In the beginning.

In the beginning, there was a man ashamed. Afraid of who he was. Of the potential he was told to have. Of the greatness that he was born with and that he saw within himself. He held himself back, sheltered himself and contained all that he was in himself afraid of what others would say to him, or about him, about what he was and what it was he truly wanted.

When I first came into the scene, not in Colorado, but down in Houston TX, I saw a lot of stuff going on, and well, I was afraid to do much. Seriously, I know. Those of you that know me and talk to me are probably thinking "He's kidding. This guy doesn't hold back, if anything he's a horrible flirt and way over energetic!" Well, it took me a while to do that. I used to be a kind of timid person, used to just not try at all and would hope people would come to me, well, they never did. I was inhibiting myself, afraid of who I was.

Then... I started to stop that. I decided that, you know what? I need to quit this. I need to stop holding myself back. You know how well THAT worked? It didn't. I went out with the intent to be more me... and I shut down more because someone made a comment and it bugged me, so I just sulked into my shell again. I didn't really know anyone so I kind of just did what I could to get out there. There was a TNG that would do karaoke, and well... I like to sing. Turns out that people LOVE it when they can tell how much you enjoy being up there on the stage, so I just kept being me. I would get a rush from singing in front of people, I found my way in. I found my pathway to my inner awesomeness. It wasn't really easy honestly, it took a long time to find it. Hell, if I hadn't found karaoke and decided to throw caution to the wind and just sing whatever song made me feel that day, I would never have been so well off.

So, I kept going on. I moved on from just karaoke,  I started flirting... well, I probably  already had been, but I could tell people liked me. I was starting to feel attractive. I was starting to feel good about myself and so I kept going with what was working for me. I didn't take someone's advice. I didn't do no hokey pokey dance and spin three times while whistling yankee doodle. I didn't even make it a concious decision, it just was. I just started being me, the me I was at the core. I liked boys, so I kissed one. I liked girls, so I kissed many. I enjoyed play, so I played. I enjoyed playing others, so I played them. I just progressed, until things came to last night where I was sitting amongst friends in a cuddle pile watching people talk and hang out. Me, three girls and another guy. Just sitting there, cuddled up and talking. Being happy, in the moment.

In the beginning, I was an inhibited man. Afraid of who he was and afraid of everything that he was going to be. Now, I am a man. Proud of his sexuality, proud of his life and proud of who he finally is.

It died....

Growing up in my generation, we were taught that you would find that one person. You would fall in 

love, get married and no matter what the world said it would be you and that person against the world. You would laugh, cry, fight, make up and move on with things. Nothing would get between you! The power of your love would conquer everything and you would always be so so happy... but they lied. 

"Everything has it's time and everything dies" - Christopher Eccelston as Dr. Who. Season 1, Episode 2.

That quote I've used for a while now, little over a year when I realized that the Dr. was (SURPRISE) right about something. Nothing is permanent, everything has its time and everything, even love, can and will die. Roughly a year ago today, I saw love die where I had wanted it to so much to live. The love my wife had given me died, I'd over slept and she decided she no longer wanted to give me a chance. Our relationship was done with, over, kaput. I went out of the apartment and walked the streets that night, spent a good time out there thinking. Watching people stare at me and wonder what I was doing there. The only white guy on the streets in a Black/Hispanic neighborhood. Not exactly the safest place for a guy like me. I came back that night after almost getting stabbed, my wife, the humanitarian, let me stay there as she buried her love for me in her heart. 

I stayed there for a few weeks, trying to find a place to live other than there, because as I lived there I saw something... the hardest thing anyone can ever see in their lives. 

 And it hurt... o Gods did it hurt me. I had to listen every day how happy they were as I looked for someone to stay with. Sleeping on the couch while another man held the woman I loved in bed. That is no way for a person to live. No one should have to go through that, but I did and I died for it. 

I died, a year ago today as I watched them love each other. I finally found somewhere to go, a woman and her three generations of her family under one roof. It was a mistake, one that I regret and I have trouble dealing with. Let's just say that drunk people think that once you fall asleep drunk "No, fuck off" no longer counts.

I was supposed to leave for basic on a certain day... so I decided to spend a week with my wife, my children, before I left. She wanted me to as well, promising me there was nothing between her and him. I believed her, believed him. But then, one day I was left alone in the house. Left to my own devices and somewhat bored and curious. That nagging voice at the back of my head saying "they are lying to you. Do not trust them. The bed is situated wrong. Investigate. Look. Discover." I shouldn't have listened to that voice, I should have let myself believe such a beautiful lie, but I knew within my heart hat was what it was, a lie. And my heart had enough hurt that it didn't want lies anymore, just the ugly truth, which I discovered under that mattress, in that box.

My heart was torn again by the betrayal of my discovery. I moved out, found a new place to stay. Living a an androgynous woman, an FtM transgender and a woman. It was an interesting household... so accepting, non judge mental, calming... they accepted who I was. comforted me in my betrayal. They made me feel worth it, they drove home that I was worth so much and that I only needed to put forth the effort. It was amazing.

I went through basic, and AIT. My wife lying to me time and again, I believing the lies until I found the truth once more. This cycle continued, and it hurt me. Made me afraid to love. Afraid to trust someone with my heart. Yes, it died, love died within me. I could not live well without it, but I chose to move on. I wanted to die, but I had friends that saved me. I wanted to go into hiding, but I had people who wanted me. I wanted to live without love, but love will always find its way in to the smallest crack, the deepest hole, the darkest alley.

For, though love may have died. Though my heart may have become torn asunder and strewn across the world, it was not permanent. My heart is scarred and patched, yet it is beautiful. Love may have died, but the ember is being fanned and with that slight fanning, it will regrow into something fierce.

Yes, it died. Painfully so, but now.... it may live again. It may come back and be a more powerful force, a driving force, a loving force of warmth and comfort. For to know love, to know it and feel it. To give it freely and to receive it freely. That is to live. That is life.

Love freely, laugh freely. Live freely.

Why did you do that?

Sometimes I sit here and I think about the things I've done in my past. I'm sure you do it too. How can someone not? Are there not things you wish you had not done? Things that you wish that, maybe... just maybe had gone differently? Sure there are. If there aren't, then I honestly envy you and your lack of bad choices and regret. You are the perfect human. (Please read that with sarcasm.... no one is perfect.)

I look back and I remember the things I've done. I've cheated and made others cheat. I've backed out of sports, social activities, obligations. I've ran. Both to and from things. I've pushed. I've fallen. I've failed. O, how I have failed in my life. I cannot count how many times I've done something and it turned into a miserable failure. The worst of my life, I would say. How could I have messed up THAT badly? How could I have done so miserably, that everything has just collapsed. I am a terrible person for doing that, for making that mistake, for allowing bad to happen, for being the bad that happened.

So what.

Huh? What do you mean by that? Why am I so nonchalant about it? I made massive errors in my life. Some that people kill themselves over, hell I nearly do a time or two. But, you know what? So. The. Fuck. What. People make mistakes, I've made some pretty damn big ones honestly. Some that I really shouldn't have made and that, honestly, will haunt me to my grave. Hell, there are about 3 things that only I and the person I hurt directly know that no one else will ever know. Why? Well, because I am ashamed of who I was at that point in my life. I was a monster, the worst.

But, I grew.

 I began to do something, I learned from people. Some people that never even existed. How is that possible? How did I learn from something that didn't exist? Well, I learned from shows, Animes. Japanese Cartoons basically. The first Anime I ever watched was Rurouni Kenshin. Kenshin Himura, Himura the Battousai. He was a truly horrid monster. You don't know that when you first meet him at the beginning of the Anime, no, you see a kind, caring man walking the world alone for some unknown reason. He is kind, he is loving, he is soft and caring and he carries a reverse blade katana. A reverse blade Katana? What use is a sword that has the cutting edge on the inside and not the side that will contact with enemies? You see, Kenshin was not always a Rurouni, a wandering Samurai, he

was the Battousai. A man slayer. Feared by many. He was known to single handedly slay hundreds, killing so many that he was bathed in blood. He was a horrible person. Then, he was sent away, under cover, to live alone with a woman and to be out of the way so that none would hunt him. He grew to love this woman, to become soft and caring. He had killed her husband, he didn't know it, but she did that is where Kenshin gets one of the lines on his cross shaped scar upon his face. At one point, a group abducts her, and Kenshin must try to save her... but she dies. In his arm. Before she does, she completes the cross shaped scar on his face, marking him forever as the man who killed so many and was still unable to save one that he loved.

After that, he swore never to kill again, he put down his katana, and disappeared, no longer would he be the Battousai. A man slayer. No, now he would be a man of peace, never killing again. Never giving in to the carnal desire to slay no matter the enemy. He became a kind man, just calm and joyful Kenshin. And he taught me something. That you can be the monster, but that is not who you will always be. You may be a monster now, but you can choose to change. You can become someone better.

Sure, I used to be a monster. A truly horrible person tainted by what he had seen and done. But, I didn't have to stay that, and Kenshin taught me that. That I could change, that I could befriend people to be their friends, not to gain from them. Sure, it took me time... it will take anyone time to change their inner being. Are there times that I feel that monster? Yes. Do I give in to him? At times. Do I regret it? No, because I give in to him only on those who want him. I guess what I mean is, you can change, but you can never fully change, you will always host a remnant of who you were within you. Find an outlet for that part of you and let that outlet be the way it funnels its desires. Chain it, control it, conquer it.

A Forgotten Word

"They say that Japan was made by a sword. They say that the old Gods dipped a cold blade into the ocean, and when they pulled it out, four perfect drops fell back into the sea. And those drops became the Islands of Japan. I say, Japan was made by a handful of brave men. Warriors willing to give their lives for what seems to have become a forgotten word. Honor.” - Simon Graham 'The Last Samurai'

Honor, what is it? So few actually speak of it any longer. It is a word all but forgotten in our times. I can never remember a time when Honor was the most important thing. That to be honorable was to be something greater than any other. That to lose your honor was a fate worse than death itself. Sure, there are places where Honor is still spoken of. The Christian Bible commands you to “Honor thy father and thy Mother.” The Army commands it's soldier follow the values set forth by the Army, one of which is Honor. We must Honor agreements. Show honor to those who have achieved great things. We must always show honor, but does anyone actually understand Honor?

For the longest time I have planned to honor many people. I honor those who have come before me. Those great men and women, over 1.3 million, who have died to defend this country in its many wars. I have honored the past, learning from it, remember the wrongs that I have and others have made so as to hopefully avoid a recurrence of the wrongs that have been done. I show honor to those who have done great things by giving them the respect they deserve. Though, does that mean I truly understand what Honor is? Would I fight for it? Die for it? Live by it? I don't know.

I try to understand many things in this world. Some of them, are simply beyond my grasp, some things, we are not meant to understand and that is simply how it is to be. Though... This forgotten word. Honor. That is something I wish to understand. One of the hardest words to define, ask any person what their definition of honor is, most will take a long moment to think, and most will just spew out a text book answer they know. Heck, I cannot even think of a definition of Honor without grasping at what I know has been written in dictionaries.

To me, honor is a forgotten word with a forgotten meaning. You cannot simply give it a meaning, you must live it. You must understand what honor is in order to define it. For someone as myself who has barely begun to live his life, who has not ever seen someone who he feels is an honorable person, I cannot begin to understand what it is and what it means. I can grasp at straws, I can give corroborating definitions that someone who lives honorably does so with integrity, duty and respect. Maybe that is all Honor is, to live with the integrity to do the right thing, to perform your duty and to live respectfully. Perhaps it it the combination of those things and many more that make up Honor. Maybe it isn't. I don't know.

What I do know is this. That there was a time when Honor was all that mattered to people. Not money. Not love. Not sex. Not what their status was. All that mattered was that they lived every day with honor. That they had the discipline to do the right thing and to perfect whatever it was that they were doing in their lives. That no matter what happened, they would keep doing what they were meant to do and respect those around them. Again, maybe that is all Honor ever really was. Integrity, Duty and Respect. Maybe it was more... the world may never know as the world now may never truly care about honor.

This is my writing, and this is my soul.