Family First? Not Always (Making Hard Decisions): Note From A Content Black Sheep.

Dear Friends:

A few days my Facebook friend (and fellow blogger), Deonte K, deleted his brother from his page. The reason? His brother left him a horrible homophobic remark on his FB wall (and inbox). Deonte was rightfully pissed and penned a thoughtful message about it on his blog (stating how he had to cut his brother out of his life).

I am glad he chose to share. It helped me feel not so alone in my experience. In spite of this being the 21st century not all gays and lesbians have this magical experience of total acceptance from their familial counterparts. Sometimes, it is the antithesis(life is not an episode of Brothers and Sisters for the majority of gays).

Myself, I have not spoken to nor seen my older brothers in years. As I’ve stated many times before I am estranged by choice. The emotional toxicity  they heaped upon me (for years) was too much to bear. Therefore, I had to make a choice between happiness (minus them) and sadness (plus them). I chose myself.

It was difficult at first. Anyone who knows the story of my family wonders WHY it was difficult for me to cut them off (chile we are NOT the Evans’ on Good Times). Well, for me, it was all about being a human being wanting and needing to be loved and accepted. True, making the decision to cut off your biological family is easy on paper. Yet, when the pivotal moment comes it is tragically difficult. Ultimately, you know it is what you have to do. Yet, you do not want to do it. As a child you truly want and NEED for your family to: love, support, and care about you. You need them to anchor you. You need that safe place to fall. So, when the opposite occurs you still–in some cases–accept abusive treatment (be it emotional or physical) because it is familiar. You accept familiarity because you are scared of lonely.

Speaking for myself, through a lot of counseling, I learned that I would never be alone, ever. In becoming aware of that it empowered me to do what needed to be done. When I kicked my brothers (and the rest of my immediate family)out of my life the door opened for new people to come in.  Their support is unconditional. I can be myself sans any facade because these people know the REAL me.

I would just like to say today that if you are gay and have lost family members don’t feel like it is the end. Bloodlines do not necessarily equal family. Family is where you are loved, protected, and cherished for who you are, percieved flaws and all. Don’t sacrifice your soul and self worth to people who hate you simply because of what you are. Love yourself enough to begin a new and healthy life.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

The Story of Beauty To the Tune of Michael Jackson

Dear Friends:

I am obsessed with Michael Jackson’s face. Wait a minute…scratch that. I’m not obsessed with his visage insofar as I am morbidly fascinated by it. Oddly, my awe stems from a certain identification with him.  

Since the King of Pop’s tragic demise my love for him reignited itself. As a tiny tot for Christ I thought Michael Jackson was the greatest thing in the history of all things: past, present, and future. However, with the subsequent allegations of molestation and drastic physical transformations I–like many others–lost that love and adoration for him. Michael ceased being the ultra cool brotha in “Thriller” and became the strikingly pale, astoundingly eccentric, andrognyne that both beguiled and repulsed onlookers. The uniqueness and originality that sent him rocketing to the stars would ultimately send him crashing back to earth. The colossal talent that dominated the music scene in the 1980′s was completely overlooked throughout the 1990′s (and subsequently the rest of his life). Mike became better known for his alleged perverse eccentricities and not his bodily kinesthetic/musical genius.   

By this point I had thrown in the proverbial towel. I did not know this Michael. His life was as foreign as his new face and bleached skin color…

Yet, as cliche’ as it may sound, death always puts your priorities into perspective. The sad irony is (and I don’t mean this lightly) that death was the best career move for Mike. When Michael Jackson died so did all of his eccentricities, personality quirks, and every other bizarre idiosyncrasies that made him unrelatable to the fans who once cherished him. Instead our obsession with his personal life has shifted back to the complete reverence for his magnificent body of work (and that is as it should be).

Now, I love Michael Jackson again… just as I did as a child. Moreover, as I’ve stated previously, lately I find myself enthralled by him. Now that the veil of secrecy that shrouded him for so much of his life has been removed I feel a certain kinship with him. In his ever evolving facial aesthetic (which went from stunningly beautiful to shockingly grotesque), I see my face–my own story of beauty–in his.

A few nights ago I was watching Michael’s final concert DVD ‘This Is It’ and was moved(to tears at some point). I was transfixed by his face. Many people thought Michael wanted to be caucasian; however, for whatever reason, I could only liken him to an ethereal little pixie (complete with pointy ears. I wonder did he have his ears altered to look like that?) prepared to cast a wonderful spell on those fortunate enough to sit in the O2 arena.

Whenever I see the Michael Jackson of old (with his beautiful African features) juxtaposed against his final incarnation I am always astounded. This beautiful man who once epitomized black pulchritude and pride had, over the years, systematically removed every vestige of the motherland from his face. It often left me wondering what he was thinking about as he endured procedure after procedure. I wonder what his brothers and sisters thought about his appearance that seemed forever in a state of flux? Moreover, I wonder how Katherine must have felt about her child, born of her womb, removing every semblance of HER own unique traits passed down through the generations? More importantly, why did Michael choose to adopt white children (and try to pass them off as black)? Was it born out of hating his blackness (if he hated being black then why did he continue to proudly represented blackness)? Or was it the numerous insults that Michael endured from his father and brothers about his “big nose (the one feature of his body that was literally crucified by repeat surgeries)?”

I can theorize ad infinitum but I’ll never truly know. However, my captivation derives from the fact that I so closely identify with him in those respects (at least I used to).

Like Michael I knew what it was like to be that “adorable little kid” that everybody loved. When you are a small child you get used to everyone calling you “cute,” “adorable,” “precious,” and the like. You ultimately take it for granted that you are never going to grow up and people will always love you because you are so little and so cute.

As a small boy my mother was all about appearances. She dressed me in every cute little outfit imaginable. Growing up I always felt like a little doll. Every weekend she purchased me little outfits and had my picture taken (at least once a month. I have so many baby pictures it is almost nauseating). Of course, every Sunday, the gargantuan breasted ladies in church would literally grab me and nearly smother me to death in their E cup bosoms. “Oooh he so handsome!” and all that (coupled with numerous bags of candy).

Again, as a kid, all of this is lost on you because you think, “It’s just the way it is.” No one really thinks about being an adult as a child (until someone asks “What do you want to be when you grow up?”). Then, almost overnight, you turn into an adolescent and are forced to navigate the winding pathway between childhood and adulthood, sans cute chubby cheeks. The short cherubic little body becomes lanky and awkward with features too big for your face and pimples to match. Your feet look too big for your body and you last resort at looking normal is to hide beneath baggy clothes in an effort to conceal your shockingly emaciated frame (but those big clothes only serve to exacerbate it). The “awe he’s soooo cute” suddenly become “Ew he ugly” or “what happened to you?”

After childhood I came to think the definition of ”ugly” was synonymous with me. Everyone, including my family members, told me how ugly they thought I was. It got to the point where I started to believe it. I developed this repulsive obsession with my appearance. There would literally be days that I would not go out if my: nose, eyes, skin, or hair did not look or “feel” right. Sometimes, I would turn the lights out in the bathroom just to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I could give you a laundry list of flaws that I percieved about myself. As far as I was concerned the elephant man was not nearly as hideous as me. According to my skewed perception my: head was too big for my body; I was too thin; my eyes were too big; my nose was to big (I begged my mother to let me have a nose job); my voice was horrible; and just overall hideous. It got to the point where I could not take compliments, ever. If someone told me I was: handsome, smart, or funny I’d quickly dismiss it as a lie. To this day it is difficult me to accept flattery because, sometimes, in the back of my mind those feelings and emotions are always there. I won’t even lie and say that sometimes I’m still insecure about myself on certain days.

Yet, in spite of all that at least I had a childhood, unlike Michael. Whereas I could retreat into my perpetual state of anonymous teen angst Michael went through puberty before the collective eyes of millions. He endured the worst ridicule simply because he was in the public eye. His fans could pick him apart all they wanted to. He could never escape it. If he wasn’t out his face was sure to be on the cover of Tiger Beat.

What I’m getting at is…

I no longer fault Michael for why he became obsessed with his face. Unlike him my face did not decide my future. His made his living. As Michael transformed I couldn’t help but envy him(at that time). He could change what he thought was not right anytime he wished and however he liked. I had to be told, as a young teen who thought he was horrendous, “You will eventually grow into who you are.” That was enough to send me fleeing to my room in tears (because when you’re a teen you don’t look to the future. All you care about is the present).

Eventually, I did grow into my body. Like an oversized suit hanging on my small frame I eventually changed to fit into my lanky arms and oversized features. Basically a couple of pounds, a few years, and some additional height leveled off the traumatizing effects of adolescence. Like I’ve stated before I still have some insecurities about my appearance; but, overwhelmingly, I am really learning to love the skin that I’m in. It took a very long time but I’m thankful that I came to the conclusion on my own terms.

In retrospect I was fortunate to not be in Michael’s position. Instead of pinning my hopes on the miracle elixir known as cosmetic surgery I grew and developed as a person. I learned that–at the risk of invoking yet another cliche’–true beauty really comes from within. Bettering myself as a person and showing kindness and compassion to others are what made me feel better about myself, not the slice and dice of a surgeon’s scalpel…

Michael and I took different paths to reach our goal. Therefore, in spite of his cosmetic changes I embrace Michael in totality. The face he chose may have been an anomaly to us; but it was the face that Michael ultimately settled on. It was the face that he was finally happy with him. So in spite of it’s affront to my Afrocentrism it was his canvas to do with as he pleased.

With that said as“This Is It” progressed Michael’s face ceased to take center stage in my mind’s eye. No matter what stage of cosmetic evolution his face was in Michael was still beautiful to me. He was: smart, funny, sweet, and in tune with the feelings of all of those around him. Michael Jackson was truly a warm spirit filled with love and compassion. No amount of cosmetic surgery could make him anymore beautiful than he already was. Moreover, his beauty was in his art…art which he gave to the world so selflessly.

Michael ultimately showed me what true beauty DEFINITIVELY is.

Thanks Mike…=0)

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English

No More Monsters (Moving Beyond Childhood Trauma)

Dear Friends:

Last night I had a nightmare. It was about my older brother, Damon (not his real name). It wasn’t the first one I’ve had about him. The dreams are recurring (they only come about when I’ve got a lot on my mind). Whenever Damon manifests himself in my dreams I become this tiny, powerless, and defenseless person (a child if you will). Just seeing his face induces mortal terror. In my dreams I have: shot, stabbed, maimed, and beaten Damon with with an array of weapons (particularly baseball bats). However, like some horrific slasher movie stalker, Damon would only rise up and relentlessly attack me (As if all of my efforts served only to piss him off). Whenever I awaken from these nightmares I’m always drenched in sweat. I am always terrified.

This morning was different. Something had to be done. That’s why I’ve decided to face down my nightmares by being open and honest about their symbolism.

I’ve never talked about this before (indepth at least) because I’ve always felt ashamed about it. Rationally speaking I shouldn’t feel that way in any capacity. Moreover, I should KNOW that none of the events that transpired in my past were of my making.  Yet, these dreams continually invade my sleep. That’s how I know these issues have not been resolved.

To make a very long story succinct Damon, my older brother (16-years my senior), emotionally and physically abused me from the time I was ten up until the age of seventeen. Since the cradle Damon has always been jealous of me. He has always had a vendetta against me, for what I don’t know.

My mother had me at a late age. So, naturally when she found out she was a pregnant 40something she doted on herself and me. When I was a toddler Damon began nice enough (so I’ve been told); however, between the ages of nine and ten he changed…For the worse. It all began with Damon getting into all kinds of trouble and run ins with the law. His then girlfriend (whom he was abusing at the time. Damon has been married twice. Both of his wives, and his girlfriend, left him due to physical abuse), and baby mama, had the cops on him on several occasions.

Damon was very violent and belligerent at home as well. He would yell at my mother and punch holes in the wall during, what seemed like, marathon arguments. Damon was also an alcoholic. He kept a loaded 45 in his bedroom next to a bottle of gin and the holy bible (no, I did not make that up). Needless to say he scared the shit out of me (and my mother). My mother put him out on the streets two or three times, but like a boomerang he kept coming back…promising that he had gotten his life together. Of course she always felt sorry for him and kept letting him back in the house. What I hated most about him was that he lived like a pig. His bedroom literally smelled like a landfill…

Honestly, I don’t remember precisely when Damon started in on me. All I remember was being caught in this endless cycle of emotional torcher and abuse (it all seemed to run together). After my dad died Damon called himself, “being a firm hand in my life” (which I really did not need. Seeing as I was a very sensitive and quiet child to begin with). In retrospect I know that I was nothing more than a convenient punching bag. A loving disciplinarian he was not, ever.

Damon was like the incredible hulk. One moment he was docile and jovial. The next he would literally become the personification of rage. To this day I believe he’s an undiagnosed manic depressive…

Anyway, as I moved into my adolescent phase (around 11-12) that’s when it all started. The emotional abuse came first. Damon always made it a point to tell me how “ugly” and “sorry” I was, all the time, to everyone. He would humiliate me in front of his friends and particularly my mother and various other relatives. He really knew how to make me feel low. I never retaliated because we were taught growing up, “That’s your brother. You are supposed to love him” and all that other mess. However, one particular time I remember being in an argument with my mother. It was stupid teen angst B.S. (when you’re a teenager you’re just a ball of hormones and emotions). It had something to do with school (I was bullied heavily from 6th to 12th grade). Well, Damon got involved (tell me why I don’t know) and the next thing I know my skinny little arm was twisted up behind my back and I was promptly thrown into the wall of my bedroom like so much garbage. In addition sometimes he would pass hard licks (like a punch in my arm, chest, or back) just to put fear into me (and show me that anytime he wanted to smack me he could)…

At the time I was twelve years old and all of 88 pounds soaking wet. Damon was twenty-eight years old, six feet tall, and obese at around 230. It was pretty much no contest in terms of brute strength and physicality. Granted, the abuse was not ritualistic (it didn’t happen daily) but it wasn’t sporadic either. I estimate that Damon would knock me around at least twice a month (for five years. You do the math). One time while my mother was at work we got into an argument. Damon’s son had fucked up my bedroom while I was at school that day. It pissed me off and I started ranting about it. The next thing I knew I was pinned to the wall, with a broom stick to my throat, and my feet were dangling in mid-air. The only thing I remember was the rage in his face. He was yelling at me and all this spit was flying out. Damon has halitosis really bad so you can just imagine being caught up in that. It was the equivalent of being attacked by a rabid dog…

I told my mother about the incident. Of course she didn’t do shit about it. As a matter of fact she never did anything when Damon put his hands on me. In the past couple of years I raised holy hell at her regarding that, please believe me. Fairly recently, she apologized to me for all of it because she really didn’t think it had affected me in such a profound way. My mother genuinely thought that all brothers fought (because she was raised in that kind of environment). Initially, when I was younger, I thought the way she did. I thought what he was doing was “loving discipline.” After every beating Damon would come and apologize as though NOTHING had ever happened. He would take his anger out on me and later on he’d be fine (acting jolly and cheerful). I’d just be fucked up wondering what was happening to me. Then, I would just accept the halfass apology and walk on egg shells until something happened again (which it inevitably did).

The worst part about the abuse was never knowing when it was going to occur again. It was psychological torcher pure and simple. I could say or do one wrong thing that he felt was a slight and the next thing I knew I’d be held down, punched, smacked, or locked inside my bedroom. Once, and I’ll never forget this as long as I live, Damon dragged me outside–into the front yard–and threw me onto the grass, sat on top of me (effectively pinning me down. Imagine that…an obese man sitting on a small child). All of the neighbors were out there and I was screaming for help at the top of my lungs. I don’t even remember what this incident was about but Damon started pounding me on my chest, my little 13-year-old bird chest, and yelling to everyone, “I’m gonna get this big grown 13-year-old NIGGA straight!” I was crying telling him that it hurt (which it did. I could barely catch my breath). All he said was, “Good it’s supposed to hurt!”

After it was over I was so angry and humiliated. Worst of all it made me feel powerless. It was like he could do ANYTHING he wanted to me and no one would care, not even my own mother. This resulted in me having extremely low self esteem and becoming increasingly withdrawn and passive. In the past few years I’ve just learned to be an assertive person and no longer allow myself to be victimized by others.

Anyway…

After this beating had ended everyone was looking at me and the only thing I wanted to do was murder him. At that point I HATED my brother (can’t emphasize that enough). But, within ten minutes, Damon came to my room and asked, “Are you still mad at me?” I wanted to say, “I fuckin hate you and I wish you would die.” But I did not feel like going through anything else. My mother and step father did nothing of course (they actually laughed. My stepfather died six years ago and my mother, as stated earlier, begged me to forgive her. I did). So, I had to go to school like nothing ever happened…again (it got to be commonplace). In retrospect I noticed that Damon never hit me in the face. That was probably by design. The irony is that he said he could not control himself…Yeah right.

When I was 13 my mother started taking me to a therapist. She saw how quiet, sad, and withdrawn I had become (uhm duh?). By this time the whole gay issue had come up too (longer story). I didn’t open up to the therapist much, initially. However, as the sessions increased I offhandedly told her about my brother hitting me (as if it were normal. I really did think it was normal at the time). Her entire expression changed. My counselor suddenly took a keen interest in me and asked, “Does this happen often Todd?”  I immediately shut my mouth. At the time I never told anyone about what was happening. I was afraid if anyone knew my mother would hate me. That’s how messed up I was mentally. In retrospect I would have sang like a canary and had his ass thrown in jail. But I was only 13 (we never know then what we know now). Well, the therapist apparently said something to my mom…I was promptly yanked out of counseling after seven sessions.

So, I spent the next few years depressed, scared, angry, lonely, and a little suicidal. That’s when my brother got engaged and subsequently married. I was so HAPPY when he was gone! My wish for him to be sucked into a black hole didn’t come true, but this was the next best thing.  Well, that didn’t last long. His wife had a baby and after that he started beating on her. One night he beat her bad enough that she called the police on him. My mother of COURSE gave him a room for the night and blamed his wife for my brother beating her (my mother is old school. It is always the victim’s fault). Anyway, wifey cleaned out the bank account, ran sacked the house, took the baby, divorced him, and we haven’t seen her (or my nephew) in about twelve years now. She did the right thing as far as I’m concerned.

Anyway, since then my relationship with Damon NEVER improved. The abuse stopped because he eventually got a real job and stopped mooching off my mother. Yet, I was still trying to play the ROLE (you are supposed to love your family, even if they treat you like shit). The only reason I did so, in the past, was for my mother. I’ll never do that for anyone EVER again.

In spite of not being in close proximity he was always a constant presence. It sucked. Instead of owning my feelings and dealing with the trauma I pushed my emotions down. But, as I’ve said before, when you try and push them down those mother fuckers FLOAT. It was impossible for me to be around Damon and not feel like total shit. I can only liken it to Michael Jackson’s interview with Oprah. Michael said that whenever Joseph (his father) would come over (even when he was an adult) to visit he’d go to the bathroom and regurgitate. That was and still is exactly how I feel about Damon. Whenever he is near me my skin crawls. Waves of terror wash over me. I literally feel like I’m ten years old again and there is no way out. Damon is one of the most heinous, hateful, and monstrous people I’ve ever known. I can’t even look at him and see any semblance of a human being. He’s like an animal. In addition my own feelings of rage, in regards to him, would always surface. Sometimes we would be sitting at the table for Thanksgiving dinner and I’d look at Damon and fantasize about slashing his throat with a carving knife. Naturally, I would go back and PRAY hoping that I could forgive him and get over the feelings (because I was being a good little christian). But I never could, ever.

Flash forward to now…

I have not seen or spoken to Damon in two years (there was an incident, after my mother got really sick, that he tried to attack me in my car. He didn’t touch me but he dented my car door. I got a protective order against him). These have been some of the best years of my life. I am so thankful to have him out of my life…

Yet, the nightmares still occur…

I believe that whenever there is a lot happening in my life the stress encapsulates itself within a Damon avatar. Whenever the dreams occur I know, immediately, that I’m under some form of stress. However, stress is a natural part of life…The Damon factor is not.

That is why I wrote this post today. I’m tired of him having power over me. Damon was literally the boogie man come true for me as a child. All these years I’ve never truly spoken to anyone about all of this and how it made me feel. It made me feel powerless, hopeless, angry, bitter, and confused (confused because if someone is supposed to love you then how can they treat you that way?). Earlier in my life I felt that confessing that would make me appear weak. “Oh get over it! That’s over!” family members would say. But WHY did it continually surface in my sleep and whenever Damon appeared in my waking life? Because I never discussed it Damon became a monster. I made him larger than life when he is nothing more than a lowly degenerate coward.

Today I want the nightmares to end. Damon’s hold is broken over me. I have power over my own life.

Damon, you will never touch me again…Ever.

Damon, you will never come near me again…Ever. If you do you will be in prison.

Damon, you no longer wield any power or control over my life.

There will never be any reconciliation between us…EVER.

Because of you Damon I will now donate a portion of my monthly earnings to charities that go towards protecting small children from animals like YOU.

You will NEVER have the privilege of knowing me EVER again. I am none of the horrible things that you said I was. And you did not destroy me like you tried to do.

Back then I was a child. I had no choice in my circumstances. Now, I am a man and Damon is no longer my monster. With this post I am leaving Damon in the past where he belongs.

Before I sign off…

For anyone out there who has been emotionally or physically abused (whether you were a child or an adult) or is being abused I would like to say this…

IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT! IT IS NEVER YOUR FAULT!

The abuser has the problem, not you!  You will NEVER be able to say the right thing. You will NEVER be able to do the right thing. An abuser just needs a reason. Any reason will do. Don’t subject your mental and physical well being to that treachery.

If there is someone that you can trust and confide in please tell them about your circumstances. Don’t subject yourself to being demeaned and battered simply because you feel a masochistic obligation to your abuser. Remember, you are never alone in this world. If you are a teenager or child (just so happening to read this) please tell a friend, teacher, or any other adult. Don’t be quiet about it. No matter what anyone says know that you ARE worthy of feeling safe, protected, and loved.

Anyway…

Thank you all for listening to me. I believe I will sleep better tonight. Sometimes you have to stand up to a demon. My feet were tired of running.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

The Black Gay Male Pledge of Allegiance

Dear Friends:

I found this video so wonderfully affirming. It’s called “The Black Gay Male Pledge of Allegiance.” I initially saw it on Facebook and quickly friended the author (Derek McMahon) afterwards.

It made me stop and think about the ritualistic psychological abuse that the black community places on LGBT youth, particularly the church. So many lives have been destroyed because of spiritual gay bashing. Words really do have power. When authority figures (parents and spiritual leaders) tell you you’re: sick, perverted, nasty, dirty, sinful, and reprobate long enough you eventually believe it (whether you want to or not).  This is why I believe STD’s are so rampant among many black LGBT’s. If you don’t believe you are worth anything why should you bother having protected sex? Why should you bother getting tested for STI’s? Why should any of it matter when inside you’re already dead?

The irony is that sexually transmitted diseases grow and flourish in the darkness. The Black community, in terms of homosexuality, is lost in the dark. It will be up to brave black LGBT’s to shed light on the situation by simply standing up and being counted. It really is a matter of life and death.

I remember an acquaintance of mine named Trevor. Trevor and I attended the same southern black Baptist Holy Roller church in the late 1990′s. Trevor was leader of the youth group, lead singer in the choir, and one of the smartest kids I knew. He seemed like he had such a bright future ahead of him. Well, after our church fell apart (there was a huge controversy that involved one of my family members) I didn’t see Trevor again until 2003.

Oneday I was coming home from work to drop some mail off at the post office. Trevor was meandering around in the parking lot begging for money. Initially I had no idea who he was. His skin was covered in lesions; he was emaciated; and he looked completely disheveled. Anyway he recognized me and called my name. I did a double take. Once I got a good look at him I knew who it was. So I smiled and said hi. He asked me how me and my family were. We had a little small talk before he asked me for a dollar. So I gave him two dollars. That was the LAST time I ever saw him again. The next thing I knew, two weeks later, he was dead from AIDS related complications. He was 27-years-old (He would have been 33 now).

It was rumored that Trevor had gotten hooked on drugs and hustled. I don’t know the entire story but it didn’t end happily. He had so much promise and it really shook me the way he went out…

Now, it makes me wonder which one of our wicked pastor’s sermons sent him over the edge? Which bible scripture (other than that Leviticus one) did his loved ones hurl his way consistently? Which of his relatives told him to stop lisping when he talked because it made him sound like a “sissy?” How many times was he called a “Faggot” or “punk” by his peers? I wonder how many men did Trevor give himself to simply because he wanted love (like so many other gay men who go that route), even if it was momentary? How many of them lied and said he was special but threw him away like garbage after the act was complete? How many nights did he stay up and pray that he could be “healed” from his “perversion?” How much can one person endure before they finally break?

I told myself that I never wanted to end up like Trevor, ever. Which is why I’ve made it my purpose to counteract all the negativity levied against me by the “community.”

To that end this has inspired me to write my own personal manifesto. Every black gay person should write his or her own. This is 2010. It is time to end all these negative statistics and start loving ourselves for who we truly are.

Thank you Mr. McMahon for throwing down the gauntlet!

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

Thank You 2009

 

Thank you India
Thank you terror
Thank you disillusionment
Thank you frailty
Thank you consequence
Thank you thank you silence

How about me not blaming you for everything
How about me enjoying the moment for once
How about how good it feels to finally forgive you
How about grieving it all one at a time

The moment I let go of it was
The moment I got more than I could handle
The moment I jumped off of it was
The moment I touched down

How about no longer being masochistic
How about remembering your divinity
How about unabashedly bawling your eyes out
How about not equating death with stopping

Thank You…Alanis Morissette

Dear Friends:

I love Alanis Morissette. She’s my musical muse. Whenever there is anything of significant important abiding in my life I beseech Alanis for answers. All of her albums speak to me on a very personal level. The song “Thank You” (from her 1997 sophomore follow to Jagged Little Pill (one of the greatest albums of all-time. I rank it above Thriller) entitled Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie), albeit 13-years-old, encapsulates my attitude at this moment.

2009 was not the most eventful year (what with the economic crisis, the seemingly never ending war, and just general ill will and feelings of disgust that many Americans are feeling); however, it has been one of grand profundity. I feel myself on the cusp of something absolutely wonderful.  As I’ve written in previous blog entries 2005/06/07/08 all molded and matured me. 2009 was all about completion, reflection, and forgiveness.  I finally feel ready to move forward as I am no longer encumbered by excessive baggage. It feels good to feel unburdened.

Thank You 2009. Nothing happened the way that I wanted it to. However, everything happened the way that I NEEDED it to…

Thank You Anger

Thank You Fear

Thank You Confusion

Thank You Family

Thank You Past

Thank You forgiveness

Thank You Detachment

Thank You Freedom

Thank You Courage

Thank You Happiness

Thank You Present and Future

Thank You 2009

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English

In Full Bloom (The Element of Freedom)

And the day came
When the risk it took
To remain tight and closed in the bud
Was more painful
Than the risk it took to bloom
This is the element of freedom

Alicia Keys (The Element of Freedom)

Dear Friends:

A few days ago I purchased Alicia Keys’ lastest album, “The Element of Freedom.” While this is not an album review the introductory poem (above) is what compelled me to write this post. I replayed the intro several times before continuing with the rest of the CD. It struck an emotional chord because I felt like she wrote it for me (lol).

Although I don’t literally believe that there is this giant man in the sky that has a plan and purpose for our lives I still believe that the universe itself is alive. I believe in the concept of energy and how we (and all living things) are apart of it. We all have purpose, uniqueness, and something wonderful to contribute. Some of us know right out of the gate who we are and what we’re supposed to be.

Others of us have no earthly clue and then, on any given day of our lives, discover that purpose and allow it to unfold…

Myself, I am what people have always refered to as “A Late Bloomer.” Everything came late for me. Before going further I’d like to be totally honest and reveal a few personal things. I’m 27 years old and I’ve never been outside the state of Texas (unless you count New Orleans and Disney land; however, my mother said I was still in her womb. So technically those don’t count). I’ve never lived in another city. I didn’t go to any proms or dances when I was a teenager. I have no tales of debaucherous sexual trysts to regale anyone with (seeing as I’ve only had sex, up until recently, in the context of relationships. Compared to some people I’m practically still a virgin). I’ve never had, up until recently, close friends or acquaintances (because I was so petrified that people would not think I was good enough). I’ve never been alone a day in my life (when I didn’t live at home I had a college roommate), ever. Lastly, I’ve never truly been in love (more in love with the idea of it. I think you can only truly be in love when the other person loves you back).

The list could go on but those are just off the top of my head. If I were a color I’d definitely be green. My existence, up until fairly recently, has been incredibly sheltered. Some of it was the doing of my parental units whereas others were of my creation. It has only been recently that I’ve begun the adventure of finding out who Toddy is and what HE wants out of life.

One of my favorite movies in the world is “Their Eyes Were Watching God” (based on the novel of the same name by Zora Neale Hurston). Although the movie stars Halle Berry (Ya’ll know how much I loooove Halle, heh) this was (in my opinion) one of her most beautiful and sincere roles, ever (next to Introducing Dorothy Dandridge and Queen. Let’s put it this way in certain roles I love Halle. In others she stinks like rotting mackerel)…

In the film Halle Berry portrays a young woman by the name of Janie. Janie, as a young black woman in the 1920′s, really has nothing to look forward to other than being a man’s wife. So in order to keep Janie from being some random bloke’s ”good time girl” her grandmother (played by Ruby Dee) marries her off to an old geezer (at the age of 17). However, later in the marraige, Janie leaves the geezer and runs away with a man named Jody who promises her a life of prestige and comfort. Together Janie and Jody help transform Eatonville, Florida into a thriving African-American community. Jody is eventually made  mayor of the fledgling town and Janie unwittingly inherits the unofficial title of the “Mayor’s Wife.” Instead of being her free-spirited self Janie, in order to appease her husband AND the towns people (who all believe that she must behave in a certain manner), denies herself her identity and happiness. Janie binds up her beautiful hair and stifles her youthful spirit and vitality. Over the course of twenty years she is relegated to the role of “The Mayor’s Wife.”  During this time Janie is merely existing, staying in her lane and living up to the perceptions and expectations that everyone else had of her. Suddenly, after twenty years  Jody is struck ill and dies. After the funeral Janie stands in the mirror and removes her head wrap, allowing her flowing locks to fall to her waist. Much like her hair Janie’s truest self was released. She later meets a handsome young suitor, Teacake, (played by the BEAUTIFUL Michael Ealy), falls truly, madly, and deeply in love (for the first time), and lives her life for herself for the very first time…

I saw so much of myself in the Janie character that it made me cry (happy tears though). I know what it is like to feel like a fraudulent person. It is painful when your entire existence is predicated on the idea of being “perfect” in the sight of others. However, when you are alone with yourself and thoughts you stop to wonder, “Who am I?” Yet, you eventually become so lost in the role and so passive in your own life that you become invisible to everyone…Then you forget entirely about who YOU are. Sometimes it takes something prolific to discover the element of freedom. For Janie it was the death of her husband. For me it was the death of my uncle…

Everyone knows my coming out story but long before that I was extremely closeted to myself. Even though I’d dealt with a man prior to coming out (officially) I’d gotten to a place in my life where my self-esteem was so low that I had just relegated my existence to going to church and staying in the comforts of my own bedroom (e.g. the familiar). I was far too afraid to truly be myself so staying in my lane was the only option. Everyone expected that of me. Eventually I just accepted it for myself. I was in pain but remained in the comfort of my little bud…

Yet, my uncle’s death was the catalyst that transformed my life. Granted, it wasn’t him dying per say it was what happened in the moments before the funeral. My cousin O (my uncle’s son whom I had not seen in ages) attended the funeral. My cousin O is a gay too. He lives in Vancouver and I’ve not seen him in ages. Well, he and his partner D  attended the proceedings together. O recognized me right away and introduced me to his significant other. Anyway, I cannot describe what happened to me other than to say it was like a light had shone through the darkness that enshrouded my life. When I saw them together it was like an epiphany. I remember thinking, “Oh my god that is ME!” I hung around the both of them for the rest of the day, like a little fly swarming cow dung. All of my life I had been taught that being gay or lesbian would lead to ruin. All I’d ever heard was the negative. Yet, here were these two handsome, well dressed, eloquent, and wonderful human beings happily together. That is what I KNEW I wanted for myself. For the first time I saw how my life could be. I didn’t have to be a recluse or some gay tragedy.

After the funeral I was very happy, for the first time in ages. It took me several days but one day I forced myself to say it out loud. “I am gay.” I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. The war with myself was over and a hole did not open up and devour me. I was still Toddy.

When that happened it did not stop there. Suddenly, I wanted to go back to college and start a new life. I wanted so much more than the confines of my previously lonely existence. In the ensuing years there was a lot of pain and hardship but the journey towards true freedom is never without obstacles. The people around me were used to seeing me (or NOT seeing me at all) in a certain way. Yet, by choosing to be authentic and self actualized they are the ones who’ve had to adjust to me (no longer the vice versa).

Being a late bloomer is not solely about being gay, however. That was just my journey. Your’s maybe different. You maybe a person–like myself–who didn’t have everything mapped out from point A to Z. Sometimes, you do have to live your life as a spectator before you can truly appreciate the uniqueness that is you. The sun will not rise before it’s ready. A bird will not fly until it’s ready. And a rose will not bloom until the spring. However, once they do reach their potential they are just as beautiful as all of the other birds and flowers. Maybe, at the age of 70, you would like to take up ballroom dancing…why shouldn’t you (if you’re physically able)? Why shouldn’t you have sex for the first time if you’re a 50 year old virgin? Why be embarassed of flying on a plane, for the first time, at the age of 40?  

Susan Boyle, at the age of 48, just released her first album (which became the number one debut album of all time) after living as a virtual recluse for most of her life (proving that you don’t have to be twenty-one and hot to sell a CD). So much acclaim is given to child prodigies who do everything early; however, no one gives any credit to the genius–who after being married for 50 years–becomes a world renowned painter at the age of 90.

For so long I felt so very inadequate because I haven’t had a “full” and “worldly” life by the age of 25. However, that doesn’t matter to me now. What matters to me is that I’m doing it now. Moreover, I’m doing it for myself and not for anyone else. When I set out to finish my college degrees it was for more than just acquiring a good job. My education was symbolic. It was me empowering myself for myself. That is why my graduation this year was so important. It officially closes a huge chapter in my life. Now, I am ready to write a new one. I won’t sit up here and lie and say that I’m not scared in some capacity. I am. I’m getting ready to leave behind everything (good, bad, and UGLY) that I’ve ever known. For the first time I’m allowing the world to see Toddy for who he really is and not just an illusion I tried to create in order to engender love and worthiness.

I know what I want now. I want every good thing in life that I deserve. Most important of all I am ready to truly embrace the concept of self actualization. I have the right to truly inhabit my being in complete and utter totality. I’ve decided that, in my heart and mind, I’ll never cease to be childlike. I will continue to learn something new and find beauty in every individual or situation that I come into contact with. This journey was my element of freedom.

Now, I feel like a flower in bloom. Watch me grow world. =0)

This is for all of my fellow rose buds out there. Keep on blossoming.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

To Everything There Is A Season…

Dear Friends:

This is yet another Toddy English Faith and Religion post, bear with me (haha)…

____________

2009 has been quite the learning experience for me. That in and of itself was so very necessary, however. 2008 grew me up. 2009 was about reflection. One very important lesson that I’ve been privileged to discover in this school called life is that all: people, places, things, and situations are seasonal. Everything good, bad, or indifferent is fleeting. If you believe that any given circumstance is eternal just give it time and it will be but a memory. Now, onto why I’ve decided to share this, my personal epiphany…

This year I’ve chosen to no longer attend the gay affirmative church that I’ve congregated within for the past several months. There are a myriad of reasons (reasons that prompted me to write this latest dissertation) why but the ultimate is simply that I no longer have any inkling of faith in Christianity (nor any other organized religion for that matter). Some Sudnays I’ve thought to myself, “What am I doing here?” I’ll watch the people pray, sing, praise dance, and testify and it inspires nothing for me. Granted, I am happy for them because their faith is quite important in their lives. Yet, I feel indifferent to it. I no longer need Jesus in my life to give me happiness and fulfillment.

Ultimately, my decision has been provocated by the fact that the pastor is vacating (and the church itself is in a state of disarray). He was the penultimate reason why I enjoyed attending, regularly. Here is the reason why. Although his message was based in Christianity he delivered it in a way that was relatable to everyone (not just the faithful). The pastor rarely mentioned ‘God’ in the sermon until it was complete. Instead he provided, what I felt, was sensational motivational speaking. I liked him because he gave me advice that I could apply to everyday life. Since he hasn’t  been preaching for the last few Sundays I’ve found the services lacking because, in the tradition of a Christian church, everything is centered on Jesus (lol)…It left me empty. Needless to say I am now disillusioned by the idea of continuing. Yet, I am thankful for my disillusionment. It is telling me that it is time to move on and begin something new. I needed to attend the church when I needed to. Now, there is no longer a need. It helped me realize, definitively, that I no longer believe in religion. Furthermore, it solidified in me that belief that all power for positive change starts from within.

Now, I feel comfortable in accepting and embracing my humanist view towards life. When I started writing this blog two years ago it was a struggle. I was quite angry (although I refused to admit it), confused, melancholic, and distressed. I was trying very hard to understand the world during that period. While trying to be the perpetual optimist (a natural component of my personality) I was coping with a great deal of anguish and anxiety.

When I embraced my faith, years ago, it was because that was expected. Everyone went to church and had Jesus (even drug dealers and gang bangers) When I kicked my faith to the proverbial curb it was to spite everyone else. I transformed into the belligerent warrior atheist that had to trash everyone who believed in ANYTHING supernatural. During that period of my life there was no middle ground. The pendulum swung either left or right (and got stuck on both sides) and that was that. I never gave myself the oppurtunity to mourn my Christian faith. Instead I tried to replace it. Yet, the wonderful thing is when you leave something alone for awhile you can comeback and look at it in 3rd person…

That season of discontent has finally stationed itself in the past…

As I’ve grown up so have my views on the matter. I’ve outgrown my former beliefs. However, I refuse to disparage anyone else their own. I know how important it is to have a refuge, an escape. Everyone needs something to believe in, I think. While some believe in the concept of an anthropomorphized diety I believe in the power of the human spirit. The reason I believe so strongly in it is because of what I’ve seen in other people and myself.

While reflecting on the trauma and tumult that was my life in recent history one thing always stood out. Not once did I fall to my knees and pray. Sometimes I had the inkling to do so; yet, because christianity no longer factored into my world view it ceased to matter. Instead, I turned inward.

Growing up I was unwittingly taught that image was the ONLY thing. My family was (and still is) dysfunctional as all hell; however, from the outside everyone thought we were perfect. In order to perpetuate the facade I learned to suppress my emotions. No one was allowed to see me sweat until I got home. It wasn’t until recently that I stopped doing that to myself. In retrospect whenever I felt anything deeply (despair, sadness, pain, and etc al) my mother (and everyone else in my life) told me to “Just pray about it.” For me that was the worst thing; because I was already a masochistic perfectionist. If I prayed and still felt those emotions it would make me feel worse because I’d think, “I don’t have enough faith in God!” It was almost a sick form of torcher that I, a child, was committing against himself. Moreover, “Just pray about it” made me a passive spectator in my own life. Always waiting for something good to just happen I spent more time being sad. I felt like a fake person, an android if you will.

What I know now is that all emotions and feelings are valid. To be human is to feel and experience. Fairly recently I’ve wept profusely, laughed hard, wept some more, screamed with anger, and cried again and again and again. In the end it was nothing short of total catharsis. All of the emotions that I’ve ever pushed down came swimming to the forefront. It was frightening to confront them because that meant having to take time out to care about myself…which I was always taught was selfish (a SIN) and a sign of weakness. The true sin was denying my emotions their right to be expressed. True weakness lied in hiding from my emotions instead of acknowledging my pain. Yet, they were not to be denied. The more I tried to push them (my sensations) down the more those motherfuckers wanted to float…

After honoring them I was able to push through so many issues of my life. For so long I felt stagnant, as if my circumstances would never change. But, in the end, all I had to do was keep living. There no longer a need to pray because my belief in the promise of a new and better day got me through everything I was going through. Because I wasn’t praying I found: wisdom, love, and courage that felt elusive.

As I’ve said before organized religion is no longer a dire need for me. It is now akin to my security blanket that I carried up unto age nine. When I was born I carried around a blanket that he been with me since leaving my mother’s womb. I took it everywhere, except for school. It was literally like an extension of myself. My church and family members nicknamed me “Linus”(from Peanuts) because of it. In addition, I also sucked my fingers while carrying my blanket. It was like my blanket made my fingers taste like candy(to this day my left middle finger has a not in the center from where I sucked on it). So, still carrying it by the time I was nine, my mother began secretly cutting it away. It was getting smaller and smaller but I still carried it. However, one day some woman my mom hired to baby sit me threw it away while I was at school. When I came home and couldn’t find it I felt like a crack fiend going through withdrawals. I tried substituting another blanket but it would not do. So I suffered for the next week…Until finally it just didn’t matter.

At this moment the idea of God the father and Christianity are my blanket. I feel like I’m finally able to put it away for good. I still learn a lot from religion and apply it to my everyday life. But there is no longer a need for literal immersion or a “relationship” with an invisible being with all power. Moreover, I don’t have to attend church just to fit in with everyone else. I’ll only go when it makes me happy. Spirituality, for me, is about appreciation and gratitude for everything in my life. I feel like I’ve found my own spiritual path which is to basically be kind and loving to myself and others (that makes me happy).

I still embrace the church for what it does for the community but alas it no longer fulfills me in the way that lifts my spirit. To quote that Bible verse, “To everything there is a season.” My time for religion and church is over. Perhaps it will come again; however, this is the time I am in at this moment.

It is odd for me not being religious. I have a fantastic and often overactive imagination. So, the concept of ‘God’ for me was easy. Now, I’ve allowed myself to imagine the possibility that there is not a literal shaper of all worlds. Maybe there isn’t a grand puppeteer playing us all like marionettes. Maybe, just maybe, we are in this ‘alone?’ Yet, we aren’t alone. We all have each other on this planet.

So, I’ll never shut the door on the possibility; but, for now, I choose to dwell inside of and embrace this three dimensional construct in all of it’s beauty and wretchedness.

Life makes a lot more sense to me now.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

A Beautiful Dream (Letting Go)

Dear Friends:

Last night I had quite a lovely dream. It was in regards to my 2nd oldest brother.

Now, for those who may not know E (my brother’s initial) I wrote about him in my coming out story “Requiem, Rebirth, and Redemption (My Years of living Dangerously).” During that tumultuous period E was the ring leader in the dangerous circus that had become my life. I’ve not seen nor spoken to E in nearly five years. Yet, the looming spectre of his presence was akin to a virulent form of cancer that had eaten away at my soul. How one person could be so cruel and callous baffled me. Soon, I became filled with rancor for him. Thankfully, I saw it for what it was and removed it from my being.

Nevertheless, inspite of all the time that has passed, E came to me in a dream (quite vividly so). Normally, when I dream about my brothers they are nightmares (especially when it comes to my brother D); however, this one was quite the opposite. In the dream E approached me and–with the most pitiable look on his face–said, “Toddy, I am so sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”  To my surprise I looked at him and smiled, “I forgive you.” Just like that. It never occurred to me to give it a second thought. Then we hugged for a really longtime (which was odd because I’ve never hugged E a day in my life). Just like that it was over. I didn’t sleep too good after that but it was that good “I can’t believe that just happened” feeling.

Upon starting my day I felt free, as if a burden had been lifted. That’s when it dawned on me that I’d let my brothers go (M, E, and D). I do not want a reconciliation with any of them. The mere possibility of a relationship has been completely cast aside. They are not people who I want in my orbit in any capacity. Yet, I can rest in the fact that I’m not carrying any animosity towards them. Their hold is broken over me.

I love my brothers. Now, I love them enough to truly let go.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

A Day of Gratitude…

Dear Friends:

Today, I am very thankful. The meaning of this holiday is so much more significant to me now than ever before (and it isn’t about food either). As I type this I’m going to try and keep it cute because it’s always emotional speaking on the previous series of unfortunate events that occurred in my life just over a year ago. Last year, on this date, I really thought my mother was going to die. I was seriously bracing for, what felt like, the inevitable. She seemed to be getting sicker and sicker by the day. It was a horrible period. I felt: lonely, sad, lost, humiliated, afraid, and defeated…

What a difference a year can make, no?

Today I feel completely victorious. In a manner of speaking I feel reborn. My mother is healthy and happy again. I am healthy and happy again. Moreover, in less than three weeks, I’ll be completing my graduate program (and just three years ago I dropped out of school with only eighteen credit hours left on my BA). Sometimes I think back to that time and wonder, “How in the hell am I still here?”  Yet, when that thought pops into my head it is followed by “thank you.” Sometimes it pays to not even wonder why and just be thankful. Bad things happen to good people all of the time. None of us are exempt. All we can ever do is push through it. All things good and bad eventually come to an end. Be grateful for everything and everyone in your life. Most important of all be grateful to yourself. No matter what you ALWAYS have yourself.

With Love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.

 

Whew, I Needed That!

Dear Friends:

I am back from my teeny tiny sabbatical. Honey, I just needed a few days of mental R&R, forreal. I was so stressed out I could feel it in my shoulders! Anyway, while I was gone…

1.) Rihanna gave the full interview to Diane Sawyer. I loved it! I have so much respect for Rihanna. I can’t wait to get the new album. After listening to “Russian Roulette” I have a feeling that it will be semi auto-biographical.

2.) Healthcare reform is on it’s way to becoming a reality. However, I do want to cuss out the Democrats that voted against. Well, it passed so I’m happy about it.

3.) My birthday is in two days…teeheehee. I accept: cash, check, credit cards, and gift cards.

With love…

Sincerely,

Toddy English.