Sounds emanate from beyond the barrier. Strange, unfamiliar, frightening. Over time, you grow curious. You bore a little hole through the wall, and peek.
What you see excites the senses. You realize you've been complacent, sealing yourself away from something beautiful. You widen the gap, maximize your view.
As the hole grows, the wall above weakens. Collapse seems imminent and could crush you underneath, rendering the wonders on the other side unreachable. Do you allow it to crumble, or push into this new world? You make a choice.
Rock spews as you smash your way through. The wall disintegrates behind you.
But the new place looks different than when you watched it from afar. Dark. Forbidding. Your nerves spike as you gaze at the remains of your wall and realize...
There's no place to hide.
The wall hindered your progress, but it also offered you safety. No more.
You're Out
A month ago, I tore down my wall with a Facebook sledgehammer, after which I physically shook for ten minutes, then waited for the worst.
The reaction, if I'd written it as a scene, would require a rewrite for being devoid of conflict. The tsunami of love and support I received from friends and relatives overwhelmed me. I always assumed I'd reach the Coming Out door only to have it slam in my face. Instead, dozens of people held it open for me.
I thought it would lift the weight off my shoulders. I thought I would feel happiness, pride. I thought I wouldn't be scared anymore.
Instead, my inner Courage the Cowardly Dog continued to piss himself.
I stood in 38 years worth of rubble, surrounded by uncertainty. And nothing pleases anxiety more than snorting uncertainty from its coke nail.
Man Which
Anxiety is the jelly to my introversion's peanut butter. They go great together, but steer my head to places I don't want to visit. They've conspired against me from the beginning, and I've rarely fought back. Rather, I tried my damnedest to blend in.
I've always been better at observing human behavior than actually behaving like a human. As a child, I'd watch how other kids played before I joined, fearful of making a mistake. Imitation is a great concealer. It backfires when you mimic a cultural lie, like the popular definition of masculinity.
I've always been better at observing human behavior than actually behaving like a human. As a child, I'd watch how other kids played before I joined, fearful of making a mistake. Imitation is a great concealer. It backfires when you mimic a cultural lie, like the popular definition of masculinity.
Be it from male relatives, friends and their fathers, even to an extent my own dad, certain traits reinforced the idea of "man." Stoic in bad times, comic in good. Hearty laughter. Furious anger. Discipline. Intelligence. Ingenuity. Strength. Fun. And no tolerance for other people's shit.
Never weakness. Never fear. Never longing. Never sadness. Never worry. Never questioning your sexuality.
To be a man meant to bury those aberrant emotions. Wear your armor proudly and never show its cracks. I learned by example, and followed the leaders. Years of reinforcement, even reward, for polishing that armor lead to the trembling, terrified bones writing this sentence.
As a result, I don't let anyone in. I spurn close relationships and keep people at arm's length. On paper it makes sense. If you only see the surface, you can't be repulsed by the truth lying below.
My next goal must be to remedy that. Without intimate, essential bonds to the humanity around us, we have no outlet but to scream into the ether, and the ether rarely answers in kind.
On the other side of the wall, we're easily lost in the dark. Someone close reaches out to help us find our way. The hardest part is taking their hand.
