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About a month ago I was looking at some literature from P-FLAG. There was a recommended reading list, it mentioned a book titled "The Walking Wounded". That title hit me right where I live. I knew what it was all about just from the title and the frame of reference. I have no intention of reading it. I'm wounded, I know it. One of the wounds was on August 21st, 1992. It was the night that Pat Buchanan spoke at the Republican convention. Some day I will urinate on his grave. It will help me feel better but I will still be wounded. I don't know if I can ever recover. All my life, all the strangers that hated me, never even met me, because of how I am. I'm gay. I feel really close lately to telling the straight world where to shove it. I get so tired of all of their abuse. I'm not looking for approval really, it's too late for that now anyway, just an end to the constant abuse would be nice. I really think we all are wounded, some much more than others. And I think we need to face up to that fact, in order to confront it, and decide how to proceed. In my case, militance seems to be the answer. Maybe someday someone will try to get physical with me and give me an excuse to crush their skull. I think I would like that. It might get a lot of my frustration out. I'm sure it would feel really good to bash a basher. But it is just a fantasy, I know it is, but one that I truly enjoy. I'm not just wounded, I'm angry. Who are they to tell me how I should feel inside ? What great and wonderful being ascended into heaven and left them in charge ? NOT! And who is to tell me with whom I should share my emotions ? By what right ? Under whose authority ? Up against the wall bashers! My day is here. They are the losers. Let me count the ways. Pat Buchanan was a loser long before he got to that convention in Houston. He was rejected soundly at the polls. But those foolish Republicans gave that jerk airtime, and he corrupted their party, and they welcomed him with open arms. Then George got up there and bowed down before the God of Family Values. He too was rejected at the polls. He could have spoken in favor of tolerance. He could have urged an acceptance of all Americans. But he left that up to the man who is now our President Elect. You're a loser George, plain and simple, a loser. But I cannot escape my wounds. Most of them are self inflicted. Thirty years in a closet adds up to a lot of self denial. How long must I live to recover ? I pretended I was "normal", I gave in to demands. I struggled with what was inside me so long that it is a wonder I know my own name. I'm tired of Bible Nazis. I'm tired of hatred from the pulpits of America. I'm tired of being told that I am no good. Way down deep inside me, hidden in a place no-one can see, there is a part that still believes in me, still says I am good, despite all the scar tissue built up on the outside. Can I get in touch with that part of myself ? Can I set myself free ? I think I need to get nasty. Heads may have to roll, not my head, the fag bashers. I may need a declaration of war. But the problem is that I'm such a sweetheart. I want to get along with people so much. I wish I could just be myself and still be accepted, but not in this world, not at this time. It is not ready for a militant faggot. They think I'm a trouble maker, when all I want is to be left alone. I could just retreat into a gay world of my own making. I could cut off the straights lock, stock and barrel. It is very tempting sometimes. Never see another bigot, never listen to another joke, but we are so terribly outnumbered. They could kill us all, but then they would make more. So I walk around on the streets, carrying my wounds with me, like decorations. And I wait for someone to challenge me, call me out, and I'll just go psycho on them, and what will be will be. And the anger grows ever stronger, the bitterness sinks deeper into my soul. There is only one way out of this world, I will wait for that. In the meantime I will struggle. What else can I do ?
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