When I was younger, I escaped reality by burying myself in movies, music, and books. Though I didn’t drink alcohol, or do drugs, the result was the same. When the song ended, the movie reached its conclusion, or I had read the last page of the book, my problems were still there, staring me in the face.
Later in life, when I came out, I chose a different method and actually looked the problems directly in the eyes, so to speak. I began using art, specifically writing poetry, stories, and articles to express my feelings and work through the difficult times.
My hopefulness was quite apparent in my writings, back then. I would start writing about a difficulty and end up with a story that ended with hope for the future. I also wrote a lot about my observations regarding the beauty and grime in the world around us.
At a point, I realized that I was writing happy endings because that was somehow the Christian thing to do. To stay in a dark place was like denying the healing power of Christ. But, inside, I knew that it was no longer natural, the hopefulness was manufactured in order for me to fit in.
I started tearing down the curtain and exposing a more realistic depiction of my internal struggles and the demons that haunted me. I rewrote a handful of poems and relegated others to the trash.
“Enlightenment doesn’t come by imagining figures of light but by making the darkness conscious.” — Carl Jung
Carl saw that after a point of spiritual enlightenment, people went through a period of motivational collapse, followed by authentic self-discovery and a need to be transparent and honest.
For me, and a lot of transgender people, there was a point where I could no longer be who everyone wanted me to be. I needed to be me; to come clean, be honest to a fault, and become a professional peddler of TMI. I could no longer live a lie and survive my own self-scrutiny.
I have found that self-discovery comes in waves. We think we have arrived, that we are finally there, only to realize that we are about to repeat the process all over again. This is the same for all human beings. We get to a point where we feel that we are finally a grown up, then we realize how immature we still are. So, we work on ourselves and try to become that elusive mature adult.
I guess, I would rather keep repeating the process, no matter how torturous it can be, than wrongly believe that I have made it, that I have reached a point where I have no more to learn. Being a fully-formed, well-equipped adult is as impossible to reach as perfection itself. It will take a lifetime and half of eternity to even get close.
Even if my life has changed,
my eyes, they now can see.
I could try a thousand lives
but perfect never be.
— from my poem, Casting Stones (2011)
Lately, my poetry has been darker, with sprinkles of sunlight peeking through the blinds.
Have I matured to a point where I don’t hurt people? No.
I still lose my temper, from time to time, and let my pride take control of my faculties and my tongue. I know that I have hurt people throughout my life, sometimes unintentionally. This is probably why I still say I am sorry, a LOT, and thank people for being kind to me. My friend Calista has told me, on more than one occasion, “Quit thanking people for treating you like a human being.” It can be difficult, at times, because I am still surprised that some of the most amazing people I have met choose to be my friends.
We all know our failings, intimately. We all have secrets to hide, skeletons in our closets, and those bad habits that we wish we could find a way to stop, for good.
It’s not easy to be going through the turmoil of poor decisions, deconstruction, rediscovery, and the uncertainty of where I will land, while our country is going through its own identity-crisis.
I will let you know how it turns out.
If it does.
In the meantime, I will do what I can to be the best version of me that I can in this particular moment in time.
~ elr
Image: ID 31860467 © Torian Dixon | Dreamstime.com