It Ain't Truth If It Doesn't Hurt

Saved By the Blog....

I am seriously going to start requiring that all of my staff write a daily blog. Really. This shit is some seriously potent therapy. And since the folks I work with are just as crazy as I am...I may start a YouthAction blog ring...either that...or a forced therapeutic residential program for the insanely mentally ill. I'll be right there along with them. Maybe they will let us share a rubber room at the Kooky Nutso Spa and Grill in Sedona. But back to the topic at hand...the last couple of days...as you might have read...have been on the emotional side. But...for the first time during and after a break-up...I am able to see very clearly and feel very clearly what I need to see and feel without taking on a bunch of crap that I shouldn't take on and without taking the break up as a commentary on me or on my worth as a person.

Oh yeah...I used to suffer from some majorily low self-esteem that generally manifested as a type of co-dependence (the definition of co-dependence is finding ones self-worth from external sources...not...as it is popularly used...limited to another person...it can be from work, school, physical appearance...etc.).  I found almost all of my self-worth from my resume...the things I accomplished...how fast I was promoted...how stacked I could make my resume...from sex and realtionships...and just about every other external source that I thought made me look good. And that's the rub. You see the world is trained to celebrate people that advance, do well, succeed...folks that suffer from severe over-achievers syndrome (which is ALWAYS a manifestation of co-dependency)...only have that co-dependency reinforced as the people around them oooh and awe at how they can safe the rainforest, run a marathon, breast feed, and speak six languages fluently all at the same time. There are very few people in the world that have the space, wisdom, or experience to see the over-achiever and say...HEY...ummm...hold on...all that you are doing right there...yeah...the rainforest...running...speaking...breast feeding...and playing the tambourine....all that...is crazy. You're crazy. Stop being crazy.

Now...I still derive way too much of my self-worth from external sources. But the break up with PJ has been one of those life experiences that allows you to see in a very real way how far you have come. Previously...on day three...I would be locked in my room...in the dark...covers up around my head...watching Beaches...and eating everything that wasn't immediately lethal to consume. Today I find myself a little bitter...but playfully bitter...a smidge angry...but overall...pretty ok.  There is a book called the Four Agreements that I love and try to live by. I'm going to re-read it shortly...but one of things it says is that why should you spend your time trying to convince someone that you love to love you...or...why should you try and hold on to someone that is trying to pull away. Each of us is worth being loved and honored without reservation. If the person you are with or want to be with isn't eager to be with you...then that is not the person for you...or at least not perhaps at that time. Life is too short to spend time with anyone (be it lover or friend) that does not want to truly be with you and a part of your life. Contrary to what the Advertising Industry would have you believe..there is no love shortage in this world...there is plenty enough for everyone to have seconds, thirds, and fourths...and what's even better...is that it contains 0 grams of transfats, no calories or carbs...is totally organic...and it's free. So go out and get you some...but be careful...the generic brands (Infatuation...Lust...Need...to name a few popular brands)...don't taste as good...are full of empty calories...and often costs way more than its worth.

A Metaphor for Today...

Being in love is like being around a campfire. The first time you are around a camp fire...as a kid...you think it is beautiful the way it sparks and crackles...the shifting colors of the flames...the glow of the embers around the base of the fire...the whoosh of sparks as more fuel as added to the fire...but because you have no experience of fire...you can only see its beauty...and you reach for it...coming too close...and end up getting singed a bit.

As you get older you come across other fires...some brighter and some dimmer than that first...but each one is just as beautiful...just as alluring...but you've come to learn some caution. At first you may err on the side of too much caution...standing outside of the firelight wanting to bring yourself closer to the campfire but remember the pain of being burned before...so instead you stand just outside the circle of light...just out of reach of the campires heat...wanting to stop shivering in the cold...but too afraid to step any closer. For most people...an understanding arises that in order to truly be able to appreciate all the campfire has to offer...you have to be willing to step closer to it...but with respect. Most learn that with careful nuturing you can build the fire, watching its majesty grow, luxuriating in its heat, know that as long as you honor the fire you will be able to enjoy all it has to offer without putting yourself in danger. The longer your relationship with the campfire either through extended exposure or the careful rebuilding of campfires over the years...you are able to draw closer to the flames without being burned...know how much of yourself you can give to the fire...and how much you have to hold back in order to safely maintain your personal integrity.

Some people never really learn from that first lesson and continue to throw themselves again and again at the fire...perhaps starting off with respect but always...through excitment or fear of the campfire going out reach out and grab at sparks or try to keep the fire from collapsing...risking too much to hold onto the heat or to keep it from going out...the nature of campfires is that there are times when the flames must die down to embers...sometimes those embers go out...other times they smoulder for sometime...and other times they can be coaxed back into something brilliant again...but experience has to teach you how to read the fire and make a choice whether to try and rebuild it...or to let it go out and build another fire...in another place.

And finally there are those that never recover from being singed by the flames. Either the first time was truly terribly or after too many times of being singed...instead of taking the time to look at their mistakes in the past...or accidents of the campfire...for example...it collapsing suddenly...unexpectedly...sending sparks into what has always been a safe place...burning frightfully when you are not expecting it...but whatever the cause...some people decide that its best to wrap themselves in a blanket...to rely on their own heat for survival...shivering now and again...but safely out of reach of the campfire...which they watch with longing and desire...remembering the kiss of firelight...how it warms the skin...soothes...and excites...but not willing to risk being burned again..they sit with too much fear...watching the flames grow and fade...too afraid to step inside the warm ring of the campfire...so instead...the sit...and watch...desperately wishing that the fire would come to the them.

What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted...

Last night I was in the car listening to the soundtrack from Rent. There is a song, track sixteen to be specific...where the lyrics read: "There's only us. There's only this. Forget regret or life is yours to miss. No other road. No other way. No day but today. Forget regret or life is yours to miss...we may wake tomorrow to find that it isn't there...there's only now. There's only here. We live to love or live in fear. No other path. No other way. No day but today."

That may be the mot simply profound set of lyrics of any song ever. At the very least they speak to what I am going through right now. I texted those lyrics to PJ last night. I thought very hard about doing it. I do not want, by my actions, to add to my own pain or to the difficult of this situation. But I can't consider the possibility that someone I love (PJ) is going to spend the rest of his life dodging any chance of pain and any hope of love. I also do not want anyone to be sitting where I am sitting right now. So I made an offering of those lyrics.

You can choose to and try and control what is going to happen tomorrow but tomorrow might never come. You can choose to have the courage to love or you can spend your life living in fear. You can't do both. You have to make a choice. We, any of us, only has today. Right now. I spent about 27.5 years of my life trying to not get hurt again. Until one day someone told me that I have no power outside of this moment right now. I can't do anything about the moment that has just past. If I have done something in error or made a mistake in the current moment I have the power to offer an apology and make an amends...attempt to correct the mistake and learn from it. But if I spend my time trapped in regret or shame of something that has already happened, I am living outside of right now. I can learn from it. I can grow from it. Or I can let it take the joy away from today.  I don't know what the next moment will bring and if I spend my energy in the current moment trying to control the next I am going to miss what is happening right now in front of me. I will never be able to control the actions of another person. And because I can not control the actions of another person, I will never be 100% safe from being hurt by anyone that I choose to allow to enter my life. And by demanding that anyone who comes into my life leave me with no room for doubt or fear of the potential of being hurt I am demanding that they meet a standard of perfection that no one will ever be able to meet.  This doesn't mean that I ignore my safety or disregard feelings that come up. But it does mean that I have to take those feelings and honestly acknowledge whether they are rooted in something the other person has done or if it is something deeper...a fear rooted protectionism that serves only to take me out of life and keep me safe from living. I'm no longer willing to sacrifice life because I'm afraid  because of what might happen tomorrow.

But I need to be really honest. I'm tired of being grown up and adult. I want to know why the hell it is that I'm the one sitting here hurting. I want to know why that is acceptable. I want some really clear answers. I know that people come into your life for a reason and a purpose. I want to know what the hell this is all for. If it is to demonstrate to me how much I have grown and matured and come to an understanding of my self...I say WHO THE FUCK CARES. Like I'm supposed to extrapolate some wonderous life lesson from this shit and be content with fact that I once again let someone into my life that managed to rip me apart but this time I have come far enough along my life path to know that is just part of living. KISS MY ASS. Basically.

You know...part of my "training" as an activist among other things is that even when we do not agree with the decisions of others we have to respect them or at least acknowledge each persons soveriegn right to make choices for themselves and their lives...that's the basis for many of our freedom struggles. But what happens to the folks impacted by the decisions of others? Where's the fine print that lays that all out. Why is it that in order to really be able to move on with my life I have to live it without PJ? Why is that the only decision left to me? He gets to be safe inside his fear walls, and I get to wonder how the hell I am going to continue breathing. I didn't know I could hurt like this. I don't want to regret the last month at all. Not at all. But right now it's hard to see clearly through this shit. And anyone that can demand any form of rationality from me with regards to this situation can very plainly save the effort and the breath or bandwith. I'm so struggling not to internalize any of this. PJ has lived his life with so much courage...he's been held at gunpoint, had his life threatened on so many occasions, but he belived in his work so much that he kept going back and kept putting himself at risk for what he knew was right. My first thought was...aren't I worth the risk? I mean I was holding love to his head not a gun. But I'm really clear right now that the real issue is the fact that he, right now, isn't sure if he is worthy of love and receiving the love of others. And because he doesn't believe that he is worth the love of others, he can not find the courage to let himself be loved. I know this story all too truly. I remember sitting in a group session at Pride Institute...I believe I had just finished doing my chem use history...and the folks in the room went around and each of them said what they thought of me. The love the came out of them towards me was more than I could handle. From the first caring and loving words that came out of their mouth I started crying. I had just read a journal entry  basically condeming myself as the worst human being ever...and my eye wasn't even moist...but throw some love at me and I fell out. Andrea, the counselor, looked at me and said...that it was painful to see how much it hurt me to be given love from other people...that I couldn't see and feel the deep love and affection that so many people have for me...and that it was plain that I could and had done so much for so many other people but I couldn't let myself believe that I could really be loved...because I didn't believe I was worth enough as a person to be loved. I could accept anyone else no matter what their faults. No matter they had done or what mistakes they made...but I couldn't offer myself that same level of amnesty.  Another time, in her office, Andrea told me that she wishes that I could see myself through her eyes. Not a week ago I said the same thing to PJ. And in the end what makes this so fucking hard is not because I lack understanding of what PJ is going through but because I understand very clearly. And because I understand clearly. Because I understand that one day he is going to find the strength to kick down the barriers he's built around himself and something...some experience is going to give him that bit of courage necessary to challenge the face he thinks he sees in the mirror...and at that moment...I won't be there. I won't be able to see that and celebrate that. He said to me that he wants me to be a part of his life. How the hell can that ever be a possibility. I will always wonder if he is still tilting at windmills...and I want to be his partner...not his Sancho Panza.

Love Fucking Sucks...

PJ and I are no more. Not my choice. Nothing I did. It's because of fear. Fear of what may happen and being afraid to take on that fear and embrace what wonderful things could happen...the acknowledgement of everything that has happened was there and very real. But somehow the reality of what has taken place...the love...the laughter...the excitement...the joy...the tears...came up against so much pain and fear and that's what held the day.  Please know that there isn't judgement in that statement. But that is reality. PJ gave up the possibility of being happy in the context of our relationship because of the possibility of being hurt. I understand it. That is a very tough thing to face. And there are times in our lives when the spectre of pain is more than we can handle. Even when the truth that has been so far said that what pain there would be would be from growth...and not from willful or unmindful regard for the person you love. I was afraid that fear would take PJ out of my life. And...it did.

I'm a fighter from way back. The hardest thing about this is that there is nothing for me to fight. Absolutely nothing. This is a one person war with one person that has the power to determine the outcome. And I am not it. The decisions have been made. The battle plans drawn up. And this time the choice was to retreat. Next time...with another person...I hope it will be to advance...full on. Believe me...I used all of my mighty powers of persuasion, coercion, begging, to try and somehow wiggle my way into that fight. PJ was right when he said that this wasn't about me. And for the first time I really believe that. There is nothing possibly more that I could have done to show my love and respect and honor for him. And I know that he felt all that I gave to him. I also know that somehow that wasn't enough...and I also understand that there was nothing that I could have done or said that would have been enough. I am loud. But I can't compete with the voice inside someone elses head. That voice knows all of our weaknesses...it knows all of the what ifs and its possibles to keep us off balance and protective of ourselves...even when that fear becomes a jail cell for the possibility of something beautiful and the little voice becomes the warden. I have lived for so long as a prisoner of my own protective barriers (fear among other things). This time I made the choice to say fuck the fear. And I am really proud of that choice. I wish that I couldn't understand not being able to do that at all times. Ten months ago...I would happily built another wall around myself and thrown things at PJ from the parapets when he showed up offering the potential for happiness. I acknolwedge that now isn't the time for him to have made the same choice. I wish I could be angry. But I'm not. I'm sad. I'm disappointed. I'm hurting like a son of a bitch. But I will be ok.  But those are my feelings and have nothing to do with him. And, if he reads this, I hope he understands that I absolutely acknowledge the love that he has given to me.

I know that PJ only entered my life a few weeks ago. But I can't imagine my life without him as a part of it. But, I can't let him be a part of that world. Not right now. I want more than anything for my phone to ring and for him to say that he has changed his mind. But I honestly don't think I could believe him. And that would be about my fear...making a judgement about the possibility that he could change his mind. And that is why I totally understand the decision he made. I wish it were a different decision. Oh God I wish it were a different decision. I believe with all my heart that it was the wrong decision for him to make. Because it was a decision made on what ifs instead of what is.  But it was his decision to make. And as much as I hurt. I have to respect that.

Please, for those of you that know us personally, I am asking that you give me some time and space to sit with this. I know that there is mad love out there from my community. And I will call if I need to talk. But right now, I need to figure out how to move forward knowing that I'm in love with a  person that loves me...but that this time...despite what we learned growing up...love wasn't enough. PJ I love you. Going to always love you. I know you love me. I don't care what it takes or what you have to do...papi...but you need to find the healing that is going to allow you to have your fears, look at them, recognize what is valuable in them, and then rip them to shreds if they ever again keep you from anything that your heart desires so very much.  And please remember to try and eat your vegetables.

One of Those Days...

So...today...for the most part..has been pretty chill and laid back. I took a nap instead of going to see Rent again. I took a half day off, but I decided that I couldn't sit in my house all day...and since all of my friends actually work in the same building...I came into the office anyway. For the most part I am feeling a little tired...I basically was on the road from Nov. 5-20 and then PJ was here for six days...and for part of the time he was here...we were back travelling again...the long 52 miles to Santa Fe. And so...really...I just want to sit. Maintain. And not really have to do anything that I don't want to do.

But...life has a quirky way of deciding that it's actually the boss of me...and I'm not the boss of life...and if I could I would curse all of life to utter destruction...but as that would also take me out of the picture...I have to acknowledge life's supremacy over all (there should probably be some cannons sounding at this part). I've got folks calling all wanting to know how the week went with PJ...and...really...it was fantastic. But I just don't have the energy or desire to have the same conversation over and over again. That takes a certain level of pep and pizzaz that I am quite thoroughly missing at the moment. PJ sent me a cryptic message this afternoon that he wants to talk about our relationship...which could mean anything from that he decided on the flight home that he has been suffering from massive cranial hematoma for the last three weeks and that for him this has all been some wierd internally induced acid trip or it could be that he has decided to quite trying to mainstream the queer movement by recognizing that the conversation about marriage has to radically change if all of the work of the movement is to be anything more than reactionary and dictated by the Right, which would just turn my day right around. Somehow...I'm thinking the conversation is going to lean further towards the first than the last.  When I tried to pry some information from him...he only told me to prepare. I'm pretty sure that's exactly what God said to Jesus on the Mount of Olives just before old Judas walked up and laid one on him...and ya'll know how the rest of THAT story turned out. Plus...God is my Father and all...but I'm like an adopted fourth cousin six times removed with red hair and a hair lip...so...basically...I doubt I'll be getting the three day Hell tour with a shiny Resurrection as part of my vacation party package. Please note...NEVER EVER EVER EVER tell the person you are in a relationship with that you need to have a talk about said relationship and be prepared to talk about it without going into just a titch more detail. K? Thanks. Because...even if all you do is plan on telling them that there is a fierce sidewalk sale at Barney's and you think you should registered there for the wedding...it just ain't right. Better that you just spring it on them...just call 'em up...say grab your credit card and any available cash and head to 5th Avenue. Please note...I am Puerto Rican...and I have no problem cutting a bizatch...and I have an excellent Long Distance Cutting Plan...I can cut your ass in Calcutta if need be.

So here I sit in the office. I refuse to do work seeing as how I've taken the day off. But...once I've finished writing this blog...I have pretty much nothing to do but stare at the clock and watch the minutes tick slowly by until 5:30 when...I am told...I must be prepared. I'm glad I put on clean underwear today.

I Think I Broke My Tear Ducts...

So when it comes to tears...I am a hard core NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard). Tears are for other people...you know...the sensitive types. The kind that cry every time Celie's children arrive from Africa at the end of The Color Purple no matter how many times they've seen it...like this time around it's going to be some white people by accident. You know who I am talking about...the people that cry at weddings as if someone just died. Ummm...funeral=box/dead person...wedding=white dress.  But today...Pedro Julio is going back to New York, and just about every second I feel as if I am about a nano-second from whipping out a tissue and screaming...CELIE! NETTIE! And doing the hand clap game with one of my co-workers as I play Miss Celie's Blues in the background.

I know I am going to see PJ in just a few weeks...but those are going to be weeks that I spend missing his soft skin, his arms around me as I'm sleeping, his crazy hair in the morning, his glasses that I love and he hates, his insistence on translating everything he says to me in Spanish into English, trying to trick him into eating vegetables, the soft kisses and whispered te quieros and I love yous in the middle of the night, his snoring, watching silly movies, holding hands, and all those little moments in between that are so important and so special. I know I am sounding like some sort of sappy melodramatic queen in love...but...well...shut up.

Last night we spent a lot of time talking and crying and misunderstanding each other and then crying and talking some more. I went from sad to angry to confused back through the entire range of emotions again. At one point PJ rose dramatically from the bed, tossed his hair, and locked himself in the bathroom...so I...at 1am...put on some jeans, a tasteful hand knitted scarf, and some sturdy shoes and headed towards the front door...it was the Drama Olympics for a minute or two. But through it all,  basically, I was reminded once again at how many wounds we take moving through the world. We spend so much time trying to live our own truth while trying to fight off others that would rather beat us (either metaphorically or physically) that we are rarely afforded the opportunity to heal. We get cheated on. Dumped. Smacked around. Left. Rejected. Ignored. Abused. Stomped on. Stolen from. And it all feels horrible. It becomes easier to avoid the good and the bad because it takes the risk out of the whole deal. But in the end you end up missing the stuff in life that makes life worth living. I heard words come out of in our conversations last night that I'd said so many times in so many situations and had so many people tell me that I am coocoo bananas. But until I heard someone else saying those same words...I had no idea what my friends were talking about. Until recently I thought love wasn't for me. I thought being cared for wasn't for me. I thought being valued, cherished, appreciated, celebrated for all the things that make up who I am weren't for me. Then I went to rehab and learned where all that shit comes from. I was surrounded by friends that made it clear to me that I was worthy of all the love the world has to offer and more. Of course...once I was told all of those things I instantly believed them...changed 28 years of programming and life experience...and I am now a completely mentally healthy chap that has the best self-esteem and could teach classes on self-love. Please oh please read the sarcasm in that sentence. But I am a lot better off than I was just a few months ago. Some days though I am terrified. I have had more than my fair share of hurt. I've had enough hurt and abuse and disappointment and pain in the first quarter decade of my life that I should actually be totally exempt from any more negative experiences until I die or the Return of Christ...whichever comes first (and hopefully neither will happen soon). And sometimes I run like hell from anything that might hurt me---Flo Jo ain't got nothing on me when I'm feeling threatened. My own Mom called me out not that long ago. She was on the phone and she said...you know baby...every time you get close to someone...come near to loving someone...you charge up your bus card and head for the city limits. I told her to shut up and crossed her off my Christmas Card list. 

Last night I made a committment to PJ that I intend to honor. I love that man. Oh lord I love that man. Don't know how it happened. Know that it happend for  reason. Don't know why. Don't care. I know that now that I've found him I'm absolutely petrified of losing him. (See...Love/Fear...two for one special). A wise person once said...the harder and deeper you love the greater your chance of happiness and fullfillment and the greater your chance for hurt and pain (not sure which wise person...pick one that you like...go on...I won't tell.) You can't have one without the other. I've tried. Not this time. I'm going for it all in. And unlike Coya...when I go all in...I ain't bluffing.

I Wish Life Were A Musical...

Some days I really wish life were a musical. Like...something straight from Bollywood or Broadway. You bite into a sandwich that is so good that you just have to burst out into a song about your love for a Subway Club. You catch your boyfriend sitting on another man's face...and you break into a Vaudeville number as you commit a crime of passion. What could be more fun? Take Rent for example. Pedro Julio and I went and saw it on Thanksgiving Day. Just about everyone in the moving is dying from AIDS...yet...they still manage to find the songs that are just waiting behind the corner in every day life. If life were a musical I would never have any fear or facing anything because I'd know that there was a little ditty just over the horizon that would help me make sense out of the senseless.

For example, I've been reading some reviews of Rent in the local rags here in Albuquerque and on-line. One of the reviewers...if I knew his or her name I would publish it here along with directions to his or her home...had the nerve to say that Rent was starting to feel a little dated...because...well...AIDS is still an important issue...but it just doesn't have the impact that it used to have. Spoken like a person that is HIV- and has never known anyone living with HIV or that has died from AIDS or is...surprise folks...dying from AIDS right now (from sea to shining sea people are still dying folks...the meds don't work for everyone and not everyone wants to deal with what comes with meds). HIV is complicated. HIV policy has gotten more complicated. The meds are a fantastic lifeline but they aren't a panacea or a cure. So when I read some half-wit article by someone that obviously hasn't a clue or a care or who could care less about the careless impact of his or her flippant disregard for a pandemic that is still raging across the world (right here in the U.S. of A.....not to mention that whole continent of Africa...and much of the the developing world)...I want to break into a tap number, sing a soulful tune, as I grind to dust each finger of every movie reviewer that has had the nerve to minimalize the very real and continued crisis of HIV right here in their own back yard. As a person living with HIV...that is lucky enough to not have had to take meds...I am super duper aware that the general public would like nothing more than to pretend AIDS is gone, that people living with HIV are hunkey dorey, and that life is just a broadway show...but really...as much as I'd like to conduct all my staff meetings using a clever be-bop tune...that just ain't reality.

On another note...if life were a musical...it would help with life transitions...like...so...you are in love with someone...take PJ for instance...and you know that this is the real deal...and love should conquer all...but you find yourself facing a whole bunch of internal issues that you thought you'd worked through. Luckily I've got a wonderful man that didn't mind that instead of having sex on Saturday night that I just cried for a good long while. For me crying is about the hardest thing to do (that and pay all my bills on time)...so when PJ told me to just let it out...please note I did my damndest to keep it all in (sorry Andrea and Johnny...it's progress not perfection...right?) but my heart basically said...shut up old boy...get out of your head...and just break down. And I obliged. For a lot of reasons I find it easier to have sex with someone I don't know than to have sex with someone that I love. As a matter of fact, the more strongly I feel for you the harder it is for me to have sex with you. Thank God I've been to therapy and I know that this isn't unusual for people that have been sexually assaulted, physically abused, and/or living with HIV. Lucky me...I've got all three working against me. If life were a musical...I would have jumped out of bed on Saturday and walked the streets of Albuquerque singing a gospel-style song about hurt, pain, abuse, and the love that heals all. I would have ended the tune by running down Coal Avenue, into my driveway, where Pedro Julio would have been standing, crowned by the porch light, in jeans and bare chested, slightly shivering in the wind, tears in his eyes reflecting mine, and then we would have made passionate love in the front yard as cars whizzed by in the background. (I'm a voyeur...hehe). But...instead...PJ just held me...and let me fall asleep...whispering te quieros into my ear. For me...that was the best lovin' I've ever had.

Even though my life isn't accompanied by a Danny Elfman or Michael Kamen soundtrack...I find music now and again that helps me make it through. It was Rent last week...before that it was the soundtrack to the movie Camp...and heck...I'm a playwright...so maybe...just maybe...I'll write a soundtrack of my own.