I'm nervous, absolving anxieties about unfamiliar abodes. I'm rarely at a loss of words, because I ramble roughly & righteously through my babbling brook of a brain--my stream of consciousness comes hither to wither through words. At once, you might find wanton wisdom; at twice, two cents worth of meaningful soliloquy. Sometime upon a time ago -- before, sooner or after -- I will have something intelligent to say, I assure.
But for now, a bumbling blabbering of brainstorming on PHRASEOLOGY. "Gay" or "Queer?" "Recovery" or "Sobriety?" "Same-Sex Marriage" or "Marriage Equality?" "HIV" or "AIDS?" These are the teetering, tumultuous terms that trouble me from time to time. Here is a taste of me expounding:
"Queer," to me, is a more politico-culturally sensitive and meaningful term for a certain type of homosexual which leads a liberal, liberated, open, out-rageous lifestyle. "Gay" is gay (in the slang, shitty, derogatory way) overdone, oversimplified, kitsch, cliche, not so perfectly P.C.!! [I like double exclamations & alliterations. If you can't already tell, you'll notice this penchant in spurts & flashes in time told tellings tell.]
"Recovery" reeks of raucous, ridiculous, cowardly cycles of (un)disciplined restraint. Where an arbiter of addiction allows allowances and awkward deviations from a path toward an ultimate goal: "Sobriety." This second term seems more secure & structured & sanctified to me, setting the bar sky-high for addicts who must abstain and never falter. It's a challenge to stay firmly concentrated on & committed to quitting cold-turkey. No turning back. No weakness. No retrys. No end.
"Same-Sex Marriage" vs. "Marriage Equality" is a more delicate quandary or comparison. Both are grandly politicized jargon borrowed by my brethren betrayed and begotten. One term overtly over-sexualizes the concept of devoted love between a couple of men OR women (but not both at the same time). It conjures up allusions to unadulterated sexual acts, seemingly deviant to the majority of GLBT opposition. Arguably, it defeats the Cause in its repetitive pronunciation on the political scene. The other term, "Equality," more justly captures the spirit of Civil Rights, Human Rights, dignity & law. It's a safe word. A powerful word, full of recompense and retribution--invigorating, empowering, astute. Keywords "sex" & "equality" here conflict in their candor; the former freely associates marriage with intrinsic vulgarity, and the later boldly makes a definitive statement of good.
In my mind, through my experiences living through the complete bio-chemical corruption of my immune system, I have proven to myself the almost sacred truth that "virus" is far less destructive than "syndrome." When I was first diagnosed HIV-positive in early 2002, I immediately planned on leaving University in my final semester to come and start a new & more open, healthier life in Northern California. I wrote an op.ed. journal article for the school newspaper, prosaically revealing to students the reasons for my early departure. I disclosed to the entire student body of my small, conservative, public university the story of my social isolation, depression and eventual diagnosis.
But instead of easing my audience into the horrors of an epidemic, I forwent with trivialities, bypassed the less frightening of terms and slide straight for the harsh, tragic, penultimate reality of full-blown disease. I said that I had "AIDS," instead of "HIV." : a shamefully intentional mispronunciation to garner more grief & sympathy from strangers. The plan didn't necessarily back-fire, as opposed to lead to obvious ends. Everyone thought I was dying. When in reality, I'd have six to seven more years before death would come anywhere close to knocking down my door. By that time, all my old friends had forgotten me as a goner, sentimentalizing the past, fantastic memories of a once-was me: my better self--healthy, happy, disease-free. In hindsight, I realize that it was a mistake to mismanage my vocabulary for pity's sake. This is how I learned of the sharp contrasts and disjuncture between these two final terms.
Every day is a new lesson, filling the pages of life's great learned literature with teachings of conflicts, contrasts and comparisons between two remarkably dissimilar ideas that are at first glance one in the same. We must siphon through the assimilative patterns of discourse & jargon to best comprehend the exclusive meaning of particular phrases & peculiarly parceled pairs of words. This is the key to unlocking the principles of rhetoric, hypotheses and debate. This is good judgment and sound intellect. This is how human beings are mutually understood.
24 November 2008
12 September 2008
Estranged Mother Re-enters My Life...
At 8 o'clock yesterday morning, I received an out-of-the-blue, surprise phone call from my estranged, alcoholic, bipolar mother who told me that she is coming to visit me in San Francisco for the next week in time to see me during my surgery: my third craniofacial reconstruction, the first of three surgeries to reconstruct my nose.
I immediately told her that I did not want her to come and see me. I have not seen her in 12 years, and the estrangement was of my own accord as I was (like my brother and sister) trying to escape the emotional turmoil and negative influence of such a psychologically impaired woman. Over the phone just yesterday, she sounded as emotionally weak and troubled as ever I knew her. It was a stark reminder for me that I did not want her in my life.
I'd like to say that she was a terrible mother, spending all of my teenage years slumped over in an alcoholic stupor, violently reacting against her dysthymia and psychoses, but she did however succeed in raising three very responsible, respectable, honest, compassionate young adults. I just can not reconcile the trauma of living through all the tragic, negative experiences in my youth with a troubled woman's good intentions and motherly love. Neither of my siblings nor I can even remember any good times with our mother during our childhood and teenage years. It's all just nightmares!
Even though I told my mother that I did not want to see her while she is in San Francisco, she was still very adamant on coming. She said she had something to give me that she couldn't just send in the mail and that she wanted me to know that my mother cared enough about me to be present in my life during my trying times. I told her that I am already forced to deal with the complex emotional impact of a facial deformity and a changing visage, that I did not need to be additionally troubled by the anxiety and turmoil of reconnecting with my mother.
So she promised that she would make no attempt to see me. She would just visit the nurses at the hospital, to give them my gift and to have them let me know that she was there during my time of need. I plan on telling my doctors, nursces and social workers not to allow my mother to enter my room or visit me, while I am in the hospital. I myself was still adamant that I did not want her to come to San Francisco. She asked me to take a few hours to think about it and to call her back in time for her to be able to catch the bus to the airport in Pittsburgh. My mom lives in Johnstown, Pennsylvania.
So I hung up the phone and immediately called my brother to tell him of these developments and to get his advice on a decision about my mother's arrival. He provided some very insightful, compassionate advice. He told me, as a father, he understands my mother's desire to be there for her sickly son in his time of need, even if just to hold my hand and whisper in my ear that she loves me. He said despite all the terrible things she put us through as children, despite our resentment, she deserves the privilege of being present in my life at this time.
Although, he said that I needed to make it abundantly clear that that's exactly what it would be: a privilege, and that I have ever right and need to establish certain boundaries. My boundary is that I do not want to see her while she is here. We can write letters back and forth and talk on the phone for a long while, reestablishing our relationship, testing the waters far before I'd be ready to see her face to face. I do not want my mother to bring be down as I struggle to adjust to living with a deformity.
So, I called her back and agreed to let her come to San Francisco under the stipulation that she would make no attempt to see me. I might have her meet my Social Worker, Peer Advocate and AIDS Specialist from 360: The Positive Care Center at UCSF Medical Center so that she can understand what I've been going through these past five years and know that I am well taken care of. I even found her accommodations at a charitable, nonprofit boarding house in the Castro called "The Family Link." It only will cost her a $30.00 per night donation for a one week stay, and I've already set up her reservation.
I'm just waiting for her to call me when she arrives in San Francisco to get directions on how to get to the boarding house from the airport. That's the least I could do for her to express some love and appreciation; otherwise, she would be living in the airport and hospital waiting rooms for a whole week. I had that experience when I first arrived to San Francisco in 2003, and I will not have my mother live like that, even for just a week.
Another insightful thing my brother said was that IDEALLY, her visit could be a catalyst for improvements in our relationship. I wasn't expecting such a mature, level-headed response from my brother. I know that my sister is going to bust a nut when she finds out. I honor my brother for his maturity and compassion toward me and my mother. I'm proud to have him as a brother. I don't know if I'll ever be as proud of my mother. Not even close!
So where does that leave me? Walking into my surgery on Monday with a little anxiety about my mother but more excited about getting a new nose. I'm proud of myself. I was able to keep a level head through this entire ordeal over the phone with my mother and not to be perturbed by her contacting me. I inherited a devastatingly difficult bipolar disorder from my mother and I must say, from our conversations on the phone, I certainly have a stronger, healthier grasp on my psychological health than she does.
Unlike my mother, though our separation, I have grown into a relatively more stable person, who lives through my emotions less viscerally and extreme. Though I have hills and valleys, bouts of mania and depression, but I stay well medicated and am always on guard to monitor my emotional gauges. This experience with my mother over the phone has helped me realize that I indeed do have control over my emotions. Thanks be to God!
In hope of some sort of reconciliation, solace and peace!...
I immediately told her that I did not want her to come and see me. I have not seen her in 12 years, and the estrangement was of my own accord as I was (like my brother and sister) trying to escape the emotional turmoil and negative influence of such a psychologically impaired woman. Over the phone just yesterday, she sounded as emotionally weak and troubled as ever I knew her. It was a stark reminder for me that I did not want her in my life.
I'd like to say that she was a terrible mother, spending all of my teenage years slumped over in an alcoholic stupor, violently reacting against her dysthymia and psychoses, but she did however succeed in raising three very responsible, respectable, honest, compassionate young adults. I just can not reconcile the trauma of living through all the tragic, negative experiences in my youth with a troubled woman's good intentions and motherly love. Neither of my siblings nor I can even remember any good times with our mother during our childhood and teenage years. It's all just nightmares!
Even though I told my mother that I did not want to see her while she is in San Francisco, she was still very adamant on coming. She said she had something to give me that she couldn't just send in the mail and that she wanted me to know that my mother cared enough about me to be present in my life during my trying times. I told her that I am already forced to deal with the complex emotional impact of a facial deformity and a changing visage, that I did not need to be additionally troubled by the anxiety and turmoil of reconnecting with my mother.
So she promised that she would make no attempt to see me. She would just visit the nurses at the hospital, to give them my gift and to have them let me know that she was there during my time of need. I plan on telling my doctors, nursces and social workers not to allow my mother to enter my room or visit me, while I am in the hospital. I myself was still adamant that I did not want her to come to San Francisco. She asked me to take a few hours to think about it and to call her back in time for her to be able to catch the bus to the airport in Pittsburgh. My mom lives in Johnstown, Pennsylvania.
So I hung up the phone and immediately called my brother to tell him of these developments and to get his advice on a decision about my mother's arrival. He provided some very insightful, compassionate advice. He told me, as a father, he understands my mother's desire to be there for her sickly son in his time of need, even if just to hold my hand and whisper in my ear that she loves me. He said despite all the terrible things she put us through as children, despite our resentment, she deserves the privilege of being present in my life at this time.
Although, he said that I needed to make it abundantly clear that that's exactly what it would be: a privilege, and that I have ever right and need to establish certain boundaries. My boundary is that I do not want to see her while she is here. We can write letters back and forth and talk on the phone for a long while, reestablishing our relationship, testing the waters far before I'd be ready to see her face to face. I do not want my mother to bring be down as I struggle to adjust to living with a deformity.
So, I called her back and agreed to let her come to San Francisco under the stipulation that she would make no attempt to see me. I might have her meet my Social Worker, Peer Advocate and AIDS Specialist from 360: The Positive Care Center at UCSF Medical Center so that she can understand what I've been going through these past five years and know that I am well taken care of. I even found her accommodations at a charitable, nonprofit boarding house in the Castro called "The Family Link." It only will cost her a $30.00 per night donation for a one week stay, and I've already set up her reservation.
I'm just waiting for her to call me when she arrives in San Francisco to get directions on how to get to the boarding house from the airport. That's the least I could do for her to express some love and appreciation; otherwise, she would be living in the airport and hospital waiting rooms for a whole week. I had that experience when I first arrived to San Francisco in 2003, and I will not have my mother live like that, even for just a week.
Another insightful thing my brother said was that IDEALLY, her visit could be a catalyst for improvements in our relationship. I wasn't expecting such a mature, level-headed response from my brother. I know that my sister is going to bust a nut when she finds out. I honor my brother for his maturity and compassion toward me and my mother. I'm proud to have him as a brother. I don't know if I'll ever be as proud of my mother. Not even close!
So where does that leave me? Walking into my surgery on Monday with a little anxiety about my mother but more excited about getting a new nose. I'm proud of myself. I was able to keep a level head through this entire ordeal over the phone with my mother and not to be perturbed by her contacting me. I inherited a devastatingly difficult bipolar disorder from my mother and I must say, from our conversations on the phone, I certainly have a stronger, healthier grasp on my psychological health than she does.
Unlike my mother, though our separation, I have grown into a relatively more stable person, who lives through my emotions less viscerally and extreme. Though I have hills and valleys, bouts of mania and depression, but I stay well medicated and am always on guard to monitor my emotional gauges. This experience with my mother over the phone has helped me realize that I indeed do have control over my emotions. Thanks be to God!
In hope of some sort of reconciliation, solace and peace!...
07 July 2008
The Solitary, Melancholic, Deepest of Blue
The following text is a letter I wrote to a recent online "Friends" addition. This random kid sent me an email in MySpace.com asking if I wanted to connect. His profile seemed pretty interesting, so I indulged him in an email exchange. In my first email, however, I told him to read my blog: Plentiful Beatitude, and to decide if he still wanted to get to know me after hearing of my tragic situation.
He responded, expressing his immense sympathy and saying that he would like to get to know me better. He seems to think that we could have the mutual effect on each other of changing our perspectives and defeating the "woe is me!" mentality. We'll see where tihs all leads. If anything, I've garnered some immense incite into the nature of depression.
Words to be remembered:
Life has lead me on some difficult roads, but none so treacherous & tragic as the one I am careening down now a'days. Living without a face is not easy, but I survive. Sometimes, like you, I get that "woe is me!" feeling--quite often, in fact--but somehow I succeed in sweeping the gloom & doom aside and freeing my mind for happier thoughts. In the end, all I can tell myself is "one day, this too shall pass!"
Depressed & reclusive tendencies are not a definitive symptom of any personality flaw or psychological handicap. Feeling down once in a while (even for long, cyclical periods) is perfectly normal. So, unless you happen to be severely devastated emotionally and victim of an irresolvable psychological impairment, then you have nothing to worry about.
There are many more colors of the rainbow than just the solitary, melancholic, deepest of blue. I can tell from you're MySpace profile & pics, quite simply, that you have a very colorful, vibrant personality. Don't trust in depression & doom's day dealings, for they are deceptive and--much more often than not--temporary. Tumultuous, but temporary!
As per your inquiry about the who's, what's & how's of my tragic misfortune, I'll tell you this: In late September, 2007, just after my birthday, I could tell that I was getting sick. But I wrote it off as just another rhino-viral attack, so I didn't go in to see my doctor. In stead, I just thought I would lay back in bed for a few days and tough it out. That was, obviously, the wrong thing to do.
The last thing I remember, before waking up in the hospital with a massive hole in my face and tubes hanging out from me all over the place, was watching Robin Williams on Late Night with Conan O'Brian (in San Francisco). I think it was a re-run. I'm not sure what the exact date was that I lost consciousness, but it wasn't before the end of the month. The doctors estimate by the degree of necrotic decomposition and the failure of my immune system that I must have been unconscious for between 10 to 12 days. That is just enough time for my kidneys to fail and for my mouth & nose to shrivel up & die. Sorry to be so bleak & brute about it.
In light of my present deformity & handicap, I've had to completely re-evaluate the direction of my life, especially how I intend on continuing my education & pursuing a career. Before the devastation, I was aiming to get an MFA/PhD in Experimental Queer Performance or a PhD in Contemporary French Theater. But now, I've been deformed so monstrously that I shan't be seen by the public without a mask on, and my speech (once made eloquent & refined by a quarter-life's worth of theater training) is now grotesquely impaired. So studying and teaching Theater or French is pretty much out of the question.
As an alternative, I've considered focusing on different of my passions in life. Once my reconstructions are complete and I feel comfortable venturing out into the world vis-a-vis per say, then I may go back to school either to get a BA/MFA in Graphic Design & Advertising or to get my MSW/LCSW (Master's of Social Work/Licensed Clinical Social Worker Certificate). But that decision is one that I have no strength to consider; at least, for the next year, until my reconstructions are complete.
There. See. I've written a novel. Such is my nagging predisposition. I've a habit of rambling on & on about the most inane, contrite subjects; although, I don't think that anything I've mentioned in this email qualifies as such. I hope you appreciate my verbosity. Please let me know what is getting you down. Maybe I can help to brighten your day a lil'. I look forward to hearing back from you. Stay Safe & Be Well! Peace, Love, and Loads of lazy, lascivious, loud leopard-skin leotards! (I like alliteration! Alliteration is my friend.)
Thank you! Talk to you soon...
He responded, expressing his immense sympathy and saying that he would like to get to know me better. He seems to think that we could have the mutual effect on each other of changing our perspectives and defeating the "woe is me!" mentality. We'll see where tihs all leads. If anything, I've garnered some immense incite into the nature of depression.
Words to be remembered:
Life has lead me on some difficult roads, but none so treacherous & tragic as the one I am careening down now a'days. Living without a face is not easy, but I survive. Sometimes, like you, I get that "woe is me!" feeling--quite often, in fact--but somehow I succeed in sweeping the gloom & doom aside and freeing my mind for happier thoughts. In the end, all I can tell myself is "one day, this too shall pass!"
Depressed & reclusive tendencies are not a definitive symptom of any personality flaw or psychological handicap. Feeling down once in a while (even for long, cyclical periods) is perfectly normal. So, unless you happen to be severely devastated emotionally and victim of an irresolvable psychological impairment, then you have nothing to worry about.
There are many more colors of the rainbow than just the solitary, melancholic, deepest of blue. I can tell from you're MySpace profile & pics, quite simply, that you have a very colorful, vibrant personality. Don't trust in depression & doom's day dealings, for they are deceptive and--much more often than not--temporary. Tumultuous, but temporary!
As per your inquiry about the who's, what's & how's of my tragic misfortune, I'll tell you this: In late September, 2007, just after my birthday, I could tell that I was getting sick. But I wrote it off as just another rhino-viral attack, so I didn't go in to see my doctor. In stead, I just thought I would lay back in bed for a few days and tough it out. That was, obviously, the wrong thing to do.
The last thing I remember, before waking up in the hospital with a massive hole in my face and tubes hanging out from me all over the place, was watching Robin Williams on Late Night with Conan O'Brian (in San Francisco). I think it was a re-run. I'm not sure what the exact date was that I lost consciousness, but it wasn't before the end of the month. The doctors estimate by the degree of necrotic decomposition and the failure of my immune system that I must have been unconscious for between 10 to 12 days. That is just enough time for my kidneys to fail and for my mouth & nose to shrivel up & die. Sorry to be so bleak & brute about it.
In light of my present deformity & handicap, I've had to completely re-evaluate the direction of my life, especially how I intend on continuing my education & pursuing a career. Before the devastation, I was aiming to get an MFA/PhD in Experimental Queer Performance or a PhD in Contemporary French Theater. But now, I've been deformed so monstrously that I shan't be seen by the public without a mask on, and my speech (once made eloquent & refined by a quarter-life's worth of theater training) is now grotesquely impaired. So studying and teaching Theater or French is pretty much out of the question.
As an alternative, I've considered focusing on different of my passions in life. Once my reconstructions are complete and I feel comfortable venturing out into the world vis-a-vis per say, then I may go back to school either to get a BA/MFA in Graphic Design & Advertising or to get my MSW/LCSW (Master's of Social Work/Licensed Clinical Social Worker Certificate). But that decision is one that I have no strength to consider; at least, for the next year, until my reconstructions are complete.
There. See. I've written a novel. Such is my nagging predisposition. I've a habit of rambling on & on about the most inane, contrite subjects; although, I don't think that anything I've mentioned in this email qualifies as such. I hope you appreciate my verbosity. Please let me know what is getting you down. Maybe I can help to brighten your day a lil'. I look forward to hearing back from you. Stay Safe & Be Well! Peace, Love, and Loads of lazy, lascivious, loud leopard-skin leotards! (I like alliteration! Alliteration is my friend.)
Thank you! Talk to you soon...
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