Thursday, July 14, 2011

Blooming

It's funny sometimes, how much of our current personalities can be traced back before we could even conceive of such things.  I've known people who knew they were gay long before they were even old enough to understand Disney movies, people that were drawn to bondage at an age where the couldn't possibly comprehend the culture, and people who've lived with certain fetishes all their lives.

These things tend to lay dormant, either repressed by a lack of understanding of the feelings, or repressed by a fear of a society that will not understand.  Inevitably people grow older, grow more confident, and grow increasingly comfortable with letting those sides of them through.  Unfortunately what is often an intrinsic part of someone's personality is often interpreted as a "phase" or a "kick," or something else that will eventually be tossed aside.


Speaking from experience, being so misjudged by those that supposedly care about you can hurt.

There always seems to be a sort of step back when you reveal such a part of your personality as those around you fail to take it seriously.  Sometimes laughter, sometimes disdain, either way they pierce with the brutal efficiency of a sharpened knife.  I've seen it happen with my predilection for BDSM, and my interest in sex.  These are things that I can trace back to seven or eight years old, long before the concepts had even crossed my mind as unnamed hypotheticals, and yet that part of my personality has been treated like garbage by some around me.  It's frustrating to have something so important to you treated so poorly.  So much so that there are several aspects of myself that remain hidden to all but a precious few that I can trust.

I'm lucky that despite my almost crippling shyness as a high schooler, there has laid within me an unshakable confidence.  It says a lot that I've barreled through so much discouragement in my life, from my athletic career, to my writing.  That I've had the strength to eventually let myself shine through.

Maybe we all feel that way a little bit.  As we grow older, it becomes easier to answer the aspirations of those younger than us with a flippant "well, that will never work."  We want to protect our proteges and our children from our failures, but in doing so, we encourage them to not try at all.  I don't know where I'd be had I listened when I was told that I would probably get cut from varsity baseball.  Or when I was struggling not only to find time to write, but for acceptance of that writing, for someone to take it seriously and see the potential.  Probably dead.  After all, what would have been the point of trying at anything?

But there was always something there, a small part of me that said, "fuck you, I'm going to make it happen."  Maybe that was the hidden will of the doubters all along, to provide me with motivation via the explicit implication that I was destined for failure.  I don't know, all I know is that I'm here now.  And still blooming.

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