deconstruction is weird, or, i love mondays
The only time I've ever "believed" was when I was a child. I would have nightmares about burning in hell, my body becoming part of a molten pit of fire.
Luckily, I grew up in a really diverse area and went to a public school, so I made 'friends' with all kinds of kids.
I didn't really consider them friends because the relationships couldn't continue outside of school. It was so painful, having to look like a dick and turn people down in an attempt to keep myself safe.
"I was saved. But at the same time, out of a deep adolescent cunning I do not pretend to understand, I realized immediately that I could not remain another worshipper...That was the most frightening time of my life, and quite the most dishonest ... " - James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time
I'll be twenty in June. Now that I am responsible for myself there is this sense of urgency to get on with my life1, but I have to pace myself.
Last year, I started eating pork regularly. In January, I tried shrimp for the first time. I let myself get heated and I don't let vile rhetoric slide.
I have a handful of gay, weird, nerdy (don't forget gay and weird) friends who don't kick me down for being affected by the lifestyle I was forced into.
And on Saturday2, it all comes crashing down. I'm trapped in a room with hysterical strangers, strangers who've watched me grow but can't bother to remember my name, and I'm as sober and cold as a corpse as I listen to their mean-spirited bullshit wrapped in fake intellect and concern.
On Monday, I come back to life.