Memories are strange things. I recall from psychology class that the neural-physiological processes that form and retrieve memories are not well understood. However, I remember that they have run experiments recording brain activity as events occur: they record activity and have the subjects do something. Then they wait and have them "remember" it. They find strong similarities in the three-dimensional activity of actually experiencing the action, and just remembering the action "in your minds eye". This really isn't surprising, but interesting none the less; your brain "lives" the moment again, but with less fidelity.
Reading mirrorboys post today made me remember some bad nights I had when I was 15/16. As I was "living" these again, I re-felt all of the pain and emotion that has been permanently tagged with these memories.
I felt very alone back then as well, because I had no other gay friends and was struggling with my own sexuality. I don't think I was as strong as mboy, because I would've crumbled into bits the first day that I was "out"-ed. I know that this was all "part of growing up"...but I hated it. I hated every second of it: being alone and feeling ostracized from my peers and from myself a bit, too.
Mboys post really caused me to think how my life has changed in the last 10 years. It sounds like so long ago- but it feels like yesterday. As I inventory my experiences, I think that I haven't grown as much as I would've liked. On the positive side, I have finished my undergrad degree, received some awards for my work in college, landed a good job, and been fairly successful financially for my age. I am very proud of all the hard work I put in to my education and my job. However, this is my only sense of pride in my life. Without this, I have nothing. I hate myself in many other ways, and I feel very alone. I have a roommate and enough friends, but no one to share my life with. I think AJ is so lucky, and I know he is happy- and I am happy for him. But at 25, I really do fear that I will be alone for the rest of my life and die alone.
Not helping the situation, I watched a documentary called "A Certain Kind of Death" on netflix a few nights ago. It was really interesting, but really sad. It was the story of what happens to people that are found dead that have no living kin. The first person on there was a 58 year old gay man, who had no family, whose partner had died years prior, and who was just found in his apartment face down. The city sold all of his possessions and used the proceeds to bury him. The only people present were a minister and the grave digger. I don't want to be that man, but I don't know how to be better, at being Steve, to prevent it.
This is already too long of a post, and I should be studying for my Artificial Intelligence exam tomorrow morning!
Much Love,
Steve
Happy Thanksgiving!
1 year ago
2 comments:
Friends are important.
You have a roommate. As long as that is the case, you won't die completely alone.
There is more to say, but right now, all I can think of is *hugs*
You're never too old to find love. I didn't meet my husband 'til I was 30. Prior to that, the only relationships I'd had were two doomed-from-the-outset ones with women (one in HS and one when I was your age) and one with a guy when I was 29 that lasted all of two-and-a-half weeks before I broke it off as there was definitely no future with him, though he was a nice guy.
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