Saturday, June 9, 2012

Commonalities

(Continued from Tuesday . . . )
First, let me say that today’s posting is long. I hope you have your cup of tea or coffee or can of soda pop handy!
            Now to begin.
            In Tuesday’s posting, I confided that in 1988 one word sent me to Ramsey County Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota, to volunteer in its AIDS clinic. By that time, 107,000 cases of AIDS had been diagnosed in the United States and 62,000 individuals had died of it.
            That one word was outcasts.
            I encountered it in a cover story published by Newsweek magazine. The article detailed the known history of the AIDS epidemic in the United States. At the time, many believed that HIV originated in the gay community. That has since been refuted.
            Another theory then was that it originated in African monkeys. That, too, was later refuted, but now, if I’m understanding the latest on AIDS, some scientists do believe that primates carried the virus for thousands of years and that it may have infected humans when chimpanzees were hunted and eaten.
            We may never know where and how AIDS originated, but in 1988 most people in the United States blamed the promiscuity of the gay community for this modern “plague.” The truth is that some sexual practices among gays spread the virus more rapidly among homosexuals than in the larger heterosexual population.
            Being born homosexual is as natural to gay men and women as my being born heterosexual. And both homosexuals and heterosexuals are social creatures.



            Because of this, a gay culture developed in the midst of the larger heterosexual culture. For gay men in San Francisco—and elsewhere—part of that culture was visiting bathhouses. There gay men met other gay men and often engaged in sexual activity.
            Back in 1988, my conclusion from reading about AIDS was that gays and I shared something important. Not our sexual orientation, but our need for approval.
            What do I mean by that?
            I spent many years of my life seeking approval. When I was five, my parents left me with friends when they moved to a city where a munitions factory had opened. My grandmother told me they’d deserted me because I was naughty. She said they’d never come back for me. No one wanted me.
            A year later they returned, but through all my years of growing up, I felt that at any time they could leave me without my knowing why they’d gone or what I’d done.


Me at ten in the fifth grade at St. Mary’s Catholic School

            For decades questions hounded me: Why wasn’t I lovable? What had I done that made my parents leave me? What did I need to do so that they—or the friends I’d made—wouldn’t desert me again? Why was I a throwaway?
            I grew up feeling unlovable and unlovely and so came to hate myself. I felt myself to be despicable. I could put on a good front for friends, but my home was within my own despised self. Only there could I be the unhappy, discontented, flawed human being I really was. Only there did I not have to try so hard to imitate what being mature meant.
            The reading I did made me wonder if homosexuals—not all, but some—also felt they weren’t lovable. When they let themselves be who they naturally were—gay men and women—society, and often even their own family members, turned away in disgust and disapproval.
            Back in the sixties, seventies, and eighties that’s what most gays encountered in their lives when they “came out of the closet.” They were shunned. Considered dispensable. Cast out.
            My reading led me to wonder if being ostracized might have left many gays hungering for approval. Finding no approval among the general population, they may—I say “may” because this is all supposition on my part—have sought it from one another and from their brief encounters in bathhouses.
            To whom else could they go for approval except to one another?
            So some of them—at least in San Francisco—met in bathhouses. If I read correctly back in 1988, those bathhouses helped spread the disease in the late seventies and early eighties before a California judge “issued a court order [in 1984] that limited sexual practices and disallowed renting of private rooms in bathhouses, so that sexual activity could be monitored, as a public health measure.”
            Why didn’t gay men stop going to those bathhouses before 1984? A year or two before then, doctors had come to believe that AIDS came from the exchange of bodily fluids like blood.
            The question could just have well have been why did I keep going to my own bathhouse of self-hatred even after three psychiatrists had helped me understand why I sought approval? Why did I not let go of what was killing my spirit, my very self? For the bathhouse of my own self-hate was doing that as surely as the San Francisco bathhouses were taking away the lives of many gay men.
            They had their bathhouse; I had mine. Up until 1984, they didn’t give up bathhouses. Up until 1976, I didn’t give up despising myself.
            Why?
            Because I didn’t think that friends would love me if they saw who I really was. I’d found a home in denigrating myself. I felt safe there. I knew who I was: a poor excuse for a human being. My home was the misery of myself.


            And perhaps—I say “perhaps” because I don’t really know—but perhaps those men in San Francisco feared finding out that the bathhouse culture they’d developed was devastating them. AIDS was destroying the only place where they’d found outright approval. Who wants to let go of home?
            The upshot of this was that I felt an affinity for these men. I wanted to stand with them in solidarity. I wanted—through the simple action of listening to their stories—to witness their being gifts to and from the Universe. I wanted to honor those whose only desire had been to be themselves in a world that wouldn’t accept them.
            They had marched to the tune of their own drummer. I wanted to march with them. I had begun to march to my own drummer in 1976. Now, in 1988, I wanted to march with those whom Newsweek called the modern-day outcasts. The lepers of our time.          
                                                                        (Continued on Tuesday . . . )                                                                                       

Postscript: Perhaps today’s posting makes little sense to you. It may be an example of specious reasoning or convoluted thinking or claptrap. All I can say to this is “So be it.” I’ve never been either an intellectual or a logical thinker. What I have struggled to be is someone who follows the thirstings of her heart for fairness and egalitarianism.
            What this posting tries to do is to share with you the 1988 thinking of my labyrinth mind. I’ve tried always to find what connects me to others. So of course, the first question I asked of my reading back then was “What do these gay men and I have in common?”
            To find Oneness, we must find commonalities. And that’s what my life has been about. Finding Oneness with all of creation.

PS: Please note that in my Tuesday posting I said the article was in Time magazine. On reflection, I realized that it was Newsweek that came weekly into my home.

Quote about bathhouses and two photographs of San Francisco from Wikipedia.


41 comments:

  1. actually what you wrote makes perfect sense to me. My brother, who is gay, sought approval like no one's business long before HE knew he was gay. My father rejected him because he was "incorrigible" and then later, of course, their relationship deteriorated in 100 different ways long before my brother finally couldn't hide who he was any more. So even though my brother is now an old man, (near 70) he is still seeking approval. Tough stuff. Your grandmother should have had her mouth washed out with soap for what she said to you.


    Mimi Torchia Boothby Watercolors

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    1. Dear Mimi, I think my grandmother was an unhappy woman. I never knew her background but I came to realize as I grew older that she wanted to control my father and resented my mother. Grandma felt, I think, that Mom had persuaded Dad to leave the area. So Grandma laid on me all the blame she wanted to lay on Mom.
      Or so I think now.

      Peace.

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  2. The only shame belongs to your grandmother, and even that is past. "Shake the dust from your sandals," and go where your love is accepted and heard. I wish everyone who is gay could find acceptance without question. Ditto to anyone who feels outcast. I just read a good quote that is apropos: "In an expanding universe time is on the side of the outcast." ~ Quentin Crisp

    I think when we are working something out in our mind, it might still sound confused, but it doesn't necessarily to other eyes and ears.

    I hope that, eventually, our Oneness resolves all these issues for ourselves and everyone.

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    1. Dear Teresa, thank you for sharing that quote by Quentin Crisp. I so hope he's right. And yes, I was trying to remember my reasoning from twenty-four years ago. I had to work and work and work on this posting to be sure I wasn't overstating where I was at the time with regard to my empathy for gay men who were HIV-positive.

      Like you I hope Oneness resolves the issues that so divide us.

      Peace.

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  3. I don't know why it took you so long to stop beating yourself up. Religion must have had a lot to do with it. In the catholic church we are first and foremost sinners, bad people, unclean, not worthy. I am glad I gave it all up when I was still young, and yet, the guilt deep in my heart remains, damn them for implanting it.

    From everything I've read on your blog - and I always do catch up - you are the most selfless person I've ever come across. Whatever this need to help others stems from, do not forget that that is what you are, kind, helpful, good.

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    1. Dear Friko, it did take many, many years before I stopped beating myself up. The fact that I hallucinated three characters who spent all their time telling me what to do or commenting on what I'd said or done didn't help! But in 1976, I began to take a mood enhancer/anti-psycholic drug that made all the difference and helped me begin to filter out all the stimuli that kept bombarding me and kept me from embracing an inner peace.

      Thank you for your kind words.

      Peace.

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  4. The Catholic religion first came to my mind too with all its guilt and sin trips. Probably affected your grandmother's mind as well. I don't see how anyone, much less a grandmother, could plant ideas like that in a child's mind. I am glad I grew up in a country that allowed me to find my own way both spiritually and emotionally.
    I think you are right about seeking out people similar to yourself when the entire world seems to be against you.

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    1. Dear Inger, I think that many spiritual traditions lay guilt and sin on us and try to make us feel unworthy and to see ourselves as sinners. I've let go of all of that and have experienced a freedom that has allowed me to be open to others in a way I don't think I could have been at one time.

      Peace.

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  5. You are one of the best people I know! I love you, Dee--I hope that you have learned to love yourself!!!!

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    1. Dear Fishducky, thank you. And yes, I have come to accept myself just as I am. I'm now able to say, "Here I am world! Take it or leave it!"

      Peace.

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  6. I get the postscript regardless of whether I agree with your thinking on the subject or not. It is your thinking & your blog...& presented in a sensitive manner. Good enough for me. The emotional climate, the philosophical differences,arduous pursuit of love & acceptance, sifting through all the nuances..it never comes out in a neat package tied with a bow unless someone wildly simplifies. That is why I dislike when anyone reads a blog entry & is quick to EXPLAIN to the author why they are so wrong....

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    1. Dear Mary, what you've said here is so true. I would have liked a "neat package" tied with the bow of logic and genius. What I got was the anguished mulling that I remember so well from that year.

      Peace.

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  7. Dear Dee,

    Your post makes perfect sense to me: You show us the path to your interconnectedness with a group of people. I am very sad that your grandmother told you such a horrible thing. I think many people believed -- and some still believe -- that children don't have feelings and they have to be put in their places -- kept under control. I guess the same is true for adults. Some still believe that the place for gay people is hell. It's heartbreaking when someone is condemned. I visited San Francisco last year for the first time. The Hurricane and I went to the Castro and had lunch at Harvey's, named in honor of Harvey Milk. I loved the "gay" -- meaning happy -- atmosphere, with the flags indicating unity and joy flying from every light pole and the smiles on the faces of so many people glad to be where everyone is accepted. Thank you for writing this post.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie, please see my take on my grandmother in the response I left to the first comment today. Harvey Milk was one special person. For myself, I'm sorry that the word gay can't easily be used anymore to describe a feeling or an event. But that's our language. It grows and modifies and mutates!

      Peace.

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  8. My heart aches for that wounded little girl you were, Dee. What an awful, traumatic, life-altering experience! And it makes perfect sense that you would feel an affinity for the gay community, especially in those "outcast" years.

    My ex-fiancee Chuck, about whom I've written on my blog from time to time, came out of the closet in 1975, when he was thirty, and I'll never forget the scenario with his mother that unfolded before my eyes. Mother and son had always been so close and they shared a very deep faith and devotion to the Catholic Church. But when Chuck's mother found out that he was gay, she physically attacked him, screaming that she wished he was dead, that she regretted ever adopting him. Although she later accepted the fact that he was still her same wonderful son and that he just happened to be gay, that initial scene is still a searing memory. After coming out, he moved to San Francisco and, despite the fact that he is a doctor and that his first job there was treating sexually transmitted diseases, he was a regular at bath houses! I think that your impression about why gay men continued to go to bath houses is spot on. There was so little societal support and approval in those days.

    Chuck did not become infected with the HIV virus and met his significant other in 1979 and they are still together, faithful to each other, and both are negative for HIV but they lost many friends during the terrible years of the 80's and early 90's.

    I'm really looking forward to your next installment! Peace to you, Dee.

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    1. Dear Kathy, thank you for sharing Chuck's story. I'd read about him in some of your postings on your blog and now I'm understanding better why the two of you never married. I so wish that people who are against gay marriage could realize that there is as much faithfulness and longevity of relationship between gay couples as there is among heterosexual couples. (Maybe more--I don't know the statistics.I truly don't understand why so many people are threatened by gay marriage. I'd so appreciate your posting about that on your blog. Please think about it.

      Peace.

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  9. It makes total logical sense to me, dear lady. Absolutely! And I admire your honesty and your dedication throughout your life to searching for that oneness. Namaste, dear one. :)

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    1. Dear Rita, thank you and Namaste to you also. Today, have spent a long time working on this posting, I feel a true peace for I was finally able to put into words all those thoughts I had back in 1988.

      Peace.

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  10. Oh Dee. Hurting for you, hurting with you. Hurting both for the frightened little girl you were, and the adult you became who was unable to recognise her own beauty.
    This post makes an immense amount of sense to me - and who among us doesn't have at least a small corner which seeks approval.
    Thank you for another thought provoking post.

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    1. Dear EC, yes, I think we all need to feel approved by those nearest and dearest to us. For myself, I know that even though I've so needed the approval of others, I've often gone my own way when I felt that something unfair was happening around me. We are, I think, such contradictions!

      Peace.

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  11. One of the dearest friends I have ever had in the world was a gay man who died of AIDS in 1990. It was because of him that I made my first skydive. And now I have met you, Dee, another person whose journey resonates within my own soul. Thank you for writing this, and thank you for what you have created out of your own painful journey...

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    1. Dear DJan, I've wondered what led you to that first skydive. Have you blogged about that? If so, please let me know which posting I could read to learn the story about the connection between your friend and skydiving.

      Thank you for your kind words. You know the journey hasn't always been painful. There have been times--not just moments, but spans of time--when I have been joyous. I hope to begin to write more about the convent and about growing up so that I can share some of the good times along with the difficult ones.

      Peace.

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  12. Oh, Dee, I wish I could go back and give your 5 year old self a huge hug. I am shaking my head at how your grandmother could have told you those things, and then they simmered and festered in you...just awful.

    But the crucible of that horrid situation has forged an amazing heart in you of remarkable compassion and empathy, and our world is richer for it.

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    1. Dear Shelly, please look at my response to the first comment on this posting. I've tried to explain my "take" on my grandmother. And thank you for your kind words.

      Peace.

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  13. I am totally stunned at what your grandmother said to you. How you survived that blow to your self-esteem is beyond me. That was beyond cruel. Yet you did and became a very productive, caring member of society. Wow!!!

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    1. Dear Arkansas Patti, my grandmother was an extremely controlling woman and I think that must have come from some deep fear and insecurity within her. Please read the response I left for the first comment today.

      Peace.

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  14. The more of your story I read, the more I'm blown away by who you are. I'm amazed that your path has intersected with so many of the cultural landmarks of the last few decades, and in such significant ways. You may no longer wear a habit, but you are truly a saint, with a heart that inspires me deeply.

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  15. Dear Deb, thank you for stopping by. I've been blogging for just a year now and I've met so many wonderful people--like you, Deb. As I've written a year's worth of postings, I've come to see that my life has intersected with some important landmarks in our country. But I've also realized that I did something and then moved on to something else. I wonder sometimes about my stick-to-it-ness!!!!

    Peace.

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  16. You have carried a heavy burden your whole life because of a horrible remark by an obviously mean- spirited, angry woman. I am sure that was not the only time she used her evil tongue on you, an innocent, five year old child. I believe in forgiveness, and I think you have blamed yourself long enough for letting her remarks define yourself.

    You have spent your life trying to improve the lives of others. You have been loved.

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    1. Dear Arleen, you are right. I have been and I am loved and I do hold on to that when the boat of my life gets rocked a little. Thank you for reminding me.

      Peace.

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  17. Dee, your thinking and this post make perfect sense to me. like others I am horrified by the cruelty of your grandmother's remark, but know from experience that much unkindness and lack of empathy comes from those with deep inner wounds and insecurities, such as you suspect your grandmother had.

    What is remarkable about you is that instead of letting your hurts warp or twist you, you have used them to help you discern the hurts and needs of others and try to do something about them. I am filled with admiration of your perceptiveness and sensitivity.

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  18. Dear Perpetua, I'm glad you read what I've said earlier in my comments about my grandmother. I believe she did the best she could with her own pain. She didn't have, as I've had, the advantage of seeing a psychiatrist--I've seen three and gone to two counselors--who could help her work through her pain and help her discover the destructive patterns of her life and choose something different.

    It is because I've been able to get help that I've been able to let go of the pain of those memories. Now when I write about them I just feel sorrow and empathy for my grandmother and her stunted outlook on life.

    Peace.

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  19. I wish I could give that little girl a huge huge, take her for a fancy outing and tell her how special she is. That she'll grow to be one of the most amazing people I've ever known. Someone who's kind, generous. Someone who finds commonalities and unifies those she meets. Someone who stands strong regardless of the consequences. Dee, you're a life-changer! I'm so blessed to have you in my life.

    P. S. Ruby loved seeing that picture of you especially since she's ten. She said you're so pretty.

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    1. Dear Elisa, I'll take that hug now! Thank you for your kind words. I, too, am blessed to have you in my life.

      And please tell Ruby that I've seen pictures of her at ten and she's so pretty that
      the sun kisses her cheeks with delight!

      Peace.

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  20. It makes perfect sense to me, Dee and I think many seek acceptance in ways that at first blush make no sense but that harbor feelings of being "outcasts"; the woman who stays in an abusive relationship, the obese who continue to overeat, the cloths horse and the cloths hoarder . . . I find it remarkable that you saw a need and rose to it giving compassion to those who were suffering.

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    1. Dear Penny, thanks for pointing out mentioning others who may feel like outcasts. You've opened my eyes.

      Peace.

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  21. First, what a cute sweet little girl you were!

    And yes, your affinity for the marginalized makes perfect sense, feeling marginalized yourself (and with such a big heart).

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    1. Dear Michelle, thanks for saying I was cute. A year later I started breaking out in acne and became so shy and so ashamed of "being ugly" that after that, whenever the photographer came to St. Mary's to take our school pictures every picture it seemed to me like such an ordeal.

      We all, I guess, have to blossom where and when and how we grow.

      Peace.

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  22. Because you warned that your post was long, Dee, I have been busy and waited until I could really read it and take in what you have to say! You really took to heart the plight of gay men and women, mostly men during those particularly homophobic times--imagine blaming an entire disease on a class of people! And it doesn't surprise me to hear that your heart resonated with compassion and some underlying understanding of how the homosexual community was responding. I thought I understood the title of your blog, "Coming Home to Myself," before, but it really is a fundamental truth that you HAVE come home to yourself. I don't yet understand, nor do I need to know, why your parents were gone an entire year of your life, but I can say that it is a devastating thing to a child under even optimum possible conditions. Your grandmother had a cruel streak...I think you've shared that before. You are quite the overcomer, Dee! I really admire you. Debra

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  23. Dear Debra, yes, I believe that I have come home to myself. For me, that means that finally in this life that has spanned seventy-six years thus far, I have not only accepted, but embraced myself with all my foibles. With my strengths and weaknesses and my thirst always to find meaning. It is a great feeling to finally be within this home! Thank you for recognizing it. Peace.

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