The Jig is Up!

I think it's time for me to tell you all about my mental condition. I've thought about it and it seems disingenuous of me to pretend that I'd be able to explain my life to you without explaining this part of it. Plus, it just seems silly not to tell you. As I've explained, it has much more of an effect on my than being closeted does. It is, in fact, the reason I'm still closeted.

So:
What is it?
Social Phobia or Social Anxiety Disorder.

What's that?
Basically it means that I feel excessively self-conscious and overwhelmingly anxious in most everyday social situations. It means that I have an extreme, irrational fear of being judged. And, no, it doesn't mean that I'm just really shy.

I'm not sure people are actually familiar with it unless they know someone who has it. And I am positive that one can't understand it unless one has experienced it. I'm not even sure if I can fully explain how it affects me. What I can tell you is that any time I am with people (with the exception of family and a few old friends) I am basically terrified. I get scared that I might do or say something stupid, or that I might get noticed or looked at the wrong way. Or, that someone will look at me at all. There doesn't have to be a negative reaction associated with it. I'm just afraid of being looked at. My fear leads to physical reactions - my face and ears flush, my body temperature rises, and I being to sweat. And, naturally, as I begin to sweat, I get scared that someone will notice me sweating, which only causes me to sweat even more. A vicious, never-ending cycle. I become hyperaware of my breathing. I don't want to appear to be breathing too fast nor too slow. I don't want my shoulders to rise too much when I inhale. However, this just makes me breath slower, and because my brain is then not getting enough oxygen, I yawn. I then have to stifle the yawn or cover it somehow, which makes me even more anxious. Did they notice that? Did they think it was weird? Should I not have done that? Now, imagine thinking those things about every single thing you do when other people are around. Imagine all of the preparation, both mental and physical, I have to do in order to be around people. And, realize that no matter how much preparation I do, it never works to alleviate any fear. The preparation can make it worse, actually. It's essentially just more time that I spend worrying.

It's agony.

The absolute worst thing is that I know it's irrational. I know nothing negative will come of people looking at me or judging me. I know that normal people aren't scared of those things. I know that I'm not supposed to be scared of those things. There's just nothing I can do to turn that fear off. Alone in bed at night, sometimes it's easy. I think, "tomorrow I'll go and do normal things: hang out with my friends and not be scared, go to a restaurant, take a walk outside. Maybe I'll even come out." I can imagine my life without social phobia. It seems so easy. I tell myself I'll just wait until the morning and start my life again. Then, I wake up. I can't even begin to think of a way to overcome the obstacles.

The next worst part (and it's a close second), is that I suffer through this alone. I don't want to tell anyone because I don't want to be judged for having it. I don't want to be have to be that "special" person who everyone has to worry about making comfortable. So I don't let anyone know. I present a façade to the world that is totally different from what I feel. I would say that to almost everyone I know, I seem totally normal. If asked to name a flaw, most of them would say I'm too confident or arrogant. I use that to deflect from my social phobia. And, so far, no one has guessed that I have any fear in social situations (apart from my family, who have noticed it over the years). Though, to tell you the truth, my number of friends is dwindling. I tend to let friendships fade away. If too much time passes between my last communication with a friend, I get to scared to contact them. And, especially now that I hardly ever do anything, I hardly ever see anyone. My friends are moving on. I jus stay here.

I'm not sure if all of that makes sense or just seems like a disjointed mess. The whole thing is very hard to describe. I don't know. I haven't really ever tried to describe how it works with me. I'll read it over and see what I think. I'll definitely write more about this, though.


Postscript:
sorry for all the yawn talk. I know it's contagious, but seriously, it happens to me a lot. And sorry for writing about it at the end when you thought you were in the clear. Deal with it.

"I'm Rudi. You Can Call Me Smithy."

So remember how I said it was hard to pick a pseudonym? Well, what neglected to mention was that I also found it kind of fun. So, when I got to pick a fake name for my roommate, Noah, I was really pumped. I wasn't encumbered by all the tedious restrictions I had placed on myself when picking my own pseudonym. Picking a name for him was way easier than picking one for me. So, that's what I've been doing for all of my friends - picking fake name so I can talk about them on the blog. Not that I'll necessarily be talking about them. Just in cases.

I use a different method each time I picked a name for a person. Usually both the name and method reflect the person's personality or some other facet of them. There were even times when I used a group naming method, so the names and reasons are all related. You need to know none of this, of course. I just really had a good time doing it.

Titles are Hard to Think Of

You know how most people, usually with an equal mix of facetiousness and seriousness, say their life should be made into a movie? I know for a fact that my life would make an awful movie. It's much better suited to a book. Though, even that wouldn't be great. Yes, I realize that it is then counterintuitive that I would write a blog, but my life is extremely interesting to me. So there.

I hardly ever do anything. I mean, anything. So my life tends to be extremely boring. That means that there's little movement towards me coming out and everything associated with that - meeting new people, making new friends, having a boyfriend, being happy in general. Among other negative effects on my life, this means that I have nothing to write about for this blog. I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, but so far the only current event I've written about was my roommate situation. Everything else has been exposition or stories from the past.

I bring this up because I have been commenting on others' blogs more. I do this for two reasons: I now know how good it feels when a person leaves a comment on one's blog, rather, I will know when someone does it here. The second reason is that I'm maybe hopeful that it will lead others to my blog. However, I'm still not sure that I want others to read my blog. If I got a readership, even if it was only one person, I'm pretty sure I would feel obligated to post. And obligated to make those posts interesting and entertaining. That's especially anxiety-inducing because I'm still at a very early point in this whole blogging thing. So, yeah.

(Mo') Money, (Mo') Problems

How best to explain this? Hm. As I start to blog more and more, I realize that I'll have to fill you in on more parts of my life so you can get a more complete sense of me. So, I have a roommate. Let's call him Noah.

He doesn't know I'm gay. Or, if he does, he hasn't said anything about it. I suspect he may know. That's not the problem, though. He definitely wouldn't care that I'm gay. He'd actually love it. He's also about 7-10 years older than me and completely in the closet. He hasn't told anyone that he's gay - not his family, friends, coworkers, no one. The thing is, he's a flaming, mincing, completely obvious homosexual. Noah doesn't actually need to tell anyone that he's gay for them to know that he's gay. Therefore, while he is technically totally closeted, he is practically out to everyone who has ever seen or heard him. And, honestly, that is not a problem for me.

I've noticed that among closeted gay men (and, I guess gay men in general), there is a general dislike of effeminate men. Most times, us closet cases will couch their dislike of queens by saying that we're just not attracted to it, but there's nothing wrong with it. To me, this amounts to a really disgusting form of gay-on-gay homophobia, but I'll write a whole separate post about that. I would say that there is a large group of people who are embarrassed to be seen or associated with effeminate gay man. I am not among that group. Honestly, I'll be seen with anyone that will have me, friend- or boyfriend-wise. Truly, I don't have a problem with effeminate gays. I'm actually quite in awe of people like that. People who can be so out and so true to themselves. It may sound cliché, but I'm envious. However, I do have somewhat of a (big) problem being seen with Noah.

The real issue between Noah and me is that he has a ginormous crush on me. Because he is not out (and because I'm not out, either), he can't exactly profess his love for me. It's a sort of tacit arrangement between us. Instead, the way his crush manifests is that he is very generous financially. I do not pay rent where I live. I do not pay for most of the food I eat. I do not pay for most of my entertainment (movies, music, etc.). I should also probably tell you that I am currently unemployed. I fully understand that that is no excuse. I know that I should not be doing this. I know that it makes me a shitty person and an awful friend. I'll write more about this later. It really deserves its own post.

So, how are the two related? Well, in my nutty, fucked-up mind it would be unfair for me to go and do things with Noah. This may sound crazy, when Noah and I do things together, I can't help but think of it as a date. He fawns over me and is so excited, and I feel bad (yes, worse than I do for letting him buy me everything) for giving him false hope. There is also the totally selfish part of me that doesn't want to be seen with him lest people think we're on a date. Yes, there is an element of not wanting to be seen with Noah, specifically, on a "date." But my apprehension about that is more about being seen on a "date" with any man. As a result, we hardly ever do anything together, just the two of us. But even when we do things with a group (or when we're home alone together) I can almost see the hope in his eyes. It's like they're saying, "if only I could do what it takes, Joe will love me and we'll be together!" In truth, that will never happen. I feel absolutely no attraction to Noah. At all. In fact, his desperation is very unattractive. Of course, he wants more than anything to go places with me, but I will simply not do that. To me, that would be a worse friend offense than having him support me financially. I don't want to dangle the prospect of a relationship with me in front of his face when it is not at all a possibility. Does that make sense at all?

My Closet is This Big

Just to clarify, the reason I'm still in the closet is not because of my mental condition. So, it is because I'm scared, but not the normal kind of scared. I've read other people's accounts of their reasons for not coming out. To be honest, I feel like if I were in any other their shoes, I would come out immediately. I'd shout it from the rooftops. I realize that sounds completely condescending. I'm by no means saying that they're having an easy time. Nor am I saying that they're overestimating the obstacles or consequences of coming out. I just know that if I didn't have this mental thing, I would be out. And, from what I can tell, no one that I've met nor talked with nor read has this mental condition. I know it sounds like I'm whining, but hopefully you'll read it more as commiserating.

On another note, while I am still in the closet, there are some people who I've come out to. My immediate family knows I'm gay. The handful of people I've hooked up with know I'm gay. And there are about ten to fifteen other people who know that I'm gay. Oh, and all of you. Whoever and however many you are. The reactions have been almost universally positive.

The worst, or, rather, least positive, was from my mother. Actually, she was the first person to find out I was gay. I was away at school and she found a notebook of mine in which I had written that I was gay. The next time I was home on a break, we had a talk in our kitchen late at night. She asked me if I were gay and I told her "yes." Then she asked me if that meant that I wanted to become a women, which lead me to laugh in her face (women are great, I just have no desire to be one). My mom realized that it was a silly question and told me that she still loved me. All of that was good. It was what happened later that absolutely sucked. On three separate occasions (so far), each about a year apart, she has made comments that both pissed me off and hurt me in equal measure. One was of the "you could still change" variety, one was of the "isn't that she cute? You could date her" variety but the worst one was the "don't you want to get married?" kind.

The first time it happened, I was more shocked than anything. My mother is a very smart woman. She has a master's degree from an Ivy League university and is generally a smart person. She's also a wonderful mother. I have no question in my mind that she loves me and would do absolutely anything for me. I never thought she would have a problem with my being gay. Or, if she did, I thought she would be the type of parent who totally comes around after her own child came out. Instead she sort of just disregards it. Which, all things considered, isn't that bad. I mean, it could be much worse. It's just annoying that instead of keeping her ridiculousness to herself, she has to ask me inane, insulting questions. And she asks them as if they're totally innocent and she doesn't know that they hurt me. In truth, she may not know that they're hurtful questions, but, as I said, she's not an ignorant person. So, that's the way that goes.

Incidentally, this is how it went with my father, and I quote:
Dad: "Your mother told me about the talk you two had last night."
Me (more than a little terrified) : "Oh yeah?"
Dad: "Yeah. I just want you to know, you're still my Joe."
And that was that. We got out of the car and went back into the house. That was by far the best reaction I've gotten.

When I come out, I do not want to become gay Joe. Or someone's gay friend. I just want to be Joe who likes music, works at his job and who also likes guys. I don't want my homosexuality to define me. In my mind, the ideal situation would just be for everyone to know that I was guy. Like if I everyone I have ever known, know or will know could just be born with the knowledge that Joe is gay. It's not the people knowing that gets me. It's having to say the words "I'm gay" and then having to see as their opinion of me changes and how they will interact with me differently.

Hopefully that was all somewhat coherent. I wrote it in bits an pieces, so I hope it came together in the end. Maybe I'll read over it later to see. Maybe.

So, that's the way that goes.

"I Always Wanted to Be the Face in Front of Me"

I did say that this blog would be more than my sad stories and whining. So, to honor that promise, I decided to make this post. One of the things I truly love is music. I enjoy all types of music, from classical to jazz to classic rock to pop (as well as everything else). Today, I'll only be dealing with recent pop music.

The first six months of the year just ended and I thought I would post some of what I think are the best songs from the first half of the year. I'm including singles as well as non-single, album tracks. U.S. releases, international releases, and other songs that I've discovered during the first half of the year. So here they are. They're in no particular order, save the first one. "The Girl and the Robot" is by far the best song of this half-year. I downloaded it a little over a month ago and my iTunes play count says I've already played it 127 times (128 as I'm writing this). And that's not including the times I've listened to it on my iPod or on YouTube.

"The Girl and the Robot" - Röyksopp featuring Robyn
"Bulletproof" - La Roux
"Pandemonium" - Pet Shop Boys
"Dog Days" - Florence and the Machine
"Heartbreak Make Me a Dancer" - Freemasons & Sophie Ellis-Bextor
"The Bones of You" - Elbow
"Heavy Cross" - The Gossip
"Not Now" - Little Boots
"Bang Bang" - The Knux
"My Only Offer"- Mates of State

Full disclosure, some of these songs also appear on XO's list and, in fact, his list is what gave me the idea to do this post. What can I say? We both have excellent taste. Any songs you think should be on my list? Or songs that you just like in general? Is anyone reading this?

Also Known As

I have to say, picking a pseudonym for this blog was harder than I thought it would be. There was actually a lot to consider and then reconsider. Originally, I wasn't even going to use a name at all. But, when I went to comment on someone's blog, my name came up as "Mostly.Scared." While that is currently true, I honestly hope it won't always be true. And I realized that if anyone wanted to contact me, they would have an awkward time writing a salutation.

I wanted to pick a name that was simple and that in no way could be related to my real name: it's couldn't be my middle name, no one in my family could have the name, it couldn't start with the same letter as my name, I didn't want any of my friends to have the name and it couldn't have a number of other characteristics that I was worried would lead people back to me. Of course, after thinking about all of these things, I then got slightly paranoid. I thought someone might be able to figure out who I was by realizing that "Joe" was me using those rules. I wondered if I should go the opposite way and pick a name that was very close to mine, or even using mine. It could have become an endless cycle, but I realized how ridiculous I was being. So, I just picked a name.

Henceforth, I will be known as Joe. When you see me comment on others' blogs, I will be Joe. And if you want to contact me, you can now call me Joe (instead of just "man" or "dude" or whatever you would have called me).

Slings and Arrows.

I'm beginning to wonder just how therapeutic blogging will be. I guess what I'm really wondering is, would it be enough for me just to write down my thoughts in a public place? Or, do I need to be sure that they are read by someone for this to be effective? If all that comes from this is that I write the words down, I'm not sure it would be enough. Wouldn't that just be the same as me thinking the words? Honestly, that would disappoint me. So, I guess the real question is, how do I make sure that people read my words? I mean, I know I could go on a commenting blitz on other, like-minded blogs and hope that people will click through to mine. But that seems artificial and forced. How does anyone get anyone to read their blog? That is the question!

Though, in truth, I know that I haven't been doing this long enough for it to affect my life. And I wasn't expecting blogging to have an instant ameliorative effect. So, I'll keep calm and carry on.

The Second Post is the Hardest

The second blog post seems like a difficult one. It makes a blog a blog, rather than just a single statement. I want this to be a blog, so I thought I'd get my second post out of the way. I thought I'd tell you how I realized I was gay. And, how I realized I had my other condition.

So. I realized I was gay at what I would say is a a young age. I was ten. I knew that I liked boys before that. And that I was different from other boys even before that. When I was very little, I liked to dress up in my mother's and grandmother's high heels. I also liked to play with Barbies, My Little Ponies and other typically girly toys. But, I'm pretty sure that by the time I was in 1st grade, I had stopped playing with those kinds of toys. No one told me to stop, nor was I ashamed. I think it was just that by the age of five, sports had taken over as my main activities - soccer, baseball, basketball, and tennis. So I played more with boys and Nerf guns and action figures.

Now, to the day when I realized I was gay. As I said, I realized before that day that I liked boys rather than girls. I just didn't know that there was a name for it. I was in fifth grade and my class had lined up to go somewhere, because in elementary school, if a class was going somewhere, it was going there in a line. So we were all in line waiting to leave, and the girl in front of me, Emily, said, "Being gay means being a boy with the mind of a girl." I can't remember what lead a group of fifth-graders to talk about that, nor can I remember what happened after that. But, to my ten-year-old mind, it was perfect. I knew that I was gay. Or, rather, that what I was had a name. Then several things fell into place very quickly. I realized that Emily's definition of gay was a good effort, but not accurate. I knew that I didn't have the mind of a girl, but I instinctively knew I was gay. I was absolutely not ashamed. I knew that there was absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. I have never, ever, not even once wished that I wasn't gay. Though I also instinctively knew that I would tell no one for a long time.

My realization about my mental condition happened over a much longer time period. Looking back, I can see it starting to affect my life around the 7th grade. But I don't think I realized that something was wrong until my freshman year in high school. I would find myself getting extremely uncomfortable in certain situations. Slowly, I began to realize that my discomfort was not a normal response, that it was in fact completely irrational. When I realized my discomfort was actually fear and that it also had physical manifestations, I was able to research what my probelm was and give it a name. I guess it was nice to know the name of my condition, but any relief I felt was tempered with the pain and disappointment of actually having it.

So, that's that. For some reason, it seems to me like I came to these realizations in the opposite way I should have. It just feels like I should have come to a gradual realization that I was gay and that I should have realized something was wrong with me much earlier than I did. Maybe that would have made things easier, at least.

I've Just Recently Begun

I've just recently begun to read a spate of blogs by closeted gay men (and one by a guy who's out). So, I guess that's a good place to start - I'm a gay guy who's still in the closet. Yes, it sucks, but it is not the worst part of my life. I have a condition which is debilitating. I'm not sure I want to name it because, while not rare, it is specific. I would like to remain anonymous, and if I tell you what it is, I think it would be much easier to tell who I am. I will, however, tell you that it is a mental condition. And, no, I am not crazy. This is where the title of my blog comes from. Whenever I see the prompt "describe yourself in a few words," (or some variation of that) I think, and what comes to mind is, "Mostly, I'm just scared." Most things don't scare me, but a very specific thing does and it makes me scared most of the time. Being gay is not the thing that scares me. Though I would say condition certainly prevents me from coming out.

The reason I decided to start blogging is because while extremely narcissistic, it does seem to provide catharsis. The closeted guys especially seem to find solace, happiness even, in anonymously sharing their struggles. I'm hoping that I'll be able to find at least some of that through this blog. Also, I did want to note that my blog will not just be depressing stories nor me whining. I will also write about other things - and when I figure out what those things are, I will let you know. Or, just write about them.

Just a final notes about comments: I decided I would like people to leave comments. At first, I thought it would be desirable to write a blog and have no idea who or how many people were reading it. In the end though, I decided that I did want people to read it, and leaving comments would prove that I do have readers. So, please do leave comments. I will say that I am the type of person who reads blogs and never comments. However, I would greatly appreciate it if you, kind reader, would leave me a comment. And, in return, I will try to leave comments on others' blogs.