USENET ARCHIVES

I was digging through a stack of old disks containing old files, and found a few snippets from days gone by. Thought I would put up a couple of the things I found that I wrote.

May 9th, 2001

What is a friend? Let alone a best friend? How many people know the
heartache of being totally alone in a roomful of people? How many people
have spent the holidays alone, dining on a cold turkey sandwich, and a
bottle of cranberry juice, (just so it could be called a holiday dinner)
from some oriental market where the clerks christmas spirit was in direct
relation to the number of dollars they would make by being the only store
open on Christmas Day?

How many people know what it feels like to be so isolated even amongst
family that the pain of being alone is less than the pain of being with
other people? Those of us that have been there know exactly what I am
saying, those that haven't are left with a blank look on thier face because
there is no way they can relate.

So of us look around and see the people around us going about thier lives,
and try to imagine ourselves in thier circumstances (if only for a moment)
that we might know and understand the happiness they seem to be
experiencing. We see the lovers in the park, or the elderly couple holding
hands as they walk, or the young mother or father pushing thier baby in the
stroller, and we are envious, because for us, any normal relationship seems
impossible because we have been conditioned to feel worthless, or somehow
unworthy of happiness. We know that these relationships means opening
ourselves up to more pain, and we just cannot do that anymore.... so we
remain, always, somehow, inevitably set apart and alone.

We look to others for companionship, often as not unable emotionally to
develop real friendships, we end up in taverns and bowling alleys reaching
out for people, hoping for just one moment of intimacy, one moment of
acceptance, yet somehow, no one sees us, and they walk on by. As solace we
substitute the kinds of companionship we find in these places for the real
thing. We know the bartender is just being polite and doing his or her job,
yet without pause, and lubricated by the large number of drinks we have
consumed, we proceed to dump our entire life story on the bartender, who
smiles, and politely listens, and continues cleaning the bar. We feel better
having mistaken his or her seeming attentiveness for some sort of false
intimacy.

Some of us, over time realize that these are just false friendships, and
rework our thinking. We quit trying to be a part of other peoples worlds,
and ives, and disassociate ourselves from them, withdrawing further into
ourselves, thus hardening our exterior shell as it were, and further
emphasizing our "aloneness".

Yes, I believe I can remember the exact moment in time when I knew that
having friends would not be a part of my life. I was about 10, and one
playground buddy and I had had a fun day, playing and just being boys. But
then the realization sunk in that Mom's rules were clear... I was not
allowed to play with kids unless she approved. So I told them I would have
to ask my mom if they could be my friend. That is the way it is with kids. I
opened myself up about one little aspect of my life, and was ridiculed by
kids at school for weeks following that. Call it what you will, it hurt.

I learned not to trust my peers.

The cost of companionship was too high. So I gravitated toward the older
kids, and even adults, and said little about where I was from, and said
nothing to my parents.

I learned at an early age how to lie.

I remember many things about growing up, and what I learned along the way. I
recall getting in trouble with a group of kids, seems I did not fit in, so
became the target for abuse. I tried to fight back, but often as not, I was
outnumbered ten to one. We are trained to believe that our parents will
protect us, so like most kids,I ran home, thinking Mom would protect me.

I come running screaming into the yard, and there she was, standing on the
porch, hair up in curlers, coverered in that little plastic bonnet, wiping
her hands off on her apron. She stopped them from ganging up on me, but her
and Dad stood there watching as the kids lined up, and each one took a turn
beating the shit out of me. I am certain that there was fifteen kids, and
fifteen ass whuppings, but the truth may be slightly less, perhaps only five
butt kickings, and a fairly sizable audience.

I learned that one must depend on oneself.

(I also later learned how to fight. Later still I learned how to fight and
win at least occasionally).

The irony is that after the "Blood on the Lawn Fest" I got to go inside and
be punished for whatever it was I did to piss off so many kids. I think I
would have prefered to have all of the kids whup on me again.

I learned not to trust my parents.

A year later, following a large and increasing number of fights at school,
my parents and teachers had had enough. I was sent away to private school,
several hundred miles away. I did not see my parents for a year. The system
allowed that I had become uncontrollable and needed to be placed where they
were better prepared to handle me.

I learned not to trust the system.

I couldn't help myself. I thought of you today. Your picture hangs on the wall in my livingroom, and I pass it every day, but today I stopped, took it off the wall, gently blew the dust from the glass, and carefully replaced it on the nail. As I stood there eyeballing the frame to make sure it was straight, it occured to me that I miss talking to you. I miss the one on one, big brother-little brother chats on ICQ. And I wonder how you would feel if you knew I didn't use ICQ anymore. Oh, the hours we'd spend, just you and me, and occasionally George would drop in, and we'd shoot the breeze about our cars, our wives, our jobs, politics, God and theology, and of course, fishing.

How happy you looked in that picture, just another sunny day in Oregon, holding a salmon, and wishing the guide would get his damn hands off your fish and out of the picture. It was after all, a good day. You were in your element. Just you and the fish. Oh! and the guide... "Are you still here?" I can see you saying that, "get me a cup of coffee, willya?" Even then you knew that the cancer was getting the better of you. Yet, you still tried to put on the brave face even though I knew you were screaming inside. Screaming in rage, and in pain, and in frustration..... you were really pissed off. You did not want to die, though you gladly would have if it would have brought your daughter and grandbaby back. I think everybody knew that. And I do not think anyone really blamed you for their deaths. No one that is, except you.

Basically, I am not smart. Obviously. I see other blogger sites with graphics and animation, and I read how to do it, "this looks like html, I think, but there it is in black and white, "this is not html." Beats me; I just am not bright enough to figure it out. Do I need to know how to make my blogger look like a webpage, and would it matter if I did? Likely no one will read this, likely it will never draw attention to itself, and thus my ramblings will go on largely unnoticed. Actually, I just described myself. "Let it be," I say, "let the words reflect the man!" Besides, I already have a webpage, and have created several. But I do not claim to understand html. Thankfully the technology has been here for years to where I do not need to know html. Not much anyway. Most likely as time goes on, and the gui of Windows and other similar programs becomes easier and easier to use, the need of the average consumer to know any html or programming language will decrease. It will all be done with a point and a click.

Speaking of programs, I just registered to test Windows XP. I am looking forward to the pre release date, and am anxious to see what it can do. Too bad I have to wait until May or likely June before it is shipped out to me.

SECOND ENTRY

A second entry, still focusing on the subject of feelings, but from a different perspective. While in the last entry I spoke of my sensitivity, I qualified that by stating I am a man nevertheless. What that means is that at times there exists a duality within me. On one hand, the sensitive man, the poet and dreamer; on the other hand, the typical alpha male, chauvinistic, arrogant, and insensitive. Yes, I am a male after all, and possess all the male faults. [Bummer! :( ]

What happens to the relationship between a man and a woman when feelings dominate the relationship? Does anyone care to answer? It seems painfully obvious to me, at least, that relationships, typically, are based on selfish needs and desires. We (each of us) choose our friends carefully. If someone we meet makes us feel bad, then the likelihood of us pursuing a relationship becomes slim, unless of course, in addition to our many other faults, we are dysfunctional, and therefore actively seek out relationships that will enable us to feel even worse than we already do, and fill whatever void it is within us that makes us want to feel worthless and generally dumped upon.

But, I do not believe dysfunction, however prevalent in today's society, is the norm. We tend to fill our lives with people that make us feel good about ourselves. Whatever we are missing in our lives, our friends make our lives more tolerable, and if well chosen, make us feel better about ourselves. The build us up as opposed (to the dysfunctional) to tearing us down. It then becomes a selfish thing, a selfish desire to maintain the friendship or relationship based on how good it makes us feel about ourselves.

A marriage is no different. The problem is, a marriage is supposed to be give and take. But especially in a dysfunctional relationship, it often becomes take and take. Time passes, and we continue thinking in the manner in which we were accustomed. This means that although we genuinely love our partner, we are still basically of the "What's in it for me?" mentality. We are selfish, and selfishness grows. In time, one or both partners feel like they are being used, and they are right.

Long before the realization sets in that we are no longer single, we are up to our old patterns.... selfish thought. We still perceive ourselves as single, and resist any attempts to "become one flesh" as it were. Biblicly, "one flesh" means a lot more than the physical relations between a man and a woman. In time, with luck, and patience, and a whole lot of struggling, a man and a woman join on a different level. It is intimacy.

GOING PUBLIC

Okay, so I have had time to think about it. What good is Blogger? What can it be used for? Some people use it as a sounding board for their thoughts and ideas, others may use it as a medium to harangue others to think as they do. Still others tell their innermost secrets or family stories. So the query arises, "What do I want from blogger?" I guess I don't know. But, as merely another faceless soul in cyberspace, Gee! It seems to give a person a lot of freedom and anonymity to say pretty much whatever they want without the usual fear of rejection or exposure. "Surely, the truth shall set you free...."

The fact is, I am a man, perhaps more sensitive than some, but a man nonetheless. I struggle with feelings of inadequacy sometimes like I assume everyone does occasionally. I worry about bills and finances, I worry about what people think of me. I sometimes think I am cursed to have such a tender heart, other times I am thankful to be able to feel things so intensely. In fact, on the whole, I view it as a gift of the spirit. Yeah right! Go ahead, mock me. If you are a Christian, you might understand. If not, then perhaps you would view me as some sort of narcissistic flake who holds himself up with some sort of twisted, pious sense of self worth. However I am viewed by others, it really doesn't matter to me. For I have learned to be secure in who I am, faults and all. That, too, is a gift of sorts.

But what is it I hope to achieve here? Heck, I don't know. Perhaps I am just a messed up individual who needs therapy. I've thought that once or twice. Why not? Haven't we all? The fact is, I am convinced that I am not alone. I cannot be. I figure that there are other men out there who feel the way I do about some things, who think the way I do about some things, but who are afraid to show the more sensitive side, because society as a rule has dictated that men must be strong; that men cannot cry or show weakness; that tears are fine for women, but not okay for men.

First of all, I hate that stereotypical view. It is so.... well, stereotypical. It shows a serious lack of imagination, and just a foolish denial of human nature. While it is true that women, as a rule, are more emotionally based than men, Who says it is not okay for a man to cry? Who says it is a sign of weakness? No, I hold to the belief that only a truly strong man would freely admit his feelings, weaknesses, and shortcomings, and openly express his more sensitive side. (I said sensitive, not feminine!) Men, trust me, a lot of women find this not only refreshing, but incredibly attractive.
Like most men, I used to deny my feelings. I used to believe that "big boys don't cry" but there came a point in my life where there were just too many tears to hold them in anymore.

Everything came to a head about ten or twelve years ago, and I just began to cry one day... not over anything I could remember now, but it was at a time when things were looking bad for me. Now here it is, a new century, and darn it! I cry all the time... over stupid things! A love song, a touching movie, a funeral, a wedding.... all the time. (Yes I carry a hankie!) It is amusing to some... because here is this big biker sort in the second pew of a catholic church bawling his eyes out, (quietly though!) and asking the little old lady next to him if she has a tissue he could have. I've seen the smiles. I've seen the looks. Sometimes all you can do is grin real big and hold up the hankie, and nod.

But take it a step further... Have any of you men ever felt a hurt so deep, a pain so great that no matter how hard you tried, there was just no stopping the tears? You tried, but then you end up chuffing and snorting like a javelina. Have you ever simply wailed? A deep throaty cry from the deepest depths of your pain, uncontrollably shaking and heaving, as your body racks from the sobbing? My guess is that not many men would admit to ever being hurt that bad. But it happens. Your wife leaves you for your best friend, your child is killed by a drunk driver, your brother is killed by cancer, your friend is murdered in his sleep by a 12 year old with an assault rifle. You are overcome by joy, grief, sadness..... these are daily events. Women can openly express their feelings, why not men? You think men are uptight? They are....! You try holding all that stuff in for a lifetime.

Perhaps there are more men like me... perhaps not. I feel pain. It is a gift. In my life, I feel pain, not only mine, but others' as well. It has changed me into a most compassionate man. I am not as selfish as I used to be. But I am curious... and if you feel compelled to reply or comment, email me at daedak@gmail.com (yes, it's a real address!) I will attempt to reply to all emails. In the meantime, I have decided to explore my deepest feelings here, you know, Mom, Dad, growing up in a dysfunctional family....whatever.