Oh damn, dove; I had not forgotten about the fact that I´m now pact-bound to volunteer without really knowing if I´m up for that skills-wise or not, but I still got a right old spook when I was sent an electric pigeon requesting me to set the time and date for my first volunteering as well as a mention that outpost commanders are usually appointed 2-3 years after establishing local activity. The reason I´m using these euphemisms is to not get in a copyright infringement mess of course, and I made sure to respond post haste that I am not looking to run anything but the bare minimum – but I do wonder if I come across as ambitious, and if I do, how the fuck is that possible? If these people knew the truth – that I doubt myself constantly, and the only reason I got emboldened to even start volunteering was because of your gentle encouragement, that I am just a silly little guy who spends most of his time in bed, dissociated within twenty layers of fantasy to shield him from the cruelties of the real world, and I never even tried to pretend otherwise… Why do people keep misreading me like this? It´s almost as if everyone saw me through their own glamour I have no control over. What the fuck am I? Maybe I am a shape-shifter – not one who voluntarily changes form at will, but one who is changed by the perceptions of others. Or maybe I am just a mirror with no substance of my own. Nah, that´s not true. But apparently I come across as way cooler than what I am?
Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, and discerning if they hold their tongues. – Proverbs 17:28, NIV
Well, I guess it doesn´t matter too much. What matters now is to get the volunteering up and running, and to not fuck up too badly or too often. It´s definitely wise to start slow and small and iron out the wrinkles as I learn by doing. I feel strangely emboldened by Thursday evening´s squat fail. I could have gotten internally decapitated if I had actually fucked up and have the bar land on my neck, but I didn´t: it only hits me now that I didn´t even get the adrenaline shakes. I was safe within the danger. I didn´t really think at all as the thing was happening, my body just saved itself, but as I was jumping up from the floor, I remember a fleeting thought that I want to come across as nonchalant as possible so the other guys at the gym won´t think I´m a doofus. If this had happened to me on estrogen, I would have wanted to die of shame and hated my stupid body for not being able to pull off the intended lift. But now on testosterone I looked at it as two successful reps and one fail that taught me I can trust my reflexes and dump the weight the right way round, backwards off my back instead of letting it roll onto my cervical spine, and me still being able to walk and type is proof of my success. I will have many equivalents to that fail-and-save during the volunteering, and I will need the same attitude and tolerance towards my own fallible nature. So now that I´m in the right mindset, I´ll just go there and see what happens. The ”there” in this scenario is you, is me, is us, is attachment.
Theory has the power to strip reality of itself – hyperreality blah blah, you know all this by heart by now, dove – but at the same time, when people use words to describe themselves, it would be stupid to not take heed. Things like attachment styles are not identities, but they are probably something slightly deeper ingrained than, say, unhelpful habits; those can be changed through efforts of the individual and support by the environment, but perhaps attachment styles shouldn´t even be seen as something to be changed. I´m thinking about cats that were separated from their mommas too early, and who will make biscuits and suck on blankies for the rest of their life for comfort. In humans the aftermath of shitty parenting is more complex, but what would be the point in trying to make someone love and experience closeness and comfort in a way that just doesn´t come naturally to them? And on the other hand, if someone is pervasively unwilling and incapable of showing gentleness and approval, it´s pointless to keep trying to milk it out of them. Lord, the effort I put into past partners who in hindsight did not deserve it… And yet I understand that I did it because I could not imagine relationships not working any other way. If someone was cruel to me, I expected it to be my fault. And interestingly, the tenderness I feel towards you seems and tastes very different to anything I´ve experienced before. These aren´t the unmet needs of a biscuit kitty stemming from the self-erasure of my closeted self. This infatuation is lacking the saltiness of tears shed alone and misunderstood, as well as the growing bitterness of unfairnesses piling up in the corners. Sure, your warm ghost is taking up a lot of my mental bandwidth, but I know the fantasy you from the person you. I recognize the acts of kindness and encouragement that you keep displaying, and I appreciate them no matter whether they come from a budding reciprocal interest or a friendly place. But I´m also done gaslighting myself into thinking that you couldn´t possibly ever think of me as desirable, whatever it means for you. It´s tentative, but it´s there. Something tells me that the best way to nurture it is to place zero expectations and demands on it (which is also how I wish to be treated!) and see what happens.
I´m thinking of horses again. The best way to get a a strange horse to come to you is to go to the pasture and just hang around and do your own thing, pick up grass to emulate grazing, relax, yawn, think of other stuff. Enjoy the summer day while waiting turns to just being and the sound of flies turns into music. Percussion is the wind in the long grass, it´s called blades of grass for a reason, they are rough enough to cut. Fingers dig into the soil, sun batters the skin usually kept far away from it out of fear of cancer. Horses outweigh that fear though: being allowed in their presence is greater than the flaming ball of mutating radiation in the sky. Hooves fall onto ground rhythmically, slowly, tails swish, the sharp sounds thereof dance on the skin like whips. The sweaty body melts into the afternoon, sky cloudless but powdered with humidity, and nothing is clear but the fire of the flanks of the rust-red horse and her skewbald filly. I know she could trample me if she wanted to, but I won´t give her a reason to. I´m 10 or 11 or 12, I think, the exact date does not matter, I could hunt it down if I needed to, I have pictures. I show up day in, day out, I become part of the pasture. And eventually the mare introduces herself to me and then introduces her foal to me as well. She can tell I come in peace and mean no harm. I know you can, too. And it´s perfectly fine for you to do things at your pace, even if I never get to touch your sun-kissed withers before the summer´s over and it´s time to pack and head back to school for another year. The act of existing on the same pasture is connection as well. That´s security, dove: I unconditionally accept that I´m quietly in love with you, and I appreciate the emotion without needing to have it reciprocated. I´m just happy that you exist, and I´m strong enough to let my emotion be just as it is, sitting with it on the rough grass, a tiny me in a huge world that stands still for this precious minute.
Sleep well!
Lähiönoita 