I'm tired

I called another senator today. I've called so many these past years, I've realized-I can't remember who I actually called, perhaps, let alone, why.

I have friends who are younger than me. Fury motivating their activism and it is absolutely awesome. I see them, straight, white, and still fighting for equality for those not in their socio-economic strata. In fact, they're blessed/cursed with white privilege and that they use to get people to listen to them. They march. They call. They stand.

It's awesome.

Seeing them fight so hard for people like myself and my community, I feel I have to match them on every level.

But I notice that the breaks between the activism gets longer and longer.

I mentioned earlier, in my previous blog post, I'm the accidental tourist here. I did not chose to be so blessed with being queer, but, garshdarnit, I'm going to be it. I will scream my pride, I will fight for my rights, and I will see my community survive.

But as the name implies, I'm accidental here. Just because I was born into it, doesn't mean I want to do it. An argument could be made that I HAVE to do it, but as for want? No. I remember my mother wondering why I kept hanging out with other gays--since we were fighting for equality, it shouldn't matter who I hang out with. But I had to explain to her, there are times, many times, when I just wanna be gay. I don't wanna have to explain what's going on in my head and heart, when I don't want to elaborate on the nuances of a fickle and wonderful community.  I should not have to explain to people why what they are doing is wrong or hateful or spiteful.

Sometimes I want to just be gay.

Recently, we were talking about my coworker's granddaughter had to be isolated in an ICU due to a sickness and she elaborated on how it felt like when she saw victims of the AIDS crisis in the late 80s. I began to talk about volunteering at those hospitals, and how I hated myself, because I didn't have the money to donate-so I just could volunteer time but I, even then, we weren't exactly sure of the details of the disease and how angry I was at myself--I knew I didn't have to wash my hands repeatedly, but I kept doing it.  And....

....her jaw went slack.

"You were there."

"I was young, but yeah, the guy I was dating, his boyfriend, his ex boyfriend, was dying and I started doing volunteering in a wing and..."

I realized at that point that, yes, maybe I didn't have cash, nor the verbal clout to argue with the idiots outside on street corners, but I had the time. And that? That is what I gave, whenever I could.

I volunteered. I did it there, wrote for the community newspaper from the rainbow center, and attended any non-disco event (any place where a fat kid didn't have to take his shirt off and dance, which, by the way, is very, very different now, if there are bears involved...) I could find time for. I kept it secret, which was probably not the best idea-fighting for equality while showing my shame at the same time-but I can't go back in time.

So when I watch these amazing friends of mine fight for my rights and the rights of others, I feel like I'm not doing enough. If they can do it, I should be doing it to. I should illustrate that I'm worth finding equality with.

But I also realized, at this point, I've been doing this for a long, long time.

I had the college push--arguing with the Churchies at my Christian college why they can't be offended by a local paper's anti Christian comedy strip one year. That it was free speech, and, it would be better to laugh, get the joke and then fight against the stereotype, then to lynch the artist.

That fell on Deaf ears.

When my friend decided to hurl himself out of the seven floor window from the dorm when his father refused his coming home after coming out of the closet? Yeah, I was there. I didn't know what to say, so I just tried to eat lunch with him and ask if he wanted free movie tickets when I could. (when he eventually returned from the hospital...worked with him too)

All of these memories are surfacing because, yeah, here I am, still, yelling. Sitting. Talking.

Posting on the internet.

Okay, that's new.

So, yeah, maybe I'm an accidental activist, but I have to admit.

I'm tired.

I can't help thinking that's what this current government wants. They're having a rousing success with exhausting everyone with constant media barrages of annoyances, and they're expecting us to just stop off and let them be...and get what they want. Like the kids throwing such a well timed tantrum.

And I'm exhausted.

I think of those activists before me, how they never rested and I reap the benefits-and I hate that guilt manipulating my behavior. But it's true. Marsha P. Johnson? She did not get tired? Or was that the tiredness that helped her spark the riots? Did Harvey Milk ever imagine an end to all this fighting? Probably not. That's why he ran.

I am wiped out.

But I am not dead yet. My mother, in all of her wisdom, pointed out something. She was a single woman in the 70s. Not exactly an ideal time to be doing so. And, sometimes, she was barely keeping it together. She pointed out to me, that, yes, when you are merely surviving, as long as you are existing against the odds, that, in and of itself, is an act of courage. She didn't run out and get remarried. She didn't move into her family's home. She stood it out.

She also pointed out the hated my step father endured. His commanding officer would twist his 'hook nose' for being Jewish, until it bled, screaming anti Semitic epitaphs at him the entire time. He survived. He never filed a report, never did the advocacy thing. But he stood it out. And, as such, fought back by his very nature.

If they all can do it....I can to. So this? This is here for us.

I'm angry at the government, but one thing that my friends have noticed? My outward anger is merely a wimper by comparison. I used the sad-but-true comment, "this, too, shall pass."

I know it sounds awful with this current regime, but remember what I went through. The Reagan years. Even Clinton's. And W's anarchy. Did I die? Damn close. But we prevailed and took some baby steps.

I remember this same conversation, again, at work, and they were shocked. I live and work in the Old South. They've never had any opposition or people work with them who thought any different or saw things from outside their church community. My mere existence, again, is a shock. And act of heroism, perhaps, yes, in the laziest form imaginable. When they talk about their activities with their husbands, I feel it's my right to talk about going on my date to Disney World this weekend too, and the silence? You can feel it.

I'm surprised that it still happens.

Peace? Peace. This, too, shall pass. This tiredness. This regime. This stupidity. This celebration. We can do this. Just keep being real.