But Teacher, I Am Trying (My Best)

I know there’s more for me to learn. And I will always have more to say.
I suppose this is why I will close this journal today and start a new one tomorrow.
And I know . . .
I’ve skipped a class more than I should have, —and yes, the Almighty Teacher is always watching and as far as I can tell, She is always taking attendance.
Skip a class, and She comes to find you because the Almighty Teacher is not one to give up on her students, regardless of how defiant that might be.

I hated the politics of the classrooms. And I still do.
Did I ever tell you how I used to hide in some of the closets behind a stage when I was in school?
Did I ever tell you about the anxieties that plagued me ?
Or have I mentioned how this followed me into my adulthood?
I’m sure that I have.
Of course, I have.

I admit . . .
I’ve cheated on tests.
I’ve snuck in notes for tests and hid them up my sleeve.
I was too afraid to study and fail, which is is why I always looked to have the answers.
I’ve always been resourceful. I knew how to sneak or get over, which is a skill. I grant you.
It takes energy and intellect to do this as well, which is why I was always told, “Imagine how far you would get if you applied yourself.”
And so, yes, I’ve found ways to steal tests or find out the questions and seek out an answer key.
I can neither confirm nor deny breaking into a teacher’s desk to get the test questions for my final and nor can I confirm nor deny that I did something like this at a trade school to graduate with honors.

In fact, I can say that I was somewhat popular in some of my classrooms for things that might be seen as sneaky.
The bottom line is –
I have test anxiety.
Worst of all, I have fears of regressing back to the old feelings in the classroom.
I have always been afraid to feel the way I did, back when I was young in special classes for “special kids.”
Who the hell wants to be seen as “special” when the word otherwise means slow or educationally incapable?
Or worse, my anticipation of looking, believing or thinking that I am the stupid one can be overwhelming to me.
This is a killer, I swear.

Shame . . .
it’s a real bitch.
At the same time, I have not actually studied for a test in years.
I have not cheated either and at the same time, I have passed every exam I’ve had to take, which only proves that our thoughts can and will betray us.
(Sometimes)

There’s more to this than my skills in the classroom or the way I learned how to manipulate systems.
There’s more to this than cheating my way through classes or the mandatory education that comes with working in a specialized career.

I think there’s something more to this.
And I think this runs far deeper than the surface level.
I think this is where the branch breaks off from my challenges in classrooms, and more honestly, I see how my bouts with shame and humiliation have motivated me to .compensate for my lack of ability.

Safe to say that even still, decades later, I still feel the flush of anxiety beneath my skin when I have to take a test.
I was offered a sizable position, about a year ago.
However, this would have caused me to leave my union and start with a new union. But worse, I had to take and pass a test to gain this new position.
And rather than apply, I accepted another offer to save myself from the fears and the worries that I could not pass a test.

And to be clear, this is part of life.
Whether I go or stay in my position or whether I achieve another promotion, by any means; the fact remains that I will have to update my resume as well as my education and my thinking.

I had to take a class last month . . .
I balked on too many occassions.
I tried to get out of this but there was no way out.

I went to all of my classes and for whatever the reason is, I couldn’t focus.
I couldn’t grasp the information, which was far from interesting to say the least—but interesting or not, this is my livelihood.
I swore I was going to fail –
Nope.
I passed with flying colors.

I know I want to get over and I know I don’t want to feel the experience of unwanted challenges.
I get that. And I am sure that I am not alone with this.

My day job is the way I butter my bread. This is how I pay for my meals. This is how I pay my bills, which add up, considerably, and this is how I put a roof over my head.
Albeit it small and although my life has scaled down, my day job is the way I earn my living.

And I tell people this often enough.
I have more than one job and more than one passion.
My hope is to explore a new career that suits my heart more than my wallet.
I suppose this is why I tell people that my day job feeds my stomach and my other work feeds my heart.
Understand?

To be honest –

I have never met anyone as insecure as me.
Then again, I have never sat in anyone else’s skin or felt something from another person’s touch.

I grew up small, which is perhaps why I assume everyone sees me as smaller or weaker or ineffective.
I suppose this is part of my emotional make up which causes me to think that I am either undesirable or ugly or simply not good enough and unwanted.

This is a tough thing to grow up with.
I agree. Even tough is living as an adult with a childhood trauma that stains our opinions and taints our self-worth.

I was painfully thin.
I looked far younger than the other kids my age.
I was never strong.
I never had much of a figure, let alone a body that women would find desirable.

Shame is a bitch.
I agree.
But insecurity is the biggest bitch of them all.

I suppose this is where I will go with my next project.
I suppose I will enter my memories from my first kiss and weave my way through memories of sexual victories and tragedies or how my insecurity caused me to compensate for my fears. and worse, this will be an honest and fair assessment because it would be inaccurate to say that there was no harm or pain that came to me or anyone else.

I never knew how to express myself appropriately.
I never believed that I was good looking or handsome, or worthy or mention.
And where did this lead me?
How did this hurt me?
Or better how did this hurt other.

I think I will recount what took place.
I’ll go over the ideas in my head to clarify certain thoughts, which otherwise debilitated me in so many ways.

And maybe this will help me.
or maybe this will help you or someone else out there who never dared to be this honest.
Maybe this is good or maybe no one cares.
But this is what art is to me and this is what my writing is about.
No one has to care or like it.
Either way, I have to clear my head and empty my thoughts somewhere, which is why I come her
(to you)

It’s not that I cannot be intimate or loving.
I can.
And I am loving.
At the same time, I have had boundaries that were broken and intrusions that led me to believe ideas that were untrue, to say the least.

In the end I want to realize that love is something to be celebrated.
Daring to love and be authentic is not stupid or weak by any means.
Love is the most powerful and bravest emotion of all.
I swear it.
I want to see the brightness in things, like, say, even my smaller victories.

I want to relive what it feels like to experience the joys of walking through central Park with a girl, with no expectations, no attachments to any kind of outcome, and more than anything, I want to regain my youthful freedoms.
I want to regain my composure.
I want to allow myself the right to feel the things I denied myself because at best, I thought that I would only be average and otherwise loveless because who the hell would want someone like me?

Life has been good to me.
And I need to realize this.
Despite the bad things, life is pretty good.

And as for love or lust or the wonderful journey of sexual exploration, I have to say that age has taught me one valuable lesson.
Do not be afraid to choose what you love.
Follow your flavors and your heart.
Never give up.
Like what you like, enjoy what you enjoy, and love who you love.

Do not be afraid of your special little kinks or fetishes.
Do not deny your truths. Love who you love without regard for anyone else because at the end of the day, —the one you face in bed at night is the one you wake up next to—snoring or not, and in the end, you are only going to have so many chances at an intimate happiness.

I do believe in soulmates.
I do believe in the magic of one person being the only person.

I never dared to be open about my sexual appreciation and I never dared to detail my fascinations.
But I suppose this is what my next journal will talk about.

No holds barred.
No limits.
No cares about who agrees, who judges, or who says “What” because I have lived too long to be unhappy or alone.

I have some dreams that need to take place and goals I need to accomplish.
So –
It’s time to spread my wings, so-to-speak

And fly