. Simply put, I have to take care of myself.
If that is a crime, then I'm guilty. If that is the wrong decision, then I'm wrong, and I'll admit it. If that is a poor choice, then it is, and I simply ask for the same right I grant all others...namely to make choices and maybe make bad choices.
In short, I don't think I belong in that bowl of M&M's...and it hurts me deeply that those who put me there cannot bring themselves to they're sorry. If I'm not a rapist do I truly belong there? If that's your opinion of me then that's fine. You're entitled to you opinion, and I like to believe that I'm entitled to mine.