The Bloody Doors Off

Because it’s important I be honest with myself, because it’s the only way to heal, I will be revealing things about myself in this blog that some friends and family might not already know. I’m not opening it up for discussion in the comments section, but will avail myself to discuss it privately. Consider this a friendly warning. – P

I’m kinky.

There, I’ve said it. Welcome to a piece of my world 90% of my family and friends did not know about me until now. I say this because it directly relates to tonight. To deny or hide any aspect of this is detrimental to the healing process. I will, however, not ‘out’ anyone in the community. I choose to reveal myself and will perhaps talk more about this later, but for tonight it’s enough to say that for the past decade I’ve identified as on the kink spectrum, and have for the past 3 years, been participating in the lifestyle.

Now, think about everything you know about me. Nothing changes. I’m still me. I had a breakdown 3 weeks ago, but it had nothing to do with this. So if your thoughts about me change for the worse, there’s nothing I can do to change it. Nor will I.

Tonight I went to Subspace (a play space) to meet with some friends, 2 of whom were celebrating birthdays. This was my first event in over a month. I felt strong enough to go, especially knowing that it was a more intimate affair. These are friends who care about me as much as I do for them. I got there just after 8pm, and all was good for about 90 minutes. I conversed, socialized, made some ridiculous jokes. (I use humor to diffuse and make myself more comfortable.)

At one point, a pair were preparing to scene. This required changing into hazmat suits. My first thought: man, that’s fucking awesome! I’m making Heisenberg jokes (“I am the one who knocks!” — Breaking Bad reference, yo). Confining/constricting clothing isn’t my thing, but I can appreciate the art in it, and how others can enjoy it. I thought how interesting it would be to see this.

But first, one needed to put on a white top and pants.

And that’s when the trigger hit.

I flashed right back to H Ward on 6. Which is utterly fucking ridiculous because (a) there are no orderlies (it’s all nurse practitioners) and (b) they all wore colorful outfits (that I can remember). If anyone there did wear scrubs, they sure as hell weren’t white. But I couldn’t shake it. And I had to leave. They recognized the anxiety and offered hugs, and off I went.

It wasn’t until I was halfway home when I put the pieces together. One Flew Over the Cookoo’s Nest. And not the movie.

I was in Grade 7 or 8 I think. Wayne was in high school, and he was playing Billy Bibbitt in the stage production. Towards the end of the play, Billy is introduced to a woman and they have sex (offstage, you perverts). But in the morning, he’s caught by Nurse Ratchett and put in a doctor’s office. She scolds him and says something along the lines of “what will your mother think?” She lords it over him. I don’t know if it’s ever stated explicitly, but I think Billy was abused, mentally or physically, by his mother.

A few minutes later, they find Billy’s body. He broke a glass and slit his wrists. You don’t see that in the play; it’s inferred, but not shown. (I remember they showed it in the movie.) It freaked me the fuck out. People had to convince me afterwards that my brother wasn’t actually dead.

So that innocent white outfit, such a simple thing, did me in.

But now I can recognize it for what it was. Something that happened in the past. Now I just need to keep it there.

I’m embedding this video because the song really fucking resonates with me. Especially tonight.

G’night all.