This Southern Faggot's Blog

Everyone is dieing
September 26, 2016, 10:42 pm
Filed under: People to remember, Southern life, Thinking Thinking | Tags: , ,

We grew up together. We discovered our Queerness together. She introduced me to the intersectional politics that has shaped who I am, to this very day. She gave me my first radical Queer book that changed everything for me. She gave me my first Mattilda book. We danced together. We laughed. We cried. We lived together for a while (not a good idea). We learned from each other. I learned so much from her.

She died not knowing how important she was to me. She died without me ever properly explaining to me how important she was to me being the person I am today.

She is fucking dead. She will be dead, forever.

For however long I am alive, I’ll always know one thing. I will never see her again.

I can never call her for advice. I can never hear her laugh. I can never process fucked up situations with her again.

My entire life, I was told that people die of a) age or b) a very serious sickness.

People don’t tell you as a kid just how fragile life is. People don’t tell you that when you grow up, your Queer & Trans friends will be living in a world so horrible, they are forced to end it, because they just can’t take it anymore. They don’t tell you that as a kid. They fucking lie.

I have no idea how to talk about suicide. My immediate response was shock. I thought no, not her. Never her, this must be a mistake.

I’m worried that was my initial response, because I thought she was ‘stronger than that’. But I have to check that shit. Suicide isn’t weakness. I have to remember this.

I already miss her so much. I can’t stop thinking of her in that last moment. I just hope that she found the peace that she wanted. The peace she needed. If I can just believe she got that, then I’ll be a bit better.

It feels like Queer & Trans folks are dropping all around me. What do I do if I wake up and realize that everyone I’ve ever loved is dead? What will I do?


Botox brain
September 1, 2013, 5:03 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , ,

I’ve had this thing for 4 years now and I’ve all but abandoned it. Not actively abandoned it, but I just sort of drifted away. I think about TSF a lot (nearly every day, actually) and what it has been for me over these past years. It’s been incredibly helpful to have something to dump thoughts and emotions into, when I don’t have someone around to serve that purpose. I feel like it’s helped me work through a lot of things. I feel like I appreciate it more than I maybe appreciate many other things in my life. How was I able to abandon it so easily? What does that say about me? 

I went out to dinner with my dad and mother the other night and it was, as you already know, terrible. After two glasses of wine, she stumbled into the day spa next to the Thai place we were eating and demanded botox. My dad and I had to pull her out of the day spa and the entire drive home she cried and just kept repeating “I want to get botox”. Eventually she started sobbing more and yelled that she wanted botox because she felt ugly and this very moment, I felt sadder for her than I have felt for her, over these past 10 years of understanding that she is an alcoholic. My first reaction was to hate her. To hate her for making me feel any emotion towards her, other than disgust. But, that quickly went away and I didn’t hate her, but felt so, so incredibly sad for her I just wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be okay. 

Of course, the days of things possibly having a chance of becoming “okay” are long gone. My mother is so gone that I truly believe the only comfort she will ever feel again, is death. She isn’t able or willing to acknowledge her addition and she is married to a man who doesn’t know what to do, other than ignore everything. I hate that it has become this, but I can only see my mother as a burden on my father and I can’t help but to be excited for him, when I imagine a time without her. I don’t know how he feels about this, but I would have trouble imagine him being sad over her death. The quirky, fun loving, spontaneous, stoner California surfer girl he married died years ago. I have to wonder if my birth is what killed her, or if maybe it was a slow death that started with my birth. It possibly had nothing to do with me being born. Either way, I don’t really care. 

And that’s the end of another up-beat TSF post. It would be easy to say I want to write here more (again), but apparently it’s hard to me. I’ll try, I promise. That’s the best I can do. 

you, me and death
October 7, 2012, 11:37 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags:

Death is such an odd thing to talk about it. What makes it even more difficult is the un-willingness of anyone to really talk openly about it. 

It always seems odd to me that people worry about death so much. My first thoughts when I think of death are always “Awesome! You mean I don’t have to worry about anything anymore? That sounds like the best deal ever”.

I feel a lot of pressure from the world to care about what happens to the world/people I know after I die… but really I don’t often consider those things. I’m sure I’m an selfish asshole… but I have no control over anything after I die, so why bother worrying about it? Until that point I’ll continue to do “good things” for others (or whatever), but my dieing has nothing to do with that. Really, after I’m dead, I couldn’t give two shits about the world or anyone in it. I wish everyone the best… but y’all are on your own! 

I could never say these things out loud, because people would have me committed for suicidal thoughts for saying that death sounds like a nice break from the shit-hole world we live in. 

Of course I think of people who have died in my life all the time, but for purely selfish reasons. I want them here so that I can talk to them again, hang out with them again and be a part of their lives again. 

It’s hard to really understand how I feel about death, because I don’t have any real outlet to talk about it… none of us do, really. At least, no one I know of. It’s such a taboos topic, but it sure would be nice to talk these things out with someone.

June 24, 2012, 4:33 am
Filed under: People to remember, Questions | Tags: ,

Riding my bike home from a show tonight, I realized that Lucie was the only person, in my entire life that I can remember, who has ever made me question my atheism. She was so spiritual, it makes me feel like I am calling her a liar when I think about how I don’t think ghosts, or spirits, or gods, or whatever exist. I truly believe this, I don’t think any of that exists.

But why then do I find myself talking to you sometimes? Who the fuck am I talking to? Am I simply talking to make myself feel better? If I don’t believe in gods, or ghosts, or spirits, then that means I can never talk to you again. Is that something I want to believe?

And why did you believe so much? Did you know something that I don’t? Do you know something now, that I don’t? Or did you die and realize that it had all been a waste? All the alters and sacrifices, maybe you died and then found out it was all done in vein. Do I want to believe that?

This crying faggot
June 14, 2012, 6:07 pm
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Growing up, I have always been a big ole lispy sissy. As a kid, I used to cry a lot, generally in public, because what would happen in private that could ever make me want to cry, right? I cried a lot in elementary school, especially on the last day of class when we “graduated”. I had spent so much of my life there and then I just had to leave! I swore to myself I would never forget that school and would never forget the kids I had grown up with. Of course, I did forget them and I mostly forgot the school. Well, as much as I could forget it. I actually live really close to it and sometimes go and walk around the playground at night, which is strange. 

But anyway, I used to cry a lot. The (public) crying slowed down during middle school. In fact, the only time I cried at middle school when was some kid put gum in my hair a day before a Britney Spears show and I was sure she would see me and my ugly hair and not want to marry me. As far as I can tell, that was the last time that anyone has ever seen me cry, until Lucie’s funeral. 

My parents never told me not to cry and I don’t really remember anyone around me ever telling me I shouldn’t cry. I don’t really remember anyone ever directly calling me a sissy when I cried. I never really watched any TV but Nickelodeon and wasn’t interested in any media other than the local oldies station growing up. 

I think about crying at movies like Titanic and I can always feel it. If I really wanted to, I could start crying and it would feel great. But I don’t, I keep it all in, as I usually do. I hate this, but at this point in my life, I couldn’t imagine ever crying in public again. I want to. I want to be able to do this. Where did I learn that I shouldn’t do this?

In most situations, I am generally looked at as the person of reason and someone who will take care of you, if you need something. Somewhere in my mind, somewhere I have no direct access to, I know that I feel that I could not serve this role, as a public cryer. I know this isn’t actually true and I picked it up from somewhere along my journey in life, but it is proving really hard to shake. I want to be able to cry when talking about homeless Queer kids, or when animals (or people) die that I love, or when talking about how fucked up the prison is, or just the world in general. But, I can’t. 

Sometimes I think about how I would react if everyone close to me died and my first thought is never how sad I would be, but instead how I would deal with all the technical details that come with death, like funerals. Maybe that is the most logistical way to be, but I want to be able to feel that huge wave of emotion… I don’t think I would be able to feel it, or process it. 

This is something that I want to work on, but I don’t know how I would go about doing that. Or if I even should. Or if I even could.

bio-family blahs
June 20, 2009, 1:45 am
Filed under: my head hurts., People to remember, Things to notice | Tags: , , ,

(This isn’t put together very well, sorry about that)

I went over to my parents house for the first time in a few weeks yesterday and it was very strange. I started to remember and think about a lot of things that I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I don’t really remember many of the things, but I walked into my room and it hit me like wave. I spent a lot of time looking through photo books and reminiscing about all the places I used to hide porn.

As a kid I always felt like my mom was always there for me and I always felt a lot closer to her than my dad, but as I have grown older and heard stories from my aunt, I realize that this wasn’t the case at all. I never really felt close to my dad, because he was always just in the background. I always thought that he was doing his own little projects and my mom was the one who actually took care of me, but it turns out that the projects he was working on, was actually raising me while my mom took the credit. My mother would do simple things, like talk to me and ask me about my day, but she never did much more than that.I can’t help but to feel like my dad sacrificed his relationship with me, so that I could always have food, or clothes, or whatever. I don’t know why he was so set on keeping my mothers image good in my mind, but I wish he had not done that.

For my entire life, I had always had to tell people that my mom went to bed really early. I didn’t know why, I just thought it was something that she did, but now that I am older I realize that for my entire life, she has been a raging alcoholic. I always just thought that drinking boxed wine through out the entire day was just what people generally did. I always thought that going out for a new box every 2 days was just a fun trip we made to the drive though liquor store. I always got free gum or candy, so I was clearly fine with the trip. What made her start drinking so much? Was it something about our family? Was it something that happened that I don’t know about? Was it me? Was it just life?

I left my parents regretting certain parts of my childhood, which i never thought I would, specifically my relationships with my mother and father. I just wish that things had been the opposite. Now my mom is a complete wreck and I have to hear my dad talk about how one day he is just going to find her on the floor. I hate it. I hate her so much. I can’t help but to only see her living any longer as a complete burden on my father and my family. The only time she leaves the house, or gets out of the bed for that matter, is to drive to the liquor store. I am dreading her funeral, because I really don’t think I am going to be able to cry. I feel like I should, but I just don’t think I will be able to see it as an occasion to be sad about. I can be sad that I feel like their was something I could have done to not make her like this and I can be sad that her life turned out the way it did, but I really don’t think I will be able to be sad about her not existing anymore. I don’t know what my dad will do. Will he get a new house? Will he cry? Will he be happy? Will he find someone else? Maybe he will be able to find the person my mom used to be; a fun, hippy surfer who ‘lived on the edge’ and dated rock stars. Maybe he will date a dude, which would not surprise me at all. Maybe nothing will change and he will still love our dog more than anything and go biking riding all the time and always have a big goofy smile on his face (which I completely inherited). I hope so. I hope that when she dies not a lot changes with him, because that means that he was not letting her hold him back.

I just wish that our family had fallen together in a different way. I wish that I could have seen my dad working for me in the background, holding down the fort (or whatever) and making sure that I was not neglected when my mother passed out at 5PM every night.

I love you dad. You will probably never know how much I actually do, which kills me.