I Don't Want to be a Masochist Anymore

Today, I finished a novel called Call Me by Your Name by Andre Aciman. It made me realize something... I no longer wish to be a masochist.

When did I become a masochist? I don't know. Perhaps when I first fell in love and got hurt. After that, I probably started to believe that by being hurt I would be loved. I assumed that the person the people men who would hurt me would consequently nurse my wounds as well. Ultimately, I want to be loved. However, I thought being hurt was a primary requirement.

Even when I knew that being hurt was wrong I still chased after those that hurt me. I thought that if they could hurt me, they might also be strong enough to protect me. To love me. I wanted them to take responsibility for me.

I stayed passive. I kept myself weak and compliant. It was what they expected of me. No one else wanted me. They at least agreed to pay attention if I became what they wanted me to be. I was alone. I lost myself. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I was willing to be anything just so I wouldn't be alone.

I convinced myself that I was weak. I told myself countless times that I am worthless, unwanted, and hopeless. I rhetorically asked myself, "For all those that die unjustly, get raped, and beaten, what makes you think God would cater to your desires? Why would God give you someone to love and love you in return?" I would respond to myself and say that I deserve to be loved. But didn't the others deserve to be loved as well? I had no more answers. My mind grows tired every time I ask myself such questions.

I merely saw myself as an instrument for other people's desires. Yes, use me. Yes, abuse me. Just, please, give me time to be desired. I came to see abuse towards myself as sexually arousing. To be dominated over, isn't it exciting? To be pinned to a bed and ravaged by a man stronger than me? For a man to do what he pleases with me, cast me away when he's done, and return only when he wants more? At one point, I thought so... But I know it is wrong. I know that such thoughts were doing nothing more than hurt me. No pleasure. No ultimate benefit. Just hurt.

I made myself worthless.

Perhaps it was inevitable for me to realize that I was irrationally hurting myself. Maybe it was unavoidable for me to accept that I don't want to be hurt by my own self or by anyone else. I learned how to say no to those that only wanted to take advantage of me. I came to acknowledge that I do have worth. I've yet to fully grasp the true breadth of my worth as a person. A person who deserves to be loved. I'm working on it.

Maybe I won't find that one person for me to love and to love me in return. Perhaps we'll find each other too late. It's possible that he may not exist for me. It's a horrible possibility, but it's true. Nonetheless, I still deserve to be loved without hurt. I want to be loved without hurt.

I want a man to be gentle with me. To be passionate with me. To have no intention of hurting me. I want us to be honest with one another in body, heart, and mind. To trust each other with our naked, vulnerable selves and trust that we wouldn't hurt each other. I want to be able to look into his eyes and not see eyes of contempt or cold, heartless, animalistic desire. I want to see the eyes of someone who sees me, acknowledges me, desires me to be a part of him and him a part me, and to experience the highest point of pleasure we could reach together.

I want a man to think of me as his equal. I want him to love me. I want him to allow me to love him. I want someone who sees me as worth protecting as I do him. I want him to help me heal old wounds. I want him to desire me as an intellectual counterpart, an emotional lover, and as a sexual being--as a whole being. I want him to respect me. I want him to be able to say no to me when he knows I'm wrong. I want him to help me learn what is right. I want us to help each other.

I want us to think of each other as equals. I want us to love one another. I want us to desire one another as an intellectual counterpart, an emotional lover, and as a sexual being--as a whole being. I want us to respect each other. I want us to be individuals and not be afraid to say no to one another when we know the other is wrong. I want us to help each other learn what is right. I want us to live, love, and grow alongside one another.

It may be too much of me to ask, but I deserve to at least give myself a chance. 

I Was Afraid

I stopped writing because I was afraid. I was afraid of how I was portraying myself. I stopped writing in this blog because I found myself to be so depressing. Even when I wrote things that were intended to be positive and lighthearted friends would ask, "Kenneth, why do you sound so sad?" It would catch me by surprise or confusion because I thought I was happy. I thought that I had masked over the tinge of sadness quite well. However, the more light I shined upon myself, the greater the shadows seemed. The more inevitable and prominent it became.

I tried to escape my own mind by stopping the narration of certain aspects of my life. I thought that the negativity was perpetuated by my writing and its ability to recapture and dwell on fleeting memories... memories of bliss but also of pain. I believed that this blog, this area, this "thing" that has become an outlet for certain parts of my mind and heart had become stained. I saw it as a canvas that had become mistakenly stained by a pitiful darkness within myself.  It became an apparition of my mind outside of my mind, therefore taking a life of its own. From this, it held a gentle grasp on me, to hold me where I was and to keep me writing of sorrows that allowed such an entity to exist.

I believed that if I walked away from this, my sadness wouldn't be such a threat, such a prominent figure in my life. I thought that if I started with a new canvas to write and perceive myself, I could steer it from gaining the same pattern as this blog had. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It didn't matter where I went or how I wrote, the sadness was still there. By walking away and shrouding over different fragments of my life, I neglected myself as a whole. Yes, I get sad. Sure, I get lonely. Certainly, I can be contemptuous. These things are me along with introspective, passionate, compassionate, intelligent, and progressive.

Life isn't as simple black or white, neither is one's soul. What I'm saying is that I've returned. I've come back with an improved perception of self. I admit to being imperfect, but I still see the life I live and my humanity as beautiful. What I must do is live with a heavy heart and mind... a heart heavy with emotions and a mind heavy with thoughts and curiosity that validate my status as a free-willed being.

Self-Esteem Issues

I used to not be as insecure as I am today. In the past, especially during my middle-school years, I didn't give a shit about what others thought about me. All right, perhaps that's not entirely true, even though I was aware of the negative criticisms, I never let it affect me. I was flamboyant (borderline flamer), expressive, and most important of all, I was happy.

At some point, I changed. I admit I have become jaded. Even though I told myself that I will never become jaded or consider myself a victim, I still turned out to be. I was so afraid of becoming something that the fear of becoming "it" kept me from seeing my very fears creeping up on me. At one point, I was an expressive person; I took pride in that. Everything that I felt and thought, I was able to verbalize in words. People admired how in-tuned I was with my emotions. I was never confused or uncertain about how I felt and I always trusted my intuition.

Whenever I take a step forward, I become afraid and take two steps back. Whenever opportunities were presented to me, I would get ahold of them, then let go too soon. I have become so afraid and so affected by others' opinion of me that my own opinion became lost to them. Often, I thought, "I don't deserve this positive opportunity," or, "someone else is more well-deserving." What I thought others thought of me became my thoughts, my opinions, my direction. I became so afraid to commit because I didn't know when in the future I would be let down again. I became a gray canvas because I am too afraid to be my inherent self, too afraid to be criticized, too afraid to be alone. I was a gray canvas, not blank, because there is a self I am aware of, but have tried over and over again to paint over.

I am where I am now because I am in between two phases. I have let others determine who I am, yet I am aware of the individuality I possess. There is conflict between two identities as one is a part of me that wants to be accepted (no matter the cost), therefore passively letting others determine my identity, and the latter that desires me to stand for something, to stand up for myself, to express the opinions and thoughts I've come to suppress, and to just be me.

I don't know what specifically changed me. Sure, I could think of key events in my life that might have steered me towards the direction I am facing today, but I'd rather not dwell on them. Dwelling on the past would only tempt me to rationalize what has already happened and make excuses out of them. At this point, I've already made too many excuses, I've mourned and reflected, and now it's time to move on. Where exactly do I move on from here?

How can I reconcile the two and be the person that will make me the happiest?

Who We Are: to Ourselves and to Others

I just recently got back from hanging out with my friend Drew. Drew is one of those guys that I would categorize as a "pretty gay." He's tall (over 6 feet), blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, well-dressed, etc. He's the type of person that I have often observed turning heads. For example, earlier this evening, we were in Starbucks. When he walked to the counter to get my coffee or when someone outside would pass by the window where we were sitting, they'd turn their head to look at him. Contrary to the stereotype of good-looking gay guys with bitchy, pretentious attitudes, he's actually the opposite; he's very silly, generous, kind, and quite the gentleman.

Sometimes, gay friends come across a dilemma where a friendship is implicitly expected to evolve into a friends-with-benefits relationship, an intimate boyfriend-boyfriend relationship, or any sort of relationship between them simply dissolves. With Drew, we're comfortable with just being friends. Frankly, the absence of any sort of sexual attraction between us has enabled me to open up to him at a level greater than I have experience with any other friend. Whenever he and I are hanging out, I don't feel pressured to behave a certain way or censor certain thoughts/opinions. With such statements considered, is what he sees of me the truest form of my identity? When we are stripped of expectations and given the chance to behave in any way without fearing rejection, do we come to see our clearest reflection?

After hanging out with Drew a few times, he has stated that I am very sweet, kind, cute, and quite innocent. He questions why I have yet to find a man and all I can do is shrug my shoulders and respond, "I don't know." In truth, am I truly as sweet, kind, and innocent as he says I am? I feel no attraction to him or any conscious desire to please him, therefore I can only conclude that he sees me in my most basic form. With others, I have sometimes found myself having to act a certain way (jaded, overly optimistic, cold, aloof, etc.). I often feel as if I'm emphasizing certain facets of myself with others, whereas with Drew, I am just me.

What I'm getting at is that I want others to see me as he sees me. I want the rest of my friends friends and other men to see me for who I truly am. Some of us find ourselves trying to play roles other than our own. There are times when we want to seem suave to others, therefore we act more aloof, haughty, or obnoxious. Other times, we want to seem innocent, so we act too optimistic, too friendly, or too accommodating. We try to play these roles in order to satisfy other people's perceived expectations, which we can never truly fulfill, and we forget our role as ourselves. One quote that resonates with what I'm trying to say is something that Judy Garland once said, "Be a first rate version of yourself, not a second rate version of someone else." The thing is, the only way to generally succeed in this world is to stay true to ourselves and to take advantage of our own individuality.

With further reflection, yes, I am a sweet and kind-hearted person. I have tried to portray to others a character that seemed cold, aloof, and suave or too optimistic, enthusiastic, or friendly in order to hide my vulnerabilities. In consequence, portraying traits that were on both extremes of what I truly possess, I have come to surround myself with people I could not develop clear, intimate connections with. I found myself confused and not knowing which direction to take in my life because I lost my sense of identity under layers upon layers of supposed expectations.

With all things considered, I think I'm comfortable and ready to be me. I think I can move on forward and be honest with myself (and others) as to who I am.

Qui Suis-Je?

Who am I?

Am I an asshole, a bitch, a charmer, an altruistic man? Can't I be all of that at one point or another? Perhaps all at the same time? I must admit though, it was far more difficult for me to come up with positive descriptions like "altruistic man" than to come up with "asshole" or "bitch". Perhaps it means something? Perhaps not. Who knows.

But seriously, who am I?

People will surely put labels on us in order to convince us that we are who they think we are.  But is that what our identities are contingent upon? Partially? Wholly? They say that people outside of ourselves are more accurate in reading who we are. What does that mean really? Our personalities, our intentions, or who they think we are in terms of their own affects? If it's the last one, then are they really that much more accurate in identifying who we are than we are in identifying ourselves?

Honestly, at this point, I guess I'm just rambling. I apologize, let me get back on the subject. What I'm saying is, I want to stop perceiving the words of others as truth and fact in terms of who I am. I want to look within myself and meet and learn the person that I inherently am before I let others define me. Is that possible though? Is it possible to find ourselves in an internal vacuum of mental space, absent of labels, external influence, and the sorts and find our true, innate self-interests? Or are we truly constructs of our social interactions?

Perhaps the latter is true, but that doesn't mean the former is absolutely false, right? I guess in a sense, with both questions combined, my question is: Am I strong enough to mold the person I am with just as much (if not more) certainty and conviction as others do in their attempts to mold those outside of themselves?

I guess that's a question that you, dear reader, will accompany me in finding the answer to.