So, What’s it Gonna Take?

I suppose this is written as a means of survival.
But in fairness to the means, I realize that not everyone survives . . .
or wants to.

At best, I think that it is only fair for either of us to realize the following. There are times when there is nothing anyone can do.
Nothing can be done, except endure.
In which case, all we can do is keep going.
Keep moving. Keep trying.
Keep looking for the chance to switch or improve your position.

We all have opponents and competition to face. Some of the biggest or most fierce competitors are the ones that come from within. I know this all too well.

I remember being told that it’s okay to talk to yourself, as long as you don’t answer yourself.
And I know this was said jokingly.
But I talk to myself.
All the time!
I argue with myself and sometimes, I lose these arguments.
But I digress.

A young man decided to exit the stage the other day.
He did this because as far as he saw, he never thought that he could “fit” with this world.
He looked different and loved differently — or, at least so he thought.

He saw himself as flawed or somehow unworthy and burdensome. I know this because he told me so. He mentioned how he thought that he was a disappointment to his family.
He thought this because of how and who he loved was different from the so-called norm.

He was doing well for a while, or so I was told.
I guess this is something parents say when they want to believe, “not my child.”
Or as his father believed, “Not my boy!” He said this because his boy was gay.
He was socially uncomfortable, unsocial, and not the king of popularity like his father used to be.

I often wondered if the father, himself, had a little girl inside of him.
Do you know what I mean?
I wonder if the father had a little girl inside of him who begged and pleaded to come out of the closet.
I mean . . .
why else would he hold such contempt for his only son being gay?
Why else would his homophobia have such a degrading turn on his son?

I wonder if the father knew the rejection and the damage and disappointment that was felt by his son. I wonder about this because as far as his son believed, the boy would never be able to please his father.

I say what I have heard before.
I say this clearly too: Anyone with a dick can make a baby.
It takes a real man to be a real father.
I hope to be that, someday.
A real man, that is.

“What’s it gonna take” is a question that covers so many bases.
What’s it gone take to get through this life?
What’s it gonna take to be comfortable and happy with the reflection we see in the mirror?
What’s it gonna take to be pleased and proud of what we see?
What’s it gonna take to be rid of our own body shaming?
What’s it gonna take to kill the irrationality of the inner critic?
Or better yet, what’s it gonna take to be self-aware, conscious, understating of who we are and be unmoved by the outside world or the outside rejection?

Come to think of it –
I often wonder if rejection exists.
Of course, it does.
At the same time, I wonder.
Does rejection exist?
Or does rejection only exist as much as we invest in the emotions that come with it.

Would I take offense to a stranger who never knew me?
Would I be outraged by someone who never met me, or knew anything about my situation yet, they sat me down to tell me all about the way I’ve failed or did something wrong?
If someone with Tourette’s syndrome saw me in passing and their involuntary ticks caused them to curse me or my mother — would I be angry or outraged?

The answer is no.
The first person has no understanding. They don’t know me or anything about me.
The person with Tourette’s has a medical and uncontrollable emotional condition, so, of course I would not be offended.

I have learned that people close know less about us than a stranger and they are often sicker than the person who has a medical and emotional condition.

And now . . .
I think about the people who cast their insults at me.
I think about the hurtful people in our inner circle.
I think about the people who we call “loved ones” or the people who we have invested in. When I say “invested,” I mean these are the people who we have invested in greatly, and I realize something above all else.

I hardly have control over my own dysfunctions, let alone the dysfunctions of someone else.

We are all sick in our own ways.
Some are sicker than others.
One can argue that I am one of “the some” and that I fit that category.
And I say, “Okay, fine.”

I can be the sick one.
I can be the damaged one.
I can be unhinged or out of my head.
I can be downright crazy and I can be the psycho and the lunatic.
I can take it.
I’ve heard worse.
In fact, I’ve said worse about myself.

I can own my special brand of craziness.
I can admit to my wrongs. I admit and uncover my flaws as well as my defects. More than anything, I can openly confess to the list of people who I have harmed.

At the same time, I don’t have the need to point fingers anymore.
I don’t need to find someone else to blame.
The only thing I have to find is the secret to my endurance.
I have to find my way.
I have to figure out how to accept me as I am.
I have to accept myself instead of trying to fit a mold that was never me to begin with.

Live fake, be fake,
I disagree with the saying fake it until you make it.
Be you.
Be real
but be aware the rest of the world has their own thing going on as well.

Have I ever thought about quitting?
Sure.
Have I ever wanted to exit the stage?
Of course.

However, part of my endurance is responsible for part of how I survive.
And to survive, I realize that I have to get up and out of bed in the morning.
Even when I don’t want to or when it seems like I have no reason to.
Get up.
Get out of bed.

I have to do this, no matter who likes me or wants me in their life.
Even if no one likes me or if no one wants me around, I have to find a way to disconnect from them.
I have to find a way to endure and enjoy life because at the end of the day, there is only one person staring back at me in the mirror —and that’s me.

I have been called a loser.
I have been called a liar.
I have been called a cheat.
I have been called a thief.
I have been called a criminal.
I have been called stupid.
I’ve been called a junkie and an addict.
I have been told that I am miserable.
I have been accused of all the above and more.
Yes. I have.
To be honest, I can’t argue with the accusations.

I cannot say that I have not done anything wrong.
I am not innocent or a saint by any means.
And sure, it would be easier for me to point at the wrongs and the flaws of my accusers.
But why?
It would be a good tactic if I wanted to argue with those who have no right to point at me, — yet, they still point. And they still argue too.

In the end, how does this help me?

How does this solve my problem?
How does this answer the math in my head, which accumulates and adds and multiplies, which does nothing else but inevitably divide me from my true self. Thus, I find that math like this often becomes unsolvable. So, I have to learn better ways to remove myself from this equation.

My young friend died because he didn’t want to live anymore.
He died because he thought life would be better without him.
It would be inaccurate of me to say that I have not had thoughts like this.
I have had thoughts where I believed everything would be better, if I wasn’t around anymore.

I wouldn’t be around to hear about the bullshit.
I wouldn’t have to see unkind things.
I wouldn’t have to be part of the battles that go back and forth anymore.

I am sure there are people who would cheer for this too.
I have enemies . . .
More than one too.
For sure.
Maybe the list of those who hate me is long or short.
But my secret of endurance has to teach me that people like this have their own hang-ups.
I have to understand that they spew and that their lives are sick too — or they are sicker than the so-called sick one with verbal ticks from their Tourette’s syndrome.

By any means necessary.
I love that line.

Get up.
“Don’t let the bad days win.”
Don’t let the gossipers and the fat that they chew be the thing that rips you apart.
Stand tall, even if you think you can’t stand up at all.

There are times when I have asked, “so, what’s it gonna take,” and the answer was “nothing!”
I agree.
Things can be unfixable, and life can seem unlivable.
But this is why we need to pull off our trick.

This is why we need to find the secret of our endurance because no one else is going to survive for us. . .
Some people might help. And some people might care.
But our survival has to come from within.

No one else can do this for us.

Sometimes, it’s like . . .
man, we have to save our own life because no one else has the time for it.
We have to do this on a daily basis.

So, I will.

Sleep well, my young friend.
I told you once before and I will tell you once again. And I say this here and in an open forum for all the universe to read.

You were one of the most beautiful people in this world
You still are — it’s just that. . . well . . .
you’re not around in the same way for me to share my feelings with.

We lost touch a while ago,
but I did not lose my memory of you.

Sleep well, kid.