Since moving to Vancouver, [just as a heads-up – these four words will most likely open most of my posts from now on] I have had plenty of time to sort through various personal issues. As a matter of fact, all I have had is time. Working an average of four hours per day at the restaurant, I have been running around since June trying to fill my free time with anything that might possibly distract me from myself. Exhausted, I finally gave up the fight late last September and unlocked the deadbolt to my psyche.
I know what you’re thinking: how does one exactly open the door to their unconscious? And that is an excellent question; the answer of which I am positively unsure. At first I decided to channel Jung and write down every detail of my sleeping life so that I could better understand my waking one. Trouble was, by the time I got out of bed, brewed coffee, checked Facebook and sat down with a pen and pad of paper, I had managed to forget everything I had previously dreamed. So taking a more modern Eckhart Tolle approach, I decided to be more present so as to not miss the opportunity to dissect myself.
We all have triggers. Buttons, that, once pressed, evoke a guttural response in us whether we are conscious of it or not. Ranging from the expensive scent of a past lover to the picture of someone you tried to remember but could not help but forget; these triggers stimulate each of our senses and are generally set off in the most unexpected places. Once one of our buttons has been pressed, in an instant, we make the decision to block our response (hold back the tears, pop a Pepto for the upset stomach) or invite it in for coffee and let it all out. Let’s just say for the past two months now, I have been brewing a lot of coffee.
It seems that I am brought to tears at pretty much the drop of a hat these days, and although I am sensitive, even I can admit it is a bit much. From an episode of Ugly Betty to a stopover at Sunday mass, my bed-sheets are wrinkled with envy my eyes balls are so wet (I try.) However, just to clarify one thing quickly, just because I am sadder than Demi Moore in Ghost that is not to say I am unhappy about it. I find this time of my life just as exciting as it is tedious, and sobering as it is hung-over.
For each time I run to the washroom to get toilet paper (aka Bachelor’s Kleenex), I feel as if I am letting something go; shedding an old skin, if you will, to make room for a new one. Allow me to provide you with an example. Submitted for your approval by the gay blogger’s society, I call this story… *bonfire poofs* The Tale of the Ugly Redhead.
I wish I could do that, but I tend to bottle it all up and try and pretend that nothing is going on….which is very much not helpful!
You and me both kid- maybe you need to come stay with Jesse & I, then totally freak out & have to go back west? I seemed to get a lot of my crying done last weekend! =)
Much of my time in 2009 was spent with tear-stained pillows and crises of identity; and I love how you summed it up with “…as “Rugged Fox” I feel untouchable, as “Sean Robert” I feel completely vulnerable.”
I’ve always been that way – forever the first to jump at the opportunity to dress up on Halloween, on other holidays, at sci-fi conventions (hush, we’re still friends aren’t we?) and I’ll go absolutely all out and be entirely confident… as someone else. Whereas I’ve always felt terrified to go into a room, dressed the same as everybody else, and just be me. I can deal with all the attention in the world if I’m masked by some kind of costume or elaborate outfit, but as plain old me? I’m plagued with butterflies and nerves, my heart racing to get out of the room faster than the rest of my body.
This year has been one of pushing forward on a journey to becoming the person I want to me, and trying to be comfortable in my own skin. It sounds like this journey to Vancouver is somewhat the same – and I can’t wait to see you on the other side when all the tears have been shed, the blogs have been written, and you’re you’re feeling okay with the world again. *Hug*