Love, Simon.

So, friends, let’s have a hopefully no spoilers chat about this movie.

I’ve seen so many people gush about it, as much as I have seen the discourse machine already rear it’s head into full analytical dissection. I’m just here to express my thoughts and emotions regarded to this film as candid as possible, just trying to be honest. That may mean I am mistaken, misinformed, have a different opinion, or just be really emotional/invested, or biased. I say that, and I own that as I write this. I am aware that my white, middle class queerness does inform my perspective as I write, too.

And one last thing before getting into it: this is your only content warning. The themes discussed or language used may be either triggering, upsetting, or stressful. It may not be for everyone, so that is you’re only warning. And, well, get ready for me to rant about, well, me, too.

One of my biggest fears of coming out not proving folks wrong, but proving them right. 

I was a fag. That people calling me that before we ever new the term, seeing my sin in plain site, could possibly have more insight into who I was than I. That it was more than something that was wrong, or a shit thing to be. That was that shit thing.

I didn’t want to even entertain the thought because being a shit thing also meant, well, that I was shit. A waste of space.

That I didn’t deserve to be here. To live.

Even in my most toxic, impulsive, or shitty behaviour, trying to prove I existed (or deserved too) centered around that question. My cries for attention, letting my loud voice carry, both trying to be who I was without conforming, but also Idol worshiping and seeking community in the popularity contests and drama, actually stemmed from a long anxiety that they were right about that, too.

That even in my ivory tower, I had assumed that my entitlement to life was an illusion. To it’s length, it’s laughs, it’s loves, and up and down’s, was always conditional.

I see eyed people who told me that wasn’t true, that God’s love was without conditions, and I was entitled to life because he created it. I had no words to explain I never felt, or never felt the extent to my right to live was either delusional/ condition based until arriving in Catholic school. It’s not just I never felt so judged, it was in those “accepting” communities I never felt so judging. God could never push you away, and neither could the faithful. To explain that’s the very time I started pushing folks away, or felt pushed. Like I was not allowed to exist, or be here, was in those earliest years.

Trying to find help in those communities felt like I was playing a game of “Fool me 9 times, shame on you.” 10? 11? 12? When was the time were the same was on me?

The very people who told me to sought help accused me of crying wolf. The people who said they would be there were the ones to scoff, or deject me, or hold the people I was scared of in high regards so they wouldn’t listen to me. Or, hold me in high regards when I was also being an ass, so they wouldn’t listen to those I hurt, either. (At times it felt like I  was held to a higher standard but I would be lying to myself if this wasn’t also true).

I felt like saying “I exist” or “I was allowed too” was the very thing to violate the terms and conditions of the contract. When, I felt upset that this is the behaviour I was being taught, I would called out for both the behaviour, and the fact I would point out it was what we were teaching each other.

I was afraid that they were right. Or, that if I let them be right about being queer, a clear “terms and service” violation, then they would be right about whether I was allowed to live at all. Something I debated, a lot.

Both the thought of living and dying made me anxious. Both seemed to impossible to accept. To absurd.

But, here I am.

Here I am.

There have been people who’ve liked me. I have hurt people, but I’ve helped people. I’ve made folks smile.

And everyone of them said “the thing I appreciate about you is your desire to life. Your passion, your energy, the fact you can be yourself and accept yourself (even when you don’t make the best decisions, or folks mock you). Your smile. You enjoy being. Existing, being you. And that can be infectious.”

And part of that for me, for many folks, is natural. That is from the heart.

To explain that being in the closet wasn’t a straight out lie, but living a half truth. That I could both find this deep sense of appreciating the world and dread getting up in the morning. That just because I was out going doesn’t mean I was confident, or that I didn’t have crippling social anxiety.

That people could not understand how much that I wanted to be here, and yet still asked the question: “Did I deserve too?”

“Did I deserve to live?”

And though my parents are awesome, and have always been accepting. That didn’t mean I grew up in world where queerness, and specifically my queerness, felt like violating the terms and conditions to live. Being queer felt like I didn’t deserve to live more than when I legitimately did someone wrong.  

Even after seeing people go before their time made me realize I couldn’t play this game anymore. Even after taking my name back, being close two years on hormones, to feeling so much better than ever before, I still play this game.

Less than I did. Considerably less. But I still do play it.

I mean, I was trying so hard to show that having things like: Mom and I having a good relationship especially when I was little (being a momma’s boy), liking both easy bake oven’s and action figures, being sensitive, having parents that would help me when I struggled (even if it was simple), that I had moments where Make up/pink/and glitter didn’t seem so evil as I was told they were, meant I was queer. That it meant they were right.

And to tell people that correlation isn’t causation, that I wasn’t “turned” queer, that I can have all these experiences and be queer, as much as someone else could have them and not be.

But, you know what?

It’s only after so long that I realized, maybe that was not the question I need to ask. Or even was the one I was really worried about.

Did it matter if they were right?

Not “who cares,” but, even if I was queer, that had no impact whether I had a right to live or not.

And slowly, framing the question from that way, made me slowly. Definitively answer their other question.

They were wrong, as much as they were right. I am queer, and I deserve to live. They are not mutually exclusive, and this is not debatable. It never was, or it never should’ve been. Or both.

And if I realized that, I may have not (accidentally and intentionally) dragged folks when I was down, too. I would have walked with them, rather than hide. Behind hate, my loud voice, or anything else. I wouldn’t have ran had I been as strong as people believed I was.

But for the first time, I feel stronger than I ever have been. In my heart. If I had been a cracked, broken person, I finally found where it was and I have patched it. Or started to patch it. I’ve found how to be a whole person of my own. Not an Island, not isolated, very much one of many billions of people, but a whole one, all the same.

I’m queer as fuck.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, you may ask:

What the FUCK does this have to do with the movie?

Wasn’t this about “love Simon?”

This movie was about this, for me.

Simon navigating the closet, his worth, his relationships, his queerness.

People talk about how this movie is about “assimilation” more than living our queer stories unapologetically. “We’re just like you,” “you haven’t changed,” a “straight passing” kind of gay.

I’m not saying there weren’t elements of that. Or that there isn’t more to that perspective that’s super valid and I may not do it justice as I type, here. And it’s a little white, middle class, kind of gay. The movie doesn’t have a lot outside of the G in “Lgbtq+,” either.

But I was sitting beside a queer person I could only hope to be, an inspiration from another generation. We talked how this didn’t exist (Movie’s like this) when they were growing up, and I who came after could relate to that. Or, that if movie’s and shows did exist when I was younger, my relationship was either ignorant or tenuous at best. Yet, we both bawled our fucking eyes out when we saw this film. It wasn’t just for the teens and future generations to come, as much as it was for them, too. This movie about a white gay kid reminded us that we both deserved to live. 

I may be wrong to speak for them, but I think the emotions spoke for themselves.

We cried for a reason.

We deserved to be here, like Simon. We may have been afraid to speak up. We may have messed up. We may get lost in the drama. We may fall down, like Simon.

But we get up too. Like Simon.

And so, if Simon was a real kid (and someways, he and all his friends are) I would give him a big hug, if he was up for it. Because, he loves, with a very big heart.

And we love you too, Kiddo.
And your Movie,

We’re so proud of you.

Dear Simon,

Thank you,

Love,

Izzy.

Advertisements

Poetry posts:

“Desirae:

There once was a Princess,

Who dressed as a pauper;

Who thought she would die,

If she lived any softer.

Even in her tower,

Of Ivory white;

She was depressed,

And cried every night.

If she would start,

Her Path Anew;

She’d have to learn how,

“To thine own self be true.”

 

Don’t lose your way, Desirae.”

One of the poems that I wrote while either figuring out my name, working through emotions as I got the name, or the piece I did for my performance that I will be posting within the next week. It’s a fairy tale like aesthetic, for sure. The content, however, about various different themes relating to get my name back. I also refer to this in many of the life update comics, and use lines from this poem even in that performance piece.

In this poem I talk about how engaging with being open with who I was (and that not fitting masculine norms) seemed to increase certain outside threats, or perceived ones. It’s also briefly mentions that this place was a strange one for me to be in, because of my privileged experience. Being white, growing up in Suburbia, even some of the social/ familial support I have now. In the same breath that recognizing that I had grown up lucky, or have supportive parents (which many queer folk don’t), and other resources, it was still a struggle growing up hiding who I was. It was like the very tower that protected me felt like a cell I was caged in, and it was and is hard to wrap my head around.

The pauper thing played into that too. Not just as a kid, but in all ages I felt this weird tug-of-war. This contradiction. Dressing up fashionable seemed to signify possible queerness, in ways, but not being up to snuff also could be socially ostracizing. So, the line about dressing as a pauper, is almost literal. I didn’t know I had ADD as a kid though I exhibited a lot of extremes of various symptoms even up to this very day. So, because I couldn’t channel masculinity in athleticism or other means, I kinda used the closet as an excuse to be a mess before I knew what the closet was. Being a mess/slob had more of a “guy” connotation. So as frustrating and self defeating as the symptoms were, I felt safer in that space. I could be a mess and not get beaten up for being a “@#$,” cool. Yeah. But I was still weird, stained, ripped, unfashionable little monster. Who often got by pure chance in school because I was never organized in terms of studying, either. Yeah. That had no negative repercussions. Not a one! But the idea of being the princess dressed as pauper facilitates that whole “if I went out doing what I really wanted to do, I would be more exposed and less safe than I was.” How much of it was paranoia? How much did I play into the bullshit I was so upset over while trying to survive and stay safe? Who knows. It was Juvenile and tacky. More ways than one.

So if I wanted to grow past all that? I had to start accepting myself, and grow on that path. That ties into the ending parts, and the last line, a lot. Also, the “don’t lose your way” line is from an Anime where the girl is an action hero, and it stuck with me in terms of theming. For all the times I was told to “be the best you can be” (lol) and that I should “be myself” or that I had a God given talent, or I was loved and appreciated unconditionally, that I should stay on the “straight and narrow…” there was nothing more confusing and isolating than being in the closet. The ways told me to move forward were often exactly how I got lost to begin with. And if I was to really bloom, come into my own, I had to accept this side of me. All themes in my performance piece.

Okay, so that was long. But that’s it for now! Hopefully if I have other stuff written, poetry or prose, I will try to post some of it! This has some elements of “15 year old just starting to write” but I am proud of it, cause it was one of the first poems I had written in years. 

So hope you enjoyed, and see you around!

 

Fourth of the life updates:

Untitled fixed

 

Did I mention that on here? Happened last June? Oh well, now you know. I developed a method for drawing flowers when I was 14, I still probably should use more references and still life practice though, as can be seen by my vase. Also drawing the Grad Robe was hard and weird? Didn’t think it would be. Also, I really need to make sure I spell check the text in comics.

Chapter Two: it’s me (Language warning)

The freaking guy

Why am I reposting? 

The original had this to say: 

“This fucking thing. This thing. You know why I haven’t posted strips consistently, even though I had chapter two all drawn out and was starting number three? Because I hand’t drawn an intro. That was it. So I have been procrastinating for a month almost solely because I didn’t have a title page for my second chapter (I was pretty busy, but not bust enough to not scrape something up). After all that? Still had to edit the wrong sized image because I was a dork and didn’t save the right one to this computer. -_- But I couldn’t procrastinate any more, so here it is. MORE STRIPS ARE COMING. THAT IS THE PLAN.”

Sketch:

OH RIGHT THERE IS NON BECAUSE I FUCKED THAT UP. Whoops. Sorry.

 

 

 

The day 19 post is coming first because it is relevant, Goddamnit: “working for the “A.””

Do you know how much energy I have wasted avoiding doing things because I was either afraid about sucking at it/not being good at it? I was interested in science and things, but, oops! Bad at math. Only had a mediocre grade in science. Okay, never trying to be good at that again. Oh well. I’m a creative type, right? Mister moody, feelings, artsy fartsy make arts person. Who care if I am not good at science stuff, I can just art.

Oh, but I make spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. I guess I shouldn’t choose writing as my thing. I mean, I struggle organizing my ideas, right? Oh well, try the next thing. I like to draw, to bad I suck at perspective. That limits what I can draw. And I am bad at being proportionate and things. Okay, so I guess art isn’t right for me. Unless I use a medium which me to use instead of actually honing my skills so I can do what I want. And that was a catch twenty two because some of the things she taught me could have helped me do what I want, but because her goals for me were so different I just kinda shut my brain out to her/their teachings. What about music? Can’t keep time because I keep messing up notes on guitar, and music theory is essentially the math that I am so bad at. Not to mention I blew my throat screaming AC/DC when I was a kid, so I can’t reach high notes worth a damn. Maybe something less artsy? Social sciences need writing and grammar and sometimes I need to have math in their as well. Or biology. There goes those things. What about making friends, just being a social person? Oops, not the most popular. Must hate myself. What about fighting against social injustice… wait, I’m part of the problem of social injustice because I benefit from it. And people who benefit from it more use this argument to justify social injustice against me, and I use it to justify my social injustice sort of things to people who are lower on the hierarchy ladder than me. Okay, learning languages? I CAN BARELY ENGLISH HALF THE TIME.

It wasn’t till recently that I realized I spent so much time evaluating what I had done before I had even done any of it, that I never actually did anything. So focused on finding the one thing I am exceptionally good at, when each thing I tried I ran into the same problem. I realized, when it came to being good at something, it wasn’t that I was bad at it. I was new. We have a culture that shames inexperience, that shames not being perfect. I’m not saying it has to be “hippie, everyone passes,” sort of crap. I’m saying that the focus should be on doing the work, and evaluations should only be there to help us work better. Give advice on where to go next. But instead of work being the goal and evaluations being the thing that helps us along the way, we are just fucking working for an “A.” And honestly? Most detrimental thing to any career aspiration or talent development I personally had to ever deal with. 

Image

Be the best (You can be) Number five/ turning point

BTB_YTB_5 (2)

Sketch: http://stoodmuffin.deviantart.com/art/the-fifth-one-453542651

So, after this, hope to update with a new comic every Wednesday! Hope to see you around for that :3