Dear Family

At some point, I had decided I was going to start a blog called Letters to my Family.  I'm glad I didn't...I can't even keep up with the two blogs I HAVE, much less a new one.  So, when the idea for this post popped into my head, I decided to post it here.  It fits anyway.

I was thinking this morning on my way home about one subject after another, beginning with potty training, and eventually leading to my sexual orientation, and more specifically, my understanding of my sexual orientation.  I imagined what I would say if I were to turn this internal monologue into a discussion point to my family, with the intent of helping them understand that sexual orientation isn't exactly a choice for most people (ha! Yeah right.).  This is roughly what I came up with.

When I was about 7, I spent the night with a friend for the first time.  I wasn't the only girl spending the night.  I don't remember how many of us there were...4 or 5 maybe?  I was the only one who wet the bed.  But I couldn't admit that I had actually wet the bed.  It had to be sweat.  The sleeping bag was too hot, and I produced a lot of sweat in that area.  (But the sleeping bag was DRIPPING wet!)  Yeah, I sweat that much.  Really.  (But it smells like urine.)  Nope.  Sweat.  My sweat smells like pee.  Honest.  Oh and please don't tell my mom.

It's not that I was denying the fact that I wet the bed.  I COULD NOT believe that I had wet the bed.  I was not ABLE to admit, even to myself, that I had wet the bed.  If I wet the bed, that meant that I was stupid enough to fall back into old patterns, KNOWING that I was going to get beaten for it, and therefore, I deserved a beating because I made such a stupid choice.  There was simply NO WAY that I would choose to wet the bed...therefore, it didn't happen.

My mother was so abusive about potty training that this is the message I had burned on my brain.  It still is.  I deal with mild incontinence that is slowly increasing over time, and I find myself STILL in denial.  My underwear are just wet because I was so hot today and I must have sweated all day long.  Even though I LOGICALLY know that my bladder has sprung a slow leak, I am still, nearly 20 years after moving out of my parents' home, unable to admit that I am not able to control every drop of urine that exits my bladder 100% of the time. 

I'm mystified by this sometimes.  But then I start thinking about how I processed (and still process) sexual orientation.  Logically, I know that bladder control is not always under the control of the owner of the bladder.  I work with elderly folks.  I have never once blamed a client for messing in their pants.  No one would ever choose to smell like urine and wear a diaper like a baby.  (This is how I imagine I would feel were I in their shoes...and I say that as if I'm not ALREADY in their shoes, because I still have yet to fully accept it, and I'm not going to go back and correct the words I typed after I realized how far disconnected from myself I am).  Back to my point: I also logically know that sexual orientation is largely not a choice (although I have known some folks who say they chose, and so I don't think it's 100% accurate to say it's NEVER a choice).  But I was unable to apply this fact to MYSELF until recently.  Sometimes I still forget.

I have always been attracted to women.  I just didn't know it.  I love boobs.  I love FEMALE asses.  I can recall enjoying ONE ass that was attached to a male body, and that particular ass was round and squeezable...rather like the ass that I would imagine a shapely woman having on her backside, in fact.  I enjoy all sorts of shapes and sizes of female asses.  I could care less about the same exact asses attached to male bodies.  They simply do nothing for me. 

I could go into all sorts of detail about what I'm realizing I am and am not attracted to (now that I know what attraction is...which I believe I covered in an earlier blog post), but I think that's enough for now.  When I was younger, I thought my attraction to women was a perversion.  I thought I was sick, or that I desired things when I was alone that I had no intention to ever fulfill (i.e. fantasies better left in my head).  I'm not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but I have never been attracted to men.  I've had this fact pointed out to me many times by women who were busily ogling men while I, totally oblivious, continued on my merry way without even noticing the hunka hunka burnin love my friends couldn't HELP but notice.  I had NO IDEA what all this meant. 

I had so internalized my parents' message of hate and intolerance that I unswervingly applied every word of their message to myself.  I have never, ever had issues with homosexual people, even though I was raised in that environment.  I was appalled at my parents for their hateful attitudes.  But since my BIRTH, I have believed myself unworthy of love, equality, inner strength, etc.  So my beliefs about my parents' hateful messages never seemed to apply to me.  *I* wasn't gay, I was sick.  *I* chose to wet the bed and get beat, even though I knew no other kid would make the same choice.  There was something fundamentally WRONG with me, ever since probably the moment of my conception, that made regular rules not apply to me.  Any reasonable, sane, normal kid would choose to get up and go to the bathroom if they were able to, and if they weren't able to, then it obviously wasn't their fault, and they should not be punished for something that obviously wasn't their fault.  I, on the other hand, was a stupid, disgusting, annoying, inconsiderate, unworthy child who OF COURSE chose to wet the bed, just to piss of my mom and make her beat me.  You see where I'm going with this, right?  I chose to have perverted feelings about women, too...even though I've never believed that sexual orientation was a matter of choice for the vast majority of people on this planet.


Ok, I'm starting to fall asleep...just got off the night shift, I have limited brain power, and it seems to have drained down to zero...off to bed I go, and I hope all that made sense.  I'll have to read it back later and make sure I actually made a point and didn't just mumble "bed...blanket...pillow...snore...snuggle wifey..." the whole time...since that's about all I have room in my brain for at this point.  ;-)

So apparently, I had this crazy belief that death wasn't permanent. Not really, of course...but I have spent a good chunk of time lately pissed - absolutely PISSED - that I still have to deal with this grief shit every goddamn year...as though it was eventually just going to *poof* go away. Ten years ago yesterday (which was five days before Thanksgiving) my grandma hung herself. I didn't really grieve - I took care of everyone else. I accepted it (ha) and "understood" my grandma's choice. While it sucked a lot and I missed her, I couldn't handle the thought of judging her. She had obviously been through too much, and knowing that the lifespans in her family are crazy long, she'd probably have to live in this shithole another 40 years if she didn't take matters into her own hands.

I honestly couldn't understand why anyone would be mad at her. Until now. This year, the anger is finally kicking in and I am PISSED! And I'm actually pissed AT my grandma!

I had to get some shit out tonight, so I wrote this: (and p.s. Thank you blogger for working...been trying randomly to blog for over a year and this is the first time it has worked.)

I'm so TIRED of missing people
So tired of being the outcast
So tired of being pissed
because my people don't want me
or aren't there
So tired of being reminded
every goddamn year
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Try just one more time, for me
I know its a cruel world
I LIVE it
Every motherfucking day
Including the day every year
when I'm reminded how dead you are
And the day every year
when I remember that my people
-your people-
don't want me
won't put up with me even for
one fucking day a year
-the one day we SWORE we'd always
come hell or high water
spend together
so that YOUR death wouldn't ruin it
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Let's try another way
one that doesn't involve forever grief
Because seriously, how the fuck
did you expect any of us to deal with this?
Did you really think we weren't going to care?
or notice?
or spend the rest of our lives fucked up and lost in confusion?
Did you really think we were all going to wake up
Thanksgiving morning
-Fucking Thanksgiving???-
thinking oh thank God we don't have
to deal with that bitch today
we'd had about enough of her
"sweet'eart"s and
eggs and red dirt and
smooshy bathrobes and
unconditional love
I've had enough of that shit
to last the rest of my life
Well. Dammit. Your plan backfired.
We all woke up Thanksgiving morning
devastated
Our world had changed
What the fuck do you do with
your grandma
hanging herself
with a belt
in the spare bedroom
FIVE FUCKING DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING??
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Damn that's a selfish thing to ask
I know you were hurting
I know you tried everything
I know you gave it your all,
and then some
I know you put up with this world
plenty long enough
I know you deserved better
and didn't have the tools to get it
But god dammit, this didn't fix
ANYTHING!
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
And learn to love this world
even though it's fucked up
Stay with us
even though we're selfish and stupid
and can't figure out that you need us
Eat your cookie dough for lunch
And buy us 5 lb blocks of cheese
And give squishy hugs
And just fucking be ok
with not enough
Get what you can out of life
on your own terms
Just put the fucking noose away!