Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Fight, for Fuck's Sake

When I learned of Si’s passing, my first thought - after again compulsively yelling “HOLY FUCK” - was “Please, for the love of god don’t let this have been suicide.” This thought was likely colored by the fact that someone in Chicago recently killed themself, but the primary motivator was how amazing and welcoming both of these individuals were. I expected to feel almost a sigh of relief when someone said it wasn’t, but instead I was left with the thoughts I’d had about what a positive person he was any time I saw him.

I remember not being as impacted by death when I was younger, and I don’t think this had anything to do with it being a less frequent occurrence at the time or that it's people who meant more to me. In fact, I feel like there are people who could logistically be called acquaintances (though I wholeheartedly refer to friends) whose torch being extinguished honestly affected me more than losing my great grandmother and my grandfather. I spent a good amount of time being raised by my grandfather, and my great grandmother was the family member I talked to most when I was first on my own … and yet, I find myself more impacted by the loss of people I’ve only interacted with a number of times that could easily be counted.

What’s happened as I’ve gotten older, I think, is I’ve realized how small I am. Within the context of my family, yes, these people made a tremendous difference to me and who I am. They protected me, they loved me, they taught me to love, and they let me be myself - things I try with every fiber of my being to carry into the world. But no matter how much I appreciate what they gave me, the world where I came from always felt so incredibly small. We had our neighbors as friends and that was essentially the extent of our social gatherings outside the family. I understand that some people want to live small, quiet lives, but the more people I meet the more I see how much work there is to be done.

It’s no secret that community is important to me, and I can’t imagine myself ever wanting a quiet life; nature is pretty and tranquility is nice, but people are fucking beautiful. If anything, this is a sentiment that has strengthened with age instead of souring into cynicism like it does for most. I think a lot of this is rooted in being involved in queer culture, but I’m honestly so immersed in gay/kink stuff that I literally can’t tell what normal culture looks like any more. A friend was joking the other day about some director saying “It’s not believable to have two gay characters in a friend group,” to which they responded “Hunny, I haven’t seen a straight person in a week.” Aside from work (and even parts of work), my entire life is LGBTQQI.

One of the main reasons I think people are so beautiful is their potential for growth when they’re given a supportive environment. The world has a way of beating down the things that make people special, and queer culture is the strongest existing force against this erosion of true self. Whether it’s the simple acknowledgement that love is okay - even when it’s complicated - or that it’s okay to not adhere to a specific gender norm, or that sex is not evil and immoral it empowers people, it's a culture that says “Hun .. you do you: you're amazing,” and I can't think of a better way to enable mental health and growth. When you cut off the fear of rejection that is drilled into us by oppressive standards, suddenly people are more willing to pay it forward instead of trying to shoot someone down before they can be shot down.

As I reflected on the initial thought I had - “Please don't let it have been suicide,” really more prayer than thought - it actually became a little unsettling that I couldn't feel grateful he was around rather than sad he's gone from the world. I really did not know him that well through interaction, only through seeing what he was to others. Wondering why what he represented was so important to me kind of lead into thinking about community, which made me wonder why I can't just let myself just be a “rocking chair on the porch” kinda guy despite being such a huge ball of anxiety. And there it was again: that knee-jerk fear that another beautiful, amazing person had taken their own life. The fact that he hadn't was no longer relevant; the fact that some of my friends and my family are so exhausted by the world telling them that their existence is wrong they have life-long intimacy issues, or substance abuse problems, or take their own lives … that's what mattered in that moment, and why being grateful doesn't feel like enough.

I recognize the imagery of love and war may seem antithetical, but we need soldiers. We need people willing to put themselves out there fearlessly to show others it can be done. We need people wearing the emotional equivalent of teflon armor so that the aggression of rejection (or by extension the potential for it) doesn't phase them and they can move from person to person and help them. We need people whose smile and joyfulness is a weapon that can pierce through cynicism and mistrust, and we lost someone fucking armed to the teeth.

Things have been feeling a lot better lately. I’ve almost been feeling complacent, and comfortable, and far enough removed from grief to not feel sad all the time. When I heard about someone who was basically the embodiment of a warm hug killing themself, it set me back a bit as a reminder of the struggles of our community. While my initial response to Si’s passing may have been incorrect and tantamount to a coincidence, I won’t soon forget that it is indicative of how we exist: they’re not killing us as often any more, now they’re just applying pressure until we snap one way or the other. It’s still happening, even in cities we basically own, and it needs to stop.

Don’t just be unapologetically you, fight like hell against anyone who tries to tell you you can’t: you don’t have to maintain space for people who want to bring you down. Take a stance against shaming whether it’s a fem boy, a bottom, a slut, a pup, a diaper boy, an artist, a socially awkward weirdo, a disabled person, someone living their heritage, someone who can’t afford nice clothes … be there to smile when they are being supportive, but don’t ever let someone trick you into thinking you need to tolerate their bullshit. Everyone does better off when we support each other, but support is a mutual endeavor and we need to not let people build themselves up on the backs of others. We’re a small piece of the pie, but people from outside our community have been using us as punching bags to work out their own feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt, and it’s still fucking a lot of people up.

It’s easy to feel complacent when you feel progress, but if you take a look at the mental health issues that are still prevalent as a result of heteronormative pressure you’ll see there’s still a lot to be angry about. For those of us in big cities it’s especially easy; we forge our own communities where we feel loved and accepted, and we’re very far removed from signs of the damage that is still going on. We may not even realize some of our own community members are carrying scars, and that for them small signs of rejection may feel to them like it did where they came from; feeling accepted after a life of rejection only to have it pulled out from under them. We need to smile and have joy and even mourn, but don’t forget for a second the anger you should feel from their treatment of us. When the most common first thought upon hearing of an untimely death in your community isn’t to wonder if it was an accident but rather to wonder if it was either suicide or drugs, there is a problem … and it just so happens that this problem isn’t of our own making.

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