My Personal Narrative- Without Commentary

A Colorless Culture

Although I came into LGBTQ studies with a ready acceptance of diversity, I feel that the class has opened my eyes to the full extent of differences among the people in the queer community, as well as the past and modern treatment its members face.  I was surprised at the beginning of the course to learn that some ancient cultures were fairly accepting of their homosexual members.  To me, it’s remarkable that civilizations as early as ancient Greece condoned male/male relationships (Gibson, 5).  Although, it does add some perspective to consider that women were regarded as having much lower status than men.  However, it was very inspiring to see that in Native American culture, “two-spirits,” people possessing both female and male identities, were granted full acceptance, and even held in high regard (Gibson, 5). 

I find it very unfortunate that this acceptance regressed over time.  Two of the full-length movies we watched in class, Screaming Queens and Before Stonewall, reveal that queer identified people, especially crossdressers, were targets for harassment in the US during the mid twentieth century (Before Stonewall).  They could be arrested simply for wearing clothing that didn’t “fit” their specified gender (Screaming Queens).  It was disheartening to watch human beings fight for the basic right to control their own identity.  Even more disheartening was learning about modern examples of discrimination.  In my research for the final LGBTQ project, I learned that, since the early 1980’s, blood drives have refused to accept donations from gay men (Darling).  The donor questionnaire asks bluntly, “since 1977, have you ever had sexual contact with another male, even once?” (Darling).  I find this procedure problematic because it perpetuates the outdated stereotype that gay men are among the groups most susceptible to AIDS.  While it is true that gay and bisexual men are the largest group of people infected with HIV, this is most likely due to external causes, not susceptibility due to queerness.  For example, gay men may be less likely to use protection because there is no risk of pregnancy.  HIV has been proven to spread through contact of bodily fluids, making anyone, regardless of sexual orientation, vulnerable to infection.  In the past two decades, tests have also been devised to screen a blood sample for HIV (Darling).  All in all, a heterosexual man who engages in unsafe sex can donate blood, while a homosexual man who only engages in safe sex, cannot.  Upholding the ban only serves to perpetuate the stereotype that AIDS is a “gay” disease.

Another stereotype that manifested in the past, but lingers today, is that all gay men are effeminate.  Modern media seems to exploit this image.  In modern television, shows like Modern Family and Glee project the effeminate stereotype onto many of their gay characters, again, representing a stereotype, and not allowing for individuality among their LGBT characters. The media portrays “gayness” as an act, rather than a facet of a person’s identity.  For example, John Barrowman, a gay actor, was turned down a role on the television show Will and Grace because he couldn’t “act gay” enough for the character, even though Barrowman has firsthand experience in the world of gay men (F, Alex).  Interestingly enough, the “macho”, manly-man image that we often associate with heterosexual men can be traced back to homosexual origins.   To rebuff the effeminate image, artist Tom of Finland began to illustrate highly stylized, ultra-masculine images of gay men for physique magazines during the 1950’s (Gibson, 238).  The images featured muscular men, often in uniform, and often involved in sexual acts.  The “beach scene” of the same decade also idealized these well-built, athletic men; it seems fitting that this scene was predominantly homosexual as well (Gibson, 238).  This image, the athletic body resembling to a Greek statue on steroids, became the ideal form for heterosexual men as well who wanted to capitalize on their own masculinity.

One of the most frustrating topics for me to learn about during the course was discrimination within the LGBT community, primarily towards transsexuals and bisexuals. In Finding Out, the author states that many feminists are angered by transsexuals, condemning FTMs because they are supposedly altering their gender to heighten their status in a patriarchal society, and excluding MTFs because they “haven’t lived as women” for the entirety of their lives (Gibson, 153-4).  Many people within the queer community also disprove of bisexuality, because, they claim, an individual who identifies as bisexual is in denial of their homosexual nature, or, they are indulging in their homosexual desires but enjoying the benefits of identifying as heterosexual in a heteronormative society (Gibson, 155).

While the LGBTQ course taught me much about diversities and the injustices inflicted by a patriarchal, heteronormative culture, the entire process of learning has taught me the value of education.  I came into the class with some understanding of the LGBT cause (and some knowledge of drag and otherwise queer terms, courtesy of Rupaul’s Drag Race), but learning about the history of homosexuality and the means by which queerness is defined gave me a much more clear perspective on the issue.  I am one of the lucky few who have close friends who identify as LGBT, allowing me to be open to identities other than heterosexual, and begin to understand the fight for equality.  Both the class and my own personal experiences have forged an investment in the LGBT community.  However, many people do not share my experiences, and as a result, either become prejudiced against queer people or remain unaware of everyday injustices.  I can ultimately conclude that our culture needs serious education- both about the workings and timeline of the queer movement.  The main reason the FDA has not changed the ban on gay men donating blood is because it faces no social pressure to do so- people simply don’t know about the ban (Darling).  I feel that much prejudice towards queers also stems from a lack of knowledge and a refusal to understand an identity outside of heterosexuality.  I can only hope that in the future, discrimination against LGBTQ individuals can be stopped by the normalization of queer education.

Work Cited

Before Stonewall the Making of a Gay and Lesbian Community. Cinema Guild, 1985. Videocassette.

Darling, Mike. "Banned for Life: Why Gay Men Still Can't Donate Blood." NBC News. NBC, 14 July 2013. Web. 29 Nov. 2013.

F, Alex. "Dr. Who Actor John Barrowman Was Turned down for Will and Grace Because He Was Too Straight, Even Though He's Gay." RSS. OMG Facts, 6 Oct. 2012. Web. 25 Nov. 2013.

Gibson, Michelle A. "Chapter 1. Before Identity: The Ancient World Through the 19th Century." Finding Out. 2nd ed. N.p.: SAGE Publications, 2014. 4-5. Print.

Gibson, Michelle A. "Chapter 7. Queer Diversities." Finding Out. 2nd ed. N.p.: SAGE Publications, 2014. 153-155. Print.

Gibson, Michelle A. "Chapter 10. Lesbian Pulp Novels and Gay Physique Pictorials." Finding Out. 2nd ed. N.p.: SAGE Publications, 2014. 237-239. Print.

Screaming Queens: The Riot at Compton's Cafeteria. Dir. Susan Stryker. 2005. Videocassette.

Harbinger of my Own Destruction

From a young age, I’ve valued the virtue of self-control.  Even in times of emotional distress, I prided myself on my ability to retain stoic composure. I cried a total of four times in all four years of high school, and never in front of anyone.  To me, emotions were a sign of weakness, of vulnerability.  My refusal to acknowledge emotion rendered me unable to fully understand normative emotions, and therefore unable to fully recognize the significance of my own emotions, which ranged from total apathy to violent self-loathing.  Not until my senior year in high school would I learn that I was experiencing clinical depression.

Normal people experience depression as a passing emotion, a feeling that occurs over a short period of time due to a traumatic or otherwise emotional event before returning to a healthy mental state. However, to some, depression is not a temporary sensation, but a permanent state of mind.  Depression is a medical condition caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain, most often by an inability to produce normal levels of serotonin.  However, other genetic and environmental factors can be attributed to the illness.  My case is of a biological nature; depression runs abundant in both sides of my family, leaving me more susceptible to inherit the disease than most “normal” people.             

Although I was only diagnosed with the disease this year in early March, I’ve come to the realization that I may have had depression much longer than a few months.  Still, while I feel isolated from others due to my illness, I find difficulty in separation the effects of depression from the facets of my own personality.  As an individual, even at an early age, I tended to be more introverted, more shy and less social than most of my peers.  Nevertheless I knew how to be nice and sympathetic, and as a result, I was well liked by most.  However, my reservedness put a strain on both my potential and existing relationships.  I had friends, but I lacked the confidence to initiate contact with anyone new or to let anyone get too close to me. 

My introversion didn’t get better in high school.  While it is common for teenagers to seek acceptance from the rest of their peers, my own motivation for acceptance was derived from fear of rejection.  While at this point I regarded depression with little more consideration than most other people my age, I realized that my own self-consciousness was a much darker entity than the usual desire for approval.  In retrospect, I should have realized that this was the first warning sign of depression, but like most teenagers, I only knew depression as an emotion.  Although I had more exposure to information on mental illness than most due to my mom’s job as a school nurse, I though that the depressive state was something you could “snap out of,” that people claiming to be clinically depressed only did so because they needed to justify their own self pity.  I refused to believe I was that weak.

However, the word “depression” always lingered at the forefront of my thoughts, and toward the end of my senior year in high school, I began to research the disease and watch for and symptoms I may have been exhibiting.  Every day, I would come home from school, both physically and mentally exhausted, and sleep for hours.  I was barely able to complete daily homework and my senior project.  I attributed this lack of incentive to the so-called disease “senioritis,” which allegedly caused seniors to not care about school.  However, instead of not caring, I simply lost the ability to care altogether.  This apathy extended beyond my schoolwork, affecting even my closest relationships.  I was literally unable to feel any happiness even in the company of my closest friends.  Even drawing, my absolute favorite pastime, lost its appeal. 

However, I was most alarmed by the sudden emotional drops I experienced every few days.  While I most often lived in a state of apathy, I would have periods that last for hours when I felt so violently depressed that I lost any will to live, and I often considered self-harm.  I knew that cutting was a terrible habit, but I was desperate for any outlet that relieved my emotional pain.  In one of my worst episodes, I attempted to cut myself using a Swiss army knife, but the blade was too dull to lacerate my skin.  My failed attempt at self-mutilation only fueled my frustration, leading me to tie a noose in an old piece of rope that I kept in my closet.  I’m sorry to say that the only reason I didn’t follow through with my plan was because I couldn’t find anything sturdy enough to hang the noose on.  As the ache faded I realized I needed to ask for help.

My mom was the first person I entrusted my secret to.  It took an entire day of failed attempts before I could finally summon the strength tell her that I suspected that I had depression.  The most painful part of my coming out was when my mom apologized for not noticing sooner.  While I felt guilty for letting her accept blame, I mostly felt tremendous relief now that I had someone I could rely on.  This was one of the few times I allowed myself to cry.

However, coming out was not a one step process; after the initial reveal I later had to tell my mom about my self-destructive tendencies.  After a few months of therapy, I also had to tell my roommate about my condition, but I omitted my attempts at self-harm.  In the future she will most likely learn the whole truth.

I found liberation in revealing myself to two of my closest confidences, but I cannot say I am fully healed.  I remain mentally unstable at best, and I sometimes fear that I am the harbinger of my own destruction.

CNF- Alt. Prompt- The First Time I said "The Word"

The silent purr of the engine.  That detail’s stuck with me this entire time, perhaps because of its familiarity.  The quiet thrum beneath my feet dissipated into silence as the Highlander drifted to a stop in the left turn lane of the intersection.

I remember my firm grip on the steering wheel.  The chill of the leathery material through my gloves.  A deep breath in.  Orbs of light floated and blurred in the darkness of the intersection.  Overhead, an angry red light glared down at the rusted jeep in front of me.

“You’re doing so well,” my mom commented from the passenger seat.  She was right.  After two months with a driver’s permit, I’d become more and more familiar with the main roads that hatched across Orangevale.  My current predicament was not unfamiliar to me.  Drumming idly against the steering wheel, I gave my mother a curt nod in acknowledgement.

Nevertheless, I found myself observing the movements of the spiky haired figure in the Jeep ahead of me, mirroring their hold on the steering wheel.  Even after months of practice, I doubted my capabilities.  “I think I have more confidence in your driving ability than you do,” my mom would always tell me.  She was probably right.

Somewhere in the darkness, red flickered to green.  The pixie haired figure ahead of me effortlessly guided their rumbling heap of a car into the intersection.  I trailed behind, following the glow of the headlights as they curled around the cement barrier.  When in doubt, follow the leader.  My body operated autonomously from my mind, circling the steering wheel at the precise angle that would land us in the perpendicular street.  I allowed the pressure from my foot to subside on the gas, waiting for the preceding car to reach the right hand lane…

…Except it didn’t.

In one fluid, expeditious motion, the Jeep swiveled around the parking barrier into the parallel left lane.  My chest tightened as I realized we were about to do the same.

The wheels screeched against the concrete beneath us as I gyrated the wheel in the right direction.  My sight tinted red, the surrounding headlights blurring into an indistinguishable mass entrapping me.  An orchestra of car horns jumbled together and my mother screamed.  A second voice joined in, barking out the most filthy, salacious word in the English language. Through my drunken haze, I realized the voice was my own.

I’d never wished for death before, but the tiny, self-hating part of my brain cried out for it, if only to be saved from biting trepidation.

The red tinge seeped from my vision as the Highlander sailed into the destined lane.  My body remained cold and stiff, my breath coming in fleeting rasps.

“Pull over.”  My mother’s cool monotone brought me back to sobriety.

After I unceremoniously swerved into a nearby parking lot (earning a few appreciative honks from other drivers) and parked, my panting started up again, my chest coiling in anticipation for the scolding I was about to receive.

I was surprised to feel a warm hand on my shoulder.  “Take a deep breath.  It’ll help you calm down.”

It did.

After a moment, I turn to my mother, expecting a pair of stern eyes, but meeting a pair of empathetic ones instead. 

“You aren’t gonna yell at me?” I finally managed to choke out.  “I swore.”

She shook her head, a smile playing at her lips.  “No.  I’m honestly more worried about the fact that you almost killed us.”

I shrunk into the driver’s seat, curling my knees to my chest.  “Oh.”

I rode in the passenger seat on the drive home, lowering my head to my knees and willing the incident away from my memory.

CNF-The (Verbose) Curse of Jeremy Ryder

“Morning, Jim!” 

A tuft of chestnut hair appeared from behind the refrigerator door.

“Mornin’ Chris!”

Chris leaned against the counter, adjusting his tie and pushing his glasses up his nose.  “How’s the office treating you?”

“Good, good.  Everyone’s been great.”  Jim finally spotted the little carton of half and half and withdrew it from the door compartment.  “It’s nice to actually have a separate room for lunch.”  He glanced around the break room, nodding in appreciation.

Chris chuckled good-naturedly.  “Well, you’ve been a great addition to our sales team.  Our profits have gone up nearly two percent since you joined.”  He clapped Jim’s shoulder.  “Welcome to the ranks, kiddo.”

“Thanks.”  A tinge of red crept over Jim’s face.  He reached for his coffee mug and poured in the half and half.  He stirred, transfixed by the swirling patterns in the foam.  “It’s too bad about Aaron, though.”

Chris sighed and nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, he would have retired sooner or later though.  Forty-five years in sales?  Hell, I’ve only been manager for twelve and I’m beginning to question my sanity.” 

Both men laughed.  After they had settled down, Jim sipped his coffee and cleared his throat.  “How hard do you think sales are gonna drop now that Aaron’s gone?”

Chris shrugged.  “Not too bad, providing that I find a half-decent salesman within the next month.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Speaking of which, I have an interview for the sales position scheduled today for…” He paused, his head tilting up at the ceiling in thought.  “Damn.”

Jim sipped quietly at his mug as Chris withdrew his Blackberry from his trouser pocket and flipped through his messages. 

“Oh!  It says right here I have an interview today with … J. Ryder.”

Jim choked on his coffee.  He set his mug down on the counter, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.  “’J’ as in ‘Jeremy?”

Chris squinted at the screen, scrolling down the rest of the message.  “That’s him.  I have him scheduled for 4:30, which should be in… fifteen minutes.”

Jim glanced nervously around the room, fisting his hair in his coffee-splattered hands.  “I, uh, have to use the restroom.”  He darted towards the exit.

“Don’t forget your coffee,” Chris called from the break room, his eyebrows quirked in confusion.

*****

A manicured hand rapped against the door of the men’s room.  “Jim?”

“Sorry, now isn’t a good time, Jenna,” Jim said, his voice muffled from behind the door.

Jenna pursed her lips, running a hand through her red hair.  “Jim, you’ve been in there for nearly ten minutes!  Come out and talk to me.”  She heard Jim sigh.  After a moment of rustling, the door clicked open and Jim skulked out.

“Jesus, look at you,” Jenna scorned, smoothing out stray tufts of Jim’s hair and frowning at the wrinkles in his shirt.  “What the hell were you doing in there?”

“I might have been… Hiding behind a toilet,” Jim mumbled, bowing his head.

Jenna sighed, sliding her palm down to cup Jim’s cheek.  “It’s this ‘Jeremy’ guy that’s coming in today, isn’t it?”  Jim nodded.

Jenna brought her other hand to Jim’s face, tilting his head up to look at her.  “Look.  I have no idea what happened at your last job, but what’s done is done, and you’re just going to have to get past it.  Besides, how bad can this ‘Jeremy’ person be?”

*****

            “I bid you good morn on such a lovely day, my lady.  I find your office workspace in quite delightful arrangement.  Your papers, however, are haphazardly stacked in an arrangement which may or may not fall at any moment, and it is my firm suggestion that you reorganize and rearrange them as soon as you have a free moment sometime in your day.  Oh, how inconceivably ill-mannered of me to not offer my identity to a stranger upon first meeting.  You may refer to me as ‘Mr. Ryder’ in a formal setting or ‘Jeremy’ in an informal context, but seeing as this is an office and therefore a formal environment, it would be in your best interest to refer to me as ‘Mr. Ryder’ whenever you feel the need to address me.”

            The receptionist sat still, her mouth gaping and he eyes glazed as she took in the man standing before her.  A crown of unruly spikes rested atop his head.  His wiry frame was draped in a smart black suit.  Each time he spoke, his face contorted into a plethora of expressions and his hands gesticulated violently.

            Both heads turned as Chris stepped out of the break room and swaggered towards them.  He beamed, offering a strong hand to the other man.  “You must be Jeremy.  I’m Chris, manager of the branch.  Pleased to meet you.”

            Jeremy raised his chin and grasped Chris’s hand firmly. “Ah, yes sir, I can most definitely confirm the pleasure obtained on my account as well.  Ergo, I foresee that our relationship as employee and employer has commenced, and I will most likely, but perhaps not, obtain the position that I have applied for with your favor.  It would be in our common interest to begin the interview now so as not to waste the time in our day which could be spent doing business otherwise.”

            The smile weakened at the corners on Chris’s face.  He gestured towards the door to his office.  “Right this way.”

*****

“So he’s both ‘frank’ and ‘verbose’?” Jenna asked from across the break room table, stifling a grin.  “That’s a deadly combination right there.”

Jim laughed.  “Well, now you know why I only lasted a month at my last job.  I don’t think anyone hated him more than my boss, though.  Once, he nearly hit Jeremy in the head with a bible.”  Jenna snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“A modern day Shakespeare co-worker and a religious nut boss?  Man, you really lucked out, Jimmy-boy.”  Jenna shook her head as her laughter died down.  “I feel terrible for Chris, he actually has to talk to the guy.”  She stood up from the table.  “We should see how he’s doing.”

Jim stood up after her.  “Why?  He’s such a great guy-I can’t imagine him getting mad at anybody.”

Jenna only smirked.  “You have much to learn, young padawan.”

*****

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Jim asked as he shifted the cup resting between his ear and the wall of Chris’s office.

“Yup.  You’re talking to a professional, kiddo,” Jenna assured him, mirroring his position against the door.  They both jumped as something heavy thudded against the other side of the wall.  Muffled shouting grew sharper in volume as the handle of the door clicked open.  Two arguing figures stumbled out.

“…Graduated at the top of my class, beating out any other possible contenders with my superior intellect and therefore demonstrating my qualifications for such an unsophisticated task!  Again, I assure you, you are making an unwise decision in relation to the efficiency of your business as you will be losing any marginal profits I would have obtained!”

“Obtain this!” Chris growled, plucking his stapler off the floor where it had landed earlier and launching it at the other man’s head.  Jeremy’s slim figure darted through the office and through the exit.  With a grunt, Chris retreated back into his office.

Jenna patted Jim on the shoulder.  “Well, you survived your second encounter.  That has to count for something.”

Jim shook his head.  “He’ll be back.  He always comes back.”

Nothing

I spend most of my nights laying in bed, my body caught in the state between sleep and consciousness.  Though I’m worn from a long lay of studies, my eyes remain open, traversing across the cracks in my ceiling.  This period deprives me of some much needed sleep, but is valuable to me nevertheless.  My physical senses dampened by darkness, my mind is free to wander.  Sometimes my thoughts lead into intimate inquiries- how do I look from another person’s vantage point?  How did I do on the test?  Did I leave the stove on?  In other instances my thoughts revolve around more philosophical questions- does God exist?  What is my purpose in this life?  Is someone else in the world laying in bed just as I am, mirroring my thoughts?  As I close my eyes, the questions still buzz around my head like static.  I find peace in the silence that comes from answering each question.

Unfortunately, people in our society don’t question their surroundings and ideals as they should.  From an early age, we’re taught to accept information handed down to us as “fact”.  In school, we’re trained to copy information right of a textbook then spew it right back out come time for exams.  Anyone who questions the curriculum is removed for reducing the efficiency of the machine that is the educational system.  In eighth grade, a fellow student of mine was sent to the principal’s office because she refused to partake in a lecture about Darwin’s Theory of Evolution.  Students such as her were labeled as “problem children”, discouraging any other students from challenging academic standards.

Society itself prevents us from asking questions.  Civilization operates as a whole- trends are adopted, and society members are expected to incorporate it into their busy lives.  Those that do question them are outcast by the rest of society.

But what is the cost of not asking questions?  Without Galileo, the common notion that the earth was flat would have remained centuries later.  The Wright brothers proved that humans could fly, even as their peers laughed at the notion.  Segregation might still be an issue today, had it not been for Martin Luther King Jr.  When an individual asks questions, mankind benefits as a whole.

Back in my own bed, I laugh at the absurd notion.  Mankind as a whole?  That must sound so silly to everyone else.  I turn on my side and fall asleep.

CNF- A Five Year Old on the Zombie Apocalypse (extended)

     Mother, Father, let me begin our impromptu meeting by declaring shame on you both.  That’s right, hang your heads in shame.  How can you have gone this long without acknowledging the number one threat to our society- Zombies?  That’s right: zombies.  Not the kind of corporate birdbrains who plop themselves in a cubicle and rot in front of a computer day after day.  No, I’m talking about the real thing- the kind of monster that makes ramen out of your intestines.

            You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing a fish bowl on my head and garbage bags on my hands.  Unfortunately, it is unknown whether the zombie virus is airborne.  As we speak, America’s top scientists are working on the cure for this disease. Take it from the kid who's seen every movie on the subject, read every related article, and checked and updated all the facts on Wikipedia- we shouldn't be seeing results any time soon.  Fortunately for us common folk, there is one known cure- taking a gun and shooting the d*mn thing in the head.  Until an actual cure is discovered or I get my gun license, I’ve provided you with your own set of bags and fishbowls.  You can thank me later.

            I’ve been preparing for the onslaught for months, turning mundane items into lethal weapons.  I can even take down a full-grown man with a post-it note. 

Mother, I’m sure you won’t mind, but I’ve configured your hairspray and cigarette lighter into a blowtorch.  I’ve taken it upon myself to practice operating it in the backyard.  Once I’ve perfected my aim, we should be sufficiently protected from large masses of zombies.  Unfortunately, this fighting technique, as I’ve tested myself, is rendered ineffective in close quarters.

            Mother, curtains can be replaced.  Human lives cannot.  Do you want to die?!

            Now, before I am so rudely interrupted again, I would like to discuss our attack plan providing we have to face a zombie one-on-one.  Simple hand-held objects should be enough to bring the enemy down.  You’ll want something heavy-like a lamp.  To prepare for the possible instance in which no weapons are readily available, I’ve been studying the art of martial combat.  My body is a disciplined weapon of mass destruction.  I can literally kill a man with my pinky finger.

In case our home is overrun and my fighting skills are outmatched, I’ve figured out to hot-wire a car.

Father, I realize you couldn’t drive to work today, but when the zombie epidemic spreads, you won’t even have an office to drive to.

            Oh, don’t give me that look.  If you want to succumb to this deadly virus that has already taken so many human lives, so be it.  Just know that when zombie scum overrun the entire freaking planet and you two are the only humans left on the surface world, I’m not letting you into my impenetrable zombie-proof fortress.  That’s right.  I have a g*dd*mn fortress.  Meeting adjourned.  I’ll see you at dinner.