I play the circus clown around my friends
Make them laugh and they won't see
That you never let them see you sweat
Don't want them to think the pain runs deep
Lord knows it's killing me
So I put on my make-up
Put a smile on my face
And if anyone asks me
Everything is okay
I'm laughing cause no one
Knows the joke is on me
Cause I'm dying inside
With my pride and a smile
On my face
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
For Me
I don't want to date someone who is desperate to be in a relationship. How do you know if they're in it for you or they're in it because they don't want to be alone....
Monday, January 24, 2011
Where's the art?
I used to be surrounded by the arts and now it seems like I'm so far removed from it I can barely remember how it feels to sweat under the hot lights in a three sided room that I helped build. As I lay awake last night, unable to sleep for whatever reason I started thinking about my job and how sometimes it feels like a never ending circle with no conclusion. It's almost like I start over each month with the same set of tasks and demands. I enjoy my job and the people there are like my family. I also enjoy all the things I am able to do because of my job but there's no art in it. Maybe it's up to me to find the art in it. I don't know. With theatre you have a beginning and an eventual end even if it's sometimes bittersweet. I miss it...
I think I'm getting a little bit of cabin fever with my life...
I think I'm getting a little bit of cabin fever with my life...
Friday, January 21, 2011
Don't You Remember?
When will I see you again?
You left with no goodbye, not a single word was said
No final kiss to seal anything
I had no idea of the state we were in.
I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness
And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head
But don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby please remember me once more.
When was the last time you thought of me?
Or have you completely erased me from your memories?
Cause I often think about where I happen to roam.
You more I do, the less I know.
But I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness
And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head.
But don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby please remember me once more.
Ohhhh
I gave you the space so you could breathe,
I kept my distance so you would be free,
I hope that you find the missing piece
To bring you back to me.
Why don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby please remember you used to love me.
When will I see you again?
You left with no goodbye, not a single word was said
No final kiss to seal anything
I had no idea of the state we were in.
I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness
And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head
But don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby please remember me once more.
When was the last time you thought of me?
Or have you completely erased me from your memories?
Cause I often think about where I happen to roam.
You more I do, the less I know.
But I know I have a fickle heart and bitterness
And a wandering eye, and a heaviness in my head.
But don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby please remember me once more.
Ohhhh
I gave you the space so you could breathe,
I kept my distance so you would be free,
I hope that you find the missing piece
To bring you back to me.
Why don't you remember, don't you remember?
The reason you loved me before,
Baby please remember you used to love me.
When will I see you again?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
It Gets Better
It seems like with the recent rash of teenage gay teen suicides that everyone is taking to their blogs whether it be video or written. I was watching some of the videos for the "It Gets Better" campaign today and I felt compelled to at least, in whatever small way, share my story. I'm sure a lot of people won't see this but I hope the ones who do will understand. Here goes...
Growing up in a small town is hard enough but growing up different seems almost impossible. What we don't realize at the time is that everyone is different. No one is 'normal' in Jr. High or High School. At Lenore Jr. High I was relentlessly teased about my sexuality, to the point I wasn't sure how much I could take. I hated gym class and was terrified of going into the locker rooms. None of these fears stopped when I made it to Tug Valley High School. I constantly tried to just blend in. The only places I felt comfortable were in my AP classes and my Theatre class. The kids I shared those classes with quickly became my best friends and the reason that I loved high school. We were all from different cliques and backgrounds and that seemed to work for us. I remember not having male friends until this time. I kept my head down in the halls and tried to stay as invisible as possible unless I was in a 'comfort zone'. I was still called names, which people may not know because I was perceived as being popular. I was still terrified of gym class and recall being glad there was another boy in my class who the bullies liked picking on more than me. I felt terrible for being so thankful he was there. I remember after many of our gym classes, the most relentless of the bullies would come out the showers completely naked and smack his 'member' on this poor kids head. The boys face has never left me, he was terrorized and eventually left the school. Another guy was basically forced out by bullying just because he wanted to be a cheerleader so High School was never a place where I cold be me and not worry about the back lash. I joke about it now because that's my coping mechanism. People often ask me if the people in High School knew I was gay and I tell them that I figure the boys who called me fagot on a daily basis seemed to know.
I was a depressed kid and stayed in my room a lot. I was in my room so much that my parents actually asked my brother if I was on drugs. I just found it easier to be alone but being alone threw me into a deep depression that I got very good at hiding. I was, and still am in many cases, 'the funny guy'. No one wants the funny guy to be sad, so I smiled through it and put on the happy face. But, as some of you may know, avoiding problems has it's downfalls. I was so depressed that I contemplated suicide on many occasions. I thought extensively about the different ways I could do it but something always happened to keep me away from it. The time I came the closest, with razor blade in hand, the phone rang...the voice on the other end was Steve May. Some people didn't and maybe still don't understand my relationship with Steve, but his voice saved my life that night. I was drowning and he was like me. I like to think we saved each other many times after that.
When I finally made it college, the depression followed and I realized after my freshman year that i couldn't be me if no one knew who I really was. So, on a rainy night in the Fairmont State parking lot I said it out loud for the first time. I told Sarah Hoffmaster, then Petree, that I was gay. She cried with me as I told her how I was struggling to understand why God, in his infinite wisdom, would have given me this burden. Why if He thought it was so wrong would I feel like I didn't have a choice in the matter. I had been struggling with my religion my whole life, praying to be something different and then, in that moment, I realized I was who I was meant to be. God doesn't make mistakes. It became easier for me to just be me. I remember when a new school year started and I didn't feel like I needed to tell people I was gay because it didn't seem as important. It didn't feel like the thing that defined me anymore. I felt like more than just that label.
I still struggle with depression because of where I'm from and what I accepted as my reality back then but everything seems bearable now. I have friends who love and family who love me and accept me for who I am and know that being gay is only a minor part of that. I now know the struggle has made me who I am, as messed up as that can be sometimes. I realize that at some point, it just got better.
There are so many terrible experiences i could share but there are much more wonderful memories that seem to eclipse those now. I wish I could share them all, leaving no one who has helped me along the way out but I would inevitably forget something important.
So what I would say to anyone who might be reading this is that yes It Does Get Better. It seems easy to say and harder to believe when you're in the middle of it but it's true. Though there may be no one like you, there are a lot of people in a similar situation. Choose to live, choose to seek out the people who will love you, choose to help other people and to set an example and if you can't choose those things, choose to keep your head down until you can. But don't choose death, as hard as it is to imagine sometimes that it's not the only choice. Live your life because with each passing day...
It Gets Better.
Growing up in a small town is hard enough but growing up different seems almost impossible. What we don't realize at the time is that everyone is different. No one is 'normal' in Jr. High or High School. At Lenore Jr. High I was relentlessly teased about my sexuality, to the point I wasn't sure how much I could take. I hated gym class and was terrified of going into the locker rooms. None of these fears stopped when I made it to Tug Valley High School. I constantly tried to just blend in. The only places I felt comfortable were in my AP classes and my Theatre class. The kids I shared those classes with quickly became my best friends and the reason that I loved high school. We were all from different cliques and backgrounds and that seemed to work for us. I remember not having male friends until this time. I kept my head down in the halls and tried to stay as invisible as possible unless I was in a 'comfort zone'. I was still called names, which people may not know because I was perceived as being popular. I was still terrified of gym class and recall being glad there was another boy in my class who the bullies liked picking on more than me. I felt terrible for being so thankful he was there. I remember after many of our gym classes, the most relentless of the bullies would come out the showers completely naked and smack his 'member' on this poor kids head. The boys face has never left me, he was terrorized and eventually left the school. Another guy was basically forced out by bullying just because he wanted to be a cheerleader so High School was never a place where I cold be me and not worry about the back lash. I joke about it now because that's my coping mechanism. People often ask me if the people in High School knew I was gay and I tell them that I figure the boys who called me fagot on a daily basis seemed to know.
I was a depressed kid and stayed in my room a lot. I was in my room so much that my parents actually asked my brother if I was on drugs. I just found it easier to be alone but being alone threw me into a deep depression that I got very good at hiding. I was, and still am in many cases, 'the funny guy'. No one wants the funny guy to be sad, so I smiled through it and put on the happy face. But, as some of you may know, avoiding problems has it's downfalls. I was so depressed that I contemplated suicide on many occasions. I thought extensively about the different ways I could do it but something always happened to keep me away from it. The time I came the closest, with razor blade in hand, the phone rang...the voice on the other end was Steve May. Some people didn't and maybe still don't understand my relationship with Steve, but his voice saved my life that night. I was drowning and he was like me. I like to think we saved each other many times after that.
When I finally made it college, the depression followed and I realized after my freshman year that i couldn't be me if no one knew who I really was. So, on a rainy night in the Fairmont State parking lot I said it out loud for the first time. I told Sarah Hoffmaster, then Petree, that I was gay. She cried with me as I told her how I was struggling to understand why God, in his infinite wisdom, would have given me this burden. Why if He thought it was so wrong would I feel like I didn't have a choice in the matter. I had been struggling with my religion my whole life, praying to be something different and then, in that moment, I realized I was who I was meant to be. God doesn't make mistakes. It became easier for me to just be me. I remember when a new school year started and I didn't feel like I needed to tell people I was gay because it didn't seem as important. It didn't feel like the thing that defined me anymore. I felt like more than just that label.
I still struggle with depression because of where I'm from and what I accepted as my reality back then but everything seems bearable now. I have friends who love and family who love me and accept me for who I am and know that being gay is only a minor part of that. I now know the struggle has made me who I am, as messed up as that can be sometimes. I realize that at some point, it just got better.
There are so many terrible experiences i could share but there are much more wonderful memories that seem to eclipse those now. I wish I could share them all, leaving no one who has helped me along the way out but I would inevitably forget something important.
So what I would say to anyone who might be reading this is that yes It Does Get Better. It seems easy to say and harder to believe when you're in the middle of it but it's true. Though there may be no one like you, there are a lot of people in a similar situation. Choose to live, choose to seek out the people who will love you, choose to help other people and to set an example and if you can't choose those things, choose to keep your head down until you can. But don't choose death, as hard as it is to imagine sometimes that it's not the only choice. Live your life because with each passing day...
It Gets Better.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Death and a Funeral
I was thinking after the wake yesterday, people are so afraid of death and what they should be afraid of is being the ones left behind. It seems like when someone dies, they have peace, but it's terribly difficult on the people left behind.
I hate it when people ask me how I am in everyday life but when they ask at a funeral what are you supposed to say? I mean saying "I'm good" seems to be, I don't know, wrong somehow. It also seems wrong when people come up and whisper in the family members ears and make them cry. It pisses me off actually, when someone walks up to my mother and whispers something and she cries. That might just me being overprotective.
Just for the record, I don't want a traditional funeral. I want to be cremated and I want people to dance. I don't want people to worry about what's proper or what they're 'supposed' to do. Go crazy.
I hate it when people ask me how I am in everyday life but when they ask at a funeral what are you supposed to say? I mean saying "I'm good" seems to be, I don't know, wrong somehow. It also seems wrong when people come up and whisper in the family members ears and make them cry. It pisses me off actually, when someone walks up to my mother and whispers something and she cries. That might just me being overprotective.
Just for the record, I don't want a traditional funeral. I want to be cremated and I want people to dance. I don't want people to worry about what's proper or what they're 'supposed' to do. Go crazy.
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