Those of you interested only in my book blogging, take heart; I’ll soon post about the five or six books I’ve finished since my August 8 entry. I’ve read less this month than I did in July, which I believe has to do with being in a period of spiritual and psychological adjustment — a sort of “turn off and re-boot” like one does with a wonky computer, hoping when power is restored the malfunctions will have been magically corrected.
Sometimes, alas, the hard drive is exhausted.
In my case, eight months (or, turns out, maybe three years) later, the geek squad has been unable to arrive at a diagnosis or a cure. The symptoms are unpredictable from one day to the next — hell, from one hour to the next, and run the gamut from fatigue to memory/retrieval/articulating problems to severe gastrointestinal distress to headaches to joint pain so intense it is difficult to move whatever part of my body is being affected by a combination of the above listed.
While these symptoms are unpleasant, what is worse is this uncertainty; in addition to not knowing which symptoms I’ll need to cope with at any moment, I also don’t know the root cause of these symptoms, don’t know if I will ever have an answer, don’t know if an answer would result in a solution, don’t know if the symptoms will continue to multiply, and just generally am mired in a lot of not knowing and wondering,”Why is this happening?”
Which makes sense. In an “it doesn’t make sense” way. Because this outbreak — the manifestation of whatever this is — began the day after the inauguration in January 2017. I had been daily crying since November 9, 2016, the day we discovered how many tens of millions of racists and haters there were in this country, and that their fascist overlord and his jackbooted co-conspirators had somehow rigged the system so the presidency was denied the most qualified person who had ever run for the position, a woman who had spent the last few decades standing up with dignity in the face of a relentless campaign to slander her, yet still served with grace, maintaining her belief in the possibility and potential and equality of all people even when some of those naturally her cohorts, on the so-called left, also fell for the culturally embedded misogynistic bullshit smear-campaigns aimed at her — those whispers being led by yet another old white man, this one claiming to be so liberal.
I was broken. She deserved so much better — she always had. Let’s face it; had she been a heterosexual cis white man, her accomplishments from college on would have won her the presidency at least twice, decades sooner. She deserved better.
I was broken. Another heterosexual cis white man had ridden culturally embedded misogyny and bigotry and bullying and bias to power — and dirty-tricked and cheated his way into it — and people in power had KNOWN of these tricks LONG BEFORE the election and NEVER exposed them.
I was broken. Because I am self-centered and see the world through the prism of ME I conflated what happened to Secretary Clinton with what had happened to me in my life — albeit writ larger and of course, much worse, but still, the same experience. I’d been repeatedly denied possibilities and praise and portals because I was a gay man. I’d been repeatedly pilloried by heterosexual white men in power, and seen those same men who were far less capable and deserving succeed and beat out myself and my female friends, and all the while, those heterosexual white men were chuckling together — often on a golf course or in a locker room — absolutely convinced they deserved every ounce of their privilege, considering themselves naturally superior to we other, and, often, becoming furious (or dismissive) when we suggested — either quietly or loudly — that perhaps the playing field (or, golf course) was not even, that they were winning because they were advantaged, odds skewed and distorted in their favor and on their behalf and they were complicit in this plot.
It happened, again and again, and was still happening, and Secretary Clinton being robbed of the presidency felt as if all the progress for which we had struggled and sweated and suffered abuse for, all the times I was fag-bashed and snickered about, all the times I had failed myself by feeling I had to lie about myself to be safe, all the all the we had all been through had just been erased.
And a rash appeared on my upper right arm. And within a week, my upper left arm. Then my lower arms. In another week it had moved to my legs. Then, soon after, my torso and back. My body from the neck down was spotted with red circles and blotches and now, countless trips to multiple doctors and drug after drug after cream after steroid after malaria pill after biopsies after “you have cancer” after “no it’s probably NOT cancer” after “you have lupus” after “this drug can cause blindness but let’s try it anyway even though we don’t know what you have” after having to be near a bathroom for hours at a time because my intestines are convulsing after headaches so bad I can’t read after joint pain so bad I can’t walk after fifty-seven years of too often being treated as “less than” being exacerbated by having to struggle for adequate medical care since I am covered by insurance so sub-par that I have to drive to another state to find a rheumatologist who will accept it and then, only after a month of calls and re-calls and — after all of this bullshit —
Still, no answer. Still, the why is this happening?
And not just with my malady, but with the election and the wannabe-totalitarian despot.
And it feels as if the geek-squad is trying everything they can to repair the hard-drive, but, I worry; Maybe it can’t be fixed this time.
And so far in life when I have bottomed out into hopelessness and despair, self-pity and melancholic anguish, rather than surrender and die, that’s when I re-boot.
Which, I know, one thousand words after being introduced in the opening paragraph, perhaps took too long to get to. But, it’s taken me since November 9 to get here, a long eviscerating period of mourning and heartache and fury and confusion and fear and disbelief and frustration and — well, you get it.
And, what is my re-boot? Simple. And what it has always been, every time, so you’d think by now I’d be able to get there faster. But, here goes:
It is what it is. How I see it and what I do with it defines my reality.
I know, ridiculously simplistic self-help blather ignoring the circumstances of the modern world and power structure and yakkety-yak-blah-blah-lah-di-dah-pollyanna bullshit.
Or, not. Or, rather, you are entitled to your own re-boot process and opinion, but as my dear aunt said to me, many times:
“It doesn’t matter what anyone else says or does or thinks, you are only responsible for what you say and do and think.”
And, in addition, as my dear Duchess Goldblatt said to me:
“When we count our losses, we turn the balance sheet over to see what’s been gained, you and I.“
And so, in the past week or so, after a particularly awful Tuesday where I was treated with disrespect and rudeness by yet another doctor with no answers who had not bothered to read my file before walking in the room and knew nothing about my case, an appointment after which I went to my car already near tears and was then informed via message that Barbara Cook had died, I hit bottom. I cried so hard, so long, with a wailing of WHY and HOW MUCH MORE that I exhausted my sorrow. There was nothing left.
So, at zero, hard drive crashing, that was where I looked at myself and said, “What have I gained from all of this? And what will I do with it?”
I don’t know. Exactly.
But here’s the start; Every day I remind myself in notes, in talks with me, on Twitter, that I still believe LOVE WINS. Which reminder reminds me to share some of my LOVE, every day, to send out into the world the energy I wish to receive. And, interestingly, after the eight months of not knowing, I’ve now evolved past fear and anger to acceptance.
Whatever this is I’m having, lots of people have far worse things to deal with every day, and my days are full of people who love me, people I enjoy being with, books, Twitter-pals, Barbara Cook’s songs forever, the knowledge I once made her happy, many pets to whom I am uncle, and a fresh, new, and welcome perspective on WHY.
Like a toddler just learning the world or a well-trained actor preparing for a role, I am now examining my thoughts and words and actions and assumptions (and those of others) with the magic WHY? Why do I think this or that? Where did that belief/idea/notion come from? Have I thought about it, lived it, or did I accept a cultural trope and make it part of me? What is the motivation?
We accept so much without questioning. Too much.
Who says having a job and making money make one more valuable than a person whose activities and pursuits are not remunerated? Who says marriage or monogamy are the ideal relationship model? Who says the love between two people sexually involved is more valuable than deep friendship, and deserves state sanction and protection and benefits? Who says just because you call it a sport or put people in uniforms and call them a team they should be allowed to beat the shit out of each other? Who says calling it an army makes it okay to kill people? Who says the imaginary boundaries we’ve imposed upon the earth make us different nationalities, rather than recognizing that we are all one people and patriotism is actually another form of bigotry? Who says everyone has to be thin, buffed, teeth straightened, hair this and thatted, bodies shaved and painted and adorned a certain way to be beautiful? Who says imaginary friends are any less fantastic and loved and important than corporeal friends?
Who says my “illness” is an illness rather than exactly the way my body should be functioning now; perhaps it’s a gift, this so-called illness that’s brought me here to this re-boot, given me to ask so many WHYS? and to re-examine my life, doing that Goldblattian-inspired tally of what’s been gained?
Who says almost 2000 words is MORE than enough for one blog post?
Oh, I do, so, Love and Light my dear ones and thanks for sharing the journey, and before I go on any longer, here I am, going. (Spread some love today.)