In the waning days ahead, I gotta look back down the road. I know that it’s not too late. All the stupid things I’ve said, and people I’ve hurt in my time. I hope it’s not my fate, to keep defeating my own self, and keep repeating yesterday. I can’t keep defeating myself, I can’t keep repeating, the mistakes of my youth. In the dark of night, I might be able to make myself think that I’m still a younger man. But when the light of day shines down, there’s no way to get around it, I’m not the younger man…… eels
there are so many things about my youth that can stir deep emotions with the wink of an eye. a sound, a smell, and so often a feeling. i was such an impetuous young one- dancing under the stars while channeling the spirit of isadora duncan- listening in on adult conversations with the precision of a tape recorder but with the interpretation skills of a deaf lad with no sign language skills. i understood the depth of the feelings i had and the conversations i heard, but i had no grasp on the impact those things had on my soul or my naivete.
impulsivity was probably my closest companion and my greatest rival. like a mime, i could mirror life to onlookers in a normal way, but the mere fact that it was only a reflection and not a true depiction fooled those around me and kept me trapped like the boy in a bubble.
i didn’t understand that i really needed to feel loved. my family loved me and it never occured to me this love might not be enough. i knew i was viewed as different- without a father around and very much effeminate, but i had no idea what it would be like to not be that way. i didn’t consider my differences unless in the company of others- and then being different – being me- would hurt.
i became strongly independent because of necessity. i wouldn’t dare speak to anyone about the shame i felt being different. i didn’t want to vex them with my shame. and i didn’t want to make them see it if they didn’t either. so i stuffed these ideas and feelings into an inner secret container that barely saw the light of day. i protected it with the bright light of denial for years and frankly became a master of deception- a skill many gay men of my generation developed over those years to remain sane or at least coping. If gay men are going to have to self-diagnose and treat their own mental-health issues, lending a well-thumbed copy of The Velvet Rage might present the first Elastoplast to the problem. “When you read it, it all seems so very obvious,” says therapist David Smallwood, “but no one had written it down before. I don’t want it to seem like I’m a single-issue fanatic. All I’m saying is that when I see someone that is troubled in this way I will bet my next 20 years’ salary on where it started. I start dealing with gay men that have issues around sex or drugs or alcohol and within five minutes I know that we are into their childhood. So I think that every gay man to some extent will have been affected by velvet rage.”
Downs has assumed an almost messianic place in the lives of those who have absorbed his thinking. He has broken the implicit language of half a century’s gay culture and flipped it on its head. The central axis of an individual’s gay narrative, one that used to concentrate on the coming-out story either as a teenager or later, has been shifted back into childhood. The result is that gayness appears to be a psychological as much as sexual condition. Historically, gay culture has been underpinned by the word “pride”. Now Downs has identified a clear relationship with shame.
“I do think that a lot of the issues in The Velvet Rage have pushed gay men and gay culture to create thoroughly wonderful things,” says Downs, “but the question that each of us must ask is: ‘Is this the life that I want for myself?’ When you read the biographies of most people who have been incredibly successful in the creative world, they haven’t always achieved a personal life that is satisfying and fulfilling. That is my concern as a psychologist.”…. paul flynn theguardian.com
i have written and spoken of emotional sobriety for a few years now, but i am only beginning to get a taste of what this term may actually mean in my 4 dimensional life. i will continue the quest to understand my barriers to love- no matter what they are- and i hope i am able to manage this task. the fears and the shame i developed early on have paths deeprooted in my psyche- like the sewers in paris. i sometimes slip into one to get home safely and without fanfare like the phantom leaving a night at the opera. so much music and so much intrigue can easily send me to isolate in the quietly dark to stave off the intrusion of feeling.
emotional sobriety for me is first understanding this about myself and then hopefully reaching the place where i don’t have to slip away- but stay and linger in the feelings and the mood.
i recently heard this preview of “the cautionary tales of mark oliver everett” and i must say i’m hooked. there seems to be an understanding of the simple and beautiful that makes up peace in life. peace is not complicated. nor is it contrived or gimicky. it is simply there.