OPEN GRAVES

Like Riding A Bike

When I was a teen I often fantasized about meeting my younger self— as an infant— and stomping her face in.
I'd imagine swinging little baby bunting by her ankles, full force into a wall or cabinet or some other hard surface.
And I'd feel better. It soothed me. That was my happy place, for a while.
I didn't want to kill myself, that wasn't enough. I needed to erase my existence entirely.

When I'd think about people I've interacted with— be it friends or family or brief passings with strangers— I'd get nauseous.
Knowing there are people out in the world thinking about me, remembering things I've said & done, things I've long forgotten;
good things, bad things, cool things, embarassing things. It doesn't matter.
They've seen me. They've known me. And that makes my stomach hurt.

I never learned how to ride a bike.
When I was little I was deathly afraid of getting hurt— losing control, crashing into things, scraping skin on pavement.
I once watched a friend barrel into a thorny rose bush.
As I got older I experienced much worse pain. Some of it self-inflicted.
I wasn't scared of thorns or scrapes anymore, but I was still scared of learning to ride a bike.
I was scared of the embarassment. I was scared of being seen, of being remembered. I was scared of being scared.
The thought of a grown ass man struggling to balance his fat ass on a skinny little bike seat,
shaking & wobbling like a scared little dog,
needing mommy & daddy to hold the handle bars for him while they whisper words of encouragement,
to their adult son. Their pathetic man-child.
Just the thought alone discouraged me from ever even trying.
I didn't really need anyone there to judge me. I was doing a fine job of it on my own.

I see myself through cold judging eyes.
I'm my own bully, my own worst critic. I'm the only thing standing in my way.
The worst part is that I know it's all in my head, I know the reality of it—
I have friends & family who love me unconditionally, most strangers that meet me seem to like me,
most times they don't even notice I'm there. And I prefer it that way.
I know no one else thinks these horrible things about me.
I know no one else has these impossibly high expectations of me.
I know no one else hates me.
But I do. I think these things, I set these standards, I hate me.
And I can never escape me.

You can draw blinds & curtains to hide from the world, but the fear doesn't subside.
The shame still lingers. The call is coming from inside the house.

Chokehold

I was going to start this entry with "It's been [X] months since I've drawn anything..." but that'd be a lie-- I drew a bust of my sona Dusty for my bio page, and I'm happy enough with it to have kept it as a placeholder for about a month now; plus I'm sure I've doodled some things at work that I just don't remember, because they were just mindless doodles. Really what I mean is I haven't finished anything in... god knows how long. I think since art fight last year, so about 6 months-- and that was all fan art!! For strangers!! Not even making art for myself!! (sidenote: I have nothing against making fan art, honestly I had more fun with art fight than anything else I've drawn in the past 2-3 years. But it's a different kind of joy, yknow? Like, surprising someone with a gift vs taking a dark, candlelit bath.)

It's not for a lack of ideas-- I have more than enough, the creative tap has had a steady sputter like always. My problem is that I just don't do it. I want to, but I feel like I can't. I said it best back in October 30, 2023:

I've been getting the familiar feeling of "I wanna do this... too bad I can't." I can list as many excuses as I want, but the root cause is that I'm too scared to even try, I don't trust myself enough to be able to enjoy the process or be satisfied with the end result, I know I'll get frustrated and degrade myself for even thinking I was ever capable.

I'm holding myself back, I know I am. I want to let myself go and try anyway, I want to lose the shackles I've put on myself, but I just don't know how.

I want to. I so badly want to. I've had this mental chokehold on myself for so long that my fingers are locked and I can't remember how to let go. I'm gonna strangle the creativity out of myself if I don't stop soon.

I've already lost so much of that spunk I used to have when I was litte, before my expectations outpaced my abilities. I used to be so confident, I'd say yes to every idea I came up with and felt proud of myself just for trying. I used to be brave, shameless, unshakably self-assured.

I know I have it in me somewhere, I know once I loosen my grip I'll be able to do amazing things. Realistically I also know these insecurities & anxieties will never fully go away, I don't expect them to, I just wanna learn to live with them & work around them, keep them from holding me back.

Why a Blog?

In October of last year I developed a mild obsession with Billy Martin, aka Poppy Z Brite-- a prolific southern gothic author, and gay trans man. Normally I don't like to put an emphasis on labels, I think it runs the risk of being reductive to artists & their art, but it bears mentioning here because I'm also a gay* trans man who loves southern gothic (though admittedly I'm somewhat new to the genre, despite being a big Edgar Allan Poe fan as a child I took a looong break from reading in my teens, and have only recently picked it up again). I've met & idolized lots of other trans and/or queer horror artists, but none have resonated with me as deeply as Martin, especially when reading his brief autobiography & personal insights.

All this to say, I did some casual e-stalking and skimmed through Martin's website, and it inspired me to try blogging for myself. Initially I just planned to use Tumblr, but my friend (link pending, if she agrees to it lol) convinced me to try Neocities. I was hesitant, since I'm not a very tech savvy person and my only experience with coding had been using templates on Toyhouse (which is better than nothing, but still not enough to give me much confidence). Still, with lots of encouragement, I gave it a try, and it's actually really fun.

But that's only half of the story, the other half being that I'm actually a pretty devout journaler, thanks in part to having been in therapy since I was around 10. I've found journaling to be one of my best coping mechanisms, along with art & music. I like to think I'm pretty in-tune with my emotions, I have a thorough understanding of my mental health, and while I still find myself struggling against it from time to time, I can at least identify what's giving me trouble and (usually) find a way to work around it.

So... why share this? I'm by no means a confident or extroverted person, I don't mind sharing personal details of my life but I can be pretty timid & self-conscious. It takes some big cojones to share what's essentially my diary to an unknowable amount of strangers. The altruistic (possibly savoir-complexy) side of me would say: I just want to help others the way people like Martin have helped me, indirectly, but still impactful-- to inspire, to be resonated with, to give others who have similar struggles a sense of being seen & understood... as eye-rollingly cheesy as it sounds, I want to remind others (as well as myself) that we're not alone.

Or, as I put it more cynically back in May 19, 2023:

When I write these things down I feel like I have to show somebody. Idk why. Maybe it's to say "Look how eloquent & coherent I can be when I write my feelings down," as a compensation for how I stutter & stumble when I speak aloud. Maybe it's a cry for help, or I'm lookng for comfort & validation. Maybe I'm just attention seeking.

Hopefully a couple strangers who find my little corner of the internet, and stick around to read what I have to share, get as much out of this as I do.

Special thanks to my friend (for now left anonymous), Billy Martin, Simon aka Solaria (who made the code I stole borrowed), and the kind folks at the r/neocities discord server, for their help (knowingly or not) in making this website.