Honestly, That Isn't For Me...July 10, 1999

Honestly, That Isn't For Me...July 10, 1999

One lesson my mother taught me at a very young age was the comforting abilities of food. She used it as a pacifier, and it is a legacy that I struggle with to this day. I was not a small child; I am not a small man. I will probably battle with my weight until the day I die, although for the last few years, I have been steadily losing, mostly because I am trying to take better care of myself, and partly through stress. I am becoming more pleased as the months go by.

For anyone who has had similar struggles with body size, I do not have to explain in detail the damaging effect that peers have on self image and self esteem. My school days were hell, and brought these factors down to practically nothing. From kindergarten to high school, I was subjected to almost daily taunts regarding my size. By junior high, I learned that even home would not offer a haven from these disparaging remarks. I overheard my father and sister one day making fun of the fact that I had "boobs". I thought that having to brave school everyday was bad enough; it sorrowed me straight through to my spirit to hear such things from my family. I was distraught. It was the one, single, defining event in my childhood that led me to believe what everyone else was saying, that I was fat, ugly, unappealing, undesirable, nothing. I began to withdraw. I became paranoid, watching for people looking at me and making fun of me to themselves. I began to wear as many and as large clothes as I could find. It was not unusual for me to wear jeans, a t-shirt, swear shirt, and jacket on the hottest day of the summer. On one such day, my parents ironically sat me down and tried to explain to me that I had nothing to be ashamed of. I just sat, listened, and carried on as though the conversation never happened. I could not believe them. They gave me no reason to.

I have come a long way in improving my body image and self esteem. Much of the credit for encouraging me in that direction goes to The Goddess. I take credit for the work, the pain, the tears, and the committment to move forward every day, even if it is just a baby step. I can say now that I am not fat, that I am not ugly, that I am desirable and appealing, that I am someone. Most importantly, I can say now that I do not give a rat's ass what anyone else thinks or says. Who is society to tell me how I should look? I'll determine that, thank you very much.

There are still shadows of pain looming in the dark, however. One sustaining legacy exists in expressing my sexuality. For a man in his early thirties, this needs to change. I spent my teens and twenties feeling ashamed of myself, feeling guilty for experiencing pleasure. One so hideous could not possibly receive sexual satisfaction. At this point in my life, and again, thanks to The Goddess, I realize just how much I was missing out on. While sparing readers details, I can honestly say that I did not know the level of pleasure and energy one can achieve when in love wholly and deeply. It goes right to the very core of my being, calls right to the very essence of my soul, and takes me on a journey where the very universe seems to be hovering below me. The one issue that remains is when I have to express this sexuality in a public manner.

While at the mall this evening, it dawned on me that while I have the funds, and since I am going to be visiting The Goddess very soon, I need to take care of acquiring "the gear". We are just not in the position to get pregnant right now. This process is always difficult for me, and I am sure that I feel anxiety similar to some post pubescent teenager. The last time The Goddess and I bought the gear together, and I could not even stand at the counter with her. I ran out of the store. At my age, this is just not okay, but I thought I was doing better. This evening, I rounded up the gear, by myself no less, without browsing to the point of looking like a shop-lifter. I did not round up other items that I did not need only to distract the cashier from what I was really there for. I took the gear to the counter, paid for it, and started to leave breathing a sigh of relief. All the while, I affirmed to myself that I am in my thirties, I am a sexual being, and I deserve to experience this free from shame and guilt and scrutiny. I got to the door.

The alarm went off.

Everyone stared at me. My purchases had to be taken out of the bag. All of the gear. One by one. They had to be rescanned in front of all the customers that were in line behind me.

I am starting work on the Nursery this week.

...Blessed Be