Camille Leon

What am I going to do about my present situation?  My sanity’s in dire straits.   I damn sure am not going to confide in family.  I mean what the fuck for?  Isn’t it a little late to patch up old wounds?  A lot of shit has been left unsaid.   But some how i manage to disguise it in bitter jokes and manage to give off this cynical charm like: “this shit is so much old news that It doesn’t bother be now. It’s soooo … water under a bridge… that I’m cool on it.”    I make the little comments like “Knives without forks give me flashbacks” –accompanied by a chuckle— reminiscent of the days when strangers imprinted large brown welts on my otherwise smooth flesh to get me to practice “proper” table  etiquette.  Or maybe she beat me to break me. Maybe she didn’t like my twelve year old pride and dignity and saw it as a sign of insolence.   Maybe that’s what it was.   Maybe they didn’t like that i was different.   They all knew it .  They just never liked it, never accepted it.  Never accepted my strong will so,  She, Her, They — had to break it.   Maybe because of them I still can’t find my place in this world and because of them I fulfill each whim as if it were my last wish.  I’ve realized that whims do not an identity make.   Having gone from the gothic Bohemian AfroJamerican black Daria in high school to the brazen alcoholic young adult post high school to the raging quick-tempered shrew in later years to the utterly monotonous(which can sometimes be mistaken for soothing)  shell of my former self (whoever she was).  Truth of the matter is I want to be angry but all I can feel is self-pity.

Mental Well Being

My brother’s an alcoholic wife beating bottom feeding bastard –almost in every sense of the words.   Yet, somewhere deep (I mean DEEP) down inside I pity him.   A part of me whispers a silent prayer for him each day hoping he’ll change some aspect of his flawed mentality.   I can’t bring myself to hate him enough, and try as I might to deny he’s any relation—He is still my brother.   But who am I to feel pity towards him or to even pray on his behalf when I’ve got my own mental maladies and skeletons. 

I’ve fallen into some kind of robotic depression.   I’ve closed myself off to the world outside, buried my head in fiction. Fed my own sociopathic tendencies.   If anyone else can see this manifestation, i cannot tell.  Because I board myself up in my house (phone unanswered) and only leave to work the graveyard shift.  Strangely I’m comfortable alone.  I have no need of friendships nor for that matter, relationships.   I’ve been thinking about joining a gun range just for a little stress relief, but it occurred to me that no normal red-blooded Jamerican female would think of target practice as the first solution to stress.   Most people use gym memberships.   I have one.  I just don’t use it.      Anyway, lately my Mom’s been having problems with my brother and I’ve been thinking about “putting two in him”.     I’ve given it a lot of thought and I wonder if I would lose any sleep at night if he died.  Then it occurred to me that If I had the capacity to kill him and not flinch then what would I do to a stranger on the street?    

There is this undercurrent of rage roiling inside, bubbling over.   Something dying to come out, cold to the touch but fierce.   Maybe I should pray for myself.   I’ve found myself so cosmopolitan as to spend the last 10 years of my life bedding women knowing that sooner or later the desire will fade and in it’s place another addiction will surface.  Okay maybe addiction is too permanent a word.  Let’s just call it a distraction

Dear Jane, It’s not you. It’s me.

You know I’m never calling you again right?   It’s not because I don’t love you. Because I do.   I love you enough to keep you away from me because I know that you deserve better than what I can offer you.   I’d hate to hold you hostage while I made up my mind to be consistent and be all that you needed and deserved in a woman.  My life has not yet come full circle and being as incomplete as I am, I fear there is not much that I can offer you.   You once said that you feared you were out of my league but the truth is; I am out of your league.   I’m just not good enough for you.   I realized that the underlying reason for my holding you and others like you at arms length is that I will never live up to the expectations you have of me.  I thought this entire time that I was setting and raising that bar for myself only.   It never really dawned on me that you would be my judge and juror.   The chaperone who would see to it that I lived up to the standards that I set so high.    And now that the realization has dawned on me, I have no choice but to accept that I am not ready for a relationship.   Not with you, not with anyone.   The truth of the matter is,  I am still not satisfied with self.   

Just too ‘GOOD’ to be true

I just got finished reading this book by the late E. Lynn Harris.  There were some truths that I came to accept while reading the book and in some way they awakened a spark of hope inside me.  The book is about skeletons.   You know the kind of skeletons we keep in our closets.   The skeletons we hide while portraying a picture perfect existence to the world.   Sometimes I think about what my life would’ve been like had I confessed some of my earlier wrong-doings.   Be that as it may, there still isn’t a strong enough argument to convince me to leave myself wide open.   I just know that I am not perfect and though I exude confidence and conceit  to most, I know that deep down I have my own imperfections.  Perhaps that is the driving force behind my continuous strife towards self-improvement.

Paradox

The paradox that is me.   or maybe it isn’t a paradox after all.  There is such a thing as a Gay Christian isn’t there?   I’ve been trying to make these tiny little changes in my life.   A bible verse to start or end the day gives me a sense of direction as I’ve been miserably flailing like a fish out of water for the past 7 years.   I remember being as sure of myself as I was of my own footing on solid ground .   But I was 7 years younger and 20 lbs Lighter then.   Today, the notions that swim around in my brain consist of  deep theological processes;

 

  • Why am I here?
  • Why are we here?
  • Where will I go when I die?

 

The more the days progress, the more people pass away the more I wonder  where I’ll be tomorrow or even in the next 5 minutes.   Should my sojourn end tomorrow or next week, will I have accomplished my divine purpose?   If so, what is it?   I’d hate to think of myself as being a useless waste of space.    I do know that all the experiences I’ve had—the Highs and the Lows—should amount to something more than just everyday occurrence.   But exactly what?   So I continue to read a scripture each day.   Yesterday I read Genesis 40 1-14, 23 (as instructed by Our Daily Bread).  The moral of the passage was “be patient when waiting for what God has in store for you”.   But I tried to fit it into my own existence.   I tried to piece things together using those verses.   I assumed it meant that I should exercise more patience in general.   I know that I’m typically prone to anger and that I can be quick-tempered and I thought It unusually ironic today when troubleshooting with a customer who remarked on how patient I was.    It almost felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.    There was no crying, no frustration.  Just the soothing almost-monotone voice that women in general have come to know and love.   Still it surprises me because despite the soothing tone, I know that I can be quick-tempered, cynical and sarcastic.   I guess I can chalk it up to God working through me.   Hopefully one day,  I’ll be a different person.  Maybe one day I’ll come full circle

So there you have it.  I’ve read all 7 Merry Gentry Books by Laurell K Hamilton.   It was simply an addiction I had to feed.  I found myself buying novel after novel and having lucid dreams about the characters.  I’m waiting for the 8th book – Divine Misdemeanors—to hit the shelves in December.   It’s been a long time since I’ve picked up one book — let alone 7 books – and not been able to put it back down.   Now I’m sitting here with an itch to scratch because December 8th can’t come fast enough.   And I blame her for introducing me to this newly formed addiction.   The downside;  she is no longer mine.   She’s the one who introduced me to Laurell K Hamilton.    And now that I’ve so indulged myself in the Land of Faerie, I am greeted with my own shocking reality.   The reality that the love of my life will no longer be in my life.  She broke it off with me — not that anything was official.    But it feels like a break up.   And though I’m disheartened by it, I realized that it had to happen sooner or later.   I love her, but I for one am so used to going it alone, that I know within my heart of hearts that we cannot be.   I know I cannot be like everyone else around me or like the happy couples who sit on porches year after year month after month, day after day – growing old together.   It is not within my divine makeup and for that I am truly sad.   Sad because I know that it’ll make for a very lonely existence.    I just know that my heart will always be with her from where I stand.  I know that there are nights when I yearn the opportunity to stand up on my tiptoes and plant a soft kiss on her lips.   But what is one night to a lifetime but a drop in the bucket.   Who am I fooling,  I can’t deal with myself for a lifetime much less to subject anyone to that kind of hell.  

Growing up Gay

Some days I wake up on the opposite side wishing being gay was an everyday occurrence.   I wake up wishing  it wasn’t an issue people had to march and rally at city hall for.   Like gay was just as normal as being Black or as Being White or as Being Human.   In our own eyes it is an innate part of our being.   But everyday we struggle.   Reactions seem to vary.   “Oh you’re gay!? That’s so cool !”  or “You’re Gay,  what dude fucked you over?”  Because it’s just not normal for a girl to grow up liking other girls unless she went thru some sort of traumatic experience with a man.   In truth,  I have always been different.   It had nothing to do with rejection by men.   It just took me a really long time to as they say – put a finger on it.  But like I said it’s not a normal everyday occurrence now it it?  The church spits venom in our direction.  They don’t want us married.   They don’t want us raising children.   So when I’m at my cousins wedding and I see how happy he is with his new bride and I look at his siblings and their spouses and their families, I’m envious.   Not of their heterosexual relationships but of the sense of normalcy they all seem to have.   Wherein  I can’t just take my girlfriend to Thanksgiving and announce “we’re getting married” without having bottles tossed in my direction.    Everyone wants to grow old and grey with someone but it seems as if it’s even harder to do when you’re old grey and gay.     

I have nothing to say

I was supposed to call Dad on Saturday.  I’d made a silent vow a few weeks back that he’d hear from me.   I love my Dad but he talks too much.  I’m not the chatterbox type and I can’t stand people who talk too much.  Which probably explain why I don’t use the phone often to call folks and why I’m so difficult to deal with in Long Distance relationships.  My tongue –being the two-edged sword that it is – has always been my one flaw.  So I choose to use it less.  I’ve never quite known how to use tact when expressing my feelings or voicing an opinion which can sometimes prove fatal to any conversation to be had.   As the old adage goes:  “if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all.” 

What makes you so special?…… 

 

Still nothing can fill the void in my heart.    My loins follow my heart and will ultimately find satisfaction in my hearts content.    I’ve look at most of the women in my life.  Past or Present and asked,   What makes you so special?    I know that I’m searching for the impossible but my quest continues.   I’d like her to be:

  • refined
  • Open-Minded
  • Well put together
  • Educated
  • Wise beyond her years
  • Silly
  • Laidback but with a touch of class.   Not necessarily elitist class but by no means AMORAL.  
  • She loves to cook (a girl after my own Heart).
  • She’s ambitious
  • She’s supportive
  • She’s objective
  • She cares about her appearance but isn’t overtly vain.   
  • sensitive to the touch.  But strong when you need her to be

Maybe my prerequisites are too much.   In fact, they are.   But a girl can dream

The list of things I do not need:

  • co-dependency
  • mutability  (she should just be. but not mold herself to be)
  • AMORALITY
  • Indolence
  • Desperation