Mentally preparing for the holidays is a marathon of sorts for anyone with social anxiety. I’m much better at defining boundaries, opting out when necessary, and maintaining a calm composure when faced with people at their worst and best. This year especially, I’m good with simply saying no and spending a quiet evening with Andy. 

That said, I know there are a lot of people encounters ahead, and I’m girding the loins for barreling through the next two months. Practicing patience and compassion is but a branch off of mindfulness, and though it’s not my comfort zone, it will be good to embrace a challenge. I won’t wholly isolate; I will work to share moments with loved ones. Joining in humanity for all of its workings is part of the ‘shades of gray’ project from twenty years ago (and currently being posted in bits and pieces) – it’s filled with observations of others rather than an interior introspection that often characterizes my writing.

I still feel a love for people, even when they make it especially difficult. 

My naked ass was definitely going to cause a commotion if I posted it on Facebook, so I preemptively censored it as seen below. A big ‘Bleeped’ sticker hides my bare butt in practically its entirety, so I thought it would be ok as there are much more revealing items on social media, especially Facebook. I’ve been down this road before, and while it’s always fun to get a few more clicks (that’s what censorship does for nude posts) it’s still a pain in the, well, you know. 

So I censored it with the sticker as seen below:

A minute after it went up, the FB bots took it down, putting restrictions on my account in some form (I don’t make any money from this site through FB, or any other way for that matter) – and it just annoyed me, so I submitted an appeal for review. Usually those appeals result in no change, and in this case I assumed they would stick to their original judgment that this sticker-clad shot violated the ‘no nudity or sexual activity‘ provision. I carried on with the morning, turning it into some clickbait for people to visit the original post to see what was censored again (thanks for the bump in traffic, FB!) About twenty minutes later, they changed their mind. 

Meanwhile, people can threaten my life, call me ‘faggot’, and tell me my time is limited here on earth. Now that the election has emboldened and empowered the hateful people again, this is just the beginning. There’s a difference the time around, though: the last time this goon got into office, I toned down my posts out of concern for the attacks. This time, I’m going in the opposite direction. 

As Gregory Maguire so presciently wrote: “When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis… those who are most themselves are the victims.”

I’ve never been a victim, and I’m not about to begin. I’m going to be more myself than ever, and put it all up here on the daily. So when you see Facebook shut me down for good, and Instagram soon follows, you know where I’ll be – right here. The same place I was when Facebook and social media as we knew it were born. 

Do not be afraid.

Be yourself. 

Be yourself more than you have ever been before. 

Following a stretch of black and white entries, and all sorts of ‘shades of gray’, this post feels like Dorothy entering Oz from the sepia-toned doldrums of Kansas. Even if it’s less gloriously-shaded than late spring or early summer posts, it manages its own magnificence. Fall thrills differently than spring and summer. It’s strange to see the blue of the pool echo the blue of the sky at such a late date, but our world is sick, and this is one symptom of its slow-burning-up. We’ll get there soon enough, and for those too young to realize it yet, hope you can stay cool. 

The lotus is born amid mess and muck. I try to remember that when stirring up the still waters of the past. The muddy murkiness that results often gets me into trouble for making such a mess, but sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Or some bullshit we tell ourselves to make sense of the hurtful. 

Lately I’ve been analyzing things, questions that have arisen over decades of patterns that I’ve only recently seen with a keener sense of such long-range arcs. 

Why have I always felt so uncomfortable around my family? 

Why have I always sought out mother figures?

Why did my most consistent drinking happen during family events? 

Why does the both-sides framing of things trigger me so much?

Why does injustice feel so personal? 

I’m beginning to detect answers as I look over my family history, and see the ways in which we have established, confirmed and exacerbated dysfunctional patterns. I’ve seen where the problem child gets the help and aid, and felt the cool shadow of neglect for doing what is right and expected. I’ve returned rebellious behavior thinking it will turn things in other ways. I’ve brought things up to burn them down and only ever gotten hurt in the telling of truths. 

After some extensive talking in therapy, I see that perhaps stepping back a bit is best for my own self-preservation, and when I look over the past I see that all my behavior has been done with an instinct for survival. Whenever there have been moments of confusion, when things didn’t make sense or felt off, I usually attributed it to me, rather than the systems in place that may have resulted in my predicaments. My default was self-blame, reinforced by guilt and generations of family tradition. Maybe we all fell into those patterns, and took up those roles because they were all we knew. I don’t ever believe anything was intentionally malicious; that doesn’t negate the fact that I’ve been the one consistently hurt, over and over and over again. 

Untangling decades of such confusion isn’t going to happen overnight. It’s also likely to be a one-man-show, as this hasn’t seemed to bother anyone else. Another sign of confirmation, as the only journey over which I have any sense of control is my own.