Dreaming In Monochrome

The problem with the drama this weekend is that I forgot something very important. I forgot that I cannot allow my sister into my life beyond the superficial, shallow, surface things. I cannot expect her to be aware of the world around her, cannot expect her to rise to the occasion and actually take my side in anything that matters to me.

I forgot about that, what with the lovely visit we had with her not just three weeks ago. I fell into a place where I thought I could rely on my family, where I thought they shared my passion for rights and fighting ignorance wherever they may find it.

It is comforting to know that I have a wife and a bunch of friends who also saw what I saw, that validated my feelings about the ignorance in that “joke”. I have written and re-written a letter to her in my head, even after I decided that I would not respond to her latest email, because I know it would fall of deaf ears and get twisted around and thrown back in my face, much like my comment about how I would hope that my sister would be more aware of gay bashing in her own Facebook.

The one thought that keeps jumping out at me, one that has been echoed in several comments made to me about the exchange, is this:

Hate speech is not always blatant. It doesn’t always come and get in your face with a “God Hates Fags” sign or a “Kill all Niggers” cry with white hoods. It’s a “joke”, a remark, a funny look or a t-shirt with a terrible cartoon on it. Hate comes out in small doses, and those are the ones that end up poisoning the well. It’s easy to fight the large, cartoony giants who stomp around and scream loudly, much harder to take a friend aside and say, “Wow, what you said could be taken in a very hurtful way, and I think you shouldn’t make jokes like that.”

Yeah, my sister has stopped being friends with certain people because of their anti-gay bias, but I doubt she told them WHY she stopped talking to them. For all of her bravado and venom toward me, when it comes to confrontation, my sister is a coward and probably just makes excuses when those friends call her to come over.

And yes, I am sensitive about it. I am sensitive because I have endured slurs and threats, because I have had friends who have been beaten, known people who were killed, because of a “joke”, a look, a comment that led to violence because it was the cork that was bottling up the hate behind it. I don’t hate her friend who made the “joke”, but I know she is certainly not my friend and I don’t care to know her. I don’t go looking for the negative, but I know it when I see it, and when I see it, I call it out.

Whether it’s the guy in line at the gas station harassing the person of color behind the counter, the woman who sneers and pulls her child closer to avoid getting too close to my gay friends, the teenagers who cat call an effeminate male - if I see it, I’ll stand up and say something.

She can keep her friend, whose feelings are obviously more important to her than mine, and I’ll keep mine, thanks. I know if I stand up and say, “This is wrong,” they’ll stand up next to me.

And for that, I thank you.

I’m not upset at her anymore, I’m over it. I got my hand burned again, and no doubt I will again, but for now I’ve been reminded that my sister cannot be part of my whole life, but instead needs to be in her own compartment. It makes me sad, but it is her choice to act the way she does, and my choice not to allow her to poison my well.

“Violence, and evil, doesn’t always come dressed in black, and it doesn’t always look like Charles Manson. Nor does it always come to us as obviously and arrogantly as the breaking of my sister’s hymen, the blackening of my brother’s eye or the discoloration of my mother’s back. Often it comes to us with a simple plea to be reasonable. Why can’t I come to your track meet?”

I am considered unreasonable by my family because I refuse to open communication with my father. He called me unreasonable when I refused to answer his calls, or answer the door when he showed up on my birthday the June before we left Las Vegas.

He said to me, “I know you’re not still mad about the 26th of Dec.”

He knows, because in his mind, there is nothing he could have done to me to cause this reaction from me. Again, his denial of the abuse he subjected me to comes back to slap me in the face as I am painted as the unreasonable jerk in this situation.

“You can’t hate him forever.”
“I’ll always be your father.”
“He’s your father.”
“Can’t you just talk to him?”

This sounds to me like this:
“You’re stupid for being mad at him.”
“You’ll never get away from me.”
“You’re being ungrateful.”
“Can’t you just pretend it didn’t happen like I am?”

That is what I hear. I don’t believe I am being unreasonable when I refuse to engage with a man who slapped, punched, and emotionally violated me whenever he felt like being mean, or when he had a bad day, or when he wanted to take it out on someone else but I had been “bad” so I got it.

I am not unreasonable. I am a very reasonable person, when faced with reasonable choices and outcomes.

I refuse to be silenced because others cannot hear the truth. I refuse to be labeled “unreasonable” because someone else cannot admit to their own wrong doing.

It is not unreasonable to love myself.

I’m reading this book, titled “A Language Older Than Words”.

It’s been a very long time since a book brought me to tears, and I cannot remember a time it did this within the first few pages.

It was this:

“My own introduction to this silencing - and this is similarily true for a great percentage of children as well within many families - came at the hands (and genitals) of my father, who beat my mother, my brothers, and my sisters, and who raped my mother, my sister, and me.

…

The vagueness with which I recollect these formative images is the point here, because the worst thing my father did went beyond the hitting and the raping to the denial that any of it ever occurred.”

Emphasis mine.

I never had words to describe why it pained me so that my sister did not believe me, and that my father denied it had ever happened. Seeing it in print made me realize that yes… beyond the slapping, the shoving, the punching, the hitting, it was the fact that he denied all of it, lied about it and continues to do so that is the piece of glass in my heart.

The fact that my sister believes him over me is secondary, because I would almost understand if she was believing that he was sorry for it, that he had remorse and that he tried to make amends with me. It is the fact that he flat out denies it that makes it impossible for me to get past, to let go of, to “get over”, as my sister put it.

By denying that it ever happened, it turns the blame on ME, that *I* have to prove that it happened. Now I have to convince my sister, my only fucking sister, that our father is an abusive monster because he said he didn’t do it and it’s easier for her to believe that I am a liar, “blowing things out of proportion”, and looking for attention.

It’s easier for her to believe his lies than my truth.

“I will never know what my father was feeling or thinking during those moments. For him, at least consciously, the moments don’t exist. To this day despite all of the evidence, he continues to deny his acts of violence. This is often the first response to the undeniable evidence of an awful truth; one imply denies it. This is true whether the evidence pertains to a father’s rape of his children, the murder of millions of Jews, or scores of indigenous peoples, or the destruction of life on the planet.”

I know what happened.

My truth will always be there, no matter how many lies he tells.

Always.

Throughout my life, I have relinquished power to other people. Sometimes it was needed, sometimes it was willingly, but for the most part, I gave them power because I didn’t know any better and I didn’t know how to take it back.

I gave power to my exes, allowing them to make me feel bad about myself, to doubt myself and what I knew in my heart to be true. I gave power to my father, allowing him to ruin holidays, birthdays, and any other day because I laid down and let him run over me. I give power to my family and their strange, fucked up power plays, allowing them to dictate my mood regarding holidays, special occasions, and just about anything else. I give power to the people I work with, when I let them put me in a bad mood because they’re complete assholes.

Sometimes I give power willingly, such as when I give it to SM, either in our bedroom or in other major decisions. When I give up the power to the Universe, allowing the tide to take me where it will.

Power is a tricky thing. Those who tend to have it want more of it, those who feel like they have none will grasp for it at the cost of all else, and those who give it away find themselves laying down for everyone.

I don’t want anyone else’s power. I don’t want the ability to lord things over my family. I mean, I already have things I could point out to them to make them feel bad, to manipulate them to do what I want them to do. But I don’t.

I’d rather they did things for me because they want to, because they love me, because they want to help me, not because I backed them into a corner and forced their hand. This is where I run into problems, where I end up hurt and bitter, because left up to their own devices, my family will ALWAYS think of themselves first - or in the case of my mother, of my sister and her baby first.

I had to sit down and really look at myself and find out why this bothered me so much. What bothered me more, that I was doing for them and getting nothing in return, or that when I needed it I was still getting nothing in return? I realized that it all boiled down to the same thing.

I was giving them the power to dictate how I felt, and in turn what actions I took to alleviate the guilt or anger or sadness I felt because of it.

I never really believed in the “you make your own weather” statement. There were too many outside factors that could come into play, too many things that could bring the rain or the sunshine. What was missing from that statement for me was the fact that the weather is what it is, it is how *I* react to that weather that matters. Sometimes it’s going to rain like a son of a bitch, sometimes the sun is going to be burning the fuck out of me, but it’s really up to me to bring out the umbrella, find the shade, get into the pool.

It’s up to me to take that power back.

I can’t waste the next thirty years of my life being bitter because my Dad is an asshole and my sister doesn’t believe that he abused me and that my Mom needs attention and affection from my sister much more than she needs it from me. I don’t want to spend every holiday upset and depressed because I don’t have that big happy family the stupid TV tells me I’m supposed to have.

Keeping in step with my Turning of the Wheel attitude, I’ve decided to snatch the power of my life away from all the people I’ve given it to. I’ve decided to make an concentrated effort to keep on the sunny side of the street, to keep my umbrella handy and to wake up every morning with a smile for the things I do have, and stop crying over the things I don’t, or won’t ever have.

I won’t ever have a great relationship with my Dad, or my sister, but I will have healthy boundaries with my sister and if I so choose to contact my father at some point in the future it will be under my terms.

I won’t ever have the huge happy family who just wants to love each other and who does happy things for each other for no reason. At least, not with my birth family. I will have a happy family with SM, and we just love each other and we do things for each other just because.

I won’t ever be completely satisfied with my job because it has stopped challenging me. So I’ll go back to school or look for another open door and see where it takes me, until I am fulfilled with what I make money doing.

I won’t ever be under 200 lbs, but I can get under 300 and heal my body so that I am around for SM for a good long time.

I won’t ever be rich in terms of money, but I will work toward having enough to not worry about it.

All of this is hard. None of this will happen over night, but I took the first step today.

It all starts here.

It all starts now.

I’m ready. Let’s go.

Cross posted from my LJ.

Merry Samhain to those who follow the Old Ways.

Happy Halloween to all the ghouls and goblins out there, may your quest for treats be a fruitful one.

Today, I have decided, is the end of the downward spiral for SM and I. Today is the last day for anything bad to happen, today is the last dip in the roller coaster and from here on out we are going up.

Today was really, really bad for us. I don’t know if I want to talk about it, but suffice to say that it was probably the worst day we’ve had in quite some time.

The only thing that got me through today was looking over at this wonderful woman I share my life with and knowing that we’re in this together. Several times today I reached out for her hand and she took it and squeezed it. Wordlessly, we stood together against the Wilderness.

I’ve always had this support from other people in my life, this wordless, “I am with you.” Especially when the chips are down, there are three or four people that I know if I needed them here, now, they would be here, now. Heather sent me some serious strength when I needed it, Melissa gave me permission to put down my sword and shield and “call for a medic”.

This relationship, this Love I have now, is the first time I have felt that same support and protection from my partner. I have felt it before, felt this silent bond between us and the knowing that we both hold an oar to paddle our boat. It literally brought me to tears today, knowing that whatever comes at me, it comes at Us. Whatever challenges me, challenges Us. Whatever may come, comes to Us.

This wolf finally felt the true strength of her Pack. Not just in those she has chosen to be Pack, but in her mate, her Alpha.

I am Blessed.

Today was hard.

Tomorrow will be better.

This I have decided, and the Universe better be listening.

Tomorrow. Will. Be. Better.

I think that says it all.

A TON of pics up at Flickr, I’m uploading the videos now. You can see me on the DJ page at 93.3.

I will write about it, I just need to eat right now.

I could not have dared to step on that stage had it not been for SM. Her love and support pulled me through, and I am forever grateful for her.

So, we got a new car.

A “new to us” car.

We didn’t think it was going to work out. The dealership kept jerking us around, making us jump through hoops and changing the terms of the loan. We almost walked out when they came back and said they weren’t going to give us as much as they said they would, and it made them freak out. We didn’t get the VUE we were originally looking at, but we ended up with a really nice 2005 Chevy Equinox.

The payments were right (even with the smaller trade in value of the Buick), the insurance will go down, it’s not a fucking stick shift, and it’s green!

I know that last part isn’t important, but it really is a pretty green color.

So now we have to get rid of the truck. Since the loan company wouldn’t play nice, we’re not terribly concerned about them at the moment. We have online ads up for it, and we’re asking around to friends and family if they know anyone in the market for a nice little truck. If the person is trustworthy (meaning not a stranger) we’ll probably let them just take over the payments. If not, then they’ll have to pay off the loan one way or another.

If neither of those things happens, well, we have a plan B. It’s not the best plan, and it’s going to screw my credit even worse, but we have a plan to deal with Plan B if we have to use that. So honestly, it’s going to be okay.

It really is going to be okay.

I can say that and I actually believe it this time. We’re taking steps to get our budget back in line, we love each other, and we’re both willing to do the work to get us out of the hole. For the first time in my adult life I feel like I have a real partner - someone who honestly wants to get through this with me, who has truthfully and fully thrown their lot in with mine and wants to walk the path together. I don’t feel alone anymore. I don’t feel scared that if it all blows up that I’ll be left holding the bag alone.

it’s a nice feeling.

It made me tear up a little last night to think about it. The last time I was this happy with my life, I was a child. Literally a child, playing in the dirt under the watchful branches of my Tree.

We’re gonna make it, and it’s all going to be okay. This Life, this Love, this Path.

I should get back to work.

Should I be offended when someone says to me, “Oh, so you’re one of those people who aren’t great at anything, but you’re pretty good at a bunch of little things.” This was in reference to me being both a photographer and being able to play the trombone. It sort of hurt my feelings and I’m not sure if I’m taking it wrong.

Also, this morning I coughed and managed to get oatmeal on the INSIDE of my glasses. Nice.

So, yesterday I entered this little contest.  I had no delusions that I would win, cause I never win things like this. Not a cool prize like playing with Weezer. No way, not me.

 And you would think, after finding SM and having been proved wrong on THAT front (Love wasn’t for me, the One wasn’t out there, etc) that I would have more faith in the Universe.

 This morning my work phone rang. I saw it was an outside line, so I picked it up thinking it was SM.

It wasn’t.

It was the radio station. They were calling me to “audition me” for the Weezer concert. Apparently I was one of the few horn players who responded. The DJ asked me how he knew I wasn’t a poser, and I said, “Well, I was band president.” He said, “OH YES. YOU WIN.”

So October 5th, I will be playing two songs with the rock band Weezer onstage at the Broomfield event center!

I am writing this seriously calm, but let me tell you, right now I am FREAKING THE FUCK OUT HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

WOOOT!!! I AM FUCKING PLAYING WITH WEEZER!!!!!!!

Well, all of those plans we had for trading in the truck went down the toilet. It seems that the people who have the loan for my truck aren’t willing to help me out to get a lower payment or not report me for “non payment” (which is bullshit, slow payment, yes - non payment… uh… then why is my bank account so freaking low??). They are, from research I have done and personal experience from people I know, unwilling to help out ANYONE who gets in over their heads with them. I know whenever I talk to them on the phone they are rude and condescending and try to make you feel like a three year old who got caught drawing on the walls.

So, here’s where we’re at. There’s an ad on Craigslist for the truck, and we’re looking to put it on AutoTrader also. My sister did that with her SUV and sold it in about three weeks or so. We’re asking for a little more than we need to pay it off, in the hopes that someone will try to deal us down with it.

I just get frustrated when we’re trying to make it right, we’re trying to get a lower payment and get our credit back on track, and no one will help us. The only other way out we can see is to declare bankruptcy and just let them take the truck back.

It’s depressing. All of the options we have to get out from under a payment we can’t afford is depressing. I don’t understand why no one will help us.

We went to the dealership who promised they could help, but it turns out that unless we have a co-signer or 500 cash, they can’t help. 500 may not seem like a lot of money, but when you don’t have it it might as well be a million dollars they’re asking for. We don’t really have anyone we can ask to be a co-signer, and honestly I don’t want anyone else involved in our finances. Maybe that’s stupid and we should just suck it up and ask someone. I don’t know. I know my Mom wouldn’t be a good candidate for a co-signer, since she just did bankruptcy not too long ago. At least, I don’t think she would be. I don’t know. I don’t even know if she would be willing.

All of this adds up to a sort of tense weekend, at least for me. I felt like such a loser when the car guy kept calling and saying, “But if you could just come up with 500 dollars…” and having to tell him over and over, “Look, I don’t have 500 bucks. I won’t have it, and there’s no one I can ask to help me out with it.”

That two years I was out of work is continually biting me (and now SM) in the ass. I know there was nothing I could do to prevent it, but now it’s like a huge mountain in my path and there’s no way around it. I don’t know what to do, it all sounds bad at this point.

I’d better get back to work.